///~///~

Chapter 1 - A Blankness.

Justin had always been able to read people; always, that was, until the fateful day he’d ventured forth onto Liberty Avenue and met Brian Kinney.

He’d had this ability since birth. He had a special affinity with all of humanity. He could just tell what people were feeling. If he had to put a name to this skill, he’d probably call himself an empath, although the term brought with it so many ridiculous connotations from popular culture that he refused to use the label even in his own mind. There was nothing mystical or supernatural about what he did. It was simple, actually. He could just read people’s emotions really, really well. So well, in fact, that it was almost as if he could read minds. It wasn’t exactly like that though, it was just that, knowing how a person felt allowed Justin to anticipate what they’d do. Which was kind of the same thing, right? 

So far, this skill had served him well in life. If you knew what made people happy, you knew how to make them happy with you. If you knew what a person feared, you could get on their good side by avoiding whatever that feared thing was. You could tell when something you were doing or saying was annoying another person and adjust your behavior accordingly. Or, when the mood struck, you could intentionally annoy or even frighten someone to get your way. And Justin had learned early on how to take advantage of all these factors, which no doubt had something to do with how he’d mostly sailed through life without any real problems up to that point.

Justin didn’t think of it that way, though. He truly liked people and wanted to get along with them; he thought of his special abilities as merely another tool to help accomplish that. Even as a baby, he’d used his skills to make life more comfortable for all around him. His very first real memory was lying in his mother’s arms and reaching one chubby hand up to lie against her cheek so he could better feel what she was feeling. Sometimes, establishing a physical connection like that enhanced the sensations and, in effect, created a bit of a feedback loop that allowed Justin to not only feel the other person’s emotions, but to transmit his responses back to them, thus allowing him to judge that reaction as well. Needless to say, baby Justin rarely had to cry or throw tantrums to get what he wanted. Jennifer had commented more times than anyone could count about how easy her son had been as a child. And that effect carried through into his youth. 

It wasn’t until Justin reached school age that he realized he was different and not everyone had the same ability to read emotions as he had. It quickly became evident that not all his friends were as emotionally aware as he was. The ones that were particularly bad, particularly unempathic, were the kids who had the most trouble in school and who were always getting in trouble. Justin initially tried to make a connection with these types - the inherent kindness of his soul always trying to make things better - but for the most part they were unreachable. They just didn’t get it and nothing Justin did changed that. Nothing reached these few who just didn’t have the genetic makeup to feel another’s pain. But Justin was still able to read even those who were so cut off from their fellows. He could read them, they just couldn’t return the gesture, and they were immune to that feedback loop phenomenon. However, Justin was able to read them well enough to either appease them or know when to avoid them and it was all good.

Eventually, Justin came to the conclusion that there was a broad spectrum of empathy in the human race. Some were completely lacking in all empathy and there was nothing you could do to save them. Others had traces of empathy and probably could be redeemed but lacked the will to try. Most people had enough empathy to allow them to operate in the world as society expected. Justin thought of himself as being the tiny dot at the far empathic end of the spectrum; the one who was so empathetic that he could almost control the rest because of his inherent understanding of what made them tick. 

Unfortunately, one of those on the lower end of the spectrum turned out to be Justin’s own father, Craig. Craig wasn’t completely lacking in empathy, he just rarely cared enough to exercise what little he had. This led to more conflicts in the Taylor home as Justin got older and began to insist on asserting himself despite his father’s antipathies. The more that Justin asserted his own personality, the more Craig found fault in his formerly quiescent son’s actions. Which was one of the driving factors behind Justin’s adventure to Liberty Avenue.

See, Justin had known from a fairly early age that he was gay. He’d never been at all attracted to girls, except as friends. And once puberty had set in, it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t destined for a happy hetero future like his father envisioned for him. But Justin was also well aware of his father’s homophobic feelings - the man practically radiated fear and hatred any time any discussion about the LGBTQ community would come up - so Craig’s son had tried to repress those particular desires.

However, hiding one’s true self was especially difficult as an empath. For someone that felt so deeply and strongly, keeping his real feelings hidden was uncomfortable. Justin hated pretending to be other than what he really was and that led to a whole slew of complications. He found he was feeling more and more angry over time - a negative emotion that drained him - and because of that feedback loop thing, those around him fed off his anger and reflected it back at him. There was a lot of unease in the Taylor household for a few years. By the time Justin started his senior year of high school, though, the situation was becoming untenable. He simply couldn’t bear the miasma of unhappiness and denial he’d been living in for so long. It was becoming an existential crisis by that point.

So, with the intention of alleviating some of the built up negativity surrounding him, Justin had made the decision to venture out into the world where he felt he truly belonged. 

One propitious Wednesday night he told his mother he was sleeping over at a friend’s, texted his BFF Daphne to cover for him, and hopped on the bus to downtown. He got off on Liberty Avenue, in the heart of Pittsburgh’s gayborhood, and immediately felt like he could breathe again. The colors, the lights, the excitement, were all exactly what he’d been hoping for. Not to mention the people; all the colorful, exuberant people. Guys kissing guys, girls kissing girls, drag queens, trans folx, you name it, they were all there. To the long-repressed youth it felt like he’d come home.

For a while, Justin simply roamed around the streets, watching people and soaking in the atmosphere. There really was something to the colloquial term ‘Gay Community’, he thought. The entire street seemed so immersed in a general feeling of joyousness. And, while not everyone he encountered was happy per se, the overall emotional temperament of those around him was so unrestrained, eager, lavish, and open that it made Justin happy. He’d never been in a place where so many people were allowed to just be themselves without censure. It was refreshing. He wanted to just soak it all in and then revel in the positiveness of it all. 

So he wandered. He people watched. He peeked into shop windows, laughing at the crazy clothing, the outrageous displays of sex toys, and the colorful decorations. And he listened in to the emotions of everyone he passed. It was a balm to his beleaguered soul. 

Eventually Justin grew bolder. He smiled at a couple of the passersby, thrilling when they smiled back appreciatively. One nice looking red headed guy even winked. Justin could sense that these men found him attractive. What an ego boost! He rather liked all the open flirting. 

After a few hours of aimless rambling, Justin thought he was ready for more. He’d noticed that most of the men walking up and down the street were trailing from one bar or club to another, and he became curious. He’d never been to a bar, let alone a gay bar, and he figured that if there was this much happiness out here on the street, there’d be even more inside. Plus, Justin loved to dance, so what could go wrong?

He turned to a man who’d been standing not far away, eager to ask for advice. “Excuse me. Could you tell me, like . . . where’s a good place to go?”

Justin knew the second the stranger turned to look at him that this had been a mistake. There was an antipathy in this man’s soul that went to it’s very core. He was filled with self-loathing and anger. 

“It depends what you’re looking for . . .” the man replied, assuming a superior air. “You want Twinkies, go to Boy Toy. You want leather, go to the Meat Hook. You want snotty, conceited assholes who think they’re better than everyone else, try Pistol.”

Justin was already backing away from the man before he finished his bitter recitation. That’s when the man gave Justin another look, his elevator eyes raking over the younger man’s body from bottom to top. Justin could feel a surge of lust emanating from the man’s tall lanky frame. And the thoughts that came along with that emotion were toxic and malevolent. The empath could tell the man not only liked what he saw, but assumed that Justin would be easy prey.

“It’s kind of late to be out though, isn’t it? Especially on a school night . . .” The man reached up and hooked a hand behind Justin’s neck, pulling the boy closer. Justin could smell his heavily-applied cologne, a scent which only barely masked the underlying stench of stale tobacco smoke and sweat permeating the man’s skin. “Why don’t you come home with me, huh?”

Justin immediately took an alarmed step backwards. “No thanks!”

The man knew his intentions had been seen through and he looked around himself guiltily. Justin could feel the waves of doubt and fear radiating off him. Thankfully, there were a lot of people in the near vicinity, and his wannabe attacker knew he had no chance at the delectable morsel on display in front of him. He laughed and pushed Justin away, pretending it was his choice. Justin, however, could feel the dark-haired man’s disappointment.

“Go on home to your mommy. Go on!” he ordered derisively.

And Justin was more than happy to take his chance at escape. He turned and practically fled from the street corner where the tall, lanky, older man remained, laughing at the inexperienced boy. OK, so maybe not everything was rainbows and unicorns here on Liberty Avenue. Maybe Justin needed to be a tad bit cautious about this new world he was so interested in becoming a part of?

Justin quickly walked down the block and around the corner, away from the menacing man, while trying to regain the emotional equilibrium he'd been feeling earlier. The side street he turned into, though, was not as well lit nor as populated as the main Liberty Avenue drag. After the encounter he’d just had, he didn’t feel safe moving away from the protection of the busier areas. Justin was about to turn around and head back the way he’d come when he noticed a large, blue, neon sign displaying the word ‘Babylon’ attached to a building at the end of the block. Intrigued, he took a few more steps in that direction, just to see what it was he’d be missing out on.

He passed by a collection of newspaper boxes and paused under a streetlight. He dropped the cigarette he’d been smoking - a basically futile effort to try and make himself look older - crushing the butt under the heel of his Vans. He squinted at the congregation of people surrounding the building, trying to figure out what they were doing by taking the emotional temperature of the crowd. He sensed excitement, anticipation, some frustration, and a little exhaustion due to the late hour. But for the most part, the men he saw were the same as the others he’d encountered that evening; glad to be out amongst others like themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And that’s when it happened; when HE came along.

Justin had stepped around to the far side of the streetlight to get out of reach of a vent spewing unpleasantly warm steam and leaned against the light pole, ready to settle in for more people watching, when he’d looked up and locked eyes with one of the most beautiful men he could imagine. Even from that distance, Justin could tell the guy was tall - clearly over six feet - with a thin but well-formed body. The light from the neon sign behind him glinted off the man’s auburn hair creating odd blue highlights. But none of that was what made the man stand out. What made him totally unique, was the fact that Justin couldn’t read him. At all. It was like he wasn’t even there. A blank where there should be some emotion; some inkling of a human personality. But instead, there was nothing at all.

The man smiled at Justin, his lips stretching in a sly, predatory, grin, like a cat who’d found its prey. Every nerve ending in Justin’s body went on instant alert. He stood up straighter, peering back at the man with a confused expression. The boy had absolutely no idea what to make of this anomaly that was now striding purposefully down the sidewalk in his direction.

As the beautiful man neared, Justin tried again to pierce through that blankness. He had never failed to read someone before, so he was intrigued. But try as he might, even focusing all his energy on the nearing figure, he got nothing. Not even a glimmer of emotional output. When Justin blinked, it was almost as if the man had disappeared. But when he opened his eyes again the handsome brunet was standing directly in front of him.

“How’s it goin’? Had a busy night,” the elusive creature asked in a seductively low tenor, stepping even closer until he had completely invaded Justin’s personal space. 

Justin could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his mouth went dry. He was totally at a loss as to how he should respond to the overture. Without being able to read the man, he felt blinded; he didn’t know what to say. Which, in turn, made him even more anxious, since he’d grown up always knowing what to say. The whole situation was unprecedented. 

“I was just . . . Um . . . Checking out the bars, you know?” he stammered, trying his best not to sound like a total rube. The man continued to stare at him, unconvinced, prompting Justin to blather on, “Boy Toy, Meat Hook . . .”

The man snorted a little laugh, making Justin feel even more stupid than before, but the glimmer of amusement in the hazel eyes that were now only centimeters away kept him from bolting. “Meat Hook? Really? So you’re into leather?”

Justin knew he’d been caught, but he was still too flustered to know what to say, so he just bluffed. “Sure.”

The Adonis smiled again, leaning even closer. “Where ya headed?”

Justin had no clue how to answer that question. The sexual undertones of the query were obvious, even without Justin‘s usual ability to read the emotions of the questioner. This man exuded sex; every line of his body, every note in his words, every scintilla of his being, radiated sexual energy. Justin didn’t have to be an empath to sense the desire that poured off the man propositioning him. The only question was, what did Justin want? 

He wasn’t a total idiot; he hadn’t come down to Liberty Avenue planning to hook up with a total stranger. He hadn’t even contemplated that. Hell, up to that point, Justin hadn’t even kissed another man before. No way was he expecting that, his first evening out in the gay community, he would end up going off fuck-knew-where with some strange, compelling, seductor. But, based on all the available evidence, that is exactly where this emotionless blank of a man was trying to lead him. So, was Justin willing to follow?

But, because he still couldn’t sense this man and he doubted his reading of the situation, Justin decided to hedge his bets. “No place special,” he replied.

Completely unfazed, and his expression unchanged, the man replied, “I can change that.”

That was the point at which Justin lost control of the evening. He didn’t remember actually consenting to go with the man, but somehow, it seemed, that choice was made anyway. Before he knew what was happening, he’d been towed towards the man’s car and pushed into the passenger seat. The man’s friends whined and complained about being left behind but Justin’s new acquaintance ignored them. A short, silent, drive later, and Justin found himself being led through the front doors of an older, brick building, towed up three flights of stairs, and then ushered into the loft apartment on the top floor . . . All before he’d actually even had a chance to think about what he was getting himself into. It wasn’t till the man ordered him to close the door behind him, that Justin began to panic.

Justin paused with his hand on the metal door handle and had a very brief, wordless, freak out. ‘What the hell am I doing? I don’t know anything about this guy. Fuck, I don’t even know his name. And I can’t read him - he could be planning to do anything to me - although he doesn’t look like an axe murderer or anything . . .’ he argued with himself in his head. ‘I should just leave. Now. Before things go any further. I should just walk right out this door, right now . . .’ But then he thought about the mystery of his beautiful new companion and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t simply walk away. Justin HAD to figure this man out; figure out why it was this one particular man seemed immune to his special talents.

So, taking a deep breath, Justin slid the door closed and turned to meet whatever fate had in store for him that night.

By the time Justin had turned around, his host had already stripped off his sweaty t-shirt, revealing a slim yet well-toned torso, decorated with just a hint of auburn hair outlining two, tiny, nut-brown nubs and leading south in a darkening line. While Justin was still taking in that glorious sight, the brunet took a swig from a bottle of water and then upended the rest of the container over his head. When his host shook his head like a big shaggy dog, letting droplets of water scatter around him, Justin completely forgot what it was he’d been afraid of in the first place. 

As the beads of wetness trickled down over taut pecs and toned abs, Justin’s mouth suddenly went dry. He desperately wanted to lick up some of that water, preferably right off the man’s perfectly tanned skin. He nervously looked around, feeling like it was rude to stare at the spectacle of the man’s bareness, but he couldn’t focus on anything. No matter where he looked, his eyes kept being drawn back to the enigmatic man whose naked charisma lured him nearer. Justin tried mumbling some inane compliments about the man’s home, but his host ignored the comments. Instead, he continued to remove his clothing one item at a time - first one boot, then the other, then, with an intentionally blatant tug, opening the fly of his jeans - while Justin blathered on, not even one hundred percent sure what it was he was saying. He knew he was likely making a fool of himself, but thankfully he was too flustered to dwell on that right then.

Then, in the middle of what appeared outwardly to be just polite conversation, the man shoved his pants down, stepped out of them and kicked the pile of material away. Justin felt mesmerized; almost like he was frozen in place. He couldn’t have turned away even if he’d wanted to, but by that point he didn’t want to. He wanted to see more. A lot more.

And his desire was almost immediately granted when the man hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the thong he’d been wearing and shoved the skimpy thing down, completely exposing himself to Justin’s hungry gaze. 

It wasn’t as if Justin hadn’t ever seen a naked man before. He’d made a point of taking gym every term at school, despite the fact that he was hopelessly unathletic, primarily because it afforded him an excuse to hang out in the boys’ locker room on a regular basis. And, of course, he’d looked at his fair share of porn, like any child of the technology age. But all those men had been out of his reach. Distant. Never to be approached. Unlike the god who was now offering himself up to Justin’s avid examination. The man seemed to know exactly how much Justin desired him and was more than willing to sacrifice himself to the scrutiny. He just stood there, arms extended, palms upward, everything on display, allowing Justin a nice loooonnnng look. No modesty at all. Not that any was needed when you looked like THAT.

“So, are you coming or going?” the man asked calmly. “Or coming, and then going? Or . . . coming and staying?”

Who could turn down an offer like that, right? 

Justin peeled off the jacket he’d been wearing and tossed it aside without even looking. He took a step forward, towards the delicious treat on offer in front of him. Then another step. And another. The man continued to stand there, his body on display, his cock becoming firmer as Justin neared. Seriously, who could have walked away at that point? Who?

When Justin was only an arm’s length away, the man reached out and hooked a finger in the front pocket of Justin’s jeans, using that tether to tug the boy even closer. Justin felt like a puppet. He didn’t care though. He had already made his choice and was willing to give himself over to whatever this enchanter wanted to do with him. 

The man used his other hand to begin unfastening Justin’s pants while bending forward so that his face was only millimeters away. Justin could feel the warmth of his lips and longed for them to finally make contact, but the man only teased him, ghosting over a cheek, just missing an earlobe, and then breathing heavily down the column of Justin’s neck, but never actually touching him. Until, that is, Justin’s fly was completely undone, whereupon the man roughly shoved his hand down Justin’s pants, cupped his already rock-hard dick through the material of his briefs, and at the same time suctioned his lips to Justin’s mouth, allowing him to thrust his tongue as deep as it would go. 

Now, Justin had never been kissed by another man before. The sum total of his sexual experience up to that point was when his best friend Daphne had talked him into ‘practicing’ kissing, but that had been tame and emotionless. It was NOTHING like this kiss. This was the real thing. This was like being devoured. It set every nerve ending in his body into overdrive. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and that wasn’t only because his mouth was being kept too busy to allow for respiration. This kiss was electric. And Justin instantly found himself returning the passion he was receiving with equal fervor, wrapping his arms around the bare body and pulling the man closer, grappling to find a hand hold on the slippery, wet skin, to try and reach for more, wanting to pull in so close that they would fuse together. 

Yet, even in the height of his frenzy, a tiny part of Justin’s mind continued marvelling at the fact that he STILL couldn’t read anything of this man’s emotions. Usually, physically touching a person he was trying to read enhanced the connection. Even difficult to decipher feelings would become crystal clear when Justin touched his target. But not now. Now, all he got was that same blankness. It was as if there wasn’t anything inside the man he was kissing so passionately. Or maybe, if there was something there, it was hidden behind an impermeable barrier. But no matter how much he reached out with his mind, Justin got no sense at all of the man’s emotions.

Of course, it’s not like he needed any special skills to be able to determine exactly what it was his host wanted. Not when those hands were fumbling to remove Justin’s clothing even while their lips remained fused together. And, while this wasn’t exactly what Justin had planned - he’d only wanted to come check out the gay community, revel in the belonging he’d hoped to feel, maybe dance a little, or even, if all went well, meet someone he might be attracted to and who might want to get to know him better in return, but he’d never dreamed of going quite THIS far - there was no way to deny the insistent need that now overwhelmed him. He wanted this man more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life. He knew that this was the moment. His moment. His life was about to change and he’d never be the same again. 

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the man he was about to offer up his virginity to, because it seemed the man could read Justin just fine.

///~///~

Chapter 2 - Face Of God.

The next morning, Justin awoke before his companion and then just lay there, his head spinning, while he tried to take in everything that had happened to him in the previous twelve hours. 

It was a hell of a lot to take in too. After that first kiss, things had gone from zero to one million at light speed. Which was probably why Justin’s head was still spinning. 

He quietly looked over at the man sleeping in the bed next to him. Even in his sleep, with raging bed-head and a trickle of drool drying on one cheek, the man was gorgeous. He was everything Justin had ever thought he’d wanted in a partner. He was smart, funny - but with a biting wit that had the potential to burn if you weren’t careful - and fucking amazing in bed. Or at least Justin thought he was amazing, not that he had much to compare the experience to. If nothing else, the man had made Justin’s first time memorable.

It was more than just the sex though, the whole night had been eye opening. So many firsts. His first real kiss. His first sexual encounter with anyone. His first hand job. His first rimming . . . His first everything. Justin still could hardly believe he’d done . . . all the things he’d just done. The spontaneity of it all - the recklessness - it was all completely out of character for him. But he wouldn’t have changed a moment of it for anything. It had been perfect.

And this man - Justin really should start calling him by the name he’d heard the man’s friends use, ‘Brian’ - was almost perfect too. If it weren’t for the fact that Justin still couldn’t read him, he WOULD be perfect. Justin reached out with one hand, lying it gently atop the slowly rising and falling chest, just to test it out one more time. Nope. There was still only a total blank where he’d expect to sense some type of emotion. Which was crazy, right? Nobody was an emotional blank. Nobody. Except, seemingly, this beautiful man he’d just spent most of the past night making love with.

Okay, so that might have been a tiny exaggeration. Brian wasn’t a TOTAL blank. Justin had sensed a few, very dim, glimmers of emotion from his lover the night before, but they were so muted and brief that, if he hadn’t been paying careful attention, he would easily have missed them. But it was enough to let Justin see that Brian wasn’t really emotionless; it was more like he was blocking his emotions. Stifling them. And doing it so thoroughly that he’d cut off everyone from getting through to his inner core. 

It was a phenomenon that Justin had never encountered before. One that left him wondering about what could have possibly induced this man to build such impenetrable emotional shields. Of course, he didn’t know Brian well enough yet to ask that very personal question, even if he had been willing to betray his own unique skills. The fact that the man was so completely cut off from him, however, didn’t make it any easier for Justin to get to know him. And, except for those few, miniscule glimpses, it didn’t seem likely that Brian was going to let anyone inside his emotional defenses.

That got Justin thinking about the few cracks he HAD glimpsed. 

The first of those cracks had come when Brian had dragged Justin along to the hospital to welcome his newborn son. That had been quite a surprise to the newbie - he would never have suspected someone like Brian would want to be involved with parenthood - but the minute he got that call from the mothers, Brian exhibited more excitement and animation than Justin had previously seen from the composed man. This elation continued when they got to the hospital and raced through the hallways to the maternity wing. Justin still wasn’t sure why he’d been included in that little adventure - he didn’t think Brian had completely bought his excuse that he couldn’t go home because his parents didn’t know he was out - but he wasn’t complaining, because it gave him more insight into the intriguing man than any of the more intimate moments they’d shared.

The moment that Brian first held his son in his hands, however, was the kicker. For those few seconds, Justin got his first inkling of what was hiding under the cool, unrufflable exterior. Justin sensed a pulse of pure, unadulterated panic, followed immediately by a softness, which then faded into a quiet pride. Pretty much what you’d expect from a new father, although Justin was surprised at the strength of emotion he felt from the otherwise closed off man. By the time Justin started to reach back, trying to finally connect with Brian, that burst of emotion was gone. The shields came back up at full strength and Brian had returned to his usual, sarcastic, disengaged self. By the time Justin realized the import of what had just happened, it was already over.

And before he could analyze this strange twist, Brian had distracted him with a new outrageousness, turning to Justin and asking what his newborn son should be named.

“What do YOU think?” Brian asked, hitting Justin with a rebellious smirk.

Every head in the room swivelled to glare at Justin, the unknown newcomer. 

Justin gulped but, since he was still being impaled by Brian’s relentless gaze, he refused to back down. “You wouldn’t survive a day at school being named ‘Abraham’, but I guess ‘Gus’ is okay.”

Justin was assailed by so many contrasting emotions after that proclamation that it felt like he was being beat up. The shorter, dark-haired man standing next to him was clearly jealous of Brian’s attention towards Justin and because of that he was totally dismissive of the response Justin had given. The bevy of lesbian friends were mostly just confused, with a little scoffing at the idea that some unknown boy should be allowed any say at all in naming the baby of their friends. The biological mother - Lindsey - was amused and elated that her preferred name had ‘won’. But the most compelling emotion Justin sensed was coming from the other mother - Melanie - who’s fury was directed not at Justin, the one making the decision, but at Brian. 

“Thank you very much . . . And who the hell are you?” the feisty little brunette shot back immediately. 

“His name is . . .” Brian stuttered to a halt, apparently unable to remember his tag-a-long’s name.

“Justin,” Michael jumped in - they’d introduced themselves to each other in the Jeep on the way over - assisting his friend while exhibiting a mix of exasperation and loyalty.

Not to be corrected, though, Brian had to immediately redirect everyone’s attention back at him. “You were on the phone when he shot his load all over me,” he explained to the entire crowd, causing Justin to cringe with embarrassment while all the assembled, and mostly grossed out, masses made noises of disgust. 

“Oh, Brian!” Lindsey exclaimed, laughingly, emitting beams of possessive affection towards the man who was still standing next to her bed, holding their son.

“He can’t help it, he’s only seventeen,” Brian replied, obviously going for the full shock value.

“So, you and Lindsey EACH had an infant tonight,” Mel commented disdainfully, her emotions a mix of contempt and jealousy. 

Justin, meanwhile, was fascinated by the complex layers of emotion this group of old friends exhibited. There was so much going on here. It would take days, if not months, to figure out how these people related to each other. The one thing that did stand out more than anything else, though, was the fact that the blankness that was Brian was at the dead center of the maelstrom of these complicated relationships. Somehow, they all revolved around him. He was the target for all their myriad and almost overpowering emotions: love, hate, jealousy, scorn, admiration, lust, enviousness . . . It was all there, just under the surface, barely concealed, and all directed unerringly at the beautiful man standing proudly in the middle of the room looking unconcerned and above it all.

“Mine doesn’t suck on my tits,” Brian retorted, refusing to let Mel have the last word, and apparently hoping to shut her up with sheer brazenness. “Unless I want him to.”

Brian had then smiled at Justin, as if including him in on the fun. Justin had smiled back, unable to resist the charisma of the man. Just as he’d been unable to resist any of the other things Brian had done to him that night. Brian was a force of nature. Nobody was able to resist him, it seemed; whether they loved him or hated him, Justin could already tell that no one was able to remain untouched by the irresistible man. But at the same time, Brian himself maintained an aloof, unemotional distance from them all, letting the swarm of everyone else’s sentiments drift around him without ever impacting him directly. Justin was engrossed by the spectacle of it all, and eager to find out even more about the enigmatic man at the center of this group. Not that figuring Brian out would be easy, since he continued to block Justin’s empathic skills. 

The only other glimmer of emotion that the man had exhibited the entire night was when they were on the way out of the hospital and happened to pass by a woman in the hallway. She was dressed in a hospital uniform and pushing a janitorial cart. Brian, who’d come back from a smoke break with Michael as high as a kite, was goofing off and almost didn’t see the woman, narrowly avoiding tripping over her cart as he spun around to make yet another sarcastic comment to his followers. 

“Brian?” the woman called out his name.

Justin was surprised to sense a flare of defiance from Brian, accompanied by a fleeting pang of fear, as the older man turned to face the woman who’d addressed him. She was mousey, short, and plump; not one to catch the eye at all. If she hadn’t spoken up, Justin wouldn’t even have noticed her. The fact that someone like Brian would be afraid of a nobody like that was curious. So was the look of scorn the brunet shot at the janitor, not to mention the flare of antipathy Justin sensed from Michael.

“Claire.” Brian’s outward affect was flat and unreactive, even while Justin sensed a moment of utter panic, which was quickly strangled and hidden behind that mask of nothingness the man maintained. 

“What are you doing here?” the janitor asked.

“None of your fucking business,” Brian replied and then, without further comment, he strode arrogantly away from the woman, forcing Michael and Justin to scramble to catch up.

That was it. Those two small glimpses of emotion were all Justin got the entire night. Even while they were making love, Brian betrayed no emotion at all. If anything, he became inversely more detached as they got more intimate. And, despite how much Justin loved what Brian had done to his body, he knew the experience had lacked something. Without any emotional connection, it was all somehow empty. How you could be physically so close and yet emotionally so distant during a moment of such indescribable passion was incomprehensible to Justin. It left Justin reeling. 

Which was why Justin was lying there, trying again to establish some type of connection to the man he’d just spent the past twelve hours of his life with. You’d think, with his hand pressed to Brian’s chest right above the man’s heart, Justin would get something. Anything. Some faint flicker of sentiment. But no. Even in sleep this man was thoroughly closed off. A blank. Poor Justin didn’t know what to think. It made no sense that a man who could play his body like a finely tuned instrument, fulfilling Justin’s every desire before he even knew what those desires were, could be so emotionally deficient. If there were emotions hidden deep within Brian’s closed off facade, Justin couldn’t discern them, and it left him feeling a bit lost. 

He was still lying there contemplating the situation when Brian’s alarm went off a few minutes later. Brian rolled over Justin’s body to reach the snooze button and then settled with a sigh, his head nuzzling into the crook of the younger man’s neck, adding a happy little kiss to the tender skin he found there. For half a second, Justin doubted himself again - maybe there was something more to his lover than that cold exterior? But then Brian woke up enough to realize he’d slipped. 

Brian immediately pulled back and grumbled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You . . . said I could stay,” Justin responded, feeling crushed.

“Right . . . Your parents.” Brian rolled back, away from his bed mate, as if Justin and the night they’d just spent together meant nothing to him. “They think you’re at a friend's.”

Whereafter, Brian launched into a diatribe complaining about how his loft was a mess and that he hated the dealer who’d sold him the drugs he’d taken the night before, blaming everything on his inebriation. When Justin tried to offer some constructive advice, Brian laughed at him and replied sarcastically. Then he ordered Justin to get up and get dressed so he could take the boy home, grumbling even more when he was reminded that was impossible since he’d been too stoned to drive the night before and Michael had therefore taken the Jeep.

“I know what happened; I was there. I remember everything,” Brian declared petulantly. Then, as if to counter the prior night’s display of vulnerability, he just had to strike out and intentionally hurt the boy. “What was your name again?”

That hurt. But Justin refused to let the man who was blocking him out see any emotion from him in return. He pretended it didn’t bother him and proceeded to get ready for the day, even consenting to another go round with Brian in the shower. And there again, Brian’s gruff and disdainful words were at odds with his tender, caring touches and the way he made sure that Justin was fully satisfied. It was also contradictory to the playful way Brian helped dress him as they were getting ready, or the way Brian stood up to his friend Michael when the friend complained about Justin’s continued presence. All the mercurial moods of this man were enough to make an empath's head explode. In the end, Justin decided he’d have to ignore Brian’s words, his emotionless sarcasm, and read his body instead. 

Even so, Justin really didn’t know what to think when Brian dropped him off at school, chased off a bully for Justin, and then, in his next breath, totally blew him off. 

“When can I see you again?” Justin asked hopefully.

“You’re seeing me right now.”

“No. I mean, later. Tonight?” Justin explained.

“Who knows where I’ll be later tonight,” Brian hedged, even as he ran a finger familiarly down Justin’s chest and tugged at the boy's jacket. 

“Please . . .” Justin hated himself for begging, but he didn’t know how else to get through to this man.

“I’ll see you in your dreams,” Brian replied with an edge of mocking to his voice that offset the more sentimental meaning of the words.

And then he was gone, leaving Justin to deal with the fallout from the most wonderful and most unsettling night of his existence. Despite all the time they had spent together, the things they’d done, and the fact that his ass was still throbbing with sense memories caused by Brian’s actions, he didn’t know what to think of the man who’d just taken his virginity and changed his world forever. Who was Brian Kinney? Was he just another man? Or was he something more? Something beyond anything else Justin had ever encountered?

When his friend Daphne asked where he’d been, Justin answered her, and his own questions, with the only reply that seemed to fit. 

“I just saw the face of god!”

///~///~

Justin’s dreams; that’s where Brian had said he’d linger, and it was exactly where all things Brian remained after that one eventful night. 

Justin, understandably, couldn’t stop thinking about Brian, but all his attempts to interest the man in something more were resolutely rebuffed. He’d tried returning to Liberty Avenue and stalking Brian to what a bystander on the avenue said was Brian’s favorite bar - Woody’s - but Brian took one look at him waiting there at the table next to his gang of friends and turned on his heel. Instead, Justin got to spend the evening in the company of Brian’s self-reported ‘Best Friend’, Michael, who used the opportunity to lecture the newcomer on all the reasons why he should stay away. Justin eventually got fed up with the man’s obvious possessiveness and jealousy and went home. The next night, Justin tried cornering Brian in his loft, but his former lover refused to let Justin in, choosing some scraggy Grindr hookup instead of the willing blond boy. And even his efforts to show Brian exactly what he was missing by following the lothario back to Babylon had failed when Brian angrily turned away after Justin attempted to steal away his dance partners. 

Justin didn’t have to be able to read Brian to know he wasn’t wanted. And, despite his curiosity and desire to finally work out the mystery of Brian’s hidden emotions, he wasn’t willing to abase himself to get the answers he sought. He was too unsure of the man he couldn’t read to keep going after him. A man Justin couldn’t read at all felt like too dangerous a choice, and not worth the effort, no matter how physically attracted he was to Brian Kinney. Without that emotional connection, Justin decided it wasn’t a relationship worth pursuing. 

So, after a week or so of getting nowhere with the man, Justin gave up. He would never forget the man who’d made his first time so amazing. He’d always remember his deflowering with fondness. But someone that emotionally stunted just wasn’t a good fit for an empath. There had to be someone easier.

Justin washed his hands of the man who’d turned him out and tried to get back to his real life, seeing Brian only in his dreams night after lonely night. 

///~///~

Chapter 3 - Real Life.

Brian shifted till he was kneeling between Justin’s thighs and gently lifted the youth’s legs till his ankles were resting on the solidity of Brian’s shoulders. He reached for the tube of KY. Justin heard the *snick* as the cap was flicked open and then felt the squish of cold wetness as a dollop of lube was squirted on his hole. A second later there were two fingers shoving the lube inside him and he cringed at the sudden intrusion. The pain was fleeting, though. It was followed within moments by the electric tingle resulting from those fingers brushing across his prostate. Justin moaned and used the leverage of his legs on those broad shoulders to arch upwards into the touch. 

Brian wasn’t playing around though; he quickly withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the blunt tip of his cock. Justin grumbled at the loss of the fingers, and the resulting sense of emptiness, even as he began to anticipate what was coming next. He smiled up at his gorgeous lover. Brian was too busy to smile back. He held his cock in place with his right hand and used his left to keep Justin’s hip steady as he slowly pressed inside. The pressure, the nearly-painful stretching, and then the release as the head of Brian’s cock breached the first ring of muscles, was exquisite. They both froze for a second to enjoy the moment and allow themselves to adjust.

And then it was all action and thrusting and sweat-drenched bodies sliding against each other. Brian bent Justin almost in half so that he could claim the boy’s lips, sucking and nibbling on the bottom one as he continued to pump in and out, in and out, in and out. Justin grabbed hold of a wad of cotton sheeting and held on for dear life. It was glorious. He could feel his heart rate skyrocketing as the bolts of stimulation zapped through him and grew stronger with every thrust. Finally, the voltaic frequency crossed that invisible threshold level and it was all of a sudden too late. The electric twinges congealed in the pit of Justin’s stomach and then exploded outward in all directions at once like a lightning storm, causing every muscle in his body to spasm. He could feel Brian’s seed shooting deep inside him, washing him with a happy warmth, right before his own stream erupted to paint his stomach with streamers of viscous white . . .

///~///~

“Justin! Why aren’t you up already? You’re going to be late,” Justin’s mother complained, banging open the door to her son’s bedroom as she passed.

Justin blinked around at the brightness of his room, trying to reconcile the suburban morning he found himself in with the dark loft of his dream. He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and looked at the cum dripping off it. Oh. It had obviously been another of THOSE dreams. 

He’d been having a lot of those dreams lately. You’d have thought that, as time passed, the memories of his time with Brian would fade and the dreams become less frequent, but it seemed the opposite was true. Almost every night now, he was seeing his former lover in his dreams. Dreams which inevitably ended up the same way. Not that he was complaining, really, but his mother was getting a little annoyed at the amount of laundry she was having to do because of the mess he’d been making of his sheets each night.

Justin reached over the side of his bed and grabbed the towel left lying on the carpet after his last shower, using that to wipe himself off before climbing out of bed. He sighed. It wasn’t easy to leave the perfection of his dreams to face the dreary reality of his days. Especially not when that meant spending his daylight hours fending off the homophobic bullies at school. 

See, besides his nightly visitation from the sexy dream brunet, the other fallout from his night of ecstasy on Liberty Avenue was that Justin had been ‘outed’ to the whole school. Arriving at school in a Jeep with the word ‘FAGGOT’ spray painted on the side, combined with Brian threatening to kick John Spencer’s homophobic ass, and Justin’s own behavior while he was asking Brian when he could see him again - which, apparently, had been overheard by at least a dozen of his classmates - had left little doubt in the collective conscious of St. James Academy that Justin was indeed a ‘fag’. So, ever since that morning when Brian left him on the curb still reeling from their night of passion, Justin had been having to deal with the other negative effects of his adventure. And it had changed the entire dynamic of everything in Justin’s life.

Up to that point, Justin had been able to fly under the radar of most of the school bullies. His empathic skills had allowed him to avoid the worst of them and manipulate the situation to his advantage with those he couldn’t avoid. But after being outed, he could no longer hide from them. He was now front and center as ‘The Gay Kid’. The amount of animosity aimed his way had increased exponentially. The bullies were no longer trying to hide their animosity; they’d moved on to mounting an all-out campaign of hate directed solely at Justin. It had made his life at school a living hell.

But even worse than the name calling, shoving in hallways, tripping as he walked through classrooms, and being outright shunned from the boy’s locker room, was the fallout from when the rumors of his sexuality made it back to Justin’s parents. 

It had only taken about two weeks. The bullies at school had quickly escalated their hate to the point that Justin finally had to physically stand up for himself. The resulting altercation that broke out in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of a huge crowd of onlookers, got Justin and the ringleader of the attackers, Chris Hobbs, sent to the Principal’s office. Then their parents were called. Needless to say, when Craig Taylor was informed of the basis for the fight, he was not pleased. 

Craig had gone through the denial and anger stages right there in the Principal’s office, and proceeded to bargaining as soon as he got Justin home. He’d tried all the same old tropes you’d expect. ‘You’re too young to know if you’re gay or not’, ‘maybe you just haven’t met the right girl’, and even, ‘no son of mine is gonna be gay’. Justin simply sat there and patiently let his father rant without comment. It wasn’t worth the effort to try and argue with him; Justin could tell that right from the start. Craig’s mood was intractable. Justin really didn’t need his empathic skills, since Craig was broadcasting his emotions like a bullhorn. Eventually, though, Craig had worked himself back to anger again, and seemed likely to stick there for the foreseeable future. Even several weeks later, Craig still wasn’t talking to his son. Getting to the acceptance stage seemed unlikely to happen any time soon. 

Justin had been luckier with his mother. Her own naturally high level of empathy had allowed Justin to work with her, to get her back to the loving and supportive mother he counted on, with little struggle. Jennifer wasn’t exactly overjoyed to have Justin announcing he was gay, but she’d at least suspected the truth for a long while, so it wasn’t totally unexpected. Jennifer had already moved on to the point where she’d started to ask her son whether there were any boys he was interested in. She wouldn’t have been happy to hear that the only man Justin was interested in was the 30-year-old who’d already taken Justin’s virginity, so Justin kept that part to himself. 

But with all that going on, it was no wonder that Justin wasn’t looking forward to another week of his real life. If only he could stay in his happy dream world all the time. The world where he was appreciated for who he was. The world where he had a lover who made him melt with happiness. The world were he didn’t have to deal with bullies and disappointed fathers and all the other bullshit that came with real life. 

“Justin, NOW!” Jennifer ordered as she walked past, going in the opposite direction from her first pass. “If you’re late again today, it’s all on you. I won’t write you another excuse. You'll have to deal with detention on your own.”

“Fine. I’m going. I’m going . . .” Justin grumbled and padded off to take a shower and get into his uniform so he could head off to the torture otherwise known as school.

///~///~

Justin made it to school just before the bell rang. Daphne was waiting for him next to his locker, looking at him with the same judgmental expression his mother had used. Whatever. He’d grabbed his books and they ran down the hall side by side, arriving at the door to their History class right as the bell finished shrilling, beating the teacher even. 

“Excuse me, faggot,” Hobbs snarled as he knocked Justin into the wall and pushed past them into the classroom. 

Hobbs seemed to be on a tear that morning - just what Justin needed - and proceeded to join his buddies in terrorizing Peter Johns, a mousy little guy who was too timid to stand up for himself. Justin and Daphne shared a look, shook their heads, and sighed. It never fucking ended.

“. . . you look like a faggot to me,” Chris was accusing poor Peter. “You wanna suck my cock, huh?”

“Can’t they think of anything more original to say?” Daphne questioned before turning her ire on the huddle of bullies around Peter. “Leave him alone, Hobbs.”

“Oooo. Must be a faggot convention,” Hobbs replied with a smirk aimed Justin’s way.

“Don’t take it out on him,” Daphne demanded angrily.

“Take what out,” Hobbs asked stupidly.

“Your dick,” Justin answered, earning himself a laugh from the entire class, including two of Hobbs’ sycophants.

“Shut up, faggot,” Hobbs growled with a shove to Justin’s shoulder that knocked the smaller boy back a couple steps. 

Justin wasn’t going to just take it like Peter, though. He came right back at Hobbs with a shove of his own. The big jock, who’d been taken by surprise that anyone would have the gall to stand up to him, actually fell back a few steps and tripped over Peter’s book bag, landing heavily in an empty desk seat. That earned an even bigger laugh from the crowd. It also resulted in a pulsation of hatred from the target of the laughter, aimed with a laser focus at Justin. Justin gasped at the malevolency of the feelings washing over him; he’d never felt so much hatred focused solely on himself before. Justin had long known that Hobbs was dangerous and now he realized how much he’d just fed that hatred.

Luckily, before Hobbs could act on his feelings, Mr. Dickson, the History teacher, came into the room and ordered the classroom to settle down. Justin and Daphne took their seats as directed. Dickson put his jacket on the chair at the front of the classroom and opened his attendance ledger, starting to call off the names in the usual order. Only, when he got to Justin’s name, Hobbs proved he wasn’t ready to let his animosity go.

“Ruiz?” Dickson called the name right before Justin’s.

“Here,” the boy in the back responded.

“Taylor?”

“Queer!” Hobbs replied before Justin could answer, raising another round of laughter from the entire classroom.

Dickson, meanwhile, pretended he hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary and continued with the roll call. “Thomas?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Dickson,” Justin leapt to his feet, interrupting the teacher’s litany of names. 

“What is it, Taylor,” the teacher responded with just barely concealed contempt for his student.

Justin wasn’t deterred, though. “Chris just called me ‘queer’.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Dickson lied, with an emotional outpouring of deceit and derision.

“How could you not hear it? Everybody heard that,” Justin insisted, unwilling to let it go, probably because he could so easily read Dickson’s antipathy towards him. 

“Sit down, Taylor,” Dickson ordered.

“I want him to apologize,” Justin pressed.

“I said sit down.”

“Aren’t you going to do anything? Are you just going to pretend that nothing happened?”

“One more word from you and I’m sending you to the Principal’s Office.”

“Huh?” Justin was stunned by the dismissive response just as much as he was by the torrent of hatred he felt coming from his teacher. But he wasn’t left speechless for long. “You know what, don’t bother.” Justin picked up his messenger bag and stepped forward to face the bigotted teacher head on. “The queer is going. The queer is out the door. The queer is gone . . .”

“That’s enough of that,” Dickson growled angrily, upset at the show of defiance from the little faggot who’d always thought he was so much smarter than his teachers. 

“Oh. What do you know?” Justin turned back and pointed to where Hobbs was sitting. “HE says it and you don’t hear a thing. But when I say it? Well, listen up, now that your hearing has returned.” Justin looked Dickson directly in the eye, letting his own contempt for the teacher show through in every line of his body. “This queer says, ‘Fuck You!’”

There was a mixed reaction from the watching class. Most were amazed that anyone would stand up to a teacher like that. A few were cheering. Hobbs and his cronies were jeering. 

Meanwhile, Dickson was going red in the face, looking like a volcano that was about to erupt. “That’s it, Taylor. You are out of here!”

Justin didn’t need the direction. He was already five meters down the hallway on his way to the Principal’s office. He knew he was in it pretty deep this time. St. James didn’t tolerate talking back to teachers. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. Dickson had never been one of his favorite teachers to start with - he was just an older version of the same dumb jocks he coached as the assistant on the varsity football team - but before that day he’d never known what a raging homophobe the guy was. Apparently, the rumors of Justin’s outing had now reached the teachers as well. So much for the furor dying down any time soon, huh?

So Justin had let himself into the school office, told the receptionist he’d been sent there by Dickson, plunked himself down in a chair, and resigned himself to waiting for his doom. 

But luckily - or unluckily, as the case might be - since Principal Perkins was in a School Board Meeting that morning, Justin ended up having a long wait. A long, boring wait. After about twenty minutes the bell rang to announce the end of the previous class period. Justin tried to argue with the receptionist that he should be allowed to go to his next class - physics - instead of sitting there wasting time, but the woman would have none of it. She ordered him back to his chair. The worst part was that Justin wasn’t allowed to even play on his phone or read a book while he waited. And, since it was already heating up outside, looking like it would turn into a rather warm day for that late in the fall, the office was quite stuffy. So it wasn’t surprising that it didn’t take long before Justin was nodding off. 

///~///~

Justin found himself walking through a park. It was such a nice day and he was enjoying the sun on his face. The walk led him through a section with taller trees, past several flower beds, and on towards the area where benches were set up surrounding the children’s play area. 

There were groups of mothers, and a few fathers, sitting around as they watched their children romping in the sunshine. Off to one side was a small clique of three or four women who were so busy chatting they didn’t notice anything else going on. Justin found himself walking nearer and nearer. 

He stopped when he came up to a stroller parked close by. He looked down and found a baby napping in the stroller, the tiny body cocooned in blankets and a blue beanie hat pulled down to just above the tot’s closed eyes. The little boy’s face was angelic in sleep. As he watched, the infant shifted in its sleep, bringing a hand up so he could suck a tiny thumb. It was an adorable sight. 

Which was why he was so surprised that the primary emotion he felt as he stared down at the sweet little innocent wasn’t affection or kindness, but outright anger. Hostility. And even loathing. 

///~///~

The intensity of all those negative feelings engendered by the sleeping baby was enough to startle Justin awake.

“What the fuck?” Justin muttered, unable to reconcile that level of hatred with the beautiful image of the slumbering baby. 

“Language, Mr. Taylor!” The receptionist chided him.

“Sorry, Ms. Simmons. Guess I was having a bad dream or something.”

“That’s no excuse for impropriety, young man,” she replied prissily, always having to get in the last word. Before she could continue the lecture, however, the phone rang. “Yes of course, Sir. I’ll send him right in.” After hanging up the receiver, the receptionist turned to Justin and announced, “Dr. Perkins will see you now.”

///~///~

The penalty for telling your teacher to go fuck himself ended up being a three day suspension, a ranting lecture from one’s father going on at length about ‘permanent records’ and college acceptances, a disappointed mother, and being grounded for two weeks. 

Justin accepted all of these things as gracefully as he could. He only raised a stink at the suggestion that he write an apology letter to Mr. Dickson; he refused to apologize to a bigot like that. Instead, while he was holed up in his room enduring the rest of his punishment, Justin used his time to write out a formal complaint to the school board against the teacher that had ignored Hobbs’ blatant homophobic attacks. The school claimed to have a ‘No Tolerance’ policy on bullying and Dickson’s actions were a clear violation of that policy. Justin realized it was unlikely anything would come of his complaint, but it was the principle of the thing. At the very least it would be a mark in the teacher’s ‘permanent record’ too. 

Justin spent the rest of his time while grounded lolling around in bed, reading, drawing, and daydreaming. As punishments go, it wasn't that bad. He was even allowed fifteen minutes a night to chat with Daphne, ostensibly so his friend could pass on their homework assignments, but they really just spent the time griping.

Unsurprisingly, Hobbs had been bragging to everyone who’d listen about how he’d got the faggot suspended. Dickson had been a total bear and rumor had it he’d gotten dressed down by Perkins. And Justin had emerged as a sort of folk hero to all the misfit kids for actually having the balls to stand up to not only the school bullies but to a teacher as well. So, basically, it was school as usual. 

The other thing that Justin ended up doing a lot of while he was confined to his room - because he was a healthy, lust-filled, teenage boy with way too much time on his hands - was masturbating to memories of Brian Kinney. Could anyone really blame him? Brian was one of his favorite subjects when he was sketching and, after spending an hour or two drawing Mr. Kinney’s beautiful cock, Justin had to siphon off the resulting sexual tension somehow, right? But, after accidentally walking in on her son with his hand down the front of his dangerously tented sweatpants for the third time in as many days, Mrs. Taylor officially declared Justin’s ‘punishment’ over and ordered Justin out of the house so she could clean his room and air it out before the funk took over the entire upstairs. 

Justin didn’t wait around for his mother to change her mind. He quickly changed clothes, shoved his sketch pad and a pair of pajamas in his bag, and scampered out of there, heading to Daphne’s for the night. The two friends spent the rest of the afternoon laughing together, eating junk food, and watching old movies on Netflix. And Justin hoped that would be an end to the adventure of his suspension.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 4 - Out Of The Ordinary

“Justin! Justin, wake up!” 

Justin felt an elbow poking insistently into his side and rolled over to get away from it. But it took him another thirty seconds to figure out where he was as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and scratched at himself. Reality didn’t totally kick in till he looked to the side and saw a curly-haired girl staring down at him.

“Stop staring at me like that, Daph. You’re going to give me nightmares,” Justin complained, using the pillow next to him to bash his friend over the head.

“Yeah, well, that’s only fair, since watching you hump that pillow in your sleep is going to give me nightmares now too,” Daph teased him, throwing the pillow right back at him.

“I wasn’t humping the pillow.”

“Oh yes you were, Romeo,” Daphne laughed at him. “If I hadn’t woken you up when I did, that poor pillow was about to have it’s innocence ruined forever.” Then Daph took the pillow back from him, hugged it, and pretended to make love to it in a mocking demonstration of what she’d observed before Justin awoke. “Oh, Brian. Yeah. Just like that, Brian. More, more, more.”

Justin yanked the pillow away from his friend and threw it over the back of the sofa where they’d fallen asleep together. “Stop already.”

“Sorry, Jus. But it WAS pretty amusing,” Daphne finally relented. “I thought you were over that Brian guy. Didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to keep going after him if he wasn’t interested?”

“I’m not going after him,” Justin assured her. “But . . . Well . . . I kinda can’t stop thinking about him. He was just so . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I can’t describe him with words. It’s just something I feel about him. Some . . . I don’t know, some pull he has on me?”

“Sounds terribly romantic,” Daphne opined with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Justin ordered, grinning back “I can’t forget him, Daph. I know there’s no chance of anything between us - Brian made sure to tell me that to my face - but I still feel like we’re somehow connected. When I’m drawing, even if I start out thinking I’m going to sketch something else, the picture almost always turns into another drawing of Brian. And the dreams . . .”

“If the dreams are anything like what I just witnessed, it’s got to be intense.”

“You have no idea,” Justin confirmed with an embarrassed half-smile. “They’re pretty vivid.” Justin stretched and shifted so he was sitting up straighter. “Actually, all of my dreams lately have been unusually vivid. Not just the ones about Brian. I’ve also been dreaming a lot about this baby . . .”

“A baby? That’s weird,” Daphne commented. “Why are you dreaming about babies? I mean, I’m a girl and even I don’t dream about babies.”

“It’s not like I WANT a baby. It’s not that kind of dream. It’s just that I . . .” Justin thought about the most recent dream he’d had featuring the mystery infant he sometimes saw. “It’s not really even me in my dreams. I’m . . . I’m someone else. And this person . . . whoever he is . . . keeps seeing this baby wherever he goes. Like in the park or shopping or even, like last night, I saw the baby in a library somewhere - which is really strange because I didn’t recognize that library, and don’t you usually dream about places you know? But anyway . . . All I get are these little clips of images, you know? People and places I’ve never seen before, and it’s all confused and sort of hazy. No idea what it means, but for some reason those - and the dreams about Brian - are, like, ten times more powerful than any of my other dreams. They’re the only ones I remember after I wake up.” 

