Chapter 18 - Fix It!

“You need to do something to fix this!” I demanded loudly, bursting into Carl Horvath’s office nearly a month after Brian’s meltdown at Woody’s. 

“Have a seat, Taylor,” the detective directed with a gesture towards the guest chair in front of his desk. “Now, how about you turn down the Drama Queen meter about ten decibels and then explain to me what’s got your hair on fire this time?”

I took the offered seat but ignored his quip about my frazzled state. “If you don’t do something to stop this, more than my hair is going to be on fire. I’m going to fucking kill your damned defendant before you can get him to court.”

“My defendant? You mean, Langley?”

“Who else would I be in here about?” I practically growled at the infuriatingly calm man. “Yes, Langley. You said you’d protect us if Langley started harassing us. You said you’d get a restraining order against him. Well, it’s time to get on that because he’s out of fucking control. You need to stop him or Brian is going to end up too much of a basket case to testify for you.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s fucking stalking Brian, that’s what!” I yelled, launching back to my feet so I could pace around Horvath’s office as I pontificated. “He’s conducting psychological warfare on his former victim. It’s . . . What do you call it? . . . Witness intimidation or obstructing justice or just plain harassment? Call it whatever you like, but just stop him already!”

“Okay . . .” Carl replied in his most placating voice. “Can you explain a little more about what it is you think constitutes harassment here?” I shot him an angry glance and he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Please. Sit. And tell me what’s going on. I’ll do my best to help but I need to understand the problem first.”

I figured he probably had a point there, so I sighed and sat down again, trying as best I could to rein in my raging temper. “For about a month now, Langley has been following Brian and I around. He’s sneaky about it though, so we can never outright catch him. He just keeps popping up at random places whenever we’re out. It’s making Brian crazy. Well, to be honest, it’s making me crazy too. I mean, every time Brian gets a glimpse of the guy he goes all ‘Buddy’ on me and practically collapses and then I have to scoop up the pieces and put him back together again. I’m telling you, Carl, this can’t go on.”

“‘Popping up’? Where exactly have you been seeing him?” Carl questioned in his most detectively voice. 

“Well, *I* haven’t seen him. I told you, he’s being sneaky. But Brian has seen him a couple dozen times now and it always totally freaks him out,” I explained. “The first time was at Woody’s, about a month ago. Since then it’s happened all over town: at the gym, the fucking grocery store, outside Kinnetik’s offices, even one time when we were on our way to Deb’s house for Sunday dinner. It’s got to the point where Brian doesn’t want to leave the damn loft anymore. This has GOT to stop.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Horvath summarized, “all these ‘sightings’ were in public places? And nobody can confirm it except Brian? The guy who you just admitted is a bit of a basket case at the moment?” 

I did not appreciate the skeptical look Carl gave me or the little unconvinced shake of his head. “Brian isn’t just making this up, Carl. He’s not imagining things. He’s upset, yeah, but he isn’t delusional. And, until Langley started stalking us, Brian was actually starting to do much better.” The police detective still looked doubtful, though, so I carried on with my list of grievances. “What about all the presents, then? Those aren’t just some figment of Brian’s imagination.”

“Presents?” That had Carl looking curious, finally.

“Yeah. All this crap that Langley keeps having delivered to Brian to psych him out,” I elucidated. “The first one was a package mailed to Kinnetik without any return address. Inside was a trading card showing Brian’s favorite soccer player from the 1970s, Johan Cruyff. Buddy said that Coach gave him one just like it back when he was a kid. He used to love that card and showed it to all his friends. It was, like, a prized possession or something. But then Coach took it away from him to punish Buddy for not doing something and he never saw it again. Well, now it’s reappeared, delivered to Brian right after Langley finds out Brian is gonna be one of the witnesses against him? That’s not a coincidence, Carl. It’s a threat.”

“Come on, Taylor. A kid’s trading card? That’s not much of a threat,” Horvath was back to being skeptical, ''even if it was sent by Langley . . .”

