**********

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.”

**********

**********

Chapter 2 - Club Lights.

By the time we get to Babylon it’s less than a half hour till closing. I feel really unsettled as we pass through the front door. My stomach lurches uncomfortably and, for half a second, I feel like I’m going to puke. I tell myself that it’s just a reaction to all the drugs that are still not completely out of my system, but in the back of my mind, I know there’s probably more to it. I don’t let myself think about it though, I just concentrate on following Emmett’s back as he weaves his way through the guys standing around at the edges of the dance floor. There’s not that many people left in the club. Which, I suppose, is a good thing since we’re able to just walk right up to the bar and get the bartender’s immediate attention.

“Hey, Emmett! What can I get you?” Matt, the lead server for the club, asks as soon as he sees us.

“Sorry, Sweetie, but we’re not here for drinks tonight. Just information,” Em replies with his usual flirty smile before launching into the purpose of our visit. “You were working last Friday night too, right?”

Matt nods and adds, “Yep. I work pretty much every weekend. Why?”

“Well, Brian here is having a bit of a substance-induced memory problem and he can’t remember the name of the guy he left here with last week. It’s really important we find him. You wouldn’t, by any chance, remember seeing Brian that night, would you?”

“Yeah, I remember seeing Kinney around that night,” Matt smirks at me, not all that nicely either - he’s probably still pissed off at me for the time I threw him out after fucking him. “I also recall he was pretty soused, too. I had to cut him off.”

That wasn’t a good sign. I generally had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, so if I had been drunk or stoned enough to get cut off, it was no wonder that I didn’t remember leaving that night. It wasn’t going to help us find my missing blond boy, though.

“That doesn’t surprise me. He was already flying pretty high when Michael, Ted and I left around two,” Em explains, turning to confirm with me. “Michael wanted to wait around and make sure you got home okay, but we talked him out of it since you were already headed to the backroom with another trick and we were all hungry. I’m sorry we didn’t stick around and wait for you, Bri.”

I wave off the apology, trying not to think about what might have been. “Did you see who I was with that night?” I ask Matt, trying to refocus the discussion.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to point out who you WEREN’T with instead?” Matt snarks and I shoot him with my most withering glare. “Sorry, guys. I wasn’t really paying any attention. I work the bar, not the backroom.”

“Good point. Thanks, Matt,” Emmett agrees and then grabs my arm, towing me towards the back of the club with him.

“Fuck. Now what?” I grumble, feeling like this was an impossible task.

“Now we talk to Todd. I should have thought of him in the first place. He knows everything that happens in the backroom.”

“True,” I concede the point and follow Emmett into the humid fug that is the backroom of Babylon at the end of a long, busy, Friday night.

We find our quarry right away. Todd’s leaning against the wall just inside the entryway, his pants sagging down around his knees as a huge gym-bunny pounds into his ass with obvious enthusiasm. Todd is moaning and bucking his hips backwards, meeting every thrust, doing his usual power-bottom thing. It wouldn’t be Babylon without Todd haunting the backroom.

“Hey, Todd. How’s it going, Honey?” Emmett asks congenially, leaning against the wall next to the man and looking on as if he was enjoying the show - which he probably is, knowing Honeycutt.

“Fine,” is the laconic and expected response.

“No rush or anything, Sweetie, but when you’re done, I need to pick your brain about something,” Emmett interjects, a lot more politely than I would have.

“Sure thing. I’m . . . Almost . . . Done . . . Anyway . . .” Todd grunts out, then gives a resounding groan, arching upwards while he decorates the wall with several, rather impressive, streamers of jizz. “Ahhhhh! That was nice. Thanks, Spike. I really needed that.” The backroom’s favorite bottom gives his partner a kiss goodbye and then turns his attention back to Emmett. “What can I help you with, Em?”

“Well, to start with, you can give me ‘Spike’s’ phone number, Honey. I think that man and I might have a lot we could talk about . . .” Emmett looks at the retreating back of the big, muscle-bound top with evident lust.

“Not now, Emmett,” I growl, trying to bring my friend’s attention back to the immediate business.

“Oh, yeah, right.” Em looks at Todd again, this time with a determined air. “So, Brian’s trying to find a guy he was with last Friday night but he can’t remember the guy’s name. Did you see who Brian was with back here last week?”

“I’m not sure . . . From what I remember, it was just the usual parade of hotties. You were a busy boy that night, Kinney - it was a nice selection, though,” Todd smiles up at me admiringly.

“Well, that goes without saying,” I reply, my usual bravado surfacing for a moment.

“Anybody that stood out, though?” Emmett presses. “Maybe somebody near the end of the night? Somebody that Brian might have gone home with?”

“Hmm. Let me think,” Todd replies, leaning back against the cum-splattered wall without concern. “Yeah, now that you mention it. There was one guy. I remember him because he wasn’t your usual type; he stood out.”

“I don’t have a ‘type’,” I start to argue, only to be stopped by Em putting a hand on my arm.

“Sure you do,” Todd reasserts. “You usually prefer guys just like you - tall, nicely built, dark - which was why I noticed when you brought that young blond kid back here with you. I mean, you almost never go for blonds, let alone chicken. If you did, maybe I’d finally have a shot?”

“A blond?” That immediately gets my attention, enough so I’m able to ignore Todd’s insane comment about the two of us possibly hooking up.

“Yep. It was that new go-go boy - can’t remember his name . . . He’s a total cutie, great ass and really sweet too. It’s not really a surprise that you’d break out of your usual rut to give him a go. I’d even switch it up for a chance to get into that ass, although I hear he’s versatile . . .”

*****Flash*****

I’m dragging the blond off the dance floor by his shirt tail, heading for the back room, so horny that I’m practically running and the kid has to trot along behind me to keep up. It’s not fast enough for me, though, and I actually shove aside a guy that gets in our way. The guy I shove lands on his ass and curses at us. The blond giggles in response; a liquid tittering that goes straight to my already rock hard dick. And then we finally make it to the corridor that leads to my favorite place in the world - Babylon’s back room.

“So, are you a top or a bottom,” I ask the blond teasingly, because just looking at this kid the answer is pretty obvious . . . Or at least I think so before he answers.

“Top . . . And bottom,” the blond answers cheekily, smiling up at me with those lips that make me want to taste him again.

I make it to my usual spot along the rear wall and turn to look back at my companion. “Ah, so you're versatile then? Good to know. Not that it matters, though, since I’m one hundred percent top.” The blond kid smiles again - that damn, huge, brilliant smile that seems to almost blind you when it hits you dead on - and shrugs agreeably. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I think you were just about to get down on your knees and worship my cock. Right?”

“It’ll be my pleasure . . .” He fucking purrs the words, as if he really truly believes that sucking my cock is the only thing he’s living for.

“Trust me, it’ll be MY pleasure.”

He sinks gracefully to the floor and reaches up to unzip my jeans as I relax back against the wall behind me. A minute later he’s licking at my cock like it’s a drippy popsicle and I’m already in heaven. But when he finally wraps those plush lips around my rod and sucks me in as deep as he can take it, I have to struggle not to shoot right that second. He’s a fucking natural. His mouth is made to suck cock. He’s just that good.

I reach down and grab hold of a handful of the thick, silky blond hair, causing the boy to look up at me from under the dark blond of his lashes. How the fuck can he still manage to smile with his mouth full of my dick. I find myself thinking the word ‘beautiful’ - a description that I wouldn’t normally use for another man, but which seems to fit this kid in some inexplicable way - at the exact same moment the stimulation to my cock reaches that critical point. I can’t hold back even a second longer. I feel my dick pulsing in the warmth of his mouth as I shoot.

And it’s so good. I feel my knees getting weak as the bliss washes over me.

*****Flash*****

When the flash of memory passes, I’m almost surprised to look down and find the blond is no longer there. And, while I find myself still in the backroom, I’m standing next to Emmett and Todd, not my luscious blond with the talented lips. It makes me want to find him even more.

“A go-go boy? Really? I gotta agree with Todd - not your usual, Brian,” Emmett seems fascinated by that factoid. “This guy working tonight by any chance? I don't remember any new blond dancers.”

“Sorry. I haven’t seen him tonight. If I do see him, though, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him, Kinney,” Todd promises before standing up straighter and starting to look around him at the increasingly slim pickings in the backroom. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out who I’m going home with tonight. Talk to you later, gentlemen.”

“Later, Todd. And thanks,” Emmett waves a cheery goodbye to his buddy and we make our way back out to the main floor. “Okay, so we’re making progress at least. We know your blond was a go-go dancer here at the club. That’s a start, right?”

“Not much of one,” I answer. “All we know is that I was with some blond go-go boy. We don’t even have a name. How the fuck does that help me find where he is right now?”

“Patience, Brian. Patience,” Emmett advises, just pissing me off even more. He starts to walk towards the exit and, since I don’t know what else to do, I follow him. “So, from what Todd said, this blond was probably your last trick of the night. And, if you stayed true to form, you would have probably taken the kid home with you - that’s what you usually do with the last trick of the night, provided he can give a halfway decent blow job. Right? And I’m assuming the blond wasn’t lax in that department?”

“He wasn’t too bad,” I grudgingly agree.

“High praise indeed, coming from you,” Emmett concludes as we dodge around a gaggle of club boys waiting in line to pick up their jackets at the coat check. “But I don’t think you ever made it to the loft. When you didn’t show at the gym on Saturday, Michael told us he went by your place to make sure you were okay and said it didn’t look like you’d been there. Which makes sense since you’ve been missing in action all week. So our next step is to figure out where you went instead.”

“Great. And how do you suggest we do that, Detective Colombo?”

“We ask the doorman, of course,” Em asserts as he drags me towards the two security guys manning the front door as the crowd trickles out. “Hey, Ducky. Got a sec?” Em asks and the man nods, gesturing for us to wait for him a little ways away, then leans in to say something we can't hear to the second guard. “Ducky is kinda the patron saint of all Babylon twinks. He looks out for the younglings and makes sure they aren’t going off with strangers that are too sketchy. I’m sure that he would have noticed if a pretty little blond go-go boy was leaving with a known reprobate like Brian Kinney.”

“Ha, fucking, ha!” I gripe, but don’t have time to take Emmy Lou to task for his sniping as the gargantuan bouncer walks up to us.

“Emmett. What’s up? Problem?” the guy asks in a deep bass voice as he eyes me judgmentally.

“Not exactly. It’s just that Brian here is trying to hook up again with a guy he met last week, but we don’t know how to find him. We thought, maybe you could help?”

Ducky - the most incongruous name for a bouncer ever - looks at me again as if something Emmett said doesn’t compute. “I thought you didn’t do repeats, Kinney?”

“Normally, I don’t. But I need to find this one,” I answer.

“The problem is,” Emmett helpfully jumps into the conversation, “Brian doesn’t exactly remember what happened after he and the guy left here. We were hoping you might remember something? It was last Friday night and the guy we’re looking for is a sweet little blond . . .”

“Justin,” Ducky supplies the name we’ve been looking for without any further prompting.

*****Flash*****

“Sorry, but when I’m not on the clock, I don’t dance with anyone whose name I don’t know.”

The blond is standing there, in the middle of the dance floor, refusing to move until I introduce myself. For some reason, I find this intriguing. This kid’s got spunk.

“Brian Kinney, at your service.”

The blond holds out his hand in an almost formal way, offering to shake. “Nice to meet you, Brian. I’m Justin.”

I take his hand in mine and use the grip I have on him to pull the younger man’s body closer. “Care to dance, Justin?”

“I’d love to, Brian.”

*****Flash*****

“Justin . . .” Emmett looks to me for confirmation and I nod. “Yay! We finally have a name. Thanks, Ducky. Now, you didn’t, by any chance, happen to see Justin and Brian leaving together last week, did you?”

“I did. And I tried to warn him against it, but he obviously didn’t listen,” Ducky glares at me. “Sweet kid like that had no business messing around with the likes of you, Kinney. So, are you the reason he didn’t show up for work the next night and ended up getting fired?”

I don’t bother answering. The bouncer’s accusation confirms something I’d hoped wasn’t true. If Justin had shown up for work as expected the next day, then maybe all these flashes, these gruesome images, could be explained away as drug-induced delusions. Unfortunately, it seemed like I was out of luck; Justin appears to have gone missing the same night I did. Which makes it all the more likely that my nightmares aren't just in my own head.

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Emmett explains, using his patented southern charm to placate an irate Ducky in an effort to pump a little more information out of the man. “You see, Brian doesn’t exactly remember what happened that night. We’re hoping maybe you saw something or heard them discussing where they were going when they left?”

“You did seem pretty fucking wasted, Kinney. You were stumbling around and glomming all over the poor kid. I even offered to call you a cab but you turned me down, handing over your keys to the kid and telling him how this was the only time he’d get to be in the driver's seat when it came to you, so he better make the most of it. Justin only laughed and told me it was too bad he had someplace he had to be, otherwise he might’ve taken Kinney home and shown him how good of a ‘driver’ he really was. I got a kick out of that. But I remember Kinney here getting a little annoyed and complaining about the fact that he wanted Justin to go home with him.”

“That explains why you guys never made it back to the loft,” Emmett deduces, seemingly pleased that he’s uncovered yet another piece of my personal puzzle. “So, did Justin say where it was he was heading?”

Ducky doesn’t even have to think about it, he just nods. “Yep. He said he had already promised to dance at the boss’ after-party and would have to take a rain check on the visit to the Legendary Loft. Of course, when Kinney heard the word ‘party’ he was all over it and told the kid he’d go with him. Knowing how crazy some of Gary’s parties get, I figured it’d be right up Kinney’s alley, too - not that I’ve been myself, you know. That’s not really my scene.”

*****Flash*****

“You have no idea how tempting that sounds, Big Guy,” the blond says, batting his eyelashes at me like some femme fatale of old. “But I already told my boss that I’d come dance at this party he’s throwing tonight and I really need the money, so I can’t blow it off.”

“Your boss is paying you to go to a party? That’s the most desperate thing I think I’ve ever heard,” I comment, still trying to distract the boy with kisses in the hope that he’ll forget about this stupid party.

“Yeah, well, for $200 bucks I’m not going to judge. From what I hear, he almost always asks a few of the dancers to come to his parties. He says we’re there for ‘decoration’. Whatever. Since I’m sort of between stable living arrangements at the moment, and I’m trying to save up enough to get my own apartment, I’m not going to look a bonus like this in the teeth. So, I’ll just have to take a rain check on that visit to your legendary lair.”

I’m not giving up that easily, though. Not until I’ve had my way with that plump-looking ass. “How ‘bout this - I come with you to this party, you shake your booty for the boss-man for a few hours while I party crash, and then when you’re done, we resume where we’ve left off? That way we get the best of both worlds.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Come on, kid. I love a good party. Or a bad party. Or any party at all, actually,” I tease him, enjoying the return of that gorgeous smile again. “Besides, who wouldn’t want ME at their party, right?”

“I can already tell you’re going to be a REALLY bad influence . . .” I love that he’s bold enough to tease me back. “But, what the hell. You’re at least as decorative as me, so the boss can’t be too angry, right? Let’s do it.”

*****Flash*****

“That sounds like our Brian,” Em is remarking when I tune back into the present again. “I saw his high school yearbook once, and I can confirm that he was voted, ‘Most Likely To Be Invited To An Orgy’, all four years.” That gets Ducky laughing, despite the death ray look I’m shooting at the two of them. “But you can’t blame Brian for your go-go boy not making it into work after a party like that, can you? What did your boss say about it?”

“Gary didn’t say anything much. He just told Alex to find a new dancer. Not a problem - twinks that like to dance are a dime a dozen on Liberty Avenue. It’s a shame though. Justin seemed like a real sweetheart. And I know he really needed this job. I can’t imagine what could have convinced him to just walk away like that.”

“And you said you don't know where Justin lives? We’d really like to get in touch with him. I promise it’s not for anything hinky,” Em pries, making a show of crossing his heart like some high school girl.

“Sorry. I’ve got no idea how to find the kid.”

“What about your boss?” I interject, finally speaking up for myself. “We could ask him.”

“Gary left early tonight, I’m afraid. Maybe he wanted to get this week’s party started early or something? He and Alex were out of here before midnight, though. If you want to talk to Gary, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“He does these parties every week?” That seems excessive even to a party boy like myself. “Fine. Just tell us where tonight’s party is happening and we’ll track him down there.”

“No can do.” Ducky shakes his head. “Like I said, that’s not my scene so I’m not in the loop. Besides, from what I understand the boss and his buddies take turns hosting, so the parties move around. There’s no telling where they’re at tonight.”

Em and Ducky continue to chat for a minute or two while my mind wanders. Something about all this talk of ‘parties’ has my guts roiling again. I have a really bad feeling about this. I’m also getting antsy about how long all this is taking. Somewhere out there my blond boy is still lying in a pool of his own blood while we’re farting around blindly. Time is running out and I don’t seem to be any closer to finding him.

**********

**********

Chapter 3 - Diner Conversation.-

I’m so discouraged by the snail pace of our search. This is fucking hopeless. But even the mere thought of giving up makes the panic inside start to well up again. While Em says goodbye to Ducky, I take my frustration out by walking across the alley and kicking the dumpster - an obvious mistake because I’m really not in any shape to take on large steel objects - which not only hurts my foot but reminds me of all the rest of my bruises and pains.

“If you’re done abusing poor, innocent trash receptacles, Bri, can we get going already?” Emmett asks and I have to give him credit for being almost as snarky as I usually am.

I growl at him under my breath, but that only gets me laughed at before Em starts walking away. I limp after him.

“And where, exactly, are we supposed to be going, huh? Ducky doesn’t know where the party is this week and even if he did, we don’t know if that’s where Justin is. Hell, the kid could be anywhere.” Em isn’t slowing down, though, despite my grumbling, and now I’m having to jog to catch up with him. “Honeycutt? Where the fuck are you going, Honeycutt? Damn it, slow down. I’m not feeling . . . Shit, I’m gonna fucking puke if you don’t stop.”

I come to a stumbling halt, leaning against the brick wall of the alley, trying to fight back a wave of dizziness. I’m not joking about puking. I feel like shit. Probably should have stayed in the fucking hospital till whatever medicine they’d been giving me had completely cleared all the drugs out of my system. The adrenaline and my driving sense of panic are the only things that have kept me going this far, but now that it seems we’ve come to a dead end, even that is failing me.

I’ve failed him. The boy - Justin - is still out there somewhere. But if I can’t find him soon . . . I feel so useless.

“Whoa there, Sweetie,” Em appears beside me, sliding a supportive arm around my waist just as I’m about to topple over. “Sorry, Bri. I kind of forgot about the fact you just got out of the hospital an hour ago. I think you need to sit down and take a short rest. Maybe eat something. When was the last time you ate?”

I don’t bother to answer because I’m getting tired of saying ‘I don’t remember’. Em helps me along to where he left Ted’s car and we drive the couple of blocks over to the Liberty Diner in silence. I’m too dejected to even protest as he comes around the car and helps me out, then practically carries me inside the familiar restaurant. I feel only slightly better this visit. Hopefully I won’t repeat my performance from earlier in the evening and pass out again.

“Now, that’s better,” Em says as he takes the seat across from me. “We’ll get you something to eat and that should perk you right up. You can’t do your best detective work on an empty stomach, right?”

“Detective work? I think you missed the part where we have no idea what we’re doing and no clue where to look, Honeycutt.”

“Did you realize you’re really tetchy when you’re hungry?” Emmett replies, ignoring my glaring. “And don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’.”

When Kiki comes over to take our order - eyeing me warily, as if she’s afraid that I’ll start screaming again or maybe flop over dead this time - Emmett speaks up for me and asks for my usual turkey sandwich, no mayo. He orders himself something horribly unhealthy and then picks up his phone and starts tapping at it. The ordinariness of this whole scene just pisses me off more. Doesn’t he get that there’s an injured kid out there, who could be dying? Can’t he at least sympathize with the fact that I feel like shit because I’m failing the kid? Is keeping up on his social media feed that fucking important? Maybe I WILL start screaming again.

“There. That should do it,” Em announces and sets the phone aside with a smile.

“Stop looking so fucking happy,” I growl at him, then move on to scowling into my coffee cup.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Em chides and sips at his diet coke. “Trust me, Bri. We should know where this week’s party is any minute now.”

I just look at him with confusion because . . .

“Really, Brian? You doubt my powers? They don’t call me the Queen Gossip of Liberty Avenue for nothing!” Emmett chuckles and looks so fucking smug - if I didn’t feel like I was about to collapse again, I’d smack him. “I just sent out a text to my party chat group. If there’s a party happening anywhere in the Greater Pittsburgh Metropolitan Area, these guys will either know about it or can find it. Granted, none of MY friends run in the same circles as that sleaze, Gary Sapperstein, but that shouldn’t slow them down for long.” Kiki comes over right then and sets our plates down on the table. “Now, just eat your dry, tasteless sandwich, and by the time you’re done we should know exactly where to find The Sapp.”

I’m still staring at him a half a minute later, amazed at the resourcefulness of this man who I’ve apparently underestimated for far too long. I realize I’m actually pretty lucky that Emmett is the only one in town right now. If Mikey had been the one that found me, he’d have immediately got all protective and sympathetic and made everything ten times worse by trying to coddle me. Ted would have probably said something biting like, ‘what did I expect with the lifestyle I led’. He might have eventually helped me, if I ordered him to, but he would have been snarking at me the whole time and giving me unwanted advice. Emmett, though, has been remarkably helpful. He’s not the kind to say ‘I told you so’ and he’s almost as promiscuous as I am, so he’s not likely to judge. And he’s also proven to be really fucking supportive. I guess I lucked out.

“Stop staring at your food, Brian,” Em orders, pulling me out of my reverie as he, himself, scarfs down another french fry. “Come on. Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.”

*****Flash*****

I’m roused from the drugged-out daze I was in by the sound of the lock on the door clicking. The darkness of the tiny room I’m in is invaded by a blinding sliver of light breaking through from the hallway outside as the door creaks open. Either because of the drugs, or because my eyes haven’t yet adjusted to the light, all I can see are the black silhouettes of two figures standing in the doorway. The taller of the two shadows violently shoves the other one into the room with a dismissive grunt. I barely manage to catch the boy before he lands on top of me, his form suddenly colorized when he’s no longer between me and the only light source.

“Better get some rest. We’ve got more visitors coming tonight and they’re looking forward to spending some time getting to know you better. You’d be amazed how popular blond boy ass is these days.” The menacing shadow at the door cackles with laughter at his cruel joke before slamming the portal closed again.

Meanwhile, the figure in my arms is sobbing so hard he’s shaking both of us. I try to hold onto him. I try to comfort him. Not that what little I have to offer is much comfort seeing as we’re both still locked in this cold little room at the mercy of these horrible sadists.

“I wish they’d just kill me already and get it over with,” the boy moans through his tears. “I know it’s going to happen eventually. Why can’t they just do it already?”

There’s nothing I can say to reassure him, because I know he’s right. I just hold onto him as tightly as I can as he slowly quiets. But, right as we’re both starting to relax, the door creaks open again and the same shadow appears against the resulting wall of light.

“Almost forgot. Dinner is served.” Our captor throws a greasy bag from some local fast-food place into the room and then rolls in two bottles of water. “Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.”

*****Flash*****

I push the plate of food away from me.

“Brian . . . I know you’re worried about this kid,” Emmett says in a hushed voice. He slides the plate back towards me. “But you can’t help him if you pass out from hunger. Please try and eat, okay? I’m sure we’ll find him somehow. Just give my friends a little time. They’ve never failed me before when I was trying to find a party.”

I sigh but pick up my sandwich. “I hate it when anyone other than me is right,” I grumble as I take a bite.

The sandwich tastes surprisingly good and I realize how truly hungry I am. I try to concentrate on the food in front of me so my mind can’t wander again. Em is right about me being no use to the boy if I pass out from hunger. I hope he’s right about his friends knowing where to find Sapperstein. If something happened to Justin and I after that damn party last week, hopefully The Sapp will at least be able to tell us where to look next.

Just as I’m finishing the last bite, Em’s phone vibrates and he picks it up off the table with a grin. “Let’s see what we got . . .” Em swipes and taps at the phone for a minute and then his grin turns to a frown. “Damn. Well, that’s not helpful at all.” He looks over at me apologetically and reads the text aloud. “Word is, ‘Sapp’s party was cancelled at the last minute. Friend of a friend of a friend, who was hired to dance, showed up at the address he’d been given and nobody was there. Looks like tonight’s orgy of old guys is off.’ That’s strange, don’t you think? The other guys on the chat are saying these parties are a regular thing - although they all think I’m crazy for wanting to go to one. Sounds like they’re more than just a little sketchy. I don’t think even you’d want to go to one of THESE parties, Brian. Ewww . . .”

Before I can complain about yet another dead end in our search, though, the guy sitting at the booth behind Emmett turns around and looks at us over the seat back. “Did you guys say you were looking to go to one of The Sapp’s parties? I’d rethink that, if I were you.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask the guy, who looks vaguely familiar - he’s probably a former trick, but obviously wasn’t a good enough fuck for me to remember him.

“Those parties are fucking creepy,” he answers, the distaste on his countenance more telling than even his words as he relates his story. “I used to date this guy who worked for Sapperstein at Babylon. He’d been pushing for Nate to dance at one of his parties for ages. Nate finally gave in and agreed to do it - Sapp said he’d pay him $350 and all he had to do was dance for a few hours, so Nate figured what the hell - but he asked me to come along because he’d heard some scary stories about that scene. We only stayed at the fucking party for about fifteen minutes before we bugged out. There were all these old guys pawing at the dancers and getting really pushy. One of them even tried to force some drugs on Nate. He decided it wasn’t worth it, no matter how much money Sapp was offering, and we took off.”

Em sets aside his phone, his expression mirroring the storyteller guy. “That’s what my friends are saying too. Those parties are apparently notorious.”

