Chapter 32 - Rage Is In The House.

Kevan was not a happy boy this morning.

The Papa wasn’t happy either. The entire time they’d been sitting together on the floor today, The Papa had been making his unhappy face. Kevan really did NOT like the unhappy face. He didn’t like the unhappy mouth sounds The Papa was making either. He especially didn’t like the fact that The Papa wasn’t paying much attention to Kevan today. And when The Papa had hugged and kissed Kevan, he ended up getting all wet because The Papa’s face was drippy. That wasn’t the way Kevan liked his hugs and kisses.

Kevan did his best to draw The Papa back to the here and now. He smiled at The Papa. He made his own brand of happy mouth sounds. He waved his hands around in the air and kicked his feet. He held Uglyworm out to The Papa in case the big person wanted to play with his toy friend. He even did some of his special magic, wiggling and moving around so that the world flipped and spun and moved all different directions. But nothing seemed to make The Papa happy though. The Papa barely even looked at Kevan most of the time.

This was completely unacceptable. Kevan was the center of the universe. He was the most important person he knew. Usually, The Papa’s actions reinforced this belief with force since The Papa was generally a pretty attentive big person. Which is one of the reasons that Kevan was so fond of The Papa.

But not today.

So Kevan set out to remedy this problem in his inimitable six month old fashion. After the smiling and the waving and the laughing garnered him no attention, he moved on to a tried and true staple - crying. That was always Kevan’s standby. When all else failed, you could almost always get the attention you needed with only a good wail or two.

Only, today, when Kevan began to wail, so did The Papa.

That was not the correct response at all.

“Sorry, Kevan. Blah, blah, blah, Papa. Papa misses your Daddy blah, blah, blah, Kevan . . .” The Papa’s words were so sad that they made Kevan sad.

He didn’t even get happy when The Papa held up a picture of some big person thing that looked vaguely familiar to the baby. There was something about the soft-looking, dark brown hair and the crooked smile that brought out feelings of safety and comfort in Kevan. He couldn’t quite place the face though. Maybe it would come to Kevan later?

Unfortunately, when Kevan simply pushed aside the picture that The Papa was holding up next to his face, it made the unhappy mouth sounds from the big person thing even louder.

It really wasn’t Kevan’s day.

So he started into crying some more himself.

By the time the sun began to set, Brian was exhausted. It made no sense, since he'd done nothing but sit and think all day. Of course it HAD been some pretty heavy thinking. And there was also the little issue of him still recovering from the whole long-term doping too. But it all combined to make him rethink his plans. There was no way he was feeling strong enough to take on Tag yet. Even though he was feeling mostly lucid now, he didn't want to do anything until he was sure it would work. He didn't want to make an escape attempt, fail and then give Taggart a chance to up the security or find another way to force the drugs on Brian.

When Taggart came in and started to undress him a little while later, Brian didn't resist. It was difficult not to react though when his captor led Brian to the bed, made the passive man lie down and then got into the bed next to his captive. The vile man’s touch on Brian’s bare skin made him shudder involuntarily, but he didn’t let himself actually move away. Taggart then curled himself himself around Brian’s supine form, laying his head on Brian’s shoulder with his one arm stretched across the broad chest. It felt so wrong. The only person Brian had ever lain like that with before was Justin. That spot in the hollow beneath his shoulder belonged to Justin’s head, not this demented imposter! And when a hand started to caress his pec, lightly playing with his nipple, Brian wanted to scream. He felt so dirty. But there was nothing he could do. He just had to endure this and hope it was over really soon.

Luckily, Brian’s fatigue soon reasserted itself and he was dragged off to the welcome oblivion of sleep before Tag’s advances could drive him too crazy.

Justin and Zavi were anxiously waiting for the return of Detective Carl Horvath, the cop that Deb had sent them to with the dubious recommendation that, for a straight guy and a cop, he wasn’t a complete asshole. They’d been sitting there in the man’s office for more than twenty minutes after being summoned with the promise that there was a lead in the case. It was still doubtful whether or not the guy would live up to Deb’s high praise.

