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Chapter 1 - Lost and Found.

All the lights look far too bright and the world is spinning around. I wish it would stop. I’m so dizzy.

The noises are too loud. I can hear all the people around me laughing and talking but it feels like they’re screaming the words. Whatever they’re saying makes no sense. The soundtrack is off and doesn’t match their mouths. I shuffle on by them all, ignoring the *waaa waaa waaaa* of their greetings or warnings. I even ignore the deafening cacophany of the car horn honking at me when I fall off the curb and stumble into the middle of the street. Even in the depths of my scrambled brain I know I need to get to the Liberty Diner and I can’t let any of this other stuff distract me.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I see the flashing rainbow neon of the sign over the door of my familiar haunt. I feel like crying. I made it. I made it.

For some reason the little bell that goes off when I push open the front door reminds me of the bells the altar boys would ring in church on Sundays back when I was a child. It’s a sound of redemption. Maybe I’m saved.

If I thought the lights outside were too bright, though, the lights in here are literally blinding. I blink and try to adjust but it’s hopeless. The glare is too much. I can barely see to make my way over to the booth, bumping into one or two other customers who run up in my path on the journey, stubbing the toe of my bare foot against a chair leg in the process. But then I’ve made it and I can slump down onto the bench seat and I know I’ll be okay. This place is safe. It’s familiar. Nobody’s ever hurt me here.

“Brian? Well, it’s about time you turned up. That must be some bender you were on. Nobody’s seen you all week and Michael was starting to get frantic,” a familiar voice greets me.

I try to focus on the face that goes with the words but it’s difficult. Everything around me looks like I’m seeing it through one of those toy kaleidoscopes that kids play with; the ones that have the mirrors inside which double or triple the images and the little pieces of colored glass which tint everything the wrong colors. I can currently see three of the faces talking at me from across the table and they are slowly rotating counterclockwise, tinged purple, yellow and pink in turns. When the faces grin at me, I finally recognize that gap-toothed smile and the name ‘Emmett’ pops into my mind.

“You okay, Brian?” the faces ask as the smile slips away into a Dali-esque caricature of a frown.

I have to think about that for a while. Am I okay? It doesn’t feel like it. I lift my hands up so that they are resting on the table top and I can see that they are dirty. I rub at the back of my left hand with the fingers of the right. The dried black gunk crumbles off into a blackish-reddish powder. That’s not right. That’s not good at all.

“No . . . No, I’m not . . . not all . . . not alright. No. I’m . . . I’m . . .” I can’t seem to make the words work right. I can feel my heart racing and I can’t seem to get enough air. “Not . . . not alright . . .”

“Brian, Honey, what is it? What’s wrong?” the Emmett faces have multiplied and now there aren’t just three of them, but more like six, and they are hovering over me and I can’t breathe.

“Not okay . . . Not okay . . .”

“Are you hurt? Is that . . . Is that blood?” the Emmett faces ask, sounding a little alarmed.

“I . . . I . . . T-t-the boy . . . The blond . . . blond boy . . . H-h-he’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying . . .”

Someone is yelling now and the sound hurts my ears even more than all the other loud noises were before. Then I realize that it’s me making these noises. I’m screaming. Hmmm. That’s strange. I didn’t think it was possible to scream like that when I feel like I can’t actually breathe.

Luckily the screaming seems to stop about the same time as the bright lights dim to a hazy blackness and then I don’t remember anything more.

**********

*Knock, knock, knock*

More with the too loud noises. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I just want to sleep and never wake up. Hopefully, if I just lay here and don’t open my eyes, all the noises will go away.

“You Doctor Byington?” a gruff, gravelly voice asks, none-too-quietly.

“That’s me,” answers another voice, this one female and less grating.

“Detective Carl Horvath, Pittsburgh PD,” Gravelly Guy introduces himself. “This the suspect you called us about?”

