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NANOWRIMO STORY FINALE, part ii
**~~NANOWRIMO STORY FINALE, part ii~~**
Entry word count: 7696
For Story Notes, click here.
Now on to Entry 20:
77.
The problem started the moment he came back to the loft.
If he could’ve resolved this whole issue without having to face Justin’s never-in-doubt inquisition, he would’ve done so. It would’ve been far easier on the state of his mind, not to mention Justin’s, if there were no procrastinations or deliberations filling the void between them. If they could’ve resolved this with the minimum of drama and bullshit debate on the so-called motive and logic behind what he was trying to do.
But it seemed no one other than him seemed to understand the fucking gravity of the situation.
Which meant they now had to resort to drama in order to make his plan work. He had no other choice.
Deb’s wasn’t the only place he’d visited since he’d left in the morning. He’d made a stop at Kinnetik after that, where he’d strictly instructed everyone to keep their mouths shut if Justin called asking for him because he was busy and did not want be disturbed. Of course, word had already gotten around that he was out – gasp – on his own and Cynthia refused to follow his orders because Justin had apparently already called there a half a dozen times since he’d found him ‘missing’.
So he did what he’d set out to do in the privacy of his office—went through the documents Morris had sent this morning, touched base with the PI for any updates—and when Justin’s calls became a constant stream that he couldn’t avoid any longer, he told Cynthia he was going home.
Of course, on his way, he made another stop –this time at Tony Molinaro’s– to purchase the items he’d decided on. By the time he was through, it was almost six and time to go home.
Only home meant facing Justin, but then that was something he’d already termed as inevitable.
As he slid the key in the door’s lock and gripped the handle, he held his breath in for a moment and then slowly let it out. He could do this. He had to do this. He pushed the door open and found Justin sitting on the stool at the counter, his elbows propped against the kitchen island. Brian stepped inside, slid the door shut, and moved towards the bedroom.
"Brian." Justin had stepped down from the stool and was standing in front him, his eyes unreadable.
He could do this. He had to.
"Hey, Sunshine." Brian didn’t stop, just paused a second as he dropped a kiss on Justin’s check and then continued on his way.
He could sense Justin on his heels, as he climbed the bedroom stairs. "Where were you?"
He pulled off his leather jacket and threw it on the bed. "You already know where I was."
A pause as he pulled open the closet without turning around. Then, "Why did you leave without telling me?"
Brian got down on his knees. "I was in a bit of a hurry." He grabbed the bags he’d packed this morning while Justin was away and pulled them out.
"What are you doing?" Confusion.
"Getting your bags out," Brian said as he settled both on the floor.
"My bags?" Puzzlement. "For what?"
He looked up at Justin. "You have a flight to catch."
Justin stared at him. "What?"
A little slow on the uptake then. Brian got up and dug into his jacket’s inner pocket. He took out the envelope and held it out for Justin. "Here’re your tickets."
He watched the realization slowly dawn on Justin’s face as his eyes widened. He shook his head. "No."
Brian kept his voice calm. "Yes."
Justin took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "I’m not going anywhere."
"Shut up and don’t argue with me, Justin," he said sharply. "Take these."
"No." Justin’s eyes bore into his. "I told you. I’m not going anywhere." With that, he turned around and walked out of the bedroom.
Brian pressed his lips together as he took a deep breath. He could do this. "Take the fucking tickets, Justin," he called out as he walked after him into the living room. "Come on."
"NO!" Justin snapped as he whirled around to face him. "Will you listen to yourself? You sound...you sound..."
Brian interrupted, "I sound completely logical and coherent. And if I were you, I’d listen to me too."
"Listen to what?" Justin huffed. "Just because you’re making Lindz and Mel and the kids go home early doesn’t mean you can force me too." His voice rose. "They can go, Brian, because they were supposed to anyways, but I have no intentions of---"
He suddenly broke off in the middle of the sentence, freezing as if something had just occurred to him. Brian watched as his brows drew together. "Brian." He breathed as he stepped out from behind the coffee table and slowly approached him, his eyes searching his face and suddenly Brian felt like hiding. "Brian," he repeated as he reached him, and then tried to hold his hands just as Brian tried to brush them off. "What are you doing?" he whispered as he held up his hand against Brian’s cheek. "You’ve been running around doing God knows what since this morning." Justin’s fingers skimmed through his hair and Brian held his breath. "Brian."
"No." Brian grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down. "Justin. Stop it."
Justin frowned "Stop what?"
He exhaled slowly. "We don’t have time for this." He needed to be in control. And when Justin touched him like that, he couldn’t be in control. He couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t...
"Brian." Justin touched his face with his other hand. "Let me look at you."
"Stop it," Brian said. He gripped his other hand and pulled it down as well. "Justin, stop. We have to go."
Justin’s eyes glinted. "I told you I’m not going."
With a shake of his head, Brian pulled away from him. Needing to put some distance between them, he went to the counter and idly sifted through the mail. When he heard Justin come up behind him, he turned around and went to the coffee table and picked up his cell phone. He heard Justin trying to get his attention but he breathed in slowly and ignored him. There were half a dozen messages on his phone and several missed calls which he quickly skimmed through. One text from Gus, and another from Mel—these he opened. Something about wanting to say goodbye to the horses before leaving—said Gus. And the bedroom doors were locked with all their stuff inside and Walter and the keys were nowhere to be found—this from Mel.
"What?" He frowned. "When did these come?" He looked at Justin.
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Justin snapped. "You left the phone here, Brian. You disappeared this morning without even telling me where you were going and you left the fucking phone here." His volume was rising once again. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
But something was not making sense. He looked up at Justin. "The doors are locked. Why the hell did Walter lock the bedroom doors when he knows I’ve given the house keys to the girls?"
"Brian," Justin was scowling at him. "Are you even listening to me?"
Ignoring him for a moment, Brian dialed Mel’s number and listened to the phone ring. But there was no answer. "Fuck, now she’s not answering the phone."
"Brian!" He could hear the gritted teeth in Justin’s voice.
He looked at him. "So you were worried. I’m sorry." He pointed at Justin’s cell phone. "Can you get through to Mel?"
Justin stared at him in exasperation and then with a huff, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and rolled his eyes as he pressed a quick dial number. Brian watched him listen to the line and then shake his head. "No, I can’t."
Fine, their flight was only half an hour after Justin’s. He needed all of them out of there and on their way to the airport right about now.
With a determined nod, he turned around and walked back to the bedroom. "Here, help me carry your bags to the car." He bent down to grab one of them.
"No fucking way." Justin sounded indignant. "Put them down right now."
That was unfortunately not in the plans. "Fine." Brian shrugged. "Don’t help me. I’ll carry them both myself." He grabbed both of them, picked up his jacket and walked to the door, dragging them behind him on the floor.
"Brian." Justin followed him. "Brian, stop this." He heard Justin behind him as he pulled open the door. "Christ, why are you doing this?"
Brian pulled up the elevator gate and dragged the bags inside.
"Brian." Justin stood outside the landing, his eyes troubled. "Why?"
Brian reached behind him and pulled the loft door shut. Strangely, Justin didn’t struggle as he gripped his hands and pulled him inside the elevator—just looked at him with a lost, bewildered expression as he pressed the button for the ground floor.
Justin asked again, "Why?"
He waited until they’d reached the ground floor, and he’d opened the gate before answering, "Because it’s time for you to go home," as he stepped out with the bags.
"I am home." Justin sounded exasperated as he followed him to the front door. "This is home."
"Your home’s in New York." Brian turned to look into his eyes as he opened the door. "And you’re going back there."
Justin snorted. "You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m leaving you like this here."
"Like what?" Brian huffed as he stepped outside. "In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve recovered. I don’t need you babysitting me anymore." He walked to the car, which was already in the front, knowing Justin would follow him. It was already dark outside and there was a cloud cover which had cooled the night down considerably. He put the bags down and pressed the button on his remote to unlock the doors. "Open the door." He turned to Justin. "Open it."
Justin looked at him warily. "Where are we going?"
"To the House," said Brian. "Need to get Mel and the kids out of there and off to the airport with Lindz." He added. "And you."
Justin snorted again. "No."
Brian sighed and walked to the back and opened the trunk. He picked up both the bags and threw them in. Then he opened the driver-side door. "Get in."
Justin pursed his lips. "No."
"What? You want me going off all by myself to God knows where again?" Brian said mockingly. "I thought you were worried about me!"
Justin watched him for a moment and then with a shake of his head, opened the other door and got into the passenger seat. Brian took a deep breath and got behind the wheel and started the car. As he pulled onto the road, he could sense the tension in Justin’s frame, but drove without saying a word. He knew the inquisition would come again soon enough. He wasn’t wrong.
