Carl sat on one of the stairs up into the bedroom as he watched CSI search for evidence in the main part of the loft. He continued to feel his guilt weigh heavily on him, however, it didn’t stop his determination from bubbling inside of him. But…He was at a loss. He didn’t know how to proceed or where to look for Brian and Justin. Where would Kenneth and Jim take them? How long would they keep them alive?

He thought about Justin mostly, and his haunted eyes. The boy was troubled, and now he knew why. One of the CSI agents had made a passing comment and ended up jogging his memory.  He remembered him from the newspapers – a victim of a hate crime. Now, he didn’t really understand how one man could be attracted to another, but he didn’t wish any harm on them. He had thought it was extremely unfair when Justin’s attacker had basically gone free.

No wonder the kid had issues.

He couldn’t even imagine what he must be going through right now. With that thought, Carl suddenly sat up straight and gasped. Justin had a psychologist. Carl wracked his brain for the man’s name and stood abruptly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his small note pad and flipped back to when Justin and Brian had first called him.

“Alex Wilder…” He murmured, and found that the business card that Alex had given him was still stuck in the notebook.  He pulled it out and quickly called him up, hoping he’d answer even though it was the middle of the night.  He turned and stepped all the way up into the bedroom as he didn’t want to bother the other officers.

“H-Hello?” A groggy and clearly half-asleep voice answered and Carl sighed in relief.

“Doctor Wilder, this is Detective Horvath. We spoke some time ago…about your patient Justin Taylor.”  He added when he wasn’t sure it was enough to help him remember, it was the middle of the night after all. 

“Yeah, yeah I remember you. What’s going on?  Why are you calling so late?”  He asked and Carl could hear the hint of fear in his voice.

“Justin and Brian have been kidnapped. I need to know, with Justin’s condition, how you suspect he’d react to this kind of situation.”  He asked gently, and gave Alex time to react.

“Wh…wait. What?!  Kidnapped?”  He exclaimed.

“Yes. Turns out they were right about the murder.  I came as soon as I could, but it wasn’t soon enough.  I just worry that with Justin’s state of mind the two might not think he’s worth keeping alive.”  He admitted and heard a long, sad sigh on the other end.

“As I’m sure you gathered from that night, Justin isn’t well. Being kidnapped…I can’t imagine what it would do to his psyche; only that it wouldn’t be good.  But, if Brian is with him, that might be a saving grace.  Brian is able to keep Justin calm, even in a situation like this - it’s almost like Brian is his medication.”  Alex spoke confidently, and it gave Carl a little bit of hope.  “How long ago did this happen?”  He asked and Carl frowned.

“Less than an hour. I was already on my way here when I got the call.” ‘If only I had left sooner…’ Carl lamented for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Alex offered, and Carl promised he would before hanging up.

Carl slid the phone back into his pocket and glanced out to the living room before turning back into the bedroom. He looked at the bed, then the dresser.  He walked over it to see the container of weed that was next to the ashtray.  He scowled, but picked it up and hid in one of the drawers so no one else would see it.  He shut it back up quickly and decided not to snoop anymore – they deserved their privacy and the officers would work their way into the bedroom soon enough.

He walked down the few steps and was going to leave so he could continue the search himself, but was stopped by a shout of one of the uniforms. “Hey!  Come look at this!”  He exclaimed, standing near the couch next to the window. 

Curiosity piqued, Carl walked over to him to see him holding an expensive looking digital camera. He bent over to see the screen and watched the officer click through the only photos taken on the camera. Some were blurry, but it was still easy to see. Reichert and Stockwell were assaulting a couple across the street.

Carl walked over to the window and looked through it to the apartment. He could see the forms of the couple still crumpled on the floor. “We need an ambulance here immediately!” He ordered, and ran out to the other building to go help them. As he moved, he pulled out his cell phone again. Even though the couple needed his immediate attention, he wasn’t going to let Reichert and Stockwell get away with Brian and Justin.

“Patrice, me again. I need all the addresses of buildings owned by James Stockwell.”

Justin came to with a splitting headache. He rolled onto his back and reached a hand up to rub his head, but found his hands stuck. His eyes shot open and he tried to pull his hands apart but found a thick rope tied tightly around them. His hands were numb, and he couldn’t even wiggle them enough to try and get some blood flowing back into them. When he tried to move them up to his head together he felt the rope dig in behind his back and realized that he had been trussed up like some kind of county fair pig.

He blinked and then squeezed his eyes tightly as the pain in his head threatened to overwhelm him. He wished he could force the pain away, but it seemed the more he thought about it the stronger it got. He tried to moan but his tongue felt as numb as his hands did. He grimaced instead, and rolled back onto his side. Even tied up he was able to get himself onto his knees.