“You’re a total freak, Justin,” Daphne summed up the situation succinctly.

“No doubt,” Justin agreed with her. Then he got up off the couch and extended his hand to help his friend up as well. “Whatever. Let’s go to bed. If we sleep here on the couch all night, my back will be too sore to snowboard tomorrow.”

“Good call.” 

Daphne accepted the help and they both shuffled off down the hall of the Aspen vacation cabin where they were spending their Thanksgiving vacation along with the rest of the Chanders family. Justin had been thrilled to accept the offer to get away from his family and the rest of Pittsburgh for a whole week. The added bonus of snowboarding in the Colorado mountains was just icing on the cake. But, unfortunately, it seemed like at least part of his problems was following him in the form of these dreams.

Justin said goodnight to his friend and went into the small guest room he had been assigned as his own. He pulled off the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing and crawled under the covers as fast as he could since the cabin was a little cold. But once he was in bed, he no longer felt all that tired. Instead, his mind was busy with thoughts and questions, mostly centered on his dream lover.

Why wasn’t he able to move past the experience he’d had that one night with Brian Kinney? It had been months earlier. You’d think the memories would start to fade or, at the very least, he wouldn’t still be obsessing over it like he was. But it felt like there was still some invisible tie between the two of them. Some connection that time and distance alone couldn’t sever. Or maybe he was just using that as an excuse to explain away his nightly wet dreams because he really was as much of a sexual deviant as the homophobic bullies at school said? Who knew. But for the time being, all Justin could do was bear with the dreaming and hope it got less intense over time.

///~///~

The rest of their vacation week passed by without incident. Both Justin and Daphne enjoyed their time on the slopes. By the time Sunday rolled around, though, they were exhausted. They’d spent their last day snowboarding without stop from the time the lifts opened until two pm, which was when Daph’s father ordered them back to the cabin so they could leave for the airport and the trip home. It was a good exhaustion, though, and Justin didn’t regret any of the fun they’d had, despite the fact that his muscles were aching as he slumped into the comfort of his first class airplane seat. 

They transferred planes in Denver and then settled in for the long flight to Pittsburgh. Justin took out his sketch pad but barely got a line drawn before he was nodding off, all the activity of the preceding week catching up to him. Unfortunately, his dreams were even more unsettled than usual, so his sleep wasn’t that restful.

The dream started off good. In the manner of all dreams, the images he saw were a jumble of disconnected pictures and memories, strung together in random fashion, all a little hazy around the edges and not making any real sense. The first thing he saw was the familiar street scene from when he’d first met Brian in that little alley off Liberty Avenue; it was a favorite memory of his, so it probably wasn’t a surprise that his dreams seemed to always start there. He re-lived that moment when his eyes met Brian’s and he felt that first jolt of surprise. It went on from there to the two of them heading back to Brian’s loft, then tumbling into bed, and everything that followed. 

But, for some strange reason, this time the dream didn’t end up in its usual fashion. Which was probably for the best since, even in his sleep, Justin retained some awareness of his surroundings and didn’t relish having another wet dream while sitting next to his BFF on a crowded airplane. Instead, the dream veered off in a completely novel direction; one minute he and Brian were in bed together and the next, seemingly without transition, they were both sitting together around the table in the cabin in Aspen, sharing the Thanksgiving dinner that Daphne’s mom and aunt had dished up for the family a few days earlier. Everyone was eating and talking and laughing and having a great time and Brian seemed to fit right in as if he belonged. Justin felt so proud of his boyfriend and revelled in showing him off to his friends. It was a happy image.

But, of course, the scene didn’t follow any expected path, because that’s not what dreams do. Instead, the scene abruptly morphed from a dinner scene at the cabin to a similar dinner at some other location that Justin didn’t even recognize. One minute they were in the upscale, well-decorated dining area in the main room of the cabin, and the next, Justin was squeezed in next to Brian around a too-small table in a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70’s. The decor was all gold and olive green, with scratched up appliances and worn linoleum on the floors. The people around the table had changed too - instead of Daphne’s family, Justin was surrounded by a group of blurry white faces, most of which he didn’t recognize. The only two he did know were Brian, who was sitting next to him, and the dark-haired man that Brian was smiling at, Brian’s friend, Michael. In his dream, it seemed almost like there was a spotlight on those two, bringing their faces into sharper focus, while all the other people in the room were left in a dim haze. But the feeling at this dinner was the same as the one before - it felt like a family celebration with all the guests happily gorging on the bounteous food being passed around - so Justin wasn’t too disconcerted by the shift. He happily listened to the muted roar of family chatter going on in the background while Brian and Michael talked about some superhero movie that Michael wanted to go see.

Which is when things got a little freaky. All of a sudden that baby Justin had been seeing in his other dreams made an appearance at the dinner. Someone - a woman whose face was obscured by the fog of the dream - walked over and handed the baby to Brian. Brian took the bundle of boy and smiled down on the infant. Justin could, all of a sudden, feel a wash of happiness and pride coming from Brian, which surprised him even in his dreams. Brian began to chatter to the baby, interrupting Michael’s beaming praise of the movie they’d been discussing. Michael eventually sputtered to a stop, shooting out jealous vibes towards the baby who had taken over his friend’s attention. Brian, though, seemed oblivious to Michael’s antipathy towards the baby. However, when Dream Brian turned to hand the baby to Justin, the surge of hatred and hostility from Michael became overwhelming and, before Justin could grab hold of the proffered baby, the dream evaporated in a confusing swirl of angry emotions. 

Justin woke with a start just as the plane went through a pocket of turbulence, causing everyone’s seats to bounce. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m afraid we’ve hit a bit of bad weather,” the voice of a flight attendant came through the speakers over Justin’s seat. “The captain has turned on the seat belt sign and we’re asking everyone to return to their seats for the duration of the flight.”

“Damn. I hate when I get all shook up like this,” Daphne commented as she checked to make sure her seatbelt was secure. 

“Yeah, shook up . . .” Justin echoed, feeling shook up both physically and emotionally after the strange turn his dream had taken. 

“You okay, Jus?” Daphne turned to him, apparently clued in by his tone that her friend was upset about something more than the turbulence.

“I guess . . . I just had another of those weird dreams,” Justin confessed. 

“The Brian one? Oooo - do tell!”

“No. Not that one, you freak. And even if it was, I’m not sharing that one with you,” Justin teased his gutter-minded friend. “No, this one was about that strange baby again. Well, Brian was in it too, but this time he was with the baby . . . I wonder . . . Could it be Gus?”

“Okay, who’s Gus? Did you sleep with some OTHER hottie you didn’t tell me about?”

“Ewww. No! Gus is the name I picked out for Brian’s son. Remember, I told you how we got interrupted in the middle of things and he took me to the hospital to see his newborn son?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot about that part. I was more interested in the sex.”

“Obviously,” Justin huffed a laugh at his friend and her one-track mind. “It makes sense, though, don’t you think? That the baby I’m dreaming about is Brian’s son? I mean, I can’t think of any other reason I’d be dreaming about a baby.” 

“Maybe, but it’s still pretty out there. I mean, why would you be dreaming about a baby you only saw once for, like, ten minutes. Is Brian in all the baby dreams?”

“Nope. This is the first time I saw Brian and the baby together,” Justin replied, feeling more confused than ever. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all unrelated. Something still feels really strange about those dreams . . .”

“Maybe you’re just a freak with a baby fetish,” Daphne offered with a snort.

Justin hit her with his sketch pad. “I do NOT have a baby fetish.” 

“Yeah, well, normal people don’t have dreams about strange babies where they’re hating on the kid from afar. Maybe you should see a shrink or something? Get your head psychoanalyzed and find out what your damage is?”

Justin shook his head at the ridiculous suggestion and then proceeded to ignore his friend for the rest of the plane ride as he tried to work through whatever message that strange dream was supposed to have conveyed. 

///~///~

Justin never did figure out what that dream on the airplane had been about and the odd dreams about the baby didn’t stop. He wasn’t sure if it really was Gus he was seeing in these dreams, or if he’d just confused Brian’s son with his rando dream baby. Since he continued to see the baby in different situations over the following few weeks, and these subsequent dreams never involved Brian, he tended to think it was all just a weird dreamland coincidence. But then again, who really knew; dreams were inherently confusing and rarely made sense to the conscious mind. 

He didn’t really have time to dwell on his nightly flights of fantasy, though. Life started to get even busier for the high school senior after Thanksgiving break. Justin had to buckle down and study for the next couple of weeks in preparation for his end of term finals. He was also putting in several hours a week working in the charity food pantry that the school sponsored in association with a local church, trying to get in the requisite number of service hours all seniors at St. James Academy were required to complete in order to graduate. And, as if that weren’t enough, it was college application season, requiring Justin to labor through hours of filling in applications and writing essays under the direction of his parents, who were hoping their son would be going to an approved, Ivy-League school the following fall. So, yeah, he was a little busy.

The only good thing about being so busy was that most of the school bullies were equally busy, which meant they didn’t have time to harass him too badly. Justin was grateful for the respite in his daily round of persecution. But, even so, when the last day of the term arrived, he was more than happy to have escaped from school for the Winter Break so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of them till January. 

After his last final was in the bag, Justin agreed to go with Daphne and a few other students to a coffee shop not far from school for a celebratory coffee or two before they all headed off for the holidays. The coffee shop was busy and, between all the warm bodies and the heat blasting to counter the snowy day outside, it was incredibly stuffy. Justin wasn’t really all that interested in the chatter going on around him about what fun plans everyone else had for the upcoming weeks, so his mind began to wander. He started to think about the holiday party at the country club he was being dragged along to that evening by his parents, wishing he had an excuse to get out of it or, at the very least, had a date he could bring along to distract him. Of course, that brought up the ludicrous idea of Craig going along with his son bringing a male date to the club - something that would only happen if this cold snap penetrated all the way to the core of the earth and hell actually froze over - and sent Justin into yet another day dream about his one and only lover, the inestimable Brian Kinney.

Before he knew it, Justin was in the middle of another of those strangely intense dreams. This one put him outside in the cold, walking through a park where kids were sledding down a small hill. He looked to his left and found there was a woman walking along next to him, pushing a familiar-looking stroller. The stroller was draped with a transparent plastic cover, keeping the worst of the cold out and protecting the baby inside. But, because it was a dream, Justin found he could see inside the plastic cover more clearly than he could see anything else around him. The baby inside was smiling up at him from his nest of blankets. Justin looked up to greet the woman pushing the stroller, but for some reason she was all blurred out, almost as if she didn’t exist. So he looked back down at the baby and that’s when the wave of resentment hit him. 

He hated that baby. That baby had everything he’d never had. It wasn’t fair. He worked like a fucking dog, getting paid minimum wage, and never getting ahead. Meanwhile, this brat was going to live like a fucking prince. Something should be done. Someone needed to pay . . .

“Hey, Jus. You coming?” September asked, interrupting Justin’s wool gathering.

“Huh?”

“Wake up, Dweeb,” Daphne laughed at his lost look. “We’re all heading over to the mall for some Christmas shopping. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

“Uh . . . No thanks. I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m going to head home and work on that application for PIFA we talked about. I need to get it done and in the mail before the ‘rents get home.”

“Oooo, the super secret art school application that would make their heads explode if they knew about it? I like,” Daphne replied with full-on sneaky friend support. 

“Yeah, that’s the one. Wish me luck.”

Daphne leaned in to kiss Justin’s cheek. “Luck!”

And then they were gone, leaving Justin alone with his now cold cappuccino and his worries over his most recent, and most-shocking-yet, dream.

///~///~

Christmas was always a hectic time around the Taylor household. Jennifer held her annual open house every year on December 23rd; pretty much the entire neighborhood would wander in at some point during the evening, bringing plates of cookies and drinking all the Taylor eggnog. Christmas Eve was always spent at Justin‘s maternal grandparents' house, where the Sullivan family put on a formal dinner complete with smoked salmon appetizers, a main course of roast goose, and rice pudding for dessert, all served on the best family china. They usually stayed late, taking their time through the five course meal, and lingering over after dinner drinks while the kids read Christmas stories aloud. Then it was up before dawn on Christmas morning so Molly and Justin could tear through their gifts before the family headed to the holiday services at Calvary Episcopal.

The Taylor’s weren’t exactly a religious family, but twice a year, on Christmas and Easter, Craig insisted on paying lip service to their Episcopalian roots and dragged the whole crew to church. Jennifer went along with it because she loved the traditions and carols. Molly was still too young to have an opinion of her own. But Justin was simply bored by the whole experience. What with going to a religious-based school - where the students were forced to attend mass once a week - Justin was inured to the pomp of the church services. He was also too smart to believe any of the mythology the church tried to instill in its followers, meaning that he didn’t bother paying attention to the sermon. So, while everyone else was following along in their hymnals, he was lost in other thoughts.

About halfway through the sermon, Justin’s attention drifted and, as he looked around himself, suddenly the image of the church he’d been looking at shifted. Instead of the fairly modern Episcopalian church he’d grown up in, he seemed to be sitting in a much older, stone-walled church with high stained-glass windows lining the nave and plain, almost empty, wooden pews waiting for the parishioners to fill them. There was Christmas music playing in this church too, but the mass here hadn’t started yet. Justin scanned the few people already coming down the aisles looking for seats and his gaze immediately latched onto one tall, svelte, brunet figure walking his way, accompanied by a severe-looking older woman, a dumpy middle-aged woman, and two straggling pre-teen boys. 

“I don’t care how busy you are, Brian,” the younger of the two women hissed, her voice somehow carrying to where Justin was standing halfway across the church, even though the comment had been meant as a whisper. “She’s your mother too. I’m tired of being the one that has to take care of her all the time. I’m the one that has to take her to get her haircut and go to doctors’ appointments with her and drag my butt to church every week. It’s about time you stepped up and took some of the responsibility too, you know!”

“Claire . . .” Brian replied, clearly exasperated. 

“Don’t ‘Claire’ me! I don’t want any of your excuses. You either step up, and start taking on some of the burden, or I swear I’m just gonna walk away and abandon her to you for good.”

“That’s fine with me. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll just put her in a home and let her rot there,” Brian replied coldly. 

“What the hell, Brian . . .” the woman began to protest, her voice raising to the point that the older woman overheard her comments.

“Clare! How dare you blaspheme in the Lord’s House! I hope Father Francis didn’t hear you. I’d be mortified if he ever found out how poorly behaved my daughter was,” the grey-haired matron scolded with a frown. “Now, come along and sit down already. I think you have time to say a rosary in penance before mass starts.”

Claire did as she’d been told, but not before she’d aimed a withering look at Brian. Even from a distance, Justin could feel the waves of anger and indignation the woman was directing towards Justin’s former lover. There was so much malevolence in that one blast of emotion, it caused Justin to gasp aloud.

Then the strangest thing of all happened. Right as Justin made that small gasping noise, Brian looked up, his gaze scanning over the space of the church until his eyes met Justin’s. Justin again felt that jolt of blankness - the same one he’d felt the first night he’d met Brian - as they stared at each other across the length of several pews. Justin felt frozen in place by the man’s penetrating hazel eyes. He couldn’t help thinking that, while Brian was a blank to him, his lover seemed to see right through to the heart of the empath. 

“All rise!” the Minister ordered, and the congregation got to its feet as one, the noise and commotion rousing Justin from his reverie.

Justin felt his mother stand up from where she’d been sitting next to him. He blinked, looking around himself, feeling dizzy and confused. He didn’t know what had just happened to him. Had he fallen asleep and dreamed that other church? He didn’t think he’d been asleep. But then, what the hell had that been? An out of body experience? Some kind of vision? A fucking Christmas Miracle?

Craig reached out a hand, grabbed hold of his son’s arm, and physically towed the youth to his feet. Justin could feel the annoyance wafting off his father and struggled to pull himself together so he wouldn’t be a cause of further embarrassment. The Minister said his final piece and began to walk down the aisle while the organ started to play and the folks around him sang one final carol. There was nothing out of the ordinary here. 

So, why had Justin broken out in a cold sweat with every hair on his body standing on end? 

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 5 - Really Confused.

Maybe it was because Justin was home for the week and had nothing much to occupy his mind, or maybe it was a reaction to that super strange dream he’d had while sitting in church on Christmas Day, but the rest of the week between Christmas and New Year’s was filled with even more, increasingly bizarre, dreams. 

Only, they were no longer dreams, precisely. These images, visions, whatever, were coming at him even when he wasn’t asleep. One minute he’d be sitting in his room, or at the dinner table with his parents, or even out walking, and the next he’d be seeing the faces of people he didn’t know and looking at places he’d never been to before. And the only constant in all these odd visions was the baby. A baby he seemed connected to in some mystical way that made no sense at all. 

But if Justin’s non-dream dreams weren’t concerning enough, the increasingly hostile tenor of those visions was certainly something to cause alarm. Every time he looked at the happy, cooing, innocent little baby, Justin was filled with hatred. Pure, unadulterated, unreasoning, hatred. It made no sense. There was nothing this tiny infant could possibly have done that might’ve engendered such antipathy. And yet, each time he saw a vision of this baby, Justin sensed a rush of hatred for the poor little thing.

Worse still, Justin no longer seemed to be able to escape from his baby-hating visions into his previously fun, sexy-romping fantasies of Brian, because those dreams had changed as well. Instead of he and Brian making love, Justin now saw Brian pursuing others. Like a fly on the wall, unable to look away, he was forced, night after night, to join Brian in whatever bar, club, or orgy the older man chose to visit. 

And, while these experiences were eye-opening and maybe even educational in some instances, they were also torture. No matter how decadent or hedonistic the sex was in these visions, they were always accomplished with a palpable taint of desperation that made Justin wish he wasn’t watching. It felt almost like Brian was intentionally going out of his way to punish himself. Or maybe to punish Justin for tagging along? Which was a crazy thought because dreams weren’t supposed to work like that, were they? Also, how was he dreaming about things he’d never even imagined before? And why would Justin be dreaming up a vengeful Brian? Either way, all Justin saw in his Brian Dreams these days were empty orgasms without a shred of joy or love involved, and it made him sad. 

Needless to say, Justin was really confused and becoming more and more desperate to figure out what was causing all this. 

Matters seemed to come to a head on New Year’s Eve. Justin and Daphne were celebrating the traditional way - by being forced to stay home and babysit their younger siblings, while all the parents went out and partied. Not that either really minded; they usually made a ton of money for their services and, after all the kids fell asleep, they spent the rest of the night in a bad movie marathon while scarfing all the junk food they could stomach. This year, they were making double the money since, besides Molly and Daphne’s younger brothers, Cleo and Clay, they were also taking care of Daph’s cousins, Trev, a spunky five year old, and Lashay, a sweet little five month old baby girl. It was quite the handful, and everything was a bit chaotic during the critical dinnertime struggles, but eventually they got all the younglings into bed and were able to chill out. 

“Okay. I think we’re home free,” Daphne announced as she slumped into a recliner in the media room. “I threatened Cleo and Clay with bodily harm if they got out of bed again and I think they bought it.”

“Sweet,” Justin agreed as he flipped through the movie offerings on Netflix, searching for the worst possible movie option he could find so they’d have something to make fun of. “I had to bribe the Mollusk with my iPad to get her to agree to stay out of our hair. Unfortunately, threats of violence don’t work on her anymore - not since she told on me when I said I’d shave her head while she slept if she touched my art stuff again and mom chewed my ass out in public.”

“Oooo - that’s a good one. I can use that on the brats next time. Thanks for the suggestion, Jus,” Daphne commented, apparently missing the part about Justin getting in trouble. “Hey! That one looks horrible. Let’s watch that.”

Justin used the remote to select ‘Poltergeist’ and then sat back in his own chair, snagging the bowl of popcorn along the way. The movie flickered away and the two friends spent most of the next hour making fun of the old-time special effects and predictable plot line. Just before they got to the big climax, though, the baby monitor sitting on the coffee table started emitting a squealing noise, indicating that the baby was awake and in need of some attention. 

“Damn, Lashay, you’ve got some terrible timing, girl,” Daphne complained, pressing the pause button on the remote. 

“If you change the diaper, I’ll go make a bottle up and then maybe we can get back to our movie sooner,” Justin offered. 

“Why do I have to do the stinky job?” Daph complained.

“Because you love me so much, you’d never subject me to that kind of horror,” Justin offered with his best innocent puppy dog look.

“Grrrr. You’re going to owe me, like, a thousand favors,” Daphne grumbled at him, but she still got up and headed for the stairs to see to her wailing cousin. 

Justin grinned after his friend’s back and then hurried off to the kitchen to fulfill his part of the bargain. By the time he had the bottle of formula mixed up and heated in the microwave, Daph was back with a now-happy baby in her arms. Justin took over, carrying Lashay back into the living room so they could get comfy on the couch while the infant guzzled down her midnight snack. Daphne took the opportunity to make herself and Justin another bowl of popcorn. When she came back into the living room, she found her friend sitting there, staring at the baby with such absorption that he didn’t even seem to realize she was there.

“Indulging your baby fetish again? Should I be worried?” Daphne asked, setting the bowl of popcorn down and then reaching to take the baby away from Justin. “Put the baby down and move away slowly . . .”

“Stop, Daph. I don’t have a baby fetish,” Justin complained, but let her take the baby away from him. “I was just . . . I was trying to figure out if I hate babies or something . . .”

“What are you talking about? You don’t hate babies, Jus. You’ve always been great with kids. I remember how excited you were when Molly was born - you begged your mom to let you hold her, like, fifty times a day. I’ve never met a guy who was so into babies, actually.”

“Then why did I dream about killing one just this morning?” Justin asked.

“What?” Daphne voiced her shock so loudly that the baby startled with a tiny whimper of fear. “Sorry, Lashay, baby. Sorry. Auntie Daphy promises not to yell while you’re having dinner anymore.” Daphne settled the nursing baby more comfortably in her arms and then returned her attention to her friend. “Are you kidding me? Did you really dream about killing a baby? That’s fucked, Justin.”

“I know, right?” Justin slumped back against the arm of the couch, looking distraught. “I just don’t understand . . . In my . . . Well, I guess you’d say it was a dream, although it felt completely real, but also all confused and hazy and disjointed at the same time. I can’t describe it in words, you know? . . . But, anyway, in this dream, I saw a baby lying in a carrier that had been placed in the basket of a shopping cart. I think it was a grocery store - I could sorta see all the shelves and this colorful blur of stuff in the background - and I watched as the mother walked away, going a few steps down the aisle with her back turned to the cart. The baby was asleep; he looked so sweet and angelic. And then I saw my hands reaching out to pick up this big stuffed bunny that was in the diaper bag next to the carrier and I . . .”

“What?” Daphne demanded he continue the story.

“My hands picked up the bunny and I . . .” Justin sighed and shook his head as if he didn’t believe what he was saying. “I pressed the stuffed animal over the baby’s face and just held it there . . .”

“Shit . . .” Daphne fell silent along with Justin and they both just stared as Lashay sleepily finished off the rest of her bottle. 

When the baby was done eating, Daphne took her back upstairs and put her to bed in the travel crib Lashay was using for the night. When Daph came down, she found Justin still sitting in silent worry. She flopped down on the sofa with enough velocity to cause her friend to bounce out of his reverie. But her heart went out to the poor boy when he looked up at her with a desolate expression.

“I don’t believe it, Justin,” Daphne stated forcefully, reaching out to grab Justin’s hands in her own, allowing her to pull him around till he was facing her directly. “I don’t. The Justin I know could NEVER, not in a million fucking years, hurt a child. I don’t know what’s up with you lately, or what that dream meant, but that WASN’T YOU. It just couldn’t be. I refuse to believe you would do shit like that, Jus.”

“But, I saw it. I was holding that toy . . .”

“Bullshit!” Daph insisted, finally getting Justin’s attention, and causing him to look up, into her eyes, with the first glimmer of hope. “Are you even sure it was you in that dream? Did you see yourself doing all these things? I mean, you kept saying you saw your hands doing this or that, but are you sure those were your hands? Because I know that in my dreams, a lot of times, I actually see myself, like I was looking at myself from a distance. But the way you told it, you only saw disembodied hands. And you know how dreams are - things get all jumbled up and confused. Maybe you were seeing someone else doing all these crazy things?”

Justin thought about that possibility for a minute as the worried frown lines in his forehead slowly faded. “You know, now that you say that, I think you might be right. The whole thing always felt off, you know? Like I was having an out of body experience or something. I mean, even in my dream, I was . . . shocked . . . by what was happening. It was as if I didn’t know what was happening. Which wouldn’t make sense if I was doing those things, right?”

“Exactly. That’s because it wasn’t YOU hurting that baby. It was someone else. It had to be,” Daphne affirmed what Justin was saying. “Of course, that doesn’t mean it still isn’t a freaky dream. I mean, who dreams about what other people are doing or about some sicko hurting a baby? That’s still a little weird, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Justin agreed, finally relaxing enough to offer his friend a tentative smile. “But, now that I think about it more, I know you have to be right. Those thoughts - that hatred I felt in the dream - that’s not coming from ME. *I* just feel horrified by everything I’m seeing. It’s someone else’s hate I’m sensing and seeing . . . But, then, why am I seeing all this crap?”

“And, an even better question, WHO is it that you’re watching do all this stuff?” Daphne added, looking almost as worried now as her friend had earlier. “Cuz, if there’s someone else out there thinking about this shit - if you’re, like, channeling some baby-killer - that’s bad, Justin.”

Justin looked at his friend inquisitively. He’d never shared with her about his ‘gift’, but maybe she’d somehow sensed it on her own? Daph scored rather high on the empathy meter, according to Justin's metrics, so she might have just naturally come to the conclusion that her best friend was a little different than others. But for her to just assume he was ‘channeling’ another was a big leap. Especially when HE hadn’t even realized that was what was happening until now. Hmm. Maybe Daphne knew him better than he’d suspected?

“Yeah, that would be bad,” Justin replied, noncommittally. Then he picked up the TV remote and hit the button to un-pause their movie again. “Whatever. For now, I just want to forget about that stupid dream and go back to worrying about evil ghosts.”

“Deal,” Daphne agreed, picking up the bowl of popcorn and settling back into the couch with nothing more than a final, worried, glance at her friend.

///~///~

The realization that his ‘dreams’ weren’t his own musings, but rather, the manifestation of another’s obsession, didn’t make them go away. Justin continued to see the disturbing visions off and on over the following weeks. He could still feel the unknown person’s hatred for the baby, but at least he now understood that it was someone else’s hatred, not his own. Fortunately, there were no more instances of infanticide in the ensuing dream scenes. 

What Justin hadn’t figured out, though, was why HE was experiencing some other person’s negative emotions like that. He’d never had anything like that happen to him before. He’d never internalized someone else’s feelings that completely, and he was confused as to why it was happening now. Who was this person that hated a baby enough to attempt to kill it? Why did he never see the bad guy’s face? Why was Justin, of all the people on the planet, the one seeing these things? Was the responsible person someone he was otherwise connected with? If so, how? The questions just kept piling up without any answers in sight.

And Justin was only minimally distracted from his worry over these unrelenting visitions by a return to school after the start of the New Year.

Justin’s new term didn’t start all that well, either. He was so worn out from worry and confusion that, two weeks into the new semester, he actually fell asleep in History class. Needless to say, Mr. Dickson wasn’t amused; after the ‘fuck you’ run in earlier in the year, Dickson had been itching to get back at Justin. So, despite the fact that dozing in class was a relatively minor issue which, for another student, wouldn’t have had any repercussions at all, Justin was ordered to detention that afternoon. 

Dickson smiled gloatingly as Justin shuffled into the teacher’s classroom after the last class of the day was dismissed. Even worse, Justin realized he wasn’t going to suffer through an hour of boring detention alone since Chris Hobbs was already seated in a back desk, looking surly. Great. Just who Justin wanted to spend an extra hour of his day with.

Dickson proceeded to give them both a lecture on how badly they were fucking up their lives, and then threw in some extra homework as a bonus punishment, before leaving the two boys alone. Justin managed to finish the assignment in less than fifteen minutes while Hobbs slowly struggled along. At least that part made Justin smile. He figured he could kill the rest of his detention hour doodling and pulled out a sketch pad. Before long, though, he realized the picture he’d started had, as usual, turned into a complete study of Naked Brian - his favorite subject. But he figured, what the hell. He might as well enjoy his time in detention as much as he could, and if that meant daydreaming about his hunky ex-lover, so be it. 

The only problem with that theory was that Justin quickly became so absorbed in his task he didn’t notice that Hobbs had come up behind him and was looking over his shoulder, seemingly fascinated by what Justin was drawing.

“Fuck! You really are a fag, aren’t you?” Hobbs exclaimed, punctuating his sentence with a slap to the back of Justin’s head that was so hard it caused the artist’s forehead to bounce painfully against the desk in front of him.

Justin wasn’t taking it though. He stood up so fast his chair toppled over backward, spinning around to confront his attacker with a snarl that belied his more fragile-looking frame. Hobbs, like most bullies, hadn’t been expecting any resistance. So he was doubly surprised by the strong right hook Justin let fly. The blow landed squarely on Hobbs' jaw and knocked him flat on his ass.

“What the hell? You fucking little cocksucker you! I’m going to break every bone in your butt-fucking body . . .” Hobbs growled, scrambling to get back to his feet and then standing there, towering over Justin, with a menacing expression and fists balled.

“You can try, but I’m not gonna just sit here and let you get away with bullying me anymore. I’m done being your punching bag. From now on, every time you hit me I’m hitting back. And you might be bigger than me, but you’re going to have to beat me unconscious to get me to stop. At which point, you can take the matter up with the police after they haul your ass to the pen for aggravated assault.”

For about half a minute Hobbs looked like he was going to take Justin up on the proposition. Happily, though, this was also the moment that Dickson came back to check on the status of his detentionees. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Dickson raged. “I thought I told you not to get out of those chairs until I came back and dismissed you. However, since you apparently can’t follow directions at all, you get to stay for another hour of detention. Now, both of you, get your butts in those seats and get back to work or you’ll be doing detention for the entire rest of the week.”

Justin turned around and took his seat promptly. Hobbs, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as prompt. He shuffled slowly back to the desk he’d been sitting at earlier, while shooting murderous looks at Justin the entire time. Justin tried to ignore him, focusing instead on fixing the stray lines that had squiggled across his drawing when Hobbs had hit him. Fucking Hobbs; he ruined everything. But when Justin saw Dickson looking his way, apparently curious about what Justin was working on, the artist realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to be caught drawing the equivalent of porn while in school detention. He quickly put his sketch pad away and took out his copy of Brave New World; the book his English class was supposed to be reading.

The only problem with that alternative was that Justin had read the book at least twice already, so he wasn’t exactly riveted by the story. He quickly found his attention wandering. He wasn’t exactly dozing, but he wasn’t 100% awake either. So, inevitably, his off-kilter mind went where it had been going a lot lately - into odd visions of his mystery baby.

This time, Justin found himself in a restaurant of some kind. The colors were bright, yet indistinct, with a dull roar of noise surrounding him on all sides. The only part of the image that was clear was the table right in front of him and the bench seats, one on each side. Sitting on the linoleum-topped table was a familiar looking baby carrier. Justin watched, in the same disembodied way, as whomever was the focus of his vision neared the table and looked down at the sleeping infant. He was no longer surprised at the rush of jealousy and resentment that flooded through him, even though it was still disturbing. Whoever it was he was channeling was completely irrational when it came to this poor baby.

Then, suddenly, the perspective of his vision changed. It was like the camera viewing the scene was abruptly pulled way back, still showing the table, but now from a distance of several meters. The shift was very disconcerting, not only because of the feeling of rapid movement, but also because of the way the surroundings swirled in a confused haze of colors and shapes, all indistinct and dreamlike. But that table with the baby somehow remained in perfect focus. 

And then the scene shifted again. It was as if Justin’s point of view jumped closer again, only this time it happened without the sense of physical movement. If you could get motion sickness from a dream, Justin thought he’d be puking his guts out. Just before the zoom-in, however, there was an even stranger development - Brian Kinney had appeared.

As usual, Brian was resplendent. He was wearing tight jeans, a wine red button down shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket. His hair had that ruffled, just-fucked look. He strutted onto the scene with his typical superior-yet-disengaged demeanor. Brian was followed ten seconds later by a young hottie wearing a muscle tee, who tried to shove a small piece of paper into Brian’s back pocket. 

“Call me if you want another go,” the unknown trick offered with a simpering smile.

Brian pulled the hand away from his pocket, crumpled the slip of paper in his fist, and then shoved it back at the offeror. “I don’t think so. I have a strict ‘One fuck per customer; No Returns' policy,” Brian advised. “But thanks for playing.”

Justin didn’t hear what the disdained trick mumbled in response, though, because that’s when the shift in viewpoint happened. And, all of a sudden, Justin was looking down at the baby again, only this time through Brian’s eyes. Justin tried again to plum into Brian’s emotions, but he still got nothing. Justin felt only the same brick wall of blankness he’d experienced before when confronted by his former lover. It was the oddest feeling of this already bizarre experience. How could he be looking out through Brian’s eyes and yet not have any clue what Brian was thinking or feeling? He hadn’t thought his dreams could get any weirder, but then there he was.

Meanwhile, Justin continued to look on the scene through Brian’s eyes, feeling distanced from the scene by the lack of emotional connection, as Brian took a seat in the booth where the baby’s carrier rested. Justin could see the table, adorned with the usual Diner accouterments including the napkin holder, sugar dispenser, and ubiquitous bottle of ketchup. He could see the baby waiting in its carrier. He could hear a garbled roar of noise coming from what he assumed were the other restaurant patrons. But, with the twisted reality of any dream, he couldn’t make out anything or anyone beyond the purview of that table. 

“Thanks for watching him, Ma,” Brian said to some unseen entity as his hands reached out to turn the carrier so it was facing the bench seat. 

Justin couldn’t see the person who responded, but he did hear the words, even though the tone was distorted and wonky, a bit like the voices of anonymous adults in a Peanuts cartoon. “My pleasure. I love spending time with my little peanut. I’m just glad Kiki was able to trade shifts with me. But, next time you agree to watch him, maybe you better make sure it’s not the weekend of the Leather Ball?” The laughter that followed this statement was even more muted and faded out rapidly, as if someone had cut off the speaker’s mic halfway through a video.

“Yeah, tell that to the folks who schedule teaching conferences,” Brian replied cryptically.

Then, as Justin looked on through his host’s eyes, Brian leaned forward and peered into the baby carrier just as the infant inside opened his big brown eyes and smiled up at his admirer. 

Whereupon Justin was startled all the way awake by yet another wave of vitriolic hatred aimed at the sweet epitome of innocence.

Before he could react to this new development, though, his dream world upended itself again, with another transfer of perspective. Now he was looking directly at Brian instead of out of Brian’s eyes. And all of a sudden Brian seemed to see Justin too. 

“What are YOU doing here?” Brian asked, scoldingly.

Justin was so surprised he jerked backward . . . And instantly came to full awareness of his non-dream environment, physically starting so badly that he actually slipped off the edge of the chair he’d been dozing in. Both Hobbs and Dickson looked up in surprise and then broke into laughter at the boy’s plight. 

Justin gingerly picked himself up off the floor and took his seat again. He retrieved his book from where it had fallen and pretended to read again. He tried to school his expression back to bored indifference. All the while, though, he was internally reeling from what he thought he’d seen.

Could it really be Brian who’s emotions he’d been picking up on? Was Gus the baby he’d been seeing all along? Did Brian really HATE his son with such a vengeance that the negative emotions broke through his otherwise impenetrable emotional walls? How could that be? How could the caring, gentle man who’d ushered Justin in to sexual adulthood be capable of such unthinking malevolence?

If that was the case, then nothing in Justin’s world made any sense any more.

///~///~

Chapter 6 - I Think It’s Real.

Following Justin’s detention dream episode, the ensuing visions became much more focused. They were still penumbral and hazy, as a dream should be, but amid the visual chaos there was a growing determination on the part of whomever Justin was channeling. The offender’s thoughts were becoming more organized and specific. The blind hate of earlier visions was morphing into concerted plans. And what really scared Justin was that he was getting glimpses of the evil those plans entailed.

This transformation started off small. The thought processes of whomever it was gradually changed from general complaints of ‘it isn’t fair’, to encompass a more detailed listing of grievances: ‘they treat the brat like a fucking prince’, ‘look at all the money they’re just wasting on him’, ‘with that much money to burn, there’s no excuse for being so stingy’, and, eventually, ‘if only I could get in on this fucking gravy train somehow . . .’. At which point, Justin’s dream guide began to plan.

If anything, the baby encounters got more frequent. It was like whomever was transmitting these dreams had stepped up their stalking. Justin was getting glimpses of the baby multiple times a day. And all these intrusive visions were really taking a toll on his sanity. Justin was so distracted that he was falling behind in classes, getting into trouble with his parents for not paying attention, and even getting called out by his friends for seemingly blowing them off. It didn’t help that his sleep was still being interrupted by the other dreams - the ones showing Brian’s nightly antics. Altogether, Justin felt like he was being run ragged. He was turning into an exhausted, scatterbrained, mess, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

“Justin? Justin! Snap out of it already, Jus,” Daphne insisted, snapping her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. 

“Sorry, Daph,” Justin replied, shaking his head to try and clear away the cobwebs of the last baby sighting so he could focus on the calc homework they were supposed to be concentrating on. “I’m just a little out of it, I guess.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Daphne complained before pushing the calc textbook aside and skewering her best friend with a penetrating glance. “What’s up with you lately, Jus? You’re becoming a total space cadet. And, if I may say, it’s not a good look on you.”

Justin sighed and slammed his own book closed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Hey, what exactly is going on with you, huh?” Daphne pressed. When Justin hesitated before answering, she continued, “I’ve never seen you this distracted before. But whatever it is, Justin, you know I just want to help, right? I can see you’re really stressing about something and I hate to see my friend this messed up. Maybe talking about it might help, you know?” 

Justin chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating how much he should reveal to Daphne. She WAS his best friend, but he’d never told her - or anyone, for that matter - about his gift. However, if he told her more about these dreams he was having, the other part of his secret life was bound to come out as well, and he’d always tried to keep that part of himself hidden. He sensed that most people would probably dismiss his claims as a bunch of bunk. They’d laugh at him. And those who actually took him seriously were likely to take advantage of him in some way. So it was a huge risk to let anyone in on the secret. 

But this was Daphne . . .

Justin carefully probed his friend’s emotions and sensed nothing but concern and caring from her. She was honestly worried about him. He felt nothing duplicitous or conniving about her interest. And he really could use someone to talk to about all the crazy shit that was going on in his head. If he was going to confide in anyone, his oldest and closest friend seemed like the safest bet.

“I’m still having those strange dreams about the baby,” Justin confessed. “Only . . . I don’t think they’re dreams, exactly.”

“I thought it was probably something like that.” Daphne didn’t seem surprised. “Ever since New Year’s you’ve been acting upset and distracted. So, what is it you think you’re seeing? More baby killing shit?”

“Not exactly.” Justin paused as he struggled to put his experiences into words. “You know how, that night, you suggested I was maybe channeling someone else’s thoughts in that dream? Well, I think you were right about that. I think I’m seeing and hearing someone else’s thoughts. But it’s not just dreams. I think it’s real. I mean, I know I sound crazy, but I think, somehow, I’m keyed into another person’s brain or something.”

Justin was gratified that his reading of Daphne had been so spot on; she didn’t immediately call him nuts or dismiss his assertion, and the outpouring of concern he’d been sensing didn’t change either. Maybe, just maybe, she actually believed him?

“Okay. That’s a little freaky, I guess, but it makes more sense than you - Justin Taylor - having ongoing fantasies about killing a baby,” Daphne replied. “So, why do you think you’re seeing this shit? And who is it you’re channeling anyway?”

“I wish I knew why . . .” Justin answered, giving voice to his own confusion for a moment, before adding, “but I think I may know who it is.” Daphne looked at him inquiringly. “You remember the guy I was with at the start of the school year. Brian Kinney?”

“You mean, ‘The Face Of God!’,” Daph answered, speaking the phrase with an awestruck and majestic tone that caused them both to giggle a little. “How could I forget him? You only bragged on him and all your exploits for, like, months afterwards.”

“Yeah, well, Brian is pretty brag-worthy,” Justin confirmed before getting serious again. “But I think all of this has something to do with him. I think . . . I think the baby I’m seeing in these dreams - or whatever they are - is Brian’s son, Gus. And, maybe, it’s Brian’s thoughts I’m hearing?”

“Wow! You think . . . Okay, that’s a stretch for me but . . . Wow!” Daphne fell silent for several long minutes as she apparently worked through this latest revelation. Justin waited for her to catch up as patiently as he could, playing with his pencil and trying not to stare as he plumbed into his friend’s cascade of emotions. Eventually she seemed to have worked through her confusion enough to ask a couple more questions. “So, two thoughts . . . First, it makes sense that it’s Brian that you’re channeling since, from everything you told me, you obviously made some kind of connection to him that night. I mean, if you’re going to be reading someone’s thoughts like that, of course it’s going to be someone you had a personal affinity for, right? Is that what you’re thinking too?”

“Yeah, something like that. Like you said, I really did feel like we made some connection that night. Although, it was weird . . .” Justin again hesitated about how much he should tell his friend until, impulsively, he decided to go ahead and edge into the forbidden topic. “So, you know how, with most people, you just sorta get a feeling for them right from the start? You sort of read them? Well, I’m usually pretty good at that. I can almost always tell what someone’s feeling - how they feel about me, at least - right from the start. Only, it was different with Brian. I couldn’t sense anything from him. Nothing. It was like he was closed off or something. And yet . . . I don’t know. How can it be that I’ve never felt more connected to anyone else I’ve ever met and at the same time feel like he was trying to block me out? It makes no sense. Then again, none of this has made sense from the start.”

“Actually, that makes perfect sense. It kinda explains how he acted to you later, even. See, if you guys really did have some kind of instant bond, but that much of a connection scared Brian, I can see him trying to distance himself from you. Trying to fight the link between the two of you. So, why is that block failing now? What’s happening right now to bring all this to a head?” 

Justin answered with a shrug, because he’d been wondering the same thing. 

“And, going back to the second point I was trying to make,” Daphne continued, “I can understand you and Brian having this kind of connection, but I just can’t reconcile the man you told me about with some sicko who would fantasize about killing his own son. I mean, everything you said about Brian made me think he was this kind, caring, sensitive guy who took his time and made sure your first time was amazing. A guy like that isn’t going to turn around, a few months later, and start imagining ways to kill his own son. Didn’t you tell me he took you to the hospital when the kid was born and you were impressed with how proud and gentle he was with the baby?” Justin nodded. “Well, how does he go from that happy, proud papa, to a baby killer, in less than six months then? It doesn't track.”

“I know, right? It makes no sense at all. Especially since, when he was holding Gus for the first time, it was practically the only time I felt any overt emotion from Brian. He ADORED that little boy from the moment he laid eyes on him. It was like it was radiating off him. It was impossible to miss how much he loved his son.”

“So, then, why do you think these dreams about harming Gus are coming from Brian?” Daphne asked.

Justin launched into an explanation of the vision he’d had while in detention the week before, relating how, at one point, he’d clearly been seeing the restaurant through Brian’s eyes. 

“Wait. Go back,” Daphne interrupted Justin in the middle of the story. “You said you were looking at the baby from one direction and then, after Brian arrived, your perspective changed so you were looking at the baby through Brian’s eyes, but then it changed back? That makes it seem like there’s more than one person involved. Or, at least, more than one point of view. Could you be channeling more than one person and it’s the other guy who’s got all the negative thoughts?”

“Shit!” Justin exclaimed, sitting up straighter in his chair, alarmed at this new possibility. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It makes sense,” Daphne expounded in her usual, logical fashion. “It would be completely out of character for the Brian you think you know to hate his own child, so it has to be someone else. Plus, you said you could barely read Brian at all, so why would you be hearing his thoughts all the time now? Maybe, like before, you’re only connecting to Brian when he’s looking at his son, but the rest of these images are coming from someone else. Someone who has it in for both Brian and the baby?” Daphne paused, looking at Justin with even more concern than before as they both came to the same conclusion. “But what really worries me is, if this stuff you’re seeing is real - not just dreams - then there’s someone out there who’s seriously considering hurting the son of your former lover . . .”

///~///~

Justin and Daphne spent the rest of the week trying to figure out what to do next. Daphne was adamant that they needed to tell somebody about the threat to Gus’ safety. Justin, on the other hand, was reluctant to go to Brian with only his unsubstantiated ‘visions’. He could imagine Brian laughing him out of the room if he tried to say anything about what he was seeing. It didn’t help that they still hadn’t figured out who the second person in these visions was.  

In the meantime, Justin continued to see things from the POV of the bad guy. He’d get these microbursts of images all throughout the day. Daphne had made him promise not to keep anything more back, so every time he saw anything, Justin quickly texted his friend with whatever details he could remember. The hope was that, after they compiled more data, some kind of pattern would emerge from all the various dream images Justin was getting. Perhaps this would help them figure out who was responsible and what he was planning. Until then, though, Justin refused to tell anyone else about what was happening with him. 

‘Another one. In the park again. The stroller was covered with a plastic cover to keep off the snow. The guy was pretty far away from the baby this time - looking across a field maybe?’ Justin texted Daph with the latest mental image he’d received while in the middle of his Physics midterm exam. 

‘Grocery store. Produce section.’ This one came while Justin was on the bus on his way home from school.

The next morning, while Justin was eating breakfast: ‘Again in that restaurant I saw when I was in detention. Didn’t see Brian this time. Just the baby and some of Brian’s friends.’

And that afternoon while Justin was in art class: ‘I think this time it was a museum or maybe an art gallery? Good art on the walls but none I recognized. For half a second I was confused about where I was and thought the watercolor I was working on for Ms. Hardin’s class had turned into a J.M.W. Turner piece. LOLz!’

Daphne immediately texted back from her Psychology class. ‘This kid sure gets around. Where are his moms all the time though? You never see them in these visions? What’s up with that?’

‘IKR? I’m assuming they’re around, but all I ever see clearly is the baby and it’s immediate surroundings. The other people and most of the environs are always blurred out.’

It wasn’t till late on Thursday night that Justin got worried enough that he contemplated breaking his silence. This time, the vision invaded his nightly YouTube Cartoon-fest right in the middle of an episode of ‘Bravest Warriors’. And the vision he got was even odder than usual - instead of a glimpse of the baby, this time all he saw was a darkened room, a beat up kitchen table covered with piles of paperwork and bills, and a highball tumbler sitting next to a bottle of cranberry juice and a box of cheap white wine. In his head, though, he could hear the unhappy thoughts of the perpetrator, and they were NOT pretty. 

‘I can’t do this anymore. What’s the fucking point,’ Justin’s connection mused as the scene in his head showed hands throwing a pile of bills across the table. ‘I’m fucking drowning here while HE wastes more money in one night than I earn in a week. And what’s worse, that brat of his gets treated like a damned prince while he ignores the rest of us. Maybe if the brat wasn’t around, he’d be a little looser with his cash . . .’ The hands lifted the box of wine and pushed in the spout to dispense another glass full of wine before adding a splash of juice to mute the cheap flavor. ‘Fuck this!’ The hands shoved at the piles of paper on the table, knocking all of it to the floor. ‘He’s got MORE than he deserves. If he wasn’t so fucking selfish, he’d share some of the bounty. And I’m tired of waiting; I’m gonna MAKE him share whether he wants to or not. I’m done being pushed aside and treated as an afterthought. It’s time to make him pay attention! Fuck him and his damned brat!’

The malevolence that accompanied that final thought was enough to startle Justin out of his vision. He gasped for breath, trying to reorient himself to the present moment. Whomever he was channeling was obviously getting more angry and more dangerous. If he could only see who was sending these thoughts or divine what he planned . . . 

Justin immediately texted Daphne with the details of his most recent vision. She was just as concerned as he was by the tenor of this latest apparition. It seemed like Justin’s vision-connection was becoming more and more unhinged. Daphne was insistent that Justin needed to finally step up and say something, regardless of whether he was believed or not. They just couldn’t take the chance that these threats were serious. 

‘Fine. I’ll go see Brian tomorrow,’ Justin texted back. ‘You’re right about needing to warn him, but I have no idea how I’ll convince him I’m not a nutjob.’

‘It doesn’t matter. As long as you warn him, your conscience will be clear. After that, it’ll be up to him to take whatever steps he sees fit to protect his son,’ Daphne surmised with full force and appropriate moral rectitude.

‘Yeah . . .’ Justin typed back, still unsure how, exactly, this was going to play out.

///~///~

Justin never got a chance to give Brian that warning though. 

He was blasted out of a deep sleep just after 7:30 am by the repetitive blaring of an Amber Alert text coming through on his phone. Normally he didn't pay those things much mind. What was the likelihood a teenager in the suburbs would have any connection to some kidnapping in the city? This time, however, some nagging worry made him pick up the phone and look at the information on the screen. 

*PITTSBURGH, PA AMBER ALERT: Missing 5 mo old boy. Brown hair/eyes. Blue/black Ford Fiesta. Last seen in Lawrenceville area.*

“Shit!” Justin muttered under his breath as he opened a browser and searched for more information. 

As expected, the local news station was reporting that a five month old boy had been abducted from a park that morning. The child’s mother had been out for a morning run near the Ft. Pitt Playground with her son in a jogging stroller. When the mother stopped at a drinking fountain, someone had come up from behind a clump of bushes, assaulted the mother, removed the child from the stroller, and run off with the baby. The mother had only got a brief glimpse of the car the abductor drove. Police were actively looking for the perpetrator and were asking the public to come forward with any information they might have about the incident. 

And, as Justin had dreaded, the name of the infant who had been abducted was given as Gus Peterson-Marcus.

‘I’m too late!’ Justin texted to Daphne.

‘Huh?’ came the reply.

‘Did you see the Amber Alert this morning?’

A couple minutes ticked by before Daphne responded. ‘Shit! Is it Gus?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck!’

Justin shared that sentiment. 

Having had enough of the slow speed of texting though, he tapped at the icon on his phone to call Daphne. She picked up immediately, and without any greeting, immediately demanded, “what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything I CAN do? Isn’t it too late?”

“You can tell Brian what you saw.”

“What good will that do? Whoever it is has already taken Gus.”

“Yeah, but maybe you can help the police catch the guy,” Daphne insisted, hurrying on before Justin even had time to fully voice the protest she obviously knew was coming. “I know we were never able to figure out who the guy was, but maybe there’s a clue somewhere in what you saw that’ll help. Something you didn’t pick up on but that might be important to someone else. You never know what might help,” she reasoned.

“Assuming, that is, that Brian will even listen to my crazy story . . .”

“He’ll listen,” Daphne assured her worried friend. “His kid is missing. He’ll do anything he can that might help find Gus. I know I would in that situation.”

“You’re right . . .” Justin admitted with a sigh. “I just wish I’d had the balls to speak up earlier. Before it was too late. I feel so fucking guilty now.”

“It’s not too late. It can’t be.”

“Okay. I’ll go over there first thing this morning and tell him . . . I don’t know what . . .” Justin vowed. 

“Good. And I’ll make sure to keep extra good notes in Ms. Keaton’s class so you won’t feel bad about skipping,” Daph promised. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do. Thanks, Daph.” 

Justin terminated the call and then reluctantly rolled out of bed. He didn’t relish the task ahead of him. He had no idea what he was going to say to Brian - how to explain the nebulous visions he’d seen - let alone how it would help. He was afraid Brian was either going to think he was a total crackpot or, if he did believe Justin’s wild story, he’d be pissed off that Justin hadn’t told him sooner. Either way, it would be an uncomfortable conversation. But Daphne was right; he had to come forward now or he’d hate himself for the rest of his life.