*****Flash*****

“Justin! Glad you could make it,” Sapperstein shouts as soon as he sees the boy.

I’m following only a step or two behind the blond. I look around myself at the bevy of Sapp’s party goers and I’m not impressed. The place is dark but they’ve got these tacky disco lights flashing all over the place. The air is redolent with the aroma of cheap weed, bad cologne, and stale beer. The party guests are all old and really fugly; Sapp, who’s pushing the end of his forties, is probably the youngest one here, except for the chicken go-go boys that he’s got dancing over in the corner. This has got to be the most pathetic excuse for a party I’ve ever seen. I’m definitely not drunk enough for this shit. I hope my blond doesn’t have to stick around too long.

That’s when Gary finally notices me tagging along behind Justin. “Kinney? What the fuck are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you.”

“You didn’t. But you’re in luck, ‘cause now that I’m here, your party won’t be completely lame.”

“Fuck you, Kinney. Now, get the hell out before I call the cops and have you dragged out of here,” Sapp snaps, clearly not happy to see me.

“Now, now, Gary,” says a sleazy, older guy with a paunchy belly that sags over his belt and too many gold chains showing through the grizzled hair on his chest. “Let’s not be too hasty. I’m sure Kinney will fit in just fine with our plans for the evening. How about I show him the way to the bar while you take care of getting the rest of the entertainment set up.” The creep puts his flabby arm around my shoulders and starts to lead me over towards the far corner of the room where several of his fellow party-goers are gathered around a small wet bar set up. “Come on, Kinney. Let me buy you a drink . . .”

*****Flash*****

I’m glad when that flash of memory fades and the Diner rematerializes around me. I’m not sure I can keep down my sandwich though. They aren’t kidding when they say the Sapp’s parties are sketchy.

“Well, it doesn’t sound like we’d be going to the Sapp’s party even if we wanted to,” Em comments as the helpful guy in the other booth turns around and focuses on his own food. “Everybody in my chat group confirms that tonight’s party was cancelled. I’m sorry, Brian. I thought for sure we could find your missing boy that way. But if we can’t track down Sapp, and nobody else seems to know anything about this Justin kid other than he hasn’t been seen since last Friday, I don’t know who to talk to next. You sure you can’t remember what you and Justin did after The Sapp’s party? If we could just figure out what happened after that party . . .”

“There’s nothing after the party,” I interrupt my friend’s musing, the answer just popping into my mind without warning. “It’s not what happened AFTER the party . . . The party . . . Fuck, whatever it was . . . it happened AT the fucking party.” Em is looking at me with intense interest as I grapple with the fragments of my dim memories. “Your friends were right - that party was fucking creepy as hell. I can actually remember arriving with Justin but . . . after that there’s nothing. Whatever happened, it started at that fucking party.”

“That makes sense,” Em concedes, walking us both through the next logical steps together. “And if Sapp was actually involved in whatever happened to you, then finding him isn’t going to be much help; he’s not likely to tell us what happened if he’s involved in covering it up. So, what we need to figure out isn’t where tonight’s party was supposed to be, but where last week’s party was and who else was there. Not sure how we do that, though . . .”

Yeah. An orgy that moves around every week, hosted by a bunch of sinister old queens that like to paw at young blond boys. Those guys shouldn’t be hard to find at all, right? Fuck!

“Too bad you didn’t let Ducky call you a cab. If you had, we could have had the cab company tell us where they let you off at,” Em speculates. “But since you let the kid drive you, there’s no telling where . . .”

“Yes! We drove! That’s perfect!” I’m shouting as I grab for Em’s phone.

“What? What’d I miss?” Emmett is asking as I use his phone to connect to the internet and pull up the website I was looking for.

“Did I tell you I recently had a new stereo system put into the Jeep?” I ask with the first stirrings of hope I’ve felt since we set out on this fool’s journey. Then I hold up the phone for my friend showing the little map with the blinking red dot on it. “The stereo came with built-in GPS and an emergency security system . . . which is currently telling me my car is right there.” The dot is located way out in the suburbs, south of the city, but at least it’s a start.

“Excellent! You have the best toys, Brian. Let’s go!”

Em is already up and halfway to the door and I’m right on his heels. I’m not sure what we’ll find when we locate my car, but if I’m right, and it’s still parked wherever last week’s party took place, hopefully that will jog loose a few more memories.

Hang in there, Justin. I’m coming for you as fast as I can. Just don’t die on me in the meantime.

**********

**********

Chapter 4 - The Life of The Party.

Finding the Jeep is a piece of cake. We do have to drive for almost a half hour to get to a suburb on the south side of the city to get it, though. The neighborhood where we end up is posh, populated by huge houses on equally huge, well-manicured, lots. My car is parked down a little side street, partially hidden from the main street by a huge, overhanging willow tree. When I do find my lost blond I’m going to have to give him shit for parking my nice clean car under a fucking tree so that, a week later, it’s caked with pollen and sap. That’ll be a bitch to get cleaned off.

It takes me a couple minutes, however, to figure out which of the fancy houses on this street was the one where Sapp’s party happened. They all look unremarkable in the moonlight. Granted, I was apparently pretty fucking drunk the last time I was here, so it’s understandable. Eventually, however, I zero in on the most likely suspect - a sprawling, white brick ranch with modern leanings. Em and I trudge up the long front walkway to the door.

“So, um, what do we say if someone answers the door?” Emmett asks, and I have to admit that’s a really good question - one that I don’t have an answer for.

“We play it by ear, I guess,” is my response as I press the doorbell.

We wait. There’s no sound of any movement inside at all. I press the doorbell a second time; I can hear it echoing inside the house, but there’s no other sound. Fuck! Not another dead end . . .

I’m about ten seconds from suggesting we break in when Emmett reaches out and tries the doorknob. Smart little fucker. And thank fuck that idiots who live out in the ‘burbs are stupid and leave their doors unlocked. When the knob turns and the door swings silently open, I just shrug at Em and we both walk on in.

Yep. This is definitely the place. Everything inside is instantly familiar.

The entryway opens up on a wide-open living room area. Except for the fact that it’s empty, and my memories are all clouded by a drunken, drugged haze, this place is eerily familiar. There’s an archway off to the left that clearly leads to a kitchen and a longer hallway going off to the right. Here in the main room, there’s a wet bar in the corner, a dining table next to the far windows and a large sectional couch that takes up most of the middle of the floor space. The furniture is modernistic but cheap - all knockoffs. The only thing that immediately stands out about the place is the fact that it’s a fucking mess.

“Looks like nobody bothered to clean up after the party,” Em voices my sentiments exactly. There are half-empty cups and beer bottles lying everywhere, there’s trash on the floor, chairs knocked over, and even a couple of used condoms abandoned on the dirty-looking carpeting. “Yuck. They didn’t even clean up the food,” he comments, his nose turning up as he backs away from a chips & dip platter that’s growing a nice crop of green mold.

There’s also an overflowing ashtray on the bar with the remains of several doobies spilling out of it.

*****Flash*****

It’s dark and, considering the population of losers that make up this group, surprisingly packed. As usual, there’s a gaggle of men milling around the bar in the corner, a couple of them scarfing down at the vile smelling chips and dip platter sitting on the counter. I’m standing nearby, sipping at the whiskey I was handed, surveying the rest of the room. There are men in various states of undress lounging on the couches and small groups of party-goers making out in the corners. The group sitting around the large glass coffee table are all busy cutting lines of coke and snorting away to their hearts’ content. I see pills changing hands everywhere I look. If it weren’t for the underlying air of desperation, and the over-forty age demographic, I’d say it’s a pretty typical orgy scene. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

I can tell my blond is a bit uncomfortable though - his body language is screaming ‘don’t touch me’ as he makes his way through the throng, following on his boss’ heels. The Sapp leads Justin over to a group of other twinks, a couple of whom are dancing for the entertainment of the sweaty old men watching from the couch. I can see Justin chatting with one of the other young men. Then one of the guys from the couch gets up, comes over to Justin’s companion, slides his greasy hands around the twink’s waist and pulls the boy away. Justin looks even more uncomfortable as he watches this play out.

I start to make my way over to him. Sapp beats me to him, though. He sidles up to the kid and hands over the joint he was smoking. I see Justin try to wave the weed away, but Sapp persists and eventually my blond takes a hit.

“Loosen up. Relax,” Sapperstein is saying when I finally make it close enough to overhear them. Justin takes another, longer, hit and passes the joint back to his boss. “That’s better. Now, why don’t you take your shirt off.”

“What for?” Justin asks.

“It’s what you’re here for. Remember,” Sapp comments while trying to act nonchalant.

“Right. Decoration,” Justin replies with a barely-concealed hunching of his shoulders.

“That was the deal,” Sapp confirms, taking a hit himself as Justin complies and peels off his shirt. “That’s better,” he adds right before he licks his finger and reaches out to pinch at Justin’s right nipple.

Justin flinches away but doesn’t say anything. I, on the other hand, feel like decking the creep and screaming at him to keep his hands off the kid. Of course I don’t, because the kid isn’t supposed to be anything to me other than a trick, but I think it. There’s just something so wrong with a seedy, broken-down, aging club boy like The Sapp touching someone as beautiful as this kid.

“Our little friend here looks like he could use a drink,” another raunchy oldster comments, coming up behind Justin. “Why don’t we offer him something?” The newcomer tries to shove a glass into Justin’s hand.

That’s when I decide to make my presence known, stepping up and insinuating myself between The Sapp and my blond. Justin looks up at me with a grateful expression. He pushes aside the glass the other guy was trying to give him and instead takes a small sip of my whiskey.

“I’m not paying you to stand around and chat with your date, kid,” Sapp hisses angrily, moving around so that he’s right in Justin’s face. “Either start shaking your ass or get the fuck out.”

“No problem, Boss,” Justin quickly responds, giving me an apologetic look before he steps over to join the other two twinks who are dancing to the techno-beat music pumping through the stereo.

“If you’re going to stay, don’t distract the help, Kinney,” Sapp warns and then wanders away.

I’m still standing there a few minutes later - sorta on guard in case more creeps make moves on my blond - when yet another of Sapp’s friends wanders by. This one has an open bottle of Beam in his hand. He waves it at me, offering to top me up, and I hold out my glass. The guy who refilled my drink stands there, smirking at me in the oddest fashion while I take a quick swig. Then he laughs at me and moves away. When I look up, there’s The Sapp foisting yet another doobie on my dancing blond and practically ordering him to take a hit, bragging to him that ‘it’s good shit’. I figure it must be because I’m starting to feel the effects just from the second hand smoke that’s drifting through the room like a fog. Between that and the drink in my hand, I’m starting to feel pretty relaxed myself . . .

*****Flash*****

When this latest flashback finally starts to fade, I find myself feeling almost as dizzy as I had been that night. Sympathetic intoxication? Or maybe just the panic welling up inside me again? Whatever. I find that my knees suddenly don’t seem capable of holding my body upright and I drop down onto one of the chairs at the dining table.

Meanwhile, Em is wandering around the room, looking at everything with a curious eye. “Not a single personal item or memento,” he comments as he scans the entertainment center shelves. “I don’t think this is anyone’s residence. Probably a rental or something. Which would explain why nobody bothered to clean up. Although, whoever rented the place is definitely going to lose their security deposit.”

Em is about to run his finger through the dust on the front of the stereo, but I quickly speak up, “don’t touch anything!”

Em instantly pulls his hand back. He gives me another of those searching looks but doesn’t pry. Then, using the hem of his shirt as a barrier, he pushes the power button on the stereo. Music belts out of the speakers - it’s the typical, seductive, party music that you’d expect. Emmett shrugs and goes back to wandering around, looking but not touching, while the thumpa-thumpa blares on.

I just sit there and try to concentrate on breathing. It’s not going very well though. I really wish Em hadn’t turned on that fucking music.

“I’ll be right back. Just going to look around,” Em states as he heads down the hallway off to the right towards the rest of the house.

*****Flash*****

I’m not sure how I ended up on the couch, lounging around with the rest of the lurkers, all of us watching the beautiful, writhing bodies of the three remaining go-go dancers. The room is starting to spin even faster than the boys’ hips. It’s a fascinating show, though. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

My personal go-go dancer seems to have hit his stride. He’s totally into the music now. And the sinuous way he’s moving his hips is making me horny as hell. I’m so into watching him, and fantasizing about what’s still to come when I finally get him alone, that I barely notice anything else going on around me. But when The Sapp comes up to Justin and hands him a bullet filled with some white powder, the subsequent cheering from the men sitting around me finally rouses my attention.  

“Yes! Looks like it’s showtime!” the oleaginous cretin sitting next to me on the couch crows.

I look up again and see that Justin is blinking around himself and rubbing at his eyes. He seems as dizzy as I am. The Sapp is exchanging the bullet Justin was holding for another glass of something for the kid to drink. Justin sips at it for a second but then tries to push it away.

I hear Sapp laughing and saying, “aww, what’s wrong? Too strong for you? Here, just another little sip. That’s right. There you go. You feel good now, right? Yeah, you feel real good.” I see him groping at the blond kid’s ass and rubbing his package against Justin’s hip while several of Gary’s friends begin circling around Justin too. “You haven’t seen the rest of the place yet, have you? Let me show you around . . .”

Sapp starts to lead Justin off down the hall.

“Excellent. It’s about time we got this party started,” announces the guy sitting next to me as he gets up and follows the rest of the crowd, all of whom seem to be drifting down that same hallway. “You coming, Alex?” my neighbor yells back over his shoulder.

“In a minute,” a new face comes up to me, taking the seat next to me on the couch. “I’m gonna keep Kinney company for a few more minutes. He’s not quite ready to join in on the party games yet.” The guy waves a bottle of Beam in my face and offers, “how ‘bout I top you up there, Big Fella? That’s right. Drink up. Gotta get you ready so you can join your friend down the hall . . .”

*****Flash*****

Almost against my will, I find myself getting to my feet and trailing along behind Emmett. There are several doors opening off that fucking hallway. None of them are closed, allowing me to peek inside as I pass by, noting as I go that they’re all empty. But it’s the room at the end that’s drawing me onward. That’s where the answers will be . . . Assuming I really want the answers waiting there.

The master bedroom is a relatively large, sparsely furnished room. The large king-sized bed has been stripped of sheets but the rest of the place is as much of a mess as the main room. I almost trip over an empty beer bottle on the floor as I enter. There’s not much to see in here other than the bed and the trash scattered around on the floor. So, then, why is my heart hammering away in my chest like a jackhammer? It’s like that moment in every horror film ever made when the innocent victim looks around and announces that it must have been just her imagination, right before she looks up to find the monster looming over her.

I look up.

Of course, I don’t see a psychopathic murderer waiting to pounce on me from above with a bloody knife in his hand. Just three sets of innocuous-looking metal eye-bolt hooks affixed into the beams of the ceiling. Nothing scary at all. Right?

*****Flash*****

“What the fuck are you doing, Alex?”

“I’m just gonna play a little, Boss.”

“This is a really bad idea.”

I finally manage to pry my too-heavy eyelids open and see a face bent over me. I can see the mouth on the face moving - but the image looks distorted, like somebody has messed with the horizontal hold knob in my brain. The words lag behind by half a minute or so, making it even more difficult to understand what the face is saying.

“He’s flying so high right now he won’t remember a thing. And even if he does, who’s going to believe a notorious party slut like him?”

“Kinney’s not like the others. He’s not some homeless, friendless twink that nobody’s going to miss. He’s well known. We can’t just make him disappear. Somebody will miss him.”

There’s more than one face now. I blink at the faces, trying to clear my vision but it doesn’t seem to be working. I try to move my hand, thinking if I could only rub my eyes, everything would become clearer. But I can’t move my arm. Except for my head, I can’t move anything. I’m frozen in place.

I look upward, beyond the looming faces, and I can see what I think is my hand, held immobile by a thick, black leather cuff. The cuff is attached to a solid-looking metal chain. The chain goes up and up and up till it meets a big metal bolt way above me. Strangely enough, I can see those damn bolts, miles and miles away from me, better than I can see the faces right in front of my eyes. That’s odd, right?

“Come on, Boss. It’s Brian Fucking Kinney, for fuck’s sake! You can’t pass up a golden opportunity like this!” The one, darker-haired face, is now grinning down at me like it wants to eat me. I don’t really like that face. “Haven’t you always wanted to put him in his place? The way he struts around town like he’s god’s gift to gay PA? Rubbing everyone else’s noses in it. Looking down on the rest of us like he’s better than us mere mortals. Well . . . here’s your chance to stick it to him. Prove that he’s no different than the rest of these sluts and deserves the same fucking treatment.” The grinning face is joined in the dancing, dizzying, circling images above me by the first face. They are both grinning now. “Besides, an uber top like Kinney - he’s probably tighter even than your twinks. You know he could use a good stretching . . .”

I don’t like these faces much. Or their words. I don’t want to look at them anymore. I let my head turn to the side so I don’t have to see them. I see a much nicer face when I look to the side. It’s my blond.

Only my blond isn’t smiling at me like he usually does. He’s crying. I can see tears dripping down his cheeks. And he’s also strapped into a sling with his hands restrained in thick black cuffs. Just like me.

Beyond Justin, there’s a third sling, but I can’t see clearly enough to figure out who’s in that one.

So I close my eyes again, because I really don’t want to see any of this anymore.

*****Flash*****

Somehow I find myself back out in the main room of the party house, sitting on the couch, with Emmett hovering over me looking worried.

“Brian? You back with me again?” Em asks as I gulp huge, calming, lungfuls of air.

“Fuck!” is all I can say . . . but then again, it’s the perfect statement.

“You can say that again,” Em agrees and plops down next to me. “I’m starting to think that this adventure of ours isn’t a great idea. You’re about to keel over from exhaustion, Brian, and meanwhile it looks like we’ve hit a dead end again. There’s nothing here and nobody to interrogate to give us our next clue. Maybe we should call in reinforcements or something?” Em digs in the pocket of his slacks and comes up with a business card, which he subsequently hands over to me. “While I was waiting to see you back at the hospital, this cop stopped me and asked a bunch of questions. He gave me this. Maybe we should call him, tell him what you’re starting to remember, and see if he can’t help us find your blond boy? Although, he didn’t seem all that interested in the case after he talked to your doctor . . .”

I look at the card. Detective Carl Horvath. I remember that name. Yeah, I think it’s definitely time to call in those reinforcements.

“Call him. Tell him it’s about his blond boys. That ought to get him here pretty fucking fast.”

**********

**********

Chapter 5 - Memory Holes.

I’m right. It takes the Detective less than twenty minutes after Em makes the call for him to get to the party house. He must have been running with the lights and sirens on the whole way.

In the meantime, while we wait for the cops to arrive, I do my best to NOT think about anything at all. I’m so on edge, barely holding on as it is, and I don't want to get lost down that rabbit hole of memories before the cops even get here. I therefore busy myself by mentally reciting multiplication tables, trying to remember all the words to ‘Jabberwocky’ and then, when I run out of anything else to distract myself with, I start in on conjugating verbs in Spanish. It’s a good thing that this Detective guy hurries, though, because my college Spanish is pretty fucking rusty and I don’t remember enough to move on from regular verbs to irregular ones.

Emmett, who’s been sitting next to me acting surprisingly restrained and un-chatty, gets up as soon as we hear the noise of the nearing police cars. He’s holding open the door as the cops come jogging up the walk. I don’t think the police were expecting a friendly, gay, welcoming committee. I just hope they don’t mistakenly shoot him.

“Honeycutt, right?” the older, fatter, of the three cops says, and I immediately recognize him as the Gravelly Guy voice from my hospital room earlier in the evening.

“Please, call me Emmett. I hate being called by my last name,” Emmy Lou graciously offers as he shows our guests in.

Gravelly Guy comes right over to where I’m still seated on the big sectional couch. “You look a lot better than when I last saw you, Kinney. I’m Detective Carl Horvath. Pittsburgh Homicide. I came by to question you earlier in the evening but you were still unconscious. Now, tell me why you’re not still in the hospital when your doctor said she was going to keep you at least overnight, and also why you dragged me all the way out here at,” he looks at his clunky Timex watch, “three forty-five in the morning.”

I take a deep breath, rub my suddenly sweaty palms against the legs of my jeans and try to quell the fleeting urge to run away. I really do NOT want to do this. Talking about shit has never been my forte and talking about THIS . . . well, let’s just say I’d rather have a root canal, without anesthesia, and leave it at that.

Luckily, while I’m hesitating and scrambling to figure out where to start, Em takes pity on me. “So, you see, when Brian woke up back at the hospital, he was all upset because he couldn’t remember what had happened to him or where he’d been all week. The only thing he did remember was that there was some other guy who’d been hurt, and Brian needed to find him and bring help. Then Brian kinda freaked out a bit because the last thing he DOES remember is the kid lying in a pool of blood, and well . . . I sorta helped him break out of the hospital without the doctor knowing so we could go find the missing kid.”

Gravelly Guy looks at me disapprovingly.

“What? You going to arrest me for leaving without a hall pass or something?”

“Ooo! This is starting to sound suspiciously like a movie Teddy and I watched a couple weeks ago,” Em adds.

“Young Perps?” I suggest, naming a favorite porn flick of my own.

“No. But that’s a great one, isn’t it . . .” Em actually sighs and looks all dreamy for a minute and, if I wasn’t so nervous, I might have actually laughed. “No, it was a new one. ‘Dick Police’ with Tommy Salami. Have you seen it?” Gravelly Guy shakes his head and looks really uncomfortable - straight guys have no sense of humor. “Anyway . . . where was I?”

“You were telling me what any of this has to do with my homicide case. I hope,” Gravelly Guy prompts.

“Right. Okay, so, Brian couldn’t remember anything other than that he needed to find this missing blond boy. Which, let’s face it, isn’t a lot to go on. And, since he couldn’t remember what had happened to him or where he’d been all week, I figured that the best thing we could do was go to the last place we knew for a fact Brian had been seen and try to recreate what happened to him from there. So we went to Babylon.”

“Babylon?” the Detective asks.

“It’s a gay dance club on Liberty Avenue, Boss,” one of the Detective’s companions answers for us - the younger, male one, who’s not bad looking for a cop.

Emmett leans over so he can stage whisper in my ear, “if they decide to frisk us, I call dibs on Officer McHottiepants.”

“Thanks, Matthews.” Horvath shoots the younger cop a warning look. “But I’m pretty sure I can take these guys’ statements without your assistance. Why don’t you and Ziva take a look around this place or do something else that’s actually useful.”

“On it, Boss.”

Once Officer McHottiepants is gone, and Emmett can concentrate again, he resumes his story for Gravelly Guy. “Soooooo, we go to Babylon, and after asking around we figure out that Brian left there last Friday night just about closing time with one of the go-go dancers - a young blond kid by the name of Justin, who thankfully fits the description of Brian’s lost boy. Only nobody’s heard from Justin all week either. His coworker told us Justin didn’t show up for work on Saturday and hasn’t been seen since. After a little more prying, we figured out that Justin was supposed to have danced at a party that night and Brian apparently decided to tag along with him. Which is how we ended up here - which, as you can tell from the mess, seems to be where said party was held. But, obviously, since there’s nobody here to question, and we don’t have any other clues about where Brian’s missing blond boy might be, we decided we’d better call you.”

“If you can’t remember anything, how’d you find this place,” the Detective asks.

“Tracked my car with the on-board security system,” I explain succinctly.

The cop nods. “Smart. But I’m still not convinced this has anything to do with my homicide case.”

“You’re working on the Dumpster Boys case right?” I ask, receiving a nod in return. “Well, I don’t remember much, but I do know that some serious shit went down here last weekend. And, I know that MY missing blond, isn’t the only one these guys have messed with.”

Horvath looks around him at the trashed house, almost as if he expects to find a dead blond boy right there. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he turns back to me, “Okay, son. You’ve got my attention. Tell me what you know.”

Then he just sits there, waiting expectantly. Now I’m going to have to say it. I’m going to have to finally tell them all what happened to me. And I really do NOT want to do this. But if I don’t, I won’t be able to help Justin . . .

I close my eyes and try to search for some inner calm, but find only barely restrained dread, so I guess there’s nothing for it but to just say the words. “Justin’s boss told him he’d get paid some ridiculous amount to come dance at this party for a couple hours. I thought I’d crash the gig and wait around till he was done so we could go back to my place together. Only . . . I was fucking stupid and drunk and not paying attention and, obviously, somebody spiked my drink . . . and because I was an idiot, I got to enjoy the same treatment your dead blond boys received before they turned up in various dumpsters.” I swallow, trying to hold back the nausea that’s threatening to overwhelm me as I voice that little confession, but then I hurry on, intent on getting it all out as fast as possible. “Justin is the one they really wanted - I was just a bonus, I guess - but afterwards they didn’t know what to do with me, so they held onto me and kept me locked up too.”

“Oh, Bri . . .” Emmett’s sympathy almost breaks me. I can’t stand the note of pity I hear in his voice and I flinch away from that almost as much as the well-meant hand he rests on my arm.

“Why would you be a ‘bonus’?” the cop asks in that nosy, cop-like, way, which thankfully provides a welcome distraction. “You’re nothing like the kids that keep turning up dead, Kinney. You’re the wrong age, body type, everything. Why would they mess with you at all?”

“Jealousy?” I offer. “See, I have a bit of a reputation . . .”

“A bit?” Emmett chimes in unhelpfully. “Our friend, Michael, calls Brian, ‘The Stud of Liberty Avenue’. He’s the toppiest top of all the tops in top-land. Of course these fuckers, who clearly can’t get laid without forcing themselves on poor innocent boys, would be jealous.”

