///~///~

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. 

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