Once he was steady he opened his eyes and looked around. All he could see was darkness. He had the feeling of being in a small, dirty room. It smelled moldy and old.  He could feel dirt clumps on his knees through his jeans. He couldn’t hear anything except for a steady drip of a faucet somewhere, but it echoed in the room so he couldn’t even look towards it.

‘I’m not at home…’

That was the first coherent thought he had. That much was obvious, but it was a monumental event to him. He hadn’t left the loft in months. It felt unnerving to be out of the four walls that had been his only safe haven since Prom. It made his skin itch and he could feel the panic begin to set in.

‘Brian. I need Brian.’

He thought desperately as he struggled to breathe. But Brian wasn’t there – he was in Chicago working. Brian probably didn’t even know he’d been taken. He shut his eyes tightly as they began to water with tears. He didn’t want to cry or lose control, because Reichert and Stockwell might hear him and he didn’t want them to know he was awake, but he couldn’t stop himself. He hiccupped and gasped in air as he continued to shake. The tears broke free and streamed down his face in waves. They were going to kill him. He didn’t know why they hadn’t already, but it was just a fact. He hoped it wasn’t like the hustler though. He wanted it to be fast. He might ask them to make it fast. Maybe they’d have some sympathy on him.

‘Listen to yourself! Weak little faggot.’ He thought angrily – though the voice sounded suspiciously like Hobbs.

It was just so easy to give in. He’d been planning his own suicide off and on for the past few months. This way, Brian could be saved the trouble of cleaning him up. Now the man could just move on with his life for good. He’d get that client, come back, and be the Brian Kinney everyone knew and respected. His life wouldn’t be taken over by some kid who was too scared to go outside.

‘But I don’t want to die.’

Justin thought back to earlier that night when he’d been holding the blade against his wrist. It felt like a lifetime ago now, but he remembered the feeling of hope he’d had as he thought about his life with Brian. Sure, he had been depressed lately, but last year had been the best year of his life – all thanks to Brian.  If meeting Brian led to getting attacked, he'd still do it all over again.

He recaptured that feeling and held onto it. He didn’t want to die, and he wasn’t going to give in. He fought too long, and too hard, to have a place in Brian’s life just to throw it away. Maybe he had sent that e-mail hoping to be caught, hoping to be killed, but he’d made his decision once and for all.

Justin Taylor was a fighter. If Reichert and Stockwell wanted to kill him, he’d make them work for it.

He rolled his lips into his mouth and just imagined what it was that Brian would say to him when he was having attacks. ‘Shhh, Sunshine. I'm here.  Just breathe in and breathe out. Listen to me do it.’ Justin would then listen and feel Brian breathing in and out slowly. He mimicked the action from memory.

He breathed in deeply and slowly from his mouth, remembering the feeling of the rise and fall of Brian’s chest as he would hold him and help him. He held it for a moment, thinking about the security of Brian’s arms around him. He breathed back out slowly through his nose and recalled the smell of Brian’s unique scent; the smell he had when he’d washed clean of the cigarettes and leather.

Justin could feel the panic begin to fade and his heart stopped racing. He’d done it, all on his own. He even smiled a bit, despite the situation.

With his body relaxed and his mind clear, Justin thought about his situation. He knew it was only a matter of time before they came to check on him. He could possibly pretend to be asleep still, but that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to work on a way out.  If only his head would stop pounding then he’d be able to think clearer.

They had him tied up like professionals, and so he knew that no amount of squirming or wriggling was going to get him free. He’d have to try to talk them out of killing him, and convince them to let him go. ‘Yeah fucking right…They aren’t stupid.’ He thought bitterly.

He tugged at the ropes again, but they still failed to budge. He hadn’t expected them to, but he didn’t think it hurt to try. He shook his head and closed his eyes, wondering what he should say to convince them to let him live.

He tried moving around in the room, but it was difficult because of his forced kneeling position. He had to roll in semi-circles on his back. He couldn’t feel anything he could use as a weapon.

As he was rolling, he could hear footsteps and voices get closer. The voices echoed a bit, and made it easier for him to hear them as they came for him. His heart picked up again, but he was able to stop himself from losing control and breaking down.

“…making a mistake. This kid is nothing but trouble for us. We need to end it now.” One voice said, though Justin had no idea which one of them it was.

“I’m not telling you again. This isn’t some hustler we can dump in the river and no one will care about.” The second voice was deeper, and far more authoritative.

Justin withheld a gasp.  'So that's what they did with him.  But how'd they get his body out so fast with the rest of their stuff?' 

“You keep saying how special this Taylor kid is. But who the fuck cares? What happened when his attacker went free? Nothing. Sure people might get mad, but nothing’s going to happen. Just another gay kid gone missing.” The first voice said and it caused chills to go down Justin’s spine.

They knew who he was. More importantly, one of them had reservations about killing him because of his attack. There might be hope yet.