I just roll my eyes and shake my head at my friend’s dubious praise. “Apparently, the ‘fuckers’ thought it would be fun to take me down a peg or two. Only, they couldn’t just make me disappear afterwards like the others, since I’m not some anonymous twink with no friends or family. I ended up being a big glitch in their plans. But I think the general idea was to keep me under wraps for long enough that all the physical evidence of . . . of what they did to me . . . would clear up. Then they were going to pump me full of enough drugs that I either wouldn’t have remembered anything, or better yet, I’d OD, and dump me somewhere.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Gravelly Guy concedes. “But you got away? How?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to counteract the headache that’s now throbbing so hard it feels like my eyeballs will explode, while I try again to remember. “I don’t know. It’s all so fucking hazy. They kept us drugged up pretty much the whole time. We knew they were probably dosing the food and water they gave us, but we had no choice other than to eat what they offered.”

“You keep saying ‘they’. Who was it that was holding you?” the Detective asks next.

“Again, that’s pretty hazy. There were at least twenty guys here at the party that . . . participated. I have no idea who they all were. I didn’t recognize any of them. Most of them were older guys; nobody I’d hang out with. And I remember maybe a half-dozen other faces coming and going for the rest of the time I was being held, but I probably couldn’t point any of them out to you even if I saw them again. The only one I do know for sure was the ringleader - it was The Sapp.”

“The Sapp? Sounds like a nasty disease you’d pick up in a foreign country,” the cop jokes, although I can’t quite find the energy to laugh along.

“Gary Sapperstein,” Emmett corrects him. “He’s the owner of Babylon. He’s also the guy who was hosting the party they threw here. According to the folks I talked to, he holds these ‘parties’ on a weekly basis. I say ‘parties’ in quotes, though, because they’re basically just orgies, and not particularly pleasurable ones at that. Most people know to steer clear of them, but I suppose the kind of boys they want to attract are too green to know better. Poor kids.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. Either that, or the boys can’t afford to tell their boss ‘no’. Sapperstein was in charge of the whole thing. He organized the parties and, using one pretext or another, induced the boys who worked for him at the club to attend. A lot of them were dancers; Gary told them he’d pay big bucks if they’d come ‘entertain’ his guests. If the rest were anything like Justin, they were all probably so desperate for cash they would have jumped at an offer like that.”

“So you’re saying we’ve got some kind of serial rapist thing going on here? Maybe even a sex trafficking ring? That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, yeah, we’ve had three bodies turn up, but if this thing has been going on for as long as you claim, and it’s a weekly thing, we’re talking a lot of kids. You’d think someone would have spoken up before now,” Horvath posits.

“I doubt it,” Emmett immediately counters. “Do you know how prevalent rape is for men? Some experts claim upwards of three percent of the male population has been the victim of a rape or attempted rape. That’s, like, three million men. And the statistics are even higher for gay men. But only one out of every ten are reported, due to the stigma associated with rape.” He sounds very knowledgeable about these facts, which just spill out off the top of his head like he’s got them all memorized, making me wonder. “So, no, Detective, it’s not likely that any of these poor boys would have had the courage to speak up. Even if they weren’t so drugged out that they couldn’t remember what happened to them - I doubt any of them have the kind of support they’d need to come forward. Which is why creeps like The Sapp get away with this shit all the fucking time.”

Horvath shrugs, conceding the point, but then gets right back to the matter at hand. “Okay, if what you say is true, this Sapperstein character has a running party where he drugs boys and his friends take advantage of the situation? That sounds like a good set up, right? He and his buddies get their jollies off and the kids either can’t remember what happened or are too intimidated to report it. Why would he screw things up by keeping you and your friend, Justin, longer? He does that and he runs the risk of getting caught.”

“I told you, he wasn’t after me. It was Justin he wanted. After he and his pals had ‘taught me a lesson’, they mostly left me alone. They didn’t want me. Their ‘customers’ prefer pretty little blond boys . . .”

*****Flash*****

The two of us are huddled together, trying to stay warm. We’ve made a nest out of some rags and boxes so at least we’re not lying on the cold, hard cement floor. Justin is curled up in a little ball, almost as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, hoping they won’t see him. I’m wrapped around him, trying to provide what little protection I can give him.

Neither of us are sleeping. I’m not sure how we know, but it’s almost time for them to come back for us. I can feel my blond shaking and I know he’s crying again. There’s nothing I can do to help him.

Sure enough, a few minutes later we hear the noise of a key turning in the lock. Justin’s arms snake around my waist, holding on as tightly as he can. I’m holding onto him almost as hard. But when the door creaks open, I know there’s not much I can do for either of us.

“Let’s go, Blondie. You’ve got a customer waiting,” the shadowy figure standing in the doorway orders.

I can see, in the guard’s hand, the outline of the taser thing he carries around. The few times I’ve tried to fight him, he’s zapped me till I’ve collapsed. Fucking sadist. To hell with it, though, they can’t do anything worse to me than what I’ve already suffered, I might as well try . . .

I climb stiffly to my feet, approaching my captor slowly, with my hands held out in a non-threatening gesture. “Why don’t you leave the kid alone. He’s been hurt enough. Take me instead.”

The guy seems to think this is hilarious and breaks out laughing. “Get over yourself, Kinney. Anybody who wanted a piece of your tired old ass has already had you. You might be pretty, but you’re not as pretty as Blondie here. He’s a real crowd pleaser. Hell, there’s practically a fucking bidding war going on to see who gets a go at him next.” The creep lifts his electric cattle prod thing and points it at me menacingly, taking a step or two forward so I’m forced back. “Sit down, Kinney. And you,” he points with his weapon towards the cowering kid huddled behind me, “get your pretty little blond ass in gear.”

*****Flash*****

“I’d imagine that’s why all the ones that end up in the dumpsters are blond,” I conjecture sadly. “If Sapp finds one he thinks is particularly marketable, he keeps the kid and pimps him out to the highest bidders. Until the boy’s either too broken to go on or one of the customers goes too far and kills him.” Which brings me back to the most pressing point. “And you’re going to have yet another corpse on your hands, if we don’t get off our asses and find Justin soon, Detective. Can’t I give you the rest of my statement later? Right now you need to find Saperstein and get him to tell you where he’s holding Justin.”

Horvath nods. “Right. Matthews?” he calls out and I look behind me to find the other two officers have returned. “You guys find anything?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for, Boss,” Officer McHottiepants answers, with a bit of a smile aimed Honeycutt’s way, before he gets all serious again and focuses on Horvath’s question. “It’s pretty clear there’s been a wild party here. That part substantiates Mr. Kinney’s story. Whether there’s evidence of a crime or not will require forensics to go through everything . . . and there’s a lot to go through. But we did find some blood on the carpet in the bedroom.”

“Alright. That’s enough for me. Matthews, get on that damn computer thing of yours and order us up a warrant for this Gary Sapperstein. Ziva, put out an APB on our new suspect, then find me everything you can get on the guy and his dance club.” The Detective’s minions scramble to do his bidding while the top cop turns back to face me. “Either of you two got an idea where Sapperstein might be tonight?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Em answers for me. “We heard through the gay grapevine that tonight’s party was cancelled, despite the fact the bouncer said he left the club early.”

“Not surprising seeing as Kinney escaped. I’m sure that threw a monkey wrench in their plans. He might already be in the wind.” Horvath sets aside the little pocket-sized notebook he was using to take notes and looks at me in earnest. “While my guys are looking for Sapperstein, how about you and I try and approach this from the other end?”

“And that end would be?” I question.

“I know you say you don’t remember, but you obviously remembered enough to go looking for this blond of yours. Somewhere inside that head are all the answers we need. We just have to find a way to get to them. And, since it might take us a while to get to Sapperstein, if you really want to find the boy in time, you’re going to have to at least point us in the right direction.”

“I’ve fucking tried to remember,” I insist. “It’s all just a jumble.”

“Well you haven’t tried with me,” the Detective insists. “Work with me here, Kinney. Okay?” I nod, willing to try anything at this point. “Good. Now, close your eyes and try to relax. Take deep breaths . . .”

“Oooo, this is so exciting. It’s just like one of those tv crime dramas. You know the one - where the hunky FBI guy subjects the key witness to a ‘cognitive interview’,” Emmett interrupts with his over-the-top enthusiasm and pop culture references.

“Thanks for the help, Miss Marple, but I think I’ve got this,” the cop teases.

“Oh, that’s a great show too. My Aunt Lula and I used to watch it on PBS back when I was a kid in Hazlehurst, Mississippi. Miss Marple always had the best hats,” my sometime-friend adds, causing both Horvath and I to glare at him. “Sorry. Shutting up, now.” And he does that annoying thing where he pretends to twist a key in his lips to lock his mouth closed.

Horvath and I exchange an annoyed look.

“As I was saying . . . Close your eyes and relax,” the Detective continues. “I want you to think back to the last time you saw Justin. Picture it in your mind. Got it? Now, tell me exactly what you see.”

On the black canvas of the inside of my eyelids, I can see the entire scene perfectly. “I’m kneeling on the ground. Justin is lying there in front of me. He’s hurt. There’s blood . . . I’m trying to stop the bleeding but it’s not working. So much blood . . . it’s fucking everywhere . . . I can’t . . . I can’t stop it . . .” So much for me trying to stay relaxed, right? My heart is beating a million miles a minute and I’m having trouble breathing.

“Don’t worry about the blood for now. We’re going to ignore that part. Don’t look at the blood,” the calm Gravelly Guy voice says. “Don’t even look at Justin at all, okay? I need to look around you, instead. Can you tell me where you are? What do you see around you?”

“It’s dark. I can’t see very much.”

“If it’s dark, how can you see Justin? There must be some light,” Horvath prompts.

“There’s a window. It’s not very big and it’s high up on the wall. There’s a little bit of light that comes through the window. Even that’s pretty dim, though . . .” The room in my mind starts to come into better focus as I talk, and I begin to see more of my surroundings. “It’s night time. The light from outside is . . . Maybe streetlights or moonlight . . . It’s not very bright, but it’s enough so I can see how badly Justin’s hurt.”

“You’re doing great, Kinney. You’re doing great,” Horvath encourages. “If there’s a window, I take it you’re inside?” I nod. “OK, tell me about the room you’re in. Is it large or small? What do you see?”

“It’s tiny. There’s barely enough room for us to lie down. It’s basically just a closet.”

“Excellent. What do you see around you in the room, Brian? Is there furniture?”

I gulp another breath and try to concentrate. “There’s not much. It’s a really small space. There’s no furniture . . . A storage closet? There’s boxes piled up against the wall. Boxes full of clothing?”

“That’s really helpful, Kinney. Keep going. Can you tell what kind of flooring there is or whether the walls are painted? Any other details about this room?”

“It’s hard to tell in the dark . . . The wall where the window is . . . is cement? The floor too. That’s all there is though. I don’t see anything else. Just some boxes and buckets and . . . Old clothing. Lots of clothing. I’m using a white T-shirt I found to try to stop the blood. It’s getting all stained . . .”

“Good, good. Anything else you can tell me about this room, Kinney? Can you see anything out of that window? Can you hear anything that might give us another clue?”

It’s actually really difficult for me to tear my mental focus away from the image of the hurt boy. Justin’s lying there, on the hard, cold floor, bleeding from that gash in his head while I press the wadded up T-shirt to the wound. I feel sick to my stomach as I think back on that moment and the image blurs as I blink back real tears that echo my memory-tears. But Gravelly Guy doesn’t stop prodding me. When his voice directs me to look around myself at the room one more time, I finally do . . .

“I can’t see anything out of the window. It’s too high up on the wall, and really small, and the angle is odd . . . It’s like you’re looking up at the sky not out at the world . . .” I turn the other direction in my mental room and get a surprise. “Oh! There's someone else here. A man. He’s lying on the floor over by the door . . . It’s the one who came to take Justin away. The big, red, taser prod thing is lying next to him, too.”

“You see one of the guys that was holding you on the floor of the room?” This seems to surprise my cop guide. “How did that happen?”

*****Flash*****

“Showtime, Blondie,” the thug says as soon as he opens the door. “You were such a big hit at last week’s party, you’re being given a command performance. I’m supposed to get you cleaned up and ready for your adoring public. So, let’s go.”

“No. Please, no. I can’t. Just let it stop . . .” My blond is crying again as he cowers in the corner of our little prison.

Sapp’s bully boy just laughs uncaringly and presses the trigger on his taser prod twice in quick succession causing the weapon to sizzle and spark. That’s when something inside me just snaps. It happens so fast it surprises even me, so it’s no wonder the thug is taken off guard too. But I can’t just stand here and let them hurt Justin again. I won’t do it. I don’t care what they do to me.

I lunge forward, none too steady on my feet because I’m still whacked out on all those drugs, but luckily the room is small enough that all I have to do is fall forward and I’m on top of our captor. I immediately feel the electric burn of the taser, causing my muscles to seize up painfully, but all that does is create more momentum as I fall into the guy, knocking him against the wall. The door is kicked closed in the process. By then Justin has joined in the fray, grappling with the man to get the weapon out of his hand. I manage to get one good gut punch in, which seems to enrage the guard even more. He grabs for me with his free hand, scratching my face as he goes for my throat. Then I watch - the scene shifting into slow motion - as the guy pushes me backwards a step, shrugs off Justin’s attempt to grab the taser, and swings his arm backwards with the obvious intention of using the heavy metal taser prod as a club to beat me down. Only, his backswing hits Justin instead, the sharp metal implement clipping the side of the boy’s head with an audible *thunk*. And we both turn and watch as the blond drops like a stone.

“Shit!” Our captor is apparently distressed by the fact he’s just clocked the evening’s star performer.

And while he’s momentarily distracted, I hit him with a cross to the jaw that would have made my abusive drunk of a father proud. The guy’s head twists with the impact so far to the side it’s like he’s looking behind himself. At the same time, I grab the taser out of his hand and hold it to his side, pressing the trigger and holding it down so that the man’s body is jolted again and again as the strong electrical current floods through him. He starts to sag to the ground, but I still hold that taser on him. And I keep on tasering him, even when he’s nothing but an inert blob of unconscious flesh lying at my feet.

Only when there’s been no movement out of the guard for a good minute or more do I drop the taser and turn around, ready to celebrate this victory with my fellow captive . . . finding Justin knocked out cold and bleeding profusely from a huge gap on his head.

*****Flash*****

**********

**********

Chapter 6 - Save Me.

“Bri? You okay, Sweetie?”

I guess I got a little lost again, since I find Emmett sitting beside me, his arm around my shoulders as he lightly rubs at my thigh with his other hand. I slouch back against the sofa cushion behind me and rub at my face, trying to rid myself of the images of blood. I need to get ahold of myself. Me freaking out every ten minutes isn’t going to help Justin. I need to get a grip. I gotta try and focus on finding him. I tell myself I can’t think about the other shit.

This time, though, it doesn’t seem to be working. That picture of Justin lying there, bleeding out, won’t go away. I feel my stomach rebelling. With one hand over my mouth, I leap to my feet and take off down the hall towards the bathroom. I just barely make it to the toilet before I lose whatever was left in my stomach.

Thank fuck my helpful Adventure Partner is there a minute later. Emmett hands me a towel to wipe off my face and then follows it up with a glass of water he fills at the bathroom tap. Nothing has ever tasted better than that glass of water as it cools my sore throat.

“He gonna be okay?” Gravelly Guy asks from somewhere behind me.

“Eventually. This is a lot to deal with and he only just got out of the hospital a little more than two hours ago,” Em answers, patting me on the back familiarly. “But Brian’s tough. He’ll be fine as soon as we find his friend.”

I take a deep breath, in through my nose, and then hold it until all the leftover nausea passes. Then I accept Em’s outstretched hand and use it to climb to my feet. My knees still feel a little wobbly, but my resolve is steady.

“What did you remember, son?” the Detective asks as I stand before him.

“The Sapp’s guy came to get Justin. He wanted to get him ready for this week’s party. I tried to fight him, to protect the kid, but Justin got caught in the middle of it. The guard - I think Sapp called him ‘Alex’ one time - accidentally hit Justin in the head with the taser thing he was using to control us. I grabbed the taser and used it on the guard until the guy passed out. Then I tried to help Justin. But, when I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, I left to go find help. And that’s the last I remember till I got to the Diner,” I recite the revelations of my last vision.

“Ah! That makes sense then. You escaped and the perps got scared. They cancelled the party they were going to throw and probably bugged out. Unfortunately, they’ve got a few hours head start on us,” Horvath reasons through the next steps he needs to take. “Ziva - get on the horn to the station and have them send somebody out to the airport asap. Chances are they won’t be able to get a flight out till after six.” When the Detective is done yelling down the hall to his companion, he turns back to me. “Anything else? Anything that can help us find this kid?”

I sigh and shake my head, feeling like I’m just about at the end of my strength here.

Before I can say anything, though, there’s a strong, supportive body standing next to me, his arm snaking around my waist, helping to hold me up. “You can do this, Bri. Think. Where’s your blond? You know where he is, you just have to reach deep and find the answer.”

For a big nelly bottom, Emmett is remarkably sturdy, and I find myself leaning on him, relying on his strength in unprecedented ways, as I let my head drop so it’s resting against his shoulder. It feels really good to have him here with me. Supporting me both physically and emotionally. And it gives me the resolve I need to try again.

I reach into that scary memory one more time, exploring it more fully, and trying to suss out any nuances I might have missed. Everything's the same - I’m still stymied by the blood and the overwhelming fear - but somehow I’m also able to see beyond that part of it. And somehow, I manage to find it. The piece that was missing.

“Music!” I announce, standing up straighter as soon as it comes to me. “There was music. It was outside the room where we were being held, and really muffled, but I could feel the bass. It had to be loud to get through my drugged-out state.”

“Music?” Horvath echoes my statement, looking at me thoughtfully. “You said this guy, Sapperstein, owns a nightclub, right?”

“Babylon!” Emmett screeches excitedly. “That makes total sense. You were in no condition to have walked very far, and we know you didn’t drive because your car was out here, but you could have easily walked the four or five blocks from Babylon to the Diner.” Emmett’s so excited he leans in and kisses my cheek. “Let’s go get your boy!”

“Hang on there, Marple,” Horvath grabs Emmett’s shoulder before we can get out of the bathroom. “You two aren’t going anywhere. This is a police matter.”

“Fuck that. I’m the one these monsters have been torturing for the past week. I’m also the one who promised Justin I would come back for him,” I announce, only realizing after I say the words that they’re true. “Just try and stop me, Detective.”

“Damn it, Kinney. We can’t just go barreling in there. We have to wait till we’ve got the warrant.”

“No, Detective. YOU need a warrant. I don’t. All I need is a sledgehammer to break the lock on the door,” I state emphatically. “You need to drive, Em - I’m still a little shaky. We’ll come back for my Jeep later. And we have to stop at Deb’s on the way and get the sledgehammer out of her garage. Let’s go!”

I’m already halfway down the hall before I hear an aggravated Gravelly Guy growling as he plods after us. “Calm the fuck down, Kinney. You don’t need to stop for a damn sledgehammer . . . I have a police issue battering ram in my trunk.” That stops me in my tracks. “Ziva, you and Matthews stay here and secure the scene. As soon as forensics gets out here, you can come find me at this club.” Horvath stalks past Em and I, pausing as he reaches for the door. “You guys coming?”

**********

I’m silently cursing myself all the way back into town. I can’t believe we were there, at the club, wasting time talking to Todd and Ducky, when Justin was there all the time. If he’s not okay . . .

“Stop beating yourself up, Brian,” Emmett’s comment breaks through my musing. “You didn’t know he was there and you’re still only barely okay yourself. We’ll get him and he’ll be fine.”

“He’s just a kid, Em. And he’s so fucking sweet. He doesn’t deserve this shit.”

*****Flash*****

I’ve had a totally for-shit day. Make that a for-shit week. I thought that a night out, drinking and burying myself in ass after ass, would counteract the shittiness, but so far nothing seems to be helping. The shittiness has been so overwhelming that even my friends have finally abandoned me to deal with it all alone. No problem. I’ll just down another Beam or two and hopefully that will be enough to make me forget about the overall shittiness of the world.

I slam back my drink and slide the glass across the bar towards the barkeep . . . Only to have the fucking bartender tell me he’s cutting me off. Me? Okay, so I admit I’m fucking drunk, but not drunk enough to get cut off. I’ve always been able to hold my liquor. It’s a Kinney family trait. It’s genetic as fuck. He can’t cut ME off.

Only he does. The fucker. So I’m now totally pissed off and vow to leave this dive and never come back.

Which I would definitely do, if I could make it all the way to the damn door. Unfortunately, I get distracted before I make it that far. It’s not my fault though - there’s a fucking angel dancing on the bar and his brilliance distracts me.

I’m not even exaggerating. This guy is a fucking ANGEL! I can tell because of the fucking halo of light that shines off the kid’s crown of blond hair. He’s so fucking beautiful, I’m almost blinded. And all I can do in my drunken stupor is stand there, mouth hanging open, as I stare up at the vision of blondness shaking his ass in my face. Damn him for being so beautiful.

My angel is perfect, though. He’s got this pale, almost translucent skin, that shines under the bright lights flashing through the club. And his hair is cut in this adorable prep-boy cut - I’m allowed to think the word ‘adorable’ when I’m this drunk, right? - which makes him look like a fucking kid. It’s hard to see what color his eyes are, what with the flickering disco lights, but I suspect they are a liquid blue that will suck me in and bewitch me, because that’s what angels do. And don’t even get me started on the delicious way he moves his body to the music.

I have to have this angel.

Just then, the song that was blasting through the speakers changes and I hear the DJ announce that it’s last call. I hadn’t realized it was that late. That seems to be the signal, though, for my Angel to descend to earth and join the rest of us humans. He reaches a hand down to me, asking for support, and I grab hold of that hand with pleasure.

“Thanks,” the Angel says, his voice a melodic tenor that causes little rills of lust to vibrate through my core. “Fuck, I’m beat. What a night, huh?”

In my drunken reverie I have no filters whatsoever, so my reply is, understandably, a little over the top. “I love you. Don’t ever leave me. I want to worship you forever.”

The Angel laughs and I’m captivated all over again by the magical notes of his amusement. I refuse to let go of the hand I’m still holding. He just smiles at me and I’m temporarily blinded by that damn smile.

“You’re drunk. But you’re also cute. And I like the idea of being worshiped. How about I get us two waters and you can detail exactly how this worship thing is supposed to work?”

*****Flash*****

I laugh out loud at this newest flash of memory.

“What?” Emmett asks without looking at me - he’s too busy driving, trying to keep up with Detective Horvath’s police sedan that’s zooming along in front of us with lights and sirens blaring.

“The first time I saw him, I told him I wanted to worship him forever,” I confess, laughing at myself again. “Of course, I was drunk out of my fucking mind at the time.”

“Aww. That’s so cute. I bet you totally swept him off his feet. It’s like the perfect romance.”

I scoff at that statement. “Yeah. If the perfect romance involves getting kidnapped, assaulted and tortured together.”

“Well, there’s that. But as long as you two get your happily ever after, that’s all that matters.”

“What have you been smoking? I don’t believe in happily ever afters, Emmy Lou. You should know that by now.”

“But I do, Brian. And after what you’ve been through, I’m not going to rest till you and your blond get yours. I’m going to make it my life’s work. And you know how persistent I can be, so you might as well just resign yourself to your happy ending now and not fight it.”

He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze to emphasize his conviction, and I’m too tired to argue with him or even to pull my hand away.

“First we have to actually find him,” is as much as I will concede, adding to myself, ‘and hope to fuck he’s not dead already.’

The rescue itself is almost anticlimactic. By the time we pull up outside Babylon it’s almost five am. The adrenaline and fear that have been keeping me going all night are mostly gone. I can barely stumble along behind Horvath while he uses his battering ram thing to force open the front door of the club. He makes us wait while he goes in with his gun in hand, but it’s clear that the club is empty and he soon waves us in. We eventually find the stairs down to the basement - a basement that I hadn’t previously been aware even existed - and make our way down there.

I’m too tired to even feel anxious or surprised anymore. Mostly I’m just numb now. Emmett’s dogging my steps as if he’s worried I’ll break into hysterics or maybe collapse again. I don’t have the energy for either of those options, so I just plod along in Horvath’s wake, silently hoping this nightmare will soon be over.

Most of the basement is just a large open area filled with broken furniture, old props and unused promotional items. There’s a storage room for excess alcohol. There’s a laundry room, an electrical room and another room for all the HVAC equipment.

Then there's a room near the back of the building that’s set up as a personal playroom/dungeon. From the hallway I can see in through the open door. There’s a sling hanging from the ceiling in the back corner, an unmade bed in the other corner, a paddling bench in the middle of the floor, and even a cross-thing against the wall. I am NOT ready to think about that room or any of the memories that might be hiding inside it. I physically turn my back on the room and wait as patiently as I can while Horvath checks it out and makes sure it’s ‘clear’.

Which leaves only one more door at the very end of the little hallway. I had wanted to run right to it from the moment we’d come down the basement stairs, but the Detective held me back, insisting we clear all the other rooms as we passed them, to make sure there weren’t any bad guys hiding out, waiting to ambush us. This seemingly artificial restraint was killing me, even though I simultaneously dreaded what I might find behind that door after all the hours it had taken me to get back here.

When Horvath has finally reached the right door, he does his cop thing, bursting through the door and pointing his gun around. Obviously, there’s no threat, though, since he quickly holsters the gun and steps inside. I’m there a second later, pushing past him to get to the boy lying on the floor. I drop to my knees, probably ruining another pair of jeans since there’s still a lot of blood around. Justin looks so pale and still that I’m afraid to touch him. I fear I’m too late. The cop takes charge, reaching a hand towards the still body to check for a pulse.

“Whew!” Horvath exclaims before he pulls out his phone. “It’s Horvath. I need an ambulance here stat. I’ve got one victim, unconscious, with a head injury. He’s got a pulse but it’s pretty faint . . .”

