Chapter 10 - The Fallout.

“Yeah, it was . . . It was fucking brutal.” I’d been saying the same thing, in about a dozen different ways, for the entire twenty minutes I’d been talking with Daphne. “He just looked so broken, Daph. He sat there the entire rest of the time we were in Carl’s office and didn’t say another word. He didn’t even look up. It was like he was practically comatose. And all I wanted to do was leave - get the fuck out of there - but the fucking FBI agent insisted that I finish giving my statement while it was still fresh in my memory. It was just so fucking . . .”

“Brutal?” Daphne finished my sentence for me and I laughed in spite of my pain. 

“Exactly.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this yet, Jus, but that’s probably the best thing you could have done for Brian right then,” she offered.

“What? You lost me there, Daph.”

She hesitated for a moment, maybe working out how to say what she wanted to say. “It’s like this . . . I know you want to help Brian, and watching him go through this is almost as painful to you as it is to him, but you can’t stop him from hurting.” I made a noise, intending to respond, but she refused to let me interrupt her. “Hear me out on this, Justin . . . You can’t shield him from this. He’s been avoiding dealing with the events of his past for decades. He repressed all those memories because he wasn’t ready to deal with it. But Brian will never get past it all - not really - until he faces the truth and works his way through it. And you can’t do that for him; you can be there, be a sounding board, support him - all the stuff a good partner would do - but not until he’s ready to admit to himself what happened and let you in. Until then, he’ll just resent you if you try to push him to deal with something he’s not ready to face.”

I had to concede that my friend might have a point, but then again, this was Brian Kinney we were talking about. “You’re saying that I should just leave him alone and let him work it out for himself? The guy who practically has a PhD in avoidance techniques?” We both laughed, because the description was so accurate. “You do realize that, right now, Brian’s literally hiding from the world? The minute we got back from talking to Carl, he went straight to the bedroom, crawled into bed with all his clothes on, and pulled the covers over his head. This is the guy you think will somehow find a way to work through his history of abuse and trauma on his own? Or that, maybe, he’ll wake up and realize he needs to ask for help? Yeah right,” I scoffed. “More likely, he’ll opt for more repression and drown his feelings in all the drugs, drinking, and dick he can get his hands on.”

“Well, you might be right,” Daphne admitted with an amused smile in her voice. “But that’s kinda my point. You can’t help him with that crap. He’s not going to LET you help him. Not yet, at least. But what you can do is help arrange things so that, when he is ready to confront his past, he’s set up to succeed.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Easy. You make sure that you give the police any assistance they need to haul Langley’s ass off to prison. You give them your statement - which it sounds like you already did - and you answer any other questions they might have in the future that will help them arrest the fucker. Then you hang on and try to make sure the rest of Brian’s life doesn’t implode until he can get back to managing it on his own.”

“You think all that is gonna be ‘easy’, Daph?” My snort of disbelief echoed off the brick walls of the stairwell where I’d been sitting after I snuck out of the Loft in order to have my conversation with Daphne in relative peace. 

“Well, you’ve already done the first part,” Daph pointed out. “Right?”

“Yeah. I told them everything I could about our meeting with Langley and how we found the photos. The FBI guy said my statement was important and that it would help to authenticate the evidence if the case ever goes to court. Of course, they also said that, if Brian doesn’t remember enough to testify, the case probably won’t go anywhere. So far, between claiming he doesn’t remember anything and his intermittent zombie act, he hasn't been able to give them anything much.”

“You really think he doesn’t remember anything?” Daph asked, voicing a question I’d had myself. “It seems like, maybe, it’s more that he’s in denial of whatever memories he does have.”

“I don’t know. Agent Bridges, though, seems convinced that Brian knows more than he’s saying. He was really pushing Brian hard today. After watching that video, though, Brian just completely shut down. Horvath eventually intervened and told me to take Brian home. They said they’d give him a few days to process but implied that, sooner or later, he’d have to come back and give some kind of statement. Bridges didn’t seem like he was gonna let this drop, no matter how reluctant Brian is to discuss it.”

