Chapter 12 - The Repercussions.

Justin heard someone rattling the outer door handle and the metal grating of a key being jimmied in the lock. When the door of the athletic equipment room flew open and Chris Hobbs blew inside, Justin was waiting even though he was pretending to be asleep again. His head was laid back at an angle, propped up against the uppermost tote bag with his eyelids resting so that he could peek out through his long dark blond lashes. Hobbs flipped the switch to turn on the lights which illuminated the main floor area but only dimly lit up the cage - which was just fine with Justin since it helped with his plan.

Hobbs was obviously worked up about something. He was pacing and muttering to himself in the small open area, gesturing emphatically with his hands to some unseen audience and occasionally shaking or nodding his head.  Justin couldn’t make out the words - Hobbs was mumbling, stuttering and only voicing about half of each thought that was apparently racing through his mind - but he could tell that Hobbs was agitated. It was hard to keep pretending to be unconscious with that much excitement going on. He wanted to get a better idea what Hobbs was doing but he didn’t want to give away his ruse. But luckily Hobbs wasn’t really looking at his captive very closely. The few times Justin’s eyelids accidentally flickered open, Hobbs wasn’t watching.

“The boyfriend . . . Fuck! They know it was me . . . waiting . . . a fucking trap . . . Shit! What the fuck do I do now?” Chris seemed to be limping a little as he strode back and forth, back and forth, looking over with evident confusion at the huddled form in the cage every so often. “Police will be coming . . . Can’t go back to the Pit - they’re probably already there . . . Goddamned Kinney . . . Move him? . . . Fucking where, though? . . . Going to have to get rid of him, somehow . . . Identify me . . . Shit, shit, shit, shit . . .”

From what little he could hear, the captive was getting worried that things were going to get much worse very soon. Chris Hobbs seemed even more unstrung than before he’d left a few hours earlier. Something had obviously happened and it sounded like it had to do with Brian. Justin was sure his heart was now beating so hard it would be visible even through his clothing and the lightweight blanket. If anything had happened to Brian . . .

“WHY!” Hobbs turned towards the cage and screamed, his fingers thrusting through the grating, gripping the metal till his knuckles were white, rattling the gate violently as he continued. “Why the fuck couldn’t you have just left me alone? You had to ruin everything, didn’t you, Taylor? You fucking stole my LIFE! I never wanted to want you . . .” The last part of this statement was squelched off with a muted sob, although Justin couldn’t tell while he was still playing possum if Hobbs was actually crying or not.

Hobbs let his body collapse against the metal grating, his knees giving way as he held himself up only with his enmeshed fingers. The shaggy ash-blond head of his jailer softly thumped against the gate repeatedly for several long minutes while Justin maintained his pretense of sleep. Finally, the mournful figure let go its grasp and Hobbs’ body sank into a dejected heap on the floor in front of the cage door.

Justin could do nothing but wait. Outside, the weak afternoon light began to fade and still Hobbs hadn’t moved. Justin didn’t want to give up his deception yet, but there was only so long he could maintain this subterfuge. The longer Hobbs went without acting, the more the fear and adrenaline that had been keeping Justin going ebbed away. He was starting to feel honestly sleepy again, his head ached with an increasing intensity and the periodic spells of nausea and dizziness were hitting him more frequently as he struggled to keep awake and stay prepared for whatever Hobbs might do next.

The only thing that kept Justin from giving in to his exhaustion and pain was his overwhelming desire to get back to Brian.

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It took several hours of tedious waiting and mind-numbing hospital bureaucracy before Brian’s release paperwork was finally signed off by the ER doctor. Brian would have bolted long since if Ted hadn’t been watching him unflaggingly and reminding him that Carl would be siccing Debbie on them if Brian didn’t sit still and wait until he was taken care of. Ted also had to remind Brian repeatedly that they really didn’t know where to go or what else they could do until the police located Hobbs. In other words, logically, there was nothing that Brian could do to help Justin at the moment, so he might just as well let the doctor take care of him.

