Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction

 


CHAPTER FIFTY


 


 


 


Lover, there will be another one who’ll hover over you beneath the sun,


Tomorrow see the things that never come today


When you see me fly away without you


Shadows of the things you know


Feathers fall around you and show you the way to go


It’s over.


 


  Birds – Neil Young


 


 


 JUSTIN


 


I think it’s the smell that brings me round. 


 


At first I’m completely confused; I’m not in bed, not on the couch ... there’s hard floor beneath me, pressing into my cheek, and that smell ... the first thing I think of is the night I tried to light the fire with Brian’s lighter fuel, and I wonder dazedly if it exploded or something, because my head hurts and I feel sick and woozy.  Then I hear a voice, a woman’s voice, humming; bizarrely, it sounds familiar.  I will my eyes open and turn my head towards the sound.  At first my vision’s kind of fuzzy, and I wonder vaguely if I’m badly hurt; I blink a few times, and gradually my sight clears.


 


Lindsay has a large bottle of turpentine in her hand and she’s pouring it over my painting, humming softly to herself as she does so.


 


She hit me.  With a bottle.


 


I reach up automatically, and my fingers find a large painful lump above my right eyebrow; there’s sticky stuff in my hair, and when I look at my fingers, they’re red.


 


Lindsay turns towards me, and actually smiles. 


 


I sit up groggily and the studio lurches sickeningly around me.  I force down the nausea.  I feel blood trickling down my cheek and wipe it away.  “Lindsay ...” my voice comes out as a croak, so I swallow hard and try again.  “What the fuck ...?”


 


“It would have been easier if you’d stayed asleep, Justin.”  She tilts her head.  “On second thoughts, though, perhaps it’s better this way.  Now you get to watch.”


 


I realise with chilling certainty that she’s deranged.  Not just delusional, not just obsessed ... she’s dangerous, and for the first time I’m genuinely afraid.  I try to get to my feet but my legs aren’t listening and I end up on my knees.


 


“Be careful, Justin!” she chides sharply.  “You might fall and hurt yourself.”


 


“You’ve already hurt me,” I say shakily. 


 


“Yes, and I’m sorry for that.  But you must realise you brought it on yourself.”  She throws more turps over the painting, heedless of the puddles that are forming on the floor.


 


Keep her talking.  Distract her.  Give yourself time to recover.  Maybe Brian will come.   I sit back down, and wipe away more blood.  “Lindsay, we can sort this out.  Just call an ambulance ... I’ll say I slipped.  I won’t press any charges.”


 


She turns towards me again.  “I’m afraid things have gone too far for that, don’t you think?”  Her tone is conversational, as though we’re chatting about the weather or some damn thing, and I find that the most disquieting fact of all.  “Anyway, as I already told you, this ends tonight.”


 


“So, what?  You want to go to prison?”  I’m appealing to whatever reason she still has.  “What about Gus?  You want him to go through that ... knowing his mother’s been locked up?”


 


She shrugs.  “Maybe I won’t be.  But even if I am, then at least Gus will know how much I loved him ... how much I was prepared to sacrifice for his sake.”


 


“Don’t kid yourself that this is about Gus!”  My voice rises and I wince as pain lances through my head.  “If it were, you wouldn’t be doing this ... you’d know that the most important thing for him is that you stay with him, not get locked up for assaulting your love-rival!”


 


“I should have known you’d try to twist things,” she replies with cold distain.  “Anyway, Gus will be fine.  Brian will make sure of that ... he will have the opportunity to become the kind of father Gus deserves, without your interference.  I have every confidence in him.” 


 


“He can’t be full-time father, you know that,” I say desperately.  “He’d have to give up work ... he wouldn’t be able to afford to keep Britin.”


 


“I’m sure Brian will come up with a solution.  And if not, well, he can afford to hire someone to help.  Like he did when you came back from New York so pathetically needy, and he hired that thug as a nursemaid.”


 


“He didn’t,” I protest.  “Boot’s my friend, and Brian offered him a job at Babylon, that’s all.”


 


She throws her head back and laughs.  “That’s what they told you!  I said you were dumb!  No, sweetie; Brian paid your good friend Boot to keep you amused and out of his hair while he got on with the important stuff.  Why do you think he’d have given up a job standing outside a nightclub in New York for one standing outside a nightclub in Pittsburgh, if he didn’t have a financial incentive?  Or did you really believe that a man like him would care about a silly little boy like you?”