Justin waited until Brian had stopped at a traffic light before starting again. "You can say or do whatever you want," his voice was firm, "but I’m not going anywhere."
Without answering, Brian stepped on the gas when the signal opened. He continued driving until he’d taken the exit onto Route 22 before answering him. "Listen. I need you to pay attention to what I’m saying and for once not argue with me, not be dramatic---"
Justin jumped in, his voice exasperated. "I’m being dramatic?"
"—and just do as I’m saying."
"I’m not going," Justin repeated. "I’m not leaving you here."
Brian gripped the wheel tightly. "You have to."
Justin heaved in a breath. "I don’t have to do anything I don’t want, okay? You can’t force me to leave."
"Yes, I can," Brian said. "I can tell you to go if that’s the right thing to do."
"Fuck this shit!" Justin suddenly shouted. "And fuck you, Brian."
Brian sighed. "Stop being a drama princess."
"I’M NOT being a drama princess." Justin looked incredulous.
"Yes, you are." Brian pressed his lips together. "It’s critical that you do exactly as I’m telling you to do."
"What?" Justin looked at him. "Leave you here by yourself after you’ve just come back from the hospital, after..." his voice croaked for a second, "...after you almost fucking died? You had... you had---"
"What?" Brian asked. "What did I have? A fake heart attack?" He sucked in a breath. "Well, I’m fine now. I’ve already demonstrated the ability to carry on with my life as before. I can deal with things here without you needing to hold my fucking hand."
"You’re not fine," Justin huffed. "You just got out of the fucking hospital. You’re not even supposed to be driving yet, Brian. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you!"
Brian stopped talking after that. He knew logically, Justin was right. The doctors had told him to take it easy and not take undue stress. But then, it would be a whole different story if he could have the doctors come and stand in his shoes. How could he not take stress when there was a murderous psycho loose and after his loved ones? He would take it easy after he had everyone safe and secure. And that couldn’t happen if Justin was in Pittsburgh. Near him.
He’d been dead fucking wrong.
Justin’s problem was not because he’d had expectations from his father. Everyone knew Craig Taylor was a fucking bigot. That fact hadn’t stopped Justin from having a life in the last ten years. The real problem was Justin’s expectations of him. The fact that, since he was seventeen, he’d blindly trusted Brian to keep him safe no matter what the consequence. That was the biggest joke of it all, because they all knew how that had turned out. Whether it was the swing of a bat or the swing of an axe, it didn’t make a difference. The method to the madness didn’t matter because the reason behind everything was constant. He was the reason. Him. It had always been him. Now he knew why he’d always resisted Justin for so long. Because at some subconscious level, he’d always known that all this was an illusion. That it was vague and insubstantial. He was insubstantial. He always had been.
From the moment he’d found Justin standing under that lamppost ten years ago, he’d fucked things up. And at each critical juncture in their lives, he’d seen his fuck-ups get exacerbated and had done nothing to remedy the situation. He’d taken Justin in when he was too young, too innocent and had ruined any chance he may have had for a normal life. He couldn’t believe his own audacity. He’d caused him nothing but misery from the moment he’d touched him, and that damage had never stopped, not once in the last ten years. The incidents of the last ten days were testimony to that fact.
And Justin wasn’t the only one.
It seemed every decision he’d ever made had been a disaster. Agreeing to donate sperm for Lindz had been one of them. But it was too late for regrets now. Gus was real. He was a living, breathing testament to Brian’s own mortality. And he loved him more than he ever thought he would. But it was imperative that it stayed this way. That Gus remained safe. That all of them remained safe.
But how could they be safe? When they were fucking loitering around in this pathetic life-sucking ‘burg. Mel and Lindz had the right idea when they’d absconded to Canada after the bomb. They should’ve stayed there for good. But then, they would’ve been back in Toronto even now, safe and sound, if it hadn’t been for him. The only reason they were here was because he’d been in the hospital for the last ten fucking days.
Well, all that was going to stop right now. It was a question of survival, for all of them. He was not going to let a fucking psycho write that ending.
So he concentrated on the driving, going through the twists and turns on the long interstate taking them into the heart of Westmoreland County. All he needed now was for Justin to listen to him and not make this any more difficult than it already was. His eyes on the road in front of him, his mind went over the details for everything that still needed to be worked out.
When he took the last bend that took him on the road towards the House, he spoke. "It’s time for you to stop worrying about me and go on with your life."
"That’s bullshit, Brian," Justin said, "and you know it. I can’t leave you like this."
And that was the crunch. Justin still didn’t seem to understand the repercussions of what he was doing, what he was denying Brian. He felt his teeth digging into his lip as he grounded. "I’m not the pathetic invalid that you had to feed from straws for those ten fucking days in the hospital, okay? I got better! I came home!" He took a deep breath. "You celebrated that triumphant return yourself. So, now beat it!"
"No!"
"Yes!" Brian pressed his lips together as he turned on the gravel driveway. "Go back. To New York. To your life. Your career. You were only supposed to be here for a week, remember? You’ve already over-stayed your welcome by a good six days."
Justin shook his head. "You don’t mean any of this, Brian."
"Yes, I do." He stopped the car and turned to Justin. "There are your bags in the trunk, all packed." He took out the envelope from his inner pocket. "Here are your fucking tickets." He pulled open the glove and took out the package he’d brought from Tony Molinaro’s. "And here’s your gun. It’s registered in your name and you need to keep this with you at all times. It’s not loaded yet but there are two shell boxes inside."
Justin looked dumbfounded as he stared first at the brown envelope with the Pittsburgh postage stamp on it, and then at Brian. "A gun?"
But Brian had already pushed open the car door and gotten out. "Mel!" he yelled as he walked to the front door, took out his keys and opened it. All the lights were on inside but he couldn’t see Melanie or the kids anywhere. "Mel?" he called again but there was no answer.
"Brian?" He heard Justin behind him as he pressed Melanie’s number on his cell again, throwing the keys on the sideboard in the lounge. "Listen to me!"
There was no answer to the call. "Fuck," he cursed as he climbed the stairs. "She’s still not picking up."
Justin was right behind him. "Brian, stop!"
Brian whirled around and grabbed his arm. "You need to go, Justin." Justin started again but he cut him off. "In fact, you shouldn’t have been here in the first place." He let go of Justin’s arm. "You should’ve stayed the fuck away."
Justin’s brows furrowed. "What the hell are you---" Then he stopped and shook his head. "I can’t go, Brian. I can’t leave you."
Brian looked into his eyes. His mouth worked for a moment—yes, you can—the words hovered at the tip of his tongue, but then he pressed his lips together, dropped Justin’s arm and turned around and continued climbing.
"What!" he heard Justin call out behind him. "WHAT?"
Brian reached the master suite, its door open wide, and looked inside. It was empty. He heard Justin reach behind him, stilled as his hand was grabbed and he was made to turn around and look at Justin’s face. "What, Brian?" Justin asked.
Brian looked into his eyes. "Yes, you can, Justin," he said. "You can leave me." Justin shook his head, but Brian went on before he could say anything. "It’s not as difficult as you think. In fact, it should be easy for you," he scoffed. A sudden wariness appeared in Justin’s eyes.
And then Brian gritted his teeth. "After all, it’s not like you’ve never done it before," he said and watched the color drain from Justin’s face. "You’ve had years of practice, Sunshine." He tasted something bitter in his mouth himself but somewhere, somehow, the time for cutting corners had come and gone. His hard eyes glinted as he looked at his lover. "So leave while you still have the chance. Before it’s too fucking late." He bit his lips. "You’ll do it one day in any case."
Justin looked like he was going to be sick and Brian could no longer bear to look at him because he knew he was hurting. That he’d hurt him. But it was for his own fucking good. He knew Justin was never going to leave him otherwise. He would go down with him and Brian couldn’t allow that to happen. Not after all that had already happened. All that Justin had gone through because of him. Brian couldn’t let Justin get hurt anymore.
So he moved and walked to the other side of the landing and tried the door of the girls’ bedroom and to his surprise, it opened easily.
"What the hell?" he muttered as he switched on the lights and found everything as it should’ve been. There was no sign of Melanie, though. Had she been able to find the keys after all?
He left the door open and turned around and saw that Justin was still standing where he’d left him, in front of their bedroom, unmoving. He swallowed around the painful lump in his throat as he walked to the kids’ bedroom on the other side of the landing, next to the library, and tried that door too. That door was open as well. What the fuck was Melanie talking about when she’d sent him that message?
But there was something strange about the whole situation. The doors were open, and Melanie was supposedly here to get their stuff, but there was no sign of anyone having touched anything in this room.
Brian took out his cell to try her again and was cursing the ringing bell and Melanie not answering the phone when he heard Justin’s scream.
"BRIAN!"
He turned and sprinted out of the room. "Justin?"