“Considering everything we’ve learned in just the past week . . .” Daph sounded just as overwhelmed as I felt, “it’s probably gonna take more than a few days for Brian to come to terms with this shit.”

“Yep,” I readily agreed. “Oh, before I forget, you should be prepared to get a call from Carl too. He said they need your statement to back up what I already told them and confirm the chain of custody of the pictures.”

“No problem. I’m happy to help. I’m all about putting rapists and child abusers in jail.”

“I wish it was that easy.” I sighed and slumped back against the riser of the stair I’d been leaning against. “From what Horvath said, I don’t think they’ll be able to prosecute Langley for what he did to Brian - something about ongoing constitutional challenges to the new law that got rid of the statute of limitations on child sexual abuse - but even if the law was in his favor, the case is so old, it would be hard to make the charges stick. The good thing, though, is that, because the pictures are still being actively disseminated online, the police can pretty easily get him for the kiddie porn. Which is, like, five years per picture.”

“That is good news. I wanna see that fucker Langley in jail for the rest of his unnatural life,” Daph asserted.

“Same. And, even better, the FBI guy assured us that, if Langley really is the guy producing these videos, and there’s still ongoing abuse happening to kids under his control, they’ll be able to prosecute him for any newer cases, even if they can’t go after him for what he did to Brian.”

“Good. I hope the feds hurry, though, cuz in my head I keep seeing that poor kid, Taniel, and worrying about what a creep like Langley is doing to him . . .”

“Me too.”

“Well, you know if you need me to do any more recon missions, I’m ready, willing, and able. Whatever it takes to bring this guy to justice. Once I’m on the case I never back down!” I laughed at her ridiculous enthusiasm and could almost picture the outraged expression on her face when she added, “Hey, it’s a Nancy Drew thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I think, between the Pittsburgh Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the cops have this under control,” I suggested.

“Maybe. But it might be fun to stake out Langley's soccer practices just to be safe . . .”

“No, Daphne.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Sure I am. Just ask Brian,” I teased.

“I would, but you say he’s hiding under the covers, so I’m sticking with, ‘you’re no fun’.” We both got a chuckle out of that. What would I ever do without my bestie? She could always figure out some way to cheer me up, even at the worst of times. “Speaking of his zombieness, are YOU okay? Anything I can do to help?”

That was a good question. Was I okay? Was I going to be able to somehow drag Brian out of the pit of despair he’d fallen into? Was anything ever going to be okay after what we’d just been forced to acknowledge?

“I don’t know Daph. I don’t know what anyone CAN do at this point. Maybe, like you said before, just hang on and make sure everything doesn’t go completely to shit until Brian’s able to function again?” Then I thought of all the obstacles to even that minimal plan of action and felt like crying. “Not sure how I’m supposed to do that long distance from New York, though.”

“You’re going back?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I? Not if I want to keep my jobs. One of my bosses called already today and left me a pissed off message. I can’t say as I blame him, to be honest. I’d be pissed off at me too under the circumstances. Now Clyde is going to have to scramble to find somebody to fill all the weekend shifts for a second week in a row. When I do get back there, I’m going to have to do some serious ass kissing to get back in his good graces.”

“I say, fuck him,” Daphne insisted with her typical curtness. “You can’t go back now - not with Brian in the state he’s in - he’d probably drive himself off a cliff or something without you there to run interference.”

“You’re not wrong, I suspect, but I hope he snaps out of it sooner rather than later. I’m seriously going to get fired if I stay in Pittsburgh too much longer.”

“And that would be a bad thing because . . . ?”

“Because I need to eat and a place to sleep and New York is expensive and I don’t want to end up some penniless beggar peddling my art on the street corner for twenty bucks a pop . . .”

