NANOWRIMO STORY FINALE, part v
Nov. 18th, 2007 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laylafic**~~NANOWRIMO STORY FINALE, part v~~**
Entry word count: 5813
For Story Notes, click here.
Now on to Entry 23:
PART 3
87.
It was three past midnight by the time they made it back to the loft.
Physically, it felt as if they’d never stop touching each other. Even in the hospital, while the nurses cleaned up their wounds and tended to their burns and bruises, they couldn’t bear to not be within an arm’s reach. Couldn’t help but touch and hold, clasp and caress, rub and reassure. Couldn’t bear to let each other out of their sights even for a single moment. And then being questioned by the police, and their hysterical family, his mother and Deb and Carl and Lindsay, recounting the horrors they’d gone through over the course of a few hours, it was as if the only place they could find any strength from was each other.
It felt unreal that they’d actually made it out of there alive.
The fact that the psycho was dead, that Justin had actually shot him with his own hands, hadn’t exactly sunk in yet. He still felt as if he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d spent two hours locked in the House with the psycho, two hours that had felt like an eternity—and none of it seemed real. That Brian, in the condition he was, had rescued Gus and Mel and JR and Craig’s son from a burning stable and then had come in to save him, had walked through that dark, dusty, long tunnel by himself to find his way inside the House—it all seemed out of this world.
So out of this world that he kept thinking he’d wake up from this nightmare any moment and realize he hadn’t really shot the psycho.
That the bullet he’d fired had actually struck Brian in the darkness. That he’d killed his lover.
His hands would start shaking uncontrollably every time this horrific thought occurred to him and then he’d find Brian’s hands holding his, rubbing soothing circles on his palms, slowly massaging his fingers, his presence warm and sure next to him.
Brian, who was alive, who’d made it out of there along with him—in one piece. Brian, who, aside from the second degree burns and cuts on his arms and hands from breaking the glass window in the stables, and the absolute fucking trauma and devastating stress he’d gone through in one night, was more or less unharmed. At least that’s what the doctors and the nurses reassured him. All he needed –all either of them needed– was a strong tranquilizer and a good night’s sleep, they said, and they’d be fine.
So Justin touched him, held him close to him, breathed him in—knowing that he needed that contact to keep himself in the moment. To reassure himself that he was alive, that they were both alive, that the horror of the last few days hadn’t destroyed them completely.
And Brian let him. Because Brian knew.
He knew that even though the emotional impact was only now hitting them, and that they still had to face the consequences of all this carnage in the hours, days, and weeks to follow, he knew that at least the physical part of it was over.
Henry was dead. His chapter was finally closed. Done with. Finis.
Justin had seen Craig hovering around the edges when they were returning from the hospital, but had refused to talk to him. He knew Craig wanted resolution, with him, with Brian even, because he’d saved his son from the fire, but neither of them were emotionally equipped to handle that discussion right now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to have that discussion. Just because Craig was now finally in a position to realize what his association with a psychopathic murderer – who’d attacked him and his friends at the theme park twelve days ago and had almost killed Brian – could’ve almost cost him and his wife, didn’t mean Justin was ready to talk. Or to forgive. It wasn’t that easy. It was never going to be that easy, no matter how much Craig wanted to make nice in the wake of his realization.
The police had found the body of Walter Gomez, the caretaker who looked after the House, inside the garage. He’s been shot five times in the chest at point blank range. That gun hadn’t been recovered as yet.
So it was in this state of numbness, that they were brought back to the loft. His mother was on the verge of perpetual tears but she seemed to sense Brian and him were too exhausted at the moment to do anything other than fold in and pass out on their beds in order to start the process of healing. Even Deb seemed to recognize their state of shock and let them go with the minimal of fuss, and only a quiet promise that she’ll be back in the morning with food and sustenance.
"Clean up, baby," she sniffled as she smacked a kiss first on his cheek, and then on Brian’s. "You two are a fucking mess."
Justin knew what she meant. He could still smell the smoke in his clothes and he knew, that like Brian, his face was covered with soot. Brian was even worse off, since aside from the soot, his clothes and fingernails were still caked and lined with dirt and soil from the tunnel.
"I brought the ‘vette back from the House." They turned to see Michael standing inside the loft door. At his feet lay the two bags Brian had packed for him earlier that evening. "One of the officers found the keys inside, after they put out the fire--" Michael said carefully, his eyes solemn. With mutual agreement, they’d all decided they would not be discussing what had been left of the House tonight. Not until they were ready to face those facts. "These were in the trunk," Michael said, a slight frown on his face as he regarded the bags, "so I brought them here."
With sheer force of will, Justin compelled himself to stay calm. Not right now. He was not going to think about this right now. He was not...
"Thanks, Mikey," Brian said impassively next to him, and this removed the frown from Michael’s face, who came forward to hug first him, and then Justin—softly murmuring in his ear to take care and to call if he needed anything.
After everyone had finally left, he led Brian into the bedroom and removed his filthy clothes—sensing his lover’s exhaustion coming off in waves. He opened the chest and laid out clean clothes for both of them for later. He stripped himself then, got the shower on as hot as he could take, and then took Brain’s hand and guided him inside the cubicle, joining him under the spray. The water fell in rivulets down their bodies, as he picked up a bar of soap and started rubbing it down Brian’s body, cautious to keep his bandaged arms and hands out of the spray. Gently, he soaped his lover’s chest and arms and back, mindful of the ugly bruises that were appearing only now, matching the ones on his own body, and felt their lassitude filling the space around them like steam rising from the heat. After a moment, he felt Brian’s hands move behind him and then felt them in his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo. He felt a groan bubbling in his throat as he felt his tension ease at the touch of Brian’s fingers and looped his hands around him. He felt Brian’s arms close around him and felt his body shaking as they clung together under the hot spray, the stress of the night draining away into the little hole in the floor along with the soap. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other up, silently, feeling no need to fill up the void with words. After a while, when the shakes had subsided, he took the shampoo bottle and returned the favor, and felt Brian’s soapy fingers on his body do the same.
When they were done, he got them out of the cubicle, wrapped Brian in the large soft towel and then left him to tend to his tasks by himself. By the time, he was through with his own chores, Brian was dressed and already sitting on the bed.
But he looked lost. As if he had no more strength left to do anything else.
So Justin got out the pills the doctor had given, the prescribed dose of two for Brian, and one for himself, and shared the water bottle he’d taken out of the fridge between the two of them. When they were done, he pulled back the covers and guided Brian under the duvet, before settling on his own side, his arms wrapped around Brian’s waist.
He heard Brian breathe slowly for a few minutes, and then something seemed to shift in his demeanor. "Justin..." he started.