"BRIAN!" Justin’s voice was coming from their bedroom. "COME HERE!"
"What?" He rushed across the landing towards the master suite. "What is it?"
He reached the door to their room and found Justin looking at something outside their window. "BRIAN," he said, "THE STABLES!"
As he got near the window, he realized what Justin was looking at. Flames. Red, hot burning flames, licking the side wall of the stables. He felt his throat close as he stared horrified at the spectacle. Fire. The stables were on fire. He looked down at his cell phone. There had been a message earlier. Something about saying goodbye to the horses.
"Gus," the name came out all strangled from his throat.
There was sudden terror in Justin’s eyes. "Is he---"
"Fuck!" Brian cursed as he turned around and ran out of the room.
"BRIAN!" Justin was close on his heels as he bounded down the stairs, his heartbeat thundering inside his chest.
"CALL 9-1-1!" he yelled as he dashed through the dining hall door and into the kitchen. The light was off and he fumbled in the dark as he made his way towards the backdoor. He heard Justin’s voice on the phone as his hand closed around the doorknob. He yanked open the door, and stepped out, his eyes on the plume of dark smoke coming out from behind the tennis courts where the stables were located. He heard Justin’s voice from somewhere in the lobby telling him something about the phones not working, and was about to call out to try the landline in the den...
...when the kitchen door slammed shut behind him.
He stumbled as he turned to stare at the closed door, hearing the distinct click of the lock setting in place. What the fuck? He reached for the doorknob and just as his fingers touched it, he saw the lobby light go off through the glazed glass on the door. Frowning, he tried the knob and found the door locked.
"Justin!" he called out. "Open the door!"
There was no answer.
He tried to look through the kitchen window but could make nothing out from between the closed blinds. He banged on the door, trying to kick it open but there was no reply from inside. Where was Justin? Why wasn’t he answering him? He ran to the door that led into the sky-lit snack-bar, but found it locked as well. The House had suddenly gotten quiet. As if it was waiting for something and Brian didn’t know what it was. He felt goose bumps form on his skin.
"JUSTIN!" he yelled just as he noticed another light—this one in the upstairs bedroom—go off. Then the terrace turned dark. Then the dining hall. One after another, all the rooms inside the House—the office, the Game Room, the lobby, were turning off. What the hell! "JUSTIN!" he yelled again as he banged on the door and tried to open it again to no avail.
When his cell phone suddenly went off. He looked at the display. It was Gus. Something niggled him at the back of his mind, as he pressed talk and raised it to his ear. "Gus!" he spoke, "Where are you? And why isn’t your mom picking up the phone?"
But there was no reply to his question. Nothing except the sound of someone’s heavy breathing. "Gus?" Brian felt his heart thudding in his chest, as he turned around and looked at the thickening clouds of smoke from across the pool. "Answer me!"
He jumped as suddenly a voice spoke into the phone—a man’s voice. "So tell me, Kinney. How does it feel to be the poison in everyone’s lives?"
He felt himself go cold. He knew this voice. It was the same voice he’d heard eleven days ago in the tunnels and in his nightmares every night since then. The clown’s voice.
"You couldn’t let them walk away, now, could you?" the shrill tone sing-songed cheerily. "You had to bring them here, to this cursed place, even though they didn’t want to. Your little boys—both of them." The voice laughed mockingly, filled with a sickening, bubbly, choking amusement that was like fingernails scratching down a chalkboard. "Which one of them are you going to save now, Kinney?" it mocked as Brian felt his blood turn to ice. "The one burning to a crisp in the stables," the voice sniggered, "or the one about to be hacked to itsy bitsy pieces inside your house?"
And then the line went dead.
Brian felt choked, like he was going to stop breathing any second. No. This couldn’t be happening. The door hadn’t gotten locked by itself. The lights hadn’t gone off on their own. Justin was in there, inside the House, with... with...
He spun around and banged on the door. "JUSTIN! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE!" he screamed.
But there was no response to his pleas.
And his ears were still ringing with the words the voice—the clown, the mad man—had said about his son. In the stables. And his lover. In the House.
Gus. Brian knew he was going to be sick now. In the stables. He curled his hand into a fist and hit the door once, twice. "JUSTIN!" he screamed out one last time.
And then he turned and ran. His throat tight with terror, his vision blurring with what he told himself was the acrid smoke filling the night sky, he tore through the courtyard, his feet beating down the resin path. The phone in his hand, his thumb pressing the emergency numbers, he dashed across the swimming pool—only to curse in frustration at the no-signal message. Fuck.
He’d almost halfway crossed the tennis court when something made him turn around and rush to the tool-shed. He had no idea what he’d find once he reached the stables but he knew he’d need something. Something. He kicked open the wooden door and flipped on the switch but no light came on. Fuck. He blindly felt against the shed’s wall, where the boxes of tools and chemical cans were lined up on the shelves. Christ. He needed something. Anything. His hand closed around something long, and thin and distinctly metallic. The garden rake. Yes. He closed his hand around it, backed out of the tool-shed, and was off again.
His breath hitching, he cleared the line of Honeylocusts along the tennis court at full throttle, before his stride faltered at the sight before him. One wall of the stables was completely engulfed in flames and the doors were closed. The doors were never supposed to be closed. There were horses inside there. Horses and... and...
"GUS!" Brian screamed as he reached the burning building. "MELANIE!" He ran to the front doors, and tried to open the clamp. It didn’t budge. Christ. He raised the rake in his hand and brought it down, striking at the door with the metal spikes. Nothing. He raised it again and brought it down once more—and again the door didn’t budge. Shit fuck. It was bolted from inside.
The smoke filling his lungs, he ran around the barn, going past the burning side, towards the other end, and there too he found the doors locked. He tried the rake on them and then gave up, realizing they’d all been bolted from inside. Shit. He needed another way in. He looked at the stable windows. They were too high. If he had a rope, he could perhaps get in. But he had no choice. He had no way to...
He stopped and looked at the windows again. If he remembered right, there was another window. A little lower, on the side wall of the building. Which Walter had gotten closed because he was building another stall in that section. Brian ran to the barn’s other side and saw it immediately. Right there in the middle of the building, about six feet above the ground. Christ. "GUS!" he yelled again as he reached the window and tried to open it from outside. It was bolted shut. Well, it was only glass. He raised the rake and brought it down on the window, shattering the right pane with the force. Rising on tiptoes, he reached inside the broken glass with his right hand, searching for the latch, hoping there wasn’t a lock secured. His fingers closed around the latch and he pulled at it but it seemed to be stuck. Please God. He tried again, his fingers pinching around the steel latch as he pushed the pane with his other hand. And the window finally opened, both panes swinging inside.
Brian saw thick smoke gust out from the opening as he gripped the window frame with his hands and hoisted himself up on his arms, taking hold of the upper frame as he pulled himself inside. "GUS!" he yelled as he dropped onto the hay-covered floor and tried to look into his smoggy surroundings. He was in the newly built stall and he could hear the horses whinnying from the three stalls they were kept in. "MELANIE!" he called as he stepped out of the stall and looked around. The wall in front of him was swallowed up in flames, and he could see the flames were lashing at the ceiling—their heat like an inferno blazing, smoke filling the entire building, making it hard to see anything. If the ceiling caught fire, the whole place was going to come down on him. He had no fucking time. There were five stalls to his right and six to his left and he could see the doors on either sides were bolted shut. He could probably use the rake on them, but there were more important things to tend to first.
"GUS!" he yelled again as he took off to his left, stumbling through the smoke-filled barn. His lungs burning, he coughed fitfully when he tried to breathe through the smog, and looked under the stalls one by one—holding his breath in, his eyes blinking through the burning vapors stinging them. The first stall had a horse inside, he could see its legs, and apparently the horse could see him too—because it immediately heaved its legs in the air and let out a long, desperate whinny as it struck its legs against the closed stall door. He ignored the horse and moved on—knowing he won’t be able to free any of them until he had the bolted doors open. The second stall was empty, as was the third, but the fourth had another horse inside—this too gave out a frightened whinny as it noticed Brian’s crouched progress.
The fifth was empty but when he reached the last stall on this side, he noticed, through the smog and the heat, three bundled figures lying on the hay-floor. He felt his heart stop for a moment—and then he was scrambling through the stall door and crouching next to them, dropping the rake next to him. Gus. Mel. And little JR. Fuck. All three of them bound with duct tape. He grabbed first his son, then Melanie and JR and turned them around, noticing them struggle through their limbs bound together. Their mouths taped shut as well, their strangled moans were barely audible in the commotion. God. "I’m here." he told him as he pulled at the tape, peeling them off their mouths one by one.
"Dad!" Gus cried out.
"It’s all right, Sonny boy, I’m here," Brian told him as he worked on freeing Melanie’s limbs.