 


I tell myself that she’s lying, that she’s just seeing things from her own fucked-up perspective, but I can’t deny that she’s shaken me.  I’d guessed that part of Boot’s motive for moving here had been to look out for me, but I’d assumed that was out of friendship ... I wouldn’t like to think Brian had paid him to do it.  Apart from Daph, Boot is the only friend I’ve made all by myself and I trust him explicitly.  I hate her for making me doubt him.


 


She’s turned away again, shaking the last drops from the bottle over the painting.  “Brian will never forgive you,” I tell her.


 


She pauses and looks back at me consideringly.  “It’s possible,” she answers thoughtfully.  “Although I think he will, once he understands.  He’s really a very forgiving person with the people he loves ... you should know that.  He’s forgiven you enough.”  She drops the bottle and reaches into the pocket of her Parka.  “It’s immaterial, anyway.  I’m doing what I have to.”


 


She pulls out a lighter and thumbs it.  “Brian gave me this, for my eighteenth birthday.”  She glances at me smugly.  “Much more thoughtful than a hustler, and so much more useful!  Don’t you think?”


 


She touches the flame to the bottom of the painting, and the turpentine ignites instantly.  In seconds the whole canvas is alight, while Lindsay watches with a proud smile.


 


I’m on my feet.  For a moment I think I’m going to fall, but I get my legs working and stagger towards her.  I grab her wrist and she glares at me as I try to drag her away from the blazing painting.  Already fiery gobbets of paint and varnish are dripping to the floor, and the puddle of turps goes up with a whoosh!, making Lindsay squeal as it singes the arm of her Parka.


 


“Jesus!” I scream, tugging at her and trying to blink away the blood that’s got into my eye.  “We’ve gotta get out of here!”


 


“Oh no, you don’t,” she gasps, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards her.  “You’re not going anywhere!”


 


I hit her, hard. 


 


“You little bastard!”  she shrieks, her hand flying to her cheek, eyes blazing.  “How dare you?”  Then she’s on me, flailing with her fists, trying to kick me.  I stumble backwards and knock over the jar of varnish.  It spins towards the wall, and trails of fire follow it hungrily.


 


I hold up my arms to ward off her blows; she might be a woman, but she’s taller than me and I’m still wobbly and uncoordinated.  “Lindsay!” I yell.  “We’re going to fucking die!”  From the corner of my eye I see my rack of canvasses go up in a burst of flame.


 


She doesn’t even seem to get it.  We stumble backwards and forwards, me trying to pull towards the door, she struggling to stop me.  The heat in the studio is already intense, and the acrid smoke from burning wood and chemicals makes my eyes water and my throat sting.  We’re both beginning to cough.


 


And then I hear his voice.  “Justin!” he bellows.  Lindsay leaps back as though she’s been shot, and I turn to see Brian barrelling towards me, snow in his hair and crusting his Gucci loafers, his black overcoat flying behind him.  Boot is on his heels.  If ever I doubt his love again, all I’ll have to do is remember the look on his face at this moment: fear, joy, fury, concern ... his emotions are written naked and clear for me to revel in, and I’ve never seen him more beautiful.  Relief floods through me and I feel my knees start to buckle, but Brian reaches me before I fall and his arms go round me, holding me up.   For a long moment he crushes me against him and I feel his lips on my hair; then he pushes me towards Boot.  “Get him out of here,” he snaps.  “I’ll see to her.”


 


Boot doesn’t hesitate.  He grabs me by the arms and begins to manhandle me towards the door as the flames snap and crackle around us.  Brian gives me one last, long look and then turns to Lindsay, who’s backing away from him, further into the studio, both hands clapped to her stricken face.


 


“Brian ... Brian!” I shriek, struggling uselessly in Boot’s grip.  “Don’t ... let me go, for fuck’s sake!”  I aim a kick at Boot’s shins, but he simply grabs me round the waist and picks me up bodily, tucking me under his arm as effortlessly as he would a child.  I frantically try to hold onto the door frame as Boot carries me out into the darkness, but he forces my fingers loose with his free hand and starts down the steps.   I have a last glimpse of Brian’s back as he disappears into the smoke, and then the flames converge behind him. 


 


 


 


 


TBC


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

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