And somehow he knew what was on Brian’s mind. But now wasn’t the time. He could not deal with it at the moment. So he tightened his arms around Brian. "Tomorrow, Brian," he said, deliberately making his mind blank. "We’ll deal with everything... tomorrow."
He settled his head on Brian’s chest and heard his heart beating strongly under his ear.
Tonight, they’d sleep.
The rest could come tomorrow.
88.
Time had suddenly become the single most critical fact of life.
It was no longer something that could be deemed indispensable.
They were young. They were in love. They’d had the world at their feet. They’d gone through the best and the worst of times together. But what this whole episode had taught them was that they no longer had all the time in the world to experience, express and rejoice over all the things they’d ever wanted. Everything they’d ever worked hard to achieve or conquered could be snatched away from them in a single moment.
Time was no longer in their hands. It had no set value. It could no longer be computed in terms of days and months and years.
Each moment was precious. Every single one of it. They could not waste it anymore.
89.
Tomorrow arrived soon enough.
Brian didn’t remember falling asleep but when he woke up, it was to the realization that he was alone in the bed.
For a moment, there was this wave of panic that inundated his senses, as the memories of the night before suddenly came rushing back with such a force that he felt staggered. Justin!—he nearly cried out as the images from what he’d seen and experienced the previous night, flooded his brain and he sat up in the bed, looking around frantically, blinking into the semi-darkness of the room, trying to determine how long he’d been out.
And then he heard the voices from the lounge, recognized one of them as Justin, and felt he could breathe again. There was nothing to fear. The nightmare had ended. The worst was over. He realized that it was dark because someone had closed the window and door panels to keep the light from coming in. Slowly, as he felt his heartbeat returning to normal, and his other senses coming back, the smell of bread toasting and coffee brewing wafted over to him from the kitchen. And despite the fact that his throat felt scratchy, and everything from his joints to his limbs to his ribs and his back hurt like a motherfucker, he felt his stomach rumble.
Still he let himself fall back down on the bed, not wanting to be found yet, and listened to the soft murmur of Justin’s voice talking to someone – probably Jennifer or Deb – the cadence of his tone soothing his senses. His eyes fell on the clock by the bedside, the clock he hadn’t been able to find before in his panic, and it said three forty-five. He realized he’d been asleep for over twelve hours. No wonder his stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t eaten anything in a whole day.
After a while, he heard the loft door slide open and close, and with it the voices receded—leaving only the sounds of Justin in the loft. A drawer opened and closed. A chair scraped back against the floor. Then the bedroom panels were pushed open and there stood Justin on the stairs, with a tray in his hand. He looked at Brian lying back against the pillows, staring back at him, and smiled.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A little while," Brian answered.
Justin watched him from the doorway for a moment and then stepped inside. He paused in front of the bed. "Why didn’t you call me?"
Brian thought of the panic he’d felt when he’d woken up and looked up into Justin’s eyes. "I could hear your voice," he said. "That was enough."
Brian thought he saw something flicker in Justin’s eyes for a second but before he could put a name to it, it was gone. "That was Deb with food," Justin said lightly, "I had to literally push her out of the door to make her finally go away. It was easier to get rid of my mom." Justin put the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the bed, his eyes looking tired. "Headache?" he asked, as his fingers slid into Brian’s hair.
"No." Brian shook his head. At Justin’s disbelieving look, he added, "Just my throat hurts." Then he looked closely at Justin. "And you?"
"My head was hurting a little but I took an Excedrin and that went away. I’m fine now." Justin’s fingers skimmed against his cheek. "Anything else? Your hands hurt?"
Brian shrugged. "Not really. It was just surface damage, the doctor said it’ll heal in a few days," he said, referring to the second degree burns he’d gotten on his left arm and right hand.
Justin looked into his eyes. "What about your ribs? They’re bruised badly."
He lied: "It’s still numb. I can hardly feel anything."
A frown appeared on Justin’s face. "Your back? Your legs?"
Oh, for Christ’s sake. "I’m fine, Justin."
Justin stared at him. "Brian, you may have short term memory but I haven’t forgotten that you fell down from one floor last night."
"And I landed on a leather couch, soft side up." Brian sighed as he took Justin’s hand. "Come here." He pulled Justin down and slipped his arms around his body, holding him close. "Just stay here," he murmured as he felt Justin’s hands circle his own waist. God. After the horror of last night, of the last twelve, thirteen days, this was all he needed. The reality of Justin in his arms. His strong, courageous lover, the bravest fucking man he’d ever met in his life. Warm and alive.
They stayed like that for a long time, breathing slowly, their heartbeats in tandem. He pressed his lips to Justin’s throat and felt Justin’s arms squeeze around him. "You’re really okay?" Justin asked. "Nothing hurts too badly?"
"I’m really okay," Brian reassured him. "And it’s nothing a couple days rest won’t help."
"Okay." Justin straightened up. "Then you need to eat something." He looked into Brian’s eyes. "When was the last time?"
Brian shrugged. "Can’t remember." And at least this much was the truth. He truly couldn’t remember if he’d ordered anything when he got to Kinnetik the day before. He’d had too much on his mind then—none of which he wanted to recall right now.
"Then it’s been too long," Justin said. "Get up." He pulled him into a sitting position. "Mom got us some sandwiches and pancakes. And Deb brought over lasagna and lemon squares. And there’s coffee I made." He pointed at the tray, on which lay a plate of sandwiches and a coffee mug.
"I’d like to get out of bed to eat." Brian slid his feet off the bed and sat up. "And I’d like to wash my face before I start stuffing it." He got up and headed to the bathroom. "I’ll meet you out."
By the time he was through with his morning ablutions, it was almost four-thirty and he was really famished. So he went outside and joined Justin at the kitchen counter, where a half a dozen boxes of food were still lying, waiting to be put away.
"Christ, what the hell do Deb and your Mom think we are?" he huffed as he took the sandwich plate and got a couple of lemon bars from one of the boxes. "The Pittsburgh fucking Steelers?"
"Don’t knock it, all right?" Justin heaped spoonfuls of lasagna on his plate. "I tried some of it before and it’s delicious."
Brian rolled his eyes. "Of course you did." He poured guava juice for himself and fresh coffee for both of them and picked up his tray and turned to take it to the dining table.
And froze when his eyes fell on the bags.
He remembered Michael had left them in front of the door last night. But someone had moved them to the side of the loft, just next to the bedroom wall. Probably Jennifer or Deb when they’d come earlier. Or perhaps Justin himself.
Justin, who probably still didn’t know what to do with them. What to make of them.
Brian realized Justin had noticed where his attention had strayed and for a moment felt him freeze next to him. Then with an audible sigh, Justin moved to the table and set his plate down.
"Come on."