"Oh my God, Brian!" she cried and hitched in a breath and then broke into a coughing fit in the rising smoke. "That man," she struggled to speak, "Brian, that man---"
"I need your help, Mel," he interrupted her as he used the tines of the rake to cut through the tape first around her hands, and then her ankles. "Get JR free." He winced when he heard something fall somewhere behind him with a loud crash. "This place is gonna come down any second. We need to get out now."
Leaving her to her daughter, he set on to freeing Gus. He pulled off the tape from his hands and legs. "Come on, Gus." He pulled the boy to his feet. "We’re getting out of here."
Mel had gotten JR free—the little girl’s face was streaked with tears—so he picked up the rake and hurriedly led them all out of the stall. He saw that a large piece of wood paneling had fallen near the farther end of the stable and that door was now on fire—this was the crash he’d heard earlier. He looked up and saw the ceiling was also on fire and sparks were raining down on the floor below, igniting the hay-covering, filling the interior with thick, choking smoke.
"LET’S GO," he gripped their hands and holding his breath in the smoke, led them into the stall with the window. "Gus, I’m going to lift you up," he said as he hoisted his son into his arms until he’d grabbed onto the window. "You have to jump, it’s not very high," he instructed, as Gus crawled between the opening, "and stay close, we’re right behind you!" He waited until Gus had jumped down the other side and he’d heard his ‘I’m okay’ before he turned to Melanie.
"Now, you!" He picked her up and hefted her onto the window. He felt JR’s hands scrabbling onto his legs and he told her, "I’ll get you out of here, sweetie." He held onto Melanie until she’d climbed down from the other side and then he picked JR up, her tiny frame trembling in his arms, and lifted her up onto the window, until he saw Melanie’s hands from the other side grabbing onto her daughter and easing her down the other side.
Now there was only one thing left. The horses.
He got out of the stall and ducking under the raining ashes, he ran to the front doors. The horses whinnying loudly in their stalls, he tried to slide off the bolt and realized it was jammed shut. Shit. Choking in the filling smoke, he raised the rake high and brought it down on the bolt—once, twice, thrice, but to no avail. Please. He raised the rake once more and brought it down on the bolt as hard as he could and saw the fibre-glass handle shatter just as the bolt gave away. He kicked at the doors, shoving them open and then turned around into the stable—yanking open the closed stall doors as he ran. "Go, boy!" he yelled, urging the horses to get out, as he opened each stall door, "Go, get out, get out!" he screamed as the horses kicked at the walls, whinnying loudly as they escaped the burning stalls.
It was when he reached the last horse held in the stall towards the burning end of the stable that the ceiling finally came down. The horse whinnied timorously as he set it free and he watched it gallop away and out of the stables but as Brian turned around, he realized his own way was blocked. A large section of the ceiling had come down right in the middle of the stable and the side walls too were enveloped by flames. There was no way he could get to the open door or to the window in the middle stall where he’d come in from. He heard Melanie and Gus calling for him from outside but there was only one way for him to go. He turned around and faced the burning door. The flames licked down at the wooden frame from the ceiling and he knew he only had a few moments before that section also gave away. If he could get it to open with the rake. He looked down at the broken handle. Well, he’ll have to make do with what he had.
So he got as near the hot flames as he could, raised the rake high in the air and brought it down. The door didn’t budge. He felt sweat pouring down his body, the sweltering heat burning his skin as he felt the flames getting nearer and nearer as he hit the bolt again and again with the broken rake. Fuck. It wasn’t working. His breath heaving, he looked around to see if he could find something else to use on the door.
And that was when he saw it amidst the billowing smoke.
The bundled figure. Lying between the bales of hay in the last stall on this side. The stall which had been empty and which he hadn’t looked into until now.
What the hell? He waved his hands in front of him to see clearly through the smoke. He walked into the stall, tentatively, and blinked into the darkness. It was a small figure. A child. He crouched beside it and touched the bound limbs. And the child started kicking at him in frenzied terror, frightened whimpers coming out his taped mouth. Christ.
He sprang to his feet and ran to the door again, striking at the burning door with all his might. Please. He needed a way out. He hit the bolt with the broken handle of the rake, kicked at it with his knees and his arms, over and over and over again. He heard something crashing right behind him and felt the flames licking at his back. Please God. He raised the rake one more time and brought it down—tines-end—and cried out when the bolt finally gave away. He kicked at the burning door and saw the sky through the flames engulfing the door.
He ran back into the stall, grabbed the struggling child—a boy—and shushing him, he picked him up in his arms and ran out of the stall. He held the child close to his body as he closed his eyes and ran through the flames. He kept running and running until he could run no more, until he could sense the cool night air whipping at his skin and there he dropped to his knees and broke into a hacking cough, his breath stuttering, his heart pounding in his chest.
He felt hands on his back, on his arms, heard Gus’s voice talking to him and Melanie asking him something but he could hardly hear anything through his wheezing breath, and the buzzing in his ears, as he coughed and coughed, trying to breathe through the smoke still burning his lungs and throat.
"Dad," he felt Gus’ hands on his face, stroking his cheek, as he straightened up. He looked at his son and then enveloped him in his arms, hugging him tight.
"Gus," he said, "You okay?" His voice sounded scratchy to his ears. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"I’m fine, Dad." Gus hugged him back. "I’m okay."
"Brian," Melanie had her hand on his shoulder. "Who’s this kid?"
He shook his head as he looked at the little boy and realized Melanie had removed the tapes from around his mouth and limbs. "I have no clue. He was in there, in the last stall," he said. "I just saw him lying there, I almost missed him."
"I think I know him," Melanie said as they looked at the frightened child, who seemed to be in shock. "I think he’s Craig Taylor’s kid."
He stared into her eyes and then swallowed. It made no fucking sense but in a way it made all the sense. They were dealing with a psycho. Nothing was beyond him. "Are you okay?" he asked her and then looked down at her daughter. "And JR?"
"We’re fine." Melanie touched his arm. "But Brian, your hands, look at your face..." and there was something in her voice that made him look up. He didn’t know what she saw on his face, he could barely feel the cuts and burns on his hands. He felt numb. Disconnected. But her eyes were troubled. And he thought he’d seen that look on her face somewhere else. At a place he didn’t remember. Or didn’t want to remember.
He pushed away from her and got to his feet. "Whatever you do, don’t go near the House." He looked back at the main building and saw it was all dark. In fact, the whole neighborhood had been plunged into darkness. The street lights were off too. The clouds had parted slightly and he could see the stars peeking from behind—giving them the only light cover they had. He tried his phone but it still wasn’t working. Probably some kind of a jammer. He turned to Melanie. "What happened to your phone?"
"He took them away from us," she said. "He was in the House, Brian. He had an axe."
An axe. He pressed his lips together. "He’s still in the House. I have to go in there."
Melanie looked aghast. "You can’t."
"I have to." He looked into her face. "He has Justin."
And there it was again. That something in her expression which felt too familiar, too painfully intimate. She shook her head, her eyes filled with raw fear. "No, Brian."
"Yes," Brian told her. "I can’t let him get hurt again." He’d walked into a neatly laid out trap without realizing anything was amiss. He’d gotten everyone in this mess. And he had to get them out of it. No matter what the cost. He put his hand on her arm. "I need you to keep the kids close to you and try to get help. And don’t go near the House." He stared into her eyes. "Do what you can but for Christ’s sake, don’t get caught again," he pleaded. "I don’t have time to rescue you again." He swallowed heavily. "The doors are all locked in there. I need to find some way to get Justin out of there."
"But how?" Melanie looked at him. "How can you go in there when the doors are locked? He’s armed and he’s a psychopath and you know what he did to us before, Brian. He’s a murderer. You can’t just walk in there and expect you’ll be able to---"
She stopped when she realized his attention had darted away from her. His eyes were on the House and on the lone source of light which had been turned on in the upper level. He watched as a figure came and stood in the master bedroom window and looked out into the darkness. Brian didn’t know if he could see them out there, and he couldn’t see his face from this far away but he could make out the tattered clothes.
And he could see the axe. Raised in his hand.
They watched as the light went off and another one came on—this time on the ground level. The basement door. That went into the wine cellar.
A single lit doorway. An invitation into the House.
"He wants you to come in," he heard Melanie say.
Yes, he did. "But it’s a trap," Brian said.
She looked at him. "What are you going to do?"
"I’m going in, all right," he told her. "But not from that door."
She stared at him. "Then where?"
He looked on at the darkened country manor he’d bought five years ago—to prove his love to the man who’d meant the world to him. Who still meant the world to him. "It’s my house," he said. "I’ll find a way in."
*******
Continued next.
Entry word count: 7696
For Story Notes, click here.
Now on to Entry 20:
77.