So Justin got dressed, grabbed a toaster waffle as he ran past his mother, and hopped aboard the bus with a determined purposefulness. And, when the rest of the kids got off at the regular stop just down the block from the school, Justin stayed in his seat, riding all the way downtown. He still hadn’t worked out what he was going to say by the time he hopped off the bus at the last stop on Liberty Avenue, but since it was only a few blocks walk to Brian’s loft, he figured he’d just have to wing it and hope for the best.

Justin slipped into the building on the corner of Fuller and Tremont just as someone else was leaving and ran up the stairs. He approached the large metallic loft door on the top floor with trepidation. He knew he had to do this thing and if he didn’t just get it over with he’d chicken out. So, with his heart beating wildly, he rapped against the metal with his knuckles and waited for a response.

“What?!?” Brian screamed before he even knew who it was standing at his door.

“Hey . . .” Justin replied, adding in a totally lame wave.

Brian looked at him with surprise morphing into disdain. “Listen, Jared . . .”

“It’s Justin,” he corrected.

“Justin. Whatever. I thought I had already made it clear that I don’t do repeats,” Brian snarled, moving as if to slide the door closed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m a little busy this morning . . .”

“I know about Gus. That’s why I’m here. I want to help.”

Brian openly scoffed. “Yeah. Of course you do. And if I ever need a clingy high school stalker’s help, I’ll call you.” 

Once again, Brian began to close the door, but Justin managed to grab hold of the edge of the slab of metal and stop the door’s slide. 

“I think I know who took him.” 

That got Brian’s immediate attention. 

///~///~

Chapter 7 - He’s With Me.

Once again, Brian began to close the door, but Justin managed to grab hold of the edge of the slab of metal and stop the door’s slide. 

“I think I know who took him.”

///~///~

That caught Brian’s attention. He froze in place, allowing Justin to slide the door open once more. But then Justin didn’t know what else to do or say, so he just stood there as well.

“What did you just say?” Brian asked when he finally found the ability to talk again. 

“Okay, so I don’t actually know the person’s name, but I think I might be able to help you find who took Gus,” Justin bumbled through a sorta explanation. 

“Get your ass in here and explain,” Brian ordered, grabbing Justin’s arm and literally dragging him into the loft. He shoved the boy down onto a barstool at the kitchen island and then demanded, “start talking!”

“Okay . . . So, I’ve been having these wild dreams ever since we hooked up last fall, you see, and at first I just thought they were regular dreams, because, you know, you said I’d see you in my dreams, so I was like, wow, great dreams . . .” Justin rambled, getting more and more tied up in his explanation as he went. “But then I started having these other dreams, and they weren’t so ‘wow’, they were, like, ‘eek’. You know?”

“No. I don't know. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Brian snarled impatiently. “Get to the part about Gus already.”

“Right . . . Okay . . . Um, those other dreams I was having, the scary ones, they started out with me seeing these images of a baby. And at first I didn’t know why I was seeing rando babies in my dreams, because that’s weird, right? But then I had this one where I saw YOU in the dream with the baby I’d been seeing, so that’s when I knew it was probably Gus and not some stranger baby.” 

“Justin, what does you dreaming about my son have to do with anything?” an exasperated Brian asked.

“Well, the dreams about Gus were sorta creepy,” Justin admitted. “And at first I was all confused and weirded out that I was dreaming about stalking a baby, because that’s not my usual sort of dream, right? And my best friend was accusing me of having some kinky baby fetish and all. But then the person in my dream - who I still thought was me - started thinking about doing mean stuff to Gus, so I realized it couldn’t be ME who was doing the stuff in the dreams. I mean, I wouldn’t try and smother your kid with a stuffed bunny, would I?” Justin looked up at Brian and realized he was losing his audience so he rushed on. “That’s not me, Brian. I love kids. You can ask my friend, Daphne. I’m really good with kids - I babysit my little sister all the time - and I would never, ever, hurt a baby. So, after that, we figured out that the dreams weren’t really MY dreams, but that I was maybe channelling someone else’s thoughts about babies . . .”

Justin waited for Brian’s response to that statement, trying to gauge how he should proceed based on the man’s reaction. He wasn’t all that encouraged by the eyeroll and head shake he received. Clearly, Brian wasn’t buying his story yet. Justin didn’t think the rest of the story was going to go over any better, though. Yep, this was proceeding just about as well as he’d predicted.

“Can you just get to the point already, please. I don’t have time for this shit,” Brian complained.

“I know this sounds insane, Brian, but I promise you I’m not crazy or making this up,” Justin insisted, reaching out to touch Brian’s arm in the hope that physical contact would help reestablish the connection they once had. “After the bunny thing, I realized that I was seeing someone else’s thoughts and the things I was seeing weren’t just dreams. They were real. The person I was watching in my dreams - or visions, I suppose you could call them - was actually stalking Gus and planning to hurt him.”

“You know what, I’ve heard enough.” Brian stood up, shaking off Justin’s hand and moving towards the door. “Get the fuck out.”

“Brian, you HAVE to listen to me,” Justin pleaded without getting up.

“No. I don’t. I don’t believe in any of this psychic shit and I don’t have time to waste on your new age bullshit while some sociopath out there has my kid. So just get the fuck out and leave me the hell alone.”

“I saw him again last night,” Justin hurried on, trying to come up with something he could say to make Brian believe he wasn’t just an attention-seeking nutcase. “I saw whoever it was. He was sitting at a table and looking at all these bills and complaining about how you had more money than you knew what to do with but wouldn’t help, so he was going to make you pay attention. He thought if he took Gus, you’d finally help out a bit more.” 

That seemed to grab Brian’s interest again, prompting him to ask, “why are you telling me this now? Huh? If you’ve been seeing this shit for months, why didn’t you say something before?”

“Like I said, at first I didn’t know it was real. I thought it was just a bunch of weird dreams. And then . . . Well, for a while, I kinda thought you were the one I was channelling . . .”

“Me? You seriously thought I was the one having urges to kill my son? Fuck you,” Brian spat.

“Only for a short time, Brian. When I thought about it, I realized it couldn’t be you. But, you’ve gotta understand, the things I see . . . they’re all muddled up and hazy and don’t really make sense sometimes. It’s all super confusing . . .” Justin sighed, then got to his feet and shuffled closer to his former lover so he could look Brian directly in the eye. “When I really thought about it, and remembered how you were in the hospital the night Gus was born, I knew it couldn’t be you having all those violent thoughts. You’re not like that, Brian. I could feel how much you loved your son right from the start. I just forgot that for a moment or two.” 

Brian looked away, so that Justin could no longer see into his eyes, probably out of embarrassment that someone had seen through his mask of nonchalance for a moment. 

“Once I really thought about it, I knew it couldn’t be you who was thinking all those horrible things,” Justin continued his explanation. “But even then I just didn’t know how to approach you with what I was seeing. I figured you were gonna think I was a total nutjob and you’d probably just laugh at me, so I kept quiet.” Justin sighed, regretting his failure to speak up sooner even more now that he could see the devastation in Brian’s demeanor. “But last night, after I had that new vision, I knew I had to come tell you, even though you probably wouldn’t believe me. I was actually planning on coming to talk to you after school today, only . . . then I saw the Amber Alert this morning . . . I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t come earlier, Brian.”

“You know what? Fuck, it all,” Brian moaned, reaching up with both hands to scrub at his face. His hands ended up tangled in his hair, tearing at it with angry futility. “What the fuck do I know about any of this shit.” He allowed Justin to lead him back over to the kitchen where he collapsed on a stool. “I mean, dreams and visions? Why the fuck not? It’s not like we have any other leads, right?”

“The police don’t have any leads?” Justin asked, hoping that his nebulous dreams weren’t their only hope of finding the precious infant. “I thought they had a car make and model?”

“Yeah, but that’s it. Do you know how many older model Ford Fiestas there are in Pittsburgh? Lindsey couldn’t even say for sure if it was black or dark blue. And whoever took Gus hit her over the head from behind with a huge-assed fucking tree branch, knocking her into the damned bushes, meaning that she didn’t get even a peek at the guy’s face. So, yeah, I guess we're fucking going with psychic visions now.” Brian sighed and looked up at Justin again. “What else did you see in these dreams? Did you see his face?”

Justin’s mouth twisted with a frown of regret and he shook his head. “Sorry. No,” he confessed, his heart falling when he saw the renewed disappointment on Brian’s face. “It doesn’t work like that; I was seeing everything THROUGH the guy’s eyes. I only saw what the abductor saw. So I never actually got a look at his face . . .”

“Great. So, let me get this straight . . . What you’re saying is that your fucking ‘visions’ are absolutely No Help AT ALL!” Brian expounded, his voice rising with every word he spoke, his impatience spewing out, and his anger leaving him panting in the end. “Of course, that’s assuming that you’re for real and not just blowing smoke up my ass. And, as if that wasn’t enough, according to your fucking ‘visions’ all of this is MY fault, right? You're telling me my son was fucking kidnapped because some lunatic is jealous that I’ve got more money than he does? That’s great. Just. Fucking. GREAT!” 

Brian slumped down in his chair in abject defeat. His back was bowed, his shoulders were rounded over, and his head was buried in his crossed arms so that Justin couldn’t see his face. Every line of his frame screamed with anguish. But Justin didn’t need to look at Brian to feel his suffering because, right then, Brian’s emotional shields cracked and all his pain leaked out in a rush. 

The flood of sensations hit Justin like a tidal wave. It was enough to cause him to react physically, taking a step back as if he was about to be literally washed away. All that emotion that Brian had been balling up inside for who knew how long was all of a sudden released and it was almost too much for the sensitive empath. Justin was a little shocked by the suddenness of the flood; he felt all of Brian’s pain on top of his own and it was almost debilitating. His own heart was breaking in sympathy with this poor, anguished man. But then he rebounded, swallowed their shared pain and took control, since it seemed Brian could not.

“Brian,” Justin sobbed out the name as he moved close enough to wrap his arms around the distraught man’s shoulders. “We’ll find him, Brian. I know we will. Gus is going to be alright. You can’t give up hope yet.”

“Yeah? And how, exactly, are we going to find him? Huh? Tell me!” Brian’s pain continued to roar out of him; his sadness changing in midair into a red-washed cry of rage.

Justin could feel every single ounce of Brian’s pain, but he knew that he couldn’t let that one feeling take over. Pain and sadness were negative emotions that would only drag them both down. Rage, on the other hand, while also negative in some respects, was an emotion that could be harnessed to enable action. He knew he had to support Brian through the sadness to get him through to the anger. Then they would at least have the drive to move on.

“That’s why I came to see you, Brian. I thought, maybe, what I’m seeing - my connection with the person who took Gus - can help us find him. But I need your help. I don’t know what I’m seeing. I don’t know what clues to look for.” Justin could feel the way his words calmed the man he was holding, so he kept on talking. “What I saw tells me that whoever has your son is someone you know, Brian. They did this on purpose. They want something from you - your time or money or both - so I don’t think they’ll hurt Gus. They’re using him to get to you. And maybe . . . I don’t know . . . Maybe something I see will help find him. Or, maybe, I can use the connection I have with the guy to figure out what’s going on . . . There’s got to be a way to use whatever is happening to me to help Gus. But I’m going to need you to help because I don’t know this person and you do.”

Okay, Justin was kinda grasping at straws there. He didn’t know if the visions would prove useful or not, and the idea of using his connection to the abductor to trace back to his location had just come to him while he was babbling, but the point was to reassure Brian that all was not lost. It seemed to work, too. Gradually, Justin felt Brian’s flood of emotions ebbing as he reined in his fear. Eventually, Justin felt Brian putting back up his shields, and reestablishing that wall of blankness he’d come to expect. 

“Interesting,” Justin mumbled under his breath, surprised and curious about the other man’s ability to corral and block his emotions so efficiently; something the empath had never experienced in anyone else.

Justin might’ve even commented on that revealing factor if he hadn’t been interrupted by the ringing of Brian’s cell phone. 

The father who had, only seconds before, been totally distraught, immediately pulled himself together and tapped at the icon to accept the call. “Mel? What’s going on over there? Any news? . . . What kind of development? . . . Shit, you’d think it was some kind of State Secret or something . . . Fine, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Brian pocketed the phone again and started towards the door. Justin jogged after him, trying to divine the other side of the call from the little he’d heard. It didn’t sound like good news though.

“The police say there’s been a ‘development’ but they won’t explain what that means until we’re all there in person,” Brian explained as he pulled his jacket on and pocketed his keys. 

“I’ll go with you,” Justin offered. 

Brian looked at him skeptically and seemed on the verge of declining the company. “I don’t think your ‘visions’ story is gonna go over big with the Munchers, let alone the police.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect it would,” Justin admitted. “Besides, I didn’t plan on telling anyone other than you. But, if you let me come with you, I might see something that’ll help - a clue that’ll make sense of some of the stuff I’ve seen - or at least be able to add a little insight to what the police tell you.” 

He didn’t add that he also wanted to be there as an emotional support for Brian, who he now knew was just barely keeping it together; he was pretty sure that explanation would get his ass immediately booted. Nevertheless, it was obvious to the empath that his friend and former lover desperately needed somebody who would stand by him. Preferably someone who could see through the mask of invincibility Brian tried to hide behind. Justin figured he was probably the only person around who had even a glimmer of a chance in that role.

“Fine. Whatever. I need to go,” Brian capitulated, too distracted to really think about something so trivial. 

The worried father quickly gathered his wallet, phone and keys and was out the door in under a minute. Justin quietly tagged along at Brian’s heel. Brian’s Jeep was waiting at the curb in front of the building. They hopped in for the short, silent drive from the Strip District, where the loft was located, up to the more trendy Lawrenceville neighborhood where the girls lived. The house was surrounded by police cars, with people swarming up and down the sidewalk out front. Brian had to park at least two blocks away. However, judging by the nervous tension evidenced by the way Brian had fidgeted in his seat during the ride over, Justin figured the walk would be good for him, giving the man time to gather himself together a bit.

They were met by a uniformed police officer who stopped them at the front porch. “Can I help you, Gentlemen?”

“I’m Brian Kinney, the father,” the tall brunet announced himself.

The officer nodded but looked over Brian’s shoulder to where Justin was waiting. 

“He’s with me,” Brian stated curtly.

The officer made them both show ID, just as a formality she said, but then let them go inside. And if they’d thought there were a lot of people outside, it was nothing compared to the packed chaos within. Between the uniformed and plain clothes cops, as well as a smattering of friends and neighbors, all milling nervously around the entryway and front room, it was almost impossible to find their way through the throng. Brian eventually muscled his way past a couple of nosy cops and a few random others, making his way over to where Gus’ mothers were sitting together at the end of their dining table. 

“Lindsey!”

“Brian! Oh, Brian,” Lindsey reached up to pull her friend down into a sobbing hug. 

Justin had only seen the woman that one time before at the hospital - when she’d been disheveled and exhausted-looking after going through the trauma of giving birth - but somehow, at that moment, she looked remarkably worse. 

Lindsey had obviously been crying - her red eyes and smeared makeup gave evidence of that fact - and her clothing was dirt-streaked and torn. There was a large piece of white gauze taped to her right temple with a spot of dark brownish-red seeping through from the wound underneath. Her hair was snarled into a blonde bird’s nest, only kept out of her face by the scrunchie that had probably started off as a ponytail holder. Melanie, Lindsey’s feistier brunet partner, hovered behind, eyeing Brian with a sneer.

“It fucking took you long enough to get your ass over here,” Mel snarled. Then she apparently spied Justin, who’d been hanging back a few steps, and added. “Ah, I see. You couldn’t break away from your latest trick long enough to come find out about your kidnapped son. I should have known.”

Brian pulled out of Lindsey’s embrace so he could face his detractor more fully. “Fuck you, Mel. I came over as soon as you called. The only reason I didn’t come over earlier was that the police told me, when they called first thing this morning, that I should stay put and wait for instructions,” Brian insisted, causing Mel’s expression to soften just a smidgen. “And Justin isn’t a trick, he’s . . .” 

Justin sensed a pulse of panic and confusion from the man as he stuttered to a stop. “Hi. It’s me, Justin,” he rushed to fill the gap in the conversation, stepping forward and holding out his hand towards Melanie. “I was with Brian at the hospital the night Gus was born.” He smiled his most disarming grin in the hopes of winning the women over. “I heard about what happened on the news this morning and ran right over to Brian’s to see if I could be of any help.”

This seemingly innocuous comment nonetheless left everyone staring. Justin felt like a strange bug being observed by concerned scientists. When he eventually noted the flood of confusion, disbelief, and sardonic humor coming off the two women, though, he finally understood the reaction. Brian showing up with a real trick would have been a lot less surprising to the girls than him bringing a repeat that maybe qualified as a pseudo-friend of sorts. Apparently Justin didn’t fit into their preconceived image of Brian. It was almost like they didn’t believe Brian was capable of inspiring any feeling other than lust; that he couldn’t possibly make a new friend. And that fact, in and of itself, pissed Justin off for some reason.

Before Justin could call them on their behavior, though, a large, burly man dressed in a rumpled tweed blazer strode up to their group and cleared his throat officiously. “Folks,” he nodded at them in a vague greeting. “I’m Detective Carl Horvath. I’ve been given point on this case.” He handed each of them a business card with his contact information on it. “We’ll be setting up a command center here at the house, so you’ll likely be seeing a lot of me for the time being, but if you ever do need to get ahold of me, my numbers and email are on there.”

“Great. So, can you tell us what the fuck is actually going on?” Brian demanded, cutting through the officious bullshit. “Mel said there was some kind of development? Does that mean you have a lead on who took Gus?”

“Not exactly,” the Detective began, then rushed on as soon as he saw the way all the parents’ faces fell, “but we found a ransom note.”

At that point Horvath realized that several bystanders had edged closer and were listening in on the conversation. “Sykes,” the cop yelled, getting the attention of a uniformed officer standing a few feet away. “Clear this place out. Family only unless I say differently.”

“You heard the man,” Officer Sykes ordered, herding the lookiloos out of the dining room area.

While that was happening, Horvath checked his notes and then looked around at the four people who remained surrounding the table. “So, I’m taking it that you two,” he nodded at the women, “are the mothers.” He looked at the little notebook again. “Lindsey Peterson.” Lindsey offered a watery half-smile. “Ma’am. And Melanie Marcus.” Mel thrust her hand out to shake with the detective. “And I’m assuming you’re the father, Brian Kiney?” Brian nodded with a frown. “So, then, who are you son?” Horvath asked of the blond youth who wasn’t listed in his notes. 

“He’s with me,” Brian asserted again, without further explanation. 

“As that may be, we like to limit operational exposure to the direct family only. It makes for fewer complications and limits leaks,” Horvath began to explain. “You understand, of course, Mister . . .”

“Taylor. Justin Taylor,” the youth offered.

But before Justin could politely excuse himself, Brian pointedly draped one arm over Justin’s shoulders, pulled the boy closer to his side, and planted a big, wet smooch on the younger man’s temple. 

“I said, he’s with me. And he’s staying,” Brian concluded, staring at the cop with a defiant grin, as if challenging Horvath to say something. 

Horvath surveyed the scene for a good sixty seconds, as if assessing the determination of the pair, but eventually capitulated. “If you say so, Mr. Kinney. But don’t come crying to me later if there’s a leak to the press or some other snafu,” the cop replied, clearly still not all that comfortable with the undefined addition. “Anyways . . .” The man sat down at the table in the seat next to Lindsey and pulled a plastic evidence bag out of the inside pocket of his blazer. “This was found in the bathroom at the park next to the play area. Based on where you said you were attacked, Ms. Peterson, we assume that the perpetrator was probably hiding in there, watching for you. When you stopped to get a drink at the water fountain, the perp snuck out, hidden by the nearby bushes, and came up behind you. But, before he did, he made sure to leave this note in a conspicuous place so we’d be certain to find it later.”

Horvath unfolded the bag which contained a single sheet of copy paper printed with large, all-caps writing.

‘IF YOU WANT THE BRAT BACK IT’LL COST YOU $500,000. GET THE MONEY READY. I’LL CONTACT YOU WITH FURTHER DETAILS SOON.’

“$500,000? Shit! Where the fuck do they think we’re gonna get that kind of money?” Mel huffed dubiously. “It’s not like we’re Rockefellers or anything. What the fuck?”

Brian and Justin shared a knowing look. It was exactly what Justin had warned about. Whoever took Gus wanted money. More specifically, Brian’s money. Because, while the girls didn’t have anything even close to what the kidnapper was demanding, Brian Kinney could probably get his hands on that much cash. If he really wanted to. Not that the girls knew that, of course. 

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 8 - Reading People.

It took almost two hours before Brian was done dealing with the cops. They went through the whole set up, detailing what steps the police would be taking, and explaining how they usually handled kidnappings. The police would maintain a constant presence at the girls’ house but would also have officers nearby Brian’s loft if needed. They would be intercepting all mail for all the parents. They also had to sign off on all sorts of paperwork, including waivers that would allow the police to monitor all phone lines and email accounts. Brian was told an officer would come by his loft later that day to set up the equipment needed to record all incoming communications. 

There was a lot of discussion about the advisability of complying with the kidnapper's ransom demands; Horvath warned that payment wasn’t always a guarantee that a child would be returned unharmed, but said that it was up to the parents what they wanted. Brian said he’d start doing what he could to free up enough money to make it work, just in case. It would completely clean him out, but if that was the cost of getting Gus back, he’d do it. 

In the meantime, the police would continue to do their thing and follow whatever leads they could dig up. The hope was that they could find the kidnapper before the ransom exchange and arrest him outright, although at this point that seemed unlikely. The girls said they couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt their son. Brian remained mute about the nebulous warnings Justin had relayed since they didn’t amount to anything substantive. But the bottom line was that none of them had any real leads to start this investigation with.

The session ended with Horvath taking detailed statements from all three parents for the official record. They all had to meticulously account for their whereabouts for the past twenty-four hours as well as go through a lot of other personal shit. Brian was clearly chafing at all the intrusive questions. Matters weren’t helped much by Mel’s constant egging about Brian’s lifestyle choices and sexual dalliances. Justin got more than a few disparaging side looks from both the girls and Horvath during this part of the ordeal. Brian was as unapologetic as always, though, and proudly bragged that his alibi was the pair of red-headed twins he’d taken home from the baths the night before. Since the dynamic duo hadn’t left until Brian had kicked them out around four am, after a long night of debauchery, and Brian had passed out from exhaustion immediately afterwards, he asserted there was no way he would have been up in time to ambush Lindsey during her crack-of-dawn run. Justin wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or appalled by this confession, so he refrained from saying anything. Unlike Mel, who couldn’t let something like that rest without a snarky comment. Meanwhile, Justin sensed similar, albeit unspoken, emotional responses coming from the rest of Brian‘s audience. 

It didn’t help matters much when Justin - who everyone assumed was merely the follow up to Brian’s all-night threesome - was asked to confirm his own whereabouts that morning and elucidate on his relationship to Brian. Justin fumbled a little as he told about how he’d first met Brian and gave an abbreviated explanation of why he’d come back to offer help after he heard the Amber Alert. It was all rather embarrassing. But the worst part was when he was forced to admit not only his age but that his alibi for that morning was his mother. However, once it was established that Justin was merely an infatuated high school kid, Horvath basically dismissed him; from that point on, the only emotional response Justin sensed from the detective was amusement mixed with a hint of mild disapproval. At least he wasn’t being considered a suspect though.

Eventually, however, Brian was dismissed so the police could get on with their investigative work. Brian gave Lindsey a kiss goodbye, accompanied by an admonition that she should call if there was any news, and then the worried father was striding out the door with Justin trotting along in his wake. Neither of them said another word the entire trip back to Brian’s loft.

“So, I’m assuming you didn’t see or hear anything at the Munchers’ that explained your mysterious visions, huh?” Brian finally asked as he was pulling the keys out of the ignition. 

Justin shook his head sadly. “Sorry, no,” he replied. “But if it helps at all, I can reassure you that, regardless of all Horvath’s suspicions, neither Mel nor Lindsey had anything at all to do with Gus’ kidnapping. They were both being one hundred percent honest in all their answers.”

“Yeah? And how, exactly, would you know that? Or are you telling me that, on top of being a world renowned psychic, you’re also a human lie detector?”

Justin hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to go about explaining his secret skills. Brian already had doubts about Justin’s sanity. If he just blurted out some drivel about how he was an ‘empath’ and could therefore sense when people were lying, that would definitely drive Brian around the bend. But if he and Brian were going to work together to somehow find the monster who’d abducted Gus, Justin needed to be honest with him. Didn’t he?

Justin was saved from having to cobble together an explanation, however, when the driver’s side door was unceremoniously yanked open, surprising both of them.

“It’s about time you showed up! Where have you been?” The intruder demanded, emitting sharp spikes of irritability that were almost as loud as his strident voice to the empath’s delicate senses. “You were supposed to meet me for breakfast at the Diner, like, an hour and a half ago. Did you forget or are you just blowing me off again?” 

“Shit, Mikey! You think I have time for a leisurely breakfast on a day like today?” Brian griped back, his tone betraying his impatience even though his emotions were still locked down tightly. 

That seemed to be the moment when Michael glimpsed the young, blond passenger in Brian‘s jeep. “Yeah, well, it looks like you had plenty of time on your hands  to go out and pick up a trick already this morning,” Michael snarled with disgust, shooting an icy glare over his friend’s shoulder to where Justin was sitting, partially obscured by Brian’s larger frame. “Couldn’t you give your dick even one morning off? Long enough, at least, to spare a few minutes for your best friend?”

“Mikey, shit, you don’t understand . . .”

“I know, I know, something came up. Doesn’t it always?” Michael shook his head, his mouth all pursed up like he’d just bitten into something sour. “But I told you last night that I really needed to talk to you, Brian. It’s important.” That’s when Justin noticed the scroll of papers Michael held in his right hand, which he was now shaking in Brian‘s face like a pet owner about to swat a naughty dog with a rolled up newspaper. “Remember how I told you that Ma and Vic were falling behind on Vic’s medical bills? You said if we ever needed help you would step up. That’s why I asked you to breakfast this morning. I was gonna see if you had any advice . . .”

At least Michael had enough shame to drop his gaze once he realized he’d just been haranguing the man he’d meant to beg a loan from. Although, with Justin’s finely attuned senses, he could tell Michael wasn’t really as contrite as he appeared. Underneath that humble mask, Justin felt a roil of much stronger emotions. There was annoyance at the fact that Brian had seemingly blown him off again. There was a lot of judgment directed at Brian as well. But most of all there was a potent mix of anger and jealousy. And, surprisingly, a hefty portion of that jealousy was directed Justin’s way as well; which was confusing, since Justin had only met the guy a few times. 

“Mikey . . . Now isn’t really a good time. I think my money is gonna be tied up for a while . . .” Brian began to explain, since Michael obviously hadn’t heard the news about Gus yet.

Apparently, though, Michael wasn’t in the mood to listen patiently. “Come on, Brian. I’m drowning in bills of my own right now. I don’t have the extra cash to help Ma out. At least not until I get my next paycheck. Can’t you just loan me enough to get by till then? Or were you exaggerating all those times you bragged about the big fish clients you were reeling in and all the bonuses you’d be getting?”

“Mikey, will you just shut the fuck up long enough for me to get in two fucking words?” Brian exploded. “Shit, if you ever read more of the newspaper than the comics section, you’d know that I’ve got bigger problems right now . . .”

“Yeah? Like how many tricks you can fit in before lunch?”

“Gus was kidnapped this morning, you moron!” Brian screamed, finally fed up to the point that his pain broke through once again, the raw emotions flooding out so strongly that Justin gasped almost as loudly as Michael. “Somebody beat the shit out of Lindsey when she was out jogging this morning and took the baby right out of the fucking jogging stroller. So I’m afraid I can’t lend you any money right now since I’m gonna need it all for the fucking ransom!”

That finally shut Michael up. Justin sensed a rush of real shame. There was also a LOT of guilt coming through. And guilt, combined with that line about drowning in bills had the empath’s brain whirling. Wasn’t that what the wanna-be abductor in his vision had said last night? Could Michael have something to do with Gus’ disappearance? It didn’t seem likely - Michael had insisted vociferously the few times he’d spoken with Justin that he was Brian’s best friend - but the bills thing was a pretty big coincidence, right?

“Shit, Brian . . . I didn’t know,” Michael whined. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not the one who was abducted,” Brian replied, all snark on the outside, while underneath Justin could feel him fighting back the waves of fear and pain. “But I don’t have time to sit around gabbing with you right now, Mikey.” 

Brian pushed Michael out of the way and got out of the car. Justin followed suit on the passenger side. Michael trotted after his friend as they headed towards the front door of the loft building.

“Is there anything I can do?” Michael offered.

Brian used his key to unlock the door and then held it open for Justin to proceed him inside.

“Brian? Brian, wait! How can I help?” Michael repeated himself.

“Go home, Mikey. Unless you know where Gus is, there’s nothing you can do,” Brian dismissed him as he turned to follow Justin.

That’s when another surge of jealousy and antagonism hit Justin like a knife stabbing between his shoulder blades. The youth looked back over his shoulder and saw Michael glaring at him angrily. There was so much antipathy there, it was a little bit scary. And it wasn’t the sort of emotion someone would expect in the situation either. Yeah, when he looked harder, Justin could detect vestiges of sympathy and concern for his ‘best friend’, but the overwhelming emotion the dark-haired man was exuding was animosity. Justin was left wondering just how close a friend Michael really was.

Brian, though, had already mentally dismissed the importunate man still standing outside on the curb. He had bigger problems. Justin could feel the worry Brian was still struggling to control amid the myriad of other emotions that Brian hadn’t been able to stuff back down in the black hole where he usually kept them. They took the elevator up to the top floor, silent again, and Brian let them into the loft without comment. But, as soon as he’d tossed his jacket over the back of the couch, he turned to Justin with an imploring look.

“So . . . The cops don’t seem to have any fucking clue at all, nothing you saw this morning tied into your fucking dreams, and the only hope we have of getting my son back is for me to figure out how to scrounge up half-a-mil in ransom? Shit! This is so fucked!” 

Brian collapsed under the weight of his concerns, slumping down so that he was perched on the back of the sofa. He looked so dejected. It tugged at Justin’s kind heart almost as much at the pangs of despair he was sensing coming from the usually reserved man. Almost without realizing he was doing it, Justin found himself moving to sit next to Brian, one arm extending around the bigger man’s waist and his head tilted to rest on Brian’s shoulder. Justin tried to think of something reassuring to say, but there was nothing. He could only offer his quiet presence and hope it was enough. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do?” Brian eventually muttered, sounding so heartbroken it almost killed Justin. 

The young artist already felt guilty enough for having delayed coming to Brian with his warnings, but to hear the despair in Brian’s voice was too much. “We’re gonna find him, Brian. I know we will.”

“So, what, you’re a fortune teller too?” Brian tried to downplay the youth’s optimism. 

“No, but . . .” Justin hesitated but then decided to just come all the way clean with Brian. “I’m really good at reading people, Brian. I can almost always tell what someone’s feeling. And I didn’t feel any animosity directed towards Gus from the kidnapper; it was all directed at YOU, not your son. I don’t think he’ll hurt the baby as long as you give him what he wants . . .”

“. . . Reading people, huh?” Brian craned his neck so he could look into Justin’s face, as if to scrutinize the boy’s reply. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Justin shrugged. He’d never tried to put what he did into words before. It was just something he inherently knew about himself. Something he knew that nobody else would understand. Which is why he’d always kept that part of himself hidden. So, how did he explain it to a skeptic like Brian Kinney - a man who didn’t trust any emotions at all?

Taking a deep breath, fully prepared to be laughed at or derided, Justin launched into what he hoped would serve as an explanation. “I’m what you would call an empath,” he stated as confidently as he could manage. “Or, at least that’s what I guess you’d call it, although I’ve never liked that term. It sounds so hokey. Plus, all the fucking sci-fi novels about empathy have ruined the term, so . . .” He snuck a look at Brian’s face, which had gone comically blank, and sighed. “And I know you’re going to think I’m a candidate for a straight jacket, so don’t bother. But it’s true. I can read people’s emotions. I can tell when they’re sad or happy or scared or . . . Whatever . . . Just like this morning when I could tell that neither Mel nor Lindsey were lying. I could FEEL that they were being honest.” 

Brian turned away, but since his emotional shields were back up, Justin couldn’t tell what he was thinking, so he figured he’d better just plow on and hope the man didn’t decide he was delusional and throw him out on his ass.

“With the kidnapper, though, all I could feel was jealousy and envy. He wants you to be humiliated. He hates that you’ve got money - a good life - and he doesn’t. That’s what he wants. Taking Gus was just the only way he could think of to get your attention, Brian,” Justin struggled to put into words the nebulous emotions he’d sensed in his dream visions. 

“I don’t know who’s crazier,” Brian finally responded after several minutes of tense silence. “You, with all your fucking ‘empath’ drivel, or me for believing you . . .”

Justin couldn’t have held back the huge sunshiney smile that comment elicited even if he’d tried. Brian believed him. He might doubt his own sanity, but even so he believed what Justin had told him. It was a better outcome than he’d dared to hope for. 

“Not that it helps us much at this point,” Brian continued, dejectedly. 

“But don’t you see,” Justin, buoyed by the relief he felt knowing that Brian wasn’t just dismissing his gift, countered, “it does help. As long as I can still tap into the kidnapper’s emotions, we can use that to figure out who he is and find him.”

“Yeah? And how do we do that?” Brian asked, sounding genuinely interested. “Can you just dial into the creep’s psyche any time you want? Call up these visions at will or something?” Justin made a face and shook his head. “I didn’t think so,” Brian responded. “So how, exactly, do we use this supposed talent of yours, huh? Cuz my Ouiji board is out for service . . .”

“Um . . . I don’t know,” Justin admitted. “But there has to be a way. I wouldn’t be keyed into this guy the way I am if there wasn’t some connection. There’s got to be SOME way to exploit that. Some way to trigger it so I can see enough to help us find him. We just have to figure out how . . .” 

Justin fell silent as his mind spun, trying to come up with a solution, probing the limits of his gift to see if he could detect some hint of that nebulous connection to the perpetrator who’d taken Gus. But there was nothing but silence coming from his vision connection. Justin closed his eyes, scrunching up his face in concentration, and tried desperately to compel his senses outward, feeling around for some tendril of a link to the shadowy figure from his visions. Nothing came to him though. Nothing other than a spike of worried interest from the man sitting next to him. And even that pathway disappeared the moment Justin probed at Brian’s mind, almost as if the man had somehow sensed his presence and intentionally shut down his emotionality. So much for Justin’s theory that he could use his gift proactively.

Justin huffed a frustrated sigh and let his head fall sideways onto Brian’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to work it, Brian. All I know is that there has to be some reason why I’m seeing what I’m seeing. Otherwise, it makes no sense, because nothing like this has happened to me before. There’s got to be a reason we have this weird connection. There’s just GOT to be.”

“Other than the fact that you’re addicted to my cock and are using this as an excuse to get back in my bed?” Brian offered.

Justin felt himself blushing but tried to match the older man’s nonchalant snark. “Ah, yes. I arranged to have debilitating, intrusive visions of your son being abducted just so I could finagle a fuck. You caught me.”

“I thought so,” Brian replied, playing along despite the sad overtones to the situation. “Unfortunately, the grand reunion between my dick and your bubble butt is gonna have to wait.” Brian shrugged - causing Justin‘s head to slide off its comfortable perch on his shoulder - and got to his feet. “First, I need to get my accountant working on finding all this money for the fucking ransom.”

With a sympathetic grunt, Justin let himself fall backward, sliding upside down onto the seat of the sofa, then pulling his legs into his chest and lying there in temporary defeat, a little ball of helpless anxiety. 

///~///~

Chapter 9 - Process of Elimination.

Justin spent the next forty-five minutes cooling his heels while Brian ordered his accountant around over the phone and  furiously typed away at his computer. Eventually, though, Brian had done all he could for the time being. Between the bank and the accountant, it sounded like they’d have all the money moved around and be ready to meet the ransom demands within the next forty-eight hours.

Meanwhile, Justin spent his time trying unsuccessfully to tap into what Brian would call his ‘psychic’ abilities. Try as he might, though, Justin couldn’t seem to connect to the kidnapper. In fact, strangely enough, he couldn’t seem to connect to anyone. Not his mother, his little sister, or even Daphne. And, while his abilities were always sharper when his subject was nearby, Justin could usually get at least a vague sense of those he had a close and long-standing relationship with, even over long distances. So it was a little worrisome that he couldn’t reach out to his family or his best friend. It was almost like something was blocking him. 

Which is why Justin was almost relieved when he got a text from Daphne even though the news she imparted wasn’t reassuring. 

‘Heads up - both Ms. Patel and Mr. Bartlett commented on you being absent. That’s what you get for being Mr. Perfect Attendance three years running, I guess. I thought you’d be back by now. Any luck finding the baby? Anyway, heading into Dickson’s class now, and you KNOW he always takes attendance, so you better have your excuse ready.’

Justin looked at the time and grumbled a muted, “shit!”

“Problems?” Brian asked, looking up from his desk.

“Nothing serious,” Justin replied. Brian just continued to stare, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, prompting a fuller confession. “It’s just that I’m missing History and, since my teacher is a total dickhead, I’ll probably get detention again.”

“Again?” Brian questioned, a hint of humor in his tone. “You don’t strike me as the rebellious type, Mr. Taylor. But I suppose, with those angelic looks, you could be a regular juvenile delinquent and nobody would suspect, would they?”

“That’s me; Rebel Without a Clue,” Justin replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s no big deal, though. Dickhead Dickson can bite me. Finding Gus is more important.”

The mention of Gus acted like an ice cold shower on the mood in the loft; Brian nodded sadly and came over to join Justin on the sofa. “Yeah. Unfortunately, though, until the police uncover some credible leads, I don’t think that’s likely.” Brian looked sideways at his young guest before adding, “Unless you and the Psychic Friends Network have a better idea?”

“Sorry, nothing yet,” Justin confessed, hating the way he seemed to be letting Brian down. “It feels like I’m blocked or something . . . I think I’m just trying too hard, you know? I mean, most of the other visions just came to me when I was doing something else kinda boring. Or when I was asleep. So, maybe, if I concentrate on something else for awhile . . .”

Brian shook his head and huffed a little, clearly not impressed with Justin’s supposed empathic skills. “Whatever you say, Kreskin.” Those dispassionate words, however, were accompanied by a fresh wave of hopelessness that Brian seemingly couldn’t hold back.

“Don’t give up, Brian . . .” Justin pleaded, reaching out impulsively to grab the older man’s hand. “There’s got to be another way to find the guy . . . We can . . .” 

Justin looked around himself as if some solution would just magically appear, but the only thing he saw was his phone sitting on the coffee table where he’d placed it after reading the text from Daphne. He picked up the device and stared at the home screen for a few long seconds, racking his brain for some other way to help Brian. Which is when he saw the ‘Notes’ app and a new idea miraculously popped into his head. 

Picking up the phone, he eagerly turned towards his companion. “We don’t have to wait for a new vision, Brian. We can start with the ones I’ve already had. We can make a list of what I remember seeing and . . . and try to match that up with people we suspect. I told you, whoever did this is someone you KNOW. We just have to match up what I’ve seen with people who might want to hurt you . . .” Justin had already opened the app and started a new note. “It’s like one of those logic puzzles. We list all the clues I remember and compare it to a list of all the people you know, and then, by process of elimination, we cross off anyone that can’t be the suspect. Then we’ll at least have a shorter list of who it could be, and . . .”

“Hang on there, Inspector Clouseau,” Brian cautioned, his hand covering Justin’s fingers and pausing the boy’s furious tapping. “That’s gonna be a hell of a long list. I’m in advertising and I know a metric fuck ton of people.”

“Yeah, well, then you better get started on your list,” Justin concluded as he pulled his hand free and began tapping away again, “while I finish up mine with all the clues I can think of from the prior visions.”

///~\///~\

An hour later, Brian was still working on his list even as Justin finished up what had turned into a sort of timeline of visions with full descriptions of everything Justin could remember from each time he’d felt any contact with the abductor. Thanks to Justin’s artistic temperament, he had an excellent memory for details, even though the timeline stretched back over several months. It was a lot of data. He just hoped it would prove useful.

Justin wandered over to stand behind Brian, who was seated at his desktop computer making his own list. Brian had opened up a spreadsheet and had broken down all his acquaintances into three categories: Work, Friends, and Tricks. The list of people in the first two categories seemed to be complete, but he was still struggling through the list of tricks. Justin peered over Brian’s shoulder, peeking at the gargantuan list of tricks, and had to laugh at the way they were being described. 

‘Baths, January ?10, Asian, ~7”, crappy blow job skills.’

‘Babylon, Suds & Studs, tall brunet, ?Allen, good fuck, tight ass.’

And the list went on and on like that. 

“Brian,” Justin interrupted, causing the stud to pause in his listing and look up. “I think you can skip the parade of anonymous tricks. Whoever took your son isn’t some random guy you fucked. It’s someone that knows you pretty well - better than a trick, I’d think. Unless you’re in the habit of disclosing your finances to the guys you fuck.”

“Hardly,” Brian scoffed. “But I’m pretty well known. And you know the gay grapevine - everyone on Liberty Avenue knows everyone else’s shit. So, it’s not inconceivable that one of these losers might have checked me out and found out I’ve got a bit of money. And, well . . .” Brian cleared his throat, squirming a little uncomfortably in his seat. “I may not have been all that . . . accommodating . . . to some of these guys . . .”

“If you’re trying to say you fucked them and then immediately blew them all off - just like you did to me - I get your point,” Justin summarized with an edge of disapproval. “It’s safe to say that a few of your former tricks might be more than a little unhappy with your treatment of them, Stud.” Brian shrugged but didn’t look up at Justin. “Be that as it may, I still don’t think the guy who took your son is a disgruntled former sex partner, Brian. It’s the wrong vibe.”

“You sure?” Brian asked as he scanned down the list he’d already made - which was only up to mid-January despite the time he’d spent on it. “Some of these guys were pretty pissed off at me, if I remember correctly. And you’re not my first stalker, you know.”

Justin had to smile at the flirty way Brian said that last comment. “I’m pretty sure,” the youth reaffirmed. “I think we should at least start with folks you have a more personal connection to. But, if we eliminate all those and don’t find our guy, then we can always come back to your list of stalker tricks. ‘Kay?”

“Whatever you say, Sherlock.” Brian clicked around on his spreadsheet program and moved all the tricks to a separate sheet, leaving just the Work and Friends contacts. “So, where do you want to start?”

Justin Airdropped his notes to Brian’s Mac so they could have both documents open at the same time. Then he pulled up a chair next to the anxious father and they got to work. They decided to go through the list of work contacts first, mostly because Justin figured they’d be easier to eliminate. 

After looking at Justin’s list of clues and talking it over, they concluded that whoever had done this had to be local and had to have a lot of time on his or her hands. Which meant it was fairly simple to cross off the names of clients or business contacts who lived out of town or who travelled extensively or even those who were just busy running their own companies, since none of them would have been around during all the many times that Justin had seen the kidnapper stalking Gus. That winnowed the list down quite a bit.

It was a little more difficult to cross off Brian’s coworkers, since they were obviously all local. Also, the adman admitted to having had acrimonious run-ins with several of them in the past. However, since Brian assured Justin that he assiduously kept his private life and personal life separate, and it was therefore unlikely that anyone - other than his assistant, his boss, and the HR lady who handled the benefits paperwork, of course - even knew he had a son, it seemed improbable that any of these connections would have thought of kidnapping as a means of revenge. Of those who did know of Gus’ existence, Brian could personally confirm that Cynthia, his assistant couldn’t be the bad guy, as he kept her much too busy to be following a toddler all day. His boss, Marty Ryder, was far richer than Brian, so there was no motive for a kidnapping for money there. And the HR lady was a fifty year old grandmother of three, so that seemed unlikely as well. Justin also didn’t think the person whose thoughts he’d been channelling sounded like a coworker, so he concurred in the elimination of all but a few of the names on the Work list.

“What about this one,” Justin pointed to the one remaining name they hadn’t discussed. “Who’s Kip Thomas?”

Brian sighed. “Uh, yeah . . . I don’t think we can eliminate Thomas,” Brian answered, and Justin felt a whiff of red hot anger from his companion. “Kip is a vindictive little fucker; he tried to sue me for sexual harassment when I refused to recommend him for a promotion after we’d fucked a couple times - which was totally bogus and the arbitrator threw his claims out the minute he saw how woefully inadequate the guy’s resume was for the job in question - but that only made Kip even more pissed off at me. Plus, he’s gay and I’ve seen him hanging out in some of the same bars I frequent on Liberty Avenue, so he could probably have found out about Gus through the grapevine there. No, I wouldn’t put a kidnapping or two past that stupid fucker.”

“Ouch. Okay, keeping Kip Thomas on the list,” Justin agreed before moving on to the much shorter Friends list. “Debbie, Vic, Michael (Dr. Dave), Ted, Emmett, Mel, and Lindsey.” Justin read the names aloud. “Not too many; we should be able to go through them pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, real quick; none of my friends would do something like this,” Brian declared, sounding sure of himself. “You can just cross them all off right away.”

“Hold on a minute, Brian,” Justin grabbed Brian’s hand before he could reach for the mouse. “I understand why you wouldn’t suspect someone you consider a friend, but we need to at least look at all of them. I mean, don’t all those cop shows on TV always say that most crimes are committed by people you know?”

“That’s bullshit. None of my friends would hurt a child! I just can’t see it.”

“Well, maybe not but . . .”

“But what?” Brian pressed when Justin balked. 

“It’s just that . . .” Justin took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself to argue what was likely to be an unpopular opinion. “If the kidnapper was a close friend, it would fit with the stuff I saw in my dreams.”

“It’s not possible,” Brian insisted.

“Look,” Justin held out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, trying to get Brian to pause long enough to hear him out. “Whoever did this has to know you really well.” Justin started to tick off the points he was making on the fingers of his outstretched hand. “He knows you have a son. He knows you have enough money saved to meet his ransom demands - and that’s not common knowledge, right? I mean, lots of folks probably know that you’re doing well for yourself, but who would know you have THAT much money on hand, huh? Also, assuming it’s the person I’ve been seeing in my dreams, it’s someone who has a lot of strong personal feelings about you - it’s not some stranger or someone you’ve only tangentially pissed off. The vibes I’m getting are from someone who’s PERSONALLY angry at you. Someone who’s jealous. Somebody who wants to hurt you . . . Which means you can’t rule out someone you might think of as a friend.”

Justin thought his logic was pretty unassailable, and yet Brian still continued to shake his head throughout the empath’s entire recitation. “Listen, kid. You don’t know me that well and you definitely don’t know my friends. These people,” Brian pointed to the list on his computer screen. “These people are more than just friends. Hell, they’re closer than my real family ever was. I would trust any one of them with my life. I trust them with my kid’s life too. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree here.”

“Fine. Then let’s go through them the same way we went through the work contacts and eliminate them,” Justin proposed, still not convinced by Brian’s blind loyalty to his friends but willing to give them the benefit of the doubt provided they met the same criteria they’d already used on the rest of Brian’s list. “We can cross out Mel and Lindz, obviously, because I already confirmed they were being honest with the police.” Brian nodded and positioned the cursor to line through those two names. “What about this one; Emmett?”

“Emmett’s too big a nelly bottom to hurt anything, let alone a baby,” Brian snorted a half-amused laugh. “I once saw him run out of the bathroom, shrieking like a banshee, when he saw a spider.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Brian. Fear of spiders doesn’t necessarily mean he’s afraid of doing other bad things.”

“No, but . . .” Brian scanned over Justin’s timeline of visions for a few seconds and then smiled when he seemed to find something. “Aha! Look. You say you saw this one on the morning of New Year’s Eve, right? Well, it couldn’t have been Emmett then. Or Ted for that matter. They were both out of town that weekend. Ted arranged to do his remaining end-of-year continuing education credits at some conference in Vermont and took Emmett with him as his guest. I remember because he spent most of the week before bragging endlessly about how it was all going to be tax deductible as a professional expense and I gave him shit about spending one of the most fuckable nights of the year in a cabin with Emmett and a bunch of boring accountant types.”

“Okay. Cross them off,” Justin conceded. “What about the rest?”

“There’s no way it’s Debbie,” Brian asserted. “She’s been working like a fucking dog, doing double or sometimes even triple shifts, for the past six months, trying to pay off those fucking credit card bills from her and Vic’s trip to Italy last year. Deb doesn’t have time to stalk anyone. Besides, I’m pretty sure she was working the breakfast shift this morning - she’d have half the boys of Liberty Avenue as her alibi for the time when Lindsey was attacked.”

“Right. Debbie’s clear then,” Justin agreed, nodding as Brian crossed that name off too. “What about these other three? Who’s Vic? I don’t think I’ve met him.”

“Vic is Debbie’s brother,” Brian answered. “I don’t think he’s the one either, though. Vic’s dealing with too much of his own shit right now. He’s HIV+ and he’s been pretty sick up until the past few months when the new meds finally kicked in. But even though he seems to be doing better, I don’t think he’s up to traipsing around the city stalking Lindsey.”

“Maybe not, but if he isn’t working he’d have tons of time on his hands and it sounds like he could use the money, right? You said Deb was working to help pay off his bills?” Brian reluctantly nodded. “So we can’t cross him off yet, even if it’s unlikely.” Justin could tell that Brian was about to argue the point so he quickly moved on to the last entry. “That leaves only Michael and . . . who’s this you put in parentheses? Dr. Dave?”

“David Cameron. He’s Mikey’s latest love interest,” Brian replied with a scowl. “I don’t know all that much about the guy, to be honest, except that he’s boring as shit and, like, a thousand years old. But he’s not bad looking for an oldster and he seems to have swept little Mikey off his feet, so whatever.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“A chiropractor, yeah. Same difference.”

“Doesn’t seem like someone who’d need money badly enough to steal a kid,” Justin guessed. “Unless he was a secret drug addict or a gambler or something . . .”

“I doubt it. He’s too respectable for that,” Brian scoffed. “Plus, according to Mikey, he drives a Mercedes, wears a Rolex, spends a month every summer in Europe, and keeps shelling out for dinners at the most expensive restaurants in town.”

“Ok, I’m going to guess he’s a no, then,” Justin concluded. “Which just leaves Michael . . .”

“Why did you say it like that?” Brian questioned.

“Like what?” 

“The way you said ‘Michael’; as if you don’t like him or something?”

Justin paused and tried to think through how he would word the concerns he had without alienating Brian. He knew the two men were close friends. Back in the fall, when he’d tried to interest Brian in more than just their one night stand, Justin had run into Michael several times. Michael hadn’t been mean about it, per se, but it HAD seemed like the short Italian was running interference for Brian most of the time and was determined to keep Justin on the sidelines. Justin had sensed a possessiveness in Michael that was incongruous in someone who was just a good friend, but hadn’t thought much about it back then. Now, however, combined with the over-the-top animosity and jealousy he’d felt from Michael when they’d been ambushed outside the loft earlier, it made Justin wonder. Was there something more there, under the surface, that deserved a closer look? Something that Michael was trying to hide?

“I don’t know Michael well enough to judge him like that,” Justin hedged. “But . . .”

“But . . .” Brian echoed.

“Well . . . What he said earlier? About how he wanted your help with his bills and all? It made me wonder, is all.”

“So what? Mikey’s been helping out his mother and Uncle Vic for a while now. It makes sense he’s struggling a little. And I did promise I’d help them if they needed it,” Brian replied defensively. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not. It’s just that . . . Well, the way he said it - that he was ‘drowning in bills’ - that’s almost exactly what I heard the kidnapper saying in my vision last night,” Justin explained.

“That’s bullshit. It couldn’t be Mikey,” Brian countered immediately without even pausing to think about it. “It just couldn’t be. We’ve been friends for more than half our lives.”