He’s got a pulse.

I pick up the youth’s hand and I’m thrilled to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. “I’m back, Angel,” I whisper. “Sorry it took me so long.”

**********

It takes another two hours before the doctors have Justin stabilized and I’m allowed in to see him. I had demanded to ride in the ambulance with him, but then was forced to let him go as soon as the hospital folks took over. Even now, they were going to try and keep me out since I wasn’t family, except that Horvath intervened and ordered the doctor to let me in to see him. Fuckers. Now that I’m here, though, I’m not leaving.

Justin has been cleaned up and the gash on his head is bandaged. In the harsh, bright lighting in the hospital room, you can see all of the other injuries even more clearly. His poor face is horribly bruised. His arms and wrists are cut and raw looking in spots. He looks so beat up. Then I realize I must not look much better. Fuck it all.

“He’s really beautiful,” Emmett comments, looking over my shoulder at the sleeping boy, and directly contradicting my last thoughts. “Don’t worry, Bri. I know it looks bad on the surface, but all those cuts and bruises will heal and he’ll be good as new in no time. You will be too.” Emmett leans in and leaves a friendly kiss on my cheek and I’m too tired and emotionally wrung out to protest. Then he asks, “you gonna stay here?” I nod as I slump down into the guest chair next to Justin’s bed. “Okay. Try to get some rest though; you've got to be wiped. I’m going home, get a few hours sleep myself, and then I’ll come back and make sure you’re both still doing alright. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No. But, could you stop by the loft on your way back and bring me some clean clothes?” I ask and hand over my keys.

“No problem, Sweetie. See ya in a few hours.”

And then my friend is gone and it’s just me and a sleeping boy. A sleeping boy with a cracked skull, possible brain damage, and more ancillary injuries than the doctors could count. But he’s alive. That’s a start, I guess. And we’re free from those sadistic fucks that wanted to hurt us. Now I can only wait and hope that somehow this will all end up right.

I scoot my chair closer so I can hold his hand. I rest my head on the edge of the mattress. And, before you know it, I’m snoring alongside my rescued blond.

*****Flash*****

“Who is it?” Justin sits up in a panic as I’m shoved into our tiny prison room so abruptly that I trip and fall, jarring him from his sleep as I practically land on top of him.

“Fuck!” I moan as I land hard on my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Brian?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” I snarl, so angry at my situation that I momentarily take it out on my fellow captive. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay after this . . .” I mumble, trying not to break into tears.

Justin, wisely, doesn’t take offense at my complaints, knowing they aren’t directed at him. He crawls over to where I’ve landed, pulls me up into a semi-sitting position and then wraps his arms around me. I let him comfort me. It’s something, at least, although it doesn’t stop the pain or the anger. But that little shred of human kindness is something. I lay my head on his slender shoulder as he runs his fingers through my hair.

Eventually I stop shaking.

*****Flash*****

The gentle fingers are still running through my hair when I wake from my latest memory/flashback. I’m almost afraid to open my eyes for fear this too will turn out to be a dream. Then the hand moves and I can feel the fingers tracing lightly over my cheek, my brow, down my nose, and along my lips. I can’t resist and I kiss the finger that traces over my lips a second time.

I hear a quiet chuckle. It’s the most welcome noise in the world. I have to open my eyes then so I can look at the face that goes along with that chuckle.

“Hey.” Justin greets me with a lopsided smile despite the bruising of a swollen lip.

“Hey, you,” I smile back at him. “Welcome back.”

“How?”

I shrug. “I managed to get away. Then I came back for you as soon as I found some help. Sorry it took so long.”

“You came back for me.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Thanks.” Then he winces and lifts a hand to the side of his head where all the bandages are. “What’s this all about?”

“That fucker, Alex, accidentally clocked you with his fucking cattle prod thing. Cracked your skull.” I have to swallow and squeeze my eyes shut to stop the unexpected surge of panic before I can continue. “I thought . . . I thought you were dead . . . Or at least dying . . . The doctors were worried you were going to drift into a coma.”

He shakes his head, but then winces again from the pain the movement causes. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”

“Let me call the nurse. He can give you something for the pain.”

I push the call button to summon the duty nurse and then settle down in my chair again, reaching out to hold his hand once more. I’m not sure what’s come over me, because I’m really not the sort to fucking hold hands all the time, but I feel a little lost when I’m not touching him. And, fuck it all, after the shit we’ve been through, I’m not going to worry about whether or not I should feel awkward about holding another guy’s hand.

The nurse comes in and does his thing, poking and prodding and taking readings using various gadgets. Then the doctor is summoned and he does more poking. They try to get me to leave the room while they’re doing all this shit, but my blond refuses to let me go, so I stay. The doctor seems worried about some residual weakness in Justin’s right side, and says there will be more tests later. But considering that this kind of injury might have been either fatal or left him a vegetable for the rest of his life, it’s looking pretty good. When they’re all done assessing his condition, the doctor orders a sedative so that Justin can get some pain-free rest.

As the nurse adds the new medication to the IV, Justin looks over at me with a worried expression. He’s biting at his bottom lip, despite how painful and bruised it still is. I feel his fingers tighten around mine.

“You won’t . . . You won’t leave, will you, Brian?” he asks hesitantly. “I know you’re probably . . . I mean, you must want to go home or something, but I . . . I just . . . just . . .”

I watch as his anxiety level ratchets up and I feel an echo of the same dread myself. “I’m not going anywhere, kid,” I rush to reassure him. “We’re in this together, right?”

He smiles at me again and I can see his relief in the deep blue eyes. “Right. Thanks, Brian. I just . . . I don’t think I’m ready to be alone.”

The sedative they gave him must be strong because his eyelids are already drooping. He’s asleep practically before the nurse leaves the room. I wait till the door closes all the way before I pick up his hand, deposit a kiss on the back of it, and then whisper my response, “me neither.”

**********

**********

Chapter 7 - Heal Thyself.

Justin is asleep for the rest of the morning. I manage to catch a few more zzz’s while sitting in the chair beside his bed, my head resting on the edge of the mattress. It’s not comfortable or really restful, but whatever. It’s a good thing I’m there, too, seeing as Justin’s sleep - even sedated as he is - is agitated and punctuated by repeated bad dreams. Thankfully, I manage to soothe the nightmares away with a touch or a quiet word, and he settles down again. I’m afraid those bad dreams will be with him for awhile though.

Around noon there’s a quiet tapping at the door. I know it’s not one of the nurses coming in again, since they never bother trying to be quiet. I’m not surprised, therefore, to see Emmett’s uncertain smile peeking through the doorway a second later.

“Hey, Bri. How’s everything going?” he whispers. “Is this a bad time?” I wave him on in. “I brought you some clothes and toiletries. And some lunch.” 

He holds out his offerings and I accept them with a smile. I motion for Emmett to take my chair as I get up and grab for the small gym bag he’s brought. Changing into some clean clothes in the small bathroom takes only a couple minutes. Justin’s still soundly asleep when I come out. Emmett immediately jumps up and gives me back my chair, and then busies himself puttering around, pulling the rolling bed table over to where I’m sitting, and getting out the food he’s brought me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was till I saw the food and my stomach starts growling. I immediately lay into the salad Em hands me, planning to get to the sandwich later. I eye the large, frosty drink container dismissively, but Em just pushes it insistently closer to me.

“It’s a chocolate milkshake and you could use the calories this once, Brian,” Em insists as he takes up a tentative perch on the foot of the hospital bed. “And if you can’t bring yourself to drink it all, maybe your blond can help you when he wakes up.”

I nod, conceding the point because I think ‘my blond’ might actually like that. 

“So, how is he?” Em asks warily as he looks over at our sleeping beauty.

I shrug because it’s really too complicated to get into via a lengthy, whispered conversation. “He was awake for a while earlier, but the doctor sedated him so he could get some sleep,” is all I add. 

“Well, that’s good news, right? That must mean that the injury to his head can’t be too bad. Does he remember anything, though?”

“We didn’t really get into it, but . . . yeah, I’m pretty sure he remembers at least as much as I do.”

There’s not much to say after that. Emmett sits quietly for the next few minutes while I devour my food; I even manage to down the fucking milkshake, I’m that hungry. I can tell Em is stewing about something, but at least he’s letting me finish eating before he lays into me. I’m too tired to get really worked up about whatever it is he’s mulling over, though. Whatever it is, I decide to simply wait and let him get to it in his own time.

“So, how long do you think Justin will be sleeping,” he finally asks when I’ve downed the last bite of delicious turkey-ness. 

“Probably a while still. Why?”

“Because, I thought, if he’s going to be out for a while longer, this would be a good time for you to go back down to the ER and finish getting treated yourself,” Em states bluntly. I can see he’s got this determined set to his shoulders which does not bode well for me. “And before you even start trying to tell me you’re fine and you don’t need to finish up with the doctor, Brian, I’m going to cut you off. Because you really DO need to do this. I don’t know how badly you were hurt, but at the very least you’re going to need to be on prophylactic meds. This is important. I’m not going to let you put your health at risk because of this. So, if you’re ready, let’s go.”

“I told Justin I wouldn’t leave him,” I offer as my only excuse, already knowing as I say the words that Em won’t buy it. 

“You won’t be leaving him, just stepping downstairs for a bit. We’ll let the nurse know where to find us if he wakes up. Now, come on; the sooner we go, the sooner you can get back to him.”

So, with only a glance back over my shoulder to make sure Justin is still sleeping peacefully, I let Emmett drag me out of the room and back downstairs to the ER. I really don’t want to do this, but Em is right for once. Damn The Sapp and the rest of his cronies to hell for forcing all this on me.

The doctor that saw me the night before is, providentially, just coming back on duty and is able to see me right away. Thankfully there isn’t much poking or proding that needs to be done, as most of that had already been done the night before while I was still unconscious. Still, it’s not exactly pleasant talking about this shit. It also makes it all seem much more real, and inescapable, than before. When I finally get to leave again, I’ve got a whopping list of follow up appointments for further testing and a stack of prescriptions to get filled at the hospital pharmacy. 

Emmett is still seated in the ER waiting room when I emerge and I’m ridiculously glad to see him. His quiet support is unexpected but more needed than I would have thought. I like that he doesn’t seem to need to talk about what’s going on - he just sort of takes charge and guides me on to the next thing. It makes it slightly easier to deal with all the shit I’m wading through. Not sure what I’m supposed to do when I finally leave this little bubble that I’m still hiding in, and have to go home to my real life where, presumably, I won’t have a supportive Emmett at my beck and call twenty-four/seven. But since that is out of my control, I push it out of my head and try not to think about it for the time being. 

After we collect my prescriptions, Emmett walks back up to Justin’s room with me, but then leaves me at the door saying he’s got to go pick up Ted at the airport. 

“You want me to come get you and take you home later?” he asks, with an assumed casualness that doesn’t fool me at all.

“No. I’m not leaving him, Emmy Lou,” I pronounce as if daring him to comment on my out of character actions. 

“Good. He’s gonna need you, Bri. And you’re going to need him too, whether you know it or not,” Emmett states prophetically, before he leans in, pecks at my cheek, then steps back with a cheery wave of his fingers and a, “ta ta for now!”

Even though I’ve only been gone a little more than a half hour, I feel guilty when I enter Justin’s room and find him awake. He looks like he’s been crying, too. Damn it! 

“Hey, what’s wrong,” I ask, quickly moving to sit on the side of the bed so I can take him in my arms. 

He angrily swipes at the tears, trying to obscure the evidence that he’s not as strong as he’d like to be. It’s a gesture I recognize since I’d probably do the same. And while I normally wouldn’t be caught dead comforting a crying twink, it’s different with Justin. We’ve been through so much together, it’s like there’s a connection there I’ve never felt with any other guy. So I’m not even a little bit uncomfortable sitting here, holding him, and waiting while he collects himself. 

“Sorry. I thought you’d left and I sorta lost it,” he explains and then adds, “just ignore me. I’m blaming it all on the medication.” I like that he’s somehow still got a sense of humor and reward him with a soft chuckle. “So, where’d you go?” 

I pick up the small paper bag containing my prescriptions and shake it so you can hear the pills rattling in the bottles. “Speaking of medication, I had to go get my own.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense . . . Damn. I hadn’t actually thought about that part yet.”

“Lucky us, huh? Although, I imagine you’re already getting the same as they gave me, only you’re getting the IV kind while I get to swallow a half dozen pills a day,” I respond bitingly. “But it’s better than the alternative, I guess, so . . .”

“I suppose it goes without saying, but this whole thing really sucks, you know?” 

I can tell he’s holding back more tears, and I’m halfway there myself, but mine are more tears of anger than anything else. Of course that anger is completely futile. There’s nothing either of us can do about it now. And that niggling little voice in the back of my head, repeating that I was stupid and it’s all my fault and, if I hadn’t screwed up so colossally, I could have protected us both, is insidious. So much for my old mantra about ‘no regrets’.

Luckily for everyone involved, my maudlin moment is cut short by yet another knock on Justin‘s hospital room door. The face that peeks around the jamb this time, however, isn’t smiling. I’m not sure our Gravelly Guy detective ever smiles much. I probably wouldn’t if I were in his line of business either.

“Detective Horvath, welcome back. I can’t say it’s nice to see you,” I extend the nicest greeting possible under the circumstances. “Please tell me you’re here to announce you caught The Sapp already.”

“Afternoon, Kinney. Mr. Taylor.” The cop nods at both of us with his cool, professional manner. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have Saperstein in custody yet. We think he’s hunkered down, hiding somewhere. There was no sign of him at the airport this morning. We also checked the local train and bus stations with no luck. But we’ve got an APB out on his car, so he shouldn’t be able to get far. We’ll get him eventually.” 

Horvath sounds pretty certain, so I guess I won’t give up hope yet. 

“In the meantime, though, we’ve turned up loads of fingerprints and DNA evidence from the party house you led us to, Kinney.” Now Horvath looks like he’s actually gonna smile. “We hit the motherlode there. And you’d be surprised at some of the prominent names that are coming up as we run those samples. It’s looking pretty much like a Who’s Who of Sexual Predators for the Pittsburgh area. Ziva and Matthews have already started pulling them in for questioning. The ones we’ve talked to so far have all been more than happy to sing in the hope that we’ll keep their names out of the spotlight while they point fingers at all their buddies. When this shit does come out, it’s going to rock the city. We’ve got business executives, doctors, lawyers, even a judge.” Now the Detective is outright grinning. “Just between you, me and the fencepost - and you better not repeat this to anyone else until we’ve got all our ducks in a row and are sure the evidence is enough to get an indictment - it’s possible we might’ve even caught a well known mayoral candidate who’s not only ‘straight’, but an outspoken anti-gay activist. I can’t wait to see the shit fest that’ll bring down among his potential constituents.”

“Damn! Since I’m pretty sure you’re not referring to Deakins - who’s about as gay-friendly as you can get without taking it up the ass - that means you’re talking about Police Chief Stockwell? How the fuck do you expect to indict your own boss?”

“Very carefully,” Horvath answers with a saucy little wink. “But that’s why it’s imperative we do this investigation by the book. And I also need both of you to commit to testifying on this one. Because I’m not sticking my neck out here unless I’m sure I’ve got solid eyewitness testimony to back up the circumstantial evidence. Now, I know that’s a lot to ask - fuck knows I wouldn’t want to be in your position - but if you two aren’t willing to stand up and testify in this case, it isn’t going anywhere.” 

Fuck. Testifying? That means going public . . . With everything . . . Can I do that? Can I really go on the record and tell the entire world that I let somebody . . . I mean, I still can’t even really THINK about what they did to me, let alone fucking TALK about it. And Horvath thinks I’m gonna want to get on the stand in a courtroom somewhere and spill everything? Fuck that! 

“They’re going to get away with it, aren’t they?” Justin asks in a voice that’s just this side of devastated. “Powerful men like that? There’s no way they’ll be held accountable. Even if I can . . . If I could find the strength to testify about it - if I go out there and humiliate myself in front of the entire world by telling how they . . . how they hurt me - it won’t matter. Nobody cares about a nobody like me. Fuck it all. I wish they had just killed me and been done with it . . .”

Justin turns his head into my shoulder and his whole body sags against me in defeat. 

And I fucking hate it. I hate hearing the defeat in his voice. I hate feeling the way his body is trembling with fear and disappointment. I REALLY hate hearing him say he’d be better off dead. 

I hate all of that so much more than I fear outing myself for having become a . . . Damn, it’s hard to even think the word . . . For having become a RAPE victim. 

“Don’t you ever fucking say that again, Justin. You are NOT better off dead. You hear me?” I pull away from him just far enough that I can look in his eyes. “Now, you listen to me. Are you listening?” Justin sniffles and nods his head. “Fuck The Sapp and all his powerful friends. We’re not going to let them get away with this. We’re not going to let them win. We’re going to stand up to them and prove that we’re stronger than all of them put together. We can fucking do this, Justin. I promise you. You hear me?”

“That mean you’re willing to testify?” Horvath asks point blank.

“If that’s what it takes to put ALL these creeps behind bars, then yes. It’s gonna fucking suck, but I’m not going to let them get away with what they did. I won’t let them make us disappear like they did to those others - the boys they killed. I won’t let them win,” I state, hopefully sounding more sure of myself than I feel, because inside I’m scared shitless.

Justin finally looks up at me and I can see my fear reflected in his eyes. But maybe I’m a better actor than I think, because he sniffles and then nods his head. And with a big sigh he moves so he’s facing Horvath again. 

“Brian’s right. We have to at least try,” Justin says in a shaky voice.

“Good. Then I’m going to need complete statements from both of you.” Horvath pulls up the guest chair, plops himself down, pulls out his phone and the little notebook, and then looks up at the two of us still sitting on the bed. “Who wants to go first?” he asks as he taps at the button to start the recording function on his phone.

**********

The process of giving our statements lasts the rest of the afternoon. It’s an exhausting and emotional process. I feel totally wiped out and I can tell just by looking at Justin that he’s the same. Horvath is fucking relentless though; he pries at every single detail, pushing us to remember more, even where there are large blank gaps caused by all the drugs we were given. Justin’s better than me at recalling descriptions of the men, but I’m better at keeping the timeline straight, and together we garble together a pretty complete story. 

Regardless, it’s not easy. But, just when I think I’m about to lose it, we are saved by the arrival of the nurse. She immediately kicks the cop out so she can tend to her patient. Horvath says he’ll probably need to talk to both of us again, but he has enough to go on for now. He leaves with a thank you to us both and a promise to keep us informed how the case is proceeding.

I take the opportunity, while the nurse is doing embarrassing things to my blond, to pop out and run downstairs to the coffee shop for an Americano and a power bar, in lieu of dinner. By the time I return, Justin is all cleaned up, bandages replaced, and seated in bed with a cup of soup, some jello and apple juice for his own dinner. I’m not sure if it’s the unappetizing food or just fatigue, but he doesn’t seem very interested in eating. I probably should have let him have that milkshake Em brought me earlier.

After all the talking we’ve just been forced to do, it’s not surprising that neither of us seem to feel like saying anything more. I’m just sitting here in the guest chair, staring blankly into space, while Justin sips at his soup. It feels like so much has happened in such a short period of time. I’m not sure it’s all sunk in yet. Maybe I don’t want it to sink in, though, because then I’ll have to think about it all. And maybe that’s what’s eating at Justin, causing him to not eat his food. Eventually, though, he simply pushes the tray away, giving up on eating altogether.

“I really appreciate you sticking around all day, Brian. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through all this without you. Especially not talking to Detective Horvath. That was . . . Fuck.” I can empathize with his sense of frustration in finding a word to describe just how unpleasant that part of the day had been. “Is every day going to be this bad from now on?

“Don’t know,” I answer. “I couldn’t say; I’ve never been in a situation like this before. But it seems like it’s gonna pretty much suck for a while at least.”

“Yeah . . .” He sighs and slouches even deeper into the pillows behind him. “So, I know I’ve only been awake a total of maybe five hours today, but It feels like it’s been a thousand years. I think I’m going to call the nurse and ask for another dose of that stuff that’ll knock me out for the rest of the night.”

That’s probably not a bad idea. The kid looks totally wiped out. The big bags under his eyes make the bruising on his face look even worse, if that’s actually possible. And considering what he’s been through, not to mention that he got his head bashed in less than a day ago, I’m surprised that he’s held up this long. 

I feel pretty exhausted too, even though it’s not even seven in the evening. Of course, that realization immediately brings to mind the prospect of going home to my own bed and getting some sleep myself, which is followed a second later by an almost visceral wash of panic at the thought of being alone in that big, empty loft. I know it’s not rational. I know it’s just some fucked up reaction to everything that’s happened to me this week. But even though I KNOW this reaction is stupid and irrational, I can’t stop feeling totally freaked out at the prospect of leaving here and facing a whole night all alone.

“Brian?” Justin interrupts my moment of unreasoning dread, and the note of uncertainty and barely veiled pleading in his voice instantly gets my attention. “I realize I have no grounds to ask anything more of you. You’ve already been fucking amazing; you not only freed us from those monsters, but you went and got help for me, and then you’ve stayed with me all day. And, you know . . . feel free to say ‘no’, because I wouldn’t hold it against you. And I’m sure you’re more than ready to get away from here and go to your own home . . . But, well, um . . .”

“What?” I prompt, trying to cut through the nervous babbling.

“Damn. I feel like such a baby saying this but . . . Oh, fuck it all! I just can’t bear to be alone, damn it! I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared shitless by the mere idea that you’ll leave me here alone and something will happen, or The Sapp will somehow find me again, or that you’ll disappear and I’ll never see you again, or . . .” He stops his list of catastrophic possibilities when I start laughing. Huffing at me angrily, he adds, “I know it all sounds ridiculous, but you don’t have to laugh at me. I can’t help it that I haven’t yet had time to deal with all this shit.”

“I’m not laughing at YOU,” I reply, grabbing his hand to calm him down. “I’m laughing at myself. I was just having pretty much the same mini-freak out in my own head, like, ten seconds ago.” I am rewarded for my admission with one of Justin’s huge smiles, which is only partially marred by his torn and swollen lip. “At least I know I’m not the only one totally screwed up around here.”

“So, if I ask you to stay, you’re not going to think I’m a totally pathetic loser?”

“Maybe, but I promise not to say it out loud,” I tease him, Getting the first laugh I remember hearing out of him, which does something weird to my gut and makes me feel lighter somehow.

Right as I’m pulling up my chair closer to the bed, prepared to settle in and make myself as comfortable as possible, he stops me with a hand on my forearm. “You can’t sleep in that chair all night. Your back will give out and you’ll never be able to walk again come morning.” Then he reaches across his body and lifts up the blankets on his right. “Come on, get in here already, Big Guy.”

“Pretty sure that big nurse that just came on duty won’t approve,” I caution him.

Justin pats the mattress to hurry me along and I obediently start to slide in under the covers. “Yeah, well, Psycho Nurse can bite me,” he adds. 

“Psycho Nurse would probably like that, but it’s too kinky for me. I’m not into that kind of three-way, Angel,” I comment snarkily before I even think about the words. 

Then I freeze. I can’t believe I said that. Except when talking to the hospital staff or Detective Horvath, neither of us has said anything about what happened or even mentioned sex at all. And even then it was always done in a clinical, detached, manner. I’m pretty sure that neither of us is ready to actually joke about it yet. Definitely NOT in the context of a three-way. That’s just something the old me - the me from before this horrible, nightmare of a week - would say. I just wasn’t thinking. Fuck me. 

“Shit. I didn’t mean that . . .” 

“It’s okay, Brian. I know what you meant,” Justin absolves me as he scoots closer and makes himself more comfortable with his head nestled into the hollow of my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, she’s not my type either. Now, stop talking and be a good pillow.”

*****Flash*****

It’s daylight out, which is good because they mostly don’t bother us until night falls. 

I’m groggy but can’t sleep because it’s fucking cold in here. Yesterday we tried breaking down some of the cardboard boxes to use as a barrier between us and the cold cement floor. We’ve made piles of the used clothing that was in the boxes to create a sort of makeshift mattress atop the cardboard. But it’s still not enough to stave off the bone-chilling numbness that seeps up from the concrete beneath us.

I can tell that Justin is cold too because he’s shivering in his sleep. We are huddled together amid our nest, but body warmth alone isn’t getting us very far. Without waking him, I manage to reach over, grab a random old sweatshirt, and drape it over his shoulders. I also try rubbing his arms to generate a little friction. He automatically snuggles in closer to my chest, his head tucked up under my chin.

If I close my eyes and block out the cramped little closet where our captors have us stashed, concentrating solely on the warm, yielding body I’m holding in my arms, I can almost forget the random aches and pains in my own body. Lying here with a sweet little blond wrapped around me is actually kind of nice. I’ve never been much of a snuggler; I was always more of the ‘slam, bam, thank you, man’ sort. But this . . . this is nice.

The random thought that, if we manage to survive this shit maybe I wouldn’t mind occasionally doing this kind of thing more often, invades my brain. Normally, I would have immediately banished that idea and mentally chastised myself for even thinking such lesbianic bullshit. But, since I’m laying here with nothing better to do, and trying NOT to think about the next sadistic thing that my captors are going to inflict on me, I actually let the idea percolate in my consciousness. And it doesn’t really scare me at all. I could probably deal with it. I wouldn’t want it to get around that I was open to the idea of cuddling, but . . .

Justin mewls in his sleep, his hand curling around my wrist. He’s warmed up enough that he’s no longer shivering. His breath is warm against my collarbone. I like the weight of his body pressing against me. It’s comforting. 

This is nice.

*****Flash*****

Finally a flashback that doesn’t make my stomach roil. If anything, it imparts a little bit of a happy glow. And, since nobody’s looking, I decide to let that happy push out the fear and pain a little. Because, holding Justin like this as we both relax towards sleep, really is kinda nice. 