“Then just don’t go back there,” Daphne concluded. I was about to argue the point with her but she refused to let me get a word in edgewise. “I’m serious, Justin. You know you hate it there. You’ve been bitching about having to stay in New York for months now. The only reason you were staying was because you wanted to prove yourself and make Brian proud. But I say, fuck that. Right now Brian needs you more than you need to make some stupid point about how you can take care of yourself and make it big in the NYC Art Scene.”

I made a small grumbling noise but couldn’t really come up with any valid argument to counter her assertions.

“Admit it, Justin. You hate being in New York. Going there - and leaving Brian - was a stupid mistake. You don’t belong there and it’s time to man up and move home to Pittsburgh for good already,” Daphne pushed.

“Shit,” I cursed, more at myself than at my persistently truthful friend. “You’re right, of course. I never should have listened to everyone trying to push me to leave Pittsburgh. New York was a bust, at least as far as my art was concerned; there’s no reason I have to live in one of the world’s most expensive cities just to paint. Especially not when it means leaving my partner and all my friends behind. Besides, I need to be here now, anyway.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Daphne asserted smugly, knowing she’d proven, once again, that she was always right. “So, now, take that emergency credit card Brian gave you out of your wallet and use it to hire some movers to get all your shit back here.”

“Fine. But you have to call Steph and give her the bad news that her roommate is bugging out and leaving her to pay all the rent on her own.”

“No problem,” Daphne replied. “She’ll be thrilled by the news. She’s wanted her boyfriend to move in for weeks now but didn’t want to kick you out and make you homeless. Now she won’t have to worry.”

The cafe where I was meeting Daphne for lunch was only two blocks away from the gallery where I was working, so it was a convenient option, despite how busy it usually was. I was glad to see that my friend had already beat me there and snagged us a table on the sidewalk out front. She waved happily at me with her menu as I wove my way through the crowd and butted in line past the rest of the peons still waiting for a table. 

“‘Bout time you got here, Jus. The waiter gave me the stink eye the last time he came by to ask if I was ready to order and I put him off again,” Daph greeted me snarkily.

“Sorry. The gallery was ridiculously busy this morning. Mr. Bloom had me doing three rush framing jobs that he wanted to be ready for the UPS pickup at one. I just barely made it,” I explained.

The waiter approached our table not ten seconds later so further apologies had to be put off while we rattled off our orders. Then, while we sipped at our iced teas and waited for our food to be delivered, I regaled Daph with more stories about my crazy busy morning. 

We both laughed at the description I gave of the uppity art snob who’d come into the gallery that morning, looking for the perfect piece for the bathroom of his new mansion in the hills, and was put off by the fact that we didn’t have what he regarded as appropriate bathroom art. Apparently, ‘appropriate’ artwork in this case involved calming pictures with water scenes. The poor guy’s prostate issues probably shouldn’t have been so amusing, but sue me. I’d been chuckling to myself about it all morning and couldn’t wait to share with Daph. 

Working at the Bloom Gallery in provincial little Pittsburgh sure was a lot different than the hustle at a major gallery like Biont in New York. I was more than happy with my new job and thrilled that it had taken me less than a week after deciding not to return to New York to land an Assistant Gallery Manager position. It was a hella lot more fun than either of my old jobs and I can’t say I missed the stress or pretentiousness of my old life in the City. Besides, Sidney Bloom was a way better boss and much more laid back about things. Relocating back to Pittsburgh might turn out to be one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

Now, if only my personal life would work itself out the same way my professional life had.

“How’s Brian doing?” Daphne asked when my chatter about work finally died down. “Any improvement?”

“Unfortunately, no, and I’m getting really fucking worried, Daph,” I confessed. “It’s been two weeks since that day in Carl’s office and there hasn’t been any change at all. Brian’s basically not functioning at all at this point. I don’t know what to do.”