It would take a lot to make Justin a believer. So far he wasn’t at all impressed with the police response that had followed his report that Brian was missing. First there were all the borderline-insulting questions about Brian and Justin’s relationship, with the underlying intimation being that, since Brian was gay, it was just assumed that he was unreliable and subject to running off at the drop of a hat. Once they’d cleared up that misconception - showing all the proof Cynthia had accumulated about Brian’s flight to Pittsburgh and his unanswered messages, along with pointing out that Brian was a semi-celebrity who’d already been threatened by a stalker - they still had to deal with an incipient hostility. It was as if the cops thought Justin’s little missing persons case was a burden they were forced to help out with against their will. Horvath had only been marginally easier to deal with than the rest of the precinct. With all that, just filing the police report had taken Justin more than two hours.

Since then, it seemed like very little had actually been done by the official protectors of Pittsburgh's citizenry. Justin was incredibly pissed off that it had taken the cops a day and a half already just to get this far. The day they’d filed the missing persons report, Zavi had told the detective exactly what needed to be done - recommending they pull copies of the security video from the airport around the time of Brian’s arrival and then canvas the taxi’s and car services to see if anyone remembered picking Brian up. How hard could that be? Justin couldn’t see why it had taken the police so long to get that information - didn’t they have warrants and things that could clear the way in a heartbeat? It was a mystery to the worried young man how everyone around him could seem so unconcerned. Every minute that ticked by was another minute that he didn’t have Brian back. It was just plain unacceptable.

While they were waiting for the detective, Justin reviewed in his mind what had been done so far by the Liberty Gang civilians, trying to suss out something they might have missed. Some clue that they didn’t follow. Anything that Justin could do by himself to help move things along faster. So far though he hadn’t found much.

Immediately after they’d hung up from the call with Cynthia, Justin and Em had phoned around to the rest of the ‘family’ to make doubly sure that nobody had heard from Brian and just not told Justin yet. Everyone denied any contact with Brian since before he left for Cancun. Somehow that just didn’t make sense though.

In the past, Brian almost always arranged for somebody to pick him up from the airport if he was coming in late. He hated the hassle of taking a taxi when he was already tired after a long day of travel. So, for as long as anyone could remember, Brian routinely arranged for Justin or - before the advent of the ‘Boy Wonder’ - Michael, to have access to the Jeep and be waiting on hand to pick him up when he returned.

Emmett had recalled that he, Ted and Michael had been together on the night in question and he confirmed that nobody had heard from Brian while they’d been together. Justin wondered though. If the call from Brian had come in while they’d been distracted at Woody’s or maybe later after they’d already hit Babylon, it was possible that whoever it was might not have heard their phone ringing. Justin thought it was also possible that any such call or message might have been missed and maybe even accidentally deleted without the recipient knowing. After much discussion of the matter, Em was talked into calling Michael back, since the ‘Best Friend’ was the most likely person (after Justin) to have been summoned to play taxi for a returning Brian.

Low and behold, after Zavi walked Michael through the process to retrieve the deleted text messages on his phone, it turned out there was indeed a message from Brian. The time stamp on the message showed it was received at 7:03 pm and deleted at 7:04. Michael was adamant that he’d never seen the message at all. He had no clue how the message had got deleted either.

Justin had cursed Michael roundly and repeatedly as soon as they'd hung up. Emmett had been quick to jump in and defend his friend, though. He’d assured Justin over and over that their little threesome had been together all night and that, if Michael HAD received that message, they all would have known.

“I remember that night really well,” Em explained. “You'd just got the message from Cynthia earlier in the day saying that the photoshoot was being extended. When I told Michael, he was actually happy, because that was back when we were still getting those nasty daily love notes from your stalkery friend where either your head was cut off or your picture obliterated, and Michael thought Brian would be safer down in Mexico than here with you. And you know Michael, he was going on and on about it for half the night, practically yelling from the rooftops how glad he was that Brian was still in Cancun. If he'd seen that message saying Brian was actually coming home, trust me Honey, we - along with half of Woody’s - would have heard about it.”