The problem started the moment he came back to the loft.
If he could’ve resolved this whole issue without having to face Justin’s never-in-doubt inquisition, he would’ve done so. It would’ve been far easier on the state of his mind, not to mention Justin’s, if there were no procrastinations or deliberations filling the void between them. If they could’ve resolved this with the minimum of drama and bullshit debate on the so-called motive and logic behind what he was trying to do.
But it seemed no one other than him seemed to understand the fucking gravity of the situation.
Which meant they now had to resort to drama in order to make his plan work. He had no other choice.
Deb’s wasn’t the only place he’d visited since he’d left in the morning. He’d made a stop at Kinnetik after that, where he’d strictly instructed everyone to keep their mouths shut if Justin called asking for him because he was busy and did not want be disturbed. Of course, word had already gotten around that he was out – gasp – on his own and Cynthia refused to follow his orders because Justin had apparently already called there a half a dozen times since he’d found him ‘missing’.
So he did what he’d set out to do in the privacy of his office—went through the documents Morris had sent this morning, touched base with the PI for any updates—and when Justin’s calls became a constant stream that he couldn’t avoid any longer, he told Cynthia he was going home.
Of course, on his way, he made another stop –this time at Tony Molinaro’s– to purchase the items he’d decided on. By the time he was through, it was almost six and time to go home.
Only home meant facing Justin, but then that was something he’d already termed as inevitable.
As he slid the key in the door’s lock and gripped the handle, he held his breath in for a moment and then slowly let it out. He could do this. He had to do this. He pushed the door open and found Justin sitting on the stool at the counter, his elbows propped against the kitchen island. Brian stepped inside, slid the door shut, and moved towards the bedroom.
"Brian." Justin had stepped down from the stool and was standing in front him, his eyes unreadable.
He could do this. He had to.
"Hey, Sunshine." Brian didn’t stop, just paused a second as he dropped a kiss on Justin’s check and then continued on his way.
He could sense Justin on his heels, as he climbed the bedroom stairs. "Where were you?"
He pulled off his leather jacket and threw it on the bed. "You already know where I was."
A pause as he pulled open the closet without turning around. Then, "Why did you leave without telling me?"
Brian got down on his knees. "I was in a bit of a hurry." He grabbed the bags he’d packed this morning while Justin was away and pulled them out.
"What are you doing?" Confusion.
"Getting your bags out," Brian said as he settled both on the floor.
"My bags?" Puzzlement. "For what?"
He looked up at Justin. "You have a flight to catch."
Justin stared at him. "What?"
A little slow on the uptake then. Brian got up and dug into his jacket’s inner pocket. He took out the envelope and held it out for Justin. "Here’re your tickets."
He watched the realization slowly dawn on Justin’s face as his eyes widened. He shook his head. "No."
Brian kept his voice calm. "Yes."
Justin took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "I’m not going anywhere."
"Shut up and don’t argue with me, Justin," he said sharply. "Take these."
"No." Justin’s eyes bore into his. "I told you. I’m not going anywhere." With that, he turned around and walked out of the bedroom.
Brian pressed his lips together as he took a deep breath. He could do this. "Take the fucking tickets, Justin," he called out as he walked after him into the living room. "Come on."
"NO!" Justin snapped as he whirled around to face him. "Will you listen to yourself? You sound...you sound..."
Brian interrupted, "I sound completely logical and coherent. And if I were you, I’d listen to me too."
"Listen to what?" Justin huffed. "Just because you’re making Lindz and Mel and the kids go home early doesn’t mean you can force me too." His voice rose. "They can go, Brian, because they were supposed to anyways, but I have no intentions of---"
He suddenly broke off in the middle of the sentence, freezing as if something had just occurred to him. Brian watched as his brows drew together. "Brian." He breathed as he stepped out from behind the coffee table and slowly approached him, his eyes searching his face and suddenly Brian felt like hiding. "Brian," he repeated as he reached him, and then tried to hold his hands just as Brian tried to brush them off. "What are you doing?" he whispered as he held up his hand against Brian’s cheek. "You’ve been running around doing God knows what since this morning." Justin’s fingers skimmed through his hair and Brian held his breath. "Brian."
"No." Brian grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down. "Justin. Stop it."
Justin frowned "Stop what?"
He exhaled slowly. "We don’t have time for this." He needed to be in control. And when Justin touched him like that, he couldn’t be in control. He couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t...
"Brian." Justin touched his face with his other hand. "Let me look at you."
"Stop it," Brian said. He gripped his other hand and pulled it down as well. "Justin, stop. We have to go."
Justin’s eyes glinted. "I told you I’m not going."
With a shake of his head, Brian pulled away from him. Needing to put some distance between them, he went to the counter and idly sifted through the mail. When he heard Justin come up behind him, he turned around and went to the coffee table and picked up his cell phone. He heard Justin trying to get his attention but he breathed in slowly and ignored him. There were half a dozen messages on his phone and several missed calls which he quickly skimmed through. One text from Gus, and another from Mel—these he opened. Something about wanting to say goodbye to the horses before leaving—said Gus. And the bedroom doors were locked with all their stuff inside and Walter and the keys were nowhere to be found—this from Mel.
"What?" He frowned. "When did these come?" He looked at Justin.
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Justin snapped. "You left the phone here, Brian. You disappeared this morning without even telling me where you were going and you left the fucking phone here." His volume was rising once again. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
But something was not making sense. He looked up at Justin. "The doors are locked. Why the hell did Walter lock the bedroom doors when he knows I’ve given the house keys to the girls?"
"Brian," Justin was scowling at him. "Are you even listening to me?"
Ignoring him for a moment, Brian dialed Mel’s number and listened to the phone ring. But there was no answer. "Fuck, now she’s not answering the phone."
"Brian!" He could hear the gritted teeth in Justin’s voice.
He looked at him. "So you were worried. I’m sorry." He pointed at Justin’s cell phone. "Can you get through to Mel?"
Justin stared at him in exasperation and then with a huff, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and rolled his eyes as he pressed a quick dial number. Brian watched him listen to the line and then shake his head. "No, I can’t."
Fine, their flight was only half an hour after Justin’s. He needed all of them out of there and on their way to the airport right about now.
With a determined nod, he turned around and walked back to the bedroom. "Here, help me carry your bags to the car." He bent down to grab one of them.
"No fucking way." Justin sounded indignant. "Put them down right now."
That was unfortunately not in the plans. "Fine." Brian shrugged. "Don’t help me. I’ll carry them both myself." He grabbed both of them, picked up his jacket and walked to the door, dragging them behind him on the floor.
"Brian." Justin followed him. "Brian, stop this." He heard Justin behind him as he pulled open the door. "Christ, why are you doing this?"
Brian pulled up the elevator gate and dragged the bags inside.
"Brian." Justin stood outside the landing, his eyes troubled. "Why?"
Brian reached behind him and pulled the loft door shut. Strangely, Justin didn’t struggle as he gripped his hands and pulled him inside the elevator—just looked at him with a lost, bewildered expression as he pressed the button for the ground floor.
Justin asked again, "Why?"
He waited until they’d reached the ground floor, and he’d opened the gate before answering, "Because it’s time for you to go home," as he stepped out with the bags.
"I am home." Justin sounded exasperated as he followed him to the front door. "This is home."
"Your home’s in New York." Brian turned to look into his eyes as he opened the door. "And you’re going back there."
Justin snorted. "You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m leaving you like this here."
"Like what?" Brian huffed as he stepped outside. "In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve recovered. I don’t need you babysitting me anymore." He walked to the car, which was already in the front, knowing Justin would follow him. It was already dark outside and there was a cloud cover which had cooled the night down considerably. He put the bags down and pressed the button on his remote to unlock the doors. "Open the door." He turned to Justin. "Open it."
Justin looked at him warily. "Where are we going?"
"To the House," said Brian. "Need to get Mel and the kids out of there and off to the airport with Lindz." He added. "And you."
Justin snorted again. "No."
Brian sighed and walked to the back and opened the trunk. He picked up both the bags and threw them in. Then he opened the driver-side door. "Get in."
Justin pursed his lips. "No."
"What? You want me going off all by myself to God knows where again?" Brian said mockingly. "I thought you were worried about me!"
Justin watched him for a moment and then with a shake of his head, opened the other door and got into the passenger seat. Brian took a deep breath and got behind the wheel and started the car. As he pulled onto the road, he could sense the tension in Justin’s frame, but drove without saying a word. He knew the inquisition would come again soon enough. He wasn’t wrong.
Justin waited until Brian had stopped at a traffic light before starting again. "You can say or do whatever you want," his voice was firm, "but I’m not going anywhere."