So, this is snuggling, huh? It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I can definitely do this. 

**********

**********

Chapter 8 - Intrusions.

Despite the fact that we’d gone to sleep earlier than your average preschooler, it’s actually pretty late when I finally wake up the next morning. Granted, neither of us slept all the way through the night. Both of us had been restless and had woken intermittently due to unwelcome dreams. Altogether, though, I think I still got somewhere around ten hours of sleep total. I must have been even more tired than I thought.

I’m still lying here, a bundle of warm blond boy in my arms, trying to figure out some plan for how to deal with the coming day, when I feel the kid begin to twitch and fidget. Justin’s breathing has sped up and his hand is gripping at my shirt, using the fabric as a hand-hold to push me away. When I try to hug him more tightly, thinking to comfort him that way, he whimpers and a faint ‘no’ emerges. Then he’s shaking his head, almost violently, and murmuring ‘no, no, no’ over and over. Damn the fucking monsters that have put these horrors in his head.

“Hey, Justin. Wake up, kid. Come on, wake up,” I direct, trying to gently shake him back to consciousness.

He fights it at first, the same way he is fighting me, and his cries to ‘Stop!’ get louder. But then, suddenly, he gasps, shoves against my chest hard, and his eyes burst open. I can tell from the glazed look in his eyes, he’s not actually seeing me or the hospital room. He’s still only seeing the men who hurt him.

“Shhh, Angel. You’re okay. It’s just me. You’re safe. Shhhh,” I croon, hoping that my voice will eventually get through to him.

He’s still gasping for air and I can feel the waves of tension wafting off him. Gradually, though, the panic wanes. Little by little his body relaxes and I inch my arms back around his shoulders until I’m able to hold him tightly to my chest again. The terrified trembling from before has become a silent sobbing, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle. All I can do is hang onto him and let my presence alone provide whatever reassurance he’ll take from me. But he’s a strong little fucker and it doesn’t really take all that long till he has himself back under control.

He swipes at his cheek to wipe away any residual evidence of his tears before taking a deep breath and pushing away from me. “Sorry about that.”

“Never apologize, kid. Sorry is bullshit. It doesn’t fix anything,” I counsel him, imparting one of the tenents of my own personal philosophy. “Besides, you have nothing to be sorry for. The Sapp and his cronies are the ones who should be sorry. And, if Horvath can catch them, they can spend the rest of their lives being sorry as they rot away in prison.”

“Yeah. If only,” Justin replies, still not sounding convinced of that likelihood.

“You good now?” I ask, noting that he’s breathing more regularly and, although he’s still pale, looks calmer.

Justin nods and sniffles again. And I have to mentally chastise myself for letting myself think about how adorable he looks when he sniffles and wipes at his face like that. Brian Kinney doesn’t do ‘adorable twinks’, right? Not even ones that look like sweet little boys and evoke a ridiculous need to protect them.

“I gotta take a piss,” I announce, in an attempt to distract myself.

“Me too, actually,” Justin chimes in. “I may need some help though.”

So I help him to the bathroom. It’s not far, but this is the first time he’s been up out of bed since we got here. He’s definitely a little wobbly on his feet, but we manage. Slowly. It’s better than him having to use that stupid plastic urinal flask-thing the nurses made him use yesterday. After we’ve both pissed, I also help him wash up at the sink and I share my toiletries so we both come out smelling a little less foul. By the time we’re done, the nutrition staff has come and gone and there’s a breakfast tray waiting for him on the bed table.

Justin shares his toast with me and we watch some inane morning television program while we eat. It’s good. It’s peaceful. We need more peaceful, I think.

But the peacefulness doesn’t last because it’s a hospital, and the goal of a hospital is to annoy the patients enough that they have to get well so they can go home as quickly as possible. Which means that there’s a parade of hospital staff who start in on my blond almost before he’s finished eating. The nurse comes in and does his poking, proding, and recording of all Justin’s vitals. The nurse also unhooks him from the IV, advising that he’s now doing well enough that he can take his meds orally like a big boy. About the time he finishes replacing the bandages on Justin’s head - which allows me a glimpse of the nasty, puckered wound underneath, since I’m watching as the dressing is changed - yet another hospital denizen comes into the room. This guy is a physical therapist who announces he’s taking my boy off to start some therapy for his weakened right side and his hand. Justin’s taking all of this with a lot better grace than I would have. He sighs at the newest demand but lets the PT wheel him off in a chair to the therapy rooms. Which leaves me with enough free time to wander downstairs and get some real breakfast and much-needed coffee.

The rest of the morning is fairly calm, though. Justin’s short therapy session tires him out all over again and he naps for a bit. I’m just sitting around, killing time, watching the television on low volume and trying not to think about anything much. Every time the niggling worries about what the fuck I’m going to do with my life now pop up, I viciously tamp them down. I’m seriously not ready to think about the future. I’m not ready to think about anything much at all. Even a passing idea that I should probably go home or call work or just call my friends and let them know where I’m at, tends to cause a pang of panic. So, I basically just sit there and veg and continue to hide from the world. I’m allowed to hide for another day, right?

We’re just finishing up after lunch - which I had supplied for the both of us since the slop they’d brought him to eat was vile and he’d pleaded with me to go get him some real food from the cafeteria - when there’s an insistent knocking at the door and a second later, before we had a chance to even yell out an ‘enter’, our latest visitor barrels into the room.

“Brian! There you are! Thank fuck I finally found you! Are you okay? Where have you been? How badly hurt are you?” Michael Novotny, my oldest friend, launches himself at me bodily, yelling questions faster than I can answer.  

I have my arms full of almost-tearful Mikey before I know what hits me. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I can see a very startled Justin looking a bit spooked by the vociferous visitor. He’s moved as far away from Michael as he can get without actually falling out of the bed and is curled up in a self-protective ball. I’m mentally cursing my boisterous friend, trying to get him to unhand me so I can get to my frightened blond, and simultaneously wondering how the hell Michael found me.

“Get the hell off me, Mikey,” I finally demand, pushing him away a little more savagely than is strictly necessary.

As soon as I’m free, I turn to Justin, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out one hand tentatively. He’s still shying away, even from me, but I persist. Eventually, he lets me touch him, and I manage to calm him a bit.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s just my idiot friend. He’s mostly harmless,” I whisper as Justin slowly relaxes in my arms. “Michael Novotny, meet Justin Taylor - the patient who’s room you just invaded. Now, if you’re done yelling and mauling me, maybe you can tell us what you’re doing here?”

“Nice to meet you, Justin,” Michael remembers his manners for a second before all his attention is laser focused back on me again. “I’m here to find you, Brian. Of course. See, we were all up at the cabin for the week - remember, I told you this was our annual trip to the Poconos - and when Vic went out to pick up some groceries at the store, he brought back the newspaper, which had your picture on the fucking front page. It totally freaked me out. I can’t believe you got involved in something like this. But, anyway, I figured you’d need me, so we all came back right away and I only just found out where you were . . .”

Before Mikey can get too far into his explanation, there’s another, thankfully less strident, knocking at the door, followed by another visitor poking his head in.

This time it’s a contrite-looking Emmett, who immediately starts off by saying, “sorry to just barge in like this, Brian. Just wanted to give you a heads up - Michael’s on his way . . .” Which happens to be when Em finally notices that there’s a third person in the hospital room. “. . . Michael’s here. Hey, Sweetie. How was the trip to the Poconos? I didn’t think you guys were coming back until Tuesday.”

“I made Ma & Vic drive us all back here pronto. What did you expect me to do after I saw that article in the paper about Brian helping to rescue some kid connected to a serial murder case?” Michael explains, before again turning to berate me. “What the hell were you thinking, Brian? Why would you get yourself involved in that kind of mess? Don’t you know those kind of people are dangerous? You could have been seriously hurt . . .”

I can tell that Justin’s starting to get agitated again. Michael’s ranting would be enough to startle pretty much anyone, let alone a recently-traumatized assault victim. But I know there’s no way to calm Michael down until he’s had a minute or two to vent. After which, hopefully, I’ll be able to get a word in edgewise and can maybe divert the rest of his well-meaning excesses.

“Justin, this is my friend, Emmett,” I say, gesturing to the tall, smiling figure that’s trying to be quiet in the corner. “He’s the one who helped me find you.”

“Hey there, Honey. Nice to officially meet you when you’re awake,” Em responds with a little wave.

Justin only nods, trying for a smile but not really getting there in his anxiety.

“Is it okay if Em sits with you for a bit while I go talk to Mikey?” I suggest. “I promise I’ll be right back. Five minutes tops, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Emmy Lou,” I gesture towards the nearby guest chair and watch gratefully as my ally takes a seat and smiles at me reassuringly. “I’ll only be out in the waiting room, Justin. If you need anything, send Emmett to find me.” Justin nods and manages a real smile for me. “Okay, Michael. Let’s go talk.”

“Damn, I’m so glad to see that you’re okay, Brian,” Michael starts in immediately with his worried questioning. “When I called Em and he told me you were at the hospital, I almost panicked. What the hell happened? Is that the kid you rescued? The story in the paper was so vague - all it said was that there was a new lead in the Dumpster Boys case and that you’d helped the police to find a potential victim. He looks pretty beat up. Is he going to be okay?” Then Mikey apparently notices that I’m looking a little beat up too, which only ramps up his apprehensions even more. “Sheesh, Brian! You’re hurt pretty bad too. What happened? Are you okay?”

“It’s a long fucking story, Mikey. One I’m really not in the mood to tell right now. Not to mention that we’re not supposed to say anything until the police give us the okay - they’re still working on arresting all those involved and I’m not allowed to talk about it in the meantime.” I hope that this non-explanation will at least staunch the questioning. “Suffice it to say, I didn’t have the best week, but I’ll be fine. Justin got the worst of it.”

“Thank fuck! I was so worried about you, Brian. Ma will be glad to hear they finally found the guys that are responsible. She’s been so upset about this case. But, then again, I suppose finding a body in a dumpster would do that to anyone. Am I right?”

Michael can’t help himself and just has to hug and kiss me again right then, so relieved I’m okay that he can’t keep his hands off me. I try not to flinch away from his touch, although the once familiar gesture now has my skin crawling.

“Anyways, I’m glad you’re okay and it’s not YOU in the hospital. It’s really nice of you to visit the kid. Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah. Justin will be fine . . . eventually. For the time being, though, he’s still a little skittish. It’s probably best that he not have to deal with too many visitors.”

“I can see that.” Michael looks down the hall towards the doorway into Justin’s room with a contemplative expression. “So, are you almost done here? I can wait around till you’re ready to leave. I figure we can hit Woody’s for drinks and catch up. You can tell me the whole story and I’ll bring you up to date on the horrors of spending a week in the country with my Mother and Uncle Vic. Damn, I’m horny. I hope there’s some decent guys at the bar tonight, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind hooking up with somebody . . .”

“I’m not in the mood for Woody’s, Mikey,” I interrupt my friend’s plan-making.

“Oh, come on, Bri. We haven’t seen each other in over a week. It’ll be fun and I promise I won’t even give you shit when you inevitably abandon me to head off with your first trick of the afternoon,” Michael teases, laughing at what he thinks is a funny joke.

I’m already backing away from him, a little bit panicked by the mere suggestion of going off with a stranger I met in a bar for . . . “No can do, Mikey. I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’ve already got plans for tonight,” I explain, hoping that he doesn’t press me to confess that my ‘big plans’ were to stay here and watch bad television with Justin while I hide out from the world for a little bit longer.

“Oh. Well, okay. Another time, I guess,” Michael replies, sounding a little rejected. “Give me a call tomorrow, then. And I expect to hear all the details about whoever you’re doing tonight too.”

“Later, Mikey,” I say curtly, giving him a short but friendly hug goodbye.

“Later, Bri,” Mikey responds reluctantly and I can feel his eyes glued to my back all the way down the hall as I head back to Justin’s room.

When I reenter the room, I find Emmett and Justin chatting like old friends. Because, of course Emmett immediately makes friends with pretty much everyone. So it’s really no surprise that Em’s already got Justin’s entire life story out of him in the five minutes I’ve been gone.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to go on to art school. And now,” Justin holds up the hand that seems not to be functioning quite right since his head injury, “who knows if I’ll ever be able to draw again? Which really sucks because that was pretty much my only ambition in life. I mean, it’s not like I planned to be a go-go dancer forever. And now . . . well, let’s just say I don’t think I’d still be interested in that job even if it weren’t for The Sapp.”

“Seeing as the cops have closed Babylon down altogether, I don’t think you’d be going back there even after they cart away Gary Sapperstein, Baby,” Emmett relates the latest news. “You should have heard the uproar along Liberty Avenue last night when all the fags found the club closed up and circled with that bright yellow police tape. The speculation about why it was closed was pretty amusing though. I heard everything from tax fraud to drugs touted as the reason. Of course, I didn’t correct them.”

“Mikey says the news is out - at least in part - as of today’s paper. That’s how he knew to come hunt me down,” I interject.

“Sorry about Michael,” Em apologizes. “He called me, all in a dither, totally freaking out about you, Bri. Apparently he’d already tried to call both your landline and cell, but because you hadn’t answered, he’d convinced himself you were lying in a ditch somewhere. I was halfway through trying to explain that you were fine, and the reason he hadn’t been able to get you was because you were probably still here at the hospital with Justin, when he hung up on me. I’m pretty sure all he heard was the word ‘hospital’ before he panicked. Not sure how he found your room, though, Baby.” Em offered an apologetic smile to the blond patient and got one of Justin’s best in return.

“He probably whined it out of the front desk folks. Fuck knows I’d do the same if it meant shutting him up when he’s in one of his moods. After seeing that newspaper article, though, I’m sure he would have tracked me down eventually, one way or another,” I respond, absolving Emmett of his transgression and getting a laugh in response. “At least so far the press is only reporting that I helped the police find a ‘potential victim’. Although, if Horvath manages to find Sapperstein, the whole story’s going to come out sooner or later.” I sigh and hear an echoing respiration from the patient. “Whatever. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep as long as he’s still out there, though, so I guess it’s all relative. Right?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think either of you are going to be sleeping all that well for a while - not after everything that happened,” Em states, looking determined. “Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for your first therapy appointment.” He gets up, rummages around in the huge shoulder bag waiting by his chair, and pulls out a business card which he formally presents to me. “There you go. It’s all set up. Kristoff is a wonderful therapist and specializes in survivors of sexual abuse. He’s even willing to see the both of you together - at least at first - so that it’ll be less traumatic.”

He tries to hand the appointment reminder card to me but I back away. “What the hell makes you think I want to go see a fucking head shrinker?”

“Don’t you dare try and get out of this, Brian. And don’t tell me you’re ‘fine’ or that you don’t need therapy. You’re not fine. You couldn’t possibly be after what you went through,” Emmett insists, marching over and physically shoving the little card into my jeans pocket. “Trust me on this, Brian. I KNOW what I’m talking about. You may think you’re okay now, but that’s because you’re still in shock and not even aware how bad you’re hurting. A month or two down the line, when everything comes crashing down, you’ll realize how bad it really is and WISH you’d started therapy right from the start. And I’m not about to let you go through that. I only wish that someone had been there to force ME to get help earlier.”

“Emmy Lou?” To say I’m shocked to find out that my happy-go-lucky, always cheerful and positive, completely trusting, friend has such darkness in his own past, would be putting it mildly.

“Yes, Brian. I’ve been there too,” he admits with a defiant tilt to his head. “And I’ll be happy to tell you all about it, someday, but not till I’m sure you’re far enough along in your own recovery that I won’t trigger you. Fuck knows I’m still not over it myself, even though it’s been years and . . . well, I suspect your case might be tougher . . . But that’s why I’m not backing down on this, Brian. I’ve been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt, and I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I just won’t. Deal with it.”

Even with an insistent Emmett standing there, demandingly, in front of me, I’m resistant to the whole idea of therapy. In my mind, it’s tantamount to an admission of defeat. Only total basket cases go to a fucking therapist. Besides, what good can talking about something so horrible be? I can’t imagine hashing over everything that’s happened to me, again and again. How fucking depressing.

“Thank you, Emmett. That’s amazingly kind and supportive of you. Unfortunately, I really can’t afford to go see a therapist. I’ll just have to get by on my own. Somehow . . .” Justin responds before I have a chance to refuse for myself first.

“Oh, baby . . . I totally understand about the money thing, but you really can’t think like that. This isn’t an optional kind of thing. I’m sure Kristoff would be willing to work out something on the fees. Or maybe Brian could . . .”

Emmett is now looking at me with this sad, pleading look. Justin, on the other hand, isn’t making eye contact with anyone; he’s just staring at his hands in his lap as if he’s already fallen into the dregs of depression that Emmett was trying to warn us about. And the whole fucking thing is making me feel hopeless as well. I hate feeling hopeless. I’ve never been good at hopeless. I’m more the ‘take immediate action and damn the consequences’ kinda guy.

“When’s the fucking appointment?” I ask, surrendering to the inevitable, albeit with poor grace and a scowl on my face.

“Wednesday at five. I made sure it would be after work so you wouldn’t have any excuse not to go,” my nosy friend insists.

“Fine. But if I have to do this shit, so do you, Angel. Fucking shrinks . . .” I turn to Emmett, careful not to smile, because I wouldn’t want him to think I was okay with all this meddling in my life. “Tell your guy we’ll be there. And I’ll pay, out of pocket, whatever’s not covered by my insurance . . . for the both of us.”

“Excellent! I promise you won’t regret this, Brian. Well, actually, you’ll probably hate it. At least at first. But it’s going to be good for you in the long run . . . And, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, Brian. Doing this is going to take real strength. But then I always knew you had it in you.”

“Yeah, but the fact that I ‘had it in me’, is sort of the reason I now have to do this therapy shit, isn’t it?” I joke, realizing even as I speak the words that my humor is completely inappropriate under the circumstances. However, my discomfort at Em’s overt praise outweighs the inappropriateness of my joke, so I let it stand. “Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind, Honeycutt.”

“OK, I’m going. But don’t call me Honeycutt. You know I hate that shit,” Emmett snarks right back at me without losing a beat. Before he leaves he gives a last wave in Justin’s direction. “You take care, Baby. And keep an eye on this one. He talks tough, but we both know his heart’s the biggest organ he’s got.”

“Weren’t you leaving already?”

Emmett laughs all the way out the door. For about thirty seconds I contemplate being seriously angry at my interfering friend. But then I noticed that Justin is smiling and chuckling under his breath. I like it when he’s laughing and happy. We haven’t really had a chance to be happy much so far. So, in the end, I give up my plan to be angry and merely sit myself down in my chair, waiting patiently till the chuckling subsides.

“I like your friend, Emmett. He’s a hoot,” Justin declares once he’s got himself under control again.

“He’s alright. When he’s not being a fucking twat.”

“Awww. You’re just mad ‘cuz he questioned your size,” Justin teases, and I pretend to be upset even though I’m not really. “Maybe he just doesn’t know the relative size of your other organ?”

“He knows. Everyone knows,” I correct him. “I think the fact that I was always a favorite at ‘Nine Inch Night’ at Babylon is pretty much a give away.”

*****Flash*****

“Sorry, Kinney. New rule - everyone trying to take advantage of the free entry on Nine Inch Night has to be officially measured,” Patrick, the guy who usually mans the cash register at Babylon’s front door, says, stopping me as I try to enter and holding up a tape measure.

“Fuck that. You, of all people, should know that I qualify,” I respond, giving him my best sexy leer. “Or don’t you remember how big it feels when it’s shoved as far up your ass as I could get it?”

The doorman laughs sheepishly. “Oh, I remember alright. Especially since it took me two days afterwards before I could walk straight.”

Patrick is about to wave me in - without the annoying measuring, of course - when Gary Sapperstein, Club Manager Extraordinare, saunters up, aiming his habitually creepy squint directly at me. “Is there a problem here?” he asks.

“No problem, Boss,” Patrick rushes to reassure his employer. “Looks like a record turn out, to me. The guys always love Nine Inch Night.”

“Of course they do. Which is why I want to make sure that we don’t let any pretenders in to ruin the evening. So, how did you measure up, Kinney?”

I’ve never liked Sapperstein much, but the way he’s ogling me this time makes my skin crawl. Like I’d ever go there. I don’t do pity fucks. Especially not with guys voted ‘Most Likely to Turn Into a Pedophile’ by their graduating class.

“Uh, Boss, I’m pretty sure that’s not necessary for Kinney . . .”

“Bullshit! I said EVERYONE trying to get in for free tonight has to prove they’re at least nine inches and that means Kinney too. So, either pay up, or measure up,” The Sapp demands with a nasty, gloating smile.

“Whatever,” I concede, even though I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s doing this is because he wants to watch me touch myself.

So I tug on the fly on my jeans, popping all the buttons in a practiced move, pull out my schlong and start stroking myself. Now, normally, I have no problem at all getting hard. Fuck, I just have to think about sex and I’m hard in under sixty seconds. But tonight, with Sleazeball Sapperstein leering at me the whole time, I’m struggling just a bit. I mean, who wouldn’t have a tough time what with the way the creep’s practically drooling as he watches me. It’s a major fucking turn off.

“Need help there, Kinney?” The Sapp offers in a voice he probably considers sexy, but which makes me want to gag. “I’d be happy to lend a hand if you need it.”

*Pffft* “Not in your wildest dreams, Sapperstein,” I snap at him. “The day I let you touch me, is the day I cut it off . . .”

*****Flash*****

“Brian? Brian . . .” Justin’s voice calling my name finally snaps me back out of that particularly unpleasant memory. “There you are. I lost you for a minute again.”

“Yeah . . . uh, bad memory . . .”

“I could tell . . . So, maybe Emmett’s insistence on the both of us seeing his therapist friend isn’t all that misplaced, huh?”

I don’t bother responding, because I’m still too busy trying to prevent the contents of my stomach from making an untimely appearance in a puddle on the floor at my feet. Thankfully, my blond seems to understand and doesn’t press me. Instead, he climbs back up on the big hospital bed, lifts the covers invitingly and smiles at me.

“I’m wiped after that therapy and everything else today. Want to join me for another nap before the next round of doctor and nurse visits?” Justin suggests.

And, because I really do need a little comforting right now - not that I’d ever admit that fact out loud - I gladly crawl into the bed with him. I’m still not used to the cuddling thing, either, but I gotta say, having my blond curled up next to me seems to be doing the trick. The disturbing image of The Sapp that had taken over my head is almost gone. In its place is the reassuring feeling of snuggly blond boy. And, before you know it, I’m dozing along beside him.

**********

**********

Chapter 9 - Life Adjustments.

I think I’m finally all caught up on my sleep. Justin is still snoozing, but I’m lying here wide awake. And for once he isn’t fidgeting in his sleep or thrashing around due to some bad dream. In fact, by all appearances, it seems like he’s having a rather good dream at the moment.

I know that there’s such a thing as sleepwalking, and even sleep talking, but is sleep kissing a thing?

Because that’s what my blond keeps doing. He’s kissing my chest in his sleep. He’s also petting me with his free hand and emitting happy little purrs every so often. I’m afraid to admit it, but I’m thinking the word ‘adorable’ again as I watch these antics.

It’s also giving me hope that Justin is feeling better again. And let’s face it, I need that hope right now. Because, as badly as I was hurt, he’s been hurt a lot worse. And if he can come back from this, I probably can too.

So, acting on my newfound optimism, I tilt my head forward far enough that I can leave a return kiss on his temple.

“Mmmm. Brian,” he mumbles sleepily, then nuzzles his cute little turned-up nose into the crook of my neck, leaving one more kiss on the sensitive skin he finds there. He gives another soft ‘mmmm’ and then inhales deeply. “You smell so good.”

That has me laughing almost immediately. “I haven’t showered in two days.”

“What can I say? I like sweaty guys.”

“Me too,” I answer, twisting my neck far enough to the left that I can nuzzle into the shaggy blond hair at his temple.

Who knows where things might have gone next, if not for the fact that the revolving door of Justin‘s hospital room has swung open yet again. This time, our visitor is none other than Justin’s primary doctor. Of course, I’d already met the man a time or two when he’d popped in to check on Justin over the past couple days, but I don’t think he realizes the full nature of my friendship with his patient until he discovers us in bed together. I’ve got to give him credit for the fact that he quickly masks his surprise and plasters on a professional-looking smile.

“Mr. Taylor. And Mr. Taylor’s friend,” he greets us. “So, how are you feeling this evening, Justin?”

I roll out of the bed and help Justin sit up straighter, adjusting the back of the hospital bed accordingly. “I’m doing a little better, I think,” Justin responds. “My head isn’t pounding anymore; the pain is down to sort of a dull throb at this point. And, except for my hand and the fact that I’ve been sleeping pretty much all day, I feel a little bit stronger.”

That’s excellent,” the doctor pronounces, and then proceeds with the rest of his examination. When he’s done asking Justin the thousand-and-one questions that seem a necessary part of the exam, the man sets aside the clipboard he’s been making notes on and perches casually on a corner of the mattress. “Altogether, I’m quite pleased with your progress, Justin. Considering the nature of your injuries, you’re healing quite well. You’re a lucky young man. If you’d been hit just a fraction of an inch in any other direction, or if the impact had been greater, you might’ve ended up either paralyzed or a vegetable. But, except for the slight weakness on the right side - which I hope will be ameliorated by the therapy I’ve ordered - you seem to be doing just fine.” Justin and I are both smiling by this point. “So, it’s my opinion, that you’re probably ready to be discharged. I think we can treat your remaining injuries on an outpatient basis. There’s no reason for you to remain in the hospital any longer, provided you have someone to help care for you at home.”

I can feel my breathing catch and my heart skips a beat as I hear the doctor make this unexpected declaration. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that Justin’s okay. It’s just that, I really wasn’t prepared to deal with the future yet. Because, if Justin’s healthy enough to go home, that means we both have to leave here. It means this little haven where I’ve been hiding for the past two days, won’t be available any longer. And I have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.