Brian moved, his throat suddenly tight, his eyes carefully averted from the bags, as he put the tray down and joined Justin at the table. For a few minutes, they said nothing, just ate quietly, each aware of the point of dissention lying so close to them. Two packed bags that had caused that long argument, however contrived, that had continued till the moments before the crisis had begun last night.
The crisis that had almost ended in disaster. He’s almost lost his lover, his son, his son’s mother and sister. Innocent lives had been in danger. Everything had been so close. The fact that it was over... it felt like a dream. It felt like none of it was real.
"Brian," Justin finally spoke up. Brian watched his plate as he felt Justin’s right hand rest on his left one. "Brian, I have to ask you something." The hand squeezed his and Brian looked up into blue eyes. "We’ve been through so much in the last few days, that I don’t think we should have any doubts left in our minds about where we stand. The time has come that we should be... absolutely clear about everything in our lives." Justin’s eyes stared into his. "Right?"
Brian swallowed heavily and nodded. "Right."
"So, I need to know this." Justin picked up Brian’s hand and held it between both of us. He wet his dry lips and a frown appeared between his brows, smoothed, appeared again. "You didn’t mean it, did you?" he asked. "When you said you didn’t want me around, you didn’t mean it, did you, Brian?"
Brian lowered his eyes back to the table and took in a deep breath.
"Brian!"
"I did," he said as he raised his eyes to Justin’s face again. "I did mean it." He saw pain plume into Justin’s eyes and swallowed again, feeling his own eyes watering. "I did, Justin. At least the part about you being better off without me." His voice rose in volume, "you would’ve been better off, you’d have been safer and none of this shit would’ve happened if you’d not been with me."
There was a hard glint in Justin’s eyes. "He was a fucking psycho, Brian. You had nothing to do with what he did or how he acted. This wasn’t your fault."
"I’m not talking about last night." Brian stared at him. "I’m not talking about the last ten days either. I’m talking about this whole... fucking mess. None of this shit would’ve come to this point if you’d been away from me." He bit his lips. "You wouldn’t have been in this perpetual danger, being stalked by a fucking nutcase who was following your every move for the last God knows how many months and years."
"You were being stalked too," Justin gripped his arm. "He followed you around, Brian. He hacked into Kinnetik’s systems. He knew about your business, your family, about Gus."
"And I’m the one who got all of us into this shit," Brian said. "I’m the one responsible, Justin. It happened because I was with you. You were trapped in there for hours. You could’ve died..." his voice cracked "you could’ve..."
"But I didn’t," Justin cut him off. "I didn’t die because you came back. You came to get me out of there."
Brian shook his head, his throat constricting. "I can’t see you get hurt, Justin. I can’t..." He felt his teeth digging into his own lips as he felt a sense of helplessness fill his veins. "I know what he did to you. In the tunnels. What you’d been hiding from me. I saw it all. And I’m the one who put you in that situation." He felt tears at the corners of his eyes. "I’m the one who got you hurt..."
Justin’s voice shook as he cut him off again. "You’re not the one who put me in that situation, Brian. And you got hurt too. You almost died, remember? It didn’t happen because you did something wrong. It happened because Henry was a psycho and a homophobe who hated gays. It happened because he fixated on Craig Taylor’s son and everyone’s associated with him. It had nothing to with you."
Brian pursed his lips. "He fixated on you because he fixated on the fact that Craig couldn’t stand you being with me."
"Brian," Justin said, "if I’d never met you, I would still be Craig Taylor’s queer son and he’d still hate me."
Brian shook his head. "Do you really think Craig would’ve had a conniption if you hadn’t been involved with me? Half his rage and anger and bitterness was because you were seeing me, an older man," he snapped, "who would corrupt you and ruin your life and..."
"Brian!" Justin tried to cut in but Brian didn’t let him.
"...if you had been seeing someone else, someone... younger, more appropriate..."
Justin raised his voice, his eyes shining. "It would’ve made no difference!"
"He wouldn’t have been such a shit, Justin," Brian grounded. "He wouldn’t be such a bigot."
"He would ALWAYS be a bigot," Justin cried. "I would still not be the straight son he wanted. I wouldn’t be the business degree holder, the one who went to Dartmouth..."
"He wouldn’t have persisted so hard for Dartmouth if he you weren’t with me..."
Justin laughed. "He DID persist equally as hard for Dartmouth even when I WASN’T with you, Brian." He stared at Brian. "I went to him for help when I was with Ethan when I needed help with my tuition. Before you paid it without my even asking you. And guess what? He wanted me to switch from PIFA to Dartmouth."
Brian stared at him for a moment, his heart pounding, and then shook his head. "If you hadn’t gone to PIFA..."
"...then I wouldn’t be ME, Brian," Justin said. "I would be someone else. I’m who I’m today because of the choices I made. All my choices." He looked into Brian’s eyes. "Being an artist, being with you. If I wasn’t an artist, I don’t know what I’d be. So if your being in my life helped me become the man I’m today, if it was your influence that helped me choose my career and sent me to PIFA and to Hollywood and to New York and to London, then I’m thankful to you." He slipped his fingers through Brian’s and held his hand close. "Because if I’d gone to Dartmouth and become a businessman, I don’t think that person would be me. And if none of this happened to that person, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?" he asked. "Because you wouldn’t love me then. You wouldn’t love me if I was someone other than the Justin Taylor you know." Brian watched as tears spilled from Justin’s eyes and felt his own chest tighten. "I choose the life I have and I choose you and I’m never ever letting you go." Justin sobbed. "Do you hear me?"
Brian digested all this, his heart stuttering in his chest, and then squeezed Justin’s hand back "You’re wrong," he said, his throat tight. "I’d always love you. Even if I didn’t have you."
"But you do have me," Justin stated. "I’m not going anywhere, Brian."
"I can’t see you get hurt, Justin," Brian’s voice shook, sounding strange and scratchy to his own ears. "I can’t take it. I won’t be able to take it."
"But I’m never going to leave you, Brian," Justin cried. "You can pack my bags and buy my tickets, but I’m not doing it, ever again." He stared into Brian’s face. "I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve made mistakes in the past. But no more, okay? And even if you don’t want me anymore, even if you tell me to go now, I fucking won’t," he told him. "You can try and get rid of me. You can throw me out, cut out all my ties from you life but it won’t work. Not anymore, all right? You’re stuck with me!"
Brian stared at him for a moment, his throat convulsing, then he got up from the table and walked to his desk where he kept his confidential documents. "You’re talking about cutting ties?" He unlocked the drawer and took out what he was looking for. "I could never cut ties, Justin." He walked back to the dining table and put the documents in front of him. "Couldn’t. Even if I tried." He watched as Justin picked up the house and property deeds he’d had Morris prepare for him, with Justin as the co-signatory in everything he owned, and go through them. "It’s all yours, Justin," he said. "Everything. All of it."