“Wait a minute,” Zavi had interrupted Emmett’s colorful retelling of Michael's antics with a worried frown that made his large face look even more imposing than usual. “You're telling me that this Michael person was discussing Brian’s location - loudly - in a bar full of strangers? At the same time we were all doing our best to protect Brian and the rest of the family from an unknown threat? Did you even look around to make sure that nobody was listening to your discussion?” Em had looked at Zavi, then at Justin, his eyes almost popping out of his head as the implications of what had likely happened dawned on him. Zavi didn't wait for Em to respond though. “If I remember correctly, that was about the time when the gifts and letters from the stalker stopped, right?” Justin nodded at the concerned security advisor with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Did your loud mouthed friend by any chance leave his phone unattended for any period of time while you were there at the bar?”

“I . . . I don't remember,” Em stuttered. “It's possible, though. We always leave our drinks and stuff on the table and our jackets hanging on our chairs when we go somewhere or when we're shooting pool. So, yeah, it's possible . . .”

“Well, I think we have a pretty good idea what, or at least who, happened to Brian,” Zavi had announced with a scowl.

That had been when they'd gone to the police.

Finally, before Justin had time to internally bitch out Michael any further, the door to the office where they were waiting creaked open and the robust form of Detective Horvath barreled inside. “Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting,” the cop demurred briefly before seating himself in the rickety old metal desk chair and turning towards his visitors. “Is this your guy,” Horvath said without any further ado, pulling an 8x10 black and white photo out of a file and shoving it across the desk towards them.

The picture was a still shot taken off an airport video feed. It clearly showed Brian amidst a large crowd of people walking down a narrow passageway. Thankfully, Brian was tall enough that you could clearly see his face over the tops of the other travellers’ heads.

When both Justin and Zavi confirmed it was Brian, Horvath nodded and went on. “That was taken at the security exit point.” He pulled out another picture from the file. “We picked him up again at Baggage Claim. See this guy standing next to him? Either of you recognize him?”

Justin noted the younger man standing next to Brian in the second photo. The guy was wearing one of those black hats that chauffeurs tended to wear, but his clothing was otherwise far too casual for a typical car service employee. The guy was smiling at Brian, who looked distracted but not at all worried or uneasy. The guy in the cap had Brian's carry on in one hand and what looked like a clipboard with a sign on it in the other. You couldn't read what was on the clipboard due to the angle of the picture, but it could easily have been the kind of printout ‘sign’ a car service would use - the ones you see where the passenger’s last name was printed out in large letters and held up at the airport exit gate so that the driver could intercept the person he was supposed to collect.

“Sorry, I don't recognize this guy at all,” Justin sighed dejectedly, shaking his head.

Horvath gave a lopsided half shrug and carried on, pulling one final picture out of his file. “This one's from the car service pick up lane outside the ‘Arrivals’ area.” The picture showed a big black town car pulled up to the curb with the guy in the cap from the prior picture holding the rear passenger-side door open for Brian. “We canvassed all the car services licensed through the airport but so far none of them have any record of picking up a passenger named Kinney at that time. We're still waiting to hear back from a couple of the smaller services, but so far it doesn't look good. Do you know if Kinney regularly uses a particular service? Would his office have sent someone to pick him up without you knowing?”

Justin hadn't answered. He wasn't even listening anymore. He was too horrified by what was shown in that last picture.

Besides the missing man and the guy holding open the car door, there was one other person depicted in that picture - a second cap-wearing ‘chauffeur’. The second guy, who was presumably loading Brian's bags into the back, was only partially visible behind the wide open trunk lid. Brian's back was towards the second man, so even if the guy hadn't been blocked from sight by the trunk, the tired-looking traveller probably wouldn't have seen his face. But even though Justin could only see part of this second person’s profile, and despite the fact that the cap he'd been wearing was pulled down low over the man's brow, he knew exactly who it was.  

This was proof - unwelcome as it might be - that Brian's number one fan, Taggart, was indeed responsible for Justin’s partner's disappearance.

Brian woke up the next morning to bright sunlight streaming in through the large windows and a thankfully empty spot next to him on the bed. He blinked his eyes and then looked around him, carefully assessing his situation. Overall, he felt pretty good this morning. His head was completely clear - finally. His stomach was maybe a little wobbly feeling, but it wasn’t bad enough to slow him down much. His body was still a little achy, too, but at least he didn’t have that same sluggish feeling that he’d been fighting off the day before. And, thankfully, he didn’t have a headache anymore. Using the bed covers to mask his movements, Brian surreptitiously flexed his arms and legs, pleased that it seemed he was almost back to his full strength. The rejuvenated captive nodded his head ever so slightly.