“I’m not going to get caught up in some kind of investigation, Kenneth! We can’t just pretend that nothing happened. We can’t go back to the way things were before!” The second voice answered; who must be Stockwell, Justin’s logical mind told him.

“And what the hell are we supposed to do with him, huh?!” Kenneth asked and Justin shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ll figure it out!” Jim shouted back.

They fell into silence and Justin rolled his lips into his mouth. Maybe they’d keep on going and leave him be for now, until they figured out what it was they wanted to do with him.

He wasn’t so lucky.

He heard the screech of metal on metal, which did nothing to help ease his headache, and then his eyes were flooded with light that pooled into the room. The two stormed in and looked down at him.  “You’re awake.”  Jim said and then dropped a small plate of what looked like left-overs.

Justin furrowed his brow, because he didn’t know how he was expected to eat tied up the way he was. Before he could voice his protest, however, Kenneth flicked open a knife and cut the ropes around him free.  Justin thought about making a run for it at that moment, but with both of them standing between him and the door, he knew it would be pointless.  Instead, he hesitantly reached for the food.

“How long have I been here?” He asked, keeping his eyes down and voice low.

He didn’t think they were going to answer him at first, but Stockwell squatted down in front of him after a moment. “A few hours.”  He answered and Justin nodded, not sure what he was supposed to do with that knowledge, but he’d needed to know.

He struggled to eat. His right hand was rebelling more than usual and his left was still numb from being tied up.  He also felt the weight of their eyes on him.  He hated it.  He just kept telling himself to act normal.  He didn’t want to freak out and have a meltdown, or else they’d probably think he wasn’t worth the effort of keeping alive.  All of his effort was going to keeping himself from having a meltdown.  Every second he didn't he congratulated himself - just hours before he wouldn't be able to see his own family, let alone these two murderers.  He wondered if it was merely his survival instinct kicking in, or if it was truly his mind getting better, but in the end he decided it didn't matter.

One of them made a move, so he shakily put a few bites of chicken in his mouth before moving onto the roll they’d given him. It was hard and stale, and he wondered where they even found food like that. “Do you have water?” He asked his throat parched and lips dry.

“Yeah.” James said, pulling a bottle out from somewhere behind him. Justin struggled to open the lid. He couldn’t hold the bottle steady enough with his right hand to twist the cap off. And he couldn’t twist the cap off with his right hand while his left held it.

Seeing him struggle, Kenneth grunted and snatched it away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He asked, clearly annoyed with having to deal with him at all. When he shoved the bottle back a bit of the water jostled out of it and splashed onto the floor.

“My hand is messed up from the attack.” He said, knowing they were aware of the attack on his prom. “I can’t move it right.”

“Oh god…He’s a gimp Jim!”

Justin flinched at the cruelty of his words, even though he’d said the same thing about himself in the past.

“No one is going to care about a gimp! Let’s get this over with.”

Kenneth advanced towards him and Justin stumbled back, reflexively. The bottle toppled over and the water spilled out onto the floor. He didn’t stop until he hit a wall behind him, but James had stood up between them and stopped Kenneth from getting to him. “What’s wrong with you?” James demanded and Justin watched with wide eyes and heavy pants.

“I’m not going to fuck over the rest of my life just because some gimped fag saw what we did.” Kenneth insisted and James shoved him backwards.

Kenneth glared down at Justin for a moment, and then spun to leave the room. He didn’t forget to kick Justin’s plate of food over, however. Justin scowled a bit and then turned his gaze onto James – knowing that he was his only hope of getting out of this alive. For whatever reason, he had reservations about killing him. Justin needed to prey on those.

“Please let me go.” He said softly and James just scoffed and shook his head.

“Kid-.”

“No, listen! I’ll tell everyone I made it up. I’m not right in the head. I even have a therapist who thinks I made it up. I’ll tell them all it was a nightmare. No one will know.” He assured, speaking swiftly.  He wisely kept quiet about the pictures of their attack on the Cleavers quiet; he could still get them arrested with those pictures if he could convince them to let him go first.

“What about this, huh? We kidnapped you.” James didn’t exactly sound sympathetic, but Justin pressed on.

“I’ll say it was someone else and you found me. You’ll be a hero! Please…I…I don’t want to die. Please…” Justin’s voice broke as his emotions started to overwhelm him again. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and his throat began to constrict. He had just decided that he wanted to live his life with Brian – it couldn’t just be ripped away from him. It wasn’t fair!

James was silent for a long moment as he stared down at him. Justin heard him sigh and then stand to silently leave the room. Justin curled his knees up to his chest and placed his forehead on them. He wrapped his arms around his legs and stayed curled up in a small ball, wishing he was back home – safe.

‘Brian…Please find me. Please…’

That was when he realized something.

They hadn’t tied him back up.