Even then, Ted didn't think he would've been able to keep Brian from leaving if it hadn't been for the fed up ER doctor sneaking up on the intransigent patient with a hypodermic filled with a mild sedative. After yelling like a baby, cursing out the doctor and then threatening to sue the hospital for all of five minutes, Brian had finally quieted. Ted rather enjoyed the ensuing peace while Brian sat submissively, a loopy half-grin on his face, as the doctors and nurses poked and prodded away.

The sedative had almost worn off by the time Ted steered a still subdued Brian Kinney out the ER doors towards the parking lot. Brian was looking rakish with a black nylon patch covering his right eye - the one that had been scratched the worst by the cigarette ashes Hobbs threw at him - and a black wrist brace protecting the two cracked metacarpals on his right hand. The dazed brunet was stumbling along beside his friend, clutching a paper bag full of pain meds and antibiotics in his good hand and trying to dislodge Ted's guiding hand off his shoulder, all the while shaking his head to clear the sedative fog.

Just as the pair reached the parked Corvette, Brian's cell phone rang. Brian tried futilely for a moment to shove his hand along with the bulky brace into his jacket pocket to retrieve the phone. Ted quickly took action, reaching deftly around his friend and extracting the phone before Brian could become too frustrated. Then Ted efficiently accepted the call and traded out the bag of meds for the phone before a bleary Brian even realized what was happening. It took him a second to appreciate what to do with the vibrating gadget in his hand but he eventually raised the phone to his ear and snarled "Huh?" at whoever was on the other end of the call.

A short conversation later, Brian seemed to have regathered some of his wits. He pushed Ted towards the driver's side of the car then jogged around to the far side.

"No fucking way, Carl. I'm not waiting around any more. We're coming there. I'll meet you in ten minutes," Brian snarled into the phone, then dove into the passenger seat and motioned Ted to start driving. "The police found Hobbs' apartment. He's not there and neither is Justin. Let's go."

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Brian, with a dutiful Ted trailing behind, was jogging down the stairs of the crumbling old brick apartment building within less than ten minutes. The stairway down to the 'daylight' basement level was narrow with an uncomfortably low ceiling and was only dimly lit. When Brian looked up at the solitary light, he saw that the ancient frosted glass fixture cover was dirty and he could plainly see the bodies of several dead insects inside, their rotting chitinous skeletons further obstructing any illumination. He ducked his head even more as he walked under the disgusting light then hurried down the hall to the back where all the activity was taking place.

"It doesn't look like we got much, Detective," a short nerdy-looking man was saying as the two new arrivals approached Horvath. "No evidence of any criminal activity here. We'll get fingerprints and a DNA sample to confirm with what was found at the bombing site, but that's about all."

Okay, Roberts. Thanks," Carl said dejectedly as he tiredly patted the smaller man's shoulder and turned to face the newcomers.

"You've got nothing?" an exasperated Brian Kinney was already complaining before Carl could even voice a greeting.

"Back off, Kinney! I told you there was no sense in you coming over here," Carl tried to placate the frustrated man. "If Hobbs was our bomber, then he didn't build the thing here. And, there's nothing my guys could find tying him to Taylor's disappearance or to the assault attempts. From the looks of it, Hobbs doesn't spend a whole bunch of time in this dump - and who could blame him. Why do these places always smell like dirty socks?"

Horvath was already walking away from the doorway as he spoke, surveying the tiny single room apartment as he went. Brian and Ted followed the detective - both wearing disdainful expressions as they observed the tiny, moldy place filled with rickety worn out furniture. There was a storage closet across from the entrance and another door, to what appeared to be a bathroom, directly behind the entryway door. As you walked to the right, into the main room, there was a small kitchenette area on the left separated from the main living area by a half wall. In the rest of the space there was only an unmade full sized mattress on a wheeled frame in the back corner, a threadbare plaid recliner next to the bed and a combination bookcase/entertainment center against the one long wall. The two small windows in the back wall looked out onto the slope of the hill where the building sat, giving a great view of the bumpers of the cars parked in the adjacent parking lot. The walls were just bare concrete painted a dingy beige and the low pile carpeting on the floor was a worn-looking grey-green.