“Ouch,” my best friend commiserated. “You think it might be time to consider getting professional help?”

“You think I haven’t already contemplated that?” I scoffed with a hopeless shake of my head. “Shit, Daph. I’ve taken to scrolling through the internet listings for psychologists in my spare time just dreaming about that possibility. But there’s no way Brian would agree. Hell, he refuses to talk to me; how the fuck am I going to get him to open up to a stranger about this shit?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger,” Daphne argued. “Especially if it’s a professional who can be all detached and neutral about a tough subject.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it works that way when you’re dealing with Brian Kinney,” I argued. “Besides, I’d have to get him out of the loft first if I wanted to take him to see a shrink and that doesn’t look like it’s happening anytime soon.”

The conversation paused while our waiter delivered the food. I scarfed down the first half of my sandwich, thus staving off my hunger. It had been a long time since breakfast and I was starving. I took advantage of the natural break in our discussion to think back over the past two weeks since the meeting with Horvath and Bridges and wonder if there was anything I could have done differently to help my struggling partner. 

‘Struggling’ was putting it mildly, to be honest. The Brian Kinney I thought I knew had almost completely disappeared after that momentous meeting. This new version of my partner was a total basket case. He hadn’t left the loft since that meeting, not even to go into the office. He just lolled around the house, moving listlessly from the bedroom to the couch, barely speaking, and eating only when I brought him food and forced him to taste it. I had come to the point where I found myself researching the steps I’d have to take to get him committed if he didn’t snap out of it soon.

As soon as the worst of my hunger pangs had been quelled, though, I’d spoken up, hoping to get some guidance from my always-rational friend. “It’s bad, Daph. Really bad. He’s having these absolutely horrendous nightmares,” I disclosed, “and I can’t do anything to stop them. If I try to touch him he just starts screaming. It’s killing me to watch him like this. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t think the lack of sleep is helping either; we’re both turning into zombies now. But, no matter what I say or do, he just refuses to talk about it.” I laughed mirthlessly and shook my head at the memory of the discussion we’d had about the topic - again - just that morning. “All he ever says is that he doesn’t remember anything. But . . . I’m there for the nightmares every fucking night, Daph. I know he’s not telling the truth. He clearly remembers more about what happened than he’s willing to admit. If I could just get him to talk to me about it . . .”

“Maybe it’s time for an intervention?” Daphne suggested, in contravention of her prior advice to just let him work through his problems himself. She could obviously tell by my expression of horror that I was not on board with that suggestion but she pressed on nonetheless. “Think about it, Justin. Brian needs help. Sitting around the loft all day, every day, watching television, and neglecting his business and his life isn’t going to work for much longer. Eventually it’s all going to come crashing down around his ears. I know it’s going to be fucking painful for him to confront his past, but there’s no way for him to move forward without doing the hard work. And, I know I said before that you couldn’t force him to deal with his past, but I was assuming that he’d move on a little faster than this. Maybe it’s going to be up to you to force him to that realization after all? So far, nobody else has stepped up and it doesn’t seem like Brian’s willing to go there either. So, if it’s as bad as you say, maybe I was wrong before? Maybe it’s time to press him?”

“You may be right,” I admit, finishing off the last bite of my BLT and pushing my plate away. “We definitely can’t go on like this much longer. I know Brian’s a fucking mess and I’m getting there too. It’s just . . . It feels like I might have already lost him, Daph. He’s . . . He’s acting very un-Brian-like, you know? He’s just so . . .” I sighed and then figured, what the hell, I might as well confess everything. “So, the thing that, I think, is freaking me out the worst is that . . . Well, shit . . . Fuck it, Daph . . . The worst part is that we haven’t had sex since Brian’s run in with the motorcycle back in New York.” 

Okay, I’d said it. Let the apocalypse commence. 

“Whoa . . . That’s bad.”

“Right?”

“Yep. It’s definitely time for an intervention,” Daphne concluded.