Justin looked through the papers and then he put them down, his face wet with tears, his hands reaching out for Brian. "I don’t need these, Brian," he cried, his arms wrapped tight around him. "I just need you. I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t want to go anywhere."
Brian held him close. "You’re not. You’re not going anywhere." Buried his nose in Justin’s hair. "Because I’m yours too. Now stop... fucking crying."
Justin looked into his eyes, his breath hitching. "Brian." He touched a finger to Brian’s face and looked at him in wonder. "Brian, you’re crying too."
And Brian kissed him, with tears and pain and love, felt Justin’s lips open beneath his, his breath warm and shaky on his skin. This was what he needed. How had he ever thought he could live without this? But then he hadn’t expected to live. All he’d wanted was for Justin to be safe and out of harm’s way. He hadn’t thought he could truly live without this. "I’m sorry if I ever hurt you." He tightened his arms around Justin.
But Justin’s only answer was a shaky, ‘love you,’ as he held him firmly—safe and secure in his arms.
90.
They started on the futons and ended up on the bed.
Their movements unhurried and yet strangely urgent at the same time, they kissed and caressed and worshiped each other, limbs tangling, hands roaming over skin, tongues laving. As they clutched and stroked and made love desperately in the wake of this harsh new reality of their lives.
It had been two weeks since Halloween, when their whole world had turned upside down. Two weeks since they’d last touched each other like this. And the feel of their bodies, the taste of their skin, the sounds of their moans, and the scent of their lovemaking—all of it was familiar and yet new at the same time.
And when Brian rolled Justin on his side and slipped inside him, their hands entwined together, it was like coming home again.
They had no time to waste. They now knew life was too short and too uncertain to be spent in discord. That love was something that had to be treasured and taken care of, not discarded heedlessly. Each moment was to be cherished as of it was their last.
And this was a lesson they vowed never to forget again.
91.
Carl came in the evening with the updates.
It had taken over two hours for the fire department to completely control the blaze after their rescue. By that time, three rooms upstairs, and two downstairs, including the Great Room, had all been more or less gutted. The staircase was also destroyed. And that wasn’t all.
The police was all over the place now and they were finding out that not a single entrance and exit in the House had been left uncompromised. Henry had set up an elaborate surveillance set up and trap route throughout the House in each room, as well as around the grounds outside to keep watch on and stop any movement if needed. Carl told Brian it was a good thing he didn’t come in through the cellar door when he got the ‘invitation’, because that door particularly had been rigged with heat sensors and timed explosives. If Brian had tried to come in, the whole cellar would’ve blown up.
It wasn’t known yet what escape route Henry had decided for himself. It probably would never be known now. What was his plan? Why had he used the fire in the end? Why had he waited so long before coming after Justin upstairs? It was evident he’d wanted to play mind games, but was it only supposed to be with Justin? Had his plan been to call Brian in through the cellar and then kill him? His major ‘beef’ had seemed to be with Brian, so killing him so early in the game didn’t seem right.
But it was impossible to understand the psyche of a lunatic. Henry seemed to have developed a strong disappointment in how Craig had handled the situation, as was evident by the kidnapping of his son. Maybe, in his last days, his full and final hatred had finally shifted from Brian to Craig and he’d decided to take both his sons out in one night to teach him a lesson—with Brian only being a pawn to be played with and disposed of. But they’d never be sure of the whole truth.
If all that wasn’t enough, they’d made another revelation during a discovery of a secret storage in the house where the lab had been found. They’d found a box in the storage with documents and computer hard disks hidden, and one of the disks had complete blueprints of Kinnetik and Babylon in them. What was truly disturbing was that those files dated back five years, before the Babylon bombing had occurred. They had the entire floor plans and details of the entrances and exits at Babylon precisely drawn and highlighted. There was nothing else on those disks that could be deemed incriminating but the presence of those blueprints alone made the police wonder if Henry had been responsible for the bombing as well. After all they’d never caught any suspects. And if there was anyone who had the motive, and the capability, to accomplish such a heinous task, it was Henry Stanford Junior
What the truth was, they’d probably never know. How did one unravel the mind of a madman? It was a mystery that shrinks and psychologists all over the world had tried to decipher for centuries, but no one could ever say with surety that they’d solved the puzzle.
This was an experience that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. They could either let it consume them or make an effort to get beyond it.
The decision was in their own hands.
92.
Lindsay brought the kids to spend the night with them as they had a flight to catch on Monday.
Justin watched Brian hug Gus for a long time. Gus had asked to spend the next day with his dad as well, and Justin knew this was causing much of Brian’s emotional meltdown. Everyone knew Brian loved his son very much. He’d made an effort to be more actively involved in Gus’s life in the last five years and no one ever doubted that he’d always had his son’s best interests in mind with every step he took. The only person who’d ever doubted him was Brian himself.
So Justin knew Brian wanted to blame himself for all this. Just as he’d done with him earlier, Justin could tell he wanted to somehow claim himself responsible for this entire mess. But thankfully, Lindsay was having none of it. She held Brian tightly as she kissed his face and told him how proud she was of him for saving his son and her family. For saving Justin.
Despite the trauma of the previous night, they’d all decided that it would be best if the kids didn’t lose any more school days than they already had. So the girls were flying back on Monday, as they’d previously planned.
Their friends left them mostly alone that first night, and it was a good thing because Justin still found it hard to leave Brian’s side for too long. However, right from early Sunday morning, their entire day was spent in one emotional reunion after another with each and every single member of their family. One by one, all of them visited, to sit with them and talk, to reassure themselves that they were okay, to offer comfort and support.
The House had been burnt but it was only brick walls and wooden floors. Just rooms and furniture and wooded land around the property, all of which could be replaced. A new mansion could be bought. With bigger pools and larger tennis courts and better amenities.
The emotional repercussions of Henry’s legacy would stay with them for a long time. The only thing that mattered was that they were alive. That the healing had begun.
It was the start of a new life for them. As long they had each other, Justin knew they could embrace it with courage and vigor. With hope for a future together—however uncertain it may have been.
He had no more doubts left in his mind. Brian was his one certainty. And that was all he needed.
*************
Continued in Epilogue.
Entry word count: 5813
For Story Notes, click here.
Now on to Entry 23:
PART 3
87.
It was three past midnight by the time they made it back to the loft.