“I just know what I heard, Brian,” Justin insisted. “The person in my dream last night was sitting at a table, looking at piles of bills and he said something like, ‘what’s the fucking point. I’m fucking DROWNING here while HE wastes more money in one night than I earn in a week.’ And then he said a bunch of stuff complaining about how well Gus was treated instead of him and that he was ‘done being pushed aside and treated like an afterthought’.” Justin inhaled, waiting a beat to see how Brian would respond, but when the brunet didn’t say anything, he plowed on. “This morning, Michael said almost the same thing, Brian. He said he was drowning in bills and he had a whole stack of them he was waving around in his hand. Plus . . . Well, the emotions he was projecting were sort of . . .”

“. . . Were sort of what?” Brian growled.

“He was hiding something, Brian. I don’t know what, exactly, but I know I felt it. He wasn’t being completely honest about his motives either. And he was also feeling all sorts of conflicting emotions; there was concern, sure, but there was also a lot of guilt and jealousy and anger and . . .” Justin sighed, trying to find a way to soften the blow but not coming up with anything substantial. 

Brian simply sat there, looking a little stunned. But he was so emotionally closed off at that point that Justin wasn’t sure what the man was feeling. Brian had once again become a blank wall. Which made Justin feel ashamed that he’d obviously caused the already stressed out father even more pain, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to tell Brian the truth as he saw it, right?

“I’m not saying Michael did anything, Brian, but I don’t think you can one hundred percent rule him out either,” he concluded. 

///~\///~\

///~///~

Chapter 10 - You Just Needed To Relax.

Brian still didn’t look like he was buying Justin’s logic, but he couldn’t argue the point either. Instead he just sat there, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, saying nothing. Justin thought it best not to belabor the matter so he just moved on, leaving the topic of Michael hanging there unresolved.

Justin looked back over Brian’s list, noting that they’d eliminated almost all of the names. But there was one anomaly; Justin didn’t see any names on that list that looked like family. And, based on his extensive knowledge of television crime dramas, Justin was sure that they’d need to examine those folks as well, if only to exclude those names. 

“Brian? Shouldn’t you have listed your family members here as well?” 

“Why?”

“Well, because we have to look at ALL possible suspects, right?” Justin answered.

“I have nothing at all to do with my birth family,” Brian replied succinctly, exuding an even more closed off air than before, which Justin thought should have been impossible. 

“Nothing?” Justin questioned, a little shocked by Brian’s summary dismissal of his family like that. “But . . .”

“There are no butts involved, kid. My family doesn’t approve of that kind of stuff,” Brian responded, trying to lighten the mood with an inappropriate pun, perhaps - Justin didn’t know, but found the reaction even more perplexing. When Justin simply sat there, staring at Brian with a stunned confusion, however, Brian eventually relented. “My father died about two months ago from lung cancer, which was exactly the painful and disgusting death the abusive bastard deserved, in my opinion. My mother is a frigid bitch who thinks I’m going to hell because I refuse to go to her hate-baiting, pedophile-infested church. Which leaves only my sister, who’s a whiny, uncultured, homophobic, trashy breeder with two bratty kids that she’s already taught to hate me because Uncle Brian is gay. Why the fuck would I have anything to do with any of them?”

‘Okay, wow . . .’ Justin thought, rendered speechless by the stream of vitriol Brian had just let fly. ‘That’s more words together than I’ve ever heard Brian say about anything. And all of them angry as hell. So, then . . . Why don’t I feel any anger coming from him at all? You’d think rage like that would be fairly deafening, right? But there’s . . . Still nothing but that blankness? What’s up with that?’

Then Justin looked up again and noted that Brian wasn’t really as good at suppressing his emotions as he might have thought. While the man wasn’t emoting anything that the empath could pick up with his sixth sense, Brian was clearly displaying several classic symptoms of the kind of rage his words portrayed. There was the tight smile that didn’t even come close to reaching the narrowed eyes. There was the clenched jaw, evidenced by muscles working so hard that you could see the ropy tendons flashing under the skin over his mandibles. There was also the hands curled into fists, the knuckles going white. Clearly, there was emotion there, it was just silent emotion, an intriguing phenomenon that Justin had never experienced before.

“Isn’t that all the more reason to suspect them for something like this, Brian?” Justin pressed. “I mean, if they feel about you the way you say, then wouldn’t they be exactly the kind of people who’d do something like taking your son to hurt you?”

“Maybe, if they knew I had a son, but I haven’t shared that particular fact with either Joanie or Claire, and don’t plan to even if I were speaking to them.”

Justin didn’t have a response to that. He might not be getting along well with his own parents at the moment, but he couldn’t imagine not telling them when he had a kid of his own. Judging by the tension in Brian’s stance, though, Justin didn’t doubt that Brian was telling the truth about how much he and his family disliked each other. Still, there was this tiny nagging itchiness in the back of Justin’s mind that wouldn’t let him just dismiss Brian’s family from their investigations. He didn’t have time to analyze it just then, but there was something worrying him about Brian’s out-of-hand exoneration. That much mutual animosity deserved more attention, didn’t it? Didn’t it?

It seemed, however, that Brian had already moved on. “So much for your brilliant plan to find the kidnapper by making fucking lists, huh?” Brian complained, pushing his desk chair back, away from the computer, and sounding defeated. “Got any other ideas, Kreskin? Should I call a few neighbors in so we can hold a seance or something?”

Justin looked at the short list of possible culprits they’d amassed and threw up his hands, almost as skeptical as Brian by that point. “That’s about as good a suggestion as any I’ve had so far, so why the hell not?” Brian snorted a half-amused huff ending in a sigh. “I’m sorry I’m not being more help, Brian. I didn’t come over here just to waste your time like this. I thought . . .” Justin tried to reach out with his mind again, feeling around to see if he could pick up that connection to the kidnapper once more, but there was still nothing. “It’s just so strange that I can’t feel anything. I mean, nothing at all. Not the guy who took Gus. Not anyone else, either. It’s all just . . . gone. It’s the weirdest thing . . .”

Brian looked at him oddly for about a half a second, making Justin feel like he was a bug being examined for possible dissection. “You said before that you thought you were trying too hard - that you just needed to relax, right?”

“Yeah . . . Maybe,” Justin admitted, although he wasn’t sure that was precisely what the problem was. 

“Okay. Then, let’s relax you,” Brian stated with determination. 

Brian got to his feet and reached out a hand towards Justin. The youth only hesitated a moment before he accepted, letting Brian haul him out of his chair. All business, Brian led the younger man across the breadth of the loft and up the stairs to the bedroom. Then with perfect detachment, he started to loosen Justin’s school tie and unbutton the crisply starched white shirt. Justin's heart raced as he began to anticipate what would come next but Brian seemed not to notice. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, Brian simply pushed the jacket and shirt off, over Justin’s shoulders, as one, and proceeded to address himself to the trousers in a similarly systematic fashion. And as soon as Justin’s pants joined his shirt and jacket on the floor of Brian’s bedroom, the older man put his large hand in the center of the boy’s chest and gave a shove, pushing the slender youngling backwards so that he landed with a bounce in the center of the gigantic king-sized mattress.

The whole time all this was happening, Justin was in complete shock. When he’d come to find Brian that morning his only intention had been to help the worried father find his son. Justin had long since given up hope that The Stud of Liberty Avenue would relent on his one-fuck-only rule or give him a second go. So this new development was totally unexpected. Not that Justin was complaining, mind you. Hell no! He was more than happy to let the man he’d been fantasizing about for months take control of ‘relaxing’ him. Even though he wasn’t feeling particularly relaxed at the moment. Nope. Far from it. In fact, as Brian stripped off his own clothing and started to climb up the bed to reach the nubile and naked youth waiting for him, Justin privately admitted he’d never felt so un-relaxed in his young life.

Meanwhile, Brian nibbled his way up Justin’s body, starting at his toes and proceeding up, past a well formed calf, nipping at a sensitive inner thigh, licking across the thin skin covering a hip bone, and then veering towards the center and the deep well of a needy belly button. Justin only realized that those whimpers and the panting noises were coming from his own mouth when Brian laughed at the yelp of surprise that occurred when his tongue dipped deeply into Justin’s navel and then sucked back all the moisture deposited therein. Which shouldn’t be all that erotic, right? It just shouldn’t be. But, still, Justin was so turned on that his dick felt like it was on fire, and Brian hadn’t even touched that part of him yet. The things this man could do to him . . .

Justin didn’t have long to dwell on his amazement over Brian’s belly button technique, though. Before the boy had recovered from his wonder at that element, Brian was already moving on to the next big thing in his sexual repertoire. Two big hands began to inch up, over his torso, the heat from Brian’s touch sparking sense memories of their earlier encounters. And before Justin had completely registered what was happening, he felt those big hands pinching at his nipples, rolling the hard little nubs between soft finger pads, creating electrical zaps of sensation that seemed to connect directly to Justin’s already rock-hard dick. 

“Shit! This . . . This isn’t . . . Isn't relaxing . . . Relaxing me, Brian,” Justin gasped out, between pants, as Brian’s touch created a series of electrical jolts that rocked through his body.

“Patience, my padawan, it will. Trust me,” Brian purred, the vibrations from his voice against Justin’s skin adding to the exciting sensations that were flooding the boy’s nether regions. 

Those reassuring words were immediately proven wrong, however, when Brian’s next move was to direct his mouth about two inches southward to where Justin’s cock was twitching against his abdomen, asking for its share of attention. The boy wasn’t sure what caused the gasp that ensued - whether it was the moment of frisson when Brian’s slightly stubbled chin rubbed against the sensitive tip of his dick, or the welcome wet warmth of the tongue that followed - but the contrast of sensations was literally breathtaking. By the time Brian had taken Justin all the way into his mouth, the young man felt like he was literally going to explode. So much for all that relaxing Brian was supposed to be imparting, huh?

Justin’s hands automatically drifted down, feathering through the silky, baby-fine, chestnut strands and involuntarily clamping on so as to have some handhold. Brian merely grumbled a warning, which Justin instinctively understood meant he shouldn’t presume to tug too hard. But the rumbling noises almost instantly translated into delicious vibrations that tickled along his dick and Justin soon forgot all restraint. Luckily for Brian’s hair, the attention to Justin’s nether regions got the desired response pretty quickly; in less than five minutes, Justin felt his balls beginning to contract and that tell-tale tingle flared into a full-fledged conflagration that erupted from his core, setting his whole body on fire. 

“Brian . . . Brian . . . BRIAN!” Justin chanted, unable to think of any other words as his orgasm short-circuited his brain. 

Of course the Master of Relaxation, the one and only Mr. Brian Kinney, was completely unruffled by these proceedings. Giving Justin’s now-spent cock one last, slurping kiss, he raised his head and made a show out of licking a few stray drops of cum off his gorgeously swollen lips. Justin managed a weak smile in lieu of thanks and pulled his fingers free from Brian’s hair. Brian, now free, slithered further up the much-less-tense body spread out beneath him.

“Better?” he asked, wearing a knowing smirk.

“So much better,” Justin replied, with a quiet giggle.

“Ah . . . if you’re still able to speak, then I clearly haven’t done my job yet,” Brian surmised, cutting off any retort with the highly effective move of swooping in for a long, deep, wet kiss. 

“Mmmmm,” was the only reply Justin could come up with by the time his lips were released.

“That’s better. But I think we should go for the full-body, so-relaxed you pass out, ultra-deep-tissue treatment, don’t you?” Brian concluded with a sexy smile as he raised up enough to free Justin’s legs, scooping one arm under each thigh so as to lift both calves up onto his shoulders. 

All of a sudden, Justin’s brain began to register the anticipation of what Brian was still promising, and he found himself not quite as relaxed as before. 

“Yes. Yes, please. Oh, please . . .”

“Such a polite little boy . . . Now, how can I refuse such a civilized request?” Brian purred, his fingers already lubed up and prodding at the boy’s most-intimate entrance.

Justin gasped again as the cold fingers invaded, but the discomfort only lasted until Brian located the boy’s sweet spot and, after that, he only registered pure, unadulterated pleasure for the next however-many-minutes it took for his lover to prepare him. Before he had time to get fully un-relaxed again, Justin felt the blunt tip of Brian’s condom-clad dick pressing slowly inside and then it was just more of the same bliss that he remembered from their one night together so many months before. The wonderful sense of fullness. The delicious friction. The swelling heat. And the sure aim that caused Brian’s dick to pound into the one spot that caused Justin’s entire being to light up like a fucking laser show. It was exquisite torture and unbelievable euphoria at the same time. But the one thing it wasn’t was relaxing; Justin had never felt so alive before. 

And then the only thing that might possibly make the experience even better happened; Brian’s emotional mask slipped.

All of a sudden, Justin wasn’t alone in his pleasure any longer. He could now feel every titillating pang of Brian’s rising stimulation as well. That rush of pleasure from his lover was like taking up the normal elation of sex to near-rapture levels of pleasure. Talk about fucking feedback loops! Brian’s pleasure fed Justin’s, which in turn was returned to Brian and on and on and on. And before Justin knew what was happening, there was a white-hot burst of such ecstasy that he actually saw flashes of swirling color behind his closed eyelids, just like on Independence day when the light from the fireworks would echo on his retinas even after the show was over. 

By the time the post-fuck lassitude finally swamped his senses, Justin had to admit, in his fading moment of awareness, that yes, Brian really had relaxed him better than he’d ever been relaxed before. 

And then Justin passed out completely. 

So much for searching for the kidnapper . . .

///~///~

The child was so bundled up that the only way you could tell there was a baby inside was when the blanket twitched or when the little whines of distress got loud enough to reach outside ears. 

The blanket itself wasn’t exactly clean. Nor was the umbrella stroller the child was strapped into. Even in the dim light, you could see that the once-white plastic handles were yellowed and cracked with a jagged edge showing where a large piece of the grip had broken off altogether. The fabric of the stroller’s seat was soiled and dirty, with a large splotch of what appeared to be red ink staining the upper right corner, right behind where the baby's head rested. 

As the baby’s whimpers increased in volume, the scene gradually widened, allowing the viewer to see more of the environs surrounding the stroller. A few meters away, there was a rack filled with merrily lit candles, their twinkling light cutting through the relative darkness nearby. Beyond the candles, you could glimpse the beginning of several rows of church pews, stretching out into the vagueness of distance. The rest of the background, though, was obscured by the crepuscular murkiness of the dream.  

The bundle of blankets eventually got fed up with being left unattended and let out a wail of protest. The baby’s cries echoed around the space incongruously; judging by these echoes, the space the stroller was in must have been huge. Almost immediately, another sound joined the caterwauling - a tap, tap, tap of shoes on bare stone floors - coming closer. 

“Shhhh! Damn it! Do you want to wake everyone in the fucking neighborhood?” The voice admonishing the baby was no more than a sibilant hiss without inflection or identifiable timbre. “Shit. You’re gonna get us caught, you stupid little parasite!”

Two hands reached down and unbuckled the straps on the stroller, lifting the bundle up and shaking the contents into a startled, momentary silence.

///~///~

“Fuck!” 

Justin was startled out of his dream and brought abruptly back to full consciousness by the loud cursing in his ear. 

“Wha . . . ?”

Rough hands grabbed Justin by the shoulders, the fingers digging into his flesh deeply enough to cause pain. “What the fuck was that? Was that Gus? Where is he? Tell me!”

“What? I don't . . . I don’t know . . .” Justin tried to pluck words out of his confused brain but it wasn’t going well. 

“I saw Gus!” Brian was screaming, hovering over Justin’s supine form, his large hands pinning the youth’s smaller body to the mattress. “He was there, right in front of me! And I saw YOU there too, standing over him, looking down at him. Then you grabbed him and started shaking him, damn it! Don’t you know, you can’t fucking shake a baby!” 

Justin struggled to free himself from Brian’s frantic grip as the older man began shaking him in an eerie recreation of the way the baby had been treated. 

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” Brian’s protests and curses slowly died out and he eventually released his captive, sitting back on his haunches, both hands coming up to cover his mouth which was opened wide in an expression of horror. 

As his awareness came back online, Justin realized what had happened and, overcoming his amazement, he rushed to take control of the situation. He sat up, taking Brian’s larger body into his embrace, and whispered calming nothings into the distraught father’s ears. Justin could feel the way the otherwise sturdy body was trembling and heard the syncopated breaths as the man came close to hyperventilating. Justin rubbed consoling circles on Brian’s bare back, leaving small kisses on whatever piece of skin his lips could reach. It took several minutes, but eventually they both calmed down, and Brian began to breathe easier. 

“What the fuck was that?” the angry father asked when he finally had himself back under control.

“I don’t know . . . Somehow . . . Somehow I saw the same thing you did and that’s NEVER happened before.” Brian’s scoff of disbelief interrupted his conjecture. “It's true, Brian. I’m not lying to you. I think . . . I think, somehow, you shared one of my visions. I just don’t know how, exactly . . .”

“I SAW you!” Brian insisted, edging on the frantic again. “I saw you! You had Gus and you were shaking him!”

“It wasn’t me, Brian. I’m right here with you. It WASN’T me!”

“But I saw . . .”

“You saw my vision, Brian. I saw it too. Only, you . . .” Justin quickly thought through what he’d seen and tried to reconcile what Brian was saying. “I think you saw the scene through me but since I’m seeing through the kidnapper’s eyes, you saw me in his place . . . Or something like that . . . Because you KNOW I’m right here with you and it CAN’T be me. Right, Brian?” Brian just stared at him with haunted-looking eyes. “Right, Brian? I’m right here with you. You see me here, right? It can’t be me that you saw with Gus. Right?”

“I . . . I saw . . .” Brian reached out and let his fingers trail down Justin’s cheek, as if to reassure himself that the boy sitting in front of him was real. “But I saw you and Gus . . .”

“Yeah . . . Guess your relaxation techniques worked better than we’d hoped.” Justin squirmed until his legs were freed from where they’d been trapped under Brian’s body. “You believe me now, right?”

Brian threaded his hands through his hair and nodded mutely.

“Okay . . . Well, this is good. We can use this.” Justin sat cross-legged on the bed in front of Brian and tried to work though what he’d seen in his dream/vision. 

“He’s hurting Gus,” Brian moaned, still unable to get beyond what he’d seen.

“You can’t focus on that, Brian,” Justin insisted, trying to pull the older man’s hands free so he could hold them. “We have to concentrate on the other clues in that vision. It’s the only way we’ll find your son. We have to use this to figure it all out.”

“But, Gus . . .”

“I know you’re worried about him, Brian. I am too. Which is why we need to find him as soon as possible.” Justin reached up and, one hand on each side of Brian’s face, forced the other man to look directly at him. “Listen to me, Brian. Are you listening?”

Brian took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay. I’m not sure how the fuck this shit works - I can’t understand how you managed to see into one of my visions - but that’s good, because now you’re seeing what I’m seeing too which should make things easier. Tell me what you saw and we’ll compare notes. Maybe it’ll lead us to whoever has your son.”

Justin watched as Brian visibly pulled himself together. The panic on the other man’s face morphed into determination. The fear turned into a barely suppressed rage, evidenced by the way Brian’s eyes lit up and his jaw settled. Justin could almost hear the way Brian was gritting his teeth. But it was all good because it meant they could move on.

“It was a church,” Brian summarized.

“Yeah. That’s what I saw too; the votive candles and the pews . . . But it was pretty dark and I couldn’t see much else.”

Brian paused, lost in thought for thirty seconds or so, before he finally spoke again. “The candles . . . There was a picture - a painting - behind the candles. I think . . . I think I recognize that picture.”

Justin scoured his memory. He’d been so focused on the stroller and the child within, that he hadn’t really paid much attention to the surroundings. But when he went back into the vision, he realized he had noticed the painting Brian was referencing. It was a stylized, expressionistic version of a Madonna. Very well done, actually. And definitely something that would stand out if you’d ever seen it before in real life.

Justin watched as Brian screwed his face up, almost comically, as if trying to locate that picture in his memory bank. And at the moment it came to him, Brian’s entire countenance lit up. If Justin hadn’t been so worried about finding Gus, he would’ve been amused by the instant change in Brian‘s demeanor.

“That’s it! Yes! I remember that painting from the time Deb made me go with her to church last year; she ordered us all to go with her to the special mass she had said for Vic when he was super sick and we didn’t think he’d make it. I had nothing else to look at for, like, twenty minutes, so I just stared at that damn picture.” Suddenly animated, Brian crawled off the bed and started grabbing for his clothing which had been left, strewn across the floor. “It’s Deb’s fucking church! The kidnapper and Gus are in Deb’s god-damn fucking church!”

Justin scrambled to follow Brian’s example, searching for his own clothing and dressing as fast as he could, hoping all the while that this was the break-through they’d been waiting for.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 11 - He Was Right Here.

The Jeep screeched to a halt directly in front of the steps up to the ornate double doors of the old stone church. It wasn’t a large building, but it had been built back in a day where even smaller churches attempted to imitate grand cathedrals, so it definitely looked the part of a church. There was even a large, roseate stained glass window over the entrance. 

But Justin didn’t have time to admire the architecture right then.

The second the vehicle stopped moving, Brian was out of the car and sprinting for the entryway. Justin was only a few paces behind. They hit the doors running, causing the wooden portals to slam loudly against the old fashioned brass door stops, and were immediately plunged into the relative darkness of the dimly-lit sanctuary. The sudden truncation of their vision meant that Brian almost didn’t notice that the line of pews was offset with regard to the entrance, resulting in the rearmost set of seats blocking his direct line of attack; if it weren’t for his quick reflexes, Brian would’ve fallen on his ass and Justin would’ve toppled over him a second later. 

After that, they were forced to slow down to a brisk walk as they made their way up the aisle towards the front of the darkened church. Once their eyes adjusted, however, they were quickly able to locate the racks of votive candles which were set up in the recess of the South transept. Brian took off in that direction, jogging again as he made his way down the length of the nave, with Justin hot on his heels.

Only, when they got there, there was nothing whatsoever to see.

It had taken them less than ten minutes to race the few miles from the loft to Deb’s church, but in that short time their quarry had disappeared. Everything else about the scene looked the same - the rows of votive candles in their glass cups, the modernistic painting of the Madonna on the wall behind the rack of candles, and the lines of dark wooden pews stretching away into the Nave - it was all there. But there was no stroller. No Gus. No kidnapper. 

In fact, there was no one at all in the church when Brian and Justin arrived. The building appeared empty. If it hadn’t been for the merrily twinkling little candles, the place might have looked deserted. 

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Brian screamed loudly enough to shake the hundred year old rafters. “They’re fucking gone! We’re too fucking late!”

“Shit,” Justin agreed, albeit at a lower volume. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Gentlemen?” an unknown voice startled them both, causing the pair to spin around to find the new speaker.

Walking their direction across the breadth of the transept was a man dressed in somber black slacks and shirt, the white collar at his neck giving away the man’s profession. He wasn’t a bad looking guy - for a priest - in his late 20s or early 30s, with sandy blond hair, and a kind smile. As he approached, he held both hands out, palms up, seemingly trying to imitate the statue of a benevolent Christ that hovered over the alter a few meters away.

Brian wasn’t mollified by any of that, though. “Did you see a baby in a stroller? He was right here,” Brian pointed to the floor in front of the rack of votive candles, “just a few minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry, my son, but I’ve been hearing confessions for the past hour or so and haven’t even looked out of the confessional until just now,” the priest answered.

“Damn it!” Brian growled, his fists balled up, looking like he wanted to hit something. “They were JUST here! We fucking saw them . . .”

“Please, my son, we don’t use language like that in the church,” the Priest admonished him.

The young empath put a restraining hand on Brian’s forearm, just in case the distraught father was inclined to act on his impulse to hit the unhelpful priest, which was what Justin was sensing his companion wanted to do right then. “Sorry, Father. As you can tell, my friend  is a little upset. Someone took his son this morning and we thought we saw the kidnapper come in here.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. That’s horrible,” the priest exclaimed with a look of genuine sympathy on his face. “I really wish I could be of more help, but I honestly didn’t see anyone else in here this morning except for our usual parishioners coming to confession.”

Brian muttered one last “fuck!” under his breath then abruptly turned around and headed back towards the exit. 

Justin offered up a weak smile of gratitude for the priest and then followed in Brian’s footsteps. Meanwhile, he was desperately scrambling to come up with something consoling to say to the man whose hopes had been snuffed out once again. Justin could feel the gloomy desperation wafting off Brian’s retreating form. Not that the youth blamed him; Justin felt almost as despondent, especially since it had been his ‘vision’ that had sent them off on this wild goose chase. 

“Wait!” Justin heard the priest call out to them before they’d got more than a few meters down the aisle. “Is your name Brian Kinney?”

Brian froze in mid-step. He turned around slowly, looking curiously back at the priest. “Yes?”

“Then I presume THIS is for you?” The priest pointed towards the rack of votive candles.

Both men started to retrace their steps. Now that his attention had been drawn to the candles themselves, Justin could see there was something white perched between two of the rows of flickering lights. The whiteness of the object reflected the candlelight, causing whatever it was to glow much brighter than it otherwise would in the dimness of the old church. As they neared, it quickly became obvious that the glowing object was a standard-sized white envelope. On the front, clearly visible even in the low light, was written the name, ‘Brian Kinney’, and Brian’s home address.

“What the fuck?” Brian went to reach for the envelope, but Justin stepped in front of him just in time.

“Stop, Brian! Don’t touch it,” Justin warned, getting an exasperated look for his effort. But he didn’t relent. “It’s evidence, right? There could be fingerprints or DNA or something. You can’t touch it till the cops look it over.”

“Call Horvath!” Brian ordered, passing over his phone to the teen without further comment. 

///~///~

It took the cops a full thirty minutes of hoopla before they finally let Brian open the damned envelope. 

First, Horvath and company had roared up to the church with lights and sirens blaring as if they were going to take down a dangerous drug cartel or something. The entire church and its environs were searched, but there was no sign of Gus or his abductor. The Priest, who gave his name as Father Thomas, was officially questioned. He told the cops the same thing he’d told Brian and Justin. Brian blew off the cops’ questions about why he’d come by the church with a vague statement about how, ‘Debbie always lit a candle here whenever bad shit was happening . . .’, without further explanation, and they seemed to accept his unspoken spirituality. Justin mostly just held his tongue and tried to stay off of everyone’s radar; he’d always been a lousy liar and he didn’t want to get questioned too intently.

Finally, after Horvath deemed the investigation to be at the properly chaotic stage, he handed Brian a pair of latex gloves and let him pick up the envelope.

Brian took the envelope in hand, pulled the top flap out from where it was tucked inside the bottom - for some reason, it hadn’t been sealed - and pulled out the folded sheet of paper contained within. 

Just like the note the police had found in the park where Gus was abducted, this was a single sheet of copy paper with a block of all-caps text in the center. There was no other identifying information on the page, front or back. The printing itself looked like it could have come from any computer printer in the universe. Justin didn’t see that there was any clue there. Unless there were fingerprints, or something else beyond what you could see with the naked eye, this was probably another dead end clue. 

Brian proceeded to read the ransom demand aloud.

‘PUT THE MONEY IN A BLACK BRIEFCASE AND LEAVE IT IN THE TRASH CAN NEAR THE ENTRANCE TO THE FORT PITT MUSEUM ON TUESDAY MORNING BY 11:30 AM. NO POLICE. IF YOU FOLLOW DIRECTIONS, YOU’LL BE GIVEN FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO GET YOUR BRAT BACK. IF NOT, YOU’LL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN.’

Nobody commented for several long moments.

Then Brian erupted. “Tuesday? The creep thinks he’s going to keep my kid till fucking Tuesday? No fucking way!”

It didn't take an empath to know that Brian Kinney was freaking out; the volume of his voice was more than enough to demonstrate that fact. Not that Justin would have had any advantage at the moment, however, since Brian had once again mastered his emotions and was now completely blocking out the youth. Justin still didn’t know how Brian was doing it, though. How could anyone with an emotional sentience that strong, strangle all his feelings that viciously? It would require a steel grip on one’s psyche that was difficult to comprehend. Either that or years of practice. An even better question, though, was why you’d want to? Why did Brian feel the necessity to stifle all semblance of emotion? It’s not like anyone other than Justin would be able to sense them, right? And Brian had no reason to protect himself that securely from Justin. So who was he trying to keep out? 

All those thoughts raced through Justin’s mind in a flash while the rest of the people in the church struggled to placate and reassure the outwardly hysterical father. 

“Enough, Kinney,” Horvath spoke up, using a voice that was much more forceful than his usual fatherly tone. “You going ballistic on my team won’t get your son back any earlier.” Brian glared at the older detective but at least he’d stopped cursing them all out. “Besides, this delay will give us more time to get a plan together. We won’t have to rush to put in security at the drop site. And didn’t you say you needed time to come up with the cash? Well, now you have it.”

“But what about Gus in the meantime? Tuesday . . . That’s four fucking days away. How do we know the fucking kidnapper will take care of him?” Brian stated the concerns they all had out loud. 

“We don’t. And if the only way this kidnapper plans to communicate is through notes left at random places around town,” Horvath waved the note, which was already protectively ensconced in a plastic evidence bag, in front of Brian’s face as an example, “if we don’t have any means of two-way conversation then, I’m sorry, but we have no way to confirm your son’s condition.” Horvath shook his head. “This guy is smart. We’re at a disadvantage. Which is why we can use all the extra time we can get to plan out our strategy. Otherwise we might never catch him.”

Brian looked like he was still going to protest, but Horvath put a comforting hand on the worried father’s shoulder and continued.

“Right now this guy is playing us and we need to turn that around. Once he’s got your money - assuming you’re still going forward with the ransom drop - we lose all leverage to force him to return the kid. So we need to use whatever edge we’re given to allow us to find him before that point.” This frank assessment, although commendably honest, did nothing to reassure Brian, who dropped down onto the nearest pew, his anger deflating and leaving him looking small and defeated. “Trust me, Kinney. We’ll use the next four days to intensify our investigation and make sure we have a rock solid plan in place before Tuesday. It’s the best hope we have to catch the person who took your son.”

///~///~

It took another hour or so for the police to finish up at the church. Brian stuck around, hoping against hope that there would be something else, some other clue, that they might find. Unfortunately, the church didn’t have any type of video surveillance on the premises and there didn’t seem to be any eyewitnesses that saw whoever had dropped off that envelope. The cops did their best, nevertheless - dusting pretty much everything in sight for fingerprints - but in the end, the note seemed like it would be the only real clue they’d be taking away from the scene. And that would need to be taken back to the lab for further processing. So eventually Brian was convinced to leave, still without any solid answers. 

By that point it was getting close to five pm. Justin had not only missed the entire day of school, he was now late getting home. He assumed that the constant vibrating of the phone in his pocket had something to do with this fact. He had no idea what he would tell his mother, who was sure to quiz him on where he’d been and why he hadn’t come home at his usual time. He’d received a few texts from Daphne throughout the afternoon, begging for updates, but he’d either put her off with vague answers or simply ignored her messages as well. Without any good news to relate, he didn’t much feel like saying anything, even to his best friend. But now that they weren’t needed at the church any longer, and he didn’t have any more practical assistance he could offer to Brian, it felt like maybe it was time for Justin to head home and deal with the fallout from his lost day. 

As they were walking out of the church together, Justin finally spoke up. “I hate to just abandon you like this, Brian, but I need to check in at home. I should have been back from school, like, an hour ago. My mom is probably freaking.”

Brian merely nodded without comment as he got in the driver’s side of the Jeep. Justin hesitated on the sidewalk next to the vehicle. He was trying to figure out where the closest bus stop was and if he had enough change on him to pay the fare. Then he remembered that he’d left his school bag back at the loft. 

Before he could say anything, though, Brian reached across and pushed open the passenger-side door. “Get in.”

Justin wasn’t gonna pass up a free ride so he followed directions without protest. They made a quick pit stop at the loft, picked up Justin's bag, and then headed off to the ‘Burbs. The trip was mostly silent - the only conversation being Justin’s hushed directions. Brian was close-lipped and emotionally distant the whole time. Justin let him be; it had been a long day and they were both spent, so it seemed wise not to push. 

“It’s that white brick, split-level on the right,” Justin announced when they eventually reached his block.

“. . . About fucking time. Another few miles and we’d be in Scranton,” Brian murmured as they pulled up in front of the house, the inner city boy obviously not used to commuting as far as the suburbs.

“I really appreciate the ride. It would have taken me at least an hour, maybe more, on the bus at this time of night,” Justin tried to placate Brian with gratitude, although without any noticeable response. Then the boy paused, struggling to find a way to word the rest of what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help today, Brian. And I’m REALLY sorry I didn’t come to you earlier with my concerns, no matter how unlikely it was that you’d believe me. I’ll . . . I’ll keep trying to reach out to whoever took Gus. If I discover anything more concrete I’ll let you know, okay?”

“You got a pen in that bag?” Brian asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Uh . . . Yeah.” Justin unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a blue ballpoint.

Brian lifted the lid of the center console and handed over a business card. 

“Write this down,” he ordered, dictating a phone number, which Justin jotted down on the back of the card. “Call me - Immediately! - if you see anything else in one of your fucking ‘visions’.”

Justin smiled sadly but nodded his agreement. “I promise.” Then he tore the card in half, keeping the bottom section which still showed Brian’s numbers, and scribbling something else on the half he subsequently handed back. “Here’s my number too; just in case you need it.”

Justin might have said more - hell, he might even have tried for a kiss goodbye - except that right then Justin noticed the curtains in the front window being pulled back and his father’s face appearing behind the glass. Craig Taylor didn’t look like he was in a good mood. Justin figured he was in enough trouble and probably shouldn’t push his luck with blatant homosexual displays in the front drive. So, with nothing more than a small wave and another sad smile, he got out of the Jeep. 

As he was closing the car door, Brian offered a brusque, “later.” Then the Jeep’s owner peeled away from the curb and was gone in mere seconds. Leaving Justin to face the reckoning inside on his own. 

“Justin! Finally. Where have you been?” Jennifer Taylor was in the doorway, hissing angrily at her son before Justin had even made it all the way up the walk. Once the door had been closed behind him, though, and there wasn’t any further risk that the neighbors might hear, her voice got much louder. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Why didn’t you answer?”

“And, before you answer,” Craig Taylor interposed while Justin was still trying to cobble together some sort of reply, “we already know you skipped classes today. The school called your mother first thing this morning. So don’t try and bullshit us.”

Justin would have known things were serious even without his empathic skills when his mother didn’t bother to correct his father’s bad language. Meanwhile, his senses were being deluged with a flood of reproach and disappointment - coming from his mother - and a dash of criticism and blame added in for good measure - directed his way from his father. It was pretty clear he was gonna be punished and, judging by his parents’ current mindset, things would only get worse if he tried to prevaricate. But how much of the truth he should reveal was the real question. Craig had only barely begun to deal with the concept of his son being gay, so confessing that he’d spent the day with his significantly older male lover, probably wasn’t wise. 

The situation called for some pretty tricky spin.

“Did you see the Amber Alert from this morning?” Justin asked, catching both parents off guard with his seeming non sequitur; Craig just looked confused, but Jennifer shook her head, ‘no’. “A little boy was taken while his mother was out jogging and it turns out that I sorta know the parents.” This was the tricky part, because Justin didn’t want to reveal precisely how he’d come to know Gus’ parents. “Lindsey, the mom, is an art teacher,” Justin offered, hoping they’d jump to the - wrong - conclusion that she was one of Justin’s art teachers at St. James’. “So, when I found out what happened, I decided to go offer whatever help I could.” Justin turned to his mother, whom he could sense was already starting to soften. “Sorry I didn’t call you, Mom. It was pretty intense over there and I forgot I had my phone turned off.”

The instantaneous upwelling of compassion and sympathy from Jennifer proved that Justin had read his mother well. She was already prepared to not just forgive Justin’s failings, but ask what she could do to help as well. Craig wasn’t going to be quite that easy though. Justin’s father was, at best, indifferent to the troubles some unknown family was facing; what mattered to Craig was the propriety and discipline of his own little clan. Justin’s supposedly charitable intentions didn’t justify his transgressions in the mind of the Taylor patriarch.

“That’s no excuse for skipping school, Justin,” Craig maintained stubbornly. “Or for not telling your parents where you were all day. You can’t just go running off half-cocked, traipsing all over creation on a school day, without permission. That is just unacceptable. I don’t care what your reasons were. School needs to come first, young man.”

When Craig got all self-righteous like that, Justin knew the best course of action was to just go along with him. “You’re right, Dad. I’m really sorry. I was just so upset by the news, I didn’t think.”

“You’re damn right, you didn’t think! Which is why you’re grounded for the rest of the weekend. That should give you plenty of time to THINK about how stupid this little stunt was,” Craig declared authoritatively. 

Justin groaned. “But, Dad, I promised I would go back and help out more tomorrow . . .”

“Tough! You should have thought of that before you skipped school.”

“Craig . . .” Jennifer started to intervene, only to be cut off as well.

“No, Jennifer. I’m putting my foot down. The boy needs to learn to think before he does something stupid. Now he has to suffer the consequences of his actions. End of discussion,” Craig declared, with the pompous air of a petty dictator, before pointing Justin towards the stairs. “Now, get up to your room and get started on all the classwork you missed.”

Justin sighed but knew better than to argue. He’d actually got off pretty easy, to be honest. If his father knew what he’d really been up to that day, or with whom, Craig would have had a complete meltdown. But to be stuck at home all weekend, when he knew how much Brian was freaking out, was hard to bear. Not that he’d been much help to Brian so far. Somehow, though, Justin couldn’t help feeling that, if he could just figure out what was intermittently blocking his empathic skills, he could make a real difference to the investigation. He could help Brian find his son and put the kidnapper in jail where the creep belonged. And his intuition told him that he wouldn’t figure out this mystery while he was grounded and locked away in his room.

At least his father hadn’t taken the truly drastic step of taking away Justin’s phone or computer. He could still touch base with Daphne and get all the assignments he’d missed that day. Maybe if he plowed through all his classwork, and could prove to his parents he was thoroughly caught up, they’d relent on the grounded thing? 

It was worth a shot, right? 

So Justin spent the next several hours wading through Chemistry and Calculus problems, filling out that week’s verb charts for Spanish III, completing the Civics class worksheet, and preparing a rough outline of the speech topic he’d been assigned for the class debate the following week. He didn’t need to bother with the assignment for his Art class, since he had plenty of material he could hand in for the perspective study they’d been assigned that day. Which left only English Lit and reading the three chapters of Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ that needed to be completed by Monday. Unfortunately, that was the kind of assignment Justin enjoyed the least. The book was a snooze, in his humble opinion. And the hot cocoa and cookies his kind-hearted mother had brought up for him just as he was delving into the boring, old tome didn’t help. 

Before he was a dozen pages into the first chapter, Justin’s eyes were drooping.

///~///~

“Damn it! Will you shut up already!” The angry voice cut through the high-pitched wails of the frantic infant lying in the old bassinet.

Justin could see the baby and it’s bed quite clearly. The red-faced and frantic infant was dressed only in a dingy onesie and a bulky disposable diaper that looked like it was a couple sizes too large. The wood frame of the bassinet was nicked and the paint was chipped in several places. The blanket that was lying, wadded up at the baby’s feet was stained with spots of something greasy and orangish. But other than the child and it’s direct surroundings, Justin couldn’t see much; everything else seemed blurred and murky and dimmed. Even the voices were distorted, like the sound of a muted trumpet, with a waa-waa quality that made the words difficult to understand unless you really concentrated.  

“What’s wrong with it?” One voice asked.

“How should I know?” Another voice answered. “Stupid brat won’t drink the damned formula I bought him. And that stuff was expensive too.”

“You should try adding some whiskey to the bottle. That’ll knock him right out.”

“You can’t give alcohol to a baby. It’s not good for him.”

“Always worked for me.”

From the corner of his eye, Justin could see a shadowy figure moving around the edge of the room. Then it was gone and there was only the baby left in the picture. 

“Come on. Just take the damn bottle, already,” the voice ordered, as a disembodied hand shoved a bottle into the open, caterwauling mouth of the baby. 

This time it seemed to work. Justin watched as the baby mouthed at the plastic nipple a few times, not really interested, before finally giving in, latching on, and swallowing. Slowly the baby’s hands raised up and grasped onto the bottle, supporting its weight without the need for further assistance. 

“Finally.” The adult-sized hand that had been holding the bottle was withdrawn. “You’re a spoiled little brat - you know that, right? So much fucking work. High maintenance. Just like your damned father. But it’ll be worth it when I’ve got the money.”

The baby, of course, didn’t answer. He seemed exhausted and was barely able to keep his tired little eyes open while he finished his dinner. When the infant paused and the bottle seemed like it was about to fall, the hand reached down and shoved it back into place, causing the baby to resume his sucking.

“That’s right. Eat up. Gotta keep you fed and happy so you don’t break all our damned eardrums with your screaming. I can’t be up all night, dealing with your shit; some of us still have to work for a living,” the voice complained even as the baby began to drift off to sleep. “Not for long, though. I’m done slaving away for minimum wage while your daddy gets everything his perverted little heart desires. It's time he shared the wealth a little. Right, brat? It’s time he HURTS as much as the rest of us . . .”

The last few words were growled out a little louder than necessary and either that, or the vitriol of the words themselves, startled the baby fully awake again. He began to whimper and sob. Which clearly was not acceptable to the kidnapper.

“Fuck it! Where’s that damned whiskey?” the voice yelled as the scene dissolved into a swirling fog of blackness. 

At the same time, Justin himself was also startled awake by the rattling of his cell phone, which was vibrating away on the edge of the desk where he’d been sitting when he dozed off. He picked it up, tapped at the icon to accept the call, and started to mumble a hello, when he was interrupted by an agitated shouting.

“I saw him,” Brian's voice boomed over the phone line, almost deafening Justin, who had to pull the phone away from his ear. “I saw Gus. Again. Why the fuck is this happening, Justin?”

///~///~

///~///~

 Chapter 12 - That’s It!

Justin didn’t wake up until late on Saturday morning. Not only had he been up half the night but, since he was still grounded, there was no real reason to get up early. At least, once he’d finally talked Brian down after the vision they’d shared in the middle of the night, he’d managed to get through the rest of the night without any further mental field trips.

The youth rolled over in bed and snuggled deeper under the covers, not eager to leave the warmth of his bed. A quick glance over at the window revealed heavy, ominous-looking clouds. If it was going to snow, maybe being stuck inside wasn’t such a bad thing after all? Then Justin remembered the panic-stricken father he’d had to talk down only a few hours past and knew he couldn’t just sit around all day doing nothing, regardless of the weather report. 

Brian needed him. Gus needed him. He had to find a way to get out of being grounded. For that, he needed a plan.

Grabbing his copy of Ulysses off the floor - where it had landed sometime in the wee hours of the morning when he’d finally wound down enough from his disturbing vision to fall asleep - he headed downstairs. 

“Good morning, Honey.” Justin found his mother seated at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug of coffee and reading the newspaper. “It’s about time you rolled out of bed.” She pointed him towards the stove. “There’s still some eggs left. You can make some toast to go with it and the orange juice is in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” Justin popped two slices of wheat bread into the toaster, pulled out a plate from the cupboard, and began to scrape the remaining scrambled eggs out of the pan. “Where’s Molly? She didn’t come in to bug me once this morning.”

“She had a Lego Robotics thing with her Girl Scout troop today. Your father dropped her off on his way to the store,” Jennifer answered, smiling over at her eldest child. “You should have seen how excited she was when she and your father left. She said she was going to build the next Mars Rover.”

“Geek,” Justin commented.

“Well I, for one, am fully in favor of more geeks in the family,” Jenn maintained as she returned to her paper. 

Justin didn’t bother to respond; he was too busy devouring his breakfast. But as soon as the beast in his belly was at least partially appeased, he started to think about his Help Brian and Find Gus Plan. Unfortunately, step one of that plan involved somehow getting out of being grounded, which wasn’t going to be easy. From past experience, he was well aware of how infrequently his mother would ever go against her husband’s directives. Jennifer might try to talk Craig out of some of his more draconian actions, but she rarely countered them once he’d laid down the law the way he had the day before. At least not overtly. But maybe there was a way to tweak things just a little?

As soon as Justin finished his breakfast he jumped up to rinse his dishes and put them in the dishwasher - not something he usually bothered with, but getting on his mother’s good side by voluntarily doing chores wasn’t a bad idea, right? - and then he helped himself to a cup of his mom’s coffee before joining her back at the table.

“I’m really sorry about not letting you know where I was going yesterday, Mom,” he started off, hoping he sounded adequately apologetic. “I realize that was inconsiderate. I just wanted to help though, you know?” 

Justin could feel his mother’s empathy levels ramping up. Jennifer smiled at her son and nodded understandingly. He sensed there was a ‘but’ coming, though, and hurried on to the topic he really wanted to discuss. 

“I want you to know that I stayed up late and made sure I got caught up on all the classwork I missed. I’m 100% up to date on everything. Except for the book presentation project that Daphne, September and I are supposed to prepare for Ulysses. We were planning to work on that together this weekend.” 

Justin consoled himself that he wasn’t lying, since they really had planned to start talking about what they’d do on their project this weekend . . . Even though the project itself wasn’t due for another three weeks. 

“And I know I’m grounded, but do you think I could still go over to Daph’s this afternoon for a bit? I don’t want to be the reason the whole group gets behind,” he pleaded, putting on the most innocent look he could manufacture.

“I don’t know, Justin. Your father was pretty adamant about you learning your lesson . . .” Jennifer started to waffle.

“I know,” Justin responded, trying to sound reasonable rather than manipulative, “but I thought the lesson I was supposed to learn was how important my education was, right? So, how is failing on this book presentation going to further that aim? Dad said he wanted me to spend the weekend doing my homework. Well, this is part of my homework, so . . .”

Jennifer sighed and nodded. Justin had to squelch the smile that wanted to burst out across his face; he could already feel that he’d won her over, but it wouldn’t do to gloat. Instead, he pretended to wait patiently for his mother’s decision. 

“Well, I don’t want you to let the girls down,” Jennifer began. “I suppose your father wouldn’t object too much . . . As long as all your other work is caught up?”

“It is. I stayed up late last night and got it all done. I’m even a couple of chapters ahead in English.”

She totally capitulated. “Fine. You can go. But you better get an ‘A’ on that presentation or your father will read you the riot act.”

Justin jumped up and skipped around the table to hug his mother. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sure we’ll rock the project - like always.”

Twenty minutes later he was dressed and showered and jogging up the front walk to his best friend’s house with a huge smile on his face. He was such a frequent visitor to the house that Daphne’s mother didn’t even look surprised when she opened the door. She simply offered a smile and said a quick hello as the youth sidled past her, headed for the stairs. As expected on a lazy Saturday, Daphne was sprawled out on her bed, headphones leaking some loud heavy-bass beats, while devouring a tattered paperback romance novel.

Justin plopped down next to her, startling the girl out of her fantasy world with a, “hey.”

“Well, it’s about time you got your butt over here and explained what the hell happened yesterday!” Daph exclaimed, hitting him on the shoulder with her book. 

“I texted you, like, a dozen times yesterday.”

“‘Shit’s getting intense’, ‘you’re gonna scream when I tell you what happened’, and ‘I fucking got grounded. Tell you tomorrow’, don’t count, you loser,” Daph replied, donning the same disapproving look her mother used to get when they were kids and would break something while rough-housing. “What happened, Justin? How did Brian take your revelation? Did he believe you? I saw another report about the kidnapping on the news last night but they didn’t say much; only asked that anyone who might have been at the park or seen something come forward. Doesn’t seem like that would have kept you all fucking day. Especially not if Brian thought you were full of shit and sent you packing. Come on. Spill already!”

“OMG, Daph, you’re never gonna believe everything that happened. Even I don’t believe some of it, let alone understand what the hell is happening. Something seriously weird is going on . . .” 

Whereupon, Justin launched into a full bore, minute-by-minute, explanation of everything that had happened to him the prior day, not neglecting even the most intimate details. Daphne was spellbound, even forgetting to make her usual supportive yet distracting exclamations in the middle of the narrative. When it was done, they both just sat there in silence for a long, long time, waiting for their brains to finish processing the story.

“So, you see why I couldn’t put all that in a text?” Justin eventually summed it all up.

“Hell, yeah! Talk about freaky weird shit,” Daph echoed her best friend’s confusion. “Brian is sharing your visions? How’s that work?”

“No idea!” Justin slumped back against Daphne‘s pillows, his face screwed up in consternation. “But it’s more than just that . . . it’s almost like Brian is the catalyst. Sort of like he’s the on/off switch to my brain.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How is Brian turning your brain on and off?”

“I know, right? It’s crazy. But it’s almost like, when Brian closes himself off emotionally from me . . .” As Justin worked to verbalize the vague impressions he’d been struggling to synthesize all night, it suddenly clicked in his mind. “That’s it!” Justin sat up and grabbed both of Daphne’s hands with his own, physically communicating his excitement through his touch. “That’s exactly what it is! Somehow, Brian and I are connected. And when he cuts himself off from me emotionally, he also blocks whatever I’m feeling, including my visions. But when he opens up, or let’s his guard down in some other way, we connect again, and I also connect to the kidnapper. Brian is the link.” 

Daph was now bubbling over with a matching level of excitement. “That totally makes sense; Brian was always your connection to the kidnapper. And you didn’t start having these weird dreams until after you two got together. You two are, like, meant to be!”

Justin laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, Daph. At least not yet. And if Brian ever heard you say something like that he’d laugh in your face. But . . .” He thought a minute more, finally coming to the inescapable conclusion. “I think you’re right about us being connected somehow. Which means, the only way we’ll figure this out . . .”

“. . . And find the kidnapper . . .” Daphne jumped in, totally in tune, to the point that she was finishing her buddy’s sentences.

“. . . Is if we figure out how to make that link work on demand,” Justin concluded with a growing sense of conviction. “Shit! I’ve got to get over there and try to find a way to explain all this to Brian . . . Damn it, though. He’s not going to like this idea much. The opening up thing really isn’t Brian, but . . . Fuck it! I just know that’s the answer. He’s gonna have to open up and help me or we’ll never find the person who took Gus.”

Justin leapt up, off the bed, and was already halfway to the door of Daphne’s room before he remembered to say goodbye. 

“Sorry to dump on you and run, Daph.”

“Forget it. You’ve got a little baby to save. Go do your thing.”

“Thanks, Daphne. And thanks for listening. I couldn’t have figured it out without you. Explaining shit to you always helps me work out whatever it is that’s bugging me. I owe you.” Justin gave her his biggest, most grateful smile and got a similar response. “Oh yeah, in case my mom calls, I told her I was coming over here to work on our Ulysses project. It was the only way she’d let me out of being grounded. Will you cover for me?”

“No problem. Now go!” Daphne ordered, getting up so she could physically push Justin out the door. “Just don’t forget to call and let me know if it works!”

///~///~

Justin had to take two different busses to get from Daphne’s to Liberty Avenue and it took forever. He missed the first bus and had to wait twenty-seven minutes for the next one to come by. Then he also missed the connection and had to wait another fifteen minutes. He really did need to work on talking his father into buying him a car. Maybe as a graduation present? Cuz, this shit was ridiculous. 

While he was cooling his heels - literally, since the weather was getting nastier by the minute and the light drifting of snow from earlier in the day was getting heavier - huddled in the meager shelter at the University of Pittsburgh transit station bus stop, waiting for the #71, Justin got his first glimpse that day of the kidnapper. It was only a brief flash; an image of baby Gus sitting in a high-chair with gloopy orange baby food smeared all over his face and hands. There was no sound and the images were even hazier and less focused than usual. Plus, it happened so fast that Justin didn’t have time to take note of anything other than the baby at the center of the tableau. But it was at least a little reassuring to be able to confirm Gus was still okay.

When he finally reached Liberty Avenue, he ran the four blocks from the bus stop to Brian’s loft in the heart of the Strip District. He was panting so hard that, when he rang the buzzer, he could barely respond to the voice that answered. After he managed a short “Hi. It’s Justin!” though, the street door was released and he ran the rest of the way up the stairs. 

