A/N: I don't know about you guys, but I'm a little dizzy at this elevation…

Whoohooo! It is officially the 21st, and I figured, what better way to honor such a momentous occasion than by giving my favorite cyber-peeps in the world the 21st chapter? :D Hope you like! READ ON!

Disclaimer: I don't own BTR, or The Pussycat Dolls, or House of Heroes, or Pillar of Fire, or any of the artists mentioned in the rest of the story.

Face Value

Chapter 21: The Brink of Tempest

James hefted the weighty black ball from the track, stepped forward on the oiled wood and released, waiting for the thunderous crack of hollow pins to repeat in his ears.

There was some sort of solace inside that deafening chaos. He needed it, really. The periodic rumble of other players' balls gliding down the surrounding lanes, the muffled chatter of birthday party-goers and rowdy teenagers, the arguing of league-member senior citizens, the blaring music, the hum of the automatic ball return—the raucous medley soothed James.

He brushed an unruly piece of bangs out of his eyes, watching his name flash green on black across the overhead screen. He'd gone to sleep with damp hair last night, and now it hung around his head tousled from air-drying; revealing a bit of the natural wave he usually took the better half of an hour to style out of his long chestnut locks.

The strands fell back across his face as his hand hovered over the tiny air vent, cooling his sticky fingers while the pins reset, and James let them stay there, tickling the bridge of his nose.

Appearances just weren't important today. He didn't have to care anymore. About anything. He hadn't combed his hair, he didn't brush his teeth, he'd forgone all exfoliation and moisturization rituals; Heck, he was even still wearing the same dark-colored sweats and t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before. Why not? Afterall, it didn't really matter. Public image? That was shot. There was nothing left to save. It just didn't matter.

He wasn't sure why he'd come here. It wasn't something he'd planned. It just happened. When he'd woken up that morning all alone in the empty apartment he never thought twice; just slid on his Vans, grabbed his jacket from the bed post, and followed his feet out the door, not knowing or caring where he was going.

And so he found himself here; in someone else's shoes now, surrounded by the smell of burnt pizza and cheap nachos as he stood under the whistling commercial-grade air conditioner, listening to the perpetual sound of toppling pins. Lost to the world. For exactly how long a time-span,—that was just another thing James didn't know or care to think about.

He cleared off the totals in the automated scoring machine and hopped off the plastic bench to start another game while the overhead lights dimmed, transitioning into subtle black lights, which cast the entire alley in an eerie celestial glow.

A new group of patrons bustled in, taking over lanes, replacing the other bowlers who were steadily leaving. A few minutes later, a disco ball was dropped from the low ceiling, spinning out little flecks of white light. James stood at the ball return watching the tiny 'stars' dizzily as they swirled over the polished floor, dancing across every wall and surface in the wide, spacious bowling alley. People continued to file in as the music cranked louder, blaring from the boxy set of tall hanging speakers at both sides of the room, until the whole building was consumed with the throbbing, deafening roar.

When I grow up

I wanna be famous, I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies

When I grow up

I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have groupies

When I grow up

Be on TV, people know me, be on magazines…

James used to love that song. But this was one time the Pussycat Dolls could not make the pain go away. He cringed at the familiar lyric, leaning down, to retrieve his ball. He cupped the heavy weight in his hands and held it there, slowly turning the smooth surface around in his palms; lost in thought. Yep. He was famous enough now; the talk of entertainment TV, to say the least. His 'face' plastered the cover of every teen gossip magazine found in every grocery store in California and the mid-west. VMZ had it out for him. Just like he'd always wanted, right?

—He should have listened to the rest of the stupid song.

He wished for fame and look where it got him. That's what you get for being selfish, he supposed. But then again, it wasn't really self-centeredness that had made James crave fame. And, though contrary to popular belief, it wasn't so much vanity that fueled James' life-long obsession with his outward appearance. It was longing.

The simple yearning for nothing more than to be accepted, maybe even treasured, by his parents. To elicit, just once, some small spark of pride in the eyes of his consistently distracted mom and dad. To feel loved for who he was right then; not a future hockey star or president of a successful cosmetics company. He wanted to be admired; needed it. Superstardom seemed to be the only way to get that buzz, that affection, that attention he lacked.

Finally he had it in his grasp. And it wasn't so sweet.

Carlos sat in the floor, legs tucked under him at 2J. He breathed out noisily, spinning his helmet on the floor in front of him, as he had been for the past 45 minutes.

Happy thoughts about kittens weren't working.

It wasn't like James to just take off without telling somebody; at least not for this long. Even then, why wasn't he answering his phone? If he couldn't talk, why didn't he just send out a quick text to let them know he was alright? What if he never saw James again? He felt guilty thinking about it.

Earlier that morning when he and the guys had taken off to the park without James, Carlos realized he'd forgotten his helmet in their room and ran back to get it. He wished he'd waken James then. But he hadn't. James seemed to be sleeping so well, Carlos didn't have the heart to disturb him, so he had grabbed the helmet and slipped out quietly, hurrying back to the other guys. If he'd only dragged James out of bed then, they'd all still be together. Maybe James would have been feeling better by now. They could have ridden skateboards and chugged pink smoothies or given themselves killer brain-freeze in a slushie guzzling race. They could have been happy, and James would never have to feel sad again…not like he was the night before.