Physically, it felt as if they’d never stop touching each other. Even in the hospital, while the nurses cleaned up their wounds and tended to their burns and bruises, they couldn’t bear to not be within an arm’s reach. Couldn’t help but touch and hold, clasp and caress, rub and reassure. Couldn’t bear to let each other out of their sights even for a single moment. And then being questioned by the police, and their hysterical family, his mother and Deb and Carl and Lindsay, recounting the horrors they’d gone through over the course of a few hours, it was as if the only place they could find any strength from was each other.
It felt unreal that they’d actually made it out of there alive.
The fact that the psycho was dead, that Justin had actually shot him with his own hands, hadn’t exactly sunk in yet. He still felt as if he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d spent two hours locked in the House with the psycho, two hours that had felt like an eternity—and none of it seemed real. That Brian, in the condition he was, had rescued Gus and Mel and JR and Craig’s son from a burning stable and then had come in to save him, had walked through that dark, dusty, long tunnel by himself to find his way inside the House—it all seemed out of this world.
So out of this world that he kept thinking he’d wake up from this nightmare any moment and realize he hadn’t really shot the psycho.
That the bullet he’d fired had actually struck Brian in the darkness. That he’d killed his lover.
His hands would start shaking uncontrollably every time this horrific thought occurred to him and then he’d find Brian’s hands holding his, rubbing soothing circles on his palms, slowly massaging his fingers, his presence warm and sure next to him.
Brian, who was alive, who’d made it out of there along with him—in one piece. Brian, who, aside from the second degree burns and cuts on his arms and hands from breaking the glass window in the stables, and the absolute fucking trauma and devastating stress he’d gone through in one night, was more or less unharmed. At least that’s what the doctors and the nurses reassured him. All he needed –all either of them needed– was a strong tranquilizer and a good night’s sleep, they said, and they’d be fine.
So Justin touched him, held him close to him, breathed him in—knowing that he needed that contact to keep himself in the moment. To reassure himself that he was alive, that they were both alive, that the horror of the last few days hadn’t destroyed them completely.
And Brian let him. Because Brian knew.
He knew that even though the emotional impact was only now hitting them, and that they still had to face the consequences of all this carnage in the hours, days, and weeks to follow, he knew that at least the physical part of it was over.
Henry was dead. His chapter was finally closed. Done with. Finis.
Justin had seen Craig hovering around the edges when they were returning from the hospital, but had refused to talk to him. He knew Craig wanted resolution, with him, with Brian even, because he’d saved his son from the fire, but neither of them were emotionally equipped to handle that discussion right now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to have that discussion. Just because Craig was now finally in a position to realize what his association with a psychopathic murderer – who’d attacked him and his friends at the theme park twelve days ago and had almost killed Brian – could’ve almost cost him and his wife, didn’t mean Justin was ready to talk. Or to forgive. It wasn’t that easy. It was never going to be that easy, no matter how much Craig wanted to make nice in the wake of his realization.
The police had found the body of Walter Gomez, the caretaker who looked after the House, inside the garage. He’s been shot five times in the chest at point blank range. That gun hadn’t been recovered as yet.
So it was in this state of numbness, that they were brought back to the loft. His mother was on the verge of perpetual tears but she seemed to sense Brian and him were too exhausted at the moment to do anything other than fold in and pass out on their beds in order to start the process of healing. Even Deb seemed to recognize their state of shock and let them go with the minimal of fuss, and only a quiet promise that she’ll be back in the morning with food and sustenance.
"Clean up, baby," she sniffled as she smacked a kiss first on his cheek, and then on Brian’s. "You two are a fucking mess."
Justin knew what she meant. He could still smell the smoke in his clothes and he knew, that like Brian, his face was covered with soot. Brian was even worse off, since aside from the soot, his clothes and fingernails were still caked and lined with dirt and soil from the tunnel.
"I brought the ‘vette back from the House." They turned to see Michael standing inside the loft door. At his feet lay the two bags Brian had packed for him earlier that evening. "One of the officers found the keys inside, after they put out the fire--" Michael said carefully, his eyes solemn. With mutual agreement, they’d all decided they would not be discussing what had been left of the House tonight. Not until they were ready to face those facts. "These were in the trunk," Michael said, a slight frown on his face as he regarded the bags, "so I brought them here."
With sheer force of will, Justin compelled himself to stay calm. Not right now. He was not going to think about this right now. He was not...
"Thanks, Mikey," Brian said impassively next to him, and this removed the frown from Michael’s face, who came forward to hug first him, and then Justin—softly murmuring in his ear to take care and to call if he needed anything.
After everyone had finally left, he led Brian into the bedroom and removed his filthy clothes—sensing his lover’s exhaustion coming off in waves. He opened the chest and laid out clean clothes for both of them for later. He stripped himself then, got the shower on as hot as he could take, and then took Brain’s hand and guided him inside the cubicle, joining him under the spray. The water fell in rivulets down their bodies, as he picked up a bar of soap and started rubbing it down Brian’s body, cautious to keep his bandaged arms and hands out of the spray. Gently, he soaped his lover’s chest and arms and back, mindful of the ugly bruises that were appearing only now, matching the ones on his own body, and felt their lassitude filling the space around them like steam rising from the heat. After a moment, he felt Brian’s hands move behind him and then felt them in his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo. He felt a groan bubbling in his throat as he felt his tension ease at the touch of Brian’s fingers and looped his hands around him. He felt Brian’s arms close around him and felt his body shaking as they clung together under the hot spray, the stress of the night draining away into the little hole in the floor along with the soap. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other up, silently, feeling no need to fill up the void with words. After a while, when the shakes had subsided, he took the shampoo bottle and returned the favor, and felt Brian’s soapy fingers on his body do the same.
When they were done, he got them out of the cubicle, wrapped Brian in the large soft towel and then left him to tend to his tasks by himself. By the time, he was through with his own chores, Brian was dressed and already sitting on the bed.
But he looked lost. As if he had no more strength left to do anything else.
So Justin got out the pills the doctor had given, the prescribed dose of two for Brian, and one for himself, and shared the water bottle he’d taken out of the fridge between the two of them. When they were done, he pulled back the covers and guided Brian under the duvet, before settling on his own side, his arms wrapped around Brian’s waist.
He heard Brian breathe slowly for a few minutes, and then something seemed to shift in his demeanor. "Justin..." he started.
And somehow he knew what was on Brian’s mind. But now wasn’t the time. He could not deal with it at the moment. So he tightened his arms around Brian. "Tomorrow, Brian," he said, deliberately making his mind blank. "We’ll deal with everything... tomorrow."
He settled his head on Brian’s chest and heard his heart beating strongly under his ear.
Tonight, they’d sleep.
The rest could come tomorrow.
88.
Time had suddenly become the single most critical fact of life.
It was no longer something that could be deemed indispensable.