While Carl was talking to his people, who seemed to be already packing up their equipment to leave, Brian checked out the main living area, trying not to let his clothing rub up against any of the filthy surfaces as he walked about. Other than the second-hand furniture, there wasn't a lot in the place. The walls were almost bare. The only 'art' hanging up was a felt pennant promoting the 'St. James Academy Cardinals' and a current year calendar showing this year's football team and coaches all posing outside of Justin's not-so-beloved alma mater. Brian left Ted perusing the calendar and moved on.

The entertainment center contained a fairly nice HD television, a DVD player and a stereo with a multi-disc CD player. All these pieces of equipment were dusty and looked seldom used. The only vaguely interesting area was the nearby bookcase, which had very few actual books in it, but was clean and filled with old sports trophies, team photos and other memorabilia from Hobbs' glory days.

All the photos showed a younger man, who was tall, well-built and athletic, and who seemed to always sport a cocky sneering grin. There were multiple pictures of Hobbs in various sports outfits - football, baseball, even lacrosse. The team photos all had Hobbs in the center, surrounded by apparently adoring team mates. In the center of the top shelf, right at eye level, was a graduation day photo showing Hobbs standing in front of the imposing structure of St. James Academy, dressed in a royal blue gown and mortar board cap, surrounded by his smiling parents and siblings

The graduation photo caused Brian's smoldering anger to burst into full flame again. He knew that while Hobbs had been posing for that memorable photo, Justin had still been in the hospital, barely clinging to life after having his skull bashed in thanks to that grinning little prick. And now, almost four years later, Hobbs was still interfering in Justin's life, maybe threatening it again. The sight renewed Brian's determination to find Justin and to get that monster off the streets for good.

"I'm sorry, Brian," Carl broke through the younger man's revery as he approached. "My guys are done here and we got no further leads. It doesn't look like the guy's been here tonight at all. I've got an APB out on Hobbs but he could be anywhere. You might as well head home. I'll let you know if I hear anything . . .”

"Fuck that, Carl!" Brian angrily cut him off. "I'm not going home to just sit around and wait. There's got to be something else we can do. Somewhere else we can look?"

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas," Carl sluggishly replied, rubbing his tired and bloodshot eyes and stifling a nascent yawn. "If you've got any other brilliant plans, tell me now or else I'm going to head home myself and try to get some sleep."

"Shit!" Brian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling at least as tired as Carl looked. "I have no fucking idea . . .”

Before Brian could get fully launched into a fresh tirade, though, he was startled by the chiming and vibrating of his phone from his jacket pocket. He sighed in exasperation at the unwanted interruption but pulled it out of his pocket nonetheless. It took him a moment to orient the phone with his left hand before he could read the incoming text message:

'PhoneTrackerPro: Auto Location Update Available.'

The bewildered brunet tapped at the phone screen to open the app. He looked at the glowing screen for several seconds without saying anything. Then, smiling from ear-to-ear, Brian looked up from his phone at the weary, waiting police detective.

"Now that you mention it, Carl, I do have one more, slightly brilliant, idea . . .”

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Despite all his efforts, Justin must have dozed off for a bit. It was fully dark already when he was startled awake by the jarring sound of the metal gate of the cage jangling as the lock was turned and the door pulled open. Justin was immediately alert but managed to keep his body still. He didn't think Chris had noticed him waking up, which meant he might just have a chance to escape.

Hobbs was still muttering to himself, his words nonsensical and disjointed. "Have to do it . . . I HAVE to. I didn't want this but I don't have a choice now . . . Get rid of him . . . It's his fault. I don't want to do it but . . . Forest, maybe. Or the river? . . . Fuck, I don't know . . ."

Justin tried to slow down his breathing as he listened to Hobbs coming closer. He wished his ears weren't still ringing so badly - it made it harder to judge Hobbs' position with his eyes closed. His body was tensed for action underneath the thin blanket. He knew that the muscles on his right side still weren't functioning properly, but he once again thanked the fates that he'd been born ambidextrous. His left arm was working perfectly even if he was a little weak.