Without answering, Brian stepped on the gas when the signal opened. He continued driving until he’d taken the exit onto Route 22 before answering him. "Listen. I need you to pay attention to what I’m saying and for once not argue with me, not be dramatic---"
Justin jumped in, his voice exasperated. "I’m being dramatic?"
"—and just do as I’m saying."
"I’m not going," Justin repeated. "I’m not leaving you here."
Brian gripped the wheel tightly. "You have to."
Justin heaved in a breath. "I don’t have to do anything I don’t want, okay? You can’t force me to leave."
"Yes, I can," Brian said. "I can tell you to go if that’s the right thing to do."
"Fuck this shit!" Justin suddenly shouted. "And fuck you, Brian."
Brian sighed. "Stop being a drama princess."
"I’M NOT being a drama princess." Justin looked incredulous.
"Yes, you are." Brian pressed his lips together. "It’s critical that you do exactly as I’m telling you to do."
"What?" Justin looked at him. "Leave you here by yourself after you’ve just come back from the hospital, after..." his voice croaked for a second, "...after you almost fucking died? You had... you had---"
"What?" Brian asked. "What did I have? A fake heart attack?" He sucked in a breath. "Well, I’m fine now. I’ve already demonstrated the ability to carry on with my life as before. I can deal with things here without you needing to hold my fucking hand."
"You’re not fine," Justin huffed. "You just got out of the fucking hospital. You’re not even supposed to be driving yet, Brian. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you!"
Brian stopped talking after that. He knew logically, Justin was right. The doctors had told him to take it easy and not take undue stress. But then, it would be a whole different story if he could have the doctors come and stand in his shoes. How could he not take stress when there was a murderous psycho loose and after his loved ones? He would take it easy after he had everyone safe and secure. And that couldn’t happen if Justin was in Pittsburgh. Near him.
He’d been dead fucking wrong.
Justin’s problem was not because he’d had expectations from his father. Everyone knew Craig Taylor was a fucking bigot. That fact hadn’t stopped Justin from having a life in the last ten years. The real problem was Justin’s expectations of him. The fact that, since he was seventeen, he’d blindly trusted Brian to keep him safe no matter what the consequence. That was the biggest joke of it all, because they all knew how that had turned out. Whether it was the swing of a bat or the swing of an axe, it didn’t make a difference. The method to the madness didn’t matter because the reason behind everything was constant. He was the reason. Him. It had always been him. Now he knew why he’d always resisted Justin for so long. Because at some subconscious level, he’d always known that all this was an illusion. That it was vague and insubstantial. He was insubstantial. He always had been.
From the moment he’d found Justin standing under that lamppost ten years ago, he’d fucked things up. And at each critical juncture in their lives, he’d seen his fuck-ups get exacerbated and had done nothing to remedy the situation. He’d taken Justin in when he was too young, too innocent and had ruined any chance he may have had for a normal life. He couldn’t believe his own audacity. He’d caused him nothing but misery from the moment he’d touched him, and that damage had never stopped, not once in the last ten years. The incidents of the last ten days were testimony to that fact.
And Justin wasn’t the only one.
It seemed every decision he’d ever made had been a disaster. Agreeing to donate sperm for Lindz had been one of them. But it was too late for regrets now. Gus was real. He was a living, breathing testament to Brian’s own mortality. And he loved him more than he ever thought he would. But it was imperative that it stayed this way. That Gus remained safe. That all of them remained safe.
But how could they be safe? When they were fucking loitering around in this pathetic life-sucking ‘burg. Mel and Lindz had the right idea when they’d absconded to Canada after the bomb. They should’ve stayed there for good. But then, they would’ve been back in Toronto even now, safe and sound, if it hadn’t been for him. The only reason they were here was because he’d been in the hospital for the last ten fucking days.
Well, all that was going to stop right now. It was a question of survival, for all of them. He was not going to let a fucking psycho write that ending.
So he concentrated on the driving, going through the twists and turns on the long interstate taking them into the heart of Westmoreland County. All he needed now was for Justin to listen to him and not make this any more difficult than it already was. His eyes on the road in front of him, his mind went over the details for everything that still needed to be worked out.
When he took the last bend that took him on the road towards the House, he spoke. "It’s time for you to stop worrying about me and go on with your life."
"That’s bullshit, Brian," Justin said, "and you know it. I can’t leave you like this."
And that was the crunch. Justin still didn’t seem to understand the repercussions of what he was doing, what he was denying Brian. He felt his teeth digging into his lip as he grounded. "I’m not the pathetic invalid that you had to feed from straws for those ten fucking days in the hospital, okay? I got better! I came home!" He took a deep breath. "You celebrated that triumphant return yourself. So, now beat it!"
"No!"
"Yes!" Brian pressed his lips together as he turned on the gravel driveway. "Go back. To New York. To your life. Your career. You were only supposed to be here for a week, remember? You’ve already over-stayed your welcome by a good six days."
Justin shook his head. "You don’t mean any of this, Brian."
"Yes, I do." He stopped the car and turned to Justin. "There are your bags in the trunk, all packed." He took out the envelope from his inner pocket. "Here are your fucking tickets." He pulled open the glove and took out the package he’d brought from Tony Molinaro’s. "And here’s your gun. It’s registered in your name and you need to keep this with you at all times. It’s not loaded yet but there are two shell boxes inside."
Justin looked dumbfounded as he stared first at the brown envelope with the Pittsburgh postage stamp on it, and then at Brian. "A gun?"
But Brian had already pushed open the car door and gotten out. "Mel!" he yelled as he walked to the front door, took out his keys and opened it. All the lights were on inside but he couldn’t see Melanie or the kids anywhere. "Mel?" he called again but there was no answer.
"Brian?" He heard Justin behind him as he pressed Melanie’s number on his cell again, throwing the keys on the sideboard in the lounge. "Listen to me!"
There was no answer to the call. "Fuck," he cursed as he climbed the stairs. "She’s still not picking up."
Justin was right behind him. "Brian, stop!"
Brian whirled around and grabbed his arm. "You need to go, Justin." Justin started again but he cut him off. "In fact, you shouldn’t have been here in the first place." He let go of Justin’s arm. "You should’ve stayed the fuck away."
Justin’s brows furrowed. "What the hell are you---" Then he stopped and shook his head. "I can’t go, Brian. I can’t leave you."
Brian looked into his eyes. His mouth worked for a moment—yes, you can—the words hovered at the tip of his tongue, but then he pressed his lips together, dropped Justin’s arm and turned around and continued climbing.
"What!" he heard Justin call out behind him. "WHAT?"
Brian reached the master suite, its door open wide, and looked inside. It was empty. He heard Justin reach behind him, stilled as his hand was grabbed and he was made to turn around and look at Justin’s face. "What, Brian?" Justin asked.
Brian looked into his eyes. "Yes, you can, Justin," he said. "You can leave me." Justin shook his head, but Brian went on before he could say anything. "It’s not as difficult as you think. In fact, it should be easy for you," he scoffed. A sudden wariness appeared in Justin’s eyes.
And then Brian gritted his teeth. "After all, it’s not like you’ve never done it before," he said and watched the color drain from Justin’s face. "You’ve had years of practice, Sunshine." He tasted something bitter in his mouth himself but somewhere, somehow, the time for cutting corners had come and gone. His hard eyes glinted as he looked at his lover. "So leave while you still have the chance. Before it’s too fucking late." He bit his lips. "You’ll do it one day in any case."
Justin looked like he was going to be sick and Brian could no longer bear to look at him because he knew he was hurting. That he’d hurt him. But it was for his own fucking good. He knew Justin was never going to leave him otherwise. He would go down with him and Brian couldn’t allow that to happen. Not after all that had already happened. All that Justin had gone through because of him. Brian couldn’t let Justin get hurt anymore.
So he moved and walked to the other side of the landing and tried the door of the girls’ bedroom and to his surprise, it opened easily.
"What the hell?" he muttered as he switched on the lights and found everything as it should’ve been. There was no sign of Melanie, though. Had she been able to find the keys after all?
He left the door open and turned around and saw that Justin was still standing where he’d left him, in front of their bedroom, unmoving. He swallowed around the painful lump in his throat as he walked to the kids’ bedroom on the other side of the landing, next to the library, and tried that door too. That door was open as well. What the fuck was Melanie talking about when she’d sent him that message?
But there was something strange about the whole situation. The doors were open, and Melanie was supposedly here to get their stuff, but there was no sign of anyone having touched anything in this room.
Brian took out his cell to try her again and was cursing the ringing bell and Melanie not answering the phone when he heard Justin’s scream.
"BRIAN!"
He turned and sprinted out of the room. "Justin?"
"BRIAN!" Justin’s voice was coming from their bedroom. "COME HERE!"
"What?" He rushed across the landing towards the master suite. "What is it?"
He reached the door to their room and found Justin looking at something outside their window. "BRIAN," he said, "THE STABLES!"
