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Brian's POV

I sat staring at the underwear I held in my left hand. I had dropped my pen under my desk and digging it out had revealed that a pair of Justin's briefs had decided to take up residence under there as well. They must have fallen out of a bag when Jennifer had stopped by yesterday to unceremoniously dump a few bags of Justin's clothes on my desk. Mostly underwear, I supposed she thought I would not keep him in clean panties. Fuck her. I had taken the boy out of a potentially abusive situation but did I get any fucking thanks? No. I got bags of his fucking underwear tossed on my desk. I should have told her that the only time I wanted to touch Justin's underwear was when I was stripping it off him. Christ what a fucking mess. I wanted to claim that I didn't know what had possessed me to take him, but the fact was that seeing that boy stand up to his son-of-a-bitch father had made it impossible to leave him there. He had fucking guts I'd give him that. I couldn't name five adults who would have left everything they knew to  walk into the unknown.  Not the unknown, I told myself, not for him because for some fucking reason he believed I was going to take care of him.

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and tried to get the picture of his angry, hurt mother out of my mind. It was not my damn fault that her son was fucking gay or that her husband didn't have the sense of a fucking fruit fly. Nothing about this situation was my fault. So I had fucked him? So what? If I hadn't someone else would have. If the truth was to be told he was damn lucky it had been me, there are a lot of crazy fuckers out there.

Lost in thought I stared into space. Justin's future was so unsure at the moment. Estranged from his parents and persecuted nearly beyond endurance at that fucking center for homophobes that his oh so loving father called a school. It didn't take a genius to know that he had to be on the edge. A place to live, a way to support himself…Goddamn how could a 17 year old be expected to cope with all that crap. Because he was gay and  because the fucking world couldn't accept that, he had to grow up now. It wasn't fair and it made me goddamn furious. He should be allowed to stay a kid; to be gay and 17 but the reality of our lives made that impossible. There is no such thing as a gay child. 

I rubbed one hand over my face and leaned back in my chair, my feet on my desk ankles crossed. Justin's underwear still hanging from the fingers of my other hand.  I rubbed the cotton between thumb and forefinger as I contemplated what an incredible example this was of why I only fuck someone once. Complications. Who fucking needs them? Finally I shrugged and stuffed Justin's briefs in my pocket and prepared to return to what I had been doing. Somebody would be willing to take in "sunshine" and then I could get back to my fucking life. Literally. The thought made me grin and my mood lightened. 

Working on my current account was about to bore me out of my mind. There had to be something better out there than trying to sell white briefs for a company who wanted to "avoid any gay overtones…undertones" What the fuck ever. What idiots; who did they think probably bought ninety percent of their damned underwear? I thought of Justin modeling a pair or two for my presentation and it made me laugh.  They would probably love him. Sunshine selling underwear…I pondered that for a bit and found myself considering that if Justin had made dinner afterwards maybe he and I could…What in the goddamn hell! He and I could nothing. I didn't know what was wrong with me but I knew damn good and well what would fix it. A trip to Babylon and a new trick or two or three would clear things right up. Justin did not have the only tight ass in the whole fucking city and I would try more than one tonight. I ignored the problem of what to do with Mary Sunshine while I went out fucking. He wasn't my problem. 

My cell phone rang but lost in thoughts of all the ass I could stand, I ignored it. It finally quit and then the office phone began to ring. For some reason it caught my attention and when Cynthia burst into the room, I was sitting in my chair staring at the door trying to identify why the sound of the phone had suddenly made me ill.  She stopped dead at the look on my face.

"Well, what the fuck is it?" I snapped. She didn't hesitate, she was well used to my moods but I noticed that  she was gripping the phone hard and that she seemed upset. Her words confirmed it. "There was a boy on the phone. He was crying. He wouldn't talk to me, he just kept insisting that he had to talk to you. I was bringing you the phone but he hung up." The sound of my cell ringing again stopped her babbling.  I nearly leaped over my desk to reach the phone before it stopped ringing again. I dug it out of my coat pocket and flipped it open. Justin. Something had happened and I was probably going to have to kill his fucking father.

"Justin," I said into the receiver. I didn't have to ask. I knew that it was him and that whatever was happening was bad. I was pulling my sport coat on and juggling the phone, there was no answer on the other end, "JUSTIN! Would you fucking answer me!" There was silence and then in a tone that froze me to the spot he said my name. God what had fucking happened? I was searching for my keys but couldn't find them. Cynthia stared at me like she had never fucking seen me before. "Where are my goddamn keys?" I yelled, and tried to calm enough to focus on what he was saying…or not saying. Jesus Justin talk. "What happened Justin? What's wrong? Where are you?" Cynthia handed me my keys off my desk and I started for the door. My hand was on the door knob when what he said next stopped me in my tracks.

"Brian, he's dead." His words didn't seem to make any sense for a minute and then I was yelling into the phone again, who was dead and where was he at. The irrational fear that he had killed his father burned in my gut.  