They were young. They were in love. They’d had the world at their feet. They’d gone through the best and the worst of times together. But what this whole episode had taught them was that they no longer had all the time in the world to experience, express and rejoice over all the things they’d ever wanted. Everything they’d ever worked hard to achieve or conquered could be snatched away from them in a single moment.
Time was no longer in their hands. It had no set value. It could no longer be computed in terms of days and months and years.
Each moment was precious. Every single one of it. They could not waste it anymore.
89.
Tomorrow arrived soon enough.
Brian didn’t remember falling asleep but when he woke up, it was to the realization that he was alone in the bed.
For a moment, there was this wave of panic that inundated his senses, as the memories of the night before suddenly came rushing back with such a force that he felt staggered. Justin!—he nearly cried out as the images from what he’d seen and experienced the previous night, flooded his brain and he sat up in the bed, looking around frantically, blinking into the semi-darkness of the room, trying to determine how long he’d been out.
And then he heard the voices from the lounge, recognized one of them as Justin, and felt he could breathe again. There was nothing to fear. The nightmare had ended. The worst was over. He realized that it was dark because someone had closed the window and door panels to keep the light from coming in. Slowly, as he felt his heartbeat returning to normal, and his other senses coming back, the smell of bread toasting and coffee brewing wafted over to him from the kitchen. And despite the fact that his throat felt scratchy, and everything from his joints to his limbs to his ribs and his back hurt like a motherfucker, he felt his stomach rumble.
Still he let himself fall back down on the bed, not wanting to be found yet, and listened to the soft murmur of Justin’s voice talking to someone – probably Jennifer or Deb – the cadence of his tone soothing his senses. His eyes fell on the clock by the bedside, the clock he hadn’t been able to find before in his panic, and it said three forty-five. He realized he’d been asleep for over twelve hours. No wonder his stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t eaten anything in a whole day.
After a while, he heard the loft door slide open and close, and with it the voices receded—leaving only the sounds of Justin in the loft. A drawer opened and closed. A chair scraped back against the floor. Then the bedroom panels were pushed open and there stood Justin on the stairs, with a tray in his hand. He looked at Brian lying back against the pillows, staring back at him, and smiled.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A little while," Brian answered.
Justin watched him from the doorway for a moment and then stepped inside. He paused in front of the bed. "Why didn’t you call me?"
Brian thought of the panic he’d felt when he’d woken up and looked up into Justin’s eyes. "I could hear your voice," he said. "That was enough."
Brian thought he saw something flicker in Justin’s eyes for a second but before he could put a name to it, it was gone. "That was Deb with food," Justin said lightly, "I had to literally push her out of the door to make her finally go away. It was easier to get rid of my mom." Justin put the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the bed, his eyes looking tired. "Headache?" he asked, as his fingers slid into Brian’s hair.
"No." Brian shook his head. At Justin’s disbelieving look, he added, "Just my throat hurts." Then he looked closely at Justin. "And you?"
"My head was hurting a little but I took an Excedrin and that went away. I’m fine now." Justin’s fingers skimmed against his cheek. "Anything else? Your hands hurt?"
Brian shrugged. "Not really. It was just surface damage, the doctor said it’ll heal in a few days," he said, referring to the second degree burns he’d gotten on his left arm and right hand.
Justin looked into his eyes. "What about your ribs? They’re bruised badly."
He lied: "It’s still numb. I can hardly feel anything."
A frown appeared on Justin’s face. "Your back? Your legs?"
Oh, for Christ’s sake. "I’m fine, Justin."
Justin stared at him. "Brian, you may have short term memory but I haven’t forgotten that you fell down from one floor last night."
"And I landed on a leather couch, soft side up." Brian sighed as he took Justin’s hand. "Come here." He pulled Justin down and slipped his arms around his body, holding him close. "Just stay here," he murmured as he felt Justin’s hands circle his own waist. God. After the horror of last night, of the last twelve, thirteen days, this was all he needed. The reality of Justin in his arms. His strong, courageous lover, the bravest fucking man he’d ever met in his life. Warm and alive.
They stayed like that for a long time, breathing slowly, their heartbeats in tandem. He pressed his lips to Justin’s throat and felt Justin’s arms squeeze around him. "You’re really okay?" Justin asked. "Nothing hurts too badly?"
"I’m really okay," Brian reassured him. "And it’s nothing a couple days rest won’t help."
"Okay." Justin straightened up. "Then you need to eat something." He looked into Brian’s eyes. "When was the last time?"
Brian shrugged. "Can’t remember." And at least this much was the truth. He truly couldn’t remember if he’d ordered anything when he got to Kinnetik the day before. He’d had too much on his mind then—none of which he wanted to recall right now.
"Then it’s been too long," Justin said. "Get up." He pulled him into a sitting position. "Mom got us some sandwiches and pancakes. And Deb brought over lasagna and lemon squares. And there’s coffee I made." He pointed at the tray, on which lay a plate of sandwiches and a coffee mug.
"I’d like to get out of bed to eat." Brian slid his feet off the bed and sat up. "And I’d like to wash my face before I start stuffing it." He got up and headed to the bathroom. "I’ll meet you out."
By the time he was through with his morning ablutions, it was almost four-thirty and he was really famished. So he went outside and joined Justin at the kitchen counter, where a half a dozen boxes of food were still lying, waiting to be put away.
"Christ, what the hell do Deb and your Mom think we are?" he huffed as he took the sandwich plate and got a couple of lemon bars from one of the boxes. "The Pittsburgh fucking Steelers?"
"Don’t knock it, all right?" Justin heaped spoonfuls of lasagna on his plate. "I tried some of it before and it’s delicious."
Brian rolled his eyes. "Of course you did." He poured guava juice for himself and fresh coffee for both of them and picked up his tray and turned to take it to the dining table.
And froze when his eyes fell on the bags.
He remembered Michael had left them in front of the door last night. But someone had moved them to the side of the loft, just next to the bedroom wall. Probably Jennifer or Deb when they’d come earlier. Or perhaps Justin himself.
Justin, who probably still didn’t know what to do with them. What to make of them.
Brian realized Justin had noticed where his attention had strayed and for a moment felt him freeze next to him. Then with an audible sigh, Justin moved to the table and set his plate down.
"Come on."
Brian moved, his throat suddenly tight, his eyes carefully averted from the bags, as he put the tray down and joined Justin at the table. For a few minutes, they said nothing, just ate quietly, each aware of the point of dissention lying so close to them. Two packed bags that had caused that long argument, however contrived, that had continued till the moments before the crisis had begun last night.
The crisis that had almost ended in disaster. He’s almost lost his lover, his son, his son’s mother and sister. Innocent lives had been in danger. Everything had been so close. The fact that it was over... it felt like a dream. It felt like none of it was real.