This morning he was going to get himself free from this hell hole.

Without moving too much, just in case his jailor was watching, Brian scanned the room for any tools that might help him with his escape. His first thought was that, whoever the demented queen was who’d decorated the place, he sure as hell liked the color yellow. Practically everything in the room was some shade of yellow and that, in combination with the large bank of windows that were currently unfettered by the floor-length yellow drapes, made for a very, very bright - almost blindingly bright - room.

Besides the furniture - the bed, the armchair in the corner, a dresser, a small nightstand, a tiny bookcase and a small divan against the far wall - there were also a number of knick-knacks that Brian figured could be used as projectiles in a pinch. The best possible weapon, though, would probably be one of the two large glass lamps that flanked the bed. They looked like they were made of heavy sea glass and would pack a wallop when he bashed Taggart over the head with one of them. There was the added advantage that he could most likely reach the one on the side of the bed closest to the door fairly quickly when the time came. If that didn’t work, Brian decided he’d pull down one of the metal ‘suns’ used as decorations on the wall over the bed and jab him in the face with the pointed ‘rays’.

Other than figuring out what weapons he might use, though, there was little else that Brian could do. The plan was, of necessity, very simple. He would lie still in the bed until the last possible moment, just in case there were cameras watching him. Then, as soon as he heard Tag unlocking the door, he’d vault out of bed, grab the lamp and run across the room, standing behind the door so that he’d be hidden when his warden came inside. A quick bash on the head later, and Brian should be free. See? Simple!

About twenty minutes later, it seemed that the time had come. Brian heard footsteps approaching and then a metallic jingle as a set of keys were shaken. Brian was ready to set his plan into action. He swept back the bedcovers, intending to leap out of bed the way he’d envisioned it in his mind. Unfortunately, things didn’t play out quite the way he’d imagined.

First, Brian’s long legs got a bit tangled up in the covers and he almost fell out of bed instead of the graceful leap he’d planned. Then he grabbed for the lamp, but since it was still plugged into the wall and the little bookcase was blocking the plug, he couldn’t pick it up like he’d planned. As the door knob started to turn, Brian decided he didn’t have time to fuck with the lamp. He’d have to do this with his own bare hands. He sprinted over to the spot behind the door and waited the ten seconds it took for Tag to enter and then turn to set down the tray he was carrying on the dresser waiting on the far side of the doorway. As soon as the man’s back was turned, Brian slammed the door closed with one hand and then, as hard as he could, he slammed Taggart face first into the wall with his other.

“B-b-brian? What . . . ?” Taggart tried to stammer out a question but Brian was having nothing of it.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking Psycho!” Brian screamed in the man’s ear, happy to feel the smaller man’s body trembling in fear. “Give me the fucking keys!” He demanded brusquely.

“W-w-why are you doing this, Brian? What’s wrong? You . . . You’re hurting me, Brian. Please . . . Please, stop,” the quaking man stuttered, trying to squirm around so he could look at his attacker in the face.

Brian obliged him by forcibly twisting the slighter man’s body around and then promptly placing both of his large hands around Tag’s neck. “I said, give me the fucking keys or I’ll strangle you till you pass out and then take the damn keys myself.”

Taggart’s hand fumbled in the pocket of his jeans and eventually pulled out the ring of keys. “H-h-here, Brian. T-t-take them . . . But, why? W-w-where are you going?” the tremulous voice asked with apparent sincerity.

“Where? Are you completely delusional? I’m fucking leaving this shithole and then I’m calling the damned police to come over here and arrest your ass, you fucking nutcase! My days as your dress up doll are over, you pathetic, demented fuck!” Brian announced as he wrenched the keys out of the now confused-looking man’s hands. “Get over on the fucking bed and stay there,” Brian ordered, throwing the man bodily in the direction of the bed and laughing a little as the kidnapper stumbled and fell backwards onto the carpet.

