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As Kaz walked toward the entrance to Kinnetik's offices, his eye caught the handsome older man getting into the silver Lexus. He was hard to miss with that air of entitlement and a thick shock of dark hair, suspiciously lacking in gray for a man at least in his mid to late fifties. He knew immediately that this was Connie Simpson. He studied the man and the vehicle, noticing by the tag that it was a rental car. Kaz debated for only a moment on whether to follow the man, but the distance already between them and the desire to find out from Cynthia what the meeting was about made up his mind.

He opened the door, greeted the security guard and Martin, and walked purposefully toward Brian's large inner office. He had to give the man credit. Brian knew how to make an impression with his surroundings. The sleek lines, the simplicity of it all gave off a very classy vibe. And underneath it all was an old bathhouse. But that, after all, was Kinney.  

He knocked once on the door and opened it to find a pensive Cynthia, glass of vodka in hand. She appeared intent on starting her evening a little early.

"Must have been a hell of a meeting," he said, nodding to the drink in her hand.

"How do you know it isn't water?" she asked the investigator.

"Experience," was all he said as he settled himself on the sofa near the cubed glass window. "So, tell me."

Cynthia swallowed back a mouthful and felt the soft burn against her throat. She closed her eyes as she said, "He was here for Brian."

"I figured."

"Wasn't exactly happy when I told him Brian would be unavailable for some time." She paused and looked into the glass in her hand. "He's going to hunt him down, Kaz. I could feel it."

"Figured that, too." Kaz got to his feet, walked to the cabinet, pouring himself a shot of twelve-year old scotch. He raised the glass toward no one in particular, as if making a toast, before he continued. "And now we have to make sure he doesn't get anywhere near him."    

*******

Alice McCarthy paused her hand over the computer mouse, looking anxiously toward the men waiting for her to begin playing the video. Up to this point, Brian had seen himself playing out various alters and was coming to understand that the actors were actually him. But so far nothing specific had being mentioned about any particular acts by or against Brian physically during his childhood. It had been strongly suggested and hinted at, but no particular act identified. That was about to change. The words spoken by both Little Boy and Trick had the potential to either shut Brian down into another near catatonic state, or to open the flood gates to his memories. Neither one would be pleasant for him or his young partner.

"I want you both to remember that nothing you see or hear on this video is occurring now. Brian, you presented as two separate alters, both talking about a particular instance from your past... I'll be honest with you - this is painful." Brian stiffened markedly at her words, but gave no other sign that they bothered him. She knew, of course, that his stoicism was an act.

She watched the unnecessary shame on Brian's face and the caring pain on Justin's as the screen showed her talking Brian through his fears. She saw the color disappear from both of them as Justin's bashing was referenced, giving her a greater insight into both men than they might ever realize. She watched the fascinated horror engulf Brian as he saw himself easily switch into the frightened Little Boy pleading with her to allow Brian's continued ignorance of the painfully recounted memory.  

Brian began to retch and Justin immediately handed over the waste can that sat beside him for that purpose. The doctor had known this revelation into his own past would most likely physically overwhelm Brian - knew the basic physiological reactions to this kind of sweepingly powerful insight. She had prepared as much as she could for this. As she paused the screen, she was reminded that there could never be enough preparation for this. Never enough.

Brian wiped his mouth and took a sip from the bottled water he held. Justin continued to watch his partner's reactions, saw the ashen pallor of his skin, the beads of perspiration trickling down his jaw line. "Do we have to continue this right now?" he asked.

"Turn it back on," Brian demanded hoarsely. "Turn it back on."

Justin winced as the video continued, and he wasn't sure whether it was from the pain he knew Brian was in or the shock of the intrusion from the familiar sing-song lilt of Trick's voice. He remembered the almost prophetic words Trick sang the first time Justin encountered this alter. Go ask Alice. I think she'll know.

Jesus.

Brian gripped the arms of his chair until the blood had stopped flowing, turning them chalky white. Tears ran down his face as he heard Trick say ‘Him or the dog. Him or the dog.' Alice heard a soft hum rise and saw Brian slowly rocking himself back and forth in his seat, his head shaking slowly side to side. As Trick finished, Brian stopped all movement and clenched his eyes shut, scrunching his face into a look of surprised agony.

"He...he had my hand... they had a... FUCK!" Brian jerked his hand to him, clenching it to his chest with the other. He screamed. "Stop! Please No Stop!" As the sobs wracked his body, Justin held him tightly. "I'm so sorry, Bri. God, I'm so sorry."

Brian could feel the heat from the metal rod held near his hand. Without even touching the skin it seared his palm. Do it, Sonny Boy... He pissed on the rug... Be a man... It's you or the damn dog. And the heat was hotter and he thinks he peed himself, and he held the knife...