As he got near the window, he realized what Justin was looking at. Flames. Red, hot burning flames, licking the side wall of the stables. He felt his throat close as he stared horrified at the spectacle. Fire. The stables were on fire. He looked down at his cell phone. There had been a message earlier. Something about saying goodbye to the horses.
"Gus," the name came out all strangled from his throat.
There was sudden terror in Justin’s eyes. "Is he---"
"Fuck!" Brian cursed as he turned around and ran out of the room.
"BRIAN!" Justin was close on his heels as he bounded down the stairs, his heartbeat thundering inside his chest.
"CALL 9-1-1!" he yelled as he dashed through the dining hall door and into the kitchen. The light was off and he fumbled in the dark as he made his way towards the backdoor. He heard Justin’s voice on the phone as his hand closed around the doorknob. He yanked open the door, and stepped out, his eyes on the plume of dark smoke coming out from behind the tennis courts where the stables were located. He heard Justin’s voice from somewhere in the lobby telling him something about the phones not working, and was about to call out to try the landline in the den...
...when the kitchen door slammed shut behind him.
He stumbled as he turned to stare at the closed door, hearing the distinct click of the lock setting in place. What the fuck? He reached for the doorknob and just as his fingers touched it, he saw the lobby light go off through the glazed glass on the door. Frowning, he tried the knob and found the door locked.
"Justin!" he called out. "Open the door!"
There was no answer.
He tried to look through the kitchen window but could make nothing out from between the closed blinds. He banged on the door, trying to kick it open but there was no reply from inside. Where was Justin? Why wasn’t he answering him? He ran to the door that led into the sky-lit snack-bar, but found it locked as well. The House had suddenly gotten quiet. As if it was waiting for something and Brian didn’t know what it was. He felt goose bumps form on his skin.
"JUSTIN!" he yelled just as he noticed another light—this one in the upstairs bedroom—go off. Then the terrace turned dark. Then the dining hall. One after another, all the rooms inside the House—the office, the Game Room, the lobby, were turning off. What the hell! "JUSTIN!" he yelled again as he banged on the door and tried to open it again to no avail.
When his cell phone suddenly went off. He looked at the display. It was Gus. Something niggled him at the back of his mind, as he pressed talk and raised it to his ear. "Gus!" he spoke, "Where are you? And why isn’t your mom picking up the phone?"
But there was no reply to his question. Nothing except the sound of someone’s heavy breathing. "Gus?" Brian felt his heart thudding in his chest, as he turned around and looked at the thickening clouds of smoke from across the pool. "Answer me!"
He jumped as suddenly a voice spoke into the phone—a man’s voice. "So tell me, Kinney. How does it feel to be the poison in everyone’s lives?"
He felt himself go cold. He knew this voice. It was the same voice he’d heard eleven days ago in the tunnels and in his nightmares every night since then. The clown’s voice.
"You couldn’t let them walk away, now, could you?" the shrill tone sing-songed cheerily. "You had to bring them here, to this cursed place, even though they didn’t want to. Your little boys—both of them." The voice laughed mockingly, filled with a sickening, bubbly, choking amusement that was like fingernails scratching down a chalkboard. "Which one of them are you going to save now, Kinney?" it mocked as Brian felt his blood turn to ice. "The one burning to a crisp in the stables," the voice sniggered, "or the one about to be hacked to itsy bitsy pieces inside your house?"
And then the line went dead.
Brian felt choked, like he was going to stop breathing any second. No. This couldn’t be happening. The door hadn’t gotten locked by itself. The lights hadn’t gone off on their own. Justin was in there, inside the House, with... with...
He spun around and banged on the door. "JUSTIN! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE!" he screamed.
But there was no response to his pleas.
And his ears were still ringing with the words the voice—the clown, the mad man—had said about his son. In the stables. And his lover. In the House.
Gus. Brian knew he was going to be sick now. In the stables. He curled his hand into a fist and hit the door once, twice. "JUSTIN!" he screamed out one last time.
And then he turned and ran. His throat tight with terror, his vision blurring with what he told himself was the acrid smoke filling the night sky, he tore through the courtyard, his feet beating down the resin path. The phone in his hand, his thumb pressing the emergency numbers, he dashed across the swimming pool—only to curse in frustration at the no-signal message. Fuck.
He’d almost halfway crossed the tennis court when something made him turn around and rush to the tool-shed. He had no idea what he’d find once he reached the stables but he knew he’d need something. Something. He kicked open the wooden door and flipped on the switch but no light came on. Fuck. He blindly felt against the shed’s wall, where the boxes of tools and chemical cans were lined up on the shelves. Christ. He needed something. Anything. His hand closed around something long, and thin and distinctly metallic. The garden rake. Yes. He closed his hand around it, backed out of the tool-shed, and was off again.
His breath hitching, he cleared the line of Honeylocusts along the tennis court at full throttle, before his stride faltered at the sight before him. One wall of the stables was completely engulfed in flames and the doors were closed. The doors were never supposed to be closed. There were horses inside there. Horses and... and...
"GUS!" Brian screamed as he reached the burning building. "MELANIE!" He ran to the front doors, and tried to open the clamp. It didn’t budge. Christ. He raised the rake in his hand and brought it down, striking at the door with the metal spikes. Nothing. He raised it again and brought it down once more—and again the door didn’t budge. Shit fuck. It was bolted from inside.
The smoke filling his lungs, he ran around the barn, going past the burning side, towards the other end, and there too he found the doors locked. He tried the rake on them and then gave up, realizing they’d all been bolted from inside. Shit. He needed another way in. He looked at the stable windows. They were too high. If he had a rope, he could perhaps get in. But he had no choice. He had no way to...
He stopped and looked at the windows again. If he remembered right, there was another window. A little lower, on the side wall of the building. Which Walter had gotten closed because he was building another stall in that section. Brian ran to the barn’s other side and saw it immediately. Right there in the middle of the building, about six feet above the ground. Christ. "GUS!" he yelled again as he reached the window and tried to open it from outside. It was bolted shut. Well, it was only glass. He raised the rake and brought it down on the window, shattering the right pane with the force. Rising on tiptoes, he reached inside the broken glass with his right hand, searching for the latch, hoping there wasn’t a lock secured. His fingers closed around the latch and he pulled at it but it seemed to be stuck. Please God. He tried again, his fingers pinching around the steel latch as he pushed the pane with his other hand. And the window finally opened, both panes swinging inside.
Brian saw thick smoke gust out from the opening as he gripped the window frame with his hands and hoisted himself up on his arms, taking hold of the upper frame as he pulled himself inside. "GUS!" he yelled as he dropped onto the hay-covered floor and tried to look into his smoggy surroundings. He was in the newly built stall and he could hear the horses whinnying from the three stalls they were kept in. "MELANIE!" he called as he stepped out of the stall and looked around. The wall in front of him was swallowed up in flames, and he could see the flames were lashing at the ceiling—their heat like an inferno blazing, smoke filling the entire building, making it hard to see anything. If the ceiling caught fire, the whole place was going to come down on him. He had no fucking time. There were five stalls to his right and six to his left and he could see the doors on either sides were bolted shut. He could probably use the rake on them, but there were more important things to tend to first.
"GUS!" he yelled again as he took off to his left, stumbling through the smoke-filled barn. His lungs burning, he coughed fitfully when he tried to breathe through the smog, and looked under the stalls one by one—holding his breath in, his eyes blinking through the burning vapors stinging them. The first stall had a horse inside, he could see its legs, and apparently the horse could see him too—because it immediately heaved its legs in the air and let out a long, desperate whinny as it struck its legs against the closed stall door. He ignored the horse and moved on—knowing he won’t be able to free any of them until he had the bolted doors open. The second stall was empty, as was the third, but the fourth had another horse inside—this too gave out a frightened whinny as it noticed Brian’s crouched progress.
The fifth was empty but when he reached the last stall on this side, he noticed, through the smog and the heat, three bundled figures lying on the hay-floor. He felt his heart stop for a moment—and then he was scrambling through the stall door and crouching next to them, dropping the rake next to him. Gus. Mel. And little JR. Fuck. All three of them bound with duct tape. He grabbed first his son, then Melanie and JR and turned them around, noticing them struggle through their limbs bound together. Their mouths taped shut as well, their strangled moans were barely audible in the commotion. God. "I’m here." he told him as he pulled at the tape, peeling them off their mouths one by one.
"Dad!" Gus cried out.
"It’s all right, Sonny boy, I’m here," Brian told him as he worked on freeing Melanie’s limbs.