“I did it! I figured it out! I know what we have to do, Brian . . .” Justin was burbling happily, even before he ran through the already ajar door. 

Only to be stopped short when he abruptly realized that they were not alone.

“What’s HE doing here?” the scowling brunet standing right in front of him next to the kitchen island said the minute Justin skidded to a stop in the entryway. “Is this kid stalking you or something, Brian? Didn’t I see him in the car with you yesterday morning? I know I didn’t recognize him right away, but it came to me later - he’s the same kid you fucked the night Gus was born, right? - so why is he still hanging around? Because I know you’ve already had him. Do you need me to get rid of him for you?”

“Now, now, Michael. No need to be so hasty,” replied the tall, lanky, sandy-haired queen who unfolded himself from the barstool on the other side of the island to come around and check out Justin more closely. “Just because Brian’s finished with the boy, doesn’t mean the rest of us might not want to get better acquainted with such a pretty little morsel.” The man came to stand in front of Justin and held out his hand, palm down and wrist cocked, just like a Southern Belle from the past. “Emmett Honeycutt, at your service, Sweetie,” he drawled. 

Justin didn’t know if he was supposed to shake the proffered hand or kiss it, so he compromised by shoving both his own hands in his jacket pockets and taking two precautionary steps backwards.

“Not your usual type, Brian, but I approve,” the third man in the loft, a kind-eyed but otherwise nondescript man a couple years older than the others, commented. “Personally, I’ve always been a fan of the golden, creme-filled, Twinkie type. Provided they’re legal,” the man added, looking at Justin suspiciously.

“I turned eighteen three weeks ago,” Justin reassured him, earning a grudgingly approving nod from the laconic man.

“I don’t care how old he is, Brian doesn’t need some twink slobbering after him right now. He’s got enough shit to think about, what with Gus and all,” the first of the trio declared, moving over to take hold of Justin’s shoulder and using that handhold to push him back out the door. 

Luckily, Brian chose that moment to get up from his desk and come intervene. “Back off, Mikey.” Brian insinuated himself bodily between Justin and his would-be bouncer. “Justin's cool. He just . . . He came by to offer his support about Gus.” 

“And you happily took advantage of his kind offer, I’m sure,” Emmett declared, sidling around Brian to come up next to the newcomer and snake his arm around Justin’s shoulders.

“Hands off, Honeycutt,” Brian ordered, reaching out to grab the hem of Justin’s shirt and pull the boy away from the other’s clutches. 

“Don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’,” the big queen pouted. “But, whatever. We didn’t come by to play with Brian’s new pet twink, anyway. We came by to offer a distraction and tempt Brian off to the Tea Dance at Woody’s. So, who’s ready to go get our groove thing on?”

“I’m not going to any fucking Tea Dance like a total loser,” Brian insisted, shaking his head and shooting a withering look at all his friends. 

“Come on, Brian.” Michael stepped forward so he was right in Brian’s face. “You can’t sit around here worrying all day. You said yourself that there’s nothing you can do until they do this ransom drop on Tuesday. If you stay holed up in the loft till then, you’ll just work yourself into a complete freak out.” Michael was already pulling on Brian’s sleeve, tying to urge him towards the door, and in the process separating him further from Justin. “Come on. I’m sure there’ll be at least a couple of fuckable guys there who will help take your mind off everything.”

“You should come too, Sweetie,” Emmett suggested, stepping up behind the blond youth, close enough that he was able to wrap both hands around Justin’s chest and pull the boy tightly against him. “You can show us your moves,” Emmett used his hips, thrusting against the boy’s bounteous bubble butt, to force Justin’s own hips forward. “And I’m sure there’ll be scads of guys there who’ll want to take a turn with such a toothsome tyro. The masses will just eat a sweet little thing like you right up. It’ll be a blast.”

Brian immediately pulled free of Michael’s grasp and stepped over to where Emmett was groping the smaller blond. “Seriously, Honeycutt, you need to get your paws off.” Brian intentionally peeled the other man’s hands from their grip on Justin’s shoulders. “The kid is NOT interested in being molested by Pittsburgh’s nellyiest bottom.” The big stud proceeded to pull the boy free and then wrapped his own long arms protectively around Justin.

“Possessive much, Bri?” the older guy standing off to the side asked, with a snarky smirk.

Brian just squeezed Justin tighter and scowled at everyone.

“Whatever. Let’s just go already,” Michael insisted with a sigh and a disgusted shake of his head. “You can even bring the stalker, if he wants to come. I don’t care. But we don’t need to sit around here all afternoon discussing it, do we?” The annoyed man pulled a black hoodie down over his head, and smoothed out the fabric, making sure the ‘Ironmen’ logo across his chest was straight, before marching over to grab Brian’s leather jacket off the hook next to the door. “You coming?”

“Fine. But only because I know you’ll never stop giving me shit if I don’t,” Brian replied, accepting the jacket from his friend and then turning to look directly at Justin. “We can discuss whatever you wanted to tell me later, right?”

For a brief moment, Justin could feel Brian open up to him, the wave of anxiety and helplessness palpable, just under the seemingly self-assured surface. Brian might be putting on a brave face for his friends, pretending to be less concerned than he really was, but underneath it all, he was just barely concealing his near-panic. He could tell that Brian desperately wanted to know whatever it was Justin had come to say, even while, at the same time, he didn’t want his friends to know just how desperate he really was. Justin’s heart melted just a little more for this conflicted man. And the youth knew he couldn’t simply abandon Brian. He had to stick around and do what he could to support Brian while the man struggled to maintain his facade of impenetrability in front of his well-intentioned, if misguided, friends. 

Hopefully they could escape from Michael’s ‘distraction’ sooner rather than later. Then they could try out Justin’s idea. And, hopefully, they’d be able to connect with the kidnapper for long enough to pin down where Gus was being held. 

Because finding his son - not some trip to the bar to drink away his troubles - was the only thing that would really help Brian.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 13 - Just Relax.

Unfortunately, getting Brian away from his friends and back to the loft proved more difficult than Justin had expected. 

Back in the fall, when Justin had been trying to win Brian’s attentions, he’d followed the man around for a couple of nights - or, as Michael put it, he’d stalked Brian - and gotten a glimpse of the Stud in his natural environment. He’d noted the heavy drinking, the drug use, and the bottomless buckets of boys. But he’d never seen Brian quite so out of control. That afternoon there was a desperation in the man that was almost painful to watch. Brian easily gave in to his well-meaning but deluded friends’ offers to buy him drink after drink after drink. Before the clock struck two in the afternoon, he was already more than half drunk. But getting drunk wasn’t really helping much, or at least that’s what Justin’s keen senses were telling him.

Strangely enough, getting drunk didn’t help lower Brian’s emotional barriers. If anything, he got even more closed off from Justin the more he drank. He became a virtual wall of blackness; the only emotion Justin could read from him was a wretched hopelessness that blocked out everything else. It appeared that Brian was even better at holding his emotions than he was at holding his liquor.

So much for Justin’s plan to stick around and help support Brian. If he couldn’t get in at all, he couldn’t very well provide any comfort. Especially not once Brian had moved on from drinking to his next, even more destructive, coping mechanism: Sex.

Brian had been getting cruised from the moment they walked into Woody’s. Justin figured it was par for the course with a man as gorgeous and compelling as Brian Kinney. But, at least at first, Brian had ignored the stream of guys walking past. He’d paid attention to Justin. He’d made sure Justin had a drink and that Emmett wasn’t hitting on the boy too blatantly. As he got more and more soused, though, Brian got more and more distracted. Before long, the time Brian was spending returning the looks from the guys cruising him outlasted the time he spent paying attention to Justin. 

The Gang didn’t help matters much, egging Brian on, pointing out new hot guys to tempt him with, and even betting on which trick Brian would take on first. So, when a particularly attractive muscle queen wearing a Lycra shirt that molded perfectly to his well-defined pecs - whom Michael had waved over with a gesture towards Brian, as if offering up his inebriated friend for the taking - stopped next to their table and smiled down at Brian with a suggestive grin, the stud was off in a heartbeat. And all Justin could do was watch as Brian followed in the other man’s footsteps, heading towards the men’s room, without another look back at the blond youth.

Things deteriorated from there.

Meanwhile, Justin tried to keep his head down while he fended off his own bevy of admirers. Emmett hadn’t been wrong about all the attention he’d get from the guys at the Tea Dance. It was almost like there was a neon sign above his head flashing ‘Fresh Meat’ or something. He’d been cruised, had phone numbers shoved in his pockets, been brushed up against, fondled, and even pinched, so many times he’d lost count. And that was before Brian had disappeared on him. After Brian fell down the rabbit hole of his drunken lechery, Justin was fairly swamped with guys trying to get into his jeans. Brian’s friends were no help at all; they were too busy laughing at the antics. Needless to say, this was pissing Justin off.

The final straw came when a huge black man with a shaved head and biceps bigger around than Justin’s whole head cornered the boy next to the bar and looked like he would refuse to take ‘no’ as an answer. Justin had already slapped away the man’s roaming hands two or three times as the creep tried to insist that he needed to see if Justin really was that pale all over. He was starting to panic a little by that point because what he could read of the guy’s emotional state proved that he wasn’t at all above taking what he wanted regardless of Justin’s willingness or lack thereof. 

So, when Justin saw Brian stumbling out of the backroom towards the bar one more time, the kid decided that enough was enough. He reached for the whiskey sour glass another patron had left on the bar nearby, threw the whole drink in Mr. Insistent’s face, and while the big guy was still blinded by the stinging alcohol in his eyes, promptly kneed the big lug in the balls as hard as he possibly could. Then Justin grabbed Brian by the hand and forcibly towed the barely ambulatory drunk out of the bar, ignoring Michael’s complaining, which followed them out the door. 

He didn’t think either of them were in any shape to drive, so they ended up walking all the way back to the loft through the snow-clogged streets. The walk was probably a good idea, though, because the cold and exercise went a good way towards clearing Brian’s head. By the time they made it all the way home, the big guy was becoming much more stable on his own feet and had ceased his drunken mumbling. The secure warmth and empty quiet of the loft was a welcome experience for them both once they were inside and the door shut behind them. 

Brian went directly for the sofa, collapsing with a groan. Justin detoured past the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge along the way, and then joined his host. Brian groaned again when Justin’s weight on the cushion next to him jostled his head. 

“Uhhhhhhngh. Why do I do this shit to myself,” he moaned.

Justin unscrewed the cap off one of the water bottles and held it out in front of Brian’s squinting eyes. “Here. Drink.” Brian grabbed the bottle and took a swig of the cold water then moaned again. “They say the majority of the symptoms associated with a hangover are caused not by the alcohol itself but by the dehydration associated with drinking.”

“Thank you, Mr. PSA,” Brian grumbled with another pathetic whine, but immediately went back to suckling at his water bottle.

Which was when Justin had another of those intrusive flashes where his immediate surroundings were momentarily replaced by an image of somewhere else. This time the room he was looking into was dark, as if the space didn’t have any windows to let in even the faint, snow-laden, winter light. In the darkest corner of the dark room was a wooden box of some kind lying on the dingy carpet - maybe a drawer taken out of a larger dresser? - filled with a pillow and an assortment of tattered blankets. And, amid that fluffy nest, Justin glimpsed a dark-haired baby boy. The child was lying there all alone. His face was blotchy, as if he’d been crying, and a bubble of snot was crusted under the little nose as the infant sucked at a bottle just like his father. The similarity between father and son right at that moment was so obvious it was breathtaking. 

But that was all Justin got; just that one brief glimpse. Then the vision was gone again, causing the empath to gasp from the abrupt loss of the connection. Every time this happened, Justin felt almost like Gus was being physically torn out of his grasp. If he could only hold onto the vision, Gus would be safe. He’d be found. He’d be returned to his father. That Justin’s visions continued to fail, felt like a personal lapse. One which he was determined to correct.

“What?” Brian asked, pulled out of his post-drunk misery by Justin's audible inhalation. “Did you see something? Is it Gus?” Brian tossed aside the now-empty water bottle and sat up straighter, pulling at Justin’s arm to get the younger man’s attention. “Tell me what you just saw, damn it!”

“Yes. Yes, I saw Gus,” Justin replied, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ve been getting brief flashes of him all day. But there’s nothing substantial. Nothing that would help me find him.” 

“Fuck,” Brian moaned, once more sinking back into the cushions of the sofa in inebriated dejection. “Poor Sonny Boy . . . I feel fucking useless . . . Can’t do anything . . .”

Which was exactly the opening that Justin had been waiting for. 

“There IS something you can do, Brian,” Justin broached, turning so he could appeal to his companion more directly. “That’s actually why I came over here today; I think I figured it out. I think the connection - the reason I’m seeing all these visions of Gus - is YOU! You’re the link.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brian shook his head and screwed up his face in a dismissive frown. “I’m not some damned ‘missing link’. That’s bullshit.”

“No, you are, Brian. I’m sure of it,” Justin insisted, scooting even closer to the man he was trying to convince. “Just listen to me. Please.” Brian rolled his eyes and looked away, but Justin wasn’t deterred. “My friend, Daphne, and I figured it out this morning. See, I never had shit like this happen to me until after I met you . . . Yeah, I was able to read people’s emotions, but it was NOTHING like this. But then, almost immediately after I met you, I started dreaming about you and seeing these visions of whoever it is that ended up taking Gus. And the only link is YOU.”

“Fuck that. You can’t blame your deviant, perverted brain functions on me,” Brian complained. 

Brian spent a few moments struggling to get off the couch, pushing away the restraining hands when Justin tried to hold him in place, and stumbled over to the drinks cart on the far side of the dining room table. Justin slumped on the sofa, annoyed but not yet ready to give up. He just had to think of a way to convince Brian to try the experiment he had in mind. But it wasn’t going to work if Brian drank himself into a coma. So, with a sigh, Justin straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin a little higher, and got up to trail after his reluctant assistant. 

“Stop, Brian,” Justin grabbed the bottle of Beam out of Brian’s hands before he could pour any of the amber liquor into the waiting tumbler. “Just listen to me for a minute. Please. I think I know how to find Gus, but I can’t do it without your help.” That seemed to get Brian’s attention. “Look, I know this all sounds a bit fantastical, but it’s the only explanation that makes ANY sense. And if I’m right, we CAN find Gus, but we’ll have to work together.”

Brian exhaled with a subvocal grunt but didn’t struggle as Justin began to tow him back towards the couch. Justin took that as a good sign. Now he just had to figure out how to put his nebulous theories into words. Words that would convince this emotionally closed-off man to finally, and fully, open up to him.

As soon as they were seated again, Justin started in on explaining his hypothesis. “So, the way I figure it, that first night we spent together, we somehow connected.” Brian snorted, mumbling a quiet ‘duh’, which caused Justin to smile, but didn’t stop him for long. “No. I mean, like, REALLY connected - not just physically but emotionally as well - which is why it was so fucking amazing, by the way. I’ve never connected like that with anyone else before, Brian, so it’s no wonder that I kept seeing you in my dreams afterwards.” 

Brian shrugged, a smug grin on his lips, like he was used to being dreamed about by his former lovers.

“Stop. It’s more than that,” Justin insisted, continuing. “I think . . . I think you might be an empath too, Brian.”

That earned Justin a scoffing sputter from the man and Justin felt a wave of disbelief wash over him coming from Brian’s direction.

“Would you please just listen before you form an opinion,” Justin demanded a little more petulantly than before. “Because I think it’s that connection between us that’s going to help us find your son.” His statement caused Brian to finally shut up. “The way I see it is this; I’ve never connected to anyone like I did with you because I’ve never met another empath as strong as I am. And it’s that connection that’s linking me in to these visions of Gus. Because there’s no other reason why *I* would be seeing someone going after YOUR son, Brian. I mean, except for those few brief moments at the hospital, I have no connection to your son. And I sure as hell don’t have any connection to whoever it is that took your son. But YOU do. So see, it has to be you; you’re the one connecting me to Gus and the kidnapper. There’s no other reason I would be seeing all these things. I’m having these visions of Gus BECAUSE of my connection to you. Which also explains how you’ve occasionally managed to somehow see into MY dreams.” 

Justin stopped, looking searchingly into Brian’s face, trying to read him. Trying to see if the brunet was buying the explanation he’d offered up. Unfortunately, it seemed like Brian’s reaction had been to clamp down even tighter on his emotions than usual. Justin was sensing not just a blank wall, but an almost repellant sensation, as if Brian were trying to actively push him away. All of this just served to further confirm his earlier suspicions, though. If Brian weren’t a closeted empath, he wouldn’t have that kind of emotional power. Brian could deny it all he wanted - to Justin as well as to himself - but all the evidence pointed to the very thing he was trying to refute.

“Even assuming this fairy tale you’ve invented is true,” Brian responded, his words conveying the dismissive attitude he was trying to block out, “how the fuck does that help us find Gus? So far your fucking ‘missing link’ hasn’t been that reliable.”

“Exactly!” Justin pressed. “Our connection isn’t working to let me see Gus because YOU keep trying to block me out. Just like you’re doing right now.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything,” Brian maintained.

“Yes, Brian, you are. You’re blocking me. Maybe not consciously, but I can feel it. All I’m getting from you right now is this blankness. It’s like you’re not even there. You’re just a big, emotional nothing. Which I’ve never experienced before, either. Only another empath could have that much control over their emotions; enough to be able to block me out. Most other folks are so emotionally unaware of themselves they don’t even know I’m reading them. But you . . . You are actively blocking me, Brian. And I think it’s that blocking that’s cutting me off from seeing Gus’ kidnapper.”

Brian continued to shake his head, looking everywhere but at Justin, with his mouth set in a stern line of disbelief. Justin was willing to wait him out, though. He’d said his piece and offered up his argument. It was the only logical explanation he could see. Now it was up to Brian to decide if he was going to continue on his stubborn, emotionally closed-off path, or if he’d open himself up to the possibility that Justin was offering, and along with it, the possibility of finding his son before it was too late. 

It took Brian a full five minutes of deep thought before he finally spoke up. “This is total bullshit, you know. I’m not some fucking empath. I don’t even believe you’re a damned empath. It’s all a bunch of new wave, touchy-feely, nonsense. It’s like some fucking Sci-Fi Channel crap . . .” Justin held his breath, waiting for Brian to come to some conclusion, and hoping for Gus’ sake the man wasn’t as obdurate as he appeared on the surface. “But . . . Fuck it all! . . . It’s not like I can do anything else to help my Sonny Boy until fucking Tuesday, so . . . So, what does your ridiculous theory say we should do about all this, huh?”

Inside, Justin was jumping for joy and doing a mental victory lap in celebration that Brian was at least willing to listen to him. He knew this was going to work. He just had to figure out how to break through Brian’s heretofore impenetrable wall of emotionlessness. 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure what we need to do,” Justin began to outline his idea now that he had Brian’s tacit compliance, “but it just feels like, when you get all defensive - for whatever reason - and close yourself off to me emotionally, it blocks me from sensing the kidnapper. It’s only when YOU are emotionally open, when you let your guard down, that I’m getting these tiny glimpses into what he’s doing. Soooo . . . Basically, what we need to do is figure out a way to get you to drop your emotional barriers and let me in all the way so I can use our connection to get to the kidnapper,” Justin concluded.

Another scoffing exhalation evidenced Brian’s skepticism, but even so, he didn’t pull away from Justin, which the boy took as a hopeful sign.

“So, if I’ve got this straight,” Brian summarized, “I’ve got to ‘open myself’ to your empathic abilities so you can link through me to the pervert who took my son and then you’re going to mine that connection to somehow locate the fucking kidnapper . . . Is that right”

“Yeah. Basically . . .”

“This is totally, fucking, insane. You realize that, right?”

“You got any better suggestions?”

Brian sagged even deeper into the couch cushions with a sigh, shook his head, and even rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. It might not be a rousing endorsement but Justin would take what he could get. Anything short of actual hostility would work for him. 

Now came the hardest part; figuring out how to put his theory into action.

“Whatever. Just . . . What do you want me to do?” Brian capitulated.

“Actually, I don’t really know,” Justin conceded with an awkward smile. “I guess . . . Maybe . . . Just relax and try to open up so I can make a solid connection?”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Brian mumbled, even as he let Justin pull him bodily around so they were facing each other, sitting sideways on the sofa. “The shit I let myself be talked into . . .”

“Stop with the negativity,” Justin ordered as he took both of Brian’s hands in his own. “It doesn’t help.” Brian sighed again but didn’t say anything more, so Justin continued. “Okay. Just . . . Just relax while I try to reach out to you.”

“Relax? That’s it?” a still skeptical Brian asked. “I guess I can try . . .”

Justin kept ahold of both of Brian‘s hands as the two men squirmed around on the couch, trying to find the most comfortable and relaxed positions. Eventually they fell still. Brian looked up, staring directly into Justin‘s eyes, seemingly searching for something there. Justin refused to look away, holding himself as open as possible, and hoping to lead by example. But even then there was a palpable edge of resistance coming off his reluctant subject. Justin griped the two large hands even tighter with his own, trying to visualize the connection he was hoping to make, and letting all his attention focus on the man sitting in front of him.

Several long, tedious, minutes elapsed without any noticeable change before Brian spoke up again. “Is it working?”

“No. Not exactly . . .” Justin reached out mentally, one more time, and still felt the same resistance. “You do understand what the word ‘relax’ means, right?”

“Yes, twat. I have a Communications degree, you know. I do understand the meaning of the word ‘relax’,” Brian rejoined snarkily.

“Well, then, do it already,” Justin grumbled, shaking his head and trying once more to focus. “You’re about as relaxed as a stiff prick . . .”

Justin’s little joke got a snicker out of the tense man, which helped at least a little in the relaxation department.

“Try this,” Justin suggested. “Try visualizing a door in your mind. Then, reach out towards that door, grab a hold of the door knob, and open it. See yourself letting me in . . .”

Justin sensed a little spurt of annoyance from his test subject, which was at least some progress. He continued to hold Brian‘s hands, trying to impart a sense of relaxation through his touch. Unfortunately, all he got back was a muddled, unfocused, semi-inebriated, haze. Justin couldn’t tell if Brian’s stubborn refusal to open himself up was intentional, or just some unconscious defense mechanism, but it looked like he had his work cut out for him.

Then the young empath had an inspiration. Instead of trying to force himself into Brian‘s mind, he mentally relaxed himself, and pictured himself inviting the older man’s consciousness into his own mind. At the same time he physically relaxed his own body, leaning back until he was lying against the arm of the couch, and pulling Brian’s body after him until the larger man was laying on top of him. Which definitely seem to help relax Brian, at least physically. Their bodies being in physical contact felt natural to both of them, and before you knew it, Brian had made himself completely comfortable. His lanky form was pressed all along Justin‘s torso, his head resting atop the smaller man’s chest. Justin let go of Brian‘s arms and wrapped his arms around the larger pair of shoulders, getting them both as comfortable as possible. 

And it seemed to be working too. At least at first. Justin could feel the tension and stress of the day draining out of the big, strong shoulders. He felt the long arms and legs noticeably loosening. He felt Brian’s weight becoming imperceptibly greater as gravity pulled their bodies closer together. He even felt the first vestiges of cracks opening in Brian’s emotional barriers, and he diligently applied himself to widening those minuscule openings.

And it was all going so well . . . until he heard the first tiny, snuffing snores.

Apparently, Justin’s relaxation techniques had been too effective. Either that, or Brian’s afternoon of heavy drinking had finally taken its toll. Somehow, though, the frustrating man had managed to fall sound asleep with all his defensive walls still up and infuriatingly intact, leaving Justin lying there, trapped under one hundred and eighty pounds of passed out drunk.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 14 - No Son Of Mine.

So, falling asleep before eight in the evening after a drunken afternoon leads to many unpleasant things. It leads to waking up really, really early the following morning. It leads to three am puking. It leads to being hungover when its still not even light out. It leads to a stiff neck and sore back from falling asleep on the couch, which in turn leads to grumbling and muttering and complaining after the hangover victim eventually stumbles off to bed. And, when all these symptoms are accompanied by an unwelcome and overly solicitous house guest, it may even result in uncontrollable bouts of angry seething and repeated warnings to ‘fuck off already’. 

Unfortunately for Justin, he couldn’t just fuck off and leave Brian to enjoy his hangover in peace. Not only was it still too early for any buses to be running, but one glance out the window revealed that it would likely be hours before the snowplows had the city dug out after the prior day’s storm. He was now regretting that text he’d sent to his mother the previous evening letting her know he was going to stay put where he was, citing the snow as an excuse; especially since he hadn’t accomplished his main purpose of emotionally connecting with Brian in order to try and locate Gus. Yeah, being snowbound with a grouchy, hungover, and generally antagonistic Brian Kinney wasn’t the kind of sleepover he’d hoped for. Mostly, though, Justin tried to just make himself as unobtrusive as possible and wait out the worst of Brian’s mood.

About nine am, Justin was busy scrounging through his host’s mostly-empty refrigerator and cupboards, looking for sustenance, when his phone pinged. 

Daphne: Your mom just called looking for you. She didn’t sound happy. She said to call her asap. I could hear your dad in the background too. Good luck...

“Shit . . .”

“Here,” Brian picked up his wallet off the counter and threw at Justin’s head then went back to moaning into his crossed arms. “Just order something in and quit slamming the cupboard doors already before my head explodes.”

Justin rolled his eyes and tried to control the snark in his voice. “Have you looked outside, Brian? Nobody’s going to deliver anything with the streets like that. It’s Snowmagedden out there. We must have got at least ten inches last night.”

“At least somebody got ten inches,” Brian mumbled, even his sense of humor seeming under the weather. 

“Besides, that’s not why I was complaining,” Justin continued to explain, ignoring Brian’s lame joke. “Apparently my mother is looking for me and it doesn’t sound good. I’m, technically, still supposed to be grounded after skipping school yesterday. And when she finds out I’m not really sleeping over at my friend’s house while we work on a school project, things are likely to get bad. Really bad . . .” Justin started tapping at his phone, accessing the app that showed the local bus schedules and groaned again. “It doesn’t look like any of the bus lines that head out to the suburbs are running yet. At least not on time. According to this, it’ll take me, like . . . Four hours . . . To get home. I’m fucked.”

“Fucking drama princess,” Brian muttered, getting off his stool with another dramatic groan of his own. “Give me five minutes to go puke again and I’ll fucking drive you home.”

Justin managed - just barely - to stifle his doubtful reply about whether Brian was in any condition to drive. He couldn’t afford to be picky; he really did need a ride if he was going to make it home before his parents discovered his latest deception. So he merely went about the task of gathering his stuff together and said nothing. He didn’t even comment on the rumpled-looking driver that eventually emerged from the bedroom, with untamed bedhead, his shirt mis-buttoned, and the bags under his eyes drooping below the bottom rims of the dark shades Brian had donned.

The drive out to the ‘burbs was slow and silent. Even with the Jeep in 4-wheel drive it was a bit dicey. Brian seemed to be a pretty good snow driver, though, and they made it all the way without landing in a ditch, which Justin counted as a win. At the last minute, he decided it wasn’t safe to have Brian take him all the way to his own house, though, and instead directed him towards Daphne’s; Justin figured he could hoof it the mile and a half from there to his own house without Brian’s help. 

Just as they pulled up in front of the split-level brick house where the Chanders family lived, the first snow plow made its way down the street, effectively burying Brian’s car in a large bank of dirty, muck-filled snow. Brian got out, climbed over the pile of snow that almost blocked the driver’s side door from opening, and loudly cursed the snowplow driver with an inappropriate finger waved at the plow’s rear bumper to top it all off. 

Unfortunately, Daphne’s father opened up the front door right at that moment, so he got the full Kinney show. Justin cringed. Daphne’s dad had always been a pretty nice guy - it was Daphne’s mom who was the disciplinarian in the house and who would have thrown a fit at hearing that kind of language - but still, it meant that Mr. Chanders was now officially in on the secret of Justin’s unconventional association with one Brian Kinney and Justin didn’t know how that would fall out.

“Hey, Mr. Chanders,” Justin waved with a conciliatory smile. “Enough snow for ya?”

“At least it’s the weekend, right?” Came the reply before he added, “Your parents have been calling a couple times this morning, son. Anything you want to tell me?” 

Justin noticed the appraising look his friend’s father gave to the disreputable-looking person who’d driven him that morning and internally groaned. This wasn’t going to turn out well. As nice a guy as Mr. Chanders was, he wouldn’t cover for Justin if confronted by Jennifer and Craig Taylor. There would be seriously negative fallout from this. Justin knew that. The only question was just how bad it would get . . .

A question that was answered less than a minute later when Craig Taylor’s Audi sedan came tooling down the newly plowed street and parked right behind Brian’s Jeep. 

Justin didn’t have time to hide. He was still standing there on the Chanders’ unshoveled front walk when his father stormed up to him, already yelling. And, judging by Craig’s florid complexion and the veins visibly pulsing in his temples, the man was NOT in a good mood. 

“There you are!” Craig growled at the boy who’d retreated as far up the walk as he could with Mr. Chanders still blocking the entrance. “Did I NOT make it clear to you yesterday that you were grounded until further notice, young man? How dare you defy me like this? I don’t know how you managed to manipulate your mother into letting you come over here in the first place, but she definitely didn’t give you permission to stay the night over here. You need a SERIOUS attitude adjustment, Justin - you hear me? I’m not going to let you run roughshod over your mother and I like this. I don’t care how old you are. As long as you’re living in MY house, you WILL obey my rules. Got it?” Craig snarled nastily at his son.

“I’m sorry, Dad . . .” Justin started, his voice carrying a pleading tone that he hoped was best calculated to defuse the blaring fury he was sensing coming off the irate man.

“Oh, you’ll be sorry all right,” Craig replied, reaching out to grab hold of Justin’s arm and yanking so hard as he tried to get the boy to start moving towards the waiting car that Justin stumbled and almost fell. 

“Now, Craig. I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mr. Chanders cautioned, reaching out a stabilizing hand to help keep Justin upright.

“This isn’t any of your concern, Geoff. I’ll deal with my own son in my own way,” Craig bit angrily back, his hand tightening around the youth’s biceps to the point that the fingers began to dig into his flesh. “Get your rear to that car, boy.”

“Ouch,” Justin complained, trying ineffectively to wrench his arm out of the older man’s grasp. “I can walk by myself, Dad. You don’t have to pull my arm off.”

Criag’s response was to jerk at his son’s arm even more viciously as he towed the boy in the direction of the street.

Before Justin could react, however, their combined progress was halted by the looming presence of a tall, forbidding, and unamused Irishman blocking the walkway.

“Get your fucking hands off him,” Brian snarled at Craig, his eyes laser focused on the spot where Craig’s hand was wrapped around Justin’s upper arm. 

“Excuse me?” Craig seemed surprised that someone had the temerity to stand up to him. “And who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s going to break your hand if you don’t remove it from the kid’s arm in the next ten seconds.”

Justin had been aware of Brian’s continued presence in the background of the situation from the moment his father had arrived. He’d been hoping that his dad was too incensed to pay attention to the stranger lurking in the background. What he hadn’t planned on was the instantaneous rage that erupted out of Brian the minute that Craig’s anger got physical. In the seconds after Justin let out that involuntary ‘ouch’, he felt Brian’s previously closed-off emotions erupt in a wave of furious protectiveness. It was the strongest emotion Justin had ever sensed from the man. Craig had obviously triggered some long-repressed emotions that Brian simply couldn’t control. The reaction proved that Brian’s emotions were just as strong as Justin had always suspected they could be. If the situation wasn’t about to explode in a very unpleasant way, Justin might have even been happy to discover that his hypothesis about Brian being a strong empath had been proven correct.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, Buddy,” Craig gnarled back, planting himself defiantly in front of the significantly taller Brian, “but nobody tells me how to deal with my own son, so back the hell off.”

“Spoken like every abusive loser in history ever,” Brian scoffed without backing down. “I said, get your hands off him and I meant it. Or would you rather lose that fucking hand.”

Something in the menacing delivery of those words apparently penetrated Craig’s righteous anger and caused him to pause. He looked from Brian to Justin and then back at Brian, his stormy frown getting more pronounced in the process. Then he looked over towards the waiting Jeep and something in his memory seemed to snap into place. 

Justin didn’t need to be an empath to read Craig’s ongoing thought processes from that point on. He remembered back to the previous fall, after he’d gotten in trouble at school due to the altercation with Chris Hobbs, when his father had confronted him about the rumors of Justin’s homosexuality. Craig had asked him about the reported incidence of his son showing up at school in a Jeep spray painted with the word ‘Faggot’ on the side. Justin had demurred back then, refusing to disclose anything about the ‘older man’ he’d shown up to school with that day. But he was sure his father hadn’t forgotten the stories. And he was equally sure that Craig Taylor had just put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

In a probably futile attempt to de-escalate the situation, Justin reached out and touched the back of Brian’s wrist - hoping to transmit an infusion of calm through his contact. “It’s okay, Brian. I can handle this. You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going to just walk away and leave when someone's hurting you, Justin,” Brian insisted, broadcasting a stubbornness that Justin could have read from a block away. “I don’t care if he is your father - he needs to take his fucking hands off you right now or he’ll be left with only stubs after I’m done.”

Craig ignored Brian’s words, turning instead so he could directly confront his son. “So THIS is the pervert who corrupted my son? This . . . creep . . . is the one everyone’s been talking about? The one you flaunted in front of your entire school last fall? And here I was, hoping that all that shit had finally blown over . . . That you were getting over all this gay nonesense . . .”

If Craig thought those comments would shame his son into repudiating Brian, he was 100% wrong. “I’m not going to just ‘get over’ being gay, Dad. It doesn’t work like that. And if you weren’t such a homophobe, you’d have realized that by now,” Justin replied, finally making the effort to pull his arm out of his father’s grip. “I’m gay, Dad. I’m always going to be gay. You complaining about it isn’t going to change a thing.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Justin. Just because this pedophile has been whispering lies to you, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re confused, I get that, but you don’t have to listen to his bullshit. You can make better choices . . .”

“Brian isn’t a pedophile or a pervert or any of the other names you’ve called him,” Justin countered, letting his own anger finally have rein. “And being with Brian didn’t ‘make me gay’; I’ve always BEEN gay, Dad. How many times do I have to say it? YOUR SON IS GAY, CRAIG. GET OVER IT ALREADY!”

“DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, JUSTIN,” Craig shouted back, his face turning a darker crimson as his anger mounted. “I’M YOUR FATHER AND AS LONG AS YOU’RE LIVING UNDER MY ROOF YOU’LL TREAT ME WITH RESPECT, YOUNG MAN!”

“Respect is earned, Dad. I’ll treat you with respect when you start respecting me,” Justin replied, not giving in even though he recognized that the situation was getting out of control and tried to modulate his voice a bit. “But you can’t just order me not be to gay and you can’t control who I see or don’t see; I’m eighteen now, so you have no say over any of that.”

Unsurprisingly, Craig didn’t take Justin’s continued defiance well. “I’d think twice about that if I were you, Justin,” Craig spat back, his voice dropping to an ice-cold hiss. “I’m still your father and, as long as I’m the one paying for the roof over your head, the food on your table, the clothing on your back, and the school you’re attending, you’ll comply with MY rules. Otherwise, you can take your ‘gay’ ass and get the fuck out of MY house. So, what’s it going to be, huh? You going to get your butt in that car right now and stop talking back to me, or do you want to go clear out your room?” 

Justin could sense that his father was completely serious. Craig wasn’t just making an idle threat. The man felt that his back was up against a wall. If he gave in, he’d lose face, and capitulation wasn’t something Craig Taylor ever did well. Justin knew he was being given zero options; he could either comply with his father’s dictatorial demands or end up homeless. 

Not much of a choice, really. 

With a brief, apologetic look over at his lover, Justin sighed and then started walking towards his father’s car. 

He could feel several pairs of eyes watching his humiliation but didn’t say anything as he walked away from where Daphne and both her parents had come out to stand on the front porch; he couldn’t face the outpouring of sympathy he was feeling from those three. He couldn’t face the radiating concern or the hints of repressed rage he still sensed coming from Brian. And he definitely didn’t want to deal with the overwhelming flood of superiority and gloating from his father. 

He knew he was a coward, but what else was he going to do? He had no where else to go if Craig followed through on his threat and kicked him out. So, for the time being at least, he would have to comply with the man’s authoritarian dictates and hold his tongue. 

Even though he felt like it might kill him.

///~///~

“. . . Seriously. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Justin,” Craig’s lecture had been droning on from the moment he got in the car for the short drive home. “You used to be such a good kid. But now look at you. You get in fights. You skip school. You sneak around and refuse to tell your parents where you’re going. I don’t even recognize my son anymore.” Craig signalled the turn onto the street where the Taylor home was located. “But I promise you, things are going to change and they’re going to change right now! I won’t have any more of these shenanigans. You hear me?” 

Craig stopped the car in the driveway, waiting till the garage door rattled open, and reached out a hand to stop Justin before the youth could escape the car. 

“You’re grounded until further notice and there will be *NO* exceptions. Got it?” Justin nodded, tight-lipped and refusing to meet Craig’s gaze. “And as soon as we get inside I’m confiscating both your phone and your laptop so your mother and I can monitor your communications from now on; I don’t want you contacting that pervert who’s corrupted you. In fact, you are NEVER to see him or talk to him again. Is that clear?”

Justin sat there and refused to respond in any way to his father’s dictates. He didn’t have any choice but to comply with Craig’s immediate demands, but there was no way he’d agree to never see or speak to Brian again. Right at that moment, however, the only act of rebellion he could afford was to just sit there, like a lump of stone, and endure without comment. 

He’d let Craig rant and make demands and work himself into a tizzy, but there was no way the man would crack Justin’s passive resistance. Let Craig beat himself silly against the wall of his son’s immutability. Let him exhaust himself. All his angry, bigoted words wouldn’t change a thing. And Justin only had a few months left before he would be finished with high school and get to move away to college. Then he’d be free. 

He just had to hold out until then. 

“And I expect your attitude to improve as well,” Craig continued even as Justin was about to get out of the car, with or without his father’s permission, finally fed up with the bombastic list of new ‘rules’. “I won’t have a son of mine running around like some damned degenerate, flaunting himself in front of everyone we know . . .”

Before Justin could push open the door, however, he was hit with yet another vision. This one featured that same dark room, with a baby lying in a drawer on the floor, the little nest illuminated by a blinding flash of light. He only got a brief glimpse of the baby, though; Gus was lying there, crying his poor little heart out, seemingly all alone. But within just a few seconds, the light began to shift and the portion of the scene that was visible was quickly reduced as the illumination wedged smaller and smaller until the whole thing was plunged into darkness again. 

There was the sound of a door shutting. Then Justin heard a voice - it was muted and the words were difficult to make out, as if the speaker was a great distance away or, maybe, off in another room - speaking in a distorted wah-wah-wah of complaint. 

“. . . I don’t KNOW why he’s always crying. I’m sure they probably just spoiled him rotten . . . Coddling him all the time . . . Although, heaven knows his father was always a brat too . . .”

Justin lost his connection to the scene and was startled back into the present as the car door was tugged out of his hand. He looked up to see Craig standing there, next to the open passenger door of the car, looking down on a still-seated Justin. 

“Sitting here all day brooding isn’t going to change things, Justin. Now, get your butt inside while I inform your mother of what’s happened.”

Justin bit his tongue and followed orders, marching in through the garage door on his father’s heels, but all the time he was internally screaming. 

His deluded father was preventing him from even contacting Brian to let him know what this new vision showed. Justin was so frustrated he felt like hitting something . . . or someone . . . Of course that would just land him in even more trouble. It wouldn’t help Gus. 

But how could he just sit at home, doing nothing, while little Gus was still being held by a monster? 

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 15 - Brian’s Coming To Get Me.

If Craig wanted to see brooding, Justin would give it to him.

The grounded youth spent all the rest of Sunday in his room doing just that. He only ventured out to scrounge for food and then took it back up to his lair to eat. He refused to come out even when his mother offered to make his favorite dinner - homemade chicken enchiladas. Instead, he just lay on his bed, brooding, and creating sketch after sketch of Brian Kinney, while he tried, futilely, to figure out a way to escape his father’s bigotry.

The only distraction he had were the repeated flashes of images of poor little Gus crying his tiny head off.

Unfortunately, these flashes were so brief that none gave Justin any further clues about how to locate the distraught child. There were several more visions of the baby in that tiny, dark room, a couple with Gus strapped into a car seat in the back of some non-descript vehicle, and even one with the baby in that same dirty umbrella stroller amid the towering shelving of a store of some kind. Justin still didn’t get a glimpse of Gus’ abductor or any other information that might help identify the man - the kidnapper was always just out of Justin’s line of vision - which was frustrating as all get out. 

The only truly consistent thing in all of these images was that Gus was crying in all of them. And not just regular, tired-baby crying, but outright screaming, distraught, borderline hysterical-baby crying. Needless to say, Justin was worried; in all the months that he’d been catching glimpses of the boy in his visions, Gus had never been crying. At least not like this. The baby had seemed rather content most of the time. But not now. Justin wasn’t sure if it was some kind of separation anxiety thing, or something more sinister, but the baby was definitely not a happy, content baby at this moment. And that was even more worrisome than the fact that he’d been kidnapped. 

It also made Justin even more frustrated that he was now effectively cut off from helping to locate the poor thing. If he could only get to his phone for a few minutes so he could contact Brian - tell the father what he was seeing . . . But then again, how would that help? Brian would only get even more anxious about his son and, until Justin saw something that would help them actually locate the baby, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. So, maybe, knowing Gus was in such distress would only hurt Brian more.

The thing was, Justin was still convinced that all these short bursts of Gus sightings were somehow being directed by Brian; that the flashes were happening as more and more cracks opened up in Brian’s emotional blockade. Maybe, after their talk the night before, Brian was even TRYING to open up and let Justin in? That would explain why the new visions were coming so much more frequently today. Only, every time Brian did open himself up for a brief second or two, he panicked and immediately shut it all down again, cutting off Justin’s insight. If they could just have a few hours together - assuming Brian wasn’t passed out drunk - Justin was sure they’d somehow discover how to draw out the connection to the kidnapper for long enough to locate the baby. 

Of course, that was practically impossible now that Justin was on house arrest without access to any outside communications at all. 

So, instead of helping, Justin was simply trapped in his room, unable to concentrate on anything amidst the recurrent flashes of a screaming baby, and becoming more and more worried as the hours slowly crawled by.

///~///~

When morning finally came, Justin was relieved. Monday morning meant school and that meant he could at least get out of the fucking house for a bit, even if his father refused to return his phone or computer. When Justin complained, and insisted that he needed his computer, at the very least, to take notes during class, Craig handed his son an old-fashioned spiral notebook and a pen and told him to quit complaining. Justin groaned but took the notebook, then got into the car with his mother, who was assigned the duty of driving the captive to school, thus preventing him from getting his usual ride with his co-conspirator, Daphne. Justin would have laughed at how over-the-top Craig’s reaction to finding out about his son’s older, male, lover had been, if only these draconian tactics didn’t come with such potentially dire consequences.

Of course, Craig couldn’t keep Justin away from all technology forever. As soon as Jennifer pulled up to the curb in front of St. James’ Academy, Justin vaulted from the car, running up the front walk and taking the steps two at a time. He barely even heard his mother yelling after him that Craig would be there to pick him up after school and that he better be waiting at the curb on time or his father would be even more angry. 

Fuck that. 

He’d just had another vision of Gus while they were driving to school, and the child had looked even worse and more neglected than before. Justin knew he couldn’t sit around doing nothing any longer. Fuck being grounded. Fuck being afraid of the consequences. He knew he was going to have to risk his father’s wrath if he wanted to help Brian get his son back before it was too late, and he no longer cared what would happen to him for his defiance. If he could help rescue Gus, it would be worth it.

“Give me your phone,” Justin demanded the second he came face to face with Daphne in the hallway next to where the girl’s locker was located.

“Hello to you too,” Daph snarked even as she fished the device out of her backpack. “You know we’re not supposed to be on our phones in the halls during school hours, right?”

“Just give me your phone, Daph. It’s an emergency.” He grabbed at the phone and punched in his friend’s passcode - they’d long ago shared that info with each other, so it was almost as easy to remember as his own - and then opened the texting app. “My fucking father took away my phone and laptop. He thinks if I can’t call Brian, I’ll somehow be cured of being gay. Moron . . .”

While he was complaining to his friend, Justin quickly typed out a message to his lover, hoping to hell that he’d remembered the man’s phone number correctly.

‘Hey, Brian. It’s Justin. I’m using my friend’s phone since my dad confiscated mine. I NEED to talk to you. It’s about Gus. I’m worried there’s something wrong. He’s crying all the time. How can I contact you?’

Right then the first bell rang, telling them they were going to be late for class. Daphne tried to grab her phone back as she started to jog towards the room where their English class was located. Justin refused to give the phone back but he did jog along right beside his friend. Getting in more trouble at school wouldn’t help him help Brian, so it behooved him to at least get to class before he was counted as tardy. Even so, he wasn’t giving back his friend’s phone till he got an answer from Brian.

Brian must have been waiting for word from him, though, because there was a responsive *ping* right as the duo reached the door to their English class. Justin paused right outside to read the incoming text message and respond.

‘Where are you?’ Brian had asked.

‘School’. Justin replied.

‘What school?’ Brian asked again, and Justin could envision the man shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the youth’s insufficient answer.

‘St. James’ Academy’.

‘When R you done for the day?’

‘3:05’.

‘I’ll be there’.

“You coming in, Taylor?” Mr. Anderson asked, waiting for his student to unblock the door so he could close it and begin class.

“Sorry, Mr. Anderson,” Justin apologized and trotted towards his desk while sliding Daphne’s phone into his pocket as surreptitiously as possible.

As the teacher began to take roll, Daphne managed to lean towards her friend and ask, “What’s up?”

“Brian’s coming to get me after school . . .”

“I thought you were grounded,” Daph hissed back.

“I am.”

Daphne paused long enough to take a handout off the top of the stack the teacher was distributing before passing the rest of the pile off to the student sitting behind her, and then added in a strident whisper, “but didn’t your dad say that if you went with Brian, you were, like, out on your ass for good?” 

Justin whispered back. “I don’t have a choice. I have to tell him about Gus . . .”

“No talking!” Mr. Anderson admonished as he sat down behind the large desk at the front of the classroom and added. “You have twenty minutes to complete this quiz. Which I’m sure will be a breeze . . . provided you all finished last week’s reading assignment.”

The entire class groaned as one - all except for Justin, who’d providentially been forced to catch up on all his homework Friday night. Even so, the boy’s mind wasn’t really on the test he was taking. He was too busy worrying about a multitude of more pressing problems: Brian, the kidnapper, Gus, Craig, and how impossible it seemed that all of these elements could coexist in his world.

Somehow, though, Justin managed to get through not only that one quiz but the entire rest of the day. By 2:30 he was ready, with all of his homework and books already assembled in the messenger bag sitting next to his desk, counting down the minutes till his American History class would let out. While he was waiting he reached out a tentative emotional feeler towards his father. 

Craig had always been a little difficult to get a read on, especially from a distance, mostly because of the lack of closeness in their relationship, but that wasn’t the case today. Today Justin got an almost immediate lock on his father and was unsettled to feel an unabated rage coming off the man. Craig’s anger was literally blasting out at him. Justin quickly recoiled, shutting down that avenue of sensation. He had no doubt he’d bear the brunt of Craig's displeasure soon enough. No sense in exposing himself to that kind of abuse before he absolutely had to, right? All he could hope for was that Craig would be late picking him up so he’d have time to talk to Brian beforehand.

In an attempt to effectuate just that outcome, Justin bolted out of the classroom within five seconds after the last bell began to ring. He sprinted down the hall and barreled through a gaggle of tittering girls who were blocking the exit doors. As soon as he was outside, he caught sight of Brian’s Jeep waiting for him at the curb, right smack-dab in front of the school, and sighed with relief. Thank fuck!

With a little burst of speed he catapulted down the front steps and didn’t come to a stop till he landed in Brian’s outstretched arms. Justin didn’t care that he was probably ‘making a spectacle out of himself’, as his father would say. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered right then. He was just so happy to see Brian that he couldn’t help it. He knew, in his heart, that somehow it would all work out now that they were together again. And to celebrate, he tilted his head upwards and claimed a kiss from Brian’s crushed-cranberry lips, ignoring the fact that probably everyone in school would be staring at them before the kiss was done.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have time for too much kissing. There was an abducted baby to save. So, long before he would have otherwise been done tasting Brian’s sweet lips, Justin's pulled back and looked up at his lover’s worried face.

“We have to find Gus. Now. It can’t wait. I think . . . I think there’s something wrong,” Justin stated bluntly.

“I know,” Brian responded, his anxious expression matching the younger man’s “I’ve been seeing . . . Whatever this shit is, I’ve been seeing it too.”

“Gus is always crying.”

“Which isn’t like him,” Brian confirmed what Justin had suspected. “He’s the easiest baby ever. Normally. But . . . I think you’re right; I think there’s something wrong. I can’t stand seeing him crying like that.”

“I know we can find him. We just have to . . .” Justin began. Only, he didn’t get to finish his sentence before they were interrupted by the advent of a snowball crashing into the back of Justin’s head. “What the fuck?”

“That should cool off the disgusting faggot display for a while,” Chris Hobbs drawled with a little snicker of derision meant for the ears of his sycophantic followers.

John Spencer, one of Hobbs’ most avid bootlickers, backed up his leader by adding, “a cold shower isn’t gonna stop a cocksucker like Taylor for long. He needs to be taught a lesson. We should take both him and his faggot lover behind the equipment shed . . .”

That ominous threat got a boisterous round of laughter out of all the rest of the assembled homophobes. 

“Who the fuck are these losers?” Brian snarled disdainfully, his demeanor coming off as uncaring, while his emotional stance spiked with a melange of alarm and protectiveness. 

“That’s Chris Hobbs,” Justin answered, pointing towards the ringleader. “The asshole I told you about the other day.”

“You didn’t tell me he was so hot,” Brian commented, waggling his eyebrows at Hobbs in a move designed to embarrass the other teen.

And that comment did get another round of laughter out of the crowd, this time directed more at Hobbs than at Brian and Justin, especially from the larger group of students that had started to gather to watch the expected show. 

“Shut the fuck up, you freak,” Hobbs retorted lamely.

“From where I stand, you’re the freak,” Justin replied, too stressed out by all the other shit going on in his life to put up with more bullying by Hobbs & Crew. 

“At least I’m not a faggot like you, Taylor,” Hobbs replied, taking a step forward so he was right in Justin’s face. 

Which, in turn, prompted Brian to step around Justin so he could insinuate his larger frame between Justin and the bully boy. Hobbs glared up at the taller man but didn’t take a step back. Justin was too hyped up and angry, though, to let Brian play the protector. He’d put up with months of harassment from this gaggle of homophobes and was just done with it by that point. He wasn’t in the mood to take any more crap from Hobbs or Spencer or any of the rest of them. 

So, pulling Brian back, Justin faced Hobbs head on. “Hey, you guys see him?” Justin raised his voice addressing the thirty or so other students that had gathered around. “Get a load of the big man here, Chris Hobbs. He just called me a ‘faggot’.” There was a collective susurrus of surprise from the listeners. “See, Chris doesn’t like faggots,” he went on without compunction, “or maybe he likes them more than he thinks.”

“Shut up, Taylor,” Hobbs growled in warning, his face going a sickly puce, as if he all of a sudden wasn’t feeling well.

“He let me jerk him off,” Justin announced boldly, totally undeterred. “The ‘faggot’ gave Chris Hobbs a hand job!” The crowd jeered and scoffed and laughed - even Hobbs’ friends - everyone enjoying the outrage of Justin’s declaration. “And he loved it!”

