Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
Author's Chapter Notes:

WARNING - Minor character death

CHAPTER ELEVEN


 


 


 


WARNING – MINOR CHARACTER DEATH


 


 


******************************************************


Don’t call pretty Peggy, she can’t hear you no more


Don’t leave no message round her back door,


They say the old laughing lady, she’s been here before;


She don’t keep time, she don’t count score.


 


     The Old Laughing Lady - Neil Young


 


 


 


BRIAN


 


You know sometimes how, when things start to go wrong, disaster just keeps piling on disaster until you don’t know which way is fucking up anymore?  Well, that’s how things happened when I got back to Pittsburgh.


 


Linds had acted as though nothing had happened when I came downstairs the next morning.  She'd made me breakfast, had laughed and fussed over Gus as always; I’d begun to think the whole fucking episode had been nothing but a drug-induced hallucination.


 


But when she’d come out with Gus to see me off, she’d given me a swift hug and breathed, “I’m sorry, Bri,” in my ear.  So obviously both of us remembered.


 


By the time I got back to the Pitts, I’d almost talked myself into believing that it had been just Linds, getting tipsy and spouting crap, as usual.  Almost.


 


*********************************************************


 


Tuesday morning I was sitting in my office at Kinnetic, catching up on shit.  I was ratty and tired, and when Cyn buzzed me to say Debbie wanted to speak to me I snapped at her.  I hadn’t been to the Diner since my blow-up with Mikey, and I guessed she’d decided it was time to run a motherly intervention.  I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.


 


“Boss, she says it’s urgent,” Cynthia said, sounding worried.  “She says it can’t wait.  She sounds really upset.”


 


And damned if I don’t feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise, like some cheesy horror story.  “Okay.  Put her through.”


 


“Brian?” Deb says, her voice shaking.  “Oh, God, Brian have you seen the Herald today?”


 


**********************************************************


 


 


Motorbikes.  I love them, but they’re fucking dangerous.  Especially when they hit a patch of ice and dump you under a Mac truck.


 


He wasn’t even speeding, according to witnesses.   It was just an accident.  Just fucking fate.


 


 


 


***********************************************************


 


 


 


It’s a beautiful day for a funeral.  The sun shines brightly, despite the cold; a terse reminder that life will go on, that the world will still turn no matter whom the bell tolls for.  We stay back from the mourners, Deb, Carl and I: away from the family members, the Taylors and the Hamiltons, all of them blond, well dressed and admirably restrained; the PFLAG contingent, the friends, the work associates.  Craig Taylor stands stony faced with his new wife and baby, and beside them stands Molly, her strawberry blond hair unmistakable against her black coat.  She’s leaning against a young man whose black hair is pulled back in a ponytail.


 


“He’s not here!” Deb hisses in outrage, dabbing at her eyes.  “Don’t tell me that fucking asshole hasn’t told him about his own mother’s funeral!”


 


“You’re not looking for the right thing, Deb,” I tell her.  I don’t need his blond hair to identify him; I know him instantly, standing with one arm around his sister’s shoulders; hunched in his black pea jacket.  I would know him in a dark room with a bag over his head.  “He’s there – with Molly.”


 


My heart’s fucking aching for him.  Jennifer gone?  Christ, how could that have happened?  I remember her walking into my office at Ryders, carrying her son’s life in a duffel bag.  Calling me on my shit.  I’d fucked him, he was my responsibility.  And then, after he’d nearly died because of my stupidity, telling me I couldn’t see him again, and then turning him over to me when she couldn’t handle him.  Being big enough to admit she was wrong.  Nearly crying for me when she found that I’d proposed to him and he’d refused me.  Brave, beautiful Jennifer.   How the fuck can she be dead?


 


I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.  Whosoever liveth and believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.


 


I watch as Justin hands Molly a rose; steps forward with her, places it on top of the coffin.  Molly hides her face in his shoulder.


