Disclaimer
I do not own any of the terms or characters featured that are taken from The Dark Tower series of novels. They belong to Stephen King and are his sole property. I just borrow them.
Similarly, I don't own Justin Timberlake. I assume he belongs to himself, though who can tell...?
However, I do own the premise of this story and I did write all of it. All on me ownsome. So please don't steal it. The events are copyrighted.
I also own the characters of Inessa Ralichev, Malcolm 'Ike' Isaac, Rob, and Mosaya 'Moss' Agyei. Please don't steal them. I'm rather fond of them.
Author's Note
This piece of fiction comes under the category of NSync Fanfiction because it stars Justin Timberlake.
It could also be classed as Stephen King Fanfiction because it is very much based on the events and terms used in his Dark Tower series.
You do not need to have read any Stephen King book or any of the Dark Tower series to read and understand this fanfiction. Please don't think that and be put off. It doesn't involve any of the characters in those stories and those featured (other than Justin and other members of NSync) are entirely of my own creation (Inessa, Ike, Moss and Rob). However, there is mention of Ted Brautigan. This is a character from Stephen King's book Hearts in Atlantis (you may have read this book or seen the film. If not, it really doesn't matter.) I don't own this character, he is the property of Stephen King.
Beyond that I can only say that I hope you enjoy this piece of fiction as much as I have enjoyed writing it (and continue to enjoy it, as I write the final chapters.) It is the most ambitious thing I have ever taken on and would not exist were it not for Tammy, Rae and Ant.
If you would like host this fiction email me and let me know where you're putting it.
Finally, feel free to feedback me, flame me, put arsenic in my coffee... I hear it's good for the circulation. I shall digress no more.
one
"What can I get you?"
"Coffee, black with one," the young guy said, sitting at the counter and chewing on a Big Mac straight from the wrapper. Through a mouthful of meat and bread, he asked, "It's okay if I eat this in here, right? McDonald's coffee takes like mud."
"That's 'cause it's freshly ground," the chef, Mickey, yelled from his spot behind the counter, where he was reading his newspaper. The racing pages, I didn't doubt. The guy and I both groaned at his awful joke, and he waved his arm. "Ah, get away. You guys don't appreciate true comedic talent."
"Sure we do, Mickey. You know someone who has it?" I joked. He gave me the finger as I gave the guy his coffee and looked out, first at the deserted cafe and then at the dismal weather outside. "This place is a dive. When do you think Rosa's gonna close us down?"
Michael shrugged. "Who cares? Don't hasten my journey to the Job Centre, guy. I got enough problems as is."
I leaned against the counter, wiping my hands on a dishcloth. "Maybe they won't close it. Maybe it'll just get a revamp or somethin'."
"Sure, great. So they can kick me out on the street and find some frog to come and charge people twice as much moolah for half as much food," Mickey grumbled. "You'll get away with it. Stick you in a penguin suit and give you some voice coachin', grow that hair back and you'd come good. Say, fella, whaddaya reckon? Justin here make a good waiter?"
The guy, who had been following our conversation boredly, looked at me with renewed interest. "I don't know. I never heard of any waiters called Jonny."
I scowled and Mickey laughed before hacking into a grimy handkerchief. "It's not Jonny. It's Justin. And I don't want to be a waiter, anyway."
"Can't be picky in this city, Justin," the guy observed.
"Darn straight," Mickey agreed enthusiastically. "It ain't no good turnin' down somethin' just 'cause you think you're above it. Let me tell you, once you reach the bottom of the barrel there ain't nothing beneath you. I was talkin' with this guy the other week and..."
Mickey's voice seemed very far away as I began to see red stars and millions of tiny painful explosions began to go off inside my head. Not again. This was the third headache this week, the eighth this month. I was gonna have to see a doctor, sooner rather than later. I just didn't want a scan to say brain tumor. Staggering, I grabbed onto the counter and lowered myself onto the cashier's stool, waiting for the pain to subside. It seemed like an hour before the excruciating weight of it lifted and finally passed. I caught Mickey looking at me critically and realised the other guy had gone.
"You gonna go to a doctor about them, guy?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I guess."
"Sooner rather than later," he suggested. "That guy left a card for ya." He moved his hand in a motion that suggested he was going to snap his fingers. Instead, a small square of card appeared between his fingers. I took it from him and scanned it wearily. "I told 'im about the headaches. Said he had that same problem a few years ago, but this guy cleared him up. Reckons he's a genius. How's that for a coincidence?"
"Must be my lucky day," I said weakly, reading the card.
"Must be. Think it's kosher? I heard about a guy like that. Think it might have been that same one. My wife was watching it on Montel around Christmas. You should give him a call, Justin. You wouldn't want it to hang around if it's somethin' bad."
"Yeah." As I looked at the card, a feeling of something being off-kilter struck me, and I shoved it in my jeans pocket, wanting to cut off the contact with it. Stupid idiot. It's just a piece of paper. "I'll do it when I get home."
"Justin, you don't have a phone at home. You take me for an idiot? How many times have I heard you complainin' about that girl of yours not bein' able to come by and get you afta work 'cause you don't have no way of reachin' her? Huh?"
I grinned. "Yeah, okay, Mick. Come out and call me a pauper, won't you? Next thing you know, when you go to get your paper in the morning you'll pass me and the dog sitting in a box on the sidewalk."
He grinned back, but it was obvious he wasn't impressed by my attempts to change the subject. "Call it, Justin. I don't wanna hear about some kid dyin' of a brain tumor or somethin' because he didn't want to use his boss's phone. Call him."
I looked at him.
Sighed.
Picked up the phone.