"Home, I'm at home." The fear suddenly solidified. Why had he gone home? What was he fucking thinking? What had happened? Had his father finally gone over the edge and attacked him? I had first hand knowledge of the lengths his father's fucking rage would take him. Having nearly been killed by the bastard when he had purposely bashed my Jeep to hell with his car it was easy to believe that a violent attack against Justin might be next. My mind was whirling with more questions than I could ask and I left Cynthia standing next to my desk, jaw dropped as  I left my office at a dead run. 

"Tell me what happened." I demanded trying to sound calm and not like I was running a marathon through a building with highly waxed floors in my slick soled shoes. 

"I came in from school." He sounded a little calmer talking to seemed to be helping, "I stopped at the diner and got some lemon bars to eat while I did my homework, Daph dropped me off there. She had  to meet her mom. She didn't come with me today. After that I went home but when I opened the door to the foyer there he was…he's just sitting there. I thought he was hurt…he's dead Brian I don't know what to do." My mad dash slowed as my brain absorbed his words. He had stopped at the Diner. He wasn't at home he was…he was at the loft. Jesus Fucking Christ. What in the hell was going on? 

"There's a dead guy in my foyer." I had stopped running. Relief overwhelmed every other emotion, "Is that what you said?" 

"Brian aren't you listening. I found him. He's like…he's sitting there waiting for someone to come in only…he's not waiting, he's dead. He's naked and he's dead. And I don't know what to do. I can't help him. I wanted to help him but his neck…he's…Brian…" The panic was creeping back into Justin's normally well modulated voice. I could feel him reaching for me through the phone. Looking for an answer needing my help; fuck. I wanted to tell him to call his mama and let her help him but it was my building, my foyer…with a dead boy that someone had killed and Justin…FUCK! "Are you still there?" the edge on his voice made me wince and it was clear that his control was nearly broken.

I was on the run again. My relief had been short lived. Now I was not sure what I was more concerned about; the fact that Justin was standing in a place that a killer had occupied only a short time before, or that the police would get there before I did. Fuck they'd make mincemeat out of him, my innocent seventeen year old twink. God, what I had on my hands before had not been a mess, this was a fucking mess. He had to get the fuck out of there. 

"Yes, I'm still here. I'm on my way. Did you touch anything, the kid, anything?" I barked and my fear came out as rage like it always did, "Did you step in any blood?" 

"There is no blood." He sounded lost bewildered but as he continued shame colored his voice, "I wanted to touch him…I wanted to, I was going to help him but his neck. His head…it's not really on Brian." I heard him gag. 

"DO NOT THROW UP!" I screamed at him. "Do you fucking hear me Justin? Don't you dare throw up." He choked and coughed but when he came back on the phone he said he had not thrown up. "Did you call the police?" I asked.

"Not yet. I was scared. I called you first. I didn't know what to do, I still …I should have called them. I'm sorry. I can…now…" he was going to hang up. I yelled at him until I heard his voice again thin and wavering on the other end.

"NO, do not call the police. Get out of there." I paused and he didn't answer the only sound was that of his ragged breathing, he was clearly in shock. "Don't call the police. Just leave. Go to the Diner, to Deb. Let someone else call the fucking cops." There was silence again finally he spoke.

"Deb?" he said blankly. Fuck. 

"Yes, Deb at the Diner. Justin stop looking at that dead kid. Right now. I want you to go to the door and get out of there, do not look back. Go now." 

"He's blond." Was all he said but I heard the sound of movement and the distinct sound of a door opening. And then the blessed sounds of the street. The door clicked audibly closed on the nightmare behind him. 

"I'm going to the Diner, are you sure?" I assured him he was doing the right thing. I told him I wanted to  call Deb and tell her he was coming. He didn't want me to hang up but he finally let me get off the line.  I called Deb and told her that Justin had suffered a shock and I wanted her to take care of him until I could get there. 

"Until you can get here?" she echoed sounding unbelievably smug. 

"Just do it Deb, he needs you." I snapped and hung up on her. I breathed deeply trying to find a center of balance. I had reached my car and had finished my conversation with Justin while standing outside of it. I climbed in and started the engine. There was only one place for me to go. I called Cynthia and told her I would be out for the rest of the afternoon with a headache, that was not a lie.  She did not sound like she believed me and I could hear the unasked question hanging between us, just who was "Justin."

"Fucking Sunshine." I muttered pulling out of the garage and into the street. I dug my sunglasses out of the glove compartment as I drove one handed with half my attention on the street. I put them on and sat up and began the familiar drive home. If no one had found the kid by the time I got there, I would call the police. They didn't need to know anything about Justin. 

"He's blond" I heard Justin's voice so pale and unlike himself echo in my mind…"He's blond." I pounded the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. Fuck. Fuck, Fuck FUCK.

TBC

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