I am a bit surprised, though, when I notice that Justin seems even less enthusiastic than I am upon hearing this good news. Justin’s doctor seems to notice his patient’s odd reaction as well. He reaches out, lets his hand rest atop the lightweight hospital blanket draped over Justin‘s knee, and then waits quietly for the young man to speak up.

“Um . . . Well, about that . . . I don’t actually have anyone that’ll help me,” Justin states, doing that thing where he won’t meet anyone’s eye, which tells me just how embarrassed he is. “To be honest, I don’t even really have a ‘home’ to go home to . . .”

This throws both the doctor and myself for a loop. I mean, I know Justin is hurting for money - he’d told me a little about that the first night I met him - but I hadn’t known he was homeless. He didn’t look the type. He was young and attractive. He wasn’t dirty or unkempt. But that just goes to show, you should never judge someone on their appearance alone, right?

“Where were you staying . . . before?” I ask him.

“I’d been crashing at this place one of the other dancers told me about. I’m sure they’ve given my spot away by now. Not that it was exactly the kind of place you’d want to go when you were recovering after a hospital stay, though.”

“Well, what about friends or family?” the doctor presses.

Justin huffs out an unamused laugh. “You mean the family that kicked me out when I was seventeen, right after my dad found my sketchbook filled with drawings of naked men and was forced to acknowledge the fact that his son was gay? That family? I don’t think so. My father would probably tell me that getting raped and beat up was exactly what I deserved, right before slamming the door in my face.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds difficult,” Justin’s doctor acknowledges briefly but then plows on with the practicalities of getting his patient out of the hospital. “Unfortunately, though, I can’t justify keeping you in the hospital any longer. Not when you’re healthy enough to leave and you don’t have insurance to cover the ongoing expenses. But I can have a community placement advisor come down and talk to you. They should be able to find some temporary housing for you - a shelter or hospice or something - and walk you through getting on Medicaid so your future medical needs will be covered until you can get back on your feet . . .”

*****Flash*****

I see Justin huddled in the corner of our cold little prison room, crying.

*****Flash*****

I see Justin being shoved into the room by Alex, who is laughing from the doorway as he watches the boy stumble and fall to his knees, too hurt to even stand up.

*****Flash*****

I see a swarm of leering men pawing at the young blond as he’s struggling against the restraints holding him in the sling against his will. They’re all laughing. They’re hurting him. And I can’t do anything to stop it.

*****Flash*****

I see Justin lying in a pool of blood at my feet. He’s lying so still, and his face so pale, that I’m not even sure he’s alive. I’ve failed him.

*****Flash*****

As the last of the blindingly bright flashes of white slowly passes, I blink to clear my vision.

I find myself seated on the foot of the big hospital bed. Which is odd, because the last thing I remember I had been standing over in the far corner of the room. I can feel my heart racing and I’m gasping for breath. I’m literally dripping with sweat. It feels like I’ve just run a marathon or something.

The doctor is hovering over me, his stethoscope held to my chest and a worried look on his face. Justin is sitting on my left side, looking at me with concern, and his arm wrapped around my shoulders is probably the only thing keeping me upright. I have this almost uncontrollable urge to run away - from what or to where, I have no clue - but I don’t think my legs would hold me if I tried to stand up.

“What . . .” I can barely get a single word out because it feels like there’s this iron band around my chest making it impossible to speak or breathe.

“Do you have any pain in your chest or your left arm?” the doctor asks and I shake my head ‘no’.

He listens to my chest a moment longer, takes my pulse, looks in my eyes and asks me more questions. I’m gradually able to respond more fully. The only pain I feel is a throbbing headache.

“I think it was just a panic attack, Mr. Kinney,” the doctor announces in the end. “You should be fine. I recommend seeing your own doctor if this happens again. And you might want to consider going on anti-anxiety medication. Seeing a mental health professional wouldn’t hurt either, considering what you two have been through.”

“Brian’s friend already hooked us up with a therapist. We’re seeing him on Wednesday,” Justin answers for the both of us.

“Good. Well, then, I have to get going. I’ll get the staff started on your discharge paperwork and send someone down to talk to you about arranging some housing.”

“Don’t bother,” I speak up immediately. “Justin can come stay with me.”

“You don’t need to do that, Brian. You’ve already done so much. I can’t keep putting you out like this. I’ll be fine,” Justin protests.

“You’re not putting me out. And you’re not going to some fucking shelter where you’ll probably get hurt all over again and I won’t be able to protect you or find you and, and, and . . .” I’m panting and the pain in my head threatens to overwhelm me again so I have to stop speaking.

“Shhh, Brian. Stop. It’s okay.”

“You can’t go to some fucking shelter, Justin. You can’t.”

“Okay. I won’t. I won’t. But, are you sure about me staying with you? I don’t want to be leeching off you like this.”

“Fuck that. You can’t go to a damn shelter,” I insist again, barely holding back the welling panic caused by the mere thought of him going off somewhere that I won’t be able to find him.

“Alright. I’ll stay with you. And thank you, Brian,” Justin capitulates with a smile and a squeeze to my shoulders.

And I finally feel like I can breathe again.

**********

An hour later we’re ready to leave the hospital. Honeycutt is called to come collect us. Justin’s discharge paperwork is all done and I’ve been given a stack of instructions about home wound care. We’ve got a bag filled with prescription pills that he’ll have to take on a daily basis. We also have a long list of follow up appointments and therapy sessions for him. Finally, Justin’s given a set of scrubs to wear home from the hospital, since the clothing he was wearing when he arrived was confiscated as evidence by the police. So it looks like we’re ready to go.

“Hello, hello!” Emmett’s cheery voice announces the arrival of our ride as I finish helping Justin pull on the scrub top. “Emmett’s Excellent Ride Share is at your service, Gentlemen. Where can I take you today?”

I’m about to respond when I notice that Emmett has not come alone. Right behind the tall southerner, is his always trusty, if somewhat boring, companion, Theodore. And, as an added bonus, Michael pushes into the room too, meaning that we now have a complete set.

“Hi, I’m Ted. You must be Justin, right?” Ted, the only one with any manners greets the person they’re actually there to pick up.

Justin nods but doesn’t say anything, probably feeling just as overwhelmed as I am.

“Guess I should have just waited around after all, huh, Bri?” Michael announces as he comes up to give me a kiss hello. “You ready to go? If we hurry, we can still make it to Woody’s for happy hour.”

“Is this like one of those jokes where you ask how many idiots it takes to replace a lightbulb? How many fags does it take to drive home from the hospital, maybe? I’m pretty sure I didn’t request a welcoming party, Honeycutt,” I complain as the small hospital room is filled with unwelcome guests.

“Sorry, Brian. But you know how it is. First I called Teddy, because I can’t come pick you up from the hospital without a car, right? And Michael was just coming in from Deb’s while I was explaining to Teddy what the plan was, and he wanted to come along too. So I just figured, what the hell, let’s make it a party!”

I just roll my eyes and hand off the small bag containing my clothes and toiletries to Ted. Because of course Emmett wants to throw a party for every possible occasion. Justin seems a little spooked by all the falderal, though, so I make it a point to stand between my boisterous friends and the panicky patient. Then I pick up the small paper bag full of Justin’s prescriptions and take home info and hand that off to Em.

“Whatever. Let’s just go, okay?” I order, hoping to curtail my friends’ party plans and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. “Somebody go tell the nurse we’re ready for them to send in the guy with the wheelchair so Justin can get his official send off?”  

“We’re taking him home too? I thought we were just coming to get you, Brian.” Michael comments rudely - he hasn’t even said hello to Justin yet, and apparently can’t remember the kid’s name. “I hope he doesn’t live too far away.”

“Justin’s coming back to the loft,” I reveal, knowing it’s better to just get this part over with. “He’s going to stay with me till he’s feeling better.”

Of course, this announcement leads to an uproar of questions from all round. Thankfully, the orderly with the wheelchair shows up just then and I can focus my attention on getting Justin settled. By the time we’re ready to roll, the gang has mostly quieted. I send Ted out to bring the car around and then tell the orderly to lead the way. Emmett and Michael follow, whispering between themselves furiously.

We make it all the way to the hospital entrance, where we have to wait for Ted’s arrival, before Michael pulls me aside to ‘discuss’ things. “Are you sure about this, Brian? You don’t even know this kid. Why the hell are you offering to let him stay at your place? Hell, you don’t even let your tricks stay for longer than it takes them to find their clothes after you’ve fucked them - I can’t believe you’re willing to let some strange twink take up residence.”

“Well, believe it, because that’s the plan,” I try to cut his protests short.

“Come on, Brian. I’m sure he’s a nice enough kid, but haven’t you done your part already? You fucking saved him and got him to medical help. You shouldn’t have to take him home with you too.”

“Mikey . . .” I sigh. How the hell do I explain this without disclosing all the sordid details of what happened to Justin and I? Because I sure as shit don’t want to be sharing THAT with the likes of Michael Novotny - Mikey’s never once in his life been able to keep a secret - and I can already imagine what he’d do if he found out that it wasn’t only Justin who’d been subjected to The Sapp’s ministrations. All of Liberty Avenue would know my business before noon tomorrow.

But, of course, Mikey’s not going to let this go either. “Seriously, Brian. It’s obvious that this kid is taking advantage of you. You’ve known him, what, a few days, and he’s already talked you into letting him come stay with you? What’s up with that, huh?”

“He’s got nowhere else to go, Mikey.”

“So? That’s not your problem, Brian. When did you become the kind of guy who takes in strays?”

Unfortunately for Michael, his dismissive attitude towards Justin is really starting to piss me off. “Drop it, Michael. I told him he could stay with me and that’s final. I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter.”

“Brian . . . I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Oh, good. Here’s Teddy,” Emmett interrupts right before I’m about to go off on Michael completely.

I shoulder past Michael and take charge of Justin’s wheelchair without bothering to listen to more of my old friend’s protests. We get the patient out the door of the hospital and into the back seat of the car. Then I slide in next to him. Em takes the front passenger seat and Michael squeezes into the back with us. And then we’re off.

Em and Ted keep up a constant stream of chatter on the drive to the loft. Michael is giving me the silent treatment as punishment for not listening to his warnings. Justin and I simply sit there, my arm draped protectively over his thin shoulders, watching out the window as the scenery rolls past. Thankfully, it’s not a very long drive.

When we arrive at the loft, I again let the others carry the bags while I assist Justin out of the car, into the building, and onto the elevator. Em takes the stairs and already has the loft door open for us when we get there. It feels good to be home, actually, although I’m glad that I won’t be here alone tonight. That realization makes me aware of the fact that Justin’s staying here isn’t only good for him.

I settle the boy on the couch and then turn around to take on my well-meaning but intrusive friends. “Thanks for the ride home, guys. I’ve got it from here.”

“No problem. If you want, I can give you a ride to pick up your car tomorrow after work,” Ted offers with a friendly pat to my shoulder.

“That would be great. Thanks, Theodore.”

“Here’s your keys back, Bri,” Emmett hands over the keyring and leans in to kiss my cheek. I’m going to have to say something about this kissing spree he seems to be on, since we never used to be the kind of friends who kissed. “Now, if you or Baby need anything, you just call, okay? Day or night. I’ll run right over. You hear me?”

“Yes, Emmy Lou. I hear you. Now go already.”

“Are you SURE about this, Brian?” Michael tries one more time to talk me out of what I’m sure he thinks is madness.

“I’m sure, Mikey.” And I give him a push towards the door as I say the words.

“Fine. But call me tomorrow, okay? I think we need to talk,” Mikey commands before he reluctantly follows his cohorts out the door and down the stairs.

“Alone at last,” I proclaim as I slide the door closed behind them all and make sure to lock it. I detour through the kitchen, retrieving two bottles of water on the way, and then join my blond on the couch. “Here, drink; it says on my instructions list I’m supposed to keep you hydrated.”

“Nice place. I like your kitchen,” Justin offers as he cracks open his water and starts to sip. “So . . . does this feel weird and awkward to you too, or is it just me?”

I give him a sardonic grin and shrug.

“Your friends hate me.”

“No they don’t. Em loves you and Ted - well, who cares what Ted thinks - and Mikey’s just being a twat. But he’s always been a little too possessive. He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe.” Justin concentrates on his water for a minute or two more before asking the most difficult question I’ve ever come up against, “what do we do now?”

“I haven’t got a single fucking clue,” I admit.

“Oh, good. I thought it was just me.”

I finish guzzling the rest of my water then recap the bottle and toss it onto the coffee table before I take a crack at answering that pressing question. What WERE we supposed to do now? How do we move forward from this point in time? What was my future supposed to look like? And how did anyone ever recover from an experience like the one the two of us had just lived through? It felt almost like I had been reborn in that moment I stumbled into the Diner, drugged out, covered in blood, and barely able to stand on my own. But if this was a new life, what was that life supposed to look like?

The fuck if I knew.

If this had been two weeks earlier, I probably would have perceived my life plan to be fairly simple. I had thought I had it all worked out. I was focused almost exclusively on my career; my plan was to work my way up to partner, make a ton of money, then someday branch out and start my own agency. All other parts of my world came second to that goal.

Which is why I’ve never put any effort into personal relationships other than with the few friends I kept around me. I never planned on a husband, a boyfriend or even a long-term fuck buddy. I liked playing the field. I’ve always been proud of the fact that I could pull whatever trick I wanted, fuck him, and then move on. And I always maintained I didn’t believe in love. I believe in fucking. I believe in getting in and out with the minimum amount of effort and the maximum amount of pleasure. That kind of approach is simple, direct, and has helped me avoid any messy entanglements that might undercut my career goals.

So why does that philosophy now seem so empty and shortsighted?

How does someone who espoused frequent, untethered, random sex as a way of life, reconcile the fact that he can’t even think about sex at this point without feeling vaguely panicked? What does it say about me that I can’t muster any enthusiasm at all for going back to my all-of-a-sudden-seemingly-pointless job? And what should I think about the fact that my life now appears to be significantly and inextricably entangled with that of the scared little blond twink sitting on the couch next to me? How did I get here? I feel like my entire life has somehow been hijacked. This isn’t ME.

*****Flash*****

“I know you’re turning 30, Brian, but it’s not the end of the world. You don’t have to act like a total bitch about it,” Lindsey berates me as I pick up and examine yet another pair of beautiful Prada boots, pretending to ignore her. “Face it, we all get older. It’s a fact of life. Instead of getting upset about it, you should embrace it. Enjoy the experience.”

“Enjoy getting old, fat and wrinkled? Fuck that!”

I move on from the shoe display, admiring a beautiful white silk scarf, while Lindsey trots after me.

“I want to get old. I want to have wrinkles. And I want to settle down and have a long, happy, life with Melanie,” Lindsay insists. “That’s what people do - they grow up. Which is what you should do too, Bri. Come on, you can't be a promiscuous club boy forever. Isn’t it about time you found somebody you could settle down with? Somebody that would make you happy? Somebody to give you whatever it is you’re still missing in life?”

“All I’m missing is the hook up I have planned tonight with a certain hot, Asian, underwear model, which I’m going to be late for if you don’t let me get out of here.”

“Fine. Go. But mark my words, Brian, someday you’ll realize there’s more to life than fucking.”

“And when that day comes, Lindsey, I might as well give up and end it all.”

*****Flash*****

Apparently I’m not the only one feeling like their life has gone a wrong direction though.

“I should have blown off The Sapp’s party and come back here with you that night. I really wanted to have you fuck me. It would have been glorious. But I was greedy. I let the lure of money hook me. And now look at us. I finally make it back here, to your loft, but it’s all ruined. It feels tainted. Dirty . . .”

Without saying anything, I lean sideways, bumping my shoulder against his in tacit understanding of what he’s trying to say. And then we sit in silence, contemplating the walls for several long, despondent minutes. Because, what is there to say, really?

When the silence finally gets too heavy, though, Justin sighs and sets aside his water bottle. “I need a shower,” he announces.

“It’s through the bedroom,” I direct, pointing the way.

Only, when he gets up, I see him wobble and raise a hand to his head. “Shit. Dizzy,” he grumbles.

I get to my feet too, reaching out a hand to help steady him. “Maybe I should join you? Make sure you don’t do a face plant into the tiles.”

Justin accedes to that suggestion and lets me help him to the bathroom. While he takes a piss I start the water running in the shower. But then there’s this weird, awkward pause, with the both of us standing there in the middle of the bathroom, still fully clothed, avoiding looking at each other. Which is totally stupid, right? I mean, it’s not like I have any issues with nudity. Or, at least, I never used to have any. I guess this is just another reminder that my life will never be the same. And it totally pisses me off.

I watch as Justin reaches down with one hand to brush against the bruises and redness maring his other wrist. It’s like he’s trying to wipe off the black and purple stain on his skin. I grab hold of his hand.

“They’re just battle scars. You should be proud of them. They prove you survived,” I tell him. I get a small, wistful smile in return. “Come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He still hesitates even after my teasing, so I take the initiative and pull my shirt off over my head. This exposes all my own bruises and ‘battle scars’ to full view. Mine are maybe a little more faded than his, but it’s still a bit shocking. However, I don’t want Justin to see how much it affects me, so I tough it out, waiting while he surveys the map of my injuries. And, when he’s done, he grabs at the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up slowly, until he’s bare too.

“We match,” he says in a wanna-be amused tone.

I simply shake my head and take the next step; tugging at the fly on my jeans, popping the buttons open one by one, and then pushing the fabric down over my hips so it ends up puddled around my ankles.

It feels weird to be standing naked in front of another guy and not be even a little bit hard - a first for me. Logically, I realize that will probably take some time, but it doesn’t make this moment any less unpleasant. I mentally tell myself to shut the fuck up, that it’s been less than two days since I escaped, and that it’s no big deal . . . All the while not believing myself.

But while I’m busy having this internal debate, my actions have apparently inspired my silent, blond companion. Justin heaves a huge breath and follows my example, shoving the scrub pants he’s wearing downward. So now we’re both standing here, naked, uncomfortable, and unsure what to do next. It’s so pathetic I want to scream. But that wouldn’t solve anything so, instead, I simply pull open the shower door and usher my guest inside, under the water.

And I also decide that I’m going to stop overthinking all this shit. It’s just a fucking shower. We can do this. It doesn’t need to be some momentous hurdle. It’s a fucking shower, damn it.

I pick up the bar of soap and, without letting myself hesitate, I begin to run it across Justin’s chest. He’s standing there, as stiff as a board, but doesn’t let himself flinch at my touch even though I can sense that he wanted to. Seeing as I don’t make any scary moves, little by little, he eventually relaxes, and as a result, so do I. By the time the bar of soap is gliding lower, over his pec and down towards his belly, we’ve both got over ourselves. He takes over the soaping, does a quick wash of his lower parts himself, and then returns the favor by soaping my chest and abs. And it’s okay. It feels almost normal. We can do this normal, everyday task, without freaking out about it.

So, yeah, it’s not exactly like the kind of shower scene I normally fantasize about, but whatever. He soaps my back and I wash his. We’re careful of each other, and deliberately make sure our hands don’t wander too much, but that’s okay too. And neither of us gets too weirded out over the other’s bruises, wounds or other marks. We make it through this first test of our new ‘normal’ and I’m going to count it as a win.

We deserve wins after everything else, right?

Any maybe it’s okay if I’m finally forced to acknowledge that my life doesn’t have to be all about fucking. I can be a different ME. Even if it seems like it’ll take awhile to figure out what that new me will be like.

**********

**********

Chapter 10 - Choices.

After an uneventful evening and another restless night, I’m not really prepared for my alarm to go off at it’s usual preset time. If this were any other Monday morning, I’d be rolling out of bed and on my way to work, ready to tackle my next big ad campaign. But this isn’t just another workday. Hell, I’m not even sure if I still have a fucking job. But it’s past time to start dealing with reality again, so I’m going to have to figure this thing out.

I hit the button to turn the alarm off but I’m not in any hurry to get out of bed. Not when there’s a snoozing blond boy curled up like a shrimp at my side. It’s a ridiculously comfortable experience, and one I’m not really used to. But I’m not inclined to cut the moment short.

I’m not really accustomed to having anyone sleeping with me. I usually don’t let my tricks stay over, except when I’m too drunk or stoned to remember to kick them out before I fall asleep. You see, while I pride myself on being an equal opportunity fag, fucking guys of all shapes, sizes, races, nationalities, and levels of queerness, I admit that I do have a penchant for large muscle queens - but let’s face it, while it might be fun to plow into the ass of some big, sweaty, butch, bear, it’s a whole other thing to have that same sweaty slab of meat snoring up a storm in bed next to you the morning after. So it’s really no wonder I never enjoyed actually sleeping with that type.

Justin, however, is different. He doesn’t snore so much as he purrs in his sleep. It’s fucking adorable. He’s also not sweaty, just warm and good smelling. And though the two of us seem to be drawn together, touching all night long, it never feels burdensome or overwhelming. It feels companionable. It reminds me that I’m not alone.

Whatever this unfamiliar attraction is, though, I find myself feeling uncharacteristically fond of my blond bed companion this morning. So, instead of jumping out of bed and dealing with my fucked up life, I allow myself a moment or two of further procrastination. I roll towards him and gather Justin into my arms. He’s still pretending to be asleep, and just burrows more deeply into my chest. Of course that means I’m even more inundated by the enticing aroma of toasty warm blond boy and even less inclined to get up.

“You better be careful,” the mop of blond murmurs with a happy sigh and a warm wiggle. “If you don’t stop making life here so pleasant, I might decide to stay with you forever.” Then he laughs quietly and I’m captivated all over again by that melodic sound.

“And that would be bad because . . . ?” I respond before I can catch myself and censor my words.

I’m rewarded with a brilliant smile that is only minimally distorted at the edges by his still bruised lips. That smile takes me by surprise and makes something in my gut do a flip-flop. There's just something about this kid that I can’t resist. I’ve never felt like such a pushover before. But when he’s smiling at me like that I can’t seem to think straight. I can barely think at all.

Which is probably why I find myself kissing those slightly swollen lips. It’s our first real kiss since . . . Since before. And even though we both know it won’t go any further, it’s good. He even tastes warm. I soon find myself deepening the kiss. He willingly kisses back and we spend the next however-many-minutes just lying there making out. For a while, I even forget the horrors that brought us to this point. All in all, it’s not a bad way to wake up. Not bad at all.

“Mmmm,” Justin moans when he eventually pulls away. “I would love to stay and keep doing that, but I’m afraid I’ve got to piss, so you’re going to have to let me up.”

I reluctantly let him squirm out of my arms and follow him into the bathroom. We both use the toilet and then wash up at the basin. Unfortunately, the next item on the agenda is pulling out the supplies the doctor sent home from the hospital so I can doctor him. This part of the morning is not only unpleasant but awkward and embarrassing for both of us, even though it’s necessary. Justin’s quiet through the whole procedure. I try to be as efficient as possible, getting it over with quickly and then putting all the supplies away without comment, but the congenial mood of a few minutes earlier has definitely been quashed.

I hand Justin an old pair of my sweats and a t-shirt to put on and then get dressed myself. He wanders out to the kitchen and peeks in the fridge. When he doesn’t find anything other than water, beer and poppers, he closes the door again with a disapproving huff. Same thing happens when he looks in the cupboards.

“I take it you don’t cook much?” he surmises with a teasing grin.

“How’d you guess?” I joke back. “I usually just eat at the Diner or order in. You up for a field trip or should we let our fingers do the ordering?”

I can tell Justin’s a little hesitant to venture out so soon. I don’t blame him. The thought of the usual Monday morning, pre-work, breakfast crowd at the Diner is pretty unappetizing to me as well. Luckily, before we have to make that decision, our deliberations are interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom from the front door. By the ‘Shave and a Haircut’ rhythm of the buzzing, I already know who our visitor is - Debbie Novotny - which, if I know Deb, means our breakfast quandary is solved. I buzz her up and step over to slide the door open in anticipation of her arrival.

“Prepare yourself,” I warn Justin, who’s retreated to a seat on the far side of the kitchen island.

He looks at me funny, but doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Debbie is stepping off the lift with her arms full of grocery bags and her usual busybody bustle.

“Hey there, Kiddo! Good to see you back and, mostly, in one piece.” She announces herself with a smile in my direction before she starts handing off her burdens to me. “Well, don’t just stand there, come give me a hand with all this crap before I drop it.”

“Hello to you, too, Deb,” I respond, hustling over and taking one of the two bags out of her hands. “I’m doing okay, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Well, aren’t you just two scoops of grumpy in a bowlful of bitchy this morning,” Debbie teases me and follows up with a playful pinch to my cheek. “Good thing I’m here to brighten up your day, huh?”

The bag I grab seems to be filled with groceries; staples like bread, milk, cheese and the like. While I’m putting that stuff away, she’s unloading the other bag, which is filled with hot food, all of which she immediately starts to serve, dishing it out onto plates which she sets on the bar. Of course, she’s babbling away in a very Deb-like way the entire time, not letting anyone else get a word in edgewise, per usual.

“Well now, aren’t you just the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” She starts off right away, addressing Justin like an old friend. “I’m Debbie and you must be Justin. My son, Michael, told me all about how you were staying with Brian. Which, of course, makes you part of the family now. And can I just say how fucking glad I am that you managed to escape from the monsters that killed those other boys? Did you know that I was the one who found the first boy? He was in the fucking trash outside the Diner where I work. It was just terrible. And that poor kid . . . I was beside myself for weeks after that. Thank fuck Brian was able to help you get away from them. I hope to hell the cops finally catch them! They all need to be thrown into jail for the rest of their unnatural lives, the fuckers!” She slides a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast over to Justin along with silverware and a napkin. “Now, we need to get you two boys all healed up and back on your feet - both of you look like you’ve seen better days - so no arguments about eating all of that. Brian, get your butt over here and sit down too. And don’t be giving me any shit about watching your diet or anything! You’re skinnier than ever and could use a few pounds on you. You hear me?”