“Yeah. Walked into a local restaurant covered in blood and then passed out. We called you guys as soon as we made sure he was stable, but he’s still not in great shape,” Doctor Voice replies.

“So what’s wrong with him?” Gravelly Guy asks.

“Well, the tox screen isn’t back yet, but if I had to guess I’d say it’s either Rohypnol or Ketamine.”

“He was roofied? That’s interesting. Doesn’t make much sense though if he’s the perp we’re looking for. Why would he roofie himself?”

“I’m not sure what happened to this guy, but if you ask me, I’d say he’s a victim not a ‘perp’,” Doctor Voice argues. “He’s pretty beat up. Extensive bruising and abrasions, especially around his wrists, ankles and thighs. And except for the scratches on his face, they all look like defensive wounds. There are also some nasty marks on his back consistent with someone being whipped or lashed.”

There’s a long pause in the conversation at this point. I’m still playing possum, laying here with my eyes closed and pretending I’m asleep while I try to follow along. Judging by the Doctor Voice’s diagnosis, I’m not sure I want to wake up at all. No wonder I hurt all over.

“What about the blood? You said he was covered with it?”

“It’s not his. But whoever was bleeding, lost a lot of it. The legs of this guy’s jeans were drenched with it. And whatever happened, it didn’t happen that long ago - some of the patches on his clothing were still damp when we cut them off.”

“Yeah, well, without a body, that doesn’t give me much to go on. When I heard he was found on Liberty Avenue, I thought this might be related to the Dumpster Boys case, but this guy doesn’t match the type at all. All those victims were young, blond and kinda soft. This one’s way too old and, physically, he’s the exact opposite of the Jane Does we’ve found. Probably not related,” Gravelly Guy explains, sounding almost disappointed that I hadn’t turned up dead in a dumpster.

“Well, there’s one similarity, if what I’ve read in the newspapers about those other cases is right  . . .” Doctor Voice says in a hushed tone. “Because of the other injuries we found, we did a rape kit and it was positive . . .”

I stop listening as Doctor Voice continues with a rather detailed explanation of what she found. I don’t want to hear this. I’m not ready to deal with that part. I want to go back to sleep. The darkness behind my eyes seems like a safer place to be. I’m almost successful in blocking out the voices again, until I hear Gravelly Guy talking again,

“Damn. Poor guy,” Gravelly Guy responded briefly. “But it doesn’t sound like this is related to my homicide case. I’ll pass it on to someone in the Special Victims Unit to follow up on the assault and get this guy’s statement when he wakes up. In the meantime, make sure you bag up all the clothing and send that, along with your report, to the crime lab. And, if you come across any young blond boys in a similar shape, make sure you give me a call.”

Young blond boys . . .

*****Flash*****

A smiling face. Pretty, plush, cotton-candy pink lips. Hair so blond it’s almost white. I’m running my hand through that blond floss, enjoying the feel of the thick but soft strands against my skin. He smiles at me even more brightly and I lean in to taste those tempting lips . . .

*****Flash*****

The startling image flashes through my brain so fast it’s disconcerting.

It’s a good thing Gravelly Guy and Doctor Voice have already left my room or they’d have realized that I’m no longer asleep. I can’t just lay here any longer. I sit up, blinking around myself at the sterile hospital room, but I can’t get that smiling, young, blond face out of my mind. The Gravelly Guy’s words are echoing in my head . . . ‘young blond boys in the same shape’.

Young blond boys . . .

“I don’t care what the hell your hospital policy says. I’ve been waiting almost three hours and nobody will tell me anything about how my friend is doing. Now, either you get out of my way, or prepare to have your ass handed to you by a flaming fairy queen!” More loud words erupt into my room along with the person who is spewing them. “Brian! There you are. Finally. These idiots wouldn’t let me in to see you for the longest time. Are you okay?”

“Honeycutt,” I hear my own voice answering; it sounds scratchy and unfamiliar. I cough to try and clear my throat. “Where are the other Musketeers? If you’d had Debbie or Michael with you, I’m sure they would have managed to get to me a lot sooner.”

