Okay, I'm in an utter rage, seething at Brian and whoever this derelict is he has somehow introduced into Gus' life- into all our lives!  I'm blazing through lights and stop signs, speeding down Tremont to some apparently awful side of town I've never even seen before; the car slips and slides on the icy road but I sure as fuck don't care and I know that right now, Brian's only thoughts are on our son and his safety.  Brian's in the backseat with this lowlife 'Justin', who's having some kind of fucking seizure- this *lowlife* who apparently believes he knows where Gus is but who can't tell us at the moment.  Brian's only priority is Gus, but in the back of my mind, I've noticed through my fear and anger how he seems to really care about this young man.  This blond, timid little freak who knows where Gus is because he's the one who brought whoever my child's kidnapper is into our world.  And whoever this kidnapper is wants to get to this 'Justin' asshole through my son's Daddy.  The kidnapper may or may not be right in thinking that getting to Brian will make this young man comply with his wishes, but regardless, the psycho picked the one way to INSTANTLY get to Brian: Gus.   The *one* surefire way.  As we careen down the dark, slippery asphalt I try to stay on the road as I peer ahead, wipers madly swiping the sleet from the windshield.  I can't control the tears as they spill from my eyes.

"Lindsay!"  Brian gets my attention from the back seat.  "Up here- slow down when we get to that payphone.  Gus is very likely nearby... this is where I picked Justin up earlier; he'd just run from where Gus probably is now.  Justin can't walk well so he probably couldn't get very far from his dealer/pimp's crashpad..."

Drugs.  Prostitution.  Crippled.  Pimped out.  These adjectives don't fit who I see Brian picking up, trick-wise.  Brian's not into tweaked out chickens (drugs are okay- drug addiction is not), he doesn't pay for sex (doesn't have to), or help the disabled (he has a big heart, but outward displays of charity aren't his shtick- it would mar his asshole facade).  So something's weird here but I push this oddity into the back of my mind to ponder later, after my son is back safe at home.  At the payphone, I slow to a crawl at Brian's demand, looking as hard as I can into the shadows of the pre-dawn darkness for any sign of my child, any sign of that creature who knocked me out before taking our beautiful boy, any sign of life at all.  The streets are still, silent, utterly deserted, the only movement and noise comes from the now torrential sleet that clatters and pings against the windshield and roof, and the whining, rhythmic thwacking of the wipers.

I'm inching along, sniffling, distraught, stopping myself several times from hitting lampposts at 3MPH since my eyes are hardly watching the road.  I'm startled by a soft voice in the back; Brian's.

"Justin, Justin..." Brian whispers.  I glance back and Justin's eyes are hazy but he's trying to focus on Brian; he's not seizing anymore.

"WHERE'S MY SON?" I hear myself screech; it's like I have no control over my voice.  I slam on the brakes and even though we're only in the single digits on the speedometer, the car lurches and we all jerk forward before settling back.   "WHERE IS MY CHILD, YOU CRACKWHORE!?"

Brian's mouth has dropped and he's staring at me incredulously, no doubt shocked at my vehemence, language, lack of kind understanding, whatever--- in any other circumstance, I'd be laughing my ass off at his expression-- but not right now.  GUS.

Justin seems to hear me, but only barely.  His heavy lidded eyes blink several times, still gazing a bit bewildered at Brian; a few seconds after my shrill 'questions', his eyes wander slowly, uncertainly to mine.  He blinks more, trying to register where he is, who we are, why he's here, what's going on, etc.  At least, his expression seems an open book and that's how I read him.

"Brian...?"  he rasps hoarsely.  

Fuck this SHIT.  "WHERE. IS. MY. SON?  YOU LOSER-DERELICT-ASSHOLE, **TELL ME**!"

Brian and Justin both flinch at my screaming- 45 minutes ago I could hardly function at all.  All I could see in my brain was GUS and BRIAN and PANIC... now all is bile in my throat; fury, sheer terror and an all-consuming need to have Gus in my arms burn in every fiber of my being- all else be damned!  "Lindsay, park," Brian says, his voice commanding, in control, calm.  I know him and I know he's in Kinney Cope Mode- inside, he's as freaked out as I am.  But thank God he's got his wits about him; I decidedly do not.  All I know is that I need Gus.  And I need Brian's strength.  "Lindsay!" He snaps my attention back and I jerk the car forward before slowing to a stop again at the curb.

Throwing the Jeep in neutral and yanking up the parking brake violently, I whip around to fully face the back seat.  "TALK, YOU LITTLE SHIT, OR I'LL SLICE YOUR BALLS OFF AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR CRIPPLED ASS!" I threaten, surprising even myself.  Justin cringes deeper into Brian's arms, obviously becoming more and more aware and alert of what's happening.  "TALK! WHERE IS HE!?"  I shriek again.

He whimpers and Brian glares at me, no longer shocked- now furious.  "Lindsay, shut up!  Fuck!  You aren't helping to get Gus! Stop blaming Justin!- he didn't kidnap Gus!- be grateful he's here to help us find him!  I'm sorry but we *have* to give him a few minutes at least to fully wake up- he's always disoriented and lost after a seizure- Lindsay, he's not doing this on purpose!"  Brian sounds solid; angry but together- yet I know he's absolutely desperate to find our boy, desperate for Justin to fully wake.

"GRATEFUL!?  HE'S THE REASON MY CHILD ISN'T AT HOME SLEEPING WITH HIS TEDDY BEAR!  GUS IS IN DANGER BECAUSE OF THIS ASSHOLE!"  Fuck, I start sobbing and blubbering all over again.

Brian sucks in a breath.  "I know," he admits.  "But you aren't helping..."

"Brian..."

"Justin, it's Andy, isn't it...?" Not a question, really.  Justin nods.  "Where... where do you think Gus is?  Please, Justin..."  Brian quietly pleads.  "My son..."

Justin swallows with effort, his lips so dry they're cracking.  "Gaylord..."

"What?  What's Gaylord?"

"Street... up... 3- maybe 4 blocks," the boy rasps.

That's all I need at the moment and everyone and thing in the Jeep is thrown back as I squeal away from the curb and down the block.  The men are murmuring to each other in the back seat- Brian's tone is oddly, *infuriatingly* caring and while I have no idea or interest in what they're saying, my rage is now also directed at Brian.  How dare he?  How DARE he practically coddle this deviant who's responsible for putting my child - his child- OUR child- in such danger!  I hiss under my breath. 

"LINDSAY!"  Brian yells from behind me, again snapping me back into the 'now'- and I stomp on the brakes just before slamming into a poorly parked car- and just before I hear a crack and all goes white.