A terrifying calm settled around Brian. He raised his broken face and stared emptily, seemingly at no one in particular. But he saw the face before him.That face. And he knew that his six year old self had somehow died that day.

"I killed him. The king made me kill him."

Alice McCarthy suddenly wished to be anywhere else.

*******

Carl Horvath studied the mess on his desk. It probably wasn't the best idea to meet Krawczynski here, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. As he picked up first one paper from the desk, then another, he tried to put some order to the pseudo-investigation he and his old friend were conducting.

"Okay. Here's what we know, or at least strongly suspect, so far," Carl stated as he placed the documents and notes into various piles. "We know that Brian suffered some serious abuse as a child, most likely at the hands of his parents. That'd be the most likely answer to his medical issues right now. How he managed to get through that and the rest of his life until now without this all crashing down around him is anybody's guess. I highly suspect that Connie Simpson had something to do with that, as well. We know from public school records and other public records that Connie Simpson began school in Pittsburgh shortly after Brian was born. The property records show he actually lived near Kinney all that time."

Putting it all together in one statement, showing the proximity of Simpson to Kinney from the beginning pulled at something in Carl's thoughts. There was just too damned much circumstantial evidence showing a strong connection between the two from day one to just dismiss it. He knew in his gut that Kinney's parents and Simpson were more than passing acquaintances. And knowing what he now did about Brian's childhood, it gave him a cold chill.

Kaz looked back over the documents in front of him. They had collected all the school, property, hospital and police records they could get their hands on, as well as the reports from Pete in Chicago. He had to be missing something that would tie it up in a bow for them. Shuman, Chicago and now Brian's sudden disappearance and collapse. He could definitely connect Simpson and Kinney in Chicago and the current situation. But without the juvenile records available, they had so far been unable to fit Simpson into Brian's time at Schuman.

He looked over the police records one last time when he saw it. Not an arrest record. An incident report. Vandalism at Simpson's house. Breaking and entering. Assault on Simpson. 235 King Avenue. Police responded. Dated... Holy shit... one month before Brian went to Schuman. The last week Brian attended school before his time at Schuman. He looked further at the document and noticed a small notation in the responding officer's own handwriting.Additional statement provided at scene from witness, Jack Kinney.

Fucking shit.

"Carl, look at this." He handed over the document, anticipation evident on his face.

Carl looked over the standard incident report. Date, time, place... Jesus...

"The final piece of the puzzle. This is what Brian went to Schuman for. Those goddamned bastards." Kaz raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic curse words from his friend. He grinned and patted Carl on the shoulder. "Stone cold heart you've got there, Horvath. Stone cold."

*******

Brian sat in the single chair, placed by the window, wrapped in a cheap hospital blanket. He was so fucking cold. His stomach clenched again. No. He had promised himself he would not vomit again. Not now. Even as he had the thought he leaned over and retched again into the waste can beside him.

Fuck. He tried to keep the images out of his head. Tried to replace them with  counting the cars in the goddamned parking lot, trying to name the year, made and model. Busy mind work. Idle hands. Idle mind. Devil's work. But he had met the devil and the devil didn't give a shit about idle hands and minds. As long as he got his pound of fucking flesh.

He was surprised that a flood of memories hadn't rushed back to him the moment he recalled what he had done that day as a small child. No! He hadn't done a damned thing! They had done it. They had done it. Not him.

He'd never before even recalled having a dog. They were nasty creatures, according to his mother. But he remembered now. Patches. Sleeping beside him on the floor. Licking wounds Brian had received from yet another fist to the side of his head. Six fucking years old. Almost the same age as...

Brian vomited again as he thought of his son.

Christ.

He felt a tug inside him. A small but distinctive pulling somewhere deep. A voice, a smooth baritone brogue. A lilting lullabye of a voice. "Brother, we have ya." He knew it was him. He knew it wasn't him. But he was surprised that he could reconcile the dichotomy so easily, accept the being and not-being as a reality.

Brian whispered a sincere, "Thank you."

*******

Connie held the paper in his hands, wondering if he should believe the things he read. He knew from experience just how erroneous and malicious the media could actually be. But... the article was in the business section, usually a bit above the cut where reporting was concerned. And it did reference a press conference held by Kinnetik confirming that Kinney was in the hospital for ‘undisclosed health reasons'. The article went on to list what he was notbeing treated for, but not what he was being treated for.

At least, Connie thought, it's a place to start. He dialed the first hospital he found in the directory.

"Can you connect me to Brian Kinney's room, please?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Kinney's room is not accepting calls."

Got it in one, Con, he thought as he picked up the keys to the rental car and left his suite.

 

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