"Brian," Justin finally spoke up. Brian watched his plate as he felt Justin’s right hand rest on his left one. "Brian, I have to ask you something." The hand squeezed his and Brian looked up into blue eyes. "We’ve been through so much in the last few days, that I don’t think we should have any doubts left in our minds about where we stand. The time has come that we should be... absolutely clear about everything in our lives." Justin’s eyes stared into his. "Right?"
Brian swallowed heavily and nodded. "Right."
"So, I need to know this." Justin picked up Brian’s hand and held it between both of us. He wet his dry lips and a frown appeared between his brows, smoothed, appeared again. "You didn’t mean it, did you?" he asked. "When you said you didn’t want me around, you didn’t mean it, did you, Brian?"
Brian lowered his eyes back to the table and took in a deep breath.
"Brian!"
"I did," he said as he raised his eyes to Justin’s face again. "I did mean it." He saw pain plume into Justin’s eyes and swallowed again, feeling his own eyes watering. "I did, Justin. At least the part about you being better off without me." His voice rose in volume, "you would’ve been better off, you’d have been safer and none of this shit would’ve happened if you’d not been with me."
There was a hard glint in Justin’s eyes. "He was a fucking psycho, Brian. You had nothing to do with what he did or how he acted. This wasn’t your fault."
"I’m not talking about last night." Brian stared at him. "I’m not talking about the last ten days either. I’m talking about this whole... fucking mess. None of this shit would’ve come to this point if you’d been away from me." He bit his lips. "You wouldn’t have been in this perpetual danger, being stalked by a fucking nutcase who was following your every move for the last God knows how many months and years."
"You were being stalked too," Justin gripped his arm. "He followed you around, Brian. He hacked into Kinnetik’s systems. He knew about your business, your family, about Gus."
"And I’m the one who got all of us into this shit," Brian said. "I’m the one responsible, Justin. It happened because I was with you. You were trapped in there for hours. You could’ve died..." his voice cracked "you could’ve..."
"But I didn’t," Justin cut him off. "I didn’t die because you came back. You came to get me out of there."
Brian shook his head, his throat constricting. "I can’t see you get hurt, Justin. I can’t..." He felt his teeth digging into his own lips as he felt a sense of helplessness fill his veins. "I know what he did to you. In the tunnels. What you’d been hiding from me. I saw it all. And I’m the one who put you in that situation." He felt tears at the corners of his eyes. "I’m the one who got you hurt..."
Justin’s voice shook as he cut him off again. "You’re not the one who put me in that situation, Brian. And you got hurt too. You almost died, remember? It didn’t happen because you did something wrong. It happened because Henry was a psycho and a homophobe who hated gays. It happened because he fixated on Craig Taylor’s son and everyone’s associated with him. It had nothing to with you."
Brian pursed his lips. "He fixated on you because he fixated on the fact that Craig couldn’t stand you being with me."
"Brian," Justin said, "if I’d never met you, I would still be Craig Taylor’s queer son and he’d still hate me."
Brian shook his head. "Do you really think Craig would’ve had a conniption if you hadn’t been involved with me? Half his rage and anger and bitterness was because you were seeing me, an older man," he snapped, "who would corrupt you and ruin your life and..."
"Brian!" Justin tried to cut in but Brian didn’t let him.
"...if you had been seeing someone else, someone... younger, more appropriate..."
Justin raised his voice, his eyes shining. "It would’ve made no difference!"
"He wouldn’t have been such a shit, Justin," Brian grounded. "He wouldn’t be such a bigot."
"He would ALWAYS be a bigot," Justin cried. "I would still not be the straight son he wanted. I wouldn’t be the business degree holder, the one who went to Dartmouth..."
"He wouldn’t have persisted so hard for Dartmouth if he you weren’t with me..."
Justin laughed. "He DID persist equally as hard for Dartmouth even when I WASN’T with you, Brian." He stared at Brian. "I went to him for help when I was with Ethan when I needed help with my tuition. Before you paid it without my even asking you. And guess what? He wanted me to switch from PIFA to Dartmouth."
Brian stared at him for a moment, his heart pounding, and then shook his head. "If you hadn’t gone to PIFA..."
"...then I wouldn’t be ME, Brian," Justin said. "I would be someone else. I’m who I’m today because of the choices I made. All my choices." He looked into Brian’s eyes. "Being an artist, being with you. If I wasn’t an artist, I don’t know what I’d be. So if your being in my life helped me become the man I’m today, if it was your influence that helped me choose my career and sent me to PIFA and to Hollywood and to New York and to London, then I’m thankful to you." He slipped his fingers through Brian’s and held his hand close. "Because if I’d gone to Dartmouth and become a businessman, I don’t think that person would be me. And if none of this happened to that person, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?" he asked. "Because you wouldn’t love me then. You wouldn’t love me if I was someone other than the Justin Taylor you know." Brian watched as tears spilled from Justin’s eyes and felt his own chest tighten. "I choose the life I have and I choose you and I’m never ever letting you go." Justin sobbed. "Do you hear me?"
Brian digested all this, his heart stuttering in his chest, and then squeezed Justin’s hand back "You’re wrong," he said, his throat tight. "I’d always love you. Even if I didn’t have you."
"But you do have me," Justin stated. "I’m not going anywhere, Brian."
"I can’t see you get hurt, Justin," Brian’s voice shook, sounding strange and scratchy to his own ears. "I can’t take it. I won’t be able to take it."
"But I’m never going to leave you, Brian," Justin cried. "You can pack my bags and buy my tickets, but I’m not doing it, ever again." He stared into Brian’s face. "I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve made mistakes in the past. But no more, okay? And even if you don’t want me anymore, even if you tell me to go now, I fucking won’t," he told him. "You can try and get rid of me. You can throw me out, cut out all my ties from you life but it won’t work. Not anymore, all right? You’re stuck with me!"
Brian stared at him for a moment, his throat convulsing, then he got up from the table and walked to his desk where he kept his confidential documents. "You’re talking about cutting ties?" He unlocked the drawer and took out what he was looking for. "I could never cut ties, Justin." He walked back to the dining table and put the documents in front of him. "Couldn’t. Even if I tried." He watched as Justin picked up the house and property deeds he’d had Morris prepare for him, with Justin as the co-signatory in everything he owned, and go through them. "It’s all yours, Justin," he said. "Everything. All of it."
Justin looked through the papers and then he put them down, his face wet with tears, his hands reaching out for Brian. "I don’t need these, Brian," he cried, his arms wrapped tight around him. "I just need you. I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t want to go anywhere."
Brian held him close. "You’re not. You’re not going anywhere." Buried his nose in Justin’s hair. "Because I’m yours too. Now stop... fucking crying."