“Don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’,” Emmett replies automatically. “But you’re SO right. If Deb had been here, she’d probably have the entire hospital staff organized and running to do her bidding by now. Unfortunately, it’s the annual Novotny Family vacation in the Poconos this week. They won’t be back for a few more days. And Teddy’s off at a Porn Industry convention - which is crazy, isn’t it? Who knew porn producers had conventions? What do they do, go to lectures on increasing ejaculation rates and exploring how many ways you can stage a three-way? But, whatever. You know Ted - he’s all about ‘making important industry connections’ and all. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with little old me as your primary hospital visitor for now,” Emmett gushes in his usual, scatterbrained way, only getting serious as he comes to the end of his spiel. “So, how ARE you doing, Honey? You scared the pee, wine and vinegar out of me when you passed out like that at the Diner. What happened?”

“I don’t know . . .” I answer, but then I’m forced by my friend’s question to finally think about it all and that’s even worse. “I can’t remember . . . anything.”

“Anything? But . . . You’ve been gone a whole week, Brian,” Emmett seems just as shocked by my lack of revelation as I am. “Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of you since we all parted ways last Friday night at Babylon. Michael and Ted figured you’d just gone on one of your usual benders and hadn’t come up for air yet. But if you’ve been missing for that long and can’t remember anything that happened to you . . .”

I don’t bother to answer his unasked question because there’s really not much I CAN say. Instead I look away, but then my eyes land on my hands, clasped together in my lap as I’m sitting there in the damn hospital bed, and I see the angry, raw, red marks on my wrists. I feel like I’m about to freak out again. None of this makes sense. None of this is okay. It’s not okay at all.

“Brian . . . When you lost it, back at the Diner, you were yelling something about a blond boy and you said ‘he’s dying’ over and over again. Do you remember that part? Who were you talking about then?”

*****Flash*****

It’s dark. I can barely see anything around me. It’s cold too. But I don’t care about that. All I care about is the body lying on the hard cement in front of where I’m kneeling. The young man I see there isn’t moving. He isn’t smiling anymore either. He’s too busy bleeding from the gash on the side of his head. There’s so much blood. It’s everywhere. There is a puddle of it on the ground next to his head. I’m holding something - a wadded up shirt - against the wound, trying to stop the blood. It doesn’t seem to be helping.

He’s dying and I can’t do anything to stop it.

*****Flash*****

The image is gone in another blinding white flash as the memory is replaced with reality. The sense of panic I am feeling doesn’t pass, though. I look down at my hands again and I’m almost surprised that I don’t see any blood there.

“Oh, fuck! He’s still got him. He’s still there and he’s going to die,” I hear myself saying even though I don’t consciously understand the words.

“Who? Who’s going to die, Brian?” Emmett is asking me, his voice having dropped to a shaky whisper.

“I . . . I don’t know. Fuck! I don’t know! I can’t remember.”

“Okay. It’s okay, Bri. Just calm down a little and think. You must remember something. Who is it that’s hurt?” Em prods me.

“The blond boy. The blond boy . . . He was . . . He was bleeding . . . his head,” I try to explain, even as the feelings of panic start to crest again.

“That’s a start. Do you know this blond boy’s name?” I shake my head ‘no’. “Well, how about where this happened? Do you remember where you were when you saw the boy who was hurt?” I shake my head again, more and more frustrated with each of Em’s questions. “How about the guy you think is keeping this boy captive?”

“No! No, I don’t fucking know . . . I can’t remember, but . . . I just know I have to find him. Now. There’s no time.”

I’m already halfway out of bed before I realize the only clothing I’m wearing is one of those shapeless, backless, hospital gowns. I look around frantically, trying to figure out where they’ve hidden my clothing, but of course I don’t see anything. And since we’re in an ER cubicle, there’s not even any cupboards or a closet where they could’ve stashed them out of sight.