“You . . . you’re leaving? I-I-I don’t understand,” the cowering lump of man spoke up as Brian reached out for the door handle. “You don’t want to leave, Brian. Y-y-you can’t leave us. Kevan and I need you. Please. Please don’t leave us. We love you. How am I supposed to raise Kevan all by myself if you leave?”

Brian froze.

A full sixty seconds later Brian finally turned around, glaring down at the man still huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed. “What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. Say?” he hissed the words in a barely audible and entirely deadly voice.

“I-I-I said, ‘don’t leave us’. Please, Brian. Kevan and I need you. You don’t want to leave us. I know you don’t,” Taggart repeated with what seemed to be complete candor.

“You motherfucking bastard! You better not be saying what I think you’re saying. If you’ve done anything . . .” Taggart shrank back even more, unable to meet Brian’s gaze as he quailed and shook in his spot on the floor. “Where is my SON?” Brian’s voice rose rapidly until the last word turned into a resounding bellow. In two large strides Brian was towering over Tag’s cringing form, reaching down with one hand to grab the man by the collar. “If you’ve hurt a single hair on his head you’re a fucking dead man!” Brian accentuated his threat by shaking Tag until his teeth literally clattered together.

“I wouldn’t ever hurt our son, Brian. I love Kevan. I love him . . .” Taggart fervently declared, trying to talk even though he was currently being jerked around like a rag doll.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Brian screamed and back handed Taggart across the face, the force of the blow knocking the man out of Brian’s grip and sending him flying several feet further along the carpet. “Kevan is NOT your son! You’re not anything to him. Or to me! You’re just a deluded fucking stalker who’s totally insane. Do you hear me! Do you?” Brian screamed in a berserk fury, punctuating each sentence with a kick aimed at Taggart’s body as the whimpering man scrambled desperately away from his attacker. “Now, tell me! What the fuck have you done and where the hell is MY son!”

Brian continued to rain down Haymakers on the simpering coward. He felt himself being overcome by a blinding rage that was so strong he was almost starting to blackout. With a tremendous effort he pulled back on his anger and slowly came to his senses, gradually letting up on the ferocity of  his blows.

Taggart held up his hands in supplication - or maybe just as another way to try to block Brian’s blows. “He’s safe! Kevan’s safe, I swear!” he insisted loudly. When Brian abruptly broke off his attack on Taggart and turned again as if to walk out the door, Tag quickly added, “He’s not here, though. He’s somewhere else. Somewhere safe . . . but if you leave here now, you’ll never see him again.” Brian turned back once more and looked like he was going to take up with the bitch slapping thing right where he’d left off, until Tag spoke up yet again, forcing Brian to pause in his Taggart smacking spree. “Stop. Please stop, Brian. I . . . I . . . If you stay, I’ll bring him to see you again.” When Brian continued to just stare at him without renewing his attack, a heartened Taggart pressed on. “We can still be a real family, Brian. Don’t you see? We’ll be so happy together, just the three of us. You’ve been happy here so far, right? We’ve been together like a real family. I know you were happy. I’ve got proof. I’ve got pictures. See . . .”

Taggart scuttled over to the nightstand in the corner, pulled open the drawer and took out a small photo album. Thumbing rapidly through the pages, all of which Brian could see were crammed full of photos of him and Tag, mostly taken in this very room, until he found the one he’d been apparently been looking for. Holding the book out for Brian, Tag offered up his ‘proof’.

“See, Brian? See your smile? You were happy. WE were happy here. All three of us. And, if you stay, I’m sure we’ll be happy again. We’ll be together forever. Just you and me and Kevan.” Tag beamed a smile up at him as Brian took hold of the book.

There, on the right-hand page was a picture of Brian sitting in the big armchair in the corner. It was night time so the room was dark. Taggart was perched on the arm of the chair, smiling down at Brian proprietarily with one arm draped around the back of the taller man’s shoulders. In Brian’s arms was a small bundle wrapped in a blue knit baby blanket. All you could see in the picture of what was in the bundle was a bare cheek and some auburn hair peeking out of the folds of the blanket. In the image he was looking at, Brian was staring down at the bundle with a silly, happy grin on his face.