“You’re fucked, Taylor,” Hobbs bellowed, poking the more petit teen in the chest in a threatening manner and causing Brian to reassert himself between the two combatants.

However Chris’ obvious embarrassment only served to rile up the crowd even more. They were eating this shit up. They were laughing and egging the two disputants on, encouraging one or the other to ‘give it to him’. An insistent chant of ‘fight, fight, fight’ began from somewhere in the back of the group. 

It was all too much for Hobbs - craven coward that he was, like all bullies - and after only a few seconds the boy who’d started it all turned on his heel and fled the scene. 

“Congratulations,” Brian commented, not looking all that pleased despite the fact that Hobbs, along with the rest of the bully boys who’d been harassing them, had been repulsed. “Now you’ve made a REAL enemy.”

“I don’t care about Hobbs or any other closet case,” Justin maintained. “I’m tired of taking his shit all the time just because he’s scared of his own sexuality.”

This earned him a grudging nod from Brian, although there was still a lot of worry in the older man’s eyes. 

Justin didn’t have time to gloat over besting Hobbs, however, because right at that moment the crowd of appreciative onlookers was parted by the arrival of yet another unwelcome addition to the shitstorm that was Justin’s life.

“What the hell is going on here, Justin? Why are you causing another scene? I warned you about this kinda thing . . .” Craig Taylor complained as he pushed aside the last of the group of kids standing between him and his son. Which was when Craig noticed who was standing beside Justin. Needless to say, Craig was NOT happy to see Brian again, and he immediately went after the man he had already told off just the previous day. “Get your damn hands off my son, you pervert!” 

“Dad, please, stop.” 

Justin tried to stop his father by mimicking Brian’s earlier actions and moving so that he was standing between the two angry men. 

“I told you, Justin, you were NEVER to see this . . . this pedophile . . . ever again!” Craig snarled at his son before turning his attention back to Brian. “I’m warning you - you creep - you better stay the hell away from my son from now on or I’ll have my lawyers take out a restraining order against you.”

Brian wasn’t fazed by that threat. “Yeah, right.” He offered Craig a demeaning half-smile and pointed to the ground in front of him. “First of all, this is a public sidewalk, so you can’t keep me off it. And second, Justin is eighteen so you have no say in who he sees. Oh, and by the way, *I* have lawyers too, so if you try to come after me with a bogus restraining order I’ll counter sue for harassment.”

Craig wasn’t deterred either; he just scowled more blatantly and took another step forward, allowing him to lower his voice to a menacing whisper. “Maybe. But he definitely wasn’t over eighteen last fall when you first molested him. And I’m pretty sure that my golfing buddy, the Pittsburgh DA, would be happy to bring a charge of Statutory Rape against you if I asked. That ought to be enough grounds for any judge . . .”

For half a second everyone was too shocked by that statement to do anything, but eventually Justin's indignation outstripped his stupefaction. “You can’t do that, Dad. Brian didn’t fucking rape me! He didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want. In fact, I went after HIM . . .”

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you, Justin,” Craig redirected his wrath at his son. “You have no idea how much shit you’re in, young man. I told you yesterday that I wasn't going to put up with any more of your disgusting perversion and I forbid you to see or talk to this child molester again. But what do I find the minute I got home today?” 

Craig waved around the item he’d been holding in his hand all that time, drawing Justin’s attention to the fact that his father had gotten ahold of one of the artist’s sketchbooks. 

“Filth! Pure, disgusting, filth!” Craig ranted as he flipped open the pad filled full, almost cover to cover, with mostly-naked drawings of Brian Kinney. “If this is what you’re wasting your time with, Justin, then you’re sicker than I thought. I refuse to allow this kind of pornography in my house. When we get home, you’re going to clear out every last piece of this repulsive rubbish and we’re having a bonfire. And if I ever catch you doing this kind of shit again, I’ll disown you for good!”

Considering how upset Craig was with the contents of the drawings in Justin’s sketch pad, Justin thought it was a little odd that the man continued to flip through the pages while he was yelling at his son. Maybe he was just accumulating more evidence against the accused? Justin had to admit that the pictures were incriminating - assuming your crime was being homosexual, that is. There was page after page of nude male studies in that particular book. About ninety percent were pictures of Brian, including specific, detailed drawings of Justin’s favorite part of his lover: his beautiful cock. No doubt Craig was most displeased with those particular drawings. The fucking bigot.

Nearer to the back of the pad, however, there were several pictures of a different nature. These were the shadowy sketches Justin had started making the day before as he tried to work out the details of the many visions he’d had of poor baby Gus. They were dark and scary - just the way the flashes of the scenes had felt to the artist - and conveyed with the same haziness that the images he’d seen carried. But even so the one key element in all of them was clear: the squawling baby at the center of each picture.

Brian reached out and yanked the pad out of Craig’s hands when he noticed one of those pictures, staring up at Justin with horror-filled eyes. “This is what you’re seeing?”

Justin nodded and bit at his lips. 

Craig was still focused on those OTHER drawings, though, and wasn’t to be distracted. “Give me that!” He pulled the pad back out of Brian’s hand. 

Brian tried to get the book back and the two men played a short but brutal game of tug-of-war for a minute or so until Brian lost his temper and reached out with his free hand to shove Craig back so that the middle-aged man lost his grip and stumbled backwards a couple steps. Justin could tell from the burst of pure, white-hot, rage that erupted from his father at that moment, that Brian’s actions had been a huge mistake. Before, Craig’s anger had been mostly directed at his son; but after Brian struck him, that ire was redirected. And it was also spiraling upwards, nearing the point where things would get out of control. Justin could sense the urge towards violence welling up in his father and it was enough to scare him out of his paralyzed staring. Between that and his father’s threat to bring criminal charges against Brian, Justin knew it was time to de-escalate matters. 

“Brian, stop,” Justin ordered, his firm and insistent voice breaking through the battle of machismo. 

With a brief glance at the youth, and a sigh, the brunet retreated a step or two, while keeping hold of Justin’s sketchpad. When he regained his footing, Craig looked around himself and finally noted the huge gathering of onlookers who’d been watching the entire scene. This must have reminded him of the damage all this was doing to his precious reputation, and he visibly pulled himself together, tamping down his anger and lowering his voice. 

Not that he was giving in, though. “We’re going, Justin!” Craig stated with decision, stabbing his son with a judgmental glare. “Get a move on; I have a business meeting to get to tonight.”

Justin didn’t want Craig to follow through on the threat of pressing criminal charges against his lover. He realized that the only way he could protect Brian from his father was to placate the obdurate man for the time being. So, with a long, weary, sigh, Justin nodded. But before Craig could drag him away, he still needed to say one last thing to Brian, so he deliberately took the three steps needed to approach close enough to leave a last kiss on the tall, lanky man’s check. The crowd tittered at that display while Craig silently fumed. But Justin didn’t give a fuck about any of them. 

Besides, kissing his lover goodbye had only been cover for his real intent.

“You HAVE to open up to me, Brian. Let me in. I know we’ll be able to figure this out - and find Gus - if you’ll just let me in,” he whispered, giving his lover’s arm a meaningful squeeze before he turned and reluctantly followed his still-glowering father. 

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 16 - There You Are.

“Hey, Daph. It’s me,” Justin stated as soon as the call was answered. “My parents let me use the landline to call you so they could eavesdrop and make sure we didn’t discuss anything other than our English project.”

“Hallelujah!” Daphne rejoiced facetiously. “I was worried that, as soon as he got you home, your father would murder you, dismember your body, and we would never find where all the pieces were buried.”

“Ha ha,” Justin replied without any humor at all. “You’re not far off.”

“You’re okay though?”

“Yeah. For the time being,” Justin answered curtly.

“Okay, well, what can I do?”

“I can’t talk for long, Daphne. I’m still on lockdown in my room.” Justin glared sideways at his mother, who was nervously waiting for him to end his phone call. “I just wanted to ask if you would take over on that section of the TEXT I was working on earlier today. Then I’ll follow up with the next part tomorrow, when I have access to a computer at school again.

“Text?” Daphne questioned, obviously confused at first. Luckily, the girl was a quick study, and caught on only a few seconds later. “Oh, you mean the text you sent to Brian using my phone, right? You want me to text him and let him know you’re okay?”

“Exactly. And just keep an OPEN MIND about the next part of our project.” Justin made sure to emphasize the words ‘open mind’ so that Daphne would twig onto the fact that the phrase had special meaning; hopefully she would understand and transmit those words to Brian along with the rest of his message. “We can follow up tomorrow with whatever needs to be done next.”

“Got it. I’ll pass that along to Brian,” Daphne promised. “In the meantime, don’t let your dad get to you, Jus. He’s just itching to find more reasons to punish you and you don’t need to egg him on more than you already have.” Justin huffed a small mirthless laugh at that warning - not that he didn’t agree with his friend. “And also, you’re gonna need to watch your back tomorrow at school. Hobbs was pretty fucking furious after your little display in front of school this afternoon and, judging by the rumors I’m hearing, he’s on the warpath for you. I still can’t believe you announced to everyone and their brother that you gave him a hand job last fall. You’re either absolutely insane or have the biggest balls of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, well . . . whatever.” Justin didn’t exactly know how to respond to his friend’s grudging respect - at least not with his mother hovering around the way she was. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now anyway. I’ll deal with that topic later. But, for right now, we just need to CONCENTRATE and fix the problem with this current subject. That’s the most important thing, right?” Justin again emphasize the word ‘concentrate’ and hoped his friend understood the veiled reference that he wanted her to relay to Brian in her text. “I guess that’s it for now, Daph. Hopefully, I can work on this more tomorrow.”

Justin hung up the phone and gave his mother a nasty look before grabbing a can of Pringles out of the pantry and a soda out of the fridge. He ignored her plaintive, ‘Justin, honey, please . . .’ as he marched back up the stairs to his room. He was done with her useless sympathy. As long as she was unwilling to stand up to his father, it meant nothing to him. 

At least he hadn’t had to listen to his father’s ongoing lectures for that long. Craig had fumed silently the entire drive from the school to the house and then, after a brief, angry explanation to Jennifer about Justin’s additional transgressions, had left for some important business dinner. However, Justin could tell from his father’s unspoken but roiling emotions that he wasn’t going to completely escape the inevitable fallout from the afternoon’s events; his real punishment was just being put on hold for the time being. 

Craig left after giving his wife strict instructions that Justin wasn’t to be allowed out of his room for ANY reason. Justin had been forced to plead for a good fifteen minutes just to be allowed to make that one short phone call to Daphne about their ‘English Project’. He sensed that even that small concession was making Jennifer very anxious. She just wasn’t comfortable going against her husband’s direct wishes, no matter how much she loved her son. Justin wasn’t going to be able to sweet talk his mom into taking his side this time. He realized he was on his own and would have to figure things out for himself. Hence, the cryptic message sent to Brian by way of Daphne.

Now it was time to see if Brian was willing to give Justin’s theory a try.

Justin returned to his room and set his snacks aside on the desk. Then he turned off all the lights except for one small, blue-tinged, LED reading lamp he kept on his night stand. He kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed, pulling the quilt his grandmother had made for his birthday up as far as his chest so as to fend off any possible chill caused by the cold outside. And, once he was situated as comfortably as possible, he began to systematically relax his body, concentrating on one body part at a time, starting with his feet and proceeding up through his legs, his torso, his chest, his back, and his arms, breathing deeply and steadily all the while, till his entire being was completely at ease and tension free. 

Finally, when his body felt so heavy and warm that it seemed like he was sinking into the mattress, Justin opened up his senses and reached out towards the consciousness of his lover, Brian Kinney.

It took a while. Justin’s mind seemed to know exactly WHERE to go to find Brian, but it felt like every time he’d get near his target, he was redirected elsewhere. It was as if he was hitting some invisible barrier and then sliding off. But he persisted, continuing to recalibrate and redirect his efforts, returning again and again to knock against the wall of Brian's closed off mind. 

Justin imagined himself slowly chipping away at the tough outer shell of his target. Trying to bore a permanent hole through the protective casing surrounding Brian. Trying to penetrate the barriers Brian had erected around himself. Prying and poking and chiseling away, brick by brick, piece by piece, atom by atom even, envisioning himself slowly gaining ground in his assault against the emotional wall separating them. Until, finally, Justin began to sense a glimmer of something tangible leaking out from behind those shields and he knew he was finally in.

All of a sudden, Justin felt like his body was suffused with a warm, greenish-gold light. He noted a quiet elation matching his own. His body was no longer heavy; he was lighter than air and felt as if he was floating. His heart began to beat in time to the pulse of energy coming from the other end of the connection. They seemed to fit together perfectly. It was like he’d just found the other half of himself or maybe some part of himself he’d forgotten about and just rediscovered. The rush of relief at having found that heretofore missing piece washed through him and strengthened the connection as it filled him up from within, giving him more power than he’d ever had before. 

‘There you are!’ Justin thought to himself, receiving an echoing thrum of acknowledgment from Brian’s end of the connection, almost as if Brian could understand the inflection of his thoughts even over the distance that they were physically separated. 

The overwhelming sense of peace and comfort from their first joining didn’t last long, though. Brian’s distress over his son’s situation bled through the connection after only a few seconds. The feeling was so strong that Justin flinched when it hit him and their link flickered for a second or two before he was able to stabilize it. But the minor glitch scared him enough that he remembered the purpose of this exercise and decided to move on with the real agenda before he lost the connection for good.

‘Hang on. Don’t let go. Don’t pull back.’ Justin projected the words at his unseen companion, hoping their import made it through the dubious connection.

Justin concocted an image in his mind’s eye of one of Brian’s beautiful, slender, sensitive hands and imagined his own smaller hand grasping it tightly. Then, hand-in-hand, Justin turned his awareness outward, dragging Brian along with him, searching through the emotional ether for Gus’ kidnapper. Justin sensed several connections leading away from Brian in various directions. They appeared and disappeared from his inner vision, like strings tying Brian to the people he was associated with in real life, some more substantial than others, each one tinged a different color and glowing with its own intensity. It was as if Justin were seeing the auras of each separate relationship. And, for a brief instant, Justin saw an image that couldn’t possibly have come from his own memory, in which two boys were playing a game with tin cans attached to a long piece of cord, pretending the cans were telephones. The visual analogy made Justin smile and somehow he could feel Brian smiling in the background as well. 

Justin tried to use his empathic skills to sort out the many strings, feeling along each with his mind, and attempting to suss out which one was the right string to follow. He quickly passed over a translucent periwinkle blue strand, a dull lavender strand, a vibrant purple strand, and a pale green strand that reminded Justin of new leaves in the springtime. None of those felt like the right vibe. 

Eventually, though, Justin dug deeper, feeling out the more tentative strands and the ones that seemed less used, until he came across a group of connections that felt uncomfortable and threatening. When he looked at these strings, they were all tinged a dark red and shaded with black shadows around the edges. These were not happy connections. There was violence and anger and pain attached to each one of these connections. Justin could sense Brian trying to pull away from him as he examined this particular group of strands but Justin held tighter to the imaginary hand in his and refuse to let go. 

Finally, in the darkest recesses of Brian‘s psyche, Justin found the connection he was looking for. It was a relatively weak link, as if Brian hadn’t had need of that avenue of communication for some time. But it was tinged an angry, dark, purple-red, and lined with spiky, jagged, black edges up and down its length. 

Justin instinctively knew that was the connection that would lead him to whomever had taken Gus.

When Justin started to follow that monstrous strand, Brian began to fight him. There was a rush of panic that washed over them both and it was almost enough to paralyze the poor empath. But Justin simply refuse to let go of Brian. He refused to give up. He knew that this was going to lead them to the person they’d been seeking for the past several days. He also knew that if he let Brian shrink from this task now, the fear and loathing would probably prevent Brian from ever reaching out like this again. This was their only and best shot of finding the child and Justin wasn’t giving up yet.

That being said, Justin also understood that Brian wasn’t ready to tackle whatever confrontation this might lead to. So, without letting go of either Brian or the link to the kidnapper, Justin used his own strong sense of self assurance to shield his lover. In his mind, he saw himself wrapping Brian’s consciousness with a soft, gemstone-blue cocoon of protection; it dampened their affinity a tiny amount but it would keep Brian safe, which was a fair trade off as far as Justin was concerned. And, once he knew Brian was adequately sheltered from whatever might come, Justin dove down the rabbit hole of that angry link, descending into the kidnapper’s mind once again.

There was a swirl of confusion. A whirl of random shapes and colors spun around him for what felt like an hour or more, but was probably only seconds drawn out by the uncertainty and turbulence around him. Then, slowly, the tangle of images he was seeing coalesced into real shapes that he could identify. 

It had worked. He was there, in that tiny, dark room. Only this time the connection was sharper and more clear. Except for a bit of blurring around the edges of his vision, he could actually see the room in much more detail this time. It was obviously a small bedroom, decorated rather sparsely, with a rickety, old wooden bunk bed pushed up against the left-hand wall, behind the door, a closet on the right, it’s sliding door ajar allowing a cascade of clothing to spill out onto the floor, and wedged between the two, an old, dented, and scratched tallboy dresser against the far wall. There were no windows. The overhead light fixture was dimmed by a beige-frosted shade that was so dirt-encrusted that barely any light made it through. What little of the floor was visible was adorned with a matted and worn, olive-green, shag carpeting. And there, on the floor in front of the dresser, was Gus, lying in the top drawer of the dresser, which had been pulled out and set up as a make-shift crib for the baby. 

Gus was no happier now than the last time Justin had caught a glimpse of him. Despite the images he was seeing being crisper than ever, it seemed that sound didn’t communicate as well, so the noises Justin was getting were still a bit muffled and distant, but that didn’t prevent him from hearing the caterwauling infant. The baby was wailing, his arms and legs waving weakly in the air, his chubby cheeks colored a bright, unhealthy red, and lined with the salty tracks of partially dried tears. It broke Justin‘s heart seeing the boy like that. He longed to reach out, scoop the infant up in his arms, and comfort him. But the kidnapper wasn’t feeling nearly as charitable towards the baby. The emotion coming off the person whose eyes Justin was seeing through was one of disgust and annoyance. Even as Justin was mentally leaning forward, trying to compel his host in the same direction in order to comfort the baby, the kidnapper stepped backward, pulling the door to the room closed, thus shutting off Justin’s view of the child.

Justin could sense a surge of rage coming from Brian in the background of his mind. Due to the shielding he was still maintaining, he wasn’t sure how much was getting through to Brian, but it was obviously enough that the distraught father had caught a glimpse of the piteous condition of his son. Justin didn’t blame the man for his anger, but he was worried that any backlash might destroy the connection before they figured out who the kidnapper was, so he tried to absorb as much of the negativity coming from Brian as he could, blocking it from getting to the target of their surveillance. And, meanwhile, Justin followed the abductor’s point of view, letting the person carry them all down a dingy hallway, around the corner, and into a grubby, cramped, little kitchen.

The artist in him laughed at the sight of that kitchen. It was like looking at a time capsule from the 1970s: there were faded sunflower orange appliances, dark walnut cabinets, harvest gold formica countertops, and even an avocado and mexican sand-flecked linoleum floor. It was the perfect palate of 70s colors. And, damn, was it ever ugly. Even the homey touches that the owner had tried to add - like the little handmade curtains fronting the upper cabinets or the collectible china plate set offered up as wall decorations - simply added to the clutter and disharmony. Justin was glad he hadn’t had to suffer through that decade. The mere sight of this kitchen offended his artistic sensibilities. 

While Justin was internally giggling at the astounding decor, the person he was linked to walked to the coffee maker and began to scoop out grounds into the coffee machine. He sensed a heavy fatigue coming from the person. Which made sense if Gus had been crying and raising as much of a fuss as he seemed to have been for the past four days; nobody could sleep through that. 

“I swear to the Sweet Lord Almighty, if you don’t shut that brat up, I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown,” a scratchy, parchment-thin voice from somewhere behind Justin’s host complained.

In a weary, disgusted tone, the voice distorted by a yawn, the kidnapper replied, “I promise you, I would if I could. But short of smothering the obnoxious little parasite with a pillow, I don’t know what else to try . . .”

At which point, despite all Justin’s attempts to shield Brian, the impassioned father emitted such a roar of outrage that whomever they were linked to seemed to sense the watchers. The perspective of Justin’s host jerked backwards, as if the head of whomever's eyes they were looking through had raised up abruptly, and then their line of vision was jerked rapidly from right to left. All the while, though, Brian was screaming and cursing and making threats, his sentiments so strong that Justin could almost hear the words themselves. And the kidnapper was obviously getting some bleed through of that rage as well, because Justin could feel their emotional connection being shut down, piece by piece, their view of the tiny kitchen becoming tunneled and more distant until, in the end, the whole scene disappeared into a tiny pinhole of nothingness. 

In reaction, Brian’s anger segued into despair. Before he knew what was happening, Justin felt Brian wrenching away from him. Before Justin could stop him, Brian was gone and the blank wall of nothingness Brian normally hid behind was back in place, stronger and more impenetrable than ever.

Leaving Justin alone, feeling empty and bereft, as if he’d lost something precious that he wasn’t sure he could ever get back.

///~///~

//~///~

Chapter 17 - When Everything Fell Apart.

“Hurry up, Justin,” Jennifer admonished as she continued clearing away the breakfast dishes. 

Justin had to keep a protective hand on his orange juice glass or she would have taken that too.

“I’m ready, Mom,” Molly boasted and then, just to annoy her big brother, she got up and took her own cereal bowl to the dishwasher.

“Kiss ass,” Justin mumbled, shooting the little brat with a sour glare. 

Molly just smiled smugly at him, oozing fake innocence. 

“Thank you, Honey. I appreciate how helpful you always are,” Jennifer praised her obedient daughter. “Why don’t you go grab your backpack and jacket while I get your brother moving.” Molly skipped out of the kitchen and Jennifer looked back at Justin with yet another disapproving shake of her head. “Please, Justin. We’re already running late this morning and if you don’t hurry we won’t make it to St. James before your first period.”

Justin relented and stuffed the remaining quarter of his cream cheese bagel into his mouth in one shove. “Where’s Dad this morning,” he asked, mouth full, crumbs flying everywhere as he spoke. Craig usually drove Molly in the mornings because her school was on the way to the store - as opposed to Justin’s school, which was in the exact opposite direction. 

“Your father slept at the store last night,” Jennifer explained as she grabbed his plate and turned back to the sink. “He called late last night and explained that, what with the icy roads and the drinks he’d had over dinner with the vendors he was meeting with, he didn’t think he should drive home.” Justin could hear the doubt in his mother’s voice as she relayed the feeble excuse her wayward husband had offered, but then she quickly hurried on to less troubling subjects. “Which means I have to get both of you to school this morning.”

Justin felt bad enough for his mother that he let go of a little bit more of his lingering resentment. Craig really was an ass. Not only was he a homophobic bigot but he was also a cheating bastard. If only his mother didn’t constantly let him get away with his lies and defer to his crappy judgment all the time. Jennifer Taylor was still a beautiful woman. She could do so much better than the husband she currently had. But it was in her nature to be loyal and supportive to a fault. Justin supposed he couldn't complain too much about those characteristics. Not that his mother’s sense of loyalty helped him in his current predicament, though, as it was being directed to support his father, not himself. 

However, Justin really didn’t know what he was supposed to do next anyway. He’d tried repeatedly to reconnect to Brian the night before, but the man had his emotional barriers up at full force again. After the latest, horrifying, glimpse into the kidnapper’s mind, he couldn’t say he blamed Brian. It had to be terrible to listen to someone threatening to suffocate your precious infant son and not be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t surprising that Brian had reacted the way he had. Justin only wished he’d been with Brian, in person, to comfort him after that experience. 

Still, Justin suspected there had to be something they could do with all the new clues he’d uncovered in that last vision. After looking into Brian’s mind the way he had, he was even more convinced than ever that Brian knew the person who had taken Gus. That link Justin had followed from his lover to the kidnapper was too concrete, too significant, to be some random acquaintance. There was some history there - a painful history, perhaps - but definitely some shared experiences that tied the two of them together. Justin knew it. Brian probably knew it too, and if he could only find a way to overcome his emotional antipathy, Justin felt sure they’d be able to figure out who it was. 

But without being able to talk to Brian - to convey these impressions and convince Brian of his support - Justin feared it was futile. Something in Brian’s past had obviously scared him so completely that he had virtually shut himself off from all emotion. Justin understood the nature of that fear. It could be painful to open yourself up if you were being bombarded by negativity. Judging by those angry, painful strands Justin had seen in the depths of Brian’s psyche, he suspected that might have been the case in Brian’s past. And if that’s ALL you had - anger and pain and fear being broadcast at you over and over again for years - you could very easily come to the conclusion that you were safer feeling nothing. If so, it was little wonder that Brian was a blank emotional wall most of the time.

But staying behind his safe, protective barriers wasn’t going to help Gus. 

As Justin gathered together his heavy winter jacket and his messenger bag full of school books, his determination reasserted itself. There was a little baby out there that needed help. He knew he was the only one who could figure it out in time. But he needed Brian’s cooperation to do it. So Justin would have to find a way to get to Brian and then convince his closed-off lover to work together to solve this puzzle.

Somehow.

///~///~

The roads were icy and traffic was a bitch that morning. Maybe his father hadn’t been lying about his reasons for not driving home the night before? By the time they’d dropped Molly off at school, it was clear that Justin wasn’t going to make it to St. James’ Academy in time for his first class of the day. Not that Justin really minded, since his first class on Tuesdays was History with Dickhead Dickson; a class he would be happy to miss. 

Jennifer was too busy concentrating on her driving to chat much during the drive, which left Justin free to plan and scheme. He knew that the ransom drop was supposed to happen that morning, and he desperately wanted to be there to support Brian. He also worried that a lot could go wrong with the operation the police were planning, meaning that Brian was likely to need Justin, and his particular skills, more than ever today. Brian - and by extension, Gus - meant a lot more to him than another day of meaningless school blather so, grounded or not, there was no way he was going to waste the day sitting around safely in school. The only question was how and when he’d be able to make his escape. 

He was more than a half hour late getting to school, so Jennifer had to park the car and walk him in, stopping at the office to excuse his tardy appearance. Justin got a hall pass and made his way to class, ignoring his mother’s goodbye as well as the warning about Craig being there to pick him up after school again. Craig Taylor could pound sand for all Justin cared. He had more important things on his mind. The only thing holding him back was the fear that his father would follow through on those threats to file criminal charges against Brian. But there had to be some way to both appease Craig and help out Brian. It was just a matter of timing. Careful timing.

Justin made it to History class a mere ten minutes before the class was due to let out. Dickson was lecturing on some obscure historical topic, his monotonous voice droning on and on, immediately losing Justin’s interest along with that of ninety percent of the rest of the class. Instead of taking notes, Justin used his father’s notebook to sketch the details of the vision he’d had the night before; Gus in the tiny, dark room and the ugly kitchen. 

The minute the class let out, Justin cornered Daphne and demanded she turn over her phone. 

“Good morning to you too,” Daphne replied, giving him shit but not hesitating to hand over her phone. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you last night? I texted Brian, like you told me to, and he seemed really happy to get your message but then he texted back this crazy response in the middle of the night.”

Justin had already pulled up the texting app and saw the response in question: ‘I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!’

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened? Or leave me dying of curiosity? Because, if you want me to be your middleman, Justin, I’mma need more deets here.”

“I don’t have time to explain completely, Daph,” Justin answered at the same time as he was typing out a message to his understandably distraught lover. “Short version: I had another vision of Gus and . . . It was intense.” Justin tapped at the phone to ‘send’ the message and then handed the phone back to his friend. “Okay, I hope he gets that and knows I’m on my way. They’re doing the ransom drop today and I’ve got a feeling he’s going to need me . . . Can you take notes for me in classes again?”

“You’re skipping again?” Daphne jumped right to the pertinent point. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jus? You’re already grounded till you’re, like, a thousand years old . . .”

“Brian needs me, Daph,” Justin insisted as he walked towards his locker with his best friend trailing behind. “I have to be there in case something goes wrong, you know?”

“Yeah, ransom drops never work out well, at least not in any of the movies I’ve ever seen . . .”

“Well, let’s hope that real life doesn’t immitate the movies this one time . . . But, yeah, I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Justin agreed, beginning to offload the majority of his books out of his messenger bag. 

Daphne sighed deeply. “I guess you have to go then, but *I* have a bad feeling about you skipping school again.” 

Justin merely shrugged as he lifted the strap of his bag over his head and securely settled it across his shoulder. “My plan is to be back here before school lets out so my dad won’t know I skipped. Unless the school calls him again. But, either way, it doesn’t matter. I have to do this.”

“I get it. Just be careful. And TRY to get back here on time or your dad might do something drastic this time.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly and offered up a weak smile. “I’d be really bummed if he sent you away to military school or something.”

“Me too,” Justin agreed with a sudder. “And thanks for not giving me too much shit about skipping again, Daph. You’re the best.” Justin gave his friend one last, lopsided smile, and then resolutely turned towards the side exit, hoping to be able to make his escape without being seen.

Unfortunately, when he was only a dozen meters from the door, his path of escape was cut off and Justin was surrounded by a group of large, menacing, and clearly unhappy members of the school’s football team. In the forefront of this hulking wall of buff flesh was none other than Justin’s nemesis, Christopher Hobbs.

“Where you goin’, faggot?” Chris drawled, smiling evilly down at his intended victim.

“Hobbs,” Justin groaned, “Damn it. I don’t have time for this shit. Can we please just just do the bullying thing later? I’ve got someplace I need to be right now.”

“Fuck that,” Hobbs stepped closer, invading Justin’s personal space and in the process towering over the shorter teen. “You think you’re gonna get away with all those lies you were spouting yesterday without sufferin’ any consequences? Well, think again, asswipe.”

“Yeah, except they weren’t lies, were they?” Justin replied, too angry and stressed out to listen to his more prudent side. “Everything I said yesterday was one hundred percent the truth . . . Which is why you’re so piss-in-your-pants scared, isn’t it, Hobbs? Because you're terrified that the truth will come out and all your buddies will know you’re another big fat fucking fairy too . . .”

“You take that back, faggot!” Chris demanded, grabbing Justin by the front of his jacket and using his grip to shake the shit out of the smaller blond. 

Just then the bell indicating the start of the next period rang and the few remaining students that had been standing around them in the halls disappeared into their various classrooms, leaving only Hobbs, his bully boy friends, and Justin occupying the hallway. Ms. Santos, the Spanish teacher, whose classroom was the only one in this section of the hallway, appeared a moment later, and eyed the group of boys with disapproval. However, since Hobbs had been standing with his back to that portion of the hall, he didn’t see the teacher until she had come up right behind him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting to your classes, gentlemen?” Ms. Santos asked pointedly, startling a surprised Hobbs.

“I’ve got a dentist appointment, Ms. Santos.” Justin pulled the bright pink hall pass slip that he still had from earlier in the morning out of his pocket, waved it vaguely in the air, and then immediately shoved it discreetly back into his jacket before the teacher could look at it more closely. “I was just on my way out.”

“Fine. You’re excused, Taylor. But the rest of you need to get to class, now, or I’ll have to write you all up,” the teacher warned, pinning each of them in turn with a warning look that was full of righteous administrative weightiness.

“This isn’t over, Taylor,” Hobbs whispered, before turning on his heel and slouching off down the hall, presumably towards his next class, his cronies following in his footsteps.

Justin didn’t wait to see what would happen next; he was already out the door and jogging down the sidewalk in the direction of the closest bus stop, hoping he would be in time to meet Brian before the ransom drop. 

///~///~

Justin got off the bus at the last stop on Liberty Avenue and ran the rest of the way down the street towards Point State Park. It was already after ten and he was worried he was going to be too late. The ransom note had demanded that Brian deposit the ransom before 11:30, but he knew that Brian and the police wouldn’t wait till the last minute, so it was possible they’d already done the drop. If so, he’d have to scramble to figure out a way to meet up with Brian while the man was still waiting to hear if their plan had worked.

Justin bounced to a stop at the intersection where a four lane highway separated Liberty Avenue from the park. He was surprised that there was so much traffic at midmorning on a snowy Tuesday. He pressed the pedestrian crossing button at least two dozen times, impatient at the wait. Soon enough, though, the light changed, allowing him to sprint across the street and head into the greenway area that separated downtown from the park proper.

Only, today, there was no green in the greenway. Everything was spread with a thick coat of winter white from the weekend’s snowstorm. It was beautiful and stark. It also slowed Justin down quite a bit because the walkways through the park were only barely shovelled and there were still icy patches that threatened to send him sliding into a snowbank if he wasn’t careful. Luckily, though, the sun was finally coming out, and the temperature was rising, so hopefully the ice would be melting soon. In the meantime, though, Justin had to make his way through the maze of pathways, dodging other pedestrians and slippery patches, all of which slowed him down far more than he liked.

As he jogged past the little cafe that occupied the southeast corner of the park, Justin was again surprised at how many people were around that morning. Point State Park was usually a quiet oasis in the middle of the city. A place for downtown workers to eat their lunches or go for a jog in better weather. In the winter months, especially on a weekday, it was usually empty. But not today. Today there were several large groups of people waiting in line at the cafe, moving slowly around on the snowy paths and, off to his left, moving in his direction from the parking lot that was bursting with cars and even a few big yellow school buses. 

Probably not the conditions that the police would have wanted for a ransom drop.

Justin jostled his way through the crowds, eventually making his way to the underpass that allowed people to cross under I-279 into the park proper. The Fort Pitt Museum was just beyond the underpass, off to the left. He didn’t make it far, though, before he was blocked by an entire horde of school kids, taking up the entire pathway between himself and the museum, their teacher/guides pausing to relate some historical tidbits about the founding of Pittsburgh. 

“Fuck it! I don’t have time for this shit,” Justin mumbled as he backtracked and took a different pathway, thinking he could avoid the logjam of students by taking the longer way around.

Even this alternative route was pretty crowded, though. He got more than a few nasty looks and even an admonitory comment or two as he rudely pushed his way through the slow moving groups of people blocking his way. Finally, just when he was approaching the juncture where the path he was on turned left and merged with the Three-Rivers Heritage Trail, he was again forced to stop altogether by another larger group of field trip kids. Justin growled under his breath and then decided to just give up trying to be civilized. With total disregard for the fact that his trainers weren’t meant to double as snow shoes, he headed off cross-country, wading through the banks of shovelled snow lining the pathway so he could cut across the snow-covered field, skirting the gaggle of students blocking his way.

His shoes full of melting snow, he eventually made it all the way to the smaller walkway that circled around the old Fort Pitt Block House - the only remnant of the original fort that used to guard the strategically important confluence of the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio Rivers - and was able to get back on relatively dry land. He overheard a guide in front of the Block House talking about how it was the 255th Anniversary of the building of Fort Pitt and elucidating on the conditions the original pioneers had been forced to endure that first, long, cold winter in what was then the American Frontier. 

“The Fort Pitt Block House is the oldest authenticated structure west of the Allegheny Mountains . . ." the guide was lecturing as Justin passed by.

“Great. Just our luck Brian’s kid had to get abducted in the middle of some stupid Anniversary Celebration of the founding of Pittsburgh,” Justin mumbled to himself as he passed by the Block House itself, circling around behind the building to get to the plaza fronting the museum. 

Considering how cold it was, Justin was rather surprised by the number of people loitering around outside in the snowy area surrounding the Museum’s entrance. Over the front doors, there was a huge banner advertising the celebration of ‘Pittsburgh’s First Winter’ - clearly the reason for the large crowds of people and the groups of school children on field trips. No wonder there had been so many people around this morning. Of course the kidnapper had picked this muddled scene of disorder as their preferred ransom drop locale; Justin had no idea how the police would find the abductor in this moil of people. 

Apparently, though, the police were better at monitoring the crowds than he’d expected because, within two minutes of Justin showing up in front of the museum, he was approached by a man dressed in a heavy winter coat, it’s hood pulled forward so that only a tiny wedge of the man’s face showed. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Taylor? Do you want to blow this whole operation?” the man growled in a low undertone that wouldn’t carry beyond Justin’s ears. At the same time the man grabbed Justin’s arm and began to tow him off to the side of the little plaza area. Justin might have protested if he hadn’t recognized Detective Horvath’s gruff voice. “You can’t just come barrelling in here. What if the kidnapper was watching this place and recognized you?”

Justin didn’t have time to reply before Horvath had pulled him up the ramp that climbed the embankment to the east of the Museum and in through a door at the back of the building that he hadn’t even known existed. The door clanged shut behind them with a bang that echoed through the silence of the room. It took Justin a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior after being outside where the sunlight glinting off the snow had practically blinded him. When his vision had adjusted, he discovered that the small room was packed full of people and equipment with several computer monitors set up along a folding table against the wall and, sitting right in the middle of the bunch, was the very man he’d come to see.  

“Hey, Brian. Just the man I wanted to see!” the teen exclaimed, and was then immediately hushed by several of the others present, all of whom were concentrating on the images flittering across the computer screens. 

“If you’re going to stay, Son, you need to be quiet and let my officers work,” Horvath warned him in an insistent hiss. 

Justin nodded and moved over so he was standing directly behind the chair where Brian was seated. He reached down with one hand to squeeze Brian’s shoulder and the man raised a distracted hand to cover the youth’s fingers in acknowledgement. But that was all Justin got. Other than that brief gesture, Brian’s attention was completely fixated on the various monitors arrayed in front of him. So Justin looked at them too and noticed that they were displaying video feeds of the front approach to the museum from multiple angles as well as at least two views from inside the building. 

“I take it you already dropped the money in the garbage can like you were told?” Justin queried, his voice just barely above a whisper, as he noted that at least three of the cameras were solely focused on the area surrounding the one large trash receptacle set up to the west of the front entrance. 

“Yeah,” Brian replied quietly. “I put the briefcase with the money in there about a half hour ago.”

“And? Anybody approach the trashcan since?”

“Yeah, about a hundred school kids, who have thrown their crap in there,” Brian grumbled.

And, right on cue, as they watched, yet another group of kids moved across the screens in front of them, several of the students stopping to drop trash in the bin before moving into place around the closer of the two small, grey-metal, replica cannons that flanked the museum’s entrance. The teacher who’d been guiding this group started in with a lecture about the defences of the fort in its early days - something Justin already knew about from his own previous field trips to the museum as a child - as the masses of students milled around in a thoroughly distracting way. Meanwhile, the police surveillance team tried to scrutinize every face in the vicinity to the best of their ability.

Justin, who’s sole aim up to that point had been to locate Brian so as to be there for his lover, didn’t know what he was supposed to do now that he’d found the man. Brian was focused on the video feeds to the exclusion of all else. Justin probed at him with his empathic skills but got nowhere; Brian was as closed off emotionally as ever. With all these other people around, there was no way they could talk freely, either, so it wasn’t like they could discuss what had happened the night before. Maybe Justin coming down here to be with Brian had been a mistake after all? Not that he was going to leave again, though, at least not until there was some resolution.

But the resolution seemed like it might take a while. A long while. They all just stood around and watched the damned monitors for what felt like eons. Justin, who didn’t know precisely what they were all watching for, quickly got bored. One group of school kids with their teachers and parent-chaperones looked pretty much like the next. They all milled around in the plaza area in front of the museum, most of them stopping to look at the miniature cannons, until a museum worker would come out to get them when it was time for the next group of visitors to enter. Then another group would take its place around the cannons. And another. And another. Until all the faces seemed to blur together in Justin’s mind. Eventually someone offered Justin a chair so he could sit instead of stand, which allowed him to be bored while seated, but that was the only change which happened for seeming hours and hours.

At about 11:00, the first groups of kids began to leave the museum - presumably these were the earliest tour groups from that morning who, having seen all that the museum had to offer, were now being dismissed to return to their schools. As these groups left the museum, most of the kids deposited additional trash in the bin that the police were watching, including all the empty lunch sacks from the brown bag lunches they’d eaten while inside the museum. The trash bin filled up pretty fast after that, until the garbage was overflowing the receptacle. Before long, a museum janitor came out of the building, pushing his wheeled supply cart along in front of him, with the apparent intent of emptying the trash.

“What the fuck?” Brian complained, gesturing with alarm at the monitor in front of him. “Horvath? Aren’t you going to stop him? He’s going to cart away the fucking ransom . . .”

“Hang on, Kinney,” Detective Horvath advised. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got guys out there monitoring the situation from the ground. They won’t let the janitor take the ransom money anywhere far. But we can’t just run out there and stop him without letting on to the kidnapper that we’re here and watching. We have to stay calm . . .”

“Fucking shit . . .” Brian grumbled, slouching back into his chair as he continued to watch the screen, seemingly resigned to letting the police do their thing, but Justin could feel the man’s aggravation levels ramping up to the point that his distress finally broke through the emotional shields he’d been trying to maintain. 

Finally, there was something Justin could do to help. The empath focused his attention on the back of Brian’s head and willed a sense of calm in the man’s direction. He didn’t know if Brian would fight the link or not, but hopefully at least some of the serenity he was trying to transmit would get through and help soothe the poor man.

Justin was so intent on that task, however, that he almost missed the moment when everything fell apart.

Out of the corner of his eye, Justin vaguely noticed that the janitor had lifted the bulging trash bag out of the bin and, after tying off the top with a twist-tie, had set the bag on the bare concrete ground next to him while he dug through his cart to find a fresh bag. A second later, they were startled by the blaring of the fire alarm going off, the repetitive alarm deafening in the small confines of the little room where the police had set up their monitoring operation. 

And that’s when all hell broke loose. The front doors of the museum flew open and a stream of hundreds of kids, with their parents and teachers in tow, began to stream out. Once free from the strangle point of the entrance doors, the various groups of students spread out everywhere, walking and sometimes even running away from the building, and in the process obscuring the police’s view of the front of the building and the garbage can they’d been watching so intently. 

“What the hell?” Horvath stood up, spent several long seconds staring in horror at the screens and the chaos they evidenced erupting everywhere around, and then the man started screaming into a walkie-talkie he’d pulled out of his pocket. 

“Adams, Clark, who has eyes on the package? Where the hell did the janitor disappear to? Hell . . . Jeffers, get your ass over there and secure that garbage bag!” Horvath, slammed down the walkie-talkie and shoved at one of the men who’d been sitting in front of the monitors. “Ruiz, get out there and find out what’s going on, damn it!”

Meanwhile, for those left inside watching the scene, it was clear that they’d completely lost control of the operation. The lines of students leaving the facility were starting to dwindle down to only the stragglers followed by the museum personnel. The teachers and chaperones were busy gathering their groups of children, all of whom were standing in little huddles randomly arranged all across the snowy lawns of Point State Park. The kids looked unhappy and cold, most of them coatless and shivering, since they’d had to evacuate the building without their jackets. The teachers looked harried and annoyed as they tried to take roll and figure out if anyone was missing. The sound of fire engines’ sirens could be heard in the distance, rapidly coming closer and closer. 

At the same time, Horvaths’ men could be seen standing around in front of the museum, all of them staring dejectedly at the remains of the trash bag that had once held Brian’s briefcase full of ransom money. The bag had been trampled into shreds by the hordes of children exiting the building as a result of the fire alarm going off. There was trash strewn everywhere for meters around; lunch bags and tissues and food scraps and soda bottles everywhere. But the one thing that was nowhere to be found was the bag of cash that had been meant as Gus’ ransom . . .

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 18 - Sexual Distraction.

It took the fire department only twenty minutes to clear the building and confirm that it had been a false alarm. 

Of course Horvath’s team already knew that, as the police had refused to leave their command post despite the fire chief’s attempted insistence. They had spent the time going over the video they’d been recording and had easily pinpointed the moment when someone had pulled the fire alarm closest to the front door. Unfortunately, since the police cameras had all been focused on the doorway and what was happening outside in the front courtyard area, all they saw was the culprit’s back. Even then it was difficult to see much since the individual had been standing just inside the front entrance, off to the side and just barely in the range of the cameras, and obscured by a sizeable group of middle school-aged students who’d blocked the view. The only clear detail they’d been able to ascertain was that whomever had pulled the alarm had been of average height and was wearing a black hoodie bearing the familiar logo of Pittsburgh’s football team - the Ironmen. As soon as the alarm was pulled, and the multitude of visitors inside the museum began to stream out, the cameras had lost sight of the hooded hoodlum.

As for the missing ransom money, the police were stumped. The video showed the janitor who’d been emptying the trash looking up in surprise the moment the alarm went off. He was quickly overrun by the hordes of kids rushing out through the front entrance. Amid the chaos, the video showed the janitor pushing his cart to the side so it was out of the direct path of the exiting masses, and then he disappeared along with the rest of the crowd. 

Horvath had the video tech replay the recording several times, all of them watching together, trying to see which of the hundreds of people leaving the museum might have bent down to pick up the briefcase full of ransom money as they passed, but it was hopeless. There had just been too many people - too many bobbing heads - to distinguish the exact moment the bag was taken. Horvath growled and cursed and had the tech play back the recordings from every angle several times over, but there wasn’t anything substantive visible on those recordings.

Meanwhile, another of the police detectives had set Brian up at a separate monitor and was helping him review the video feed from earlier in the morning. Brian had made the drop at precisely ten o’clock, leaving the briefcase in the trash as directed, and then entered the museum through the front doors, going straight into the men’s room, where Horvath’s men had rounded him up and escorted him to the secret command post room. Brian had been watching the video feed along with the cops ever since, in the hopes that he’d recognize the kidnapper when he or she appeared. Clearly that hadn’t happened. So the theory was that, perhaps, the kidnapper had come into the museum before Brian had made the drop in order to be prepared and watching. Which meant that Brian had to go through all the recordings, from all the different cameras, from the time the museum had opened till the disastrous fire alarm had gone off around eleven-thirty. 

It was a lot of video and it took a long time to go through it all carefully. Brian was not being all that cooperative, either. Justin could tell that the man was just barely holding back his panic and fear. Brian’s emotions were on blast, so the roar of his despair was hard to tune out. Not that anyone could blame the man whose son was still missing when it looked like the ransom that was meant to redeem the infant might have been stolen; it was understandable that Brian was a total mess. Justin couldn’t help much with the video review, though, so he used his special talents to try and ease Brian’s emotional overload as best he could. It seemed to work, at least enough so that Brian was able to concentrate on watching the video feed. Mostly.

Because he was so laser-focused on Brian’s emotions, though, Justin felt it the second that Brian startled with surprise. The empath looked up at the monitor Brian had been watching and noticed him staring intently at one of the school groups that was filing through the front entrance. At first Justin couldn’t tell what had caught Brian’s attention; it seemed like just another field trip group, the same as all the others. Then he realized that Brian was staring at one particular woman in the middle of the group. Justin looked at her and felt a stirring of familiarity.

“Brian?” he asked.

“Pause the tape,” Brian directed the policeman who’d been helping him.

“Do you recognize someone?” the detective asked hopefully.

“Yeah, but . . . it’s not the kidnapper.” Brian sighed and shook his head. Justin could sense a surge of animosity, with a tinge of inexplicable sadness added in, coming from his lover, both of which were quickly subsumed by his renewed worry for Gus. “Start the tape again.”

“If you recognize someone, we should look into it, Kinney. Even if it’s just a distant acquaintance,” the Detective - Justin thought he was named Ruiz - advised. 

“It’s just my fucking sister, Claire, and one of her kids,” Brian explained, pointing to the woman wearing a faded blue parka and the pre-teen boy standing next to her. “Peter’s class must be here with the rest for the fucking field trip extravaganza.”

“Hmm,” Ruiz hummed a non-verbal comment and noted the woman’s name on a sheet of paper along with the time stamp on that recording. “Is there any possibility that your sister might be involved in the abduction of your son? Any reason she might hold a grudge against you or want to hurt you?”

“Well, she’s always been a total cunt, and we definitely don’t get along, but she’s way too much of a lazy-assed loser to think up something as elaborate as a kidnapping scheme,” Brian replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, I've only seen Claire once since my father’s funeral last summer. She and my mother got pissed off at me for getting drunk off my ass - they said I was disrespecting his memory or some shit like that - so they’ve been giving me the cold shoulder ever since. Which is fine with me; I don’t want to waste my time with them anyway. My mother is a frigid, drunken bitch who thinks I’m going to hell because I’m gay, and my sister is a whiny little milksop who does nothing but complain about her deadbeat ex-husband and her bratty kids. Hell, I didn’t even tell them when Gus was born - I don’t want my kid to be anywhere near the likes of Saint Joan or Claire the Cunt.” Brian’s words sounded contemptuous and cavalier, but Justin could tell that, underneath, he was far from sanguine about the rift with his biological family. Inside, he was just a hurt little boy who was still nursing a lifetime of wounds caused by his uncaring parents and neglectful sibling. 

“I don’t know . . .” Ruiz hesitated. “Anyone you might have a beef with is worth looking into.”

“You got something over here?” Horvath questioned, striding over to their corner of the room to find out what the discussion was about. 

“Kinney’s sister and nephew were here today,” Ruiz answered his superior. “Apparently the family is less than approving of Mr. Kinney’s lifestyle and they’ve been estranged for most of the last year . . .”

“But, as I told you, they don’t even know about Gus, so there’s no way that Claire could be the kidnapper,” Brian asserted. “Besides, how’s a housewife, here with her kid on a fucking field trip no less, gonna pull off a ransom pickup? Huh? And that’s assuming Claire is smart enough to pull off a kidnapping, which isn’t likely since she dropped out of highschool to pop out the first of her two loser brats. Trust me, Claire was never the brightest bulb in the box.” 

Justin could tell that Horvath was about to object and press the point when their discussion was interrupted by someone from a different monitor calling to them. “Hey, Boss. I think I found the Ironmen guy in the crowd out in the field after the alarm.”

Horvath turned his back on Brian and Ruiz and hustled over to look at the images on the other monitor. Brian paused in his own video viewing, holding his breath long enough to listen in on the other group, until it became clear that the video didn’t show anything more than the back of a black hooded head, which disappeared again a few frames later. It seemed like another dead end. Brian sighed and went back to reviewing more video images on his own. Justin went back to his empathic support role. And that was that for another hour or so until they’d finished going through all the recordings without finding anything more.

The bottom line, after reviewing all the tapes multiple times, was that the police weren’t sure if the fire alarm had been a distraction that was part of the kidnapper’s plan or if it was just a coincidence and somebody else had taken off with the ransom. Horvath promised that they’d have a forensic team back at the station look over the recordings again and see if they couldn’t come up with something more - maybe they could enhance the images and pinpoint exactly when the ransom bag had been picked up - but for the time being they really didn’t have anything definite. Brian was told to go home and wait to hear from the kidnapper. If the ransom had been picked up by the person who’d abducted Gus, hopefully they’d relay directions on how to get the child back. And, if not, well . . . there wasn’t anything more Brian could do at the museum anyway, so he might as well go home. 

Justin followed Brian as the dejected man left the museum, heading toward the parking lot to the south of the park, where he’d left his car. Justin could sense how terribly depressed and hopeless Brian felt. The empath wasn’t feeling much better himself. It seemed like the morning had been a complete disaster. And they still didn’t have Gus.

///~///~

Neither man spoke on the drive back to the loft. What was there to say? Justin wanted to be supportive, but he could tell that Brian didn’t want to hear any platitudes; false cheerfulness would just piss the older man off. At least Brian wasn’t trying to actively push him away. He also still hadn’t put up his emotional barriers, but perhaps that was due to fatigue and depression more than anything else. Brian just seemed so defeated. Justin hoped that his mere presence was support enough. 

When they arrived at the loft, Brian simply got out of the Jeep and headed inside, not even noticing that Justin was tagging along behind him. That was a very bad sign, as far as Justin was concerned. He didn’t like this passive Brian Kinney at all. He seemed like he’d already given up. However Justin wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. Not by a long shot. He was still convinced they had the power to find the kidnapper using their combined empathic skills, if only he could get Brian to work with him. Now seemed like as good a time as any.