"Oh my God, Brian!" she cried and hitched in a breath and then broke into a coughing fit in the rising smoke. "That man," she struggled to speak, "Brian, that man---"
"I need your help, Mel," he interrupted her as he used the tines of the rake to cut through the tape first around her hands, and then her ankles. "Get JR free." He winced when he heard something fall somewhere behind him with a loud crash. "This place is gonna come down any second. We need to get out now."
Leaving her to her daughter, he set on to freeing Gus. He pulled off the tape from his hands and legs. "Come on, Gus." He pulled the boy to his feet. "We’re getting out of here."
Mel had gotten JR free—the little girl’s face was streaked with tears—so he picked up the rake and hurriedly led them all out of the stall. He saw that a large piece of wood paneling had fallen near the farther end of the stable and that door was now on fire—this was the crash he’d heard earlier. He looked up and saw the ceiling was also on fire and sparks were raining down on the floor below, igniting the hay-covering, filling the interior with thick, choking smoke.
"LET’S GO," he gripped their hands and holding his breath in the smoke, led them into the stall with the window. "Gus, I’m going to lift you up," he said as he hoisted his son into his arms until he’d grabbed onto the window. "You have to jump, it’s not very high," he instructed, as Gus crawled between the opening, "and stay close, we’re right behind you!" He waited until Gus had jumped down the other side and he’d heard his ‘I’m okay’ before he turned to Melanie.
"Now, you!" He picked her up and hefted her onto the window. He felt JR’s hands scrabbling onto his legs and he told her, "I’ll get you out of here, sweetie." He held onto Melanie until she’d climbed down from the other side and then he picked JR up, her tiny frame trembling in his arms, and lifted her up onto the window, until he saw Melanie’s hands from the other side grabbing onto her daughter and easing her down the other side.
Now there was only one thing left. The horses.
He got out of the stall and ducking under the raining ashes, he ran to the front doors. The horses whinnying loudly in their stalls, he tried to slide off the bolt and realized it was jammed shut. Shit. Choking in the filling smoke, he raised the rake high and brought it down on the bolt—once, twice, thrice, but to no avail. Please. He raised the rake once more and brought it down on the bolt as hard as he could and saw the fibre-glass handle shatter just as the bolt gave away. He kicked at the doors, shoving them open and then turned around into the stable—yanking open the closed stall doors as he ran. "Go, boy!" he yelled, urging the horses to get out, as he opened each stall door, "Go, get out, get out!" he screamed as the horses kicked at the walls, whinnying loudly as they escaped the burning stalls.
It was when he reached the last horse held in the stall towards the burning end of the stable that the ceiling finally came down. The horse whinnied timorously as he set it free and he watched it gallop away and out of the stables but as Brian turned around, he realized his own way was blocked. A large section of the ceiling had come down right in the middle of the stable and the side walls too were enveloped by flames. There was no way he could get to the open door or to the window in the middle stall where he’d come in from. He heard Melanie and Gus calling for him from outside but there was only one way for him to go. He turned around and faced the burning door. The flames licked down at the wooden frame from the ceiling and he knew he only had a few moments before that section also gave away. If he could get it to open with the rake. He looked down at the broken handle. Well, he’ll have to make do with what he had.
So he got as near the hot flames as he could, raised the rake high in the air and brought it down. The door didn’t budge. He felt sweat pouring down his body, the sweltering heat burning his skin as he felt the flames getting nearer and nearer as he hit the bolt again and again with the broken rake. Fuck. It wasn’t working. His breath heaving, he looked around to see if he could find something else to use on the door.
And that was when he saw it amidst the billowing smoke.
The bundled figure. Lying between the bales of hay in the last stall on this side. The stall which had been empty and which he hadn’t looked into until now.
What the hell? He waved his hands in front of him to see clearly through the smoke. He walked into the stall, tentatively, and blinked into the darkness. It was a small figure. A child. He crouched beside it and touched the bound limbs. And the child started kicking at him in frenzied terror, frightened whimpers coming out his taped mouth. Christ.
He sprang to his feet and ran to the door again, striking at the burning door with all his might. Please. He needed a way out. He hit the bolt with the broken handle of the rake, kicked at it with his knees and his arms, over and over and over again. He heard something crashing right behind him and felt the flames licking at his back. Please God. He raised the rake one more time and brought it down—tines-end—and cried out when the bolt finally gave away. He kicked at the burning door and saw the sky through the flames engulfing the door.
He ran back into the stall, grabbed the struggling child—a boy—and shushing him, he picked him up in his arms and ran out of the stall. He held the child close to his body as he closed his eyes and ran through the flames. He kept running and running until he could run no more, until he could sense the cool night air whipping at his skin and there he dropped to his knees and broke into a hacking cough, his breath stuttering, his heart pounding in his chest.
He felt hands on his back, on his arms, heard Gus’s voice talking to him and Melanie asking him something but he could hardly hear anything through his wheezing breath, and the buzzing in his ears, as he coughed and coughed, trying to breathe through the smoke still burning his lungs and throat.
"Dad," he felt Gus’ hands on his face, stroking his cheek, as he straightened up. He looked at his son and then enveloped him in his arms, hugging him tight.
"Gus," he said, "You okay?" His voice sounded scratchy to his ears. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"I’m fine, Dad." Gus hugged him back. "I’m okay."
"Brian," Melanie had her hand on his shoulder. "Who’s this kid?"
He shook his head as he looked at the little boy and realized Melanie had removed the tapes from around his mouth and limbs. "I have no clue. He was in there, in the last stall," he said. "I just saw him lying there, I almost missed him."
"I think I know him," Melanie said as they looked at the frightened child, who seemed to be in shock. "I think he’s Craig Taylor’s kid."
He stared into her eyes and then swallowed. It made no fucking sense but in a way it made all the sense. They were dealing with a psycho. Nothing was beyond him. "Are you okay?" he asked her and then looked down at her daughter. "And JR?"
"We’re fine." Melanie touched his arm. "But Brian, your hands, look at your face..." and there was something in her voice that made him look up. He didn’t know what she saw on his face, he could barely feel the cuts and burns on his hands. He felt numb. Disconnected. But her eyes were troubled. And he thought he’d seen that look on her face somewhere else. At a place he didn’t remember. Or didn’t want to remember.
He pushed away from her and got to his feet. "Whatever you do, don’t go near the House." He looked back at the main building and saw it was all dark. In fact, the whole neighborhood had been plunged into darkness. The street lights were off too. The clouds had parted slightly and he could see the stars peeking from behind—giving them the only light cover they had. He tried his phone but it still wasn’t working. Probably some kind of a jammer. He turned to Melanie. "What happened to your phone?"
"He took them away from us," she said. "He was in the House, Brian. He had an axe."
An axe. He pressed his lips together. "He’s still in the House. I have to go in there."
Melanie looked aghast. "You can’t."
"I have to." He looked into her face. "He has Justin."
And there it was again. That something in her expression which felt too familiar, too painfully intimate. She shook her head, her eyes filled with raw fear. "No, Brian."
"Yes," Brian told her. "I can’t let him get hurt again." He’d walked into a neatly laid out trap without realizing anything was amiss. He’d gotten everyone in this mess. And he had to get them out of it. No matter what the cost. He put his hand on her arm. "I need you to keep the kids close to you and try to get help. And don’t go near the House." He stared into her eyes. "Do what you can but for Christ’s sake, don’t get caught again," he pleaded. "I don’t have time to rescue you again." He swallowed heavily. "The doors are all locked in there. I need to find some way to get Justin out of there."
"But how?" Melanie looked at him. "How can you go in there when the doors are locked? He’s armed and he’s a psychopath and you know what he did to us before, Brian. He’s a murderer. You can’t just walk in there and expect you’ll be able to---"
She stopped when she realized his attention had darted away from her. His eyes were on the House and on the lone source of light which had been turned on in the upper level. He watched as a figure came and stood in the master bedroom window and looked out into the darkness. Brian didn’t know if he could see them out there, and he couldn’t see his face from this far away but he could make out the tattered clothes.
And he could see the axe. Raised in his hand.
They watched as the light went off and another one came on—this time on the ground level. The basement door. That went into the wine cellar.
A single lit doorway. An invitation into the House.
"He wants you to come in," he heard Melanie say.
Yes, he did. "But it’s a trap," Brian said.
She looked at him. "What are you going to do?"
"I’m going in, all right," he told her. "But not from that door."
She stared at him. "Then where?"
He looked on at the darkened country manor he’d bought five years ago—to prove his love to the man who’d meant the world to him. Who still meant the world to him. "It’s my house," he said. "I’ll find a way in."
*******
Continued next.
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*wibble* Don't believe him, Brian. *pets*
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But where's the fun in that? *grin*
I'm sorry you don't like the choices I have the characters make in this section, but that's the way I visualized it and that's the way it was going to go. I dunno if you've read the whole story yet... but the way I see it, Justin is the one who saves the day.
Have a nice day!