His captor's muted blathering came nearer and nearer and then it stopped altogether. Justin could sense the other's hulking, malevolent presence very near. It took everything he had not to move - all his senses were screaming at him to move, to run, to get away - but he forced himself to hold as still as possible.

After an agonizingly long, silent pause, Justin heard a very faint whisper of sound. "So fucking beautiful . . . I'm sorry, Taylor, but I have to . . .” The words were so gentle that he wasn't one hundred percent sure he'd heard them correctly. Still, Justin told himself to ignore the words and he forced his body to keep still.

Then Justin heard a sigh and the rustling of clothing as the man looming over him moved slightly. The next second, the tense prisoner felt a tender touch on his forehead as Hobbs reached out to brush some loose strands of golden hair away. He couldn't help it that his body involuntarily jerked away at the loathsome touch.

Hobbs instantly pulled his hand back. He might have been about to say something or maybe even move away, but Justin didn't give him the chance. In a remarkably swift motion considering his injuries, Justin slid his left arm to the side to free it from the restriction of the blanket and then rapidly swung across his body with all the force he could muster. Hobbs didn't even have time to completely register that his victim was now armed with a shiny aluminum baseball bat before the weapon made contact with the side of his jaw. He instinctively raised his arms in defense but Justin was already swinging again, the second blow cracking loudly across Hobbs' forearm, the bone audibly snapping at the impact. The furious prisoner managed to get in one more swipe at his jailer - a painful but otherwise ineffective hit to Hobbs' lower back - as the now injured attacker turned and retreated out of the cage, slamming the door closed behind him.

Justin's last stroke had unfortunately toppled him off the pile of tote bags that had comprised his makeshift bed. The slight blond rolled onto the cold cement floor, pulling the blanket with him and exposing the now unzipped canvas tote he'd been lying on. As Justin's body hit the floor, the bag followed, spewing out its contents - a dozen or more metal and wooden baseball bats along with other practice equipment that had been waiting for the start of the baseball season.

Justin struggled, as soon as he stopped rolling, to right himself, all the while maintaining his solid grip on the bat still in his hand. Hobbs seemed dumbstruck at this reversal of roles - the victim now becoming the attacker. The stunned man simply stood outside the metal grating, watching while the tenacious blond inside the cage prepared himself in case Hobbs decided to come back for more. Taylor was holding the bat at the ready, raised over his head, willing to defend himself for as long as his strength held out.

Hobbs' moment of inaction didn't last very long. The confusion he had revealed quickly evaporated, to be replaced almost immediately by sheer unthinking rage. The transformation of his features was horrifying, Justin thought, watching as the soft, frightened look was transfigured into an ugly, furious and vindictive grimace in only moments.

"You goddamned fucking faggot!" Hobbs screamed at full volume, trying awkwardly to dig into his left-hand pocket with his uninjured right arm in order to extract the key for the gate. "I'm gonna fucking kill you, you bastard."

Justin, buoyed by his own anger at the moment, was sitting propped up against the pile of totes, braced for a renewed attack. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out against the much stronger and heavier man for long, but he wasn't going to make it easy for Hobbs either. Justin had always been a fighter - that was never going to change.

Thankfully, Hobbs' broken arm was making it almost impossible for him to get his keys out of his jeans' pocket. The ridiculous delay was making him even more furious. His face was an angry red as he finally fumbled the keys out and then promptly dropped them. But, clearly, his injured arm was draining his stamina. As he bent to retrieve the keys, Justin could see Chris' face become noticeably paler. Justin was heartened at this small sign, giving him hope that he might just win the next confrontation.

Hobbs managed to pick up the keys but was having trouble, using only his one hand, getting the right key in the lock and then manipulating the sticky lock itself. He struggled with the troublesome latch mechanism for a couple minutes, obviously becoming more and more frustrated as time ticked by. Then, suddenly, Hobbs froze, appearing to listen intently to something Justin couldn't hear over the ongoing buzz that continued to distort his hearing.

"Fuck!" was all Hobbs managed to say before he dropped his keys once again and then sped out of the room, slamming the outer door behind him.

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