Brian opened the door to the loft and walked straight back to the bedroom, not even pausing to ensure that Justin closed the door behind them. He toed off his boots and climbed under the covers with all his clothes on. Ouch. That was definitely not a good sign. 

Justin wasn’t deterred, though. He merely followed Brian’s example, kicking off his own shoes next to the door and making sure to lock it, before  joining Brian in the big platform bed. Brian didn’t acknowledge his newly arrived bedmate when Justin scootched up behind him - the little spoon fitting himself to the form of the bigger one for a change - and put his arms around the larger body. It wasn’t until Justin reached out with his mind, trying to establish the special connection that he knew they shared, that Brian roused even a little bit. 

“Stop, Justin. I’m not in the mood,” Brian grumbled as he tried to roll away from the clingy blond limpet attached to his back.

“I bet that’s the first time those words ever came out of your mouth,” Justin teased him, trying for lightheartedness. 

“Twat,” was Brian’s only response. 

Justin was a persistent little fuck though. “Come on, Brian. Let me in. Please. I know we can reach out to the kidnapper again if you’ll just let me do my thing . . .”

“Justin . . .” Brian sighed. But then he finally rolled over so he could look at the teen directly. “I just . . . I can’t. It’s too hard . . .” Brian’s words faltered and he bit his bottom lip in frustration. 

“You don’t have to do anything, Brian. I’ll do everything. I just need you to be my link.”

“That’s not it. I . . .” He huffed a breath filled with frustration and sadness. “I can’t stand seeing Gus like that - the way I see him in your visions - crying and alone and maybe even sick . . . It kills me every time I see him there, Justin. Especially since there’s nothing I can do to help him. I . . . I can’t do it. It hurts too much.”

Justin didn’t have any argument against that so he just remained silent. 

But that heavy silence was even too much for Brian, it seemed. After only five minutes or so of lying there, wallowing in a morass of melancholy, the Stud groaned and began to stir. When he rolled himself on top of the younger man, his head buried in blond floss, and started to nuzzle at the warmth behind one shell-like ear, Justin immediately understood what it was that Brian was after. He needed distraction. He needed to feel in control. He needed comfort, but not in a hugs and quiet understanding way. Brian was a highly sexual being who had always dealt better when he could fuck away his cares. And who was Justin to argue with what had worked so well for so long, right? Besides, all that squirming and nuzzling and groping had the poor boy so horny that he couldn’t muster enough blood to his brain to think up any rational objection. 

So, fine. Sexual distraction it would be. That was as good a way to relieve the built up stress of the day as any. Fuck it all!

With Justin lying there, offering up his body to the attentions of his lover, Brian slowly kissed and nibbled and licked and bit his way down the ivory column of a slender neck, over a rounded shoulder, and across a jutting collarbone. Meanwhile, down below, the big hands had found their way under the hem of Justin’s shirt and started to inch the fabric upward. Every place Brian touched, it felt like a lick of flame against Justin’s sensitive skin; a sense-memory of caresses mapping out Brian’s progress. It was exquisite torture. 

Justin eventually had to squirm around, allowing his cock to free itself from where it had been trapped, angling uncomfortably down his left pant leg. Brian helped out by unzipping his fly and popping the top button, allowing his dick to escape fully, leaping up as if eager to connect with its liberator, only to fall back with a soft *swak* against his belly. The youth giggled at the apendage’s antics. Even Brian smiled approvingly.

Brian, however, was too focused for amusement. He’d already returned to his job of ridding Justin of that pesky shirt. The tall man bent his body almost in half so he could kiss the navel he revealed as he bunched up the soft cotton fabric. He pushed the shirt higher and bit at the edge of a rib. Higher still and the pads of his thumbs found two matching nipples, rubbing and circling till they became hard little pebbles of super-sensitized flesh, each with a direct connection to the nerve pathways leading to the teen’s straining cock. Justin’s moaning was pretty much constant by that point, which only seemed to drive Brian on.

With one more shove, Brian had Justin’s shirt up to the boy’s chin. The helpful youth raised his arms, intending to assist with the clothing removal. Instead of pulling the shirt all the way off, though, Brian stopped the moment the material had covered Justin’s face. Then, taking hold of a wad of fabric, Brian deftly twisted it up, cinching the material tighter and turning the shirt into an impromptu combination blindfold and handcuffs, which effectively immobilized Justin’s upper body. Not that Justin had planned on struggling much to start with, but if that’s what Brian needed to feel in control, he was happy to oblige. Happy to submit, to let his lover prove his domination, his mastery, his control. Happy to let Brian take possession of his body. Whatever it took to give Brian back the sense of power that the kidnapper had stolen along with his son.

As soon as he had Justin immobilized, Brian grabbed hold of Justin’s cock with his free hand and started to tug while his mouth continued to attack the younger man’s chest and torso. He was putting his teeth to good use, biting and sucking at every piece of skin he found, hard enough that Justin knew his pale skin would be marked all over. And he loved it! He’d never been as turned on as he was by this Aggressive Brian. Not that Brian hadn't always been a dominant lover, but there was something almost animalistic in the way Brian was seemingly trying to devour him whole that afternoon. Justin wasn’t sure he could last till the actual sex started, that’s how hard he was.

Luckily, Brian paused right at the moment that Justin’s balls started to tingle with a tell-tale warning. Brian put his mouth up against the side of Justin’s head, the warmth of his breath seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt that still blinded the youth, and growled - literally growled like an animal - while twisting the fabric even tighter around his arms. 

“Do NOT move. Not even a fucking centimeter,” he snarled and bit Justin’s earlobe through the fabric.

Justin moaned his acceptance of the order.

The weight of Brian’s body lifted and Justin was left alone for a moment. He immediately missed the physical contact; maybe even felt a little lost. But since he wasn’t allowed to move, he had to use his other senses to follow his lover’s movement around the room. 

First, there was the shifting of the mattress underneath him as Brian got to his feet, and the dip and release, dip and release as he walked the two steps over to the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. Next, Justin heard a thump as something heavy landed on the floor and the weight on the mattress disappeared. That was followed by soft, shuffling, barefoot steps that barely made any sound on the hardwood floor. Then, Justin detected the sound of wood sliding against wood, some rattling, and was startled when something cold and hard rolled to a stop against the side of his exposed torso. And finally, there was the crinkle of plastic and a muted ripping noise, probably the result of a condom packet being separated from the ribbon of its peers. Justin shivered with happy anticipation. 

“Good boy,” Brian whispered his approval for Justin’s obedient inaction a moment later as the mattress dipped once more.

But before the Good Boy could respond, he was again accosted. This time it involved Brian tugging at the legs of his pants to try and finish the disrobing process. The boy started to arch up, intent on helping out, but was startled into stillness again by another growl. Oops. He wasn’t supposed to move, was he? Justin froze. He let himself be undressed like a ragdoll. Whatever Brian needed, right?

Brian resumed his actions, wrangling the pants off his victim and then dropping to his knees in the space between Justin’s widespread thighs. There followed a long moment of pause and Justin was tempted to peek from under his blindfold to see what Brian was doing, but at the last minute he restrained himself. This was Brian’s show. Justin could be patient. 

Luckily, his patience was rewarded a moment later when two strong hands began to work their way up his body. They started at his calves, the fingertips trailing upwards and causing a strange tickling sensation because of the way the hair on his legs was being stroked in the wrong direction. The motion continued over his knees and up his thighs, the thumbs creating little circle motions across the skin as they passed. Having to wait, unable to see but only feel, as the excitement of Brian’s caresses accumulated, was exciting and aggravating at the same time. Justin didn’t think his cock had ever been harder in his entire life.

However, when the tantalizing touches reached hip level, his expectations were dashed as Brian’s hands skipped right over Justin’s funner bits and scurried on up to ravage his chest again. Brian chuckled at his victim’s tiny moan of disappointment. A second later, though, Justin forgave all transgressions when Brian’s mouth executed a surprise attack, descending abruptly and engulfing the heretofore neglected member with a suction force worthy of Mr. Hoover himself. So it really wasn’t any surprise that Justin shot his entire load only moments later, was it? 

“Mmmmmm. Nectar of the gods,” Brian commented as soon as he finished lapping up his special treat, eliciting a giggle from Justin. “And now that the appetizer is over, we can move on to the main course.”

There was more plastic crinkling, the snick of the cap on the tube of lube, and then Justin felt a squish of coldness causing him to jump as the lubricant was applied to the sensitive flesh of his hole. Justin felt Brian’s arms sliding under and around his thighs. The next thing he knew, his legs had been lifted up so that his knees were crooked over the broad shoulders of his lover and Brian was scooting even closer. It was difficult to relax when the anticipation of what was coming was so overwhelming; no matter how horrible the day had been thus far, Justin’s body thrilled at the expectation of getting that amazing cock back inside him again. There was nothing that could compare to being fucked by Brian Kinney, no matter what the circumstances were surrounding the experience. Nothing.

He wasn’t disappointed, either. The initial stretch and burn as that prodigious poker first breached him was always a bit of a shock, but the ensuing fullness was so satisfying that Justin quickly forgot any discomfort. It was like they fit together. Two puzzle pieces that snapped into place as if they were meant to be part of the same, bigger picture. It might be a cliche, but Justin truly felt completed every time he joined with Brian. And, as the thickness of Brian’s cock slid home into his depths, Justin sighed contentedly. 

Not that he was allowed to relax into that contentment for long. Not today. Today, Brian was on a rampage. He was like a ravening animal. As soon as he was reasonably assured that Justin had adjusted to his initial entry, Brian started driving into Justin, again and again, using the hold he had on the boy’s thighs to pummel into the smaller body as energetically as he possibly could. If he hadn’t been holding onto the youth, Justin would have gone flying off the edge of the mattress from the sheer force of those thrusts. But even in his frenzy, Brian was a consummate artist in the realm of bedding a man; he unerringly hit Justin’s sweet spot with every jab and controlled his withdrawal so that the flared ridge of his cock just barely nudged against the rim of the youth’s hole on every outward pull. It was so amazing that, even though Justin had just come, he was already on the edge again after only a couple dozen thrusts. 

That’s where things took an amazing but unexpected turn, though. 

At one point Brian had leaned forward so that his hungry mouth could join in the fun; he bent the boy in half in order to resume his biting and nibbling at Justin’s nipples. But that didn’t seem to suffice and before long the man’s tongue was moving upwards, licking a path over Justin’s chest, sucking for a moment on a prominent clavicle, and then tasting its way up the side of a slender neck. He had to pause a moment to unearth Justin’s lips from under the fabric that was covering the boy’s face, but as soon as he’d found the lips he was seeking, Brian began to feast on the suppleness he found there, with Justin eagerly kissing back, just as hungry for that taste. 

Even then it seemed like Brian wasn’t satisfied. Something was still missing. He needed to wholly possess the entirety of this man. He needed the connection that he only got from Justin. So, as if he couldn’t help himself, Brian slowly pushed the cotton fabric upwards, unblinding Justin and allowing their eyes to meet. 

The second the hazel met cornflower blue, there was a frisson of electric static and then the emotional connection between the two men flared into prominence. It was like a switch was flipped. One minute they were each separate individuals, and the next they were fused as one combined entity. The link between them was absolute. They were each a part of the other; no longer alone. And that emotional feedback loop that Justin had occasionally experienced in the past with others was suddenly on blast. He could feel every thrust of Brian’s cock from both the receiving end and the wielding end. It was shattering and powerful and breathtaking and he never wanted it to end. 

Even perfection eventually comes to some kind of conclusion though. And maybe that was for the best, because Justin didn’t think he could bear the unspeakable sublimity of the link that bloomed between him and Brian as they made love. Even as he thought that thought, however, he could feel Brian recoiling from the gushy sentiment. The sentimentality. But Brian could fight it all he wanted; nothing would ever make what they had any less real. Any less vivid. Any less intense. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just fucking. This was a joining of two souls so profound that it defied description. It wasn’t something that came along every day. It was implacable. It couldn’t be fought. It was all-encompassing and would mark one’s spirit for eternity. 

Strangely enough, when the climax of their joining came, it was almost anticlimactic. First Justin and then Brian reached that point of arousal where the physicality of their bodies took over from the affectability of their emotional link and it took them each, individually and as a pair, over the edge of bliss. It was almost like that electrical spark that caught fire in Justin’s core jumped the fire line to Brian’s being, resulting in a total conflagration that burned through them both with a white-hot heat of joyousness. But that physical release was still secondary to the emotional balm that washed over them at the same time. And they never lost that connection, even at the height of their orgasms. It was literally the most exquisite moment either man could even imagine. A moment neither could ever forget.

Which is when the other remarkable thing happened.

While they were lying there, wrapped in a post-coital bliss that seemed to sap both men of the ability to think or speak or even move, the emotional connection between them still crystal clear and so strong it felt unbreakable, Justin felt a psychic nudge at the back of his mind. He was too open to even try to exclude the newcomer, so it was inevitable that both he and Brian were assailed a moment later by a new vision of Gus’ abductor. This time the image that came to him showed a glimpse of the briefcase Brian had used to deliver the ransom. It was sitting open on the same kitchen table Justin had seen the night before and the kidnapper’s hands were seen lifting out one of the bundles of $20 dollar bills banded together into $500 stacks. They could sense the gloating and victoriousness the kidnapper was feeling at that moment. The monster was so self-pleased it was sickening. 

“So, does this mean we can finally get rid of the brat?” a voice in the background, far enough away from the scene they were witnessing that it was barely discernible, asked. 

Justin could hear the faint wailing of a baby in the distance, but it was muffled, as if coming from another room. He felt Brian recoiling with horror. But Justin resisted, maintaining the three-way link with all the might of his psyche. He needed to hear this answer and so did Brian. 

“Hell, yes!” the kidnapper responded with glee. “I can’t wait to get rid of that noisy little bastard. The sooner the better. I’ve just got to figure out a safe way to offload the little shit without getting caught . . .”

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 19 - That Love Surge.

Their shared psychic vision confirming that the kidnapper had, indeed, received the ransom money and was planning to return Gus had put Brian in a much better mood. Between that and the truly amazing sex, the afternoon was certainly ending on a much better note than it had started on. It felt like they’d turned a corner. Both men were more confident they’d finally get Gus back and everything would turn out for the best.

That spark of hopefulness had also reenergized Brian. He had almost immediately leapt out of bed, grabbed Justin’s hand, and towed the boy after him into the shower. An erotic soaping had led to more sexy shower fun. By the time they were done, Justin was nice and clean both inside and out. 

The happy, playful mood followed them out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Brian was acting like a total goof, tickling and goosing Justin every time he got close enough to get his hands on the boy. Not that Justin was trying all that hard to keep away, mind you. But just when the horsing around looked like it might propel them back into bed for a third go round, Justin’s loudly growling stomach interrupted the festivities.  

“Rude much?” Brian teased. 

“Hey, it’s been a long time since breakfast, you know?”

“Well, if this is your way of getting me to buy you lunch, I suppose it’s pretty effective,” Brian smiled down at the boy. “It’s not like I could concentrate on fucking you again with that noisy monster in your stomach complaining all the time.” Brian rolled out of bed and picked up a pile of Justin’s clothing off the floor, tossing the fabric at the youth’s head. “Get dressed and we’ll make a run to the Diner.”

The responsive gurgling from his gut was a pretty strong indication that Justin’s stomach approved of that idea. However, the reminder that it was obviously long past lunch prompted the boy to peek at the clock on Brian’s nightstand. He groaned. 

“I’d love to let you buy me lunch, Brian, but is there any chance we can get it to go? I sorta need to be back at school before three . . . I’m technically still grounded and if I’m not there when my dad arrives to pick me up, I’m afraid he just might follow through on his threats to have you arrested.” 

Brian shook his head and mumbled a quiet, “fucking asshole,” under his breath but didn’t try to argue the point. “Better get a move on then, Cinderella, or we won’t get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

It didn’t take long for them both to pull on some clothing and head out the door. Despite the small splash of cold water from Justin’s mention of his father, the boys’ mood was still jubilant. They were goofing and teasing and playing around all the way to the car. They only quieted briefly, long enough for Brian to call ahead so Debbie could get a start on their order before they arrived, but other than that they continued to act almost giddy.

Brian was fortunate to snag a parking space on the block right in front of the Diner when they arrived. He got out of the Jeep and then waited on the sidewalk for his passenger, wrapping one arm familiarly around the youth’s waist as they walked together towards their destination. Justin loved that public show of intimacy. Of course, the moment he thought that, Brian, who was still dialed in to all Justin’s emotions, retaliated by using the fingers resting against his side to tickle him. Which is why they were both giggling like school girls as they tumbled through the front door of the Diner.

They plopped down on the first two stools at the lunch counter together, wearing matching, goofy grins, as Brian greeted the waitress who was staring at them in disbelief. “Hey, Deb. Is my order ready?” Brian asked with an open and honest smile that made him look ten years younger.

“Who the hell ARE you, and what have you done with Brian Kinney?” was Debbie’s shocked response.

“If you can’t remember who I am, maybe I need to chat with Mikey about looking into long-term nursing home care for you, Deb,” Brian teased, the little chortle of mirth taking away any possible sting from the words.

“Asshole,” Debbie replied with an answering smile. “I guess I just didn’t recognize you without your trademark scowl and the customary chip on your shoulder. It’s a nice change though.” Debbie turned around and yelled through the order window, “hey, Paul, where’s that to go order?”

“Two minutes, Deb,” the answer was yelled back.

“You and your gorgeous friend want something to drink while you’re waiting?” Deb asked, eyeing Justin with a question in her glance.

“Deb, Justin. Justin, Deb,” Brian introduced them in his typical brusque fashion. “And yeah, you can get him a soda and I’ll have a coffee for the road.”

“Justin, huh? You mean to tell me you know his name? That’s different,” Deb commented as she bustled around filling their drink order. 

“Justin isn’t a trick, Deb,” Brian immediately corrected with a beaming smile directed the youth’s way. “He’s . . . He’s a friend.”

Justin blushed and blasted them all with a smile so bright it was almost incandescent. Underneath the words he could sense the surge of affection Brian felt at the admission. Their connection was so strong now that he didn’t think either of them could ever escape it. It felt really good. Really. Like something that had become an integral part of him. And knowing that Brian was feeling it too made his happiness bubble over even more.

“He’s fucking adorable is what he is,” Deb added approvingly. “That smile seems familiar though. Don’t I remember you from somewhere before, Sunshine?”

“I came in here once, several months ago,” Justin reminded her. “After this one,” Justin poked Brian in the ribs, eliciting a squirm and a laugh, “blew me off. Your son, Michael, offered to console me with a cheeseburger . . . Right before he attempted to warn me off of Brian for good.” 

“Lucky for me you never listen to anyone cuz you’re such a stubborn little shit, right?” Brian smirked proudly at his boy.

“Yep. Lucky you,” Justin beamed back at him. “Now you’re stuck with me for life.”

And Brian Fucking Kinney, the man who normally would have shot down such an arrogant, overreaching statement faster than he kicked a trick to the curb after a Friday Night Blow Job, merely smiled back at the boy with such obvious affection that Debbie was temporarily shocked into silence. 

When she did find her voice again, and noted that Brian and his blond were still smiling loopily at each other, she just shook her head. “Ooooooookay. I repeat - what have you done with the real Brian Kinney?”

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t order a side of annoying commentary to go with the kid’s burger, Deb,” the man snarked, a bit of the old Brian finally showing through. “So, if you’ll kindly just hurry our food along, we can get the hell out of here and you can go back to bitching out the rest of your clientele.”

“There’s my big old grouchy stud,” Deb kidded as the cook rang the bell to indicate their order was finally ready. “Just had to check to make sure you’re still you, Brian.”

Brian stood up and pulled a few bills from his wallet without further comment. 

“Thanks, kiddo.” Deb rang up the sale and then turned to Justin, holding out the to go bag. “You take care of this one, Sunshine.”

Justin knew her words were meant as a warning of sorts, but he chose to intentionally misunderstand her. “I definitely plan to take care of him,” he answered with a possessive, full-wattage smile aimed at the tall brunet. 

In response, Brian reached out and grabbed hold of the blond’s hand, threading their fingers together, and didn’t let go.

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it all the way out of the restaurant. Just as Brian started to push open the door, the entrance was blocked by someone trying to enter. Brian stepped back to get out of the way, which allowed Michael Novotny room to come inside. Justin barely managed to hold back a groan; they had been so close to making a clean escape.

“Hey, Brian! I was just about to call you. Good timing, huh?” Michael burbled, leaning in to brush his lips against Brian’s in their usual greeting. “How did the ransom thing go? Did it work? You know, those things never go right in the movies. The bad guys pretty much always manage to outsmart the cops.”

The way Michael said it, he almost sounded like he was rooting for the kidnapper. Justin felt a surge of irritation from Brian that echoed his own. He couldn’t help but wonder if Michael was just clueless or if he was intentionally trying to get under Brian’s skin.

“It’s a long fucking story, Mikey,” Brian replied with a sigh. “One which I don’t have time for right now since I need to get this little truant back to school before he’s caught skipping again.” 

Brian used the hand he’d been holding onto to pull Justin forward, allowing Michael to see who it was Brian was referencing. Needless to say, Michael was NOT pleased to see the young empath again. The immediate surge of hatred and jealousy that hit Justin was almost staggering. Michael definitely had a problem with the fabled ‘green eyed monster’. Seriously, if looks could kill, Justin would have felt that look Michael was shooting at him like a bullet through the chest.

“What’s HE doing here? Again,” Michael whined.

“He came to back me up at the ransom drop,” Brian explained. “And it’s a good thing he did, cuz it ended up being a total shit show and I was glad to have the support.”

Again with the jealous glare that made Justin’s skin crawl. “You should have called me, Brian. I would have come with you.”

“I thought you said you had to work today?”

“Well, yeah, but I would have called in sick if you’d asked me to come with you.”

Justin wanted to interrupt and point out that a real friend wouldn’t have needed to be asked. A real friend would have known how hard the day was likely to be for Brian and would have made arrangements to be there in advance. Justin hadn’t needed to be asked. But he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, so the teen simply bit his tongue and remained passively silent.

“So what happened, Brian? Tell me,” Michael insisted. 

Brian pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time and noted how late it was. “I have to get Justin all the way out to the ‘burbs by three, so I don’t have time to explain right now, Mikey. I’ll call you later.”

“Why don’t I just come with and you can explain on the way?” Michael offered, already backing out of the Diner and heading in the direction of the Jeep.

Justin groaned aloud. Brian huffed a little laugh and tugged the boy along by the hand he was still holding. Justin sensed that Brian was highly amused by the rivalry between his oldest friend and his newest lover. Justin briefly thought about calling him out on it, but before he could say a word, Brian used their empathic link to flood the boy with reassurance. Justin had nothing to worry about; what he and Brian had wasn’t something Michael would ever be able to replicate. Justin realized he’d never have to fight Michael for Brian’s attentions. 

And so Justin went without complaint. He didn’t even say anything when Michael insisted on riding shotgun, relegating the high schooler to the cramped back seat. He simply sat there, quietly noshing on the burger and fries Brian had bought for him, and listening with only half an ear as Michael monopolized the conversation all the way out to St. James’ Academy. 

“Hey, you!” Brian cautioned Justin with a backwards glare via the rear view mirror. “You better not get ketchup all over my fucking Jeep.” Justin smiled with his mouth open, displaying a gross mouthful of half-masticated burger, which caused the driver to laugh out loud. “Twat.”

Justin didn’t mind the reprimand. He understood that it was Brian’s way of letting Justin know he wasn’t being ignored or forgotten despite not being included in the conversation. Not that Justin would have had anything to say even if he’d been consulted. Michael had somehow managed to turn the conversation almost immediately from Gus and the ransom drop to his ongoing relationship troubles with his boyfriend, David. It sounded to the empath like this David was a bit of an asshole, to be honest. Justin didn’t understand what Michael saw in the guy. If only half of what he was complaining about was true, Justin would have broken up with the guy. And judging by the emotional responses he was reading from Brian, he wasn’t the only person who doubted that relationship would last. But, whatever. 

Meanwhile, Justin sat back and enjoyed the ongoing silent communion that was still happening between himself and Brian. Justin was thrilled how much more open Brian was after their breakthrough earlier that afternoon. He was also happy to note that Brian wasn’t even trying to close himself off anymore. He was just laying it all out there now; an open book, free for Justin to peruse at will. So even with Michael trying to ignore him and cut Justin out of the conversation, the boy had never felt so included. It was wonderful.

Maybe Justin’s mood was feeding back to Brian, or perhaps it was Brian’s renewed hopefulness about recovering his son, but everyone in the car just seemed happier on that drive. Justin was optimistic. Everything was going to turn out just fine. 

Even Mother Nature seemed to be in a better mood that afternoon and was cooperating by granting a distinct improvement in the weather. By the time they got to the area near Justin’s school it had become much warmer. The bright winter sun was shining down and the snow was starting to melt in earnest. Between the warmer weather and their shared emotional rapport it seemed that all was good. 

The lighter than usual traffic that afternoon was also contributing to the general sense of well-being, allowing them to make it all the way to the school with a good ten minutes to spare. Brian pulled up to the curb right in front of the building and hopped out so the back seat occupant could climb out as well. Right as Justin was about to reach over and pull his messenger bag from the back, however, he was distracted by Brian grabbing his hand and putting a small plastic object in it. Justin opened his palm and discovered it was one of those cheap grocery store burner phones. He looked up at Brian with surprise. 

“In case I need to get a hold of you and my mental telepathy is on the fritz,” Brian explained with a genuine smile.

“Oh, Brian. Thank you,” Justin gushed, so touched he was in danger of getting slightly moist. 

That phone was probably the most thoughtful thing Brian had ever done. And he’d obviously bought it before they’d known Gus was going to be okay. It meant that, even as worried and stressed out as Brian must have been over the past few days, he’d still taken the time to think about Justin. Basically, it was the sweetest gesture the love struck empath could imagine, and it endeared him to the outwardly gruff stud even more - as if that were possible. 

Justin determined right then and there that such thoughtfulness deserved a reward. Without even thinking about where they were, Justin pulled Brian around so the bigger man was pinned against the side of the Jeep, climbed to his tip toes, and landed a huge, smacking kiss on those beautiful crushed-cherry lips. Brian, of course, enthusiastically reciprocated. Then, for the next however-many-minutes, they got lost in themselves and that kiss, completely forgetting their surroundings. 

They didn’t come up for air until Mikey’s jeering interrupted. “Shit, Brian. Why don’t you just fuck him already and get it over with? Then maybe you’d finally get the kid out of your system and we could get rid of him.” 

Justin cringed at the burst of renewed jealousy that came along with Michael’s vituperative words and would have pulled away if Brian hadn’t wrapped him even tighter in his arms.

“I don’t think this is the kind of thing you can just ‘get out of your system’,” Brian whispered into the soft skin of Justin’s cheek. 

Justin thought he might melt right there on the spot. 

He might have, too, if the damned school bell hadn’t chosen that inopportune moment to ring. Within seconds, the doors were crashing open and a flock of students began to fly out of the building. Justin reluctantly pushed away from his lover’s embrace. 

Shit, he was so in love, it was ridiculous. So in love that the prospect of being separated from Brian physically hurt. He didn’t know how he was going to get through an entire night without touching him. This empathic bonding thing was great, but it might also kill him. 

“Later, Sunshine,” Brian said quietly, using the nickname Deb had bestowed on him back at the Diner. 

“Later,” he returned, backing slowly away from the Jeep, unwilling to break eye contact with Brian until the last possible moment, as he floated along on a surge of love that Brian couldn’t help but sense.

Brian stayed where he was, leaning sideways against the door of the Jeep, watching the blond’s retreat as the swarms of other students rapidly overtook him, and silently returning all the love that Justin was sending his way. 

Justin was so distracted by that love surge that at first he barely even registered the renewed swell of hatred and jealousy coming off Michael. He’d become desensitized to the angry little man’s antipathy, to some extent. But as Michael became more and more aware of the odd behavior his best friend was exhibiting, his resentment suddenly boiled over. Justin felt a wave of overwhelming hatred hit him. And for just a second, that hatred was redirected at Brian as well. A deep-seated, bitter, passionate resentment, obviously accumulated over years and years, which was so tied up with a similarly strong infatuation you couldn’t separate the two. There was so much raw animosity that it literally took Justin’s breath away and left him gasping right there on the sidewalk in front of his school. 

Clearly, Brian must have sensed Justin’s distress because he abandoned his relaxed posture leaning against the car and started walking towards Justin. Mikey was having none of that, though. He got out of the Jeep and, with a few jogging steps, easily caught up to his friend. Justin was far enough away that he shouldn’t have been able to hear Michael’s words, but it seemed the affinity between himself and Brian was now so strong he could actually see through his lover’s eyes and hear through his ears. Justin heard Michael ask where Brian was going and Brian fumbling to explain. Then Michael mentioned having to get back - something about needing to get ready for a date - distracting Brian from going after Justin. He looked over at the teen, but couldn’t detect anything outwardly wrong, and then looked back at Michael as if trying to suss out exactly what had his empath so twigged. Justin could sense Brian’s momentary confusion. 

“I’m glad the weather is shaping up,” Michael commented in his effort to distract Brian. “David doesn’t like to drive in the snow and I was worried he’d cancel our plans for tonight if it stayed too cold.”

As a way of underlining his comments, Michael started to unzip the heavy winter jacket he’d been wearing. 

Justin’s attention was diverted for a second by a honking horn coming from one of the cars that had just pulled up in front of the school. The car was a silver Audi, just like his dad drove, so he automatically started to move in that direction. He was torn between the desire to put as much distance between his father and Brian as possible, and his worry over those scary feelings that Michael had directed towards his lover. He didn’t know which way to walk. But, in the end, he figured Michael was the lesser of two evils. Yes, the man had a lot of hidden antipathy towards Brian, but hopefully their long friendship would override the negativity. And Craig had no such ambivalent sentiments towards Brian. 

However, as he neared the car he thought was his father’s, Justin couldn’t help but turn back one last time. He saw Brian staring his way and they both pulsed with a hidden longing for a few seconds more. Then Brian smiled and held a hand up in a silent gesture of farewell before getting back in the Jeep. Michael had watched all this with a worried expression, but when Brian got back in the car, he shot one last gloating look Justin’s way and then headed towards the passenger’s side door. He clearly thought he’d won that round and was leaving with the spoils, ie Brian.

Justin sighed and was just about to turn away himself when he saw Michael shrug off his bulky jacket and toss it over the back seat before getting in the car. 

It was no wonder Michael was too hot with that big coat on; underneath the jacket he had on a hoodie as well. A black hoodie . . . A black hoodie with the familiar Ironmen logo displayed across the chest . . .

The same black hoodie that Michael had been wearing a few days earlier when they’d all gone out to a bar together.

The same black hoodie, with an Ironmen logo, that the person who’d pulled the fire alarm at the museum had been wearing. 

The same person who must have been in on the scheme with the kidnapper, since they knew the kidnapper now had the ransom money. 

The same kidnapper who’d been complaining about a pile of unpaid bills that Brian wouldn’t help with. 

Just like Michael, who had been complaining about his mother’s and uncle’s unpaid bills to Brian.

“Fuck!” Justin gasped.

And in his panic he completely shut down the link between himself and Brian.  

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 20 - This Is What You Saw?

Justin stood there, frozen in place, watching as the Jeep carrying his lover and a suspected monster drove away.

Justin simply couldn’t get over seeing Michael in that Ironmen hoodie. Of course it all made sense now: the over the top animosity, the bills he was trying to get Brian to pay, even the odd way Michael seemed to always turn up just AFTER they’d had run-ins with the kidnapper. To Justin‘s way of thinking, there was no other explanation.

Michael Novotny was the man who had taken Gus!

The only real question in Justin’s mind was what to do about it. He was glad he had panicked and shut down the emotional link to Brian the second he had his epiphany. He didn’t know what Brian would do if the truth were revealed while he was driving in the car with the man who’d abducted his son. He might have an accident. He might try to strangle Michael. He was definitely going to be hurt when he found out it was his best friend that had done such a horrible thing. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of news that would keep.

Justin pulled out his new phone and pushed the button on the side to turn it on. It was so cheap it didn’t have a lock screen, so he didn’t need a code to open any of the applications. He went into the contacts log first and noted that Brian had already input his name and phone numbers. Justin hesitated with his finger poised over the icon that would dial the number, unsure how, exactly, he would impart this troubling revelation. At the last moment, though, he decided to wait until he could talk to Brian when he was alone. That would be the safest course of action. 

“You okay, Justin?” The boy’s panicked reverie was interrupted as Melissa Patterson walked past him heading for the silver Audi that he’d mistaken for his father’s car. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.”

“Uh . . . No, I’m fine. I just . . . My lunch doesn’t seem to be agreeing with me,” Justin replied evasively.

Melissa responded that she hoped he felt better the following day so he wouldn’t have to miss any more school. Then she got into the Audi and the car drove away. Justin scanned the roadway but saw absolutely no sign of another silver Audi. So much for that threat that he better be waiting when his dad arrived or there would be hell to pay. He and Brian probably could have stayed at the loft and had one more fuck after all. 

Justin spent the next twenty minutes nervously pacing in front of the school while waiting for Craig. He was tempted to call his mother and ask where the hell his father was, but that would be cruel. His mother already had her doubts about her husband and there was no reason to rub it in. Besides, that would give away the secret that he now had a phone, despite being grounded, and he didn’t want that. So he just paced and waited and worried and paced some more until he was fed up with all the pacing and waiting. 

When he couldn’t take it any longer, Justin pulled out the phone again and resolutely hit the button to call Brian. Not that Justin knew what he was going to say yet, but hopefully Brian would have had time to get home. At least that way he wouldn’t crash when Justin told him the news. 

“Kinney!” the familiar voice answered as soon as the call connected.

“Hey, it’s me,” Justin replied hesitantly.

“Glad to see the phone works. I wasn’t sure about the coverage with that cheap brand, but I didn’t want to get you something more expensive in case your parents took it away too,” Brian answered, sounding happy and chatty. “Just be careful and don’t get caught okay. I don’t want your father finding out you’re defying him again. He’d probably lock you up in a dungeon or something just to keep you away from me.” 

Justin could sense Brian’s good mood, both through his words and through their renewed emotional connection. He couldn’t keep himself separate from Brian for long. The last twenty minutes had already felt like an eternity. So the minute he’d heard Brian’s voice over the phone line, he’d renewed their link, keeping only the Michael knowledge shielded from Brian. Justin already felt a thousand times better; he was less worried and less panicky now that he could sense Brian’s presence. 

Brian, on the other hand, was obviously feeling just fine. He was decidedly upbeat and far chattier than usual, gabbling on about random stuff while Justin struggled to think of how to break his news. 

“So, I’m assuming that you must have gotten away with skipping today or otherwise you’d still be getting yelled at, right?”

“I guess. If the school had called my parents again, my dad would have been here, ready to yell at me, at exactly 3:05 pm. But, since he still hasn’t shown, I suppose I’m in the clear.”

“He hasn’t shown yet? Isn’t that pretty late?” Brian sounded a little bit worried, and Justin was touched by the note of concern.

“It’s no biggie. Craig probably just had another emergency business meeting,” Justin replied, giving the word ‘emergency’ enough emphasis that Brian caught on right away.

“Oh. One of those meetings, huh? Yeah, my Pops used to have meetings like that a lot too. Usually when he was banging some bimbo from the plant.”

“You’re probably not wrong. I’m not going to complain, though, as long as it means I’m not going to be yelled at again this afternoon,” Justin reasoned, earning a laugh from Brian’s end of the phone line. In the moment that followed, Justin could hear a honking horn and some other traffic noises in the background and realized Brian was speaking from his car.  “You’re not home yet?” 

“Nah. I had to drop Mikey off first. He needs to get ready for his big date with the Love Doctor,” Brian answered, his contempt for David evident in the tone of his thoughts. 

“Oh, well, that’s good . . .” Justin hesitated, still not sure how to go about telling Brian his suspicions. 

But Brian must have sensed that Justin was upset because Justin immediately felt a drop in his lover’s happy-go-lucky mood.

“What is it, Justin? Tell me,” Brian demanded.

“Well . . . I . . .” Justin closed his eyes, sighed, and then just blurted it all out. “It’s Michael, Brian. He’s the kidnapper. He’s the one who took Gus.”

“What the fuck are you smoking, Sunshine?”

“Nothing. I’m serious, Brian. I think it’s Michael.”

“That’s ridiculous. Where the fuck did you come up with a stupid idea like that?” Brian asked, clearly not buying Justin’s suspicions.

“Didn’t you see what he was wearing? The black Ironmen hoodie?” Justin pointed out. “The same hoodie the guy at the museum was wearing . . .”

Brian broke out laughing. “You almost had me for a minute there, Sunshine.”

“I’m not joking, Brian. I think it’s Michael.”

“Just because of a damned sweatshirt?” More laughter. “Sunshine, how many of those damned shirts do you think the Ironmen franchise sells in a year? I’m guessing it’s upwards of a hundred thousand or more. You can’t go around accusing someone of a crime just because they have the same sweatshirt as a million other people.”

“But it’s not just the hoodie, Brian,” Justin continued, laying out all the facts he’d amassed. “There’s also the fact that whoever did this knows you - so it couldn’t be just anyone that has an Ironmen hoodie, right? Plus, I saw the kidnapper worrying about bills he couldn’t pay and the next day Michael was complaining to you about his bills.” Justin heard Brian scoffing on the other end of the call and hurried on. “And I also get really bad vibes off Michael whenever I’m around him. He’s insanely jealous and he really hates me but sometimes he’s really angry at you too . . .”

By that point Brian’s laughter was drowning out Justin’s words. “Sunshine, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’ve got it all wrong. The kidnapper couldn’t possibly be Mikey. I’ve known Michael for more than fifteen years. He’s almost like a brother to me.”

“That’s not how he thinks of you, though.”

Brian sighed but there was still a note of humor in it. “You think I’m clueless about his little crush on me? Come on, Sunshine. I’m well aware of his feelings. He certainly hasn’t tried that hard to hide them over the years. But I also know Mikey’s heart and he’s not a bad person.” Brian must have sensed Justin’s continued incredulity because he kept on arguing. “So, what? You think I’ve got all this empathy shit, but somehow I still don’t know my best friend? Think again, Sunshine. I’ve always known about Michael’s feelings for me. Which is exactly the reason why I never let him get too close. I love him like a brother, but that’s all it will ever be. Mikey, though, is a romantic little twat and has always had these fantasies about the two of us growing old together in Palm Beach.” Justin could feel Brian’s inherent disdain for that particular dream. “I don’t know . . . For a long time, when I didn’t think I’d ever find a better alternative, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have that option as a fall back position, so I guess I kinda let him have his fantasies . . . Just in case, you know . . . And, yeah, that’s probably why he’s so jealous of you, Justin, because you’ve already got more of me than he’s ever likely to have. But don’t you get it? That’s exactly why he’d never hurt me or my son. Because he LOVES me. Even when he gets aggravated because I’m not returning his feelings, he still LOVES me.” Justin could feel the melancholy smile Brian was wearing without even seeing it. “It’s not Mikey. It couldn’t be.”

Justin could hear the sincerity and conviction in Brian’s voice. And he could feel, through their emotional connection, the underlying confidence Brian had in his old friend. It was hard to doubt a belief held that strongly. So, even though Justin still had some concerns about Mr. Michael Novotny, he decided to defer to Brian’s judgment. Besides, Brian was right; even if he hadn’t previously acknowledged his empathic abilities, he had likely accessed them enough to be aware of the character of those closest to him over the years. Justin would have to trust Brian’s discernment. At least until Michael - or someone else - proved Brian wrong.

“Okay. If you say so, Brian.” Justin was actually relieved to be able to dismiss that suspicion. 

“I do. So you can scratch Mikey off your list of suspects, Inspector Clouseau,” Brian responded, his good mood percolating through again. “Although, knowing how sneaky and conniving you are, you’d probably be the Pink Panther rather than some bumbling loser like Peter Sellers . . .”

Justin let the man ramble for another five minutes or so, just enjoying listening to the happiness in Brian’s voice. While they’d been talking, Brian had been driving, and it was at that point that he finally reached the loft. Justin could tell when Brian had pulled the Jeep into its parking spot under the building because of the beeping and buzzing and various other car parking noises. Then, for about ten seconds, the phone line went dead as Brian turned off the ignition and the phone switched from the car’s Bluetooth connection to the regular phone line. 

“Did I lose you?” Brian asked as soon as the line reconnected. 

“Nope, I’m still here. And there’s still no sign of my dad. The loser. I bet he completely forgot he was supposed to pick me up,” Justin complained. 

“You mean we could have stayed here and fucked some more?”

“That’s just what I was thinking too,” Justin admitted with a chuckle. “Have I mentioned how much it sucks to still be in high school?”

Justin could hear Brian rustling around as he started to get out of the car. “You’ve only got a few months left, Sunshine. You can hold out that long,” Brian reassured him. 

“Not if my parents follow through on this idea they have of grounding me till I’m no longer gay.”

That got Brian laughing again. “Well, we’ll just have to get really creative about sneaking you out for some occasional playtime,” Brian assured him, causing Justin to grin from ear to ear, because Brian had basically just promised there’d be more playtime. “Shit . . . Guess what you left in the back of my car - besides the disgusting bag with your half-eaten food, that is - your damned school bag.”

“Oh, shit. I did!” Justin only then realized he’d been too distracted by, first, all the kissing, and second, his suspicions about Michael, to even notice his missing messenger bag. “Oh well. Since I didn’t go to any classes, I wouldn’t have known what homework to do anyway. I guess I’ll have to get it from you tomorrow sometime.”

“Aha! So this is just your super-sneaky way of fabricating an excuse to come back over for another fuck, isn’t it?” Brian teased him good naturedly. “Well, I’ll just add this bag to the pile of other stuff I’ve found of yours around my place. I’ve now got a pair of your smelly socks, the sketchbook from yesterday, and your school bag. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were moving in.”

“If only. At least then I wouldn’t be imprisoned in my room, alone, with nothing to do but jerk off a hundred times a night.” He’d been about to add, ‘to all my memories of you’, but thought Brian would only make fun of him for being a silly, sentimental twat if he did, so he held his tongue.

“Well, judging by all those drawings of my cock in your sketchbook, you’ve got plenty of material for your personal spank bank,” Brian commented, clearly reading Justin’s thoughts far too well by that point.  

“I draw other stuff besides your dick,” Justin insisted, trying to reclaim his dignity. 

“Yeah, my ass, and my hands, and even my feet - by the way, I didn’t know you had a foot kink, Sunshine.” Justin hoped that his embarrassed blushing didn’t transmit through their empathic link; a hope that was dashed by Brian’s next comment. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Your drawings are actually pretty decent and I’m flattered you can make even my feet look so sexy.” Brian chuckled. “But I promise I wasn’t looking through your drawings just to admire pictures of my own naked ass; I was trying to follow your advice and see if your drawings of the kidnapper’s visions might help me figure out who it was.”

“Too bad they didn’t help us find the guy before he took all your money, huh?” Justin lamented. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about the money. All that matters is getting Gus back safe and sound.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope it’s soon, too,” Justin voiced what they were both thinking. “But you should still go through the rest of my drawings and see if anything clicks. Even if he does return Gus, you can always turn him in to the cops later. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with shit like this, you know.” Justin could feel Brian’s agreement even though the man didn’t actually say anything. “Oh, hey, since you have my bag, you should check out the new drawing I did this morning. It’s in the blue notebook. I didn’t have time to completely finish it, but it might give you another clue. I think I got the ugly kitchen down pretty good.”

“. . . For whatever good it’ll do,” Brian answered, and in the background Justin could hear the loft door sliding closed with its characteristic metallic clang. “Nothing we’ve seen so far was at all familiar. Although, I gotta say that your drawings are a lot clearer than how I see things when I’m channeling this shit through you. The crap I get is, like, third-hand and everything’s blurred. It’s like looking at the world through gauze mesh or something. I can barely see anything . . .”

Which was when Brian’s contented mood turned to ice cold rage. 

Justin couldn’t hear any sounds coming through the phone lines but he could feel his lover’s emotions roaring into overdrive. “Brian? Brian, what’s wrong?”

“This is what you saw last night? This kitchen?” Brian was panting with anger as he bit out the words. 

“If you’re looking at the drawing in the blue notebook, the one of a kitchen, then yeah. That’s what I saw. Why? You recognize it?”

“I can’t fucking believe it!” Brian yelled so loudly that Justin had to pull the phone away from his ear. “This kitchen - this ugly-assed reject from the 70s - this is my damned mother’s fucking kitchen.”

“Your mother? But, how? Why?” Justin was lost, unable to comprehend how any mother could do such a thing.

“Does it matter? I don’t give a crap why. Although . . . I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Saint Joan's idea. That’s not her style . . . Fuck, it WAS Claire,” Brian concluded. “That fucking cunt! She really was at the damned museum this morning just for the ransom drop. I’m gonna fucking kill her!”

“Are you sure, Brian?” Justin asked, trying to think rationally even though Brian couldn’t right then because of his overwhelming anger. “You said you hadn’t told your mom or your sister about Gus. If they didn’t know he was alive, how would they know to kidnap him?”

“Well they must have found out about him somehow because this is definitely my mother’s house,” Justin could hear Brian slamming things in the background. “I grew up in that fucking kitchen. I can still smell the burnt potatoes, the menthol cigarettes, and the spilled cooking sherry. Hell, you even got the patterns on those stupid ‘collector’s plates’ she thinks qualify as decorations down right. Fuck! I’m going to fucking KILL THEM BOTH!”

Justin heard the loft’s door sliding open again and footsteps echoing in the stairwell. “Brian, stop! Please don’t do anything stupid. Let the cops handle this. Please!”

“Fuck that! I’m going over there and get my son and then I’m going to beat the shit out of fucking Claire!” Brian’s declaration was followed by a *ping* as the call was terminated and the line went dead.

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin muttered as he tried to call back, but of course Brian didn’t answer. 

The worried empath could feel Brian’s unrestrained RAGE coming through their emotional connection. Brian was virtually blinded by the anger he was feeling; it was the only emotion coming through at all. And that scared Justin more than anything else. Justin didn’t want Brian going over there by himself - Brian obviously wasn’t thinking very clearly and getting himself arrested for assault wouldn’t help matters, even if he was justified in his anger - but what could the youth do, stuck at school with no transportation? Somehow, though, he had to stop Brian before he did something he regretted. 

Justin quickly determined that the best solution was to head Brian off before he could do anything he’d regret. With that in mind, the boy put his new phone to use, looking up the phone number for the precinct where Detective Horvath worked and making a call to the number he found. Unfortunately, the dweeb that answered the call was clueless and, even when Justin said it was urgent, he put Justin on hold for what felt like an interminable amount of time.

While Justin was waiting on hold, he continued pacing up and down in front of the school, letting the exercise help drain at least a small portion of his anxiety. He felt so useless. He should be there with Brian, supporting him, and also making sure that the man didn’t get himself into more hot water. But, no. He was trapped in the life of a highschooler, without a car, and completely powerless to get anyone to listen to him. The stress of his impotence was driving him insane. And, meanwhile, he could feel Brian’s swirling rage taking his lover farther and farther down a path that could lead to real trouble.

So it really wasn’t surprising that, while he waited on hold for Horvath, Justin wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the conflict he was sensing from Brian’s end of their connection. What did surprise him was when the path of his pacing was suddenly blocked by a pair of scuffed old tennis shoes. Even more alarming, when he looked up he found he was surrounded by his least favorite group of people; the shoes in his path belonged to Chris Hobbs and Chris was accompanied by all of his usual sycophantic bully boys. Great, that was JUST what he needed.

Justin quickly scanned the vicinity and was worried to find he was all alone. The school had emptied out and everyone else that had been waiting for rides had been picked up already. Even most of the teachers' cars were now gone from the nearby parking lot. 

This did not look good . . . Not good at all.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 21 - Seeing Three Worlds.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Hobbs began to taunt his victim. “Looks like a stray cocksucker got out of its pen. We can’t have that, now, can we?” 

All of his followers snickered approvingly despite the less than brilliant repartee. 

“I’m a little busy right now, Hobbs. Can we please do this later?” Justin asked, his exasperation leaking through in his tone.

“I told you earlier that this wasn’t over, Taylor. I’m fed up with you parading your sickness all over our school. I think it’s time you learned your lesson . . .” Hobbs growled ominously.

Justin was about to offer a fitting rejoinder when all of a sudden he got a crystal clear vision of Brian, transmitted through their empathic connection. The vengeful father had reached the Kinney residence and was already sprinting up the front walk. Justin was now close enough to Brian, and Brian was so open - not to mention so angry that he wasn’t able to control his emotions - that Justin was once again actually seeing the scene through Brian’s eyes. In fact, the images Brian was transmitting felt more substantial than what he was seeing with his own eyes. Hobbs and his gang, who were all standing right in front of him, seemed hazy and unreal by comparison. He could barely hear Hobbs’ ongoing insults; instead he heard the resounding thuds as Brian’s fist pounded against the house’s grey-painted front door. He could feel his own heart racing along with Brian’s, a mixture of fury and fear pulsing through both their veins, as they waited, and knocked again, and then waited impatiently some more. 

“. . . Sick of faggots like you thinking you get a pass for all the shit you spew at decent people all the time . . .” Justin barely acknowledged Hobbs’ diatribe - even if he hadn’t been distracted, it was all so unoriginal it didn’t merit any response - especially not when the scene playing out in his head was so much more riveting. 

Brian hammered at the door again and again, pounding so hard that the window next to the door frame was rattling in its casing. When an older woman with disarranged grey hair finally answered the door, Brian didn’t even wait till the portal was all the way open before he barged in and started screaming at her. And there was nothing Justin could do to either help him or hold him back.

“Where the fuck is Claire and where’s my son!” Brian bellowed at the top of his lungs, the cry so loud that it drowned out the much closer, and infinitely nastier, laughter of Hobbs and his boys.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brian,” the grey-haired woman responded, trying to manufacture outrage, but Justin could clearly taste her guilt.

“Don’t bullshit me, Mother. I know you and your precious little Claire are the ones who took my son and I’m not leaving here without him. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll produce him RIGHT FUCKING NOW BEFORE I LOSE IT AND START IN ON MY BEST JACK KINNEY IMITATION!” Brian threatened with a tightly clenched fist waving in his mother’s face. 

“Fuck . . .” Justin muttered, so distracted by what Brian was going through that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to what Hobbs was saying. 

Unfortunately, Hobbs was getting seriously annoyed by the fact that his bullying was being ignored. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Retard?” he yelled with a shove to Justin’s shoulder to punctuate his words. 

Justin was momentarily pulled back to his present reality and couldn’t control his natural snark. “I’M the ‘retard’? Shit, talk about projection . . . I’m not the one who’s failing out of remedial algebra, Hobbs. So what’s your excuse, huh? Did you eat paint chips as a kid or something . . .” Justin taunted right back.

“Shut your fucking mouth, cocksucker!” Hobbs demanded, his face turning purple with pent up, angry, embarrassment.

“It’s not my fault you’re as dumb as a post, Chris.” Justin couldn’t stop himself. It was too easy to use Hobbs as an outlet for all his other accumulated frustrations and fears. “Do your little friends know about how I used to tutor you all through Middle School and that, if it wasn’t for your daddy’s money, you would have gotten held back a SECOND time so you could repeat eighth grade?”

“I SAID TO SHUT YOUR DAMNED MOUTH, TAYLOR!” Hobbs was screeching, standing so close to Justin that he was towering over the shorter boy, spittal flying into Justin’s face.

With Brian still screaming at his mother in the back of Justin’s mind, and Hobbs spluttering in his face, Justin realized he’d finally had enough. He wasn’t going to wait around here anymore. He was going to go find Brian. So, with his mind made up, he turned and started to walk away, attempting to shoulder his way through Hobbs’ ring of thugs.

“I don’t have time for this,” Justin insisted as his retreat was blocked by the hulking presence of John Spencer moving to stand in his way. 