 


I can’t begin to imagine how he must be feeling.  I remember how bratty he used to be about Jennifer when he was coming out, but that had just been teen shit.  He knew his mother’s worth, none better; and now he’s standing there alone by her grave, being strong for his little sister.


 


I should be there beside him.  I should have been there when he found out; and it makes me physically sick to think of how he heard about it.  Had Craig had the balls to call Justin, to break the news himself?  Or did he simply have the cops go to notify him about his mother’s death?  Whichever way it happened, I have to live with the fact that, at the worst moment of his life, when he needed me most, I wasn’t there to help him through it.


 


Christ, I couldn’t have fucked up more monumentally if I’d tried.


 


It’s over now.  The family mourners file forward, take handfuls of earth, sprinkle it into the grave; then they drift away towards waiting cars.  Justin’s hands are on Molly’s shoulders, and he’s talking to her bowed head.  She shakes her head, clinging to him; Justin says something else and she reluctantly nods.  He smiles at her and hugs her, then turns her away and gives her a gentle push towards Craig. 


 


I watch as father and son confront each other.  Justin holds his hand out; after a second Craig shakes it grimly.  Then Justin’s turning and walking towards us where we’re standing, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.


 


He pulls up short when he nearly walks into us, and something flickers in his eyes.


 


“Sunshine …” Deb’s voice breaks as she throws her arms around him.  “Oh, baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”


 


He closes his eyes and hugs her back.  “I never expected you to be here.”  His voice sounds raw, strained.


 


“How could you think I wouldn’t?  Jen was my friend, and I’m proud of that because she was a very great lady.  But you already know that, Sunshine.”


 


He nods silently, then pulls out of her embrace and looks at me properly for the first time.  “Brian,” he says formally.  “Thanks for coming.”  He holds his hand out to me, too.


 


I’m so shocked that I shake it automatically.  For a moment I have the totally freaky idea that this isn’t Justin at all … this is some dark imposter who looks like him and sounds like him but who … isn’t.  Like those pod-people from Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, or the evil Black Swan from Swan Lake.  My eyes flicker across his features, searching for something familiar; but everything is off.  He’s thinner, his face all sharp planes and angles; and paler than I remembered, although that could simply be in contrast to his mourning clothes and raven hair.  The hardest thing for me is looking in his eyes – seeing how all the love and joy and laughter and youth have gone out of them.


 


I keep staring at him.  I want to pull him into my arms and never let him go, but I’m frozen in place.  I can hear Debbie saying that of course he’ll come home with Carl and her for something to eat, but he’s refusing adamantly.  He says he has to get to Penn Station to catch a train back to New York. 


 


“I’ll take you,” I hear myself say.


 


He shakes his head.  “I’ll take a bus.”


 


Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.  I look him straight in the eyes and say quietly, “I insist.”


 


And I guess I haven’t lost it completely, because after a few seconds he nods his head.


 


 


**************************************************************


 


 


I glance across at him.  “This is kind of freaky.”


 


He pulls the band out of his hair and shakes it, letting it fall around his face.  “What is?”


 


For a moment I can’t fucking breath.  He’s stunning: the black hair frames his face, accentuating his pallor and making his eyes look like sapphires.  But his beauty is unsettling … unworldly, even.  I guess this is the sort of face Anne Rice had in mind when she wrote that stuff about vampires; he looks so young, so fragile, so vulnerable; but his eyes are old, old.


 


I force my gaze back to the road ahead.  “I don’t know what the fuck to say to you.”


 


“Just don’t say you’re sorry.”


 


“No.  No, I wasn’t going to.  I’m sure you’ve heard it enough.”


