Chapter 2

Richie was staring at his friend. A friend he knew twenty one years ago. He was staring but his brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing. It kicked back every iota of information Richie was trying to send to it. No, you stupid fuck, that is not Jon. Where is your logic, your common sense?

"I'm going to ask you again, who the hell are you? And what are you doing in Jon's house?"

He stepped back trying to put some distance between them, and as he did, his foot slipped on the spilled soda nearly sending him crashing to the floor. He caught the edge of the counter just in time to prevent a fall. "Shit! Look what you did! Now get out before they come back." He looked around for something to wipe up the mess but couldn't find anything.

The kid walked over to the other side of the counter and opened a drawer. Pulling out a towel, he handed it to Richie.

Richie's head snapped up, "how did you know where to find the towels?"

"I.....I don't know.....it just seemed like the logical place.....where I would put kitchen towels, I mean." Jon felt a dizzying pain rip through his head just then and staggered to the table, sitting in one of the chairs. He put his head down, and moaning, waited for the pain to recede.

"You didn't answer my question. Who are you? And don't give me that bull about you being Jon Bon Jovi. I wasn't born yesterday, you know." Richie circled around to the other side of the table and sat down. He had gotten two more cans of Coke from the fridge and offered one to the kid.

Jon looked up and winced from the pain. "Coca Cola Vanilla?" He frowned at the can. "What the hell is this?" He opened it and took a sip and grimaced.

Richie shrugged. "The kids like it. I rather have the original stuff but you get used to it."

"Hey," Richie continued, "are you in one of those tribute bands? Cause if you are, man you've got it in the bag. You look just like Jon. Or at least how he used to look twenty years ago."

"Twenty years?!" Jon's face had an anguished look. "What do you mean? How could I have missed twenty years?"

This could not be happening. He had watched episodes of The Twilight Zone, but had never thought any of the stories were true. He was not that naive. Then another thought occurred to him. How do I know that this is really Richie? It could be any old dude who looks like him and thought it would be cool to get the same tattoos and stuff. Maybe this guy's having a mid life crisis or something. Or missing a few screws.

"I have a better question," Jon jumped up from where he was sitting, "who the hell are you? Some comedian making his living portraying Richie Sambora as an old fart?"

"Old fart? Old fart?!" Richie sputtered, "listen to me, asshole. I am a part of that band just as much as you are and....."

This was ridiculous. He was beginning to believe that this was Jon. This kid had Jon down pat - from his voice to his speech patterns, hell, right down to his mannerisms. Richie almost wished he hadn't gone cold turkey because being drunk would certainly be a better explanation. At least to himself.

"Look, I'm not going to sit around arguing with you. Just get your stuff and go before they come back."

"I don't know where to go," the kid said softly, "I don't even know where I am."

"You're trespassing in Jon Bon Jovi's house."

"This is my house?" he was surprised.

"Not your house, you little prick. What the hell is wrong with you?" Richie suddenly realized that there could be a number of things wrong with this kid. He tried to remember if he'd read any news of mental institution escapees but could not recall any. Better to be careful, though. Squirrels are known to miss an occasional nut now and then.

He tried a softer approach, "Look, I'll call and pay for a cab to take you wherever you need to go, okay?"

"I don't know where to go," the kid said again, raking his hands through his wild blond mane.

Richie took pity on him. "Well, how did you get here in the first place?"

"I don't know. Last night we went out to celebrate our album going platinum. We were all pretty boozed. That fucker Alec puked and passed out right on the dance floor and we all just danced around him. One of the strippers came and laid down right on top of him." he snickered at the recollection. "We all kept saying that he finally gets the chance to get laid and he's not even conscious."

We were the only ones there. No one else could have known this...

"The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the bedroom upstairs and bumping into stuff." The boy was shaking his head, looking like he would cry any minute. "I used to tell Rich that one day we're gonna be rich and famous. And that I'm gonna buy a mansion and fill it with antiques." He smirked at Richie, "you know what that fucker, Rich, said to me? He said I wouldn't know an antique from bean bags chairs and........"

Richie's eyes grew bigger.

Then, the kid had an idea. "I need to call my mom. Can I use the phone?"

"Don't you have your own phone?" Richie asked as he dug into his pocket for his cell.

When the boy gave him a quizzical look, he sighed and slid his phone across the table.

Jon picked up the small rectangular object and turned it over and over in his hands. "What is this?" He jumped a little when his finger found a switch and the lid flipped open.

Richie was incredulous. "Give me that! What's your mom's number?"

The kid started to rattle off the phone number. The Sayreville home number of Carol Bongiovi.

He did not get a chance to finish for when he looked up, he saw Richie sitting there with a totally stunned look on his face.



"Jon?"

*****