“That’s not the only thing he sent,” I rushed on. “A few days later we got a package delivered to the loft; a kids’ soccer uniform in the colors of Brian’s childhood team with the name ‘Buddy’ printed on the back. That sent Brian into a fucking tailspin for three damn days, Carl. And then, just when I’d got him reassured enough to venture out again, we found a polaroid of Brian in that exact same soccer uniform at maybe ten years old or so, left under the wiper on Brian’s car in the locked, secured garage.”

“Well, that’s at least potentially trespassing, provided you can prove it was Langley that left it,” Carl suggested, looking at me as if I would be able to supply some kind of proof. 

I just rolled my eyes and continued. “The next weekend, we were walking down Liberty Avenue when someone kicked a soccer ball down the street; it almost hit Brian in the fucking head, that’s how close the guy must have been. Unfortunately, I was too distracted trying to pry my partner out of the corner where he was huddling to catch Langley, but I’m sure he was the one who did it.”

“Nobody else saw Langley, though?” Carl asked, and I was forced to shake my head in the negative. 

“Even if they had, nobody but me and Brian would know what Langley looks like, or the significance of a soccer ball. And it’s not like I’m going to go spreading Brian’s most traumatic secret around by asking strangers on the street if they saw the pedophile who abused my partner as a child. But who else would do shit like that?”

My not-so-helpful police detective gave a reluctant shrug but didn’t say anything more so I continued. 

“There was also the appointment set up for Langley Aeronautics at Kinnetik. Thank fuck Cynthia knows a little about what’s going on and caught that one before Brian saw it on the calendar. But when we tried the number used to call to make the appointment, all we got was a recording saying that the number was no longer in service. Fucker is good at hiding his tracks.”

“Langley isn’t stupid,” Horvath commented, unhelpfully. 

“Unfortunately, no,” I was forced to agree. “Just a sociopath.” 

Then I pulled the latest evidence of Langley’s intimidation campaign out of my pocket, unfolded the torn piece of paper and laid it out on Horvath’s desk. “Today, we’re leaving the Diner after lunch, and we found these put up all over the whole fucking neighborhoood.” Carl examined the ‘Kick!It’ flier showing a close up of Coach Wade Langley and that one unsmiling little boy who looked so much like a young Brian Kinney. “This time, I was determined to find him, so I had Em and Ted take Brian back to the loft and I asked around to see if anyone saw who put the flyers up. I eventually found this group of four teenagers who were pasting up more flyers over by Rypt Gym. They told me some old guy paid them $50 each to paste up a whole fucking cartload of flyers. Apparently he gave them a list of all the places he wanted it to be posted, and it was basically a daily itinerary of every place Brian normally goes. So, does that qualify as stalking?”  

Horvath took a moment to scan the soccer camp flier lying on the desk in front of him, his mouth screwed up in a puckered frown. Then he sighed and looked up at me again. “I’m sorry, Justin. It’s not that I don’t believe you. I agree that this stuff has to be coming from Langley. But I don’t think it’s enough to get a restraining order against him.” I started to protest, but he cut me off before I could get out more than an angry grumble. “As far as I can tell, Langley isn’t doing anything illegal. Making appointments at a business, posting flyers for his legitimate business, kicking a soccer ball on a public street . . . None of that’s illegal. Even sending those ‘presents’ to Brian isn’t overtly threatening; it’s way too subtle for a judge to see as an outright threat. I’m afraid it’s gonna take more than that to prove that Langley’s trying to intimidate witnesses.”

“That’s it? You’re saying there’s nothing you can do? So, what, I’m just supposed to wait around and watch while this psychopath drives Brian insane? Fuck that!” I growled, so irate that I could barely contain myself. I felt like punching something. I felt like screaming. But none of that would help me help Brian. This was a fucking nightmare. 

“My hands are tied, Taylor,” Carl equivocated, not unsympathetically. “Nothing here is explicitly threatening. He hasn’t approached you or Brian personally. He hasn’t even said anything to either of you. There’s been no overt implication of violence. Nothing a judge could point to and say, ‘that’s witness intimidation’. And, to make things even more murky, you don’t have any direct proof that Langley himself is sending this stuff. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see any way to make a case here. Not with what little you have so far.”