 


He’s silent, staring out through the windscreen.  Then he says slowly,  “You know, I never really liked Tucker; but then, I never gave myself the chance to get to know him.  I suppose part of me wants to blame him for killing her… for taking her on that fucking bike in the first place.  But it wasn’t his fault, anymore than it was the fault of the truck driver.  All that matters is that my Mom liked him … loved him, I guess.  And I know for fucking sure he made her happy … happier than Dad ever did.  He always made the decisions, called all the shots.”  His voice drops several registers, mocking.  “‘No wife of mine is getting a job, Jennifer.  You have enough to do looking after the house and the kids.’  Well, she showed him.  She got a career and a hunky toyboy.  And at least she didn’t get left behind to mourn him.”


 


His voice catches a little as he says this.  I wait, because I’m pretty sure that it’s a good thing that he’s talking.  But when he speaks again, he’s changed the subject.  “Why did you come, Brian?”


 


“Why wouldn’t I?  I know I wasn’t always your mother’s favourite person, but I respected her a lot.  She was strong.  Like you.”


 


He laughs harshly.


 


“Justin …” I reach out me left hand and touch his knee.  I’m relieved that he doesn’t move away.  “All I wanted to do was call you when I found out.  But Deb could never get your Mom to give her your new cell number … I guess she thought I’d weasel it out of her.”


 


He makes no comment.


 


“What’s going to happen to Molly?”  I ask.


 


He shrugs.  “She’ll live with Dad and the new family.  She’s not too happy about it, but there’s nothing else she can do.  She’s thirteen, and he’s got custody now.  She’ll be okay, though; she’s never disappointed him like I did.  And she’ll have a new little sister to take her mind off things.”


 


I hope he’s right.   “I was surprised not to see Daphne.”


 


“She’s in London.  Guy’s Hospital?  Have you heard of it?”


 


I nod.  I remember Daph was going to study medicine, but I hadn’t realized she’d gone abroad to do it.


 


“She’s just started her mid-term assessment.  So I haven’t told her.”


 


It shouldn’t surprise me.  He always has had this deplorable habit of putting other people first.   “You know she’s going to kill you when she finds out, right?”


 


He puffs out a little breath.  “So what’s new?”


 


“Well, one thing I can think of,” I smile, trying to lighten things a little.  “What’s with the new look?”


 


He doesn’t smile back.  “I got fed up with people seeing the little blond helpless twink every time they looked at me.  It’s not the kind of image you want to cultivate in New York.”


 


There doesn’t seem to be an answer to that.  I watch him drumming his fingers restlessly on the knee of his black pants.  “How’s Gus?” he asks.


 


“Not too good at the moment.  His Mommies have terminally separated.”


 


“Fuck, really?”  He’s looking at me now with real surprise, sounding like his old self for a moment.  “What happened?”


 


“Mel started using her fists on him.  And on Linds.”


 


He says nothing, so I flash him a glance.  He’s just staring at me.  “What?”


 


He shakes his head.  “I don’t believe that.”


 


“Well, it’s true.  And Linds wasn’t going to stand by and see Gus hurt.”


 


His face is carefully blank.  “So what does Mel say about it?”


 


I shrug.  “Haven’t spoken to the bitch.  Don’t want to.”


 


“So you’ve only heard Lindsay’s version?  Christ, Brian!”


 


I take a deep breath.  I don’t want to call him on his attitude, because I know he’s upset and emotional.  He’s always been grateful and respectful to Linds … Christ, she was more of his mentor than I was, in many ways.


 


“So where are they staying?”


 


“I’ve moved them into Britin until Linds can sort out what she wants to do.”


 


I can see him gaping at me.  Then suddenly he starts to laugh.  There’s a hysterical edge to it.


 


“What the fuck’s so funny?”


 


“I don’t know.  That you’ve kept Britin?  That Lindsay’s living there?  Both of the above?  And Dan … how does he fit into all this?”


 


“Dan’s nothing to do with anything, Sunshine.”


 


“Oh really.  Tell me, Brian, what did Linds say when she found out about him?  I’ll bet she was seriously pissed.”


 


There’s something in the way he’s talking that’s getting to me, as though he knows something I don’t.  “Yeah, actually she was.  She ripped me a new one for replacing you!”