I do not own any of the terms or characters featured that are taken from The Dark Tower series of novels. They belong to Stephen King and are his sole property. I just borrow them.
Similarly, I don't own Justin Timberlake. I assume he belongs to himself, though who can tell...?
However, I do own the premise of this story and I did write all of it. All on me ownsome. So please don't steal it. The events are copyrighted.
I also own the characters of Inessa Ralichev, Malcolm 'Ike' Isaac, Rob, and Mosaya 'Moss' Agyei. Please don't steal them. I'm rather fond of them.
Author's Note
This piece of fiction comes under the category of NSync Fanfiction because it stars Justin Timberlake.
It could also be classed as Stephen King Fanfiction because it is very much based on the events and terms used in his Dark Tower series.
You do not need to have read any Stephen King book or any of the Dark Tower series to read and understand this fanfiction. Please don't think that and be put off. It doesn't involve any of the characters in those stories and those featured (other than Justin and other members of NSync) are entirely of my own creation (Inessa, Ike, Moss and Rob). However, there is mention of Ted Brautigan. This is a character from Stephen King's book Hearts in Atlantis (you may have read this book or seen the film. If not, it really doesn't matter.) I don't own this character, he is the property of Stephen King.
Beyond that I can only say that I hope you enjoy this piece of fiction as much as I have enjoyed writing it (and continue to enjoy it, as I write the final chapters.) It is the most ambitious thing I have ever taken on and would not exist were it not for Tammy, Rae and Ant.
If you would like host this fiction email me and let me know where you're putting it.
Finally, feel free to feedback me, flame me, put arsenic in my coffee... I hear it's good for the circulation. I shall digress no more.
one
"What can I get you?"
"Coffee, black with one," the young guy said, sitting at the counter and chewing on a Big Mac straight from the wrapper. Through a mouthful of meat and bread, he asked, "It's okay if I eat this in here, right? McDonald's coffee takes like mud."
"That's 'cause it's freshly ground," the chef, Mickey, yelled from his spot behind the counter, where he was reading his newspaper. The racing pages, I didn't doubt. The guy and I both groaned at his awful joke, and he waved his arm. "Ah, get away. You guys don't appreciate true comedic talent."
"Sure we do, Mickey. You know someone who has it?" I joked. He gave me the finger as I gave the guy his coffee and looked out, first at the deserted cafe and then at the dismal weather outside. "This place is a dive. When do you think Rosa's gonna close us down?"
Michael shrugged. "Who cares? Don't hasten my journey to the Job Centre, guy. I got enough problems as is."
I leaned against the counter, wiping my hands on a dishcloth. "Maybe they won't close it. Maybe it'll just get a revamp or somethin'."
"Sure, great. So they can kick me out on the street and find some frog to come and charge people twice as much moolah for half as much food," Mickey grumbled. "You'll get away with it. Stick you in a penguin suit and give you some voice coachin', grow that hair back and you'd come good. Say, fella, whaddaya reckon? Justin here make a good waiter?"
The guy, who had been following our conversation boredly, looked at me with renewed interest. "I don't know. I never heard of any waiters called Jonny."
I scowled and Mickey laughed before hacking into a grimy handkerchief. "It's not Jonny. It's Justin. And I don't want to be a waiter, anyway."
"Can't be picky in this city, Justin," the guy observed.
"Darn straight," Mickey agreed enthusiastically. "It ain't no good turnin' down somethin' just 'cause you think you're above it. Let me tell you, once you reach the bottom of the barrel there ain't nothing beneath you. I was talkin' with this guy the other week and..."
Mickey's voice seemed very far away as I began to see red stars and millions of tiny painful explosions began to go off inside my head. Not again. This was the third headache this week, the eighth this month. I was gonna have to see a doctor, sooner rather than later. I just didn't want a scan to say brain tumor. Staggering, I grabbed onto the counter and lowered myself onto the cashier's stool, waiting for the pain to subside. It seemed like an hour before the excruciating weight of it lifted and finally passed. I caught Mickey looking at me critically and realised the other guy had gone.
"You gonna go to a doctor about them, guy?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I guess."
"Sooner rather than later," he suggested. "That guy left a card for ya." He moved his hand in a motion that suggested he was going to snap his fingers. Instead, a small square of card appeared between his fingers. I took it from him and scanned it wearily. "I told 'im about the headaches. Said he had that same problem a few years ago, but this guy cleared him up. Reckons he's a genius. How's that for a coincidence?"
"Must be my lucky day," I said weakly, reading the card.
"Must be. Think it's kosher? I heard about a guy like that. Think it might have been that same one. My wife was watching it on Montel around Christmas. You should give him a call, Justin. You wouldn't want it to hang around if it's somethin' bad."
"Yeah." As I looked at the card, a feeling of something being off-kilter struck me, and I shoved it in my jeans pocket, wanting to cut off the contact with it. Stupid idiot. It's just a piece of paper. "I'll do it when I get home."
"Justin, you don't have a phone at home. You take me for an idiot? How many times have I heard you complainin' about that girl of yours not bein' able to come by and get you afta work 'cause you don't have no way of reachin' her? Huh?"
I grinned. "Yeah, okay, Mick. Come out and call me a pauper, won't you? Next thing you know, when you go to get your paper in the morning you'll pass me and the dog sitting in a box on the sidewalk."
He grinned back, but it was obvious he wasn't impressed by my attempts to change the subject. "Call it, Justin. I don't wanna hear about some kid dyin' of a brain tumor or somethin' because he didn't want to use his boss's phone. Call him."
I looked at him.
Sighed.
Picked up the phone.