His mind went back, recalling everything that had happened; how he'd waited, lying in bed and listening for James to finally come to their room. A few tears sprang to Carlos' eyes then, remembering the way his best buddy had literally cried himself to sleep that night.

"Oh, Carlos, please don't," Logan pleaded, knowing he wouldn't be able to last once someone else started the crying chain. He was beyond worried. No one could give him a satisfactory answer.

Building security had been alerted, but the LA police didn't seem to feel the need to get overly involved with the matter at the moment. Logan had reminded them that it wasn't necessary to wait 24 hours to report a missing person when that person was a minor; to which they kindly told him, his friend was 'nothing more than another moody little teenager who'd come home when he'd had a chance to cool off'.

All three of the boys and Katie were now sitting around the living room, anxiously watching the ticking of the clock. Mrs. Knight had spent the entire evening knocking on doors and calling apartment to apartment, asking the other parents if they knew anything. Thirty minutes ago she had gone into her room, phone in hand. She paced behind the closed door now, talking in a low voice to Brooke Diamond.

"If he's not back in ten minutes, I'm going to organize my own search party." Katie replied, failing to sound angry as she flung herself at her big brother, curling into his warm chest. Kendall swept the russet strands away from her face, scooping her silky soft hair into his hands before letting it fall down her back. He tucked a baby fine lock behind her ear, giving her a gentle squeeze; then looked around the room and sighed, taking in the circle of sullen faces.

"C'mon, guys. We've done all we can for now." He began, struggling to convince himself, "Look, don't worry. Let's try not to think too much, let's do something else; like watch a movie." Kendall suggested, turning to Carlos, "Hey, you have that new DVD you've been wanting to watch, let's do it now,"

"Really?" Carlos asked, perking up.

"Yeah," Kendall replied, smiling enthusiastically. "I'll put it in…now where is it at? Logan, do you see it over there?"

"Oh, no, it's not in here," Carlos answered, "it's in the bathroom,"

"Oh…" Kendall nodded, then stared at Carlos weirdly, "Wait—why would it be…?" He shook his head, then put up his hand, "Never mind, I don't wanna know." He chuckled at Logan's disturbed face, and dashed off to retrieve Carlos' video.

Kendall's eyes scanned over the small bathroom, quickly spying Carlos' "What The Puck?: 101 Hilarious Hockey Blunders" DVD teetering against the edge of the bathtub. He grabbed it, spinning back around and caught his foot on the trashcan, kicking it over by accident. The contents clattered out, spilling across the floor with a high, tinny clamor.

Kendall immediately bent down to pick it up, brows furrowed at the strange litter. "Guys?" He called.

Carlos appeared in the doorway, eyes popping at the sight as Kendall tried to catch the items rolling across the floor. "Ohhhhhhh…" He scolded, giving Kendall an accusing jibe, "Mama Knight's gonna be mad; you made a mess with the trash…hey, who threw out all James' stuff?"

"That's what I was wondering," Kendall mused, stretching across the floor as he raked the assortment of cans towards himself into a heap.

Logan stepped around Carlos, dropping an armful of cans that had made it out the door into the pile. He picked a couple back up, shaking the black cans quizzically. "Most of these are still full…" He turned them over in his hands, puzzling. Carlos took them from him, and began to busily replace the salvageable cans around the sink in a perfectly straight line, making sure all the labels pointed outward in the same direction.

Kendall set the plastic wastebasket upright, reaching inside to straighten the liner. His fingers brushed across a small object tangled in the bottom of the bag; something that made his blood run cold.

He shot to his feet, bumping into Carlos and Logan as he leapt out of the bathroom. The two froze what they were doing, turning immediately to Kendall who paced outside the door way, hand knotted in his mop of hair.

"W-what?..." Logan asked shakily, wary of the anxious look in the leader's eyes. His gaze shifted downward to something clenched in the boy's other fingers.

"Emergency family meeting…now."

"What's going on?" Mrs. Knight questioned coming into the room, scooping up Katie as they were signaled by Logan to sit down. Carlos stepped around Kendall, backing towards the couch with the others, eyes terrified. They sank into the cushions, and all stared back at Kendall standing nervously in the kitchen, their faces full of worried anticipation.

Kendall swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as cotton, as he walked over and stood before his questioning family. He squeezed the thin, flat object once more tightly, plastic teeth leaving little indentations speckled across his palm and fingertips. He cleared his throat then, looking up; into Katie, Carlos, Logan, and his mother's concerned eyes.

Arm extended, he slowly opened his hand, each finger uncurling; at last revealing in his dappled palm the unmistakable, sleek, black comb.

"…guys, we have a serious problem…"

Before you bustle off again to shake a leg at the rockin' new BTR album…review?

^-^ Please and thank you, groove cats! Only a few more chapter to go...