 


The smile dies on his face.  “You know, Brian, for someone who’s so smart you really are a dumb mother-fucker, you know that?”  He blinks suddenly and hurriedly turns his face away from me.  “You know, I’ve changed my mind.  I’ll get a later train.  I think I really need a drink right now.”


 


 


****************************************************************


 


 


We don’t speak again until I’ve parked  the ‘Vette and we’ve found the nearest bar.  He orders and pays for a Beam for me and a Tequila for himself, and I follow him to a table by the window.   His mood has changed.  He’s brooding, morose.  I figure he’s thinking of Jennifer: I watch him fiddling with his glass.  “How’s your art going?” I ask, because I really want to find out.


 


“Dunno.  Haven’t painted anything since I left.”


 


“What do you mean, you haven’t painted anything?”


 


He shrugs and offers a small, false smile.  “Well you see, my muse didn’t get much inspiration sharing an apartment where there wasn’t enough room to swing a cat, let alone set up an easel. And studio space costs money.  More than a waiter’s wages can pay for.” 


 


I can’t hide my surprise.  He’s still waiting tables?  “Yeah, but you’re not at September’s anymore.  I heard you were sharing some rich guy’s place, that you had your own studio there, you were painting …” I tail off as I realise I’ve said way too much. 


 


He raises his eyebrows.  “And how would you know that?”


 


“Jen told Deb.  Deb told me.”


 


“Mom was nothing if not an optimist.” He laughs and tosses back his drink.  I signal the waiter for another.


 


“So it isn’t true?”


 


“Not that it’s any of your fucking business.  But yeah, I’m staying with a friend.  He’s at Art College and he’s trying to get a book of his poems published.  I’m illustrating it for him.”


 


“How much is he paying you?”


 


He avoids my eyes.  “Nothing, it’s a favour.”


 


I try not to think about what that might mean, and concentrate on what he’s telling me.  He’s illustrating some crappy amateur’s poetry book for free?  This isn’t how it’s supposed to be working.   Why the fuck isn’t he painting?  “What about the review you got?  Didn’t that open up any doors for you?”


 


He slams his glass down.  “Weren’t you listening all those weeks, Brian?  One swallow does not a fucking summer make.  And one review doesn’t make a fucking career!  Nobody is interested.  Nobody was, nobody is, nobody will be!  I’m not what they want; they think I’m too young, too inexperienced, too provincial.  And neither you, nor Art Forum, nor fucking Lindsay is going to change that!”


 


“But Justin, you can’t just give up on it.  You knew it was going to be difficult to start with …”


 


“No, I knew it was going to be fucking impossible!”


 


“Well, with that attitude I’m not surprised you’ve not got anywhere.  Did you try any of the agencies?  What about that list of companies I gave you …”


 


“Yes!  I told you!  I tried all of them!  And they weren’t interested, Brian.  Do you know how many applicants there are for every position?  And guess what?  They’ve all got qualifications!  Turns out there’s only one thing I’m qualified for … so that’s what I’m doing.”


 


“What you’re doing is exactly the same thing you were doing here!” I snap.  “Waiting tables and drawing fucking cartoons!”


 


He slowly claps his hands.  “Well done, Brian.  You finally figured it out.”  He giggles, high and mirthless.  “Fucking ironic, isn’t it?  All that way just to end up in exactly the same place.  I’m even still living off a rich guy!  He’s a lot younger than you, though.”


 


I can’t help wince, even though I can see how much pleasure it gives him.  New York has sharpened his claws. 


 


He stands up and spreads his arms theatrically.  “Well I’m sorry your little fairy story didn’t work out.  I’m sorry the Glass Slipper didn’t fit Cinderella.  And as soon as I’ve paid a visit to the john, I’ll be on my way before I turn into a fucking pumpkin or something!”  He walks away from me, heading to the rest room.