*Errrrrgh!* I growled, venting my frustration vocally. “So what do I do now, then? Huh? Just sit around and watch while Langley slowly drives Brian insane? How the fuck is that going to help anything?”

“For starters, I’d beef up your security, both at home and at Kinnetik,” Carl lectured, being frustratingly practical when all I wanted to do was rage. “Tell the building super at the loft not to accept any packages until further notice. Maybe even have the post office redirect all mail to a PO Box, which you can go through before Brian sees any of it. And, if you do get any more suspicious letters or packages, don’t open them. Call me first and we can have our forensic department check them out for fingerprints or other evidence that would tie them to Langley.”

“What about the flyers and other stuff that just happens out in public? What about Langley turning up at Woody’s?”

“There’s not much you can do about that. Even if you did get enough proof against Langley to get a restraining order, you wouldn’t be able to enforce it at a public venue like a bar or a restaurant that Brian doesn’t work at. You might want to just lay low for a while and avoid places like that. At least until after the trial.”

“So, basically, Brian’s gonna have to live locked away like a criminal instead of the guy who should be in jail? Screw that!”

“You asked what you can do and I’m just trying to give you some practical advice, Taylor.” Horvath offered in that same placating tone, making me even more angry. “Hopefully, after the trial, Langley will be going to prison and Brian won’t have to worry about him again for a good long while.”

“Yeah? And how’s that going?” I asked, employing my own healthy sense of skepticism. “Have you found the cabin with the ‘Game Room’ or the production studio where he’s stashed all the videos and pictures?” Carl grudgingly shook his head. “Great, so you have nothing to connect Langley to your kiddie porn ring? Meaning he’s gonna get away with it? And meanwhile Langley’s going to torture Brian until he’s too fucked up to testify against the monster? Sounds like quite the plan you have there, Detective.”

Of course the police officer fell back on the standard copaganda line, “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you, Taylor.”

“So, in other words, no, you haven’t found the cabin and have nothing more than the few dirty pictures you found on Langley when you arrested him? Great.” I got to my feet and turned towards the door but paused long enough to throw back one parting shot. “You told us that you’d do everything in your power to protect Brian. That, if he spoke up, it would be enough to put Langley away for good. But it looks like you lied and maybe never had any intention of helping Brian. You clearly only want to help yourself. Well, fuck you, Carl.”

Then I stormed out of there with my righteous indignation fully intact but without any idea of how I was going to help my partner get through this nightmare. 

Of course nothing changed despite us following Carl’s advice about beefing up our security and redirecting the mail. I managed to intercept a couple more letters - one with a print out of the schedule for a Boys’ U8 soccer league listing game dates from the spring Brian turned eight, and the other containing a glossy bumper sticker advertising ‘US Youth Soccer’ - both of which I instructed Cynthia to turn over to the police for me since I was still too angry at Carl to speak to him myself. But when these missives didn’t raise the kind of response Langley was looking for, meaning that Brian continued to be seen in public, apparently unfazed, the vindictive Coach switched back to more personalized deliveries again. 

I’m not sure how Langely got around our directive to the building management to not accept any deliveries for Brian or myself, but about a week later we came home to a package waiting outside the loft’s door. At first I didn’t think anything about it because the box appeared to be a standard commercial delivery; it came via USPS and appeared to have been packaged by the original vendor, so I went ahead and brought it inside. Only, when I opened it up, it turned out to be an entire case of little boy’s briefs, all adorned with fanciful soccer designs. That little delivery sent my wigged out partner running for the bathroom where he immediately ralphed up the dinner we’d just eaten. Despite my angry phone calls to the manufacturer, though, they wouldn’t release any info to me about whomever had purchased the underwear. I left an incendiary message on Carl’s phone with all the pertinent info about the delivery and a demand that he investigate further, but I never heard anything back so I assumed they weren’t able to trace it back to Langley.