Justin looked into his eyes, his breath hitching. "Brian." He touched a finger to Brian’s face and looked at him in wonder. "Brian, you’re crying too."
And Brian kissed him, with tears and pain and love, felt Justin’s lips open beneath his, his breath warm and shaky on his skin. This was what he needed. How had he ever thought he could live without this? But then he hadn’t expected to live. All he’d wanted was for Justin to be safe and out of harm’s way. He hadn’t thought he could truly live without this. "I’m sorry if I ever hurt you." He tightened his arms around Justin.
But Justin’s only answer was a shaky, ‘love you,’ as he held him firmly—safe and secure in his arms.
90.
They started on the futons and ended up on the bed.
Their movements unhurried and yet strangely urgent at the same time, they kissed and caressed and worshiped each other, limbs tangling, hands roaming over skin, tongues laving. As they clutched and stroked and made love desperately in the wake of this harsh new reality of their lives.
It had been two weeks since Halloween, when their whole world had turned upside down. Two weeks since they’d last touched each other like this. And the feel of their bodies, the taste of their skin, the sounds of their moans, and the scent of their lovemaking—all of it was familiar and yet new at the same time.
And when Brian rolled Justin on his side and slipped inside him, their hands entwined together, it was like coming home again.
They had no time to waste. They now knew life was too short and too uncertain to be spent in discord. That love was something that had to be treasured and taken care of, not discarded heedlessly. Each moment was to be cherished as of it was their last.
And this was a lesson they vowed never to forget again.
91.
Carl came in the evening with the updates.
It had taken over two hours for the fire department to completely control the blaze after their rescue. By that time, three rooms upstairs, and two downstairs, including the Great Room, had all been more or less gutted. The staircase was also destroyed. And that wasn’t all.
The police was all over the place now and they were finding out that not a single entrance and exit in the House had been left uncompromised. Henry had set up an elaborate surveillance set up and trap route throughout the House in each room, as well as around the grounds outside to keep watch on and stop any movement if needed. Carl told Brian it was a good thing he didn’t come in through the cellar door when he got the ‘invitation’, because that door particularly had been rigged with heat sensors and timed explosives. If Brian had tried to come in, the whole cellar would’ve blown up.
It wasn’t known yet what escape route Henry had decided for himself. It probably would never be known now. What was his plan? Why had he used the fire in the end? Why had he waited so long before coming after Justin upstairs? It was evident he’d wanted to play mind games, but was it only supposed to be with Justin? Had his plan been to call Brian in through the cellar and then kill him? His major ‘beef’ had seemed to be with Brian, so killing him so early in the game didn’t seem right.
But it was impossible to understand the psyche of a lunatic. Henry seemed to have developed a strong disappointment in how Craig had handled the situation, as was evident by the kidnapping of his son. Maybe, in his last days, his full and final hatred had finally shifted from Brian to Craig and he’d decided to take both his sons out in one night to teach him a lesson—with Brian only being a pawn to be played with and disposed of. But they’d never be sure of the whole truth.
If all that wasn’t enough, they’d made another revelation during a discovery of a secret storage in the house where the lab had been found. They’d found a box in the storage with documents and computer hard disks hidden, and one of the disks had complete blueprints of Kinnetik and Babylon in them. What was truly disturbing was that those files dated back five years, before the Babylon bombing had occurred. They had the entire floor plans and details of the entrances and exits at Babylon precisely drawn and highlighted. There was nothing else on those disks that could be deemed incriminating but the presence of those blueprints alone made the police wonder if Henry had been responsible for the bombing as well. After all they’d never caught any suspects. And if there was anyone who had the motive, and the capability, to accomplish such a heinous task, it was Henry Stanford Junior
What the truth was, they’d probably never know. How did one unravel the mind of a madman? It was a mystery that shrinks and psychologists all over the world had tried to decipher for centuries, but no one could ever say with surety that they’d solved the puzzle.
This was an experience that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. They could either let it consume them or make an effort to get beyond it.
The decision was in their own hands.
92.
Lindsay brought the kids to spend the night with them as they had a flight to catch on Monday.
Justin watched Brian hug Gus for a long time. Gus had asked to spend the next day with his dad as well, and Justin knew this was causing much of Brian’s emotional meltdown. Everyone knew Brian loved his son very much. He’d made an effort to be more actively involved in Gus’s life in the last five years and no one ever doubted that he’d always had his son’s best interests in mind with every step he took. The only person who’d ever doubted him was Brian himself.
So Justin knew Brian wanted to blame himself for all this. Just as he’d done with him earlier, Justin could tell he wanted to somehow claim himself responsible for this entire mess. But thankfully, Lindsay was having none of it. She held Brian tightly as she kissed his face and told him how proud she was of him for saving his son and her family. For saving Justin.
Despite the trauma of the previous night, they’d all decided that it would be best if the kids didn’t lose any more school days than they already had. So the girls were flying back on Monday, as they’d previously planned.
Their friends left them mostly alone that first night, and it was a good thing because Justin still found it hard to leave Brian’s side for too long. However, right from early Sunday morning, their entire day was spent in one emotional reunion after another with each and every single member of their family. One by one, all of them visited, to sit with them and talk, to reassure themselves that they were okay, to offer comfort and support.
The House had been burnt but it was only brick walls and wooden floors. Just rooms and furniture and wooded land around the property, all of which could be replaced. A new mansion could be bought. With bigger pools and larger tennis courts and better amenities.
The emotional repercussions of Henry’s legacy would stay with them for a long time. The only thing that mattered was that they were alive. That the healing had begun.
It was the start of a new life for them. As long they had each other, Justin knew they could embrace it with courage and vigor. With hope for a future together—however uncertain it may have been.
He had no more doubts left in his mind. Brian was his one certainty. And that was all he needed.
*************
Continued in Epilogue.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-19 01:33 am (UTC)It was no longer something that could be deemed indispensable.
They were young. They were in love. They’d had the world at their feet. They’d gone through the best and the worst of times together. But what this whole episode had taught them was that they no longer had all the time in the world to experience, express and rejoice over all the things they’d ever wanted. Everything they’d ever worked hard to achieve or conquered could be snatched away from them in a single moment.
Time was no longer in their hands. It had no set value. It could no longer be computed in terms of days and months and years.
Each moment was precious. Every single one of it. They could not waste it anymore.
So true and a good reminder for all of us. I'm glad PsychoMan is dead, but I sure hate to see the end of this fic. ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 01:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 05:51 pm (UTC)ahhhhhh, i am like, emotionally drained from this. rawr.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 03:17 pm (UTC)i am like, emotionally drained from this
You and me both!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-02 03:14 pm (UTC)