Brian gaped at the picture for several minutes, trying to wrap his mind around this horrific development. In his mind, he could see a hazy, dimly-lit image that matched the picture he was looking at. It was only a flash of memory, shrouded by the drugs, but he thought he did remember that same scene. He remembered looking down at his son who, was nestled in the bundle in his arms. He remembered that he’d been so glad to see the little boy at the time. And then he remembered the unutterable sadness he’d felt when Taggart had taken the baby away from him saying something about taking the baby away to feed him and put him to bed. Fuck! It was true. It was all true. The psycho really did have Kevan.

“Fuck!” Brian moaned, his body deflating along with his spirit. “Tell me what you’ve done with my son, you crazy piece of shit! I swear I’ll kill you . . .”

“I told you, Kevan is fine!” Taggart insisted, feeling a bit more in control again now that Brian’s tone had changed. He hesitatingly got up off the floor and crawled over to kneel at Brian’s feet. “He’s safe. I promise. But I won’t tell you where he’s at - not while you’re acting like this, Brian. You’re not thinking straight. You really don’t want to leave us. I know you don’t. You’re just confused. If you’d just calm down, we can talk about this . . .”

“I’m not going to calm down until you tell me where the fuck my son is, you asshole!” Brian hissed back at the man who was trying to destroy him.

“No. If I tell you where he is you’ll leave. And I can’t live without you, Brian. I love you. If you’d just be reasonable, you’d admit that you love me too, and then we can go back to the way it was. Our perfect life together.”

“Did I mention the fact that you’re COMPLETELY DELUSIONAL?” Brian was trying to control himself. Trying not to snap. He was afraid that what this weirdo was saying was the truth and scared out of his mind that the crazy son of a bitch might do something to hurt Kevan if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t easy though. “I want Kevan, now! You hear me? NOW!”

“No! I won’t do it. I won’t let you take Kevan away from me,” Taggart spoke up more boldly, getting up to his feet so he was almost on a level with Brian. “I won’t just let you leave me and take my baby too! If you leave, then you leave alone. And then I’ll never tell you where Kevan is. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else raising my sweet baby. Never! NEVER!” Taggart’s voice edged slowly up until Brian could hear the panic in it, which scared him far more than anything that this fruitcake had done to him to date. “You can have me arrested if you want, but I’ll never let anyone take my baby away from me!”

Brian backed away from the raving lunatic now spitting angry words in his face. When he felt the edge of the armchair’s seat behind his knees, his body gave out and he sank down into the chair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” Brian mumbled, his mind swirling desperately but unable to come up with any way this was going to end well.

“If you stay here with me, Brian, and . . . and prove to me that you can be trusted - that you really DO still love me - I . . . I might bring Kevan to visit again. I’ll let you see him. But only if you stay. And you have to be nice. You can’t hurt me again. I won’t let you see him if you hurt me. You have to prove I can trust you again . . .”

Brian listened as Tag started to ramble on and on all about the ‘good times’ that he remembered and how they could have those times again if Brian would only come to his senses. The more the man babbled, the more Brian realized he was totally fucked. He couldn’t take the risk that this nutcase would hurt Kevan. He was barely hanging on the far edge of reality as it was. If Brian didn’t do what he asked, there was no knowing WHAT such an unstable person might do. If Brian did leave, he had no way to prevent Taggart from rushing off to wherever he was keeping the boy and doing something drastic. And even if he didn’t actually hurt Kevan, his vow to keep the boy’s location secret - possibly forever - was just as bad. He didn’t trust the police to be able to find Kevan in that eventuality. Or at least not to find the boy in time . . .

With a huge weight of defeat pressing down on his very soul, Brian realized he didn’t have any choice left. He had to comply with this lunatic’s demands. He wouldn’t ever do anything to put Kevan at risk. He had to stay here, at least for now. Maybe, over time he could glean some information about where Taggart was keeping the boy. And if he could somehow play into the man’s fantasies and get him to trust him, maybe the nutcase would even bring Kevan to Brian. When that happened, though, all deals were off. Then he’d take his son out of here and beat this mother fucker into a bloody pulp on his way out the door.

But in the meantime, Brian would have to play along with his captor’s dangerous illusions and hope for some miracle to save both himself and Kevan before it was too late.