“Oh, fuck it! I don’t have time for this. I have to go,” I mumble as I start to pull the wires and needles out of my arm haphazardly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Brian. What are you doing? You can’t just pull that stuff out. Can you?” Emmett is up off the guest chair, trying to restrain my hands, but that just makes me feel even more panicky and I flinch away from him, retreating towards the back corner of the cubicle area.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t. Don’t . . .”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Brian,” Emmett tries to placate me, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backing off a couple steps. “I won’t touch you, but you have to calm down, okay? Just tell me where it is you want to go.”

That’s actually a really good, rational question. And it stops me in my tracks. Where exactly was I going to go? I slump all the way down, onto my ass, sitting in the corner where I’ve been cowering. This is all hopeless. What the fuck am I doing?

“I don’t know, Em. I don’t know. I just know I have to find him before it’s too late,” I moan, feeling like I’m about to break into tears, something I haven’t done since I was about eight. Fucking out of control emotions. Maybe it’s the drugs they pumped me full of? Yeah, let’s blame it on that.

“Well, then, we’ll find him for you, Bri,” Emmett declares with a conviction that somehow bolsters me even though I suspect it’s at least partly an act.

And that’s all it takes to effectuate my escape. Once Emmett is on board for the adventure, he sort of takes control and I gratefully let him. Em slips out of the ER cubicle and comes back five minutes later with a pair of lilac scrubs which I put on, not even bitching about the color. Then we wait till the corridor is clear and just walk straight out of there.

“Luckily for you, Teddy is letting me drive his car while he’s out of town,” Em explains as he guides me towards the multi-level parking structure.

I’m padding along behind him, barefoot, concentrating only on filling my lungs with the cool, fresh, night air, which seems to help settle my still roiling stomach and alleviate the still pounding headache. I feel much better after just getting free of the hospital walls. It feels like I can almost breathe regularly out here.

It’s not till we locate Ted’s nondescript, grey BMW sedan, and are sitting inside the vehicle, that I start to feel anxious again.

“So, where to, Boss?” Emmett asks and I just sit there blankly.

“No clue,” I answer, starting to feel hopeless again.

“Well, let’s think this through . . .” Emmett looks at me searchingly as if he can figure out what’s in my head even though I myself can’t see it. “You don’t remember anything at all for the past week?” I shake my head. “Then, all we can do is start from the beginning and try to work through it step-by-step. Maybe, if we walk you through it, you’ll start to remember more as we go.”

“From the beginning?”

“Yeah. The last place we know you were at, for a fact, was Babylon. So, we start there,” Em says as he starts the car.

Ten minutes later I’m still wondering when Emmett became the rational, logical one, when I notice him turning off the main route that would have taken us directly to the club.

“Why are you turning? We don’t have time for detours, Emmy Lou.”

“You can’t go to Babylon dressed like that,” Em states disdainfully. He must notice my exasperated look because he goes on to explain further, his nose crinkling up as he speaks. “Besides the fact that they won’t let you in without shoes, I’m afraid you really could use a shower, Bri.”   

“Shit. Fine. Whatever,” I mumble as we pull up to the curb in front of my loft. “Only one problem - no keys.” I hold up my empty hands to demonstrate the fact that I not only have no clothing but that all my other personal belongings were taken away as well.

“Let’s hope the Building Super doesn’t mind getting woken up at two am, then,” Em concludes.

It takes Jerry, the Super, more than five minutes to answer when we buzz his apartment. He spends the next five minutes griping at me for the inconvenience as he escorts us up to my top floor loft. But after he finally unlocks the door and I go in, I ignore him. It feels so good to be home. And even though there’s that faint stuffiness that betrays the fact that nobody’s been in here for a full week, it still feels safe. If I didn’t have this driving urge to find the blond boy, I’d probably just crawl into bed and stay here for another week, hiding from the world till it all went away.

But I didn’t have time for that. I don’t have time to be weak. Not if I am going to save that boy.