I sit myself in front of the second plate of food she’s dished up without a word because, when she gets in this kind of mood, it’s impossible to argue with her. Plus, I really AM kind of hungry. I also don’t really mind being mothered a little for once. It’s nice to know somebody cares.

“Look at that - I love a boy with a healthy appetite!” Debbie praises the way Justin’s shoveling the food into his mouth, almost without chewing, and takes the opportunity to refill his plate between bites. “That’s what I like to see! You eat up, now, Sunshine. You got to build up your strength.”

Justin takes a second to smile up at her with one of his best and brightest smiles, and from Deb’s reaction, I can tell he’s won her over without a fucking word. Of course. Face it, my boy is irresistible. And, yes, I thought the words ‘my boy’ and I don’t even care.

“Damn! Is that the time? Fuck, I’m going to be late for my shift at the Diner,” Deb announces and begins to bustle around to clean up the empty food containers and such. “Now, I know you’re both dealing with some serious shit, so make sure you take all the time you need to get yourselves together again. You especially, Brian - and don’t try to give me any shit about being ‘fine’ - I’ve known you since you were fourteen fucking years old, so I can tell when you’re not ‘fine’. And that means not diving back into work right away. You hear me?” I manage to nod around the bite of toast I just took. “Good. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it, either. I’m always around if you need to talk or anything. And I do mean ANYTHING, you know. No need to be shy; trust me, I’ve heard just about everything.” She wags her finger at the both of us despite the fact that neither Justin nor I would ever dare to argue with her. “Okay. Now that I’ve got you two settled for the time being, I’ve got to run. Lots of hungry boys to feed, you know. You two take it easy. And, remember, call me if you need anything. Bye, Sunshine. Be good, Brian!”

Before you know it, the phenomenon known as Debbie Novotny has once again blown out of the loft. Fuck, I love that woman. She’s just the right amount of caring for me. If she was all doting and emotional all the time, I’d probably run from her screaming. But the foul-mouthed, pushy, in-your-face, take-no-flack kind of mothering she offers is right about my speed. I can tell she cares without being overwhelmed by sentimentality. And, to be honest, Deb’s advice is usually pretty spot on.

“Wow! She’s . . . Sort of a freak, huh?” Justin declares, only now, after Debbie’s left, finding a chance to actually speak up.

“Yeah,” I admit as I finish off the last of my bacon. “But, for all her bluster, you’ve gotta love her. She’s got a heart the size of a mother bear and will defend all her ‘boys’ about as vehemently. She’s also, basically, the only mother I’ve had since I was a kid. And it appears that she’s now adopted you too, so you better get used to her. Once Deb’s taken you under her wing, it’s a done deal.

“Cool. It’ll be nice to have a family again,” Justin declares and then scoops out the rest of the scrambled eggs onto his plate and proceeds to devour his third serving of breakfast.

Meanwhile, I decide to act on Deb’s advice about not diving back into work right away. She’s right, I’m probably not ready for that. But I do need to stop procrastinating and at least call into work. I don’t have an excuse to put it off any longer.

So, with more than a little trepidation, I make my way over to the desk, sit down, pick up the landline, and dial the direct number for my assistant, Cynthia.

“Brian Kinney’s office. This is Cynthia, his assistant. How may I help you?”

“So, I still have an office and an assistant? That’s a good sign,” I reply to the standard greeting.

“Brian! Thank fuck! I was so damn worried about you - you have no idea. Are you okay?” Cynthia sounds so relieved to hear from me that I feel bad I didn’t call her sooner.

“I’ll survive. I take it you heard the news over the weekend?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports. They didn’t say much though, only that you helped the police rescue one of the Dumpster Boys. It doesn’t explain where the fuck you were all week, although I can probably guess . . . Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Mostly. But I could probably use one or two more days to recover. If I come in now, I’ll only scare the clients away with all the bruises . . . That’s assuming that I still actually HAVE a job.”

“Well, Ryder WAS pretty pissed off all week and threatened to fire you the minute you turned up again, but that was before all the news reports came out. I haven’t talked to him yet this morning. What do you want me to tell him?”

“Fuck if I know,” I answer her honestly. I look over at the kitchen where I see Justin washing the plates and tidying up the remaining detritus from our meal. “Just tell him that I’m taking the day to deal with all this shit and I’ll call him to explain everything later. Somehow.”

“Okay. But I don’t think that will hold him off for long, Boss,” Cynthia warns.

“I know but . . . I just don’t think I’d be much good even if I tried to come in today, Cyn. I’m dealing with a metric fuck ton of shit here. You have no idea . . .”

“I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll hold Ryder off,” Cynthia promises and I feel a huge weight fall from my shoulders. “Do you need anything in the meantime? How can I help?”

“Just email me a summary of any problems that have come up with my accounts over the past week so I can get back up to speed. I’ll go through all my other emails when I can, but I don’t have the energy to wade through them right now,” I direct her, and then we spend a few minutes going through some minor work things. I’m relieved to hear that my ever-able assistant has everything under control for me. “One more thing, Cyn,” I add right before I hang up. “Can you call and cancel my work credit cards - the fuckers stole my wallet, of course. Oh, and I’ll need a new cell phone too. Actually, better order two new phones - I’ve got a friend that needs one too - I might as well get that taken care of now.”

“No problem, Boss. I’ll deal with all that for you. You just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Thanks, Cynthia. Will do. Later.”

Justin’s hovering just beyond my office area when I finally hang up. He looks worried. “Everything okay with your job”

I shrug. “I guess. No idea what I’m going to tell my boss when I finally do talk to him, though. I don’t exactly want everyone at work talking about . . . this.”

“Yeah.” He nods understandingly but of course there’s not much to say about that particular topic. “It sounds like you still HAVE a job, so at least you’ve got that going for you. I imagine it’ll be a bitch getting caught up again, though . . . You know, you never actually told me what you do for a living but, since I’m not doing anything, I’d be happy to help if you need it.”

“I’m in advertising. And, yeah, it’s going to be a fucking headache to get back up to speed with my accounts. I was right in the middle of finalizing two major accounts when I took my little unplanned vacation . . . I doubt you’d be able to help though. Not unless you’ve got marketing experience.”

“Nope. Sorry. Although, for what it’s worth, I do have a pretty good eye for color and design. And I can draw, if that’s of any use. I don’t have any formal training, but people have told me I’ve got some natural talent. I was hoping to eventually go to art school, if I ever managed to find the money. That’s going to have to wait again, I suppose. But until I do find work again, I’d be more than willing to do what I can to help you catch up. I owe you.”

“You can draw? Hmm.” I actually remember him telling me something about that during one of the many interludes between torture sessions. I can also hear a note of eagerness in his voice, betraying how much he’d like to feel useful. “Okay. Let’s see what you can do.”

I quickly log into the Ryder server and pull up the file for one of the accounts I was working on the week before. I can see that, in my absence, the art department has thrown together some initial concept boards based on my prior directions. They’re not very good. Which doesn’t surprise me because normally I have to send work back three or four times before the art department gets it right. So there's no harm in letting my in-house artist take a stab at it; he couldn’t possibly fuck it up more than it is already.

I end up being mildly surprised when Justin‘s claims turn out to be more than just empty bragging. We don’t have the equipment or the graphics programs we need to finalize everything, but the kid really does have an amazing eye for color and design. And what we can’t do on the computer, Justin manages to do free hand pretty well. At least until his weak right hand starts to give out on him. By then, though, we’ve actually gotten a pretty good start on the project.

I didn’t realize how long we’d been at it, either. When I finally shut down the computer, I note that it’s already lunchtime. We’ve managed to get through a whole morning together, despite my misgivings that today was going to be rather difficult. I’m counting this as a success.

Since Justin’s hand is really hurting him by this point, I order him to sit down with an ice pack wrapped around his wrist while I take over lunch preparations. Thank fuck for Deb’s grocery delivery. I don’t get very far, though, before the buzzer from the front door interrupts us again. What is with all these visitors during meal times, huh?

“Yeah?” I ask into the intercom.

“It’s Horvath. I’ve got some news,” comes the answer, prompting me to hit the door release button.

While we wait for the Detective to arrive, I finish making sandwiches for both of us, because I figure it’s better to get bad news on a full stomach - at least that’s what Deb has always told me. Horvath arrives at the door just as I place Justin’s plate on the kitchen bar. He’s pretty clearly too nervous to eat, but I point to a bar stool and wordlessly order him to sit before I go answer the door. Justin ignores me and follows a foot behind me all the way across the loft. Oh well, I guess we can always eat later, assuming we still have appetites.

“Detective Horvath. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” I say as I gesture the gruff cop inside.

“Kinney. Taylor.” He nods without smiling as he enters and looks around himself as if scoping out the scene of yet another possible crime. “I tried to call before I came over, but there was no answer and your voicemail is full.”

“Oh, yeah. We turned the ringer off last night as soon as we got home. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation,” I explain.

“Probably not a bad idea. I wish I could do the same. My phone’s been burning up all day.” The cop saunters in and, without asking permission, makes himself comfortable in my new Eames armchair. Justin and I join him, sitting side by side on the sofa. “It seems that the names of some of the more prominent witnesses we’ve started to question were leaked to the press. It’s turned into quite the media feeding frenzy. The news hounds have been sniffing around the station all day. I don't think they’ve tied it to the prior news about you two though. At least not yet.”

“Yet?” Justin prompts, getting only a shrug from our Gravelly Guy. “Do you have enough to start making arrests? What about Sapperstein?”

Horvath gets what I’d call a cagey gleam in his eye and he almost smiles. “Even better - we’ve got at least two of these scumbags who are so piss-in-their-pants scared they’re already signing plea agreements.”

“What, exactly, does that mean, Detective?” I ask, unwilling to celebrate until I get the full story.

“It means that this whole ring is going down,” Horvath confirms, this time with an actual, gloating grin. “Between the physical evidence we got from that party house you led us to, Kinney, and the eyewitnesses that have already agreed to cooperate in exchange for reduced sentences, I expect to see maybe a couple dozen of these perps in jail before the year’s out. And even the ones we can’t convict of rape - or worse - will probably never recover from the scandal of just being associated with this group. It’s going to be huge. We’ve already got a list of at least thirty suspects. And we’ve only just started to interview prior employees from the club - several of whom had similar bad experiences at one of these ‘parties’, but who hadn’t previously come forward because they didn’t think they’d be believed - so our defendant list might end up even larger. From what we can tell, it looks like this shit’s been going on for two or three YEARS. There could be dozens of victims. By the time we’re through . . . Well, let’s just say it’s likely to be the biggest scandal Pittsburgh’s seen in the last century.”

“Great. They all deserve to fucking rot,” I assert vindictively. “But what about The Sapp? He’s the one that was responsible for the whole thing. He’s the one I want to see go down. Him and his fucking sadistic henchman, Alex.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Horvath affirms. “We got them both. We tracked Alex Holmes down at his brother’s place in Wheeler, West Virginia, late last night. And he was more than happy to give us the location of the cabin in the Poconos where Gary Sapperstein was hiding out. Local sheriff picked up ‘The Sapp’ about an hour ago. Based on the evidence and testimony we’ve already got, I’d say convictions for rape and sex trafficking are pretty much in the bag for those two.”

I feel Justin’s hand reaching out to grab hold of mine at this news. I’m not sure I’ll be able to reassure him much, though. I have no idea how to react to what I’m hearing. I’m relieved to hear they finally got the bastards that were responsible, but it also brings up a lot of bad memories all over again. Mostly, I just want this whole thing to be over already.

“Even better,” Horvath continues, apparently not noticing the fact that both Justin and I have gone perfectly silent, “Alex also gave us information on the ‘special clients’ that Sapperstein rented his captives out to after the parties - the ones who paid extra for one-on-one time and were sometimes rough enough that the victims didn’t survive the experience. We’ll be taking that information to a Grand Jury starting tomorrow to ask for indictments on the charges of murder and attempted murder.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath from the boy sitting next to me and feel Justin’s grip contract, squeezing my hand painfully tight. I have to pry his fingers apart in order to free my hand. Instead, I put my arm around his shoulders and hang on that way. I can feel the way his whole body is now trembling. I hope I can hold him together through the rest of this. I also hope I don’t fall apart myself.

“Which is where you two come in again,” Horvath plows on without stopping. “See, we're going to need your testimony to get these guys. There’s some big names. Important people. Too important to simply arrest like the rest of the fuckers. The D.A. wants to make sure these guys can’t get out of the charges on some technicality so she’s going all out. But it’s not going to be easy. I need to make sure you’re still on board with this plan.”

Fuck! I thought I’d have more time before I had to confront this. I know what I told Horvath yesterday, but I’m not sure I’m ready. Just telling Horvath my story almost killed me, and now he wants me to bare my soul in court in front of a room full of strangers?

They’re all going to know. Everyone is going to know. Everyone. My friends, my family, my tricks, my boss, my clients, and everyone else I’ve ever met or ever will meet.

I’ve never approved of hiding in a closet. I’ve never been ashamed of being gay. Hell, most of the time I’m outright proud of the fact that I’m a fag. But it’s one thing for people to know you like dick, and maybe even occasionally like it shoved up your ass, and a whole other thing to admit to the kind of thing that happened to me. To admit to having been used like that. It’s not even my fucking reputation I’m worried about. I could probably handle no longer being seen as the most macho top in the world, but I’m not sure I can handle all the pity I’ll be subjected to as soon as everybody finds out about this. This isn’t something that I’ll ever live down or that people will forget. Primarily because I’ll never be able to forget it myself.

I’ll forever be ‘that guy who got raped’.

How exactly does that fit into my world view? How can *I* be that guy? And how will I deal with the way people will see me after they all know?

*****Flash*****

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” Emmett asks as Ted slumps up to the bar with his usual defeated look.

“Nothing. Just the same old, same old. I suppose it wouldn’t be Friday night if I didn’t get turned down by at least a dozen guys,” Ted grumbles, taking the beer that Michael offers to him with a sigh.

“They just don’t know what they’re missing,” Michael comments, trying to cheer his friend up with a sympathetic pat to Ted’s shoulder.

“Yeah. What do these losers know? If they were smart they’d snap you right up, Honey,” Emmett chimes in, patting Ted from the other side, and then they all three stare dejectedly into their beers for a moment.

While the silent, sad-sack sisters do their weekly ‘woe is me why don’t all the men simply fall at my feet’ chorus, I just lean back against the bar and chuckle at them. They’re so fucking predictable. And pathetic. I debate with myself for thirty second before I decide to try and - AGAIN - give them some much needed advice.

“Why do you care what everyone else thinks?” I ask pointedly. “If you really want to hook up with someone, it’s not what they think about you that matters - it’s what you think about yourself. Confidence is sexy, Theodore.”

“Easy for you to say, Bri. I’m not like you. I wish I was. But I’ll never be able to pull guys like you do.”

“Not with an attitude like that you won’t.” I shake my head at the man, knowing it’s hopeless, just like he is.

“Don’t be such an ass, Brian. We can’t all be supremely confident and flawlessly beautiful. At least not all the time. Everyone has occasional moments of self-doubt. That's just part of being human.” Emmett’s the only one with the balls to argue the point with me.

When will these guys learn? Even MY image is only about fifty percent how I look - not that I don’t work hard to look the way I do, of course - and the other fifty percent is all about the image I project. It’s about the marketing. It’s about projecting the kind of image you want them to believe and then selling it. It’s about internalizing your own reputation. You have to feel it yourself before the guy you’re trying to pull will buy it. But try explaining that to these three . . . Maybe what they need is another demonstration.

I put down my empty beer bottle, pull on my best Sexy Stud mask, and assume an air of casual but self-assured indifference. Then I look around and find my next target. And when he looks up, I pierce him with a stare that’s calculated to make him believe that I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

“Unless, of course, you’re Brian Kinney,” Michael narrates as I begin to stalk away towards my latest prey. “Then it’s, ‘who gives a fuck what you think. You’re lucky to have me’. And they all fall at the feet of the Stud of Liberty Avenue without so much as a whimper.”

*****Flash*****

Yeah, like I’ll ever be able to feel that confident again.

Assuming, that is, that I even still WANT to be that guy anymore - something I’m not at all sure of at this point. Because it was THAT guy, and his overblown confidence, that took the stupid risks which got me here. I guess I bought into the Brian Kinney Personna too much, huh? If I hadn’t been so convinced that nothing could ever touch me, maybe I wouldn’t be where I am right now. But do I really want the entire world to know about my failures like this?

“Listen, I know I’m asking a lot,” Horvath presses, obviously made aware by the resounding silence that both Justin and I have our reservations. “I get that this will be tough for both of you. Hell, I can’t even imagine being put in a similar position. But you’ve got to understand that we can’t stop these guys unless you’re willing to go public. And we all know that creeps like this will never stop unless we put them behind bars. They WILL do this again. Some other kid WILL get hurt. It’s only a question of when.”

Even though I can still feel Justin shaking with fear beside me, I can also feel the instantaneous resolve this statement imparts to him. Whereas he was leaning into me before, relying on my strength and barely keeping himself upright on his own, he’s now sitting up straighter. And I know he's still scared, emotional and in physical pain, but I also know he won’t let any of that stop him. Because even though he’s physically smaller and frailer than me, Justin has got balls of titanium. He’s one of the bravest little fuckers I’ve ever met. He’s not the type to let someone like The Sapp stop him from doing what he knows is right.

I already know Justin’s going to tell Horvath that he’ll do whatever it takes to stop the fuckers that hurt us.

“They’re going to know it’s me testifying against them, right? I mean, I know Grand Juries are secret and all, but who else could it be?” Justin sounds so tentative and lost when he speaks up, although even now I can hear a note of determination in his tone. “The Sapp . . . I heard him bragging that he had a lot of powerful friends. That they’d protect him. His friends . . . Is there . . . Is there any way they could . . . He won’t be able to find me, will he?

“I’ve already assigned an officer to keep an eye on this building,” Horvath reassures. “But, short of taking you guys into protective custody - which I don’t have authorization to do, at this point - I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t think Sapperstein would try anything like that, but you never know. And, based on the list of names we have so far, there’s no knowing how far up the food chain this thing might eventually go. I suppose that there might be some increased risk if our suspect list expands to include the wrong person. But if that happens, we can always rethink your protection needs.” The detective is now looking at us both with this sorta sympathetic frown that makes me cringe. “Frankly, even if you don't come forward, you’d probably still be at risk. As long as they know there’s a witness out there, you’ll be a potential target. Once you do testify, at least then your statements will be on the record and it wouldn’t do them any good to come after you.”

“So, you're saying that testifying is the best way to stay safe?” I ask. “That sounds to me like self-serving bull shit.”

“I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t need your testimony, Kinney. But I get that you’re both risking a lot here. There’s no way around that other than to make sure the bad guys are put behind bars as soon as possible. And I’m committed to getting that done any way I can.”

“Shit,” Justin mumbles shaking his head and exhaling in a long, slow, resigned breath. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to escape this completely anyway. Hell, if Brian hadn’t gotten me out of there, I’d probably be dead by now, so what’s a little more danger, right?” I feel him push away from my side, sitting up independently and finally lifting his head so he can look directly into the detective’s eyes. “Fuck Sapp and all his fucking ‘clients’. I won’t let them get away with this. I won’t let him do this to anyone else. I don’t care what else they try to do to me.”

Like I said, he’s a brave little fucker.

Horvath looks at me next. He’s got an expectant expression. But I knew I was fucked from the moment I sensed Justin’s resolution hardening. I can hardly refuse to be at least as courageous as an eighteen year old go-go dancer, right? And, like Horvath said, I probably wouldn’t be any safer even if I declined to testify. Besides, my reputation is probably already fucked, or at least it will be as soon as this case goes to trial. So, my choice is to either be the hero that stands up to the bad guys despite the inevitable negative consequences, or be the wimp who can never get past his ‘victimhood’. I was never big on being a victim.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to show me up, Sunshine? Next thing you know, you’ll have Horvath thinking you’re the one in charge around here,” I tease him before looking over at the detective. “So, what do we have to do to put these guys behind bars forever?”

**********

**********

Chapter 11 - Dizzying.

Horvath finishes prepping us for what to expect when we do the Grand Jury thing while Justin and I return to our lunch. I’ve got a knot the size of a grapefruit in my stomach by the time we’re done talking things through. I know I have to do this, but it’s not going to be fun. And the worst part is that I’m not allowed to have anybody with me while I’m testifying. I can tell by looking at my blond that he’s just as anxious about this plan. But, if we want to take out Sapperstein and his evil cohorts, this is the only way to do it.

“That’s about it,” Horvath concludes when he’s detailed everything we should expect on the legal end of things. He sets aside the cup of coffee he’s been sipping at while we talked and stands up. I can tell just by the set of his shoulders that he’s not completely done with us, though. “Just one last thing . . . As soon as we have Sapperstein secured here in Pittsburgh - which should be within the next couple of hours, provided there wasn’t any delay with the transfer of custody from the local sheriff’s office - the Public Relations Department wants to hold an official press conference. This case is way too big to think it’ll fly under the radar for long. The PR guys figure it’s better to make a formal statement now rather than wait and mop up all the leaks and misinformation later. And, since your names were already made public in the stories that got published Saturday night, the PR guys are telling me that we need to at least confirm your identities. I promise to try and protect your privacy as much as possible, and we won’t release any personal information other than your names, but considering that you seem to be fairly well known, Kinney, it’s likely you’ll be in the spotlight. Thought you deserved a head’s up.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath and collapse onto the closest barstool.

Nobody else says anything for a couple of minutes while I indulge in a moment of self-pity. I’ve got a killer stress headache already and this announcement isn’t helping. But twisting up my face to block out the world and pinching at the bridge of my nose isn’t really helping much. Eventually, though, I feel a warm hand reaching out to give a reassuring squeeze to my biceps. A second later, I feel Justin step close enough that he can lean his head against my shoulder. His quiet presence, just standing there, not intruding or imposing, simply being silently supportive, is somehow the most reassuring thing I think I’ve ever experienced. I snake a hand around his waist and pull him in closer, soaking in the sense of restful well-being that seems to emanate from his touch. It helps more than I would have ever imagined.

After a couple minutes of this, I hear our detective clearing his voice before speaking up. “You know, I haven’t spent a lot of time around gays, so forgive me if I maybe don’t say this the right way . . . Don't get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against you all, I just don't get it . . . But you two surprise me. None of the fairies I’ve met before were such regular guys.” Both Justin and I glare at him and Horvath holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture to placate us. “That didn’t come out right. Sorry. What I meant to say is, I don’t think I’ve ever met two braver guys. I know how tough this has got to be and I gotta say I’m impressed. You’re handling this way better than I would.”

So, yay, we’ve got the approval of the straight, middle-aged, white guy, apparently. Woo hoo! It doesn’t make this whole debacle any easier.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Bad guys to round up and all,” Horvath declares as he steps close enough to offer his hand. “I’ll send a car around to pick you up tomorrow morning around eight to bring you to the courthouse. If you need anything else in the meantime, you’ve got my number.”

“Wait, Detective,” Justin speaks up before Horvath can make his escape. “Would it be possible for me to get into Babylon long enough to grab my stuff from my old employee locker? Pretty much everything I own is in that locker.” He holds his arms out as if to display the lovely ensemble he’s wearing, which consists of my old, baggy, and far too large sweats and an equally voluminous t-shirt. “As you can see, I have nothing to wear - especially not anything appropriate for court.”

“Yeah, I think that can be arranged,” Horvath concedes with a fatherly smile. “The place has been sealed up until forensics has a chance to finish going through everything, but I can have someone meet you over there and escort you in.”

We finish making arrangements to visit the club one last time. Justin tries to argue that he doesn’t need me to go with him on this errand, but Horvath agrees that it’s probably safer if we stick together, at least until after the legal stuff is all done. My blond reluctantly capitulates and Horvath takes his leave. After I shut the door behind the cop’s back I start to go through my mental list of all the other things I still need to get through besides the added trip to Babylon. Even though it’s not an overly long list, I’m drained just thinking about it. It’s been a long day and I can tell that Justin’s exhausted - hell, I’m feeling pretty worn out myself after all the bullshit we’ve had to deal with already today - but when I suggest he go lie down and rest for a bit before we head out, he balks. He’s stubborn like that. It’s probably why we get along so well.

“I am pretty tired, Brian, but if I stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again. Once I’m in bed, I’ll probably be there for the duration,” Justin explains with an apologetic smile. “Would you mind if we just go pick up the stuff from the club now and get it over with?”

“I suppose. Let me just call Ted. I’m thinking we can kill two errands with one stone here - he can give us a lift to Babylon first and then we can head out to the ‘burbs to pick up my Jeep.”

As expected, Ted is happy to have an excuse to duck out of his boring job early. He tells me he’ll be over in about a half hour. And while we’re waiting for our ride to arrive, I decide to finally bite the bullet and call my boss.

“Hey, Marty. So, a funny thing happened to me on my way home from the bar last week . . .” I begin the tale, offering the most abridged version of events I think I can get away with.

Needless to say, Marty Ryder isn’t very sympathetic. My story about how I was held captive for a week and then had to fight my way out, saving my fellow captive from being murdered in the process, doesn’t seem to sway him at all. He’s still pissed off about the number of days of work I missed and incensed by my news that I’ll likely miss several more while I’m ‘fucking around in court’ the rest of this week - his words, not mine, although I empathize with the sentiment. But the clincher is when I inform him about the PPD’s upcoming press conference and the fact that my name is likely to get prominently mentioned in association with a huge gay sex trafficking scandal. It doesn’t seem to register with Ryder that I’m the hero here - I’m the one helping to bring down these bad guys - only that my relationship to the mess may bring Ryder & Associates into disrepute as well. The only thing that eventually shuts him up is when I threaten to have my new buddy, Carl Horvath, Senior Detective with the Pittsburgh Police Department's Homicide Squad, pay him a personal visit.