After that we simply quit opening any mail we weren’t expecting and threw out all delivery boxes that did make it through our defenses. Not that Langley was at all deterred by our efforts. He continued to leave photos and other mementos on Brian’s car, outside the Kinnetik offices and various other places he knew we’d be likely to see them, but eventually the shock value of these nasty little surprises started to wear off and even Brian became somewhat numb to the incessant harassment. He would just pull off whatever little memento was left under his wiper blades, toss it aside not even looking at it and, with his jaw clenched, carry on with his day. That made me proud; you had to respect his stubborn refusal to give in to the terror despite Langley’s unceasing intimidation campaign. Nevertheless, once we were home, alone, and Brian was free from outside scrutiny, he often gave in and let the fear and depression wash over him. But at least these attempts weren’t causing him to regress into Buddy Mode any longer. 

That wasn’t true for Langley’s in-person appearances, though. There was something about seeing his former Coach in real life that just always caused Brian to spin out of control. Always. Even a brief glimpse of Langley from a block away caused Buddy to reappear. It was heartbreaking. And exhausting. Every single time I would have to pick up the pieces of Brian’s self-esteem and spend hours putting him back together again.

I didn’t think it was possible to hate someone as much as I hated Langley for putting us through this again and again. It was worse because it felt so futile; what were we going through all this for, again? Brian still wasn’t able to remember much that would be useful in the legal case against Langley and, as far as I knew, the police still hadn’t found the evidence they needed to tie Langley to the production of the videos. It seemed like Brian was just being tortured for nothing. 

So, regardless of all our attempts to protect ourselves, we were already in a sorry state by the end of June when the official start of summer rolled around, followed by the arrival of soccer camp season. 

At least the prospect of Gus coming to visit managed to pull Brian out of his funk for a little while. He was determined to put on a good face for his son and not let the boy see him in a state of total depression - for which I was eminently grateful - thank you, Gus. So, a few days before Gus’ arrival, we dragged ourselves off to Britin to spruce up the place and get it ready to receive visitors. 

Luckily, it seemed like Langley hadn’t managed to track us down way out there in the country, so there weren’t any unpleasant deliveries or notes on our cars while we were there. And, just like before, Brian’s mood improved a hundred-fold while we were at the house. He got right back to his painting and decorating and, for those few days, we were happy and mostly able to forget the shit storm still raging back in Pittsburgh. 

“Daddy! Daddy! We’re here!” Gus’ voice rang out at full volume the second I opened the door to him and his moms on the day they arrived. “I can’t believe how big your new house is, Daddy! It’s huge-mongous! Can I see my room now?” The enthusiastic little ball of energy was bouncing around like a ping pong ball and mobbing his father with hugs before the girls had even made it all the way inside the door. “I don’t have to share with J.R., do I? You said you were gonna make a room for me, but it’s all for me and not her too, right? Cuz I don’t wanna have to share with her. J.R. takes all my toys and never puts them away where they belong.”

“Hey, Sonny Boy!” Brian hugged his son back so ardently that I was afraid I might break out in tears. Brian had needed this time with Gus more than anyone but I knew. “I’m so glad to see you, kiddo.”

“Me too, Dad!” Gus beamed up at the man with complete adoration. “I told my friend, Anthony, all about you and how cool it was that I’d get to stay here with you and Justin all summer. He’s so jealous.” Then, without pausing for a reply, Gus grabbed his father’s hand and started towing him towards the staircase. “Can we go see my room now? Please, Daddy?”

“Sure thing, Sonny Boy. I hope you like it. We just got finished setting it up this morning,” Brian answered, momentarily sounding just as enthusiastic as the boy. 

“But I don’t have to share with J.R., right?”

“Isn’t Jenny Rebecca supposed to be staying with Michael?” Brian questioned, as the pair walked away hand in hand.

“Well, yeah, but you said that you guys had a pool and when I told her that she said that wasn’t fair, so I said she could maybe come out and stay here some of the time and play in the pool too, only she couldn’t share my room with me, and the moms said it was okay and she could sleep in their room if it was a problem, but I said I’d ask you. So, it’s okay if she comes out here too, right? I kinda don’t mind if she comes to play in the pool, you know, just as long as I don’t have to share my room with her . . .” Gus jabbered on, talking so fast it was hard to keep up with him, as he and Brian galloped up the stairs and down the hall towards the room we’d set aside for him.