“I won’t be long,” I say, while I’m stripping off the scrubs. “While I’m showering, look through the top drawer of my desk. There should be an envelope in there with some emergency cash and a credit card. We may need that. Oh, and see if you can find my spare keys - they should be in the junk drawer in the kitchen.”

I don’t even wait for Emmett’s response though. I’m already halfway to the bathroom and kicking off the scrub pants. I’ll burn them later - after we’ve found the boy. I pull open the door to the shower and start the water running, then turn to the toilet to take a piss. When I’m done there, though, I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror and everything goes to shit in one fell swoop.

The Doctor Voice wasn’t wrong about how beat up I was. I’m pretty much covered with bruises all up and down my torso. Some of the bruises look older - they’ve started to fade to a sickly yellowish-green - but there are newer, purple-black ones too. There’s a large welt on my chest where the skin is broken open. There are red, inflamed scratches across my left cheek, one of which looks like it only recently stopped bleeding. When I raise my hand to lay it across the injured cheek, I notice the abrasions on my wrist again. The skin there looks like it’s been chewed up; it’s bruised and torn and looks even worse than it feels, which is pretty bad actually. I’m scared to look down at the rest of me but, perversely, I can’t stop myself. It’s as bad as the top half, maybe worse.

*****Flash*****

I try to lift my head up but it feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. The room is spinning around me and it’s almost impossible to focus on any one thing. I want to cover my eyes, thinking that maybe if I don't look the spinning will stop, but I can’t seem to get my hands free. I manage to direct my eyes upward and see my own hand suspended there, above me, held in place by a thick black leather cuff. I try futilely to pull my hand free but it’s useless. I’m trapped. I can’t escape. And the more I struggle, the louder the voices in the background laugh . . .

*****Flash*****

“Brian? Brian, Honey. Snap out of it, Brian. Please . . .” Emmett’s concerned voice finally pulls me out of the darkness in my mind where I’d become lost.

I look around myself and discover I’m sitting on the floor in the shower stall, huddled in the corner, with the water pelting down on me. I must have been here for a while, since the water is cold. I don’t remember how I got here.

“What . . . What happened?” I hear myself asking, and then feel like laughing because it’s actually pretty obvious what happened - I freaked out again.

“You were in here a really long time, Brian. I was getting a little worried, so I came in to check on you and . . .” Emmett reaches into the shower to turn off the water and then hands me a towel. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because it’s pretty clear you’re not. But, is there anything I can do to help?”

I scrunch my eyes closed and take a deep breath. I hate being this vulnerable in front of another person. I hate hearing the concern in Emmett’s voice. I can’t stand knowing how pathetic I must look. The only good thing is that it’s not Mikey standing there, hovering over me, looking sympathetic, because if it had been, I’d have probably lost it all over again. Every single thing about this fucked up experience is just so wrong. I wish I could make it stop.

“Maybe we should just stay here and let you get some rest, huh? It’s late and you don’t look like you're up for anything other than crawling into bed, Brian. Babylon will be closing soon anyway . . .”

“NO!” That gets me instantly motivated and I’m up on my feet and pushing past Emmett’s lanky form to get out of the bathroom. “We have to go. I’ve already wasted too much time. I’ll be fine. This can’t wait till tomorrow.”

“But, Brian, you’re NOT fine.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want. I’ll do this myself,” I insist as I pull on a clean pair of jeans and dig a t-shirt out of the drawer. “I just got distracted for a minute. I’ll be better if I can focus on something. Focus on getting to the boy . . .”

“Well, I’m not letting you go ANYWHERE by yourself in this condition,” Emmett declares, jogging to catch up with me before I can get out of the loft without him. “Besides, you’re going to need a driver since, even if you were up for driving, I didn’t see the Jeep parked downstairs when we came in.”

“Fuck,” I hadn’t thought about where my Jeep was yet. “I’ll worry about the damn Jeep later. Let’s go already.”

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