“Don’t turn your back on me, asswipe!” Hobbs snarled, grabbing Justin’s jacket and tugging him back with a jerk so hard that Justin was pulled off balance. 

With a little cry of surprise, Justin toppled over, landing on his ass on the sidewalk right at Hobbs’ feet and dropping the phone that he’d still been holding in his hand. 

“You’re not getting away with your bullshit this time, Taylor,” Hobbs growled menacingly. “You’re not going anywhere. Not before I’ve taught you that you can’t just run your mouth off all the time. I’ve had more than enough of your lies. Always talking crap about me and trying to make me out to be as big a fucking cocksucker as you are. It’s time for you to learn to SHUT your fucking mouth!”

Justin started to get up, muttering under his breath about how it wasn’t his fault Hobbs was a fucking closet case, but unfortunately that ‘Closet Case’ had really good hearing and wasn’t amused by the continued jab. With another growl, Hobbs let loose with a kick to Justin’s midsection, toppling him over once again and knocking the breath out of him. After that things started to get seriously nasty. With Hobbs’ buddies egging him on, the biggest bully of all began to kick the holy living shit out of the blond boy lying at his feet. Justin tried to crawl away, but the circle of sycophants joined in with a few kicks of their own in an effort to keep their victim corralled. Eventually Justin gave up on the idea of escape and merely curled up in a ball, trying his best to protect himself, as the kicking went on and on, accompanied by the laughter and continued insults from his tormentors. 

It was inevitable that Justin’s pain finally got Brian’s attention through the medium of their special link. Even at the height of his rage, Brian was distracted from screaming at Joan the moment the first kick was landed to Justin’s poor body. In his mind’s eye, Justin watched as Brian lifted his head, their eyes meeting despite the physical distance between them, and a worried expression finally making its way through the fury previously written thereon. 

“Justin? Shit!” Brian moaned, his response echoing Justin’s own groan as yet another blow landed to his lower spine.

Of course, that’s when things went from bad to worse. While Brian was temporarily distracted, a new face appeared in Justin’s vision - a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair and a sour expression, who only bore a passing resemblance to the much more attractive Brian - emerging from the hallway behind Brian’s back. Even more concerning, though, was the fact that this new arrival was carrying a rather large gun which she had pointed directly at Brian.

“It’s too bad you figured it out,” Claire said with a mirthless laugh. Brian’s head spun around to face his sister, and his expression was one of stunned disbelief when he saw what the woman coming at him was holding. “If you had just left well enough alone, all you’d be out was a little money - which you have more than enough of, so it really wouldn’t have mattered - and you would have gotten your brat back as soon as I’d figured out a safe way to get rid of him. But, no, you had to fuck it all up. You always were too smart for your own good, little brother. Now we’re BOTH fucked. But I can’t have you reporting me to the police, so . . .” 

As she spoke, Claire had walked around Brian and was now standing in the middle of the room, facing her brother with a scowl further maring the already less than attractive countenance, and the gun held unsteadily in front of her, looking like she was about to pull the trigger any second. 

Justin was so caught up in the drama he was seeing in his head that he yelled out, “Brian! Shit! No!” 

Justin’s strange shout, calling out an unknown name, caused the bullies who’d been intent on kicking a hole through the boy’s middle to pause in their attack. They all looked around themselves, as if to discover who it was Justin was addressing. A couple of the guys commented that they probably shouldn’t be doing this out in public like they were, especially not right in front of the school. Hobbs, in turn, called them chicken. John Spencer replied that he wasn’t chicken, but he wasn’t an idiot either and, looking up at the array of blank windows towering over them in the school building next to where they were gathered, he pointed out that anybody could see them out here in the open. Since the others were actually standing up to him for once, Hobbs was forced to take their concerns into consideration. He too looked up at the school and must have agreed that they were a little over exposed. 

Delivering one last kick to Justin’s stomach, Hobbs ordered his crew to, “pick him up. We can take him back to the equipment shed and finish up his lessons there.” 

The football guys laughed obsequiously at that suggestion and a couple of them grabbed for Justin’s legs. But the boy wasn’t having it; there was no way he’d let them drag his ass off to some isolated location where they could torture him at their leisure. So, with a renewed sense of terror, Justin started frantically kicking back at the two guys trying to capture his flailing legs. More tussling ensued and Justin decided to let his lungs in on the endeavor, screaming for help as loud as he could considering his ribs hurt like hell from the abuse they’d already taken. It was probably futile, but he was hoping that Hobbs’ goons had been right and there was still somebody inside the school who might look out the windows to discover what all the yelling was about. Hobbs, however, was getting more and more annoyed in direct proportion to how long it was taking to subdue their intended victim. He kept ordering his henchmen to stop fucking around and to quit making a fucking scene. None of which helped to tame the wildcat they were trying to restrain. 

At the same time, Brian had been forced by a gun-wielding Claire to walk down the hall and take a seat on one of the ugly kitchen chairs. A small part of Justin’s mind - the part that wasn’t currently involved in a life and death struggle - watched as Claire ordered her mother to go get a rope from the garage. 

“Is that really necessary?” the older woman, presumably Joan Kinney, argued. “I don’t want to get involved in anything ‘illegal’, Claire.” 

“You don’t think kidnapping is illegal, mother?” Claire scoffed with a shake of her head. 

“Well, not really. I mean, it’s not like you did anything to hurt the child,” Joan demurred with a simpering shrug of her shoulders. “And it’s not like Brian can’t afford to part with a little of his money - he always was a tightwad and never showed any respect to me or his father - but this . . .” she gestured towards where Brian was perched on the chair under threat of being shot, “. . . And a gun . . . I just don’t know, Claire . . .”

Her mother’s cowardly judgment seemed to make Claire a little more crazy than she’d already been. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you, Mother. You’re the one who’s been bitching at me for months, complaining that I wasn’t doing enough to help YOU out, and telling me I was a bad daughter. But now that I actually did something proactive, even my own mother won’t stand up for me? Well, you’re not going to get out of this scott-free any way you look at it, Mom. You were in on what I was planning all along. And I didn’t see you complaining when you thought that some of this money,” Claire pointed to the kitchen table where the briefcase was sitting with all the money spilling out of it, “would be used to pay off YOUR bills, now did you?”

“How dare you?” Joan bristled. “I never told you to do anything illegal. This was all your idea, Claire.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Claire replied scornfully. “But let me remind you, Mother Dearest, that no matter what you think, it’s too late to back out now that Brian knows you were involved, especially considering you let me use your house. As far as the law is concerned, you’re just as guilty as I am now.” Claire waved the gun around as if to point her mother towards a door that presumably led out to the garage. “You have no choice now, Mother. We can’t let him and his brat go or he’ll go straight to the police.”

Brian, of course, didn’t help matters by interrupting at that point and saying, “Fuck the police. I came over here to fucking kill you with my own hands.”

“You need to shut the fuck up, big brother,” Claire warned, coming closer with her gun. “You’re not in any position to threaten me. I’m the one in charge here.”

Back at St. James, while Justin’s attention was diverted by Brian’s travails, one of his own tormentors had finally managed to get a good hold on his left leg and had begun to drag him across the lawn towards the south corner of the school. Justin knew that once they got him all the way back to the secluded outbuildings surrounding the football field, it would be all over for him. He renewed his frantic struggles and took the thug by surprise, getting free again for a second or two. Hobbs, meanwhile, was not very happy at the slow pace, and ordered his boys to get a move on. But even with all of them grappling at Justin’s kicking feet and flying fists, they still weren’t able to move very far very fast on account of his incessant struggling. Finally, with a lucky twist of his hips, Justin managed to get one leg free and let loose with a really solid kick that landed on Spencer’s right knee with an audible crack. 

“Fuck!” Spencer went down with a cry of pain and all but two of Justin’s captors let go so as to tend to their fallen compatriot. 

Of course, Justin’s retaliatory kick only served to make Hobbs even angrier. With a feral snarl, the big bruiser turned away from his injured friend and started in on Justin again; Justin was too busy trying to free himself from the two guys still restraining him to pay much attention. Hobbs only stopped when, off in the distance, the sound of a wailing police siren finally grew louder than Justin’s shouting. That welcome sound, in turn, spooked the two goons still holding onto Justin’s arms. 

“Shit! It’s the cops,” Ross Adams hissed, dropping his hold on Justin and turning toward Hobbs. “What are we gonna do now?” 

“Get Taylor into the fucking equipment shed. Now!” Hobbs ordered, pointing imperiously towards the little building that was still at least two hundred meters away. 

Ross and Wilson took one look at the distance between them and that shed, then they looked at each other, and then they both shrugged, dropped their hold on Justin, and took off running in the opposite direction. The first of the police cars pulled onto the street a second later, and came zooming down the block, heading straight for the spot where Hobbs and his remaining goons were still circled around their prey. Not that Justin could have escaped if he wanted to by that point; he was barely standing on his own, so dizzy he kept listing to one side or the other, and was having trouble taking a full breath because of the constant pain in his side. As another police cruiser joined the first, both of them barreling down the street, the rest of Hobbs’ crew bolted with shouts of “fuck this shit” and “sorry, dude, but I’m outta here”. By the time the cops skidded to a stop in front of the school, only Hobbs and Spencer - who was still rolling on the ground and moaning while cradling his injured knee - were left. 

Hobbs, who by that point was so enraged at the prospect of not only getting caught but also at being abandoned by his amigos, did exactly what you’d expect; he turned and took out his temper on Justin with a violent backhand to the smaller man’s left cheek. The poor boy, who wasn’t that stable to start with, flew backwards, landing hard on the icy ground, the back of his head hitting on a frozen tussock of sod so violently that he was seeing stars. And, while he was down, Hobbs started in with the kicking again, only this time Justin was too dazed to even try and roll away from the repeated blows. 

Luckily, the cops were there in a matter of seconds, yelling, “Police! Stop!”, with their guns pointed towards the only remaining attacker. 

Justin lay there, trying to catch his breath, while he fought off the rolling waves of dizziness. He barely registered the cops approaching, four of them focused on subduing Hobbs while a few others swarmed over Spencer. His efforts to stay conscious weren’t helped much by the fact that he was still literally seeing double, as the scene playing out around his lover again usurped his attention. 

Brian, the dauntless but foolhardy champion, was still arguing with his sister and demanding that she bring Gus to him. But he was obviously too furious to react sensibly to the fact that somebody was holding a gun on him. Instead of trying to placate Claire, he seemed to be egging her on. Claire, though, appeared to have changed her mind about tying Brian up. 

“Fine. If you won’t fucking help me,” Claire snarled at her mother, who was now cowering in a corner of the kitchen, “then I guess I’ll just have to fucking shoot him right here!”

Joan, not unexpectedly, complained - not about her daughter shooting someone, mind you, but about the potential mess that would result from blood splatter in her kitchen. An exasperated Claire eventually compromised and agreed to take Brian down to the basement first, figuring he could stay down there till she figured out what to do with his body. So, with the gun waving menacingly in Brian’s face, the woman ordered him to get up and then shoved her brother towards the basement stairs.

Unfortunately, Brian had had more than enough. Justin groaned as he sensed Brian mentally digging in his heels. “Fuck this,” Brian announced, turning to face his sister, his 6’3’ frame towering over the dumpy little housefrau. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere without my son!”

“You don’t get to make demands here, Brian. I’m the one with the damned gun!” Claire screamed back at him, apparently not at all cowed by the much taller man with the muzzle of her gun digging firmly into his sternum. “Now move or I’ll fucking shoot you right fucking now!”

“I told you, ‘no’. I’m not moving. Not till I know Gus is alright. So I guess you’re going to have to fucking shoot me . . .” 

And to Justin’s horror, right as one of the police officers tackled Hobbs to the ground and began to cuff him - right as Justin had started to think that everything would be okay - Claire said, “Well, if you insist . . .” 

After that everything happened so fast that Justin couldn’t keep it all straight. 

For those next few seconds, Justin was seeing three worlds. 

He was so badly hurt that he was close to passing out, which caused everything in his immediate vicinity to feel out of focus and unreal to start with. He was seeing his own physical surroundings as if through a haze of smoke, watching disconnectedly as the police arrested Hobbs and started reading the young man his rights. His hearing also seemed wonky, to the point that he could barely understand the cop who came over to ask him how badly he was hurt. 

At the same time, he was also seeing through Brian’s eyes; feeling his lover’s outrage and experiencing the pain arising out of the fact that Brian’s mother and sister had not only hurt his child but were still trying to extort money from him. Justin was right there with Brian; he could relate to the overriding desire to see Gus and make sure that the baby was okay. Justin could also sense that Brian assumed Claire was too much of a milksop coward to actually fire the gun she was wielding. 

Finally, he was now also seeing the scene at the Kinney house from Claire’s point of view. He could feel the woman’s panic over Brian finding her and threatening to kill her or - in her mind, much more probably - turn her over to the police. She was deathly afraid of even the idea of ‘prison’. And, although Brian didn’t realize it, Claire was totally serious about shooting him. She was so totally freaked out by the mere prospect of jail, that she honestly felt it was the only way out. She was cornered. She was dangerous. 

But Justin’s head was throbbing so badly that he couldn’t focus on any one of these multiple perspectives. He couldn’t be sure he was communicating the seriousness of Claire’s threat to Brian. The pain in his body, not to mention the rage coming from his soul mate, were too distracting. He knew he needed to warn Brian, tell him to back off Claire, caution him against further antagonizing her, but he didn’t know if any of that was getting through the mixed up wiring of his foggy brain. 

And then, in the span of a heartbeat, it was too late.

Without warning, Brian’s bad temper flared up. He’d had enough. Justin sensed the moment Brian decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer for Claire to figure out what she was going to do. Brian lunged at her, grabbing the barrel of the gun and trying to wrench it out of her hands. 

Predictably, that was when the gun went off. 

It was also when Justin lost contact with both Claire and Brian.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 22 - I’ll Be Fine.

“BRIAN! NO! No no no nononono!” Justin was still screaming and sobbing as Detective Horvath finally arrived on the scene a few minutes later. 

“Hang in there, Kid. You’re gonna be okay now. There’s an ambulance on its way,” the detective’s soothing, deep tenor voice tried to comfort the devastated boy. “Damn, they really got you good, though, didn’t they? I'm not sure why you were trying to call me instead of 911, but either way I’m glad it worked out. When I picked up the phone and heard what was going on with these bozos attacking you, I sent the closest cruisers I could find. Looks like we were almost too late. But don’t worry, we’ll get you to a doctor and you’ll be patched up in no time.”

“No. It’s not me. It’s not . . . It’s Brian. I was calling to tell you . . .” Between the pain and the emotional trauma, Justin was struggling not to pass out and all the words kept getting jumbled in his head. “The kidnapper . . . Brian found the kidnapper . . . His sister . . . She . . . He’s hurt . . . *sob* . . . Claire, she shot him . . .” 

But before he could finish his explanation, the pain won out, and it was lights out for Justin.

///~///~

Justin reached out with his hand, his eyes still tightly shut, intending to shut off his alarm, but for some reason he couldn’t find it. He didn’t even feel the nightstand, let alone the damned alarm clock. Which was strange. And, for some reason, the repetitive *beep, beep* noises that had awakened him, didn’t sound right either; usually he had the alarm set to a melodic marimba tone, not this horrible, monotonous, electronic dinging. He wondered if, maybe, Molly had been playing in his room again and messed with his clock. 

He really wished the damn noise would stop, though, because his head was pounding and he was really exhausted. What the hell had he been doing the night before? He didn’t remember getting drunk. But, whatever. Right then all he wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep for at least a few more minutes. Unfortunately, the alarm wasn’t going to stop on it’s own, so he was gonna have to wake up enough to find the damn thing and turn off the noise. 

The boy was just about to give in and concede that he’d have to open his eyes at least long enough to locate the annoying alarm, when a miracle happened and it magically shut itself off. Sadly, the alarm noise was followed by other, even more disturbing, noises. Which meant that Justin probably wasn’t going to be left alone to go back to sleep. In fact, in their own way, those new noises were even more alarming than the alarm had been. The new noises did not sound at all like Justin‘s mother coming in to wake him up in the morning before school or his little sister sneaking into his room to give him shit. That’s what he would have expected to hear. No, these new noises didn’t sound familiar at all. And Justin began to wonder what the hell was going on in his bedroom that morning.

“There you go. Sorry about that. The wires in the monitor had come loose; that’s what that alarm was all about. But I think everything’s hooked up more securely now,” a strange voice announced.

“Is he going to be alright? He’s been sleeping an awful long time,” a different voice, one that was slightly more familiar, responded.

“Don’t worry, your friend will be just fine. He should be waking up pretty soon. But that concussion might make him quite groggy for a while still, so don’t try to push him too much. Rest is always the best medicine,” the strange voice declared. “I’ll be back in about a half hour to change that IV, but if you need anything in the meantime just push the call button.”

By the time this odd conversation was over, Justin had come to the realization that he obviously wasn’t in his own bed sleeping off a hangover. It still took him a minute or two to put all the pieces together, though. Doctor, monitor, call button, IV, concussion . . . Shit! What the fuck had he done to himself this time? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes so he could more fully assess the situation.

Opening his eyes, however, might have been a mistake. “Owww . . .” Justin groaned when the illumination from the fluorescent light fixture over his head stabbed into his brain. “Too bright . . .”

“Oh, hang on, baby. I’ll turn a few of these lights off for you.” the semi-familiar voice offered. “There, that should be better.”

Justin ventured another attempt at opening his eyes, and was delighted to find that it didn’t hurt as much the second time around. Unfortunately, the rest of his suspicions were proven correct when he surveyed the dimly lit room and confirmed that he was clearly in a hospital, not his comfortable bed at home. Even more surprising than waking up in the hospital, though, was the discovery of Debbie and Michael Novotny sitting vigil beside him.

“What . . .” Justin’s voice cracked and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’d like to know too, hon,” Debbie replied with a concerned smile. “All the nursing staff would tell us was that you were brought in with a concussion, but from the looks of you I’d say you did more than just bump your head, kiddo.”

Justin thought about it for a minute - which was pretty difficult considering his head felt like it might crack open if he even blinked too hard - before it came to him.

“Shit . . . Hobbs and his buddies . . .” He groaned because even the memory of the beating he’d taken hurt. “They all fucking ganged up on me.”

Of course, that memory led to the even more traumatic recollection of what Brian had been going through while the Hobbs Squad had been beating the shit out of him. 

“Fuck! Brian . . .” 

Justin felt sick just thinking about his lover being shot, and he didn’t want to say the actual words aloud, but he had to know. He reached out with his empathic sense and couldn’t feel even a trace of Brian anywhere. He scanned the faces of his visitors, seeking answers he didn’t know if he wanted to find, and almost lost it completely when he noted the long faces, full of concern. 

“Shit. He was . . . Fuck! . . . Is he . . .” Justin took a deep breath, ignoring the physical pain that action caused, and then asked the only question that mattered, “is he dead?”

“Oh, no, Honey. No,” Debbie rushed to reassure him. “At least, he wasn’t when we arrived. Although he is still in surgery, so we don’t really know how bad it is, I’m afraid. The idiot doctor wouldn’t tell us anything because we’re not ‘family’ - stupid, fucking, hospital regulations or something - but I did corner one of the nurses and he promised me that it didn’t look too serious.”

“Well, he couldn’t have been hurt too bad,” Michael chimed in. “I mean, he sounded okay when he called me.”

“Brian called you?” Justin asked, thinking that sounded hopeful.

“Yep,” Michael chuckled sadly as he began to relate his part of the story. “I get this call right as I’m heading out the door to meet David for dinner; I almost didn’t pick up because I was running a little late, you know, but thank fuck I did, right? Anyway, it’s Brian calling and before I even say ‘hello’ he’s yelling into the phone saying, ‘get your ass down to Allegheny General right the fuck NOW!’” Michael’s voice deepened as he related Brian’s words, as if trying to imitate his friend. “So I’m, like, ‘oh shit, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt?’ But Brian’s all, like, ‘No, I’m fine . . . Well, I’m not fine, I guess, because my fucking cunt of a sister shot me. But of course she couldn’t even do that right, so the damn bullet just broke a rib and got stuck somewhere in my side. It hurts like a bitch, though’ .”

Despite his worry and the pain he was still in, Justin had to laugh at how perfectly Michael related Brian’s character. Justin could almost see Brian in that moment; making light of his injuries in that fashion was so perfectly in character for the indomitable man. Not to mention the fact that Brian, with his notoriously hot temper, would no doubt have been extremely pissed off at getting shot. 

When everyone’s laughter died out, Michael continued with his story. “So by that point I’m totally freaking out, right? My best friend was just SHOT and I’m going into shock or something, and just babbling, ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!’ But Brian yells at me, like he always does, and tells me to ‘shut the fuck up’. So I do. And then he does his, ‘Listen to me, Mikey. Are you listening?’ thing. So I say ‘yes, asshole, I’m listening’, because if I didn’t call him an ‘asshole’ he would’ve known how scared I was.” 

Michael actually whimpered a little at that point in his story and Debbie reached out a hand to squeeze his arm gently in commiseration. Michael sniffled a bit and looked sideways at Justin as if seeking a kindred spirit; someone else who would feel just as devastated if Brian were really seriously hurt. Justin offered a nod, hoping to encourage him to finish his story quickly.

“Then Brian says to me, ‘I’ll be fine, Mikey. But I need you to go check on Sunshine for me’ . . . And then that’s it. He didn’t say anything else. And I’m, like, ‘sunshine? What the fuck does sunshine have to do with anything?’ But there’s no answer and I’m starting to panic again. Thankfully, a nurse comes on the line and tells me they’re taking Brian into surgery and that the anesthesia just kicked in, which was why Brian stopped talking all of a sudden, not, thank fuck, because he died or anything. But I still didn’t have any clue what he was saying about ‘checking on sunshine’.

At which point Deb intervened with a big smile aimed Justin’s way. “It’s a good thing he called me next, isn’t it?” Debbie’s hand, which had been resting on the edge of Justin’s hospital bed, gave the youth’s forearm a little squeeze. “Of course, I knew right away who Brian meant - it’s not like our Brian’s ever had any other sunshine in his life, right?” She chuckled with an expressive wink. “So I had Michael come get me and here we are.”

Justin let himself bask for just a minute in the knowledge that Brian, even after he’d been shot, had taken the time to send help for his lover. For a self-centered, uncaring, asshole, that man really was a total sweetheart. Justin hoped that Michael was right, and Brian truly hadn’t been too badly hurt, so he could tease him about it later. The alternative was . . . unthinkable.

“How the hell did you get caught up in all of this, anyway?” Michael asked, interrupting before Justin could get too caught up in another round of worrying about Brian. “I thought we left you safely at school and Brian was heading back to the loft. The next thing I know, Brian’s getting shot by his sister and you somehow end up in the hospital too? How’s that all work?”

Good question. How WAS Justin gonna explain everything without revealing his secret? He had no way of knowing what, if anything, Brian had told the police. Until they could talk, and get their stories straight, it was probably best not to say anything much. Assuming, that is, that Brian recovered and they needed a cover story . . . not that Justin would entertain another possibility because . . . 

To distract both Michael and himself, Justin chose to ignore most of the previous question and focus only on his own part of the debacle. “Well, you left me at school all right, but I’m not sure how ‘safe’ it was. Not when the fucking place is populated by roving gangs of homophobic bullies.”

“Fucking monsters! Just look at you, Sunshine. You’re a mess,” Deb pointed out. 

That statement seemed to remind Justin of his own aching body, at which point he looked down and began to assess the extent of the damage for the first time. Needless to say, he was NOT pleased with what he found. He ached all over, so even though much of him was covered by blankets, he could tell his injuries were extensive. However, what he could see was bad enough. 

To start with, both his right wrist and his left ankle were encased in black nylon braces. He couldn’t see much about the condition of the ankle but the wrist, which was closer and therefore easier to inspect, looked bad. What little skin was showing through the bulky brace was mottled with bruises and swollen so badly it barely looked like a hand. The fingers poking out the end looked like fat purple sausages. When he tried to lift his arm, it caused a jolt of pain that ran all the way up through his shoulder and intensified somewhere around his rib cage. But when he tried to shift to ease that pain, the left side of his chest throbbed even more, matching in intensity the already excruciating throbbing in his head. On top of everything else, when he grimaced because of that new wave of pain, he could feel additional twinges of discomfort in his right cheek and temple. Reaching a hand up, he discovered much of his face was swollen and tender to the touch as well. He must look hideous. No wonder Deb and Michael had been looking at him with such concern. 

“Yeah, doesn’t look like you’ll be winning any beauty contests for a while, huh?” Michael added and Justin picked up a revived gloating aura from the man.

“Hush you!” Debbie chastised her son, obviating Justin’s need to say anything himself. “Sunshine just got the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of bigots and that’s all you can say? Justin doesn’t need to worry about how he looks right now; all he needs to worry about is getting better. So if you can’t say anything nice, just don’t open your big gob at all!” 

Then the beldame turned her attentions onto the injured youth and spent the next several minutes making sure that Justin was comfortable, that he had a cold bottle of water nearby in case he got thirsty, and that he wasn’t too hot or too cold. Justin let her putter around, kind of enjoying being fussed over for a while. At least all the activity kept his mind off his other worries. Just when it seemed that Debbie was running out of self-appointed caregiver tasks, the nurse came back into the room and started in on her own version of puttering. She took all Justin’s vitals, checked over his bandages and made sure the braces weren’t too constricting, and changed out the IV bag that was pumping the patient full of fluids and painkillers, all the while keeping up a running commentary about his treatment plan. 

It turned out Justin had incurred multiple hairline fractures in both the wrist and the ankle as a result of his strenuous defence efforts. Neither would require a hard cast, but he’d have to keep the braces on for at least a month, possibly more. Most of his other injuries would heal much faster, the nurse reassured him. The concussion was the primary issue they were monitoring at the moment, but his cracked ribs were likely what was causing him the most pain, and they would take at least six weeks to heal completely. Justin was actually feeling pretty down about this prognosis until she also revealed that John Spencer - who’s knee he had dislocated, tearing several ligaments and fracturing the kneecap in the process - would likely require surgery AND need double the time his own injuries would take to heal. 

“That’s what they call karma, right Baby?” Debbie crowed, pleased on Justin’s behalf. 

By that point Justin was feeling pretty wiped out again, so he didn't have the energy to do his own gloating. The nurse had mentioned it was normal for someone with a concussion to sleep a lot, so he figured he might as well prove her right. He’d just announced to Deb that he was gonna sleep a little - but to make sure and wake him up the second there was any news about Brian - and started to close his eyes, when a whole new disturbance pushed its way into the room.

“Justin! My word! What happened? Are you okay?” Jennifer Taylor flustered her way up to her son's bed and proceeded to break into hysterical tears. “I got a call from the police saying you’d been ASSAULTED and were in the hospital and I didn’t know what to think! The officer who called said she didn’t know your condition but made it sound serious. Please, Honey, tell me you’re alright!”

A groggy Justin blinked up at the frantic woman, trying to think of something he could say that might calm her down. He couldn’t take much more of her loud and overbearing concern in his current, exhausted state. It would probably be rude to throw your own mother out of your hospital room though, right? 

Justin pushed the button to raise the head of his bed again, groaning as the movement elicited another stab of pain to his ribs, and was just about to greet his mother when all of a sudden he got a frizzle of awareness coming from the other end of his Brian link.

“There you are!” Justin exclaimed, meaning Brian, not his mother.

“Of course I'm here, Honey. Where else would I be?” Jennifer responded, looking confused as she bent down to deposit a kiss on the teen’s poor, bruised cheek. “What in the name of creation happened to you, Justin? Who would do something like this?”

“Chris Fucking Hobbs,” Justin answered - sounding much more cheerful while naming his attacker than one would expect in the circumstances - while at the same time reaching out with his mind to connect with his lover. “Well, him, and John Spencer, and Ross Adams, and Paul Wells, with about a third of the school’s varsity football team offensive lineup backing them up.”

“Chris? Darla and Stephen’s son? I can’t believe it. We’ve been friends with the Hobbses for years . . .” Jennifer sounded more offended by the fact that anyone from their country club set was being accused of wrongdoing than that Hobbs had tried to beat her own son to death.

“Well, believe it, Mom. He’s been the head of ‘Team Bully Taylor’ all year long,” Justin asserted, holding up his broken hand as evidence of his veracity. “But I guess they got tired of just tripping me in the hall and knocking my books out of my hands and decided to escalate all the way up to attempted murder this time.” Since Jennifer still didn’t look convinced, Justin sighed and offered a little fuller explanation. “They waited till I was all alone and there was no one around to see, ganged up on me, knocked me to the ground and started kicking me, and were planning to drag me off to the athletic equipment shed to ‘teach me a lesson’ when the cops arrived.”

“Yeah, well, you probably shouldn’t have announced to the entire school that you gave the quarterback a hand job,” A gravelly voice interrupted as police detective Carl Horvath came into the room. “The way I heard it, that sort of pissed him off. Not exactly smart, Son.” 

The twinkle in the big, burly man’s eyes as he spoke belied his rebuke. Justin smiled impishly back at him. Meanwhile, Michael and Debbie were giggling and Debbie even reached out to gently tap the patient’s arm in a gesture of approval. In fact, the only person in the room who didn’t seem to find the revelation humorous was a furiously blushing Jennifer Taylor.

“You might be right about that, Detective,” Justin conceded, offering up some dry humor of his own. “Unfortunately, I was too busy at the time - worrying about my boyfriend getting FUCKING SHOT - to take poor little Closet Case Chris’ hurt feelings into consideration. Hobbs and his goon squad can bite me. I just hope he and his buddies all get nice long prison sentences for what they did to me. At least that way Chris can get fucked up his closeted ass to his heart's content for the next several years,”

“Justin! Language,” Jennifer intervened, appalled by her son’s cursing and vindictiveness. 

“Sweetie, I’d think, after what the kid’s been through, he probably deserves to let loose an f-bomb or two,” Debbie gently chided the self-righteous woman. “And, while I’m not a proponent of violence or vengeance, sometimes you just gotta love the way fate works, dontcha?”

“Fuck, yeah!” both Justin and Michael agreed at the same time.

Jennifer, realizing she was out numbered, didn’t bother correcting any of them.

“Forget about me,” Justin piped up, eager to find out how the story had unfolded after he passed out. “How are Brian and Gus? Did you get Claire and Joan? Nobody’s told me anything.”

“Gus? You got my sweet grandbaby back? Hallelujah!” Deb sang out so vociferously that Justin’s head gave an extra painful throb.

“Deb, please. Concussion, remember?” Justin begged.

“Oh, sorry, Sunshine. I’m just so thrilled with the news. I was outta my mind worried about that poor baby.” Then Debbie turned to the big detective and offered up an apologetic smile, one that was returned with interest by the appreciative Detective. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please tell us what happened.”

“We got em,” Horvath declared with a huge grin on his usually placid face. “Caught em literally red handed; the two of them were on their way out of the house, intending to flee the scene, as we drove up. The sister had the baby in her arms and the mother was carrying the bag full of ransom money. Both of them still had traces of the victim’s blood on their person.” Horvath beamed at his audience, clearly satisfied. “It doesn’t get better than that as far as direct evidence of criminality is concerned. Both women will be going to jail for a good long while. I can guarantee you that.”

“Thank fuck!” This time it was Debbie cursing but she just ignored Jennifer's renewed glare of wounded propriety.

Justin was so relieved by the cop’s news that he sank back into his pillows and finally started to fully relax. Horvath went on to explain to the others how he’d overheard the start of the attack on Justin when he picked up the call from the boy, who’d been trying to report the information he and Brian had discovered on the kidnapping. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t known that’s why Justin was calling. It wasn’t until Justin’s warning, just before he passed out cold, that the police realized what was going on and immediately rushed off to save Brian.

“Of course, it took us a little longer than we would have hoped,” Horvath explained with a shrug. “All your boy here told me before we lost him was that Brian had been shot by his sister Claire. No last name. No address. Nothing much to go on.”

Justin smiled tiredly. “Sorry, concussion,” he pointed out again.

Horvath nodded understandingly and then continued. “Even once we figured out Claire's married name was ‘Tyson’, and got a residence address for her, we were still out of luck because it turns out she was evicted a week ago. Luckily, the neighbor who watches the younger son, Peter, when Claire works nights, suggested she was probably over at her mother’s and gave us the address.” 

Horvath paused and looked towards the two mothers in the room, assuming they’d be interested in a little side note he had to relate. “By the way, it turns out both Claire’s kids had been staying with the neighbor all week while Claire said she was out looking for a new place to live. The dad, meanwhile, had been going nuts trying to find them. He thought Claire had run off with the boys in order to avoid his petition to take over sole custody. Seemed like a decent enough guy and the kids were real happy when we dropped them off at his place.”

“Anyway, we finally show up at Joan Kinny’s place and catch the two women about to hightail it out of town. Claire, the pathetic bitch, actually tried to argue that the baby was hers for about two minutes. And then, would you believe it, Kinney comes stumbling out of the house, blood dripping all down his side from where he’d been shot, barely able to stand on his own two feet, and completely ignoring everyone trying to tell him to sit down and let the paramedic take care of him. Instead, he toters over to his sister, takes the baby away from her, punches her dead in the face, and then drops to his knees in the middle of the driveway.” 

There was a chorus of awed chuckles, almost everyone there agreeing that would’ve been perfectly in character for their Brian. 

“So I’m thinking I’m gonna have a second vic pass out on me in the space of less than an hour,” the policeman continued. “But, no. Kinney INSISTS he’s fine and orders us to go save YOU instead,” Horvath looked over at Justin and chuckled. “It took me almost five minutes to convince him that we already rescued the kid. He’s a stubborn one that Kinney; even tried to refuse treatment when they got him here to the hospital until the doctor assured him that you were already being treated yourself. The doctor said Brian was lucky he didn’t bleed out before they finally got him to agree to lie down on a gurney so they could roll him into surgery.”

While all the others were exclaiming over Brian‘s antics, Justin grasped the pertinent point of the cop’s last statement and ran with it. “You talked to Brian’s doctor? Did they tell you how the surgery went? Is he going to be okay?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” Horvath reassured. “Dr. Singh said he’d lost a lot of blood but that no vital organs were damaged so they’re hoping it’ll be okay. From what Kinney told me in the few minutes before the ambulance took him away, it sounds like they were struggling with the gun when it went off. He’s lucky it wasn’t a straight shot or he’d be dead. As it was, it sounds like the bullet hit at a weird angle, struck a rib, bounced off, and slid around the side of his rib cage. They still had to operate to remove the bullet, and he’s got a couple of broken ribs, but he should be up and around in no time. I checked just before I came up here and the doctor said Kinney was already out of surgery; he should probably be waking up anytime now . . .”

Justin figured Horvath was telling the truth, seeing as his empathic link to Brian had been getting stronger and stronger as they spoke. He couldn’t wait to finally see his lover again. He’d been so scared. There was no way he ever wanted to go through something like that again. In fact, once they were finally reunited, Justin might never let the man out of his sight ever again.

///~///~

///~///~

Chapter 23 - Never Been Better.

“I don’t understand,” Jennifer Taylor jumped in at that point, looking back and forth between her son and the police detective. “How are you involved in all of this, Justin? A kidnapping and a shooting and assaults and everything else? Is this . . . Is this about when you skipped school on Friday to help out that art teacher of yours whose child had gone missing? How does that tie into this - What did you say his name was? Kenny? - this Kenny person? I assume he’s the man your father keeps having runs-ins with, right? But that doesn’t explain the rest of it . . . How in the world did you get yourself into this mess, Justin?”

Justin grunted and struggled to shift so he was sitting up straighter, thinking he wanted to be able to look his mother directly in the eye when he came clean. “It’s a long story, Mom. See . . .” he began, and then faltered, because where did you start?

He wasn’t at all upset when a knock on the door of his room announced another, well-timed visitor. “Knock, knock,” a sophisticated contralto voice announced as the door swung inward and a blond woman peeked around the corner. “Justin? Are you feeling well enough for another visitor?” Before he could say yes or no, Lindsey entered carrying a tiny, well-bundled figure. “Gus wanted to come by and personally thank his hero,” she announced.

“Awww, Gus!” Justin held his arms out, allowing the mother to place the baby in them. “Hey there, Gussie. I’ve been so worried about you.” The youth looked over to where Lindsey and Mel were now standing next to Debbies’s chair. “Is he okay? They didn’t hurt him, did they?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Mel assured everyone. “The doctors checked him out thoroughly and except for an ear infection, a nasty case of diaper rash, and some minor dehydration, he’s good. Not that I still won’t sue the fuck out of those two bitches that took him, mind you.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer,” Lindsey teased her wife good-naturedly. “Me, I’m just happy to have my Lambskin back in one piece. And the police told us we have YOU to thank for it, Justin.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” Justin demurred with a blush that showed even through his bruises.

“You’re the one who called the cops and told them where to find Gus,” Mel backed up her better half. “Unlike that idiot, Kinney, who went tearing off on his own, almost getting himself killed, without doing the sensible thing and waiting for the police. Serves him right he got shot.” Then she added under her breath, “fuck knows I’ve wanted to shoot him enough times myself.”

Justin was too busy admiring the baby to take Mel to task for her comments. “Aw, poor kid, ear infections suck, don’t they,” he crooned to the half-asleep infant. “No wonder you were crying all the time. Your daddy is gonna be so happy to hear you’re okay.”

“I still can’t believe it was Brian’s own sister that took him,” Michael finally chimed in again, a new wave of jealousy overtaking him as he watched Justin apparently bonding with Brian’s son, and prompting him to divert everyone’s attention back to himself. “How fucked up can one family be, huh? And I thought his abusive, drunken dad was the worst of the lot.”

Horvath interrupted the silence that followed this comment by asking, “what I don’t understand is, how come none of you recognized the sister? She had to have been stalking you for weeks to pull this thing off; there’s no other way she’d have known about your morning jogging route.”

“I’d never met any of Brian‘s family, except for that one time, last summer, when we all went to Brian’s dad’s funeral,” Lindsey explained. “I doubt I’d recognize Claire even now.”

Now that Horvath had brought up this point, Justin realized his suspicions about Michael were completely groundless. No doubt Lindsey would have noticed if one of the gang had been following her around, stalking her. The empath had to acknowledge, to himself at least, that he’d let his own negative feelings about Michael influence his assumptions. It wasn’t hard, though, when the man - even now - kept bombarding him with all these feelings of envy and resentment. Justin didn’t know this guy, David, that Michael was dating, but he really hoped the relationship would pan out, if only because it might put an end to the man’s infatuation over Brian. Brian was his now, and Justin wasn’t going to put up with Michael’s shit for long. But that was a struggle for another time; Justin was struggled out for the day.

For the next several minutes everyone cooed over the baby until Gus eventually fell asleep. Justin’s head was pounding again, and he really, really wanted to follow the infant’s example. Now, if only his posse of well-wishers would leave, or at least shut up long enough for him to get some rest. 

However, it simply wasn’t meant to be.

Right about the time Carl Horvath declared he would be back the following day, when Justin was feeling better, to take a formal statement, the merry group overflowing the room was interrupted yet again. “Special delivery for Justin Taylor,” a man wearing the hospital’s standard royal blue scrubs announced before pushing the extra-wide door all the way open.

“For me?” the patient asked, completely perplexed

When the orderly started to wheel another bed into the room, however, Justin began to get excited. The orderly proceeded to push the new arrival over to the empty space in the far corner of the double hospital room, parking the new patient just a few steps away from where Justin was now bouncing in his bed; to hell with the pain his abrupt movements were causing. For the moment, he was feeling no pain at all. His overwhelming joy was eclipsing all other sensations. Because the person in that new bed just happened to be the only person in the world he really wanted to see right then. 

The one person with whom he had an unquenchable affinity.

“There you go,” the orderly in charge stated as he got the bed situated in the right spot and all the tubes and wires hooked up. “Your friend here made us promise to put the two of you in the same room and he wouldn’t let the OR nurse start the IV for his surgery until he had everything set up the way he wanted it.” The man turned to the barely conscious patient with a humorous smile. “This to your liking, Mr. Kinney?” 

Brian looked around the man, who had been blocking his view, and donned a pained smile. “Hey, Sunshine,” Brian rasped in a shaky voice.

“Hey!” Justin responded in a more exuberant vein. “How are you feeling?”

Brian moaned and made a face as the attendant moving the equipment around the bed caused him a moment of discomfort. “I’ve had better days. You?”

“I’ve never been better!” Justin enthused, regretting only that his broken foot probably wouldn’t let him jump out of bed and fly to his lover’s side. 

“Twat,” Brian declared and then, finally, acknowledged all the other faces in the room. “Looks like you’ve got your entire fanclub assembled. Anybody you know who ISN’T here, crowding into our fucking hospital room?”

“Well, just Daphne,” Justin replied with a teasing smile, “but I haven’t had a chance to call her yet. She’s gonna be so pissed at me that she missed out on all the drama. Although, I bet, if I play up the poor, pathetic, injured friend thing, I can probably talk her into bringing us some of her world-famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Actually, that’s a great idea; I should call her right now. By the way, when do they serve dinner around here . . .”

“You and your damned bottomless pit stomach,” Brian complained in an effort to mask the obvious affection he felt for the boy. 

“So, are you gonna lie there flirting with the boy all day or are you ready to say ‘hi’ to the rest of us, asshole?” Debbie interjected with her usual salty demeanor.

Much rejoicing followed, with all Brian’s friends giving him shit and sympathizing over his injuries in pretty much equal proportions. Brian got to hold Gus; even the non-empaths could sense how much he loved the boy and how relieved he was to have his son back. And all the while Justin and Brian were communing privately, their empathic link once again at full strength, making them both feel like they were finally whole again. It felt really good. Justin felt complete. He felt like he could finally rest and heal now that he was sure Brian was going to be alright.

The nurse came in again a little while later and warned them that she would be kicking everyone out in about fifteen minutes so the patients could get some rest. Most of the crew started to pack up and leave. The girls were the first to head out, stating they wanted to get Gus home to bed. Michael and Deb were next to say their goodbyes, after Brian insistently declined Mikey’s offer to stay longer if his best friend needed him. 

“Well, I should get going too.” Horvath was the next to depart. “I am NOT looking forward to all the paperwork I’m gonna have to do to clear this case off my desk,” he grumbled with a shake of his head. “Before I go though, there’s something I haven’t been able to figure out yet. How did you two figure out that Claire was the kidnapper?”

Brian and Justin shared a charged glance. Justin gave a little head tilt, meant to convey that he’d go along with whatever Brian was comfortable revealing. Brian nodded resolutely before offering as much of an explanation as he was willing to disclose.

“The more I thought about seeing Claire at the museum - shit, was that only this morning? It feels like a year ago - the more it made me wonder,” Brian explained. “And I know I said that she and my mother probably didn’t even know Gus existed, but after I got home I remembered that she’d been moonlighting for this janitorial service, working nights and weekends to make up for the fact that her ex was fighting her about the child support . . .”

“That’s where I remember seeing her from!” Justin chimed in. “The night Gus was born. We ran into Claire at the hospital as we were leaving. She was dressed in a hospital uniform and you almost tripped over the cart she was pushing . . .”

“Exactly,” Brian confirmed. “She was working there the night Gus was born. After she saw me, she must have snooped around and figured out why I was there and found out I had a kid.”

Horvath murmured his acceptance of this new fact. “That makes sense. It also confirms something we heard from the janitor at the museum. We finally located him after you left this morning, Kinney, and the guy told us that a co-worker had tipped him off that the trash can in front of the building needed emptying right before the fire alarm rang. How much you wanna bet, when we pull Claire’s employment records, it’ll tell us that she & our museum janitor work for the same agency, huh?” All three men nodded, having come to the same conclusion. “I’ll have my guys go back and question him again - I suspect janitor guy might know more than he admitted to earlier. I’m betting he saw Claire make the ransom pick up. Oh, and by the way, we found a black Ironmen hoodie in the suitcase that was waiting in the car your mother and sister were about to take off in. I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet she was our anonymous fire alarm puller.”

“Alright folks. Time to go. Visiting hours are over,” the nurse advised, bustling into the room before Horvath could ask any more pressing questions.

“I was just leaving,” the detective assured the woman, but then turned back for one last word with his victims. “Rest up, because I’m gonna need you both to give a full statement tomorrow . . . Oh, one more thing, Kinney. You’re gonna have to tell me sometime how, exactly, you knew that Taylor had been beaten up back at the school AFTER you’d already been shot. I mean, we found the kid’s phone a couple dozen meters away from where the assault happened, and I’d been listening in on the line the entire time until we arrived, so I know he didn’t have time to call you. Care to explain?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was psychic?”

“Try again, Kinney,” Horvath replied with a hearty chuckle as he walked out the door. “See you boys tomorrow.”

Then the police detective was gone, leaving only Mrs. Taylor, who had planted herself in the chair next to her son’s bed and didn’t seem like she intended to leave any time soon.

“You don’t need to stay, Mom,” Justin insisted. 

“I don’t know,” she waffled, eyeing Brian suspiciously. “I think I should stick around for a while still. I haven’t even talked to your doctor yet.”

“Mom, please,” Justin began, but then stopped when he realized he sounded like a whiny kid - not something you wanted your thirty-year-old lover to witness - and modulated his tone before continuing. “I’ll be fine. And I’m sure I’ll get more rest without you hovering nervously the whole time.”

“But, I . . .” Jennifer stuttered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her little boy in the presence of a known reprobate who’d somehow gotten him involved in a kidnapping and subsequent shooting, but unsure of how to politely voice such concerns.

Jennifer didn’t get a chance to rethink her position, however, because just then the room was invaded by yet another visitor, this one much less welcome than any of the others. 

“I don’t give a damn what your visiting hours are. I want to see my son. And since I’m the one who pays for the insurance that covers all this crap, you damn well better step aside and let me in!” Craig Taylor’s voice carried even through the closed hospital room door, so you could tell it was likely booming down the otherwise quiet halls.

“Sir, please. This is a hospital and you’re disturbing our patients.”

“To hell with your fucking patients,” Craig hollered and barged into the room. “Justin? There you are. What the hell is going on? Your mother left me a message saying you were attacked at school? If this is true, I’m going to be having a long talk with Principal Perkins. We pay a pretty penny for that place and I expect them to take the safety of their students seriously . . .”

“It wasn’t the Principal who was so late picking up his son that the kid was left standing there alone, at the mercy of the school bullies, while someone was off shtupping his secretary,” Brian drawled from his spot off to the side where Craig hadn’t yet noticed him.

“You!” Craig immediately bridled, covering up his discomfort at being called out for his marital improprieties with misdirected outrage aimed at the accuser. “What the hell is HE doing here? I told you, you weren’t allowed to see this pervert ever again, Justin! How dare you defy me! I won’t have it, I tell you! I won’t have it!”

Justin was on the verge of speaking up when his mother - surprise, surprise - actually beat him to the mark. “Wait just a minute,” Jennifer exclaimed, moving around so she was standing directly in front of her husband. “You mean to tell me that Justin getting beat up was YOUR fault? He was waiting around for YOU when those bullies set on him? Seriously?” Jennifer leaned in and sniffed at Craig’s collar, wrinkling up her aristocratic nose at the scent she found there. “And now you have the temerity to come in here - more than an hour after I called you saying it was an emergency, by the way - smelling like cheap perfume and whiskey? And you’re yelling at our injured son, who’s lucky to be alive, after what YOU did? How dare you, Craig! How dare YOU!” 

Jennifer paused, waiting for a response, but apparently Craig was caught speechless for once; he just stood there, looking embarrassed. Jennifer continued to glare at her philandering hubby. Justin held his breath, wondering what the hell was happening. 

Brian, though, apparently found it all eminently amusing and snorted with laughter. “Looks like you’re the one who’s about to be grounded this time, Craig.”

“Nobody fucking cares about the opinion of a pedophile,” Craig rounded on his critic. Then, ignoring a glaring Jennifer, he looked over his wife's shoulder and continued taking his bad mood out on his son. “And besides, why I was late has no bearing on the fact that Justin has again defied me. I’m sick and tired of this, Justin. I’ve already given you plenty of warnings. This is your last chance, young man. You need to decide; either respect my authority and follow my orders or else!”

“Oh, fuck this!” Brian spoke up before anyone else could say a word. “Hey, Sunshine, you wanna shack up with me so you can tell your bigot of a father to go fuck himself?”

“Hell, yeah!” Justin answered immediately without even having to stop to think about it. “When I talk to Daphne I’ll ask her to go over and start packing up my stuff so I can move in as soon as they let us out of here.”

“Justin, Honey, please. I’m sure we can work this out. No need to be so hasty. You don’t need to make such a big decision right this minute. You should take your time and really think about this,” Jennifer tried to intervene, only to be cut off by her head-strong son.

“Sorry, Mom, but I don’t need to wait. I already know what I want.” And, despite his bruised and swollen face, Justin managed to direct a pretty sunshiny smile Brian’s way. “Besides, you might as well get used to the idea of me and Brian being together because, he might not know it yet, but someday I’m going to marry him . . .”

“Twat,” Brian declared with a huff and a shaking of his head. 

Although, tellingly, Brian did NOT actually deny Justin’s assertion; a fact Justin made note of for later contemplation.

“What the hell is going on here? This is total bullshit! I won’t have it!” Craig blustered and spluttered while his face turned an apoplectic purple.

“Oh, fuck off, Craig,” a fed-up-beyond-the-point-of-propriety Jennifer ordered as she gathered up her purse and coat, heading out the door. “Go back to your mistress already; she’s probably the only one who cares what you think.” As she was walking out, she added over her shoulder, “you'll be hearing from my divorce attorney in the morning.” 

Then Jennifer was gone and Craig scurried out of the room after her.

When the elder Taylor contingent was gone, and the room finally settled into a peaceful quiet, Justin sighed with relief. Maybe now that everyone was gone and he knew Brian was safe, lying securely in the bed next to him, he could finally get some rest. Hopefully, by the time he woke up, his brain would no longer feel like it had a heartbeat of its own and was trying to pulse out through his ears. Then he’d be able to start getting seriously excited about the prospect of moving in with the man he loved. Right now, though, he was just too wiped out to truly appreciate that amazing development. 

The nurse, who must’ve seen Jennifer and Craig leaving, came back in and gave both men their next dosage of meds, advising them that the doctors would be by for rounds in about an hour so they should sleep while they could. Justin would be happy to obey that directive. Even Brian didn’t bitch about the suggestion, proving that he was at least as ready for a nap as his roommate.

But, in an effort to find a more comfortable position so he could follow the nurse’s instructions, Justin tried to shift his weight around and in the process got his injured foot caught in the blankets. When he attempted to tug it free, he jarred his busted ribs. And, as if in sympathy with his other injuries, his hand decided to start aching too. It was all too much for the teen, who couldn’t hold back a little sob of pain.

“Hey, Justin?” The other occupant of the room cut short the boy’s struggles to resettle himself. “I gotta say, I did NOT enjoy watching you getting pummeled by that Hobbs guy. And I REALLY don’t enjoy feeling your pain on top of my own. So, can you do me a favor? Can you please NOT get beat up by homophobic bullies ever again?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Justin responded with an amused huff. “But, yeah . . . As long as you promise you’ll never, EVER, tell someone to go ahead and shoot you again.”

“Yeah, well, that might not have been my most brilliant move ever,” Brian conceded. Then he added, his voice getting so quiet that, if Justin wasn’t empathically linked to him, he might not have understood the words. “But I couldn’t just sit around there, locked up in the fucking basement all day, could I? You were being hurt; I had to get Gus and get out of there . . . I had to get to you.”

Justin smiled so hard that he cracked open one of the smaller cuts on the corner of his mouth but he didn’t care. “How about we agree that neither of us will ever get hurt again and we just move on to living happily ever after?’

Brian gave a mental shrug, which Justin could feel all the way over in his own bed, and then answered with typical Kinney succinctness. 

“Deal . . .”

///~///~