 


I sit and stare at my Beam.  My brain seems to have short-circuited, because all I can think is, How the fuck can this be happening?  All these months I’ve been thinking he was settled, that things were going right for him.  I’d imagined him being courted by critics and galleries, had expected to hear that he’d been offered his own show.  He was supposed to be making a new life for himself … but all he’s done is recreate the old one with a different cast!   Is this what I made him leave for?  Is this justification for everything we’ve been through?


 


He’s gone long enough for me to start to think he might have slipped out the back way, but then I see him threading his way towards me: his head is down, and there’s a furtive, guilty look about him. I’ve seen him move that way before, and I don’t need to see him wipe his nose, or note how dilated his pupils are, or how his pulse rate’s gone up to know exactly what he’s taken, and my heart drops right into my boots.  I grab his arm.  “What the fuck are you doing, playing around with that shit?”


 


“What?”  He lifts his chin defiantly.


 


“This!” I snarl, wiping a small trace of white powder from skin above his upper lip.  “Jesus, Justin, you know better than that!”


 


He’s turning then, heading for the exit with me right on his heels.  “You’re not walking away from me!”


 


“Watch me,” he snaps over his shoulder. 


 


I pull him round by the arm.


 


“What?” he yells, oblivious to the looks people are giving us.  “You’re going to lecture me now on the dangers of using recreational drugs?  Are you that big a hypocrite?”


 


“Justin, please.  I don’t want to argue with you … you’ve just buried your Mom, for Chrissakes… is this what your rich boyfriend’s giving you, Sunshine?  Is this how he’s paying you?  Fuck!” I shout into his face, fear and anger getting the better of me.  “You saw what happened to Ted, you stupid little shit!  Do you want to ruin your fucking life?”


 


I don’t even see it coming.  Next thing I know, I’m sitting on my ass on the sidewalk with blood trickling down my chin.  I’d forgotten he can throw a mean right hook when he wants to.


 


He’s standing looking at me with blazing eyes, fists clenched.  “There is only one person who’s ruined my life, Brian!”  he screams at me.  “And that’s you, you fucking bastard!”


 


He whirls, and runs.  I stagger to my feet as he darts out into the traffic; for a moment my heart’s in my mouth and I think he’s run under a bus.  But the driver steps on his brakes and Justin ignores his curses as he dodges cars, heading for the opposite side of the street.  I see him raise an arm and whistle, and then he’s diving into the back seat of the cab he’s spotted before it’s even stopped moving. 


 


And then he’s gone.


 


********************************************************


 


 “What the fuck happened to you?” Dan asks as I walk into the Loft.


 


I ignore him and go through into the bathroom where I survey my split, swollen lip.  I guess I should think myself lucky he didn’t take out a tooth.


 


Dan’s followed me, and he’s peering over my shoulder at the damage.  “How did you manage to get into a fight at a funeral?  Don’t tell me that kid hit you!”  The fucker’s laughing.


 


All I can think of is the expression on Justin’s face as he stood screaming at me in the street.  Telling me how I’d ruined his life… words that hurt more deeply than any physical blow he could have landed.   Christ, can that be true?  No matter how much bullshit I’ve thrown at him down the years, he’s always refuted that accusation with his every breath.  I desperately need to see him, talk to him; but how the fuck am I going to do that?  I don’t know his address, I don’t know his cell number.  I don’t even know the name of the guy he’s living with.  And I fucking let him get away!


 


I turn to face Dan.  At least there’s one thing I can do.  “You’re a Simon and Garfunkel fan, right?  So you know, according to Paul Simon there must be fifty ways to leave your lover.  Well, you only need to pick one.”


 


He says nothing for a second.  Then he shrugs.  “You know what, Brian?  The only thing I’m surprised about is that it took you so long.” 


 


I stand listening to him getting his shit together, and wonder if I should feel anything.  Because I don’t.  The only person I’m worrying about is Justin.


 


 


TBC


 


 


 


 

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