All the remaining adults, still watching from the front hallway, were quietly chuckling at Gus’ zeal, not to mention his ability to talk a blue streak, as the two ‘boys’ disappeared from sight upstairs.

“Hey! Welcome to Britin. Come on in,” I greeted my guests, finally. 

“Good to see you, Justin!” Mel replied with a hearty hug and a slap on my back. 

Lindsey took her turn, kissing my cheek, and giving me a more moderate squeeze. “Thanks for letting us stay with you for the week. I’m just about as excited as Gus to see this place. It looks amazing even from outside.”

“We’re happy to have you,” I assured them, grabbing the suitcase out of Mel’s hand and turning to lead the way upstairs towards the guest suite which was at the other end of the hall, far from the jubilation we could still hear coming from the direction in which their son had disappeared. “Let me show you to your room and then I’ll give you the tour.” 

The girls spent longer than you’d expect, oohing and ahhing over the sea glass green guest suite. Brian had been spot on when he said Lindz would love it. I thought she’d never finish gushing. Especially after she saw the luxurious bathroom. But eventually I tempted them out of there with a promise to show them the other guest bedroom we’d set up in anticipation that Gus’ sister might want to join the family for at least part of the time they were visiting. 

Lindsey and Mel were just as appreciative of the demurely pretty, pink and gray room we’d decorated just down the hall from their room. It wasn’t quite as elaborate as the other rooms, but then again we didn’t think J.R. would be there very often, and we wanted to make sure it wasn’t so girly that other guests couldn’t use the room in a pinch. Still, the moms were thrilled by the mere fact that we’d thought of their little girl. Like, somehow, Brian would simply forget that his kid had a sister? Whatever.

But, when I led them over to check out Gus’ room, that’s when they were completely blown away. Exactly as I had expected them to be. Because that room was enough to wow anybody. No wonder, twenty minutes later, Gus was still twittering away about it and thanking his dad again and again. 

This room really was a little boy’s dream come true. Brian had been planning it out and working on it a little bit at a time ever since he bought the house. He’d even had a carpenter come in and help him out with the harder parts of the design. All the love and care Brian had put into creating this masterpiece immediately showed, too. It was amazing. Truly amazing. 

“Momma! Mommy! Look!” Gus screamed in glee the moment he saw his mothers peeking around the door jamb, and immediately launched himself over the edge of the platform bed, shrieking with happiness while he slid neatly down the attached slide to land at the women’s feet. “My bed has a SLIDE! A SLIDE! How cool is that? Come see! Come SEE!”

At which point Gus began to show his mothers everything in his amazing new room, in ecstatic detail, including the loft bed complete with a staircase on one end and a built in slide on the other, the custom built drawers that fit in under the steps, the desk that was neatly tucked away under the loft where Brian had set up the latest computer along with a well-stocked bookcase, and even the kid-sized arm chairs and table that were set up in the center of the room so Gus would have a comfy place to hang out and read. Of course, Brian was having just as much fun as his son, showing off the neat little details of the room and pointing out all the hidden features like the recessed lighting, the intercom system, the small fridge under the desk stocked with fruit juice, water, and healthy snacks, and even, after closing the drapes and shutting off the lights, demonstrating the way the light fixture doubled as a star map by projecting twirling constellation across the ceiling. By the time the full presentation was over, and even the moms were convinced to try out the slide, they were all laughing and exclaiming and playing and having a great time. 

Meanwhile, I just stood there, watching it all, happy to see all of them being happy, and hoping that, maybe, this was what was going to fix it all. Maybe this was the thing Brian needed to permanently pull him out of the funk he’d been in ever since he’d first seen that picture of the Coach. Perhaps Gus was the answer. The solution. Maybe this was the way we’d fight back against the blackness that had seemed so overwhelming at times?

Maybe some angst-free family time was the way to finally fix the horrible nightmare situation that had threatened to swamp Brian for all these weeks.