By the time I’ve placated Ryder, promising to work from home as much as possible until I can get back to the office full time, my chauffeur has arrived. But because, apparently, Ted and Emmett come as a set, my driver arrives with an assistant in tow. Justin answers the buzzer and lets them in while I’m getting changed into go-outside-the-loft clothes. And when I come out of the bedroom less than five minutes later, I find Em glomming all over my blond, who’s apparently been telling them about our legal woes.

“Oh, Baby! I know it’s gonna be hard, but you can do it. I know you can. And we’ll be here to back you up if you need it. Right, Teddy?” Em coos supportively as he leans in to hug Justin.

“Hands off, Honeycutt,” I order, striding across the loft to come up behind Justin, and then deliberately peeling the big queen’s hands away from the boy. “Get your own blond. This one's taken.” I pull the youth back against my chest and wrap my own arms around his chest.

“Possessive much, Bri?” Emmett grouses, adding in a wink to let me know he’s only teasing . . . mostly. “Baby was just telling us that the police caught The Sapp so you’ll be going to court sooner rather than later. Are you okay with that?”

“No. But do I have a choice? It’s not like the legal system is going to wait till I’ve . . . recovered . . . And I’ll be damned if I let Sapperstein walk after what he’s done.”

“At least you don’t have it nearly as bad as poor Justin here,” Ted adds with an apologetic glance towards my boy. “He’s the one that’s going to have to get up on the stand in front of a courtroom full of people and testify about how Saperstein’ goons assaulted him. I seriously can’t imagine anything more traumatic than that, except for actually living through what they did in the first place.”

Ted’s clueless comment, causes me to look sideways at Emmett, my erstwhile adventure buddy. I tilt my head ever so slightly in Ted’s direction, beaming my question at him telepathically. Emmett scrunches up his face and, with an almost imperceptible motion, shakes his head. Apparently, he hasn’t blabbed the entire story to Ted yet. I guess I owe him for that. Although my reprieve is likely to be short-lived, what with Horvath’s PR conference happening in just a few hours.

Meanwhile, Ted is continuing to emote all over the place. “I know we only met a few days ago, Justin, but I just want you to know you can count on me if you need anything. I can’t tell you how impressed I am at the strength you’re showing through all of this. The way you’re handling things is just remarkable. I know I couldn’t do it. So, whatever you need, just say the word and I’ll do whatever I can to help. I promise.”

I can tell from the stiff way Justin’s holding his shoulders while Ted delivers this soliloquy, that he’s embarrassed. “Thank you, Ted. I appreciate the offer of support,” Justin responds with an awkward formalness that doesn’t really fit him.

“Okkkaaaayyyy. So, Theodore, if you’re done professing your everlasting love and bottomless devotion to my boyfriend, can we go already?” I joke, just trying to relieve some of the tension in the air and not really thinking about my words until they’re out there.

“Boyfriend?” Ted immediately focuses on the one word in that entire sentence that I wish he had misheard. “Did I just hear the Great God Kinney use the word ‘boyfriend’? This, coming from the man who, as recently as a month ago, declared that he doesn’t ‘do’ boyfriends? That he doesn’t believe in love, only fucking. That relationships are just meaningless heteronormative rituals designed to give people an excuse to fuck when they don’t really need one. What happened to that guy, Brian?”

Deflect, deflect, deflect . . . “Gee, Theodore! I didn’t know you memorize every word I say verbatim. That’s impressive. And it’s also undeniable proof that you need a life of your own so you can get laid instead of worrying about who I’m fucking,” I say, hitting back hard and hoping it’s enough to change the topic. But, hey, at least Ted’s no longer commenting on people being sexually assaulted, so that’s good, right? “Now, before I die of old age, can we go already?”

“Nice try, Brian,” Ted responds with a smirk. “You can insult me all you want, but I’m still not going to forget you said the word ‘boyfriend’.”

I glare at him as he chuckles to himself before starting for the door, car keys already in his hand. I’m so glad my horribly traumatic experience is providing amusement to my friends. Just for good measure, I also send a warning glare Emmett’s way.

“What? Did I say anything?” Emmett asks, barely concealing a a smirk of his own.

I just shake my head, glare some more, and point him towards the door.

Then I finally release my hold on Justin’s shoulders with a sigh. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he answers, smiling up at me with an incandescent grin. Then he adds, “and, nice try at distracting Ted from talking about Sapp and me from freaking out about going back to the club. It mostly worked.”

“You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

**********

“Here you are.” The hot young police officer who met us at the door to the club and escorted us back to the employee locker room gestures us inside. “Try not to touch anything other than your own locker, please. Not that we expect to find much evidence in here, but you never know.”

“Thanks, Officer. I promise I’ll be quick,” Justin answers as he marches straight over to his own locker in the back corner.

“It’s Cadet Harris. I’m not an officer yet, I’m afraid,” the young man in the shiny, new uniform explains. “But, luckily, since this case is so huge and everyone down at the station is already busy interviewing witnesses and victims, they pulled a few of us cadets out of classes for the day. Not that guarding an empty building is that thrilling, mind you, but it’s better than sitting in a classroom for another day.”

While Justin’s busy pulling a large black canvas duffle bag out of his locker and stuffing his clothing and other random items into it, I take my time inventorying the Cadet’s many fine attributes. He’s not bad looking. Young, uptight, and oblivious, maybe, but that hot little ass has certain possibilities.

“I think I probably left some of my toiletries out in the dressing room. I hope nobody’s taken it all,” Justin mutters as he sets the duffle on a bench and trots off around a dividing wall looking for the rest of his stuff.

I take the opportunity to begin chatting up Cadet Hottie. The kid is polite enough but clearly clueless. He seems strangely naive for someone that plans to be a cop; he doesn’t even seem to know that Babylon was a gay club or understand the underlying nature of the ‘big case’ that this facility is tied to. How guileless can you get, huh? But I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment, so I entertain myself by making sexually charged innuendos that seem to fly right over the tyro’s head.

“I’m pretty sure he’s straight, Brian,” Justin whispers, elbowing me in the side with a knowing expression when he returns and figures out what I’m up to.

“That’s never stopped me before,” I respond with a wink before I return to leering at our police escort.

Justin chuckles under his breath and shakes his head at me but seems more amused by my antics than anything. That’s a good sign. I was worried that using the ‘B’ word might make things awkward between us. However, it seems like my blond is pretty easy-going about these things. Which only makes me like him even more. If I ever were going to take on a boyfriend, Justin’s actually the kind of guy I’d want for the position.

I’m still busy calculating the advisability of a Justin-type romantic relationship, when we’re all interrupted by the arrival of another party on the scene.

“You Harris?” the newcomer asks, directing his comments to our Cadet escort. “Ken Reichert." The older man, dressed in a rumpled, cheap, brown sports jacket flashes his badge at the Cadet. “I’m supposed to be meeting the forensics team that’s going to finish up here.”

This new arrival isn’t exactly what I’d call a credit to the Pittsburgh PD. He’s probably in his late fifties, balding, wrinkled, and paunchy. He’d be no match physically for any reasonably fit criminal. He’s also a slob; his suit’s not only old and styleless but also filthy, with flecks of dandruff adorning the collar and a smudge of some kind of food stain on the lapel. On top of all that, there's something about this guy’s attitude that I just don’t like - I can somehow tell simply by looking at him that he’s a condescending asshole.

“Yes, Sir, Detective.” Cadet Harris snaps to attention. “I was just supervising while this employee gets his personal stuff out of his locker. Detective Horvath’s orders, Sir,” the young man explains. “No one's been in any of the other areas of the building, Sir,”

“Thank you, Cadet. I’ll take over from here. You can go back to your post at the door,” Riechert dismisses the boy, waving him off as if he doesn’t matter, before turning to look directly at Justin and myself for the first time. “Evening, Gentlemen.”

*****Flash*****

“Evening, Gentlemen,” the flippant words echo through my head, the sound amplified and distorted by whatever drugs they’ve pumped into me. “Hope I’m not too late for a share of the fun.”

I’m lolling in a black haze, trying to block out the rolling waves of pain and fear that keep threatening to swamp me, while the room spins around me. My tormentors seem to be allowing me a moment's respite from their attentions, thank fuck. However, the advent of this new party guest doesn’t foretell anything good. Especially not when his entrance garners a round of malicious laughter.

“Kenny! You old dog. ‘Bout time you got your ass here,” The Sapp greets his newest guest.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to see to this sweet little hustler who promised me he’d do anything if I’d drop the solicitation charges against him. And I do mean ANYTHING!” this new voice jokes, eliciting even more raucous laughter from his buddies. “I slammed into his precious little ass so hard I’ll be surprised if he isn’t permanently paralysed . . . and then I threw him in a holding cell anyway, because we wouldn’t want to encourage that kind of thing, now would we?”

Kenny’s sycophantic audience seems to think this outcome was absolutely hilarious and spends the next several minutes trading jokes about the poor unfortunate that thought this monster would actually help him. I’m so out of it that I only understand about a quarter of the conversation, but that’s fine by me since I don’t think I want to know everything they’re saying. I’ll just lay here, wallowing in my own pain and misery, hoping they get so involved in their own conversation that they forget about me.

“So what did I miss here? Looks like you boys have been busy without me,” Kenny eventually brings the conversation around to the present again, much to my chagrin.

“Ah, we’ve got quite a variety on the menu for you tonight, Kenny,” Sapperstein brags, slapping my thigh familiarly as he passes by, heading towards the sling on the end and its unfortunate occupant. “As a starter, we have this slutty little skank. But I warn you - he’s a pretty little bottom boy, but obviously overused - his ass is as loose as the town slut on prom night. He’s not bad for a warm up though.” I’ve got my eyes shut so I can’t see what it is they’re doing to the dark-haired boy they’re currently talking about. “This one, I’d save for dessert, if I were you,” Sapp continues, his voice modulating to almost a moan. “He’s like a golden twinkie, stuffed full of delicious cream and tight as a fucking drum. Aren’t you sweetheart?” I hear a groan from the blond strung up beside me and even in the depths of my own misery I find I can still feel horror for whatever they’re doing to my poor neighbor. “And finally - the main course, if you will - a taste of Super Stud. This one’s a special project of mine. He’s the type that’s always thought himself superior to the rest of us peons. Bragging that he’s the best top around and making sure everyone knows he never bottoms. Which is probably why I’m having so much fun showing him the error of his ways.”

Sapperstein punctuates his words with a vicious pinch to the bare skin of my right thigh, causing me to groan and try to flinch away from him. Of course it’s a hopeless effort seeing as I’m still restrained and it only amuses my captors even more. New Guy, though, seems titillated and moves closer as if to get a better look. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away.

“Don’t be like that, Sweetcheeks. A pretty little thing like you?” I can feel the man running his fingers lightly down my cheek, gently tickling over my abraded skin, curling around the corner of my jaw and then down the column of my neck. I’m embarrassed to say I actually lean into the touch at first - it’s the first touch I’ve experienced that wasn’t meant to cause pain and, in my drugged out fog, my body forgets for a moment that this man is a danger. “So truly pretty. You just need to be shown, don’t you. You need to be taught how the world is supposed to be.” His voice is getting louder and more harsh but his touch is still soft as his fingers trace across the bones of my clavicle. “You obviously just don’t understand, right, Sweetcheeks? You’re not in charge here. You never were. You’re not a top. You’re nothing. You’re just another bottom boy. An ass whore like all the rest.” Now the fingers are wrapped around the base of my throat and they’re no longer gentle. “I’m the one in charge here, Sweetcheeks. And it’s time for you to learn that lesson.”

As the man’s grip tightens like a vice around my windpipe, my eyelids fly open and I look directly into the malevolent ice-grey eyes of the man looming above me. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m totally at his mercy. And I’m screaming in my head but no sound can get out.

Then I slowly pass out from the lack of oxygen even as my latest tormentor moves around, still maintaining his stranglehold on my throat, so he can continue my lesson with further personal affronts to other parts of my body.

*****Flash*****

My flashback dissipates in a blaze of blinding white light leaving me gasping for air and fighting against the wave of nausea that’s threatening to drop me to my knees. I feel almost as paralyzed as I did when I was immobilized in that fucking sling. I desperately want to run, somewhere, anywhere, just as long as I can get away from HIM. But there’s nowhere to go. The monster is blocking the only door out of here. I’m trapped and ready to panic.

“Okay, I think I’ve got everything,” Justin announces as he zips his duffle bag closed.

Fuck! I guess Justin was too busy packing his shit to even look up at the newcomer. Either that or he doesn’t remember ‘Kenny’ here because of the drugs. He’s completely unaware of the danger.

As a result, my ‘fight or flight’ reaction switches immediately to FIGHT!

I shift my body sideways so that I’m physically shielding Justin. My abrupt movements must have finally alerted him to the present danger because he drops the duffle bag and silently reaches out to grab hold of my arm. I can hear his breathing going ragged as he looks over my shoulder at the now openly leering Detective.

“Looks like you two remember more than is healthy for you,” the sadist taunts. “When I heard that Horvath had found himself some witnesses, I figured as much. Tried to warn Gary that those drugs he was always touting weren’t reliable. He tried to argue that any of you boys who did actually remember enough to be a problem would be too smart to come forward. Unfortunately, you two seem to have missed class the day they handed out the brains. Which is why it’s now up to me to teach you that lesson.”

*****Flash*****

“I’m the one in charge here, Sweetcheeks. And it’s time for you to learn that lesson.”

*****Flash*****

“Fuck you AND your fucking lessons, Asswipe,” I growl through my teeth at the man. “This time I’m not all zonked out on drugs and easy prey for you. And if anyone’s going to be taught a lesson it’s you.”

“Hahaha!” the cretin bursts out laughing as if this was the funniest situation he’d ever found himself in. “You’re so cute when you think you’re in charge, Sweetness. But we both know that I’m the one in control here. I’m always the one in control. Don’t you remember? Remember the way I took control of you?”

Riechert takes a step towards where Justin and I are standing, his hand out as if to reach up and fondle my face. I experience another moment of pure dread and feel frozen in place. Only the whimper of fear from the blond cringing against my back motivates me. I manage to step sideways, out of Riechert's reach, pushing Justin along with me. But after only a couple steps, we’re all the way in the corner and there’s nowhere else to retreat. Riechert is still laughing.

“Enough playtime, Sweetcheeks. I don’t have time for this. The Boss wants me to tie up you two loose ends before Horvath’s fucking press conference. So, here’s how this is going to work.” He’s now standing there in the aisle between the rows of lockers, blocking the passage with his body, legs in a wide, commanding stance and his left hand resting on the butt of the gun holstered at his hip. “I’m going to take Blondie with me - he was never supposed to be allowed to leave and there are people who are still waiting to get a taste of that sweet twinkie ass of his - and you’re going to go tell Horvath that you’ve changed your mind about testifying. If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told, Blondie will remain alive. If not, I’m sure there’s a dumpster around here somewhere that we can leave his broken body in. Got it?”

“No, no, no, nonononono . . .” Justin is sobbing and I feel his body collapsing as he slumps down into a little ball of panic on the floor at my feet.

Thankfully, the fucker’s threat against Justin has unfrozen me, and now I’m angry enough to resume fighting back. “Fuck you!” I spit back at the man tormenting us all over again. “You’re not going to lay a fucking hand on Justin ever again. And there’s no way in Hell that I’m going to let you or your perv friends walk away from this. I’m going to fucking scream about what you did at the top of my voice from the damn rooftops if that’s what it takes.”

“You sure about that, Sweetness?” the creep drawls with a nasty sneer. And then he pulls the gun out of its holster and points it directly at the middle of my chest.

For about thirty seconds I think I might pass out from fear and lack of oxygen as I again forget how to breathe. Is this it? Is this the way my life ends? He’s going to actually shoot me, isn’t he? Because there’s no way I’m going to let this sadist take Justin - I couldn’t live with myself if I let that happen, not when I know the kind of torture they would subject him to again - so I might as well let Riechert kill me first. Not that my death will save the boy, but it’s all I have to offer at this point.

However, while the cretin stands there smirking at us, apparently amused by the terror he’s causing and assured that he’s got the upper hand, I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. Without turning my head - because I don’t want to give anything away - I briefly glance in that direction. There’s someone standing just outside and to the right of the door to the locker room. Whoever’s there is mostly hidden from view except for the shadows he or she is casting. I start to breathe again. We’re not alone in here after all. The only question is whether the person lurking out in the hall is on our side or is with the bad guys. But what the hell. I figure I might as well try and bluff my way through this.

“You’re going to have to fucking shoot me, Motherfucker, because that’s the only way you’re getting to Justin,” I dare him, noting that my response causes his gloating smile to slip just a bit - looks like he didn’t plan on me having the balls to stand up to him. “Just remember, I’ve already given a full statement to Horvath - maybe not in court, but it’s all on tape - and if I end up dead, or even just disappear, it’s going to look even worse for those of you I’ve already identified.” So, yeah, I’m totally bluffing, because I didn’t remember this particular thug until just a minute ago . . . But he doesn’t know that. “You willing to risk adding a murder charge to your sentence, Riechert? Or would that just be ANOTHER murder charge? Seems to me you might be the one who took out the other boys they found in dumpsters, seeing as you just mentioned it again to us. That should be fun . . . Don’t they do unspeakable things to dirty cops that end up in prison? Not that you don’t deserve it, you douchebag.”

I know I’m babbling at this point, but there’s a reason for it. While I’m waxing eloquent and taunting Riechert, I can see more movement out in the hall. I’m hoping that whoever is out there is a friend, not a foe, and by keeping the bad guy’s attention, I’m distracting him from noticing our potential rescuer. But what I see when the guy in the hall finally makes his move is a surprise even to me.

“Shut the fuck up, Kinney,” Riechert rumbles menacingly, taking a half step forward so that the gun is now only inches from my midsection. “You think the guys I work for won’t find a way out of all of that? They’re more powerful than you could possibly understand. That taped statement of yours won’t ever see the light of day. Neither will your body after we’re done with it. So, either you play nice, agree to recant your statement, and let me take the boy as insurance, or try me and see if I don’t call your bluff and shoot you right here.”

“Yeah, I’d think that plan through again if I were you, Shitstain,” I proclaim just as the heavy glass bowl full of condoms - the one that had previously resided on the ledge next to the locker room door so that the club’s employees would always have protection on hand - comes crashing down on the back of Riechert's head and he falls in an insensate heap at my feet.

“Take THAT you waste of human tissue, you!” Emmett rejoices as he kicks Riechert's prostrate body with the toe of his trendy, cordovan-colored Ugg boots. Then he rubs his hands together as if to remove any dust remaining on them and steps carefully over the shards of glass and scattered condom packets lying everywhere. “Are you guys okay? Did that dickhead hurt you? If he laid a hand on either of you, I’m going to go apeshit crazy on his unconscious ass before the police can get here to cart his limp dick off to jail.”

The wash of relief that floods through my body has my knees feeling too weak to hold my body upright anymore and I let myself slump to the ground next to my still cowering blond. “We’re okay. He didn’t have time to hurt us. I’m just . . . Fuck!” I manage enough energy to reach over and pull Justin into a sitting position and clamp my arms around him protectively, whispering whatever reassurances I can to him. “It’s okay. It’s over, Sunshine. I wasn’t going to let him get to you. It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Is Baby going to be okay? Should I call an ambulance?” Emmett asks as he hovers worriedly over us.

“No. Just call Horvath. DON’T talk to anyone else - ONLY Horvath. He’s the only one I trust. Tell him to get his fucking ass over here NOW before this asswipe wakes the fuck up,” I order and then use my heel to slide the gun across the floor from where it dropped till I can easily reach out and pick it up. With no better idea of where to stash it safely, I hand the gun to Emmett and return to my blond consolation duties.

While Honeycutt follows orders, I concentrate on helping Justin. He’s still totally out of it. His skin feels cold and clammy to the touch and I can feel him shaking like a leaf. Can’t really blame him; I’m a little shaky myself. I know he’s coming out of his panic attack, though, when a sob finally breaks through the veneer of his shock. And the next thing I know he’s crying buckets into the fabric of my shirt.

“He . . . He was going to . . . He was going to take me back there, Brian. They were going to . . . to . . . to h-h-hurt me again. They . . . They won’t ever let me go,” Justin keens through his tears.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” I whisper, trying to comfort him with whatever words pop into my head. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. I would never let him take you, Justin. I won’t ever let anyone take you away from me. Never again. You’re safe. We’re both safe. Shhh.”

“Okay, Horvath’s on his way. And, from the sounds of it, he’s pretty pissed off too,” Emmett announces as he ends the call he was on.

Just then our recently subdued attacker starts to stir and I hear a muffled moan. Apparently, though, Emmy Lou is having none of that and, with perfect nonchalance, he let’s go with another well-aimed kick to the back of Riechert's head that’s hard enough to cause his melon to bounce off the metal leg of one of the benches with a resounding ‘clang’. After that Riechert goes quiet again. None of us care enough about the man to bother to check and see if he’s even still breathing or not.

“That’s right, you cunt. You better just lay still or else,” Em proclaims and then sits down atop the very bench under which Riechert is lying. “Oh. Darn, I forgot. I better call Teddy and tell him why it’s taking so long. Good thing I came in here to tell you that that cop made him move the car and he had to park two blocks over cause he couldn’t find another space, huh?” Em puts his phone to his ear again. “Teddy? Sorry, Hon, there’s going to be a little delay . . . No, we’ve got it covered. It could be a while though . . . I’ll tell you all about it later. Gotta go help Brian with Baby. Ciao.” He puts the phone away in his pants pocket and looks at us with determination. “So, I’m thinking maybe I should call my therapist buddy and see if he can’t move your appointment up to today, huh?”

I try to smile, fail and then simply bury my face in the mop of Justin’s hair, soaking in the reassurance of his scent and the warmth of his skin under my touch while we wait for Horvath to arrive.

**********

“You sure you’re feeling up to this?” I ask as we pull up outside the Diner almost three hours later. “We can always order in if you’re too tired. It’s been a long fucking day and you look like you’re about to drop, Sunshine.”

“I’m too hungry to wait for food to be delivered, Brian. Besides, Em and Ted said they’d meet us here and we can’t just blow them off. Not after all the help they’ve been,” Justin assures me as he climbs out of the passenger seat of the Jeep.

A lot has happened since we were cornered in the employee locker room back at Babylon. Horvath and his crew showed up less than ten minutes after Emmett called him and carted Riechert off to the hospital under guard. We gave him our statements about what happened and the additional flashes of memory I’d had when Riechert confronted us. Justin refused to go back to the hospital himself, repeating over and over again that he was alright even though he’s still a little wobbly on his feet when we finally leave the club. Horvath promised that he’ll get to the bottom of the story and root out Riechert's dirty cohorts inside the police department, up to and including Riechert's old partner, who just so happens to be the current Chief of Police. Then we were given a police escort as Teddy drove us out to the suburbs to finally pick up my Jeep. And while we were driving around town, Horvath’s PR folks apparently went forward with their press conference, which we listened to on the radio news as we drove.

Now, we’re here at the Liberty Diner to meet back up with the gang and get some food into my exhausted and starving blond.

I walk around the front of the car to where Justin is waiting for me. I grab hold of his hand, squeezing tight to reassure the both of us, but pause before taking another step forward. Because this is it, isn’t it? This is the big reveal. That press conference was on every news station and is probably all over social media by now. I’m outed whether I wanted to be or not and everyone will know by now that I wasn’t just some random hero that strode in off the street and rescued the next Dumpster Boy.

I’m one of the victims.

Am I ready for this? No. But I don’t have a choice either.

Justin seems to sense my inner turmoil. He leans his head sideways so that it’s resting against my shoulder. He sighs deeply. I forget that he’s also having to face up to this new reality of ours. He’s also going to have to bear whatever negative consequences beset us as a result of our story becoming known. But the realization that he’s in this with me, standing right there by my side, somehow helps. Together, our combined strength is greater than what either of us could pony up alone.

And thinking back over everything that’s happened in the not quite three days since I first stumbled away from my captors - can it really be only three days when it feels like a year’s worth of events have happened in that short time - I realize that I wouldn’t have done anything differently even if I had a choice. I could never have done anything differently. Because I simply had to do what I did.

For Justin. For him. For the man now standing with me against all the odds.

From the moment I found my way to that Diner booth, bloody and still raving from the drugs, it’s all been about finding and protecting Justin. Because something happened to us that week we were huddled together in our prison room. Something that I can’t even explain. We were victims together - yes - but we’re also survivors together. We are the only two people on the planet that can understand that horrendous week. And we came out of that experience as different people. Better people, I think. So I guess I CAN do this thing - as long as I have my blond standing beside me.

Wow, talk about life altering moments.

“Come on. You can do this, Big Guy,” Justin murmurs and tugs on my arm to get me walking. “We’re in this together, right?”

I shrug but let him tow me through the door of the Diner. The noise inside immediately ceases and all the people turn to stare at us as we walk in, hand-in-hand. We seat ourselves in the booth across from where Ted and Emmett are waiting. It’s almost perfectly silent in here. Until, finally, one big bear of a man who I vaguely recognize from the baths, stands up from his table near the window, turns to face us, and starts clapping. Within seconds, he’s joined by a dozen others. Then the entire Diner is standing up, clapping and cheering for us. Justin is smiling and looking bashful but he’s now clapping too, and beaming at me along with the rest.

And this time, when it seems like the lights are too bright and the cacophony of the Diner is too loud and I feel a little dizzy, it’s actually okay. I don’t mind this time. This time, maybe things are going to be alright.

**********

Now on to the Happily Ever After.