"You're ability to rationalize your own bad deeds makes you believe that the whole world is as amoral as you are."

~Douglas Coupland

"Jesus Christ, it's fucking cold out there!" Chris said as he entered the 7-ll.

"Did they predict this shit?" Hal asked, shaking the heavy flakes of snow from his jacket.

"Fucking weathermen never get shit right. Two to three inches my ass! Got to be at least a foot out there, and it don't look like it's stopping anytime soon. I hope Mac got home alright."

"Oh for fuck sakes, do you ever think of anything else. Mac this and Mac that. You sound like a fucking fag."

Hal met Chris on the Internet a few months ago. They were both part of the Aryan Nation's online community. Hal and Chris immediately connected. Hal respected Chris. He wasn't like most of the 'wannabe's on that site. Chris was a true activist, fighting the good fight, one at a time.

Hal had the newspaper clippings of Chris's trial pinned to the wall of his bedroom as a reminder that there were true white American's out there willing to do what ever it took to rid our nation from the parasites infecting it. Fucking judge should have given him a medal for trying to take that fag out, not community service. Fucking fags, Jews and niggars were ruining this country. Chris knew this and he tried to do something about it.

"Shut the fuck up! I told you, Mac is like us. He hates fags as much as we do." Chris said heading for the beer cooler in the back.

The dark skinned man behind the counter narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the two boys. They were loud, probably a little drunk, and spouting shit that made him very nervous. His hand instinctively went to the panic button under the register. He smelled trouble.

"Yeah well, when am I going to meet this Mac character anyway?" Hal asked peevishly.

Chris pulled out two six packs of Heineken and turned to face Hal. "As soon as he gets back from Portland; he went home for the holidays. You see, HE values the family, and understands the importance of family values. I told you, he's like us," Chris said and shoved a six pack into Hal's arms.

"Great. It's time we opened a chapter of the Nation here, in Pittsburgh. We got a respectable start. Sixteen, last count." Hal reminded Chris.

Chris had been trying to organize the group for some time now. He'd been alienated from most of his friends since he attacked Justin. That alienation turned out to be a good thing. It led him to the Nation.

He found a home there. They were like him, sane and righteous. They saw the dangers of those who drifted from family values and turned their back on Jesus. The worse offenders were fags and Jews. Niggars didn't really matter anyway. Once the whites took over again, they would put them back in their place.

When he had met Mac, he'd just started forming the idea of starting up a chapter. He'd been cruising the Internet looking for a 'friend'. And he found one. Several actually, on the Aryan Nation website. Then Mac came along. It was fate.

Mac hated fags, with a passion. Chris befriended him, but was cautious. He'd been testing him for some time now, and Mac had passed. It was time for him to be brought into the Nation. Chris and Hal had been recruiting, but their members were all very young. There was no one over the age of twenty-five.. Mac was in his mid forties. They needed a mature member to add to their family. Plus, Mac was ex Marine. He would be useful, when the time came.

"Hopefully seventeen. I'm going to ask Mac to join us when he gets back."

The bells over the store door jingled signaling someone else just entered.

Chris looked up curiously. It was late Christmas Eve, and very few people were out in this storm. The only reason why he was out was because he was bored and Hal had a four-wheel drive Hummer. Fucking machine could roll in any weather.

His eyes narrowed at the garishly dressed 'thing' that entered the convenient store. "It' had on a shaggy fur coat, purple pants and a ridiculous wool cap. His walk, and the way his hands were flailing all over the place as he was trying to dust away the snow screamed queer.

"Fucking fag," Chris mumbled under his breath.

Hal looked over to see what Chris was talking about. He sneered. "Think he took the fairy snow plow here?" Hal laughed.

Chris shot him a warning look. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed.

He wanted to see if the abomination was alone. He grabbed Hal by the arm and dragged him back out of sight.

Emmett cursed under his breath. Fucking mapquest. He must have put in the wrong information because he was lost, big time. He didn't even know if he was in the right town.

After driving around in circles for an hour, he decided to pull over and ask for directions. The good news was there seemed to be a gas station every other mile in this town. Whatever town that was.

He walked up to the man behind the register, who was hot he noted, and smiled prettily.

"Excuse me tall dark and handsome, but can you tell me if I'm in Claysville?" he drawled sexily.

The man gave him an offended look.

Shit! Emmett silently berated himself. This was not Liberty Avenue. He'd been so assimilated to that part of town he forgot what it's really like out in the world; especially in rural USA. He should know better. Hazlehurst taught him that being different, openly different, could cost you, big time. He quickly changed his demeanor.

He stood back and lowered his eyes.

"I'm looking for…" Emmett stammered and fumbled in his pockets to find the directions. He pulled out several pieces of paper, some money, and a string of condoms and laid them on the counter.

"Ah, here it is. Wilton Street." Emmett looked back up at man.

The cashier curled his lip in disgust. Emmett quickly gathered his things and stuffed them back in his pocket.

He didn't notice the paper that fell to the floor in his haste.

"You go ten miles north. Make right after big red barn. There Wilton. You need gas?" he asked, his accented voice dismissive and disapproving.

Emmett quickly pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket.

"Um, sure. Ten dollars worth please."

The cashier picked Emmett's money up as if it were contaminated.

"Pump four."

Emmett turned and quickly left the store. Once outside he breathed a little easier.

James had better appreciate what he had to go through tonight just to see him, he thought as he pulled the gas hose from the tank and started filling his car.

Inside, Chris and Hal came out from the back and looked out the glass door at the pathetic creature pumping gas.

"Fucking world is going to hell," Hal said.

Chris bent over and picked up the piece of paper the dirty little fag dropped.

There was something very familiar about him. He knew he seen him before, but where?

He opened the piece of paper and read the note.

"My dearest Em,

I am very sorry that I have not been around, nor contacted you, but it is necessary that my cover not be jeopardized. I ask that you destroy this letter, either burn it or shred it as soon as you finished reading it.

Having said that, first, let me say, Merry Christmas.

Second, stop fucking around.

"Our separation does not give you license to go out tricking every night. Yes, I've been keeping my eye on you. I'm very disappointed. And you will see how disappointed when you meet me at 234 Wilton Street, Claysville. The key I sent along with this letter is to a cabin I've rented there. Meet me there tonight, at midnight, where we will celebrate our own Christmas. You are not to tell anyone, except of course Brian and Justin, since I'm sure you are reading this to them now. Tell them I said congratulations, and I hope to be back soon. Take your own car, and be careful that you are not followed, though I am sure you won't be. Until tonight, know that I have missed you, and look forward to our reunion.

Yours, James."

Talk about disgusting. A fucking love letter. Chris looked back out the glass door. The fag was still pumping the gas.

Brian and Justin…Justin.

"That's it!" Chris said out loud.

"What?" Hal asked.

"I know that fag!"

Hal laughed. "First Mac, now some queen? You sure you're not a closet fag Chris?"

Christ turned a murderous glare on him "You fucking idiot! He's a friend of that fag I bashed! Justin Taylor! He was at my trial!"

Hal whistled lowed and looked out at the guy. "Man, some fucking coincidence, huh?"

Chris laughed. "No, it's fate. Come on," he said and walked toward the door.

He turned around when he reached it and looked at the cashier. They were still holding the two six packs of Heineken in their hands, they hadn't paid for them.

"Squeal and die, gas man. Hear me?"

Hal's blood ran cold. This was it. Chris meant business. He straightened his shoulders. He was ready. His heart was racing. Justice time.

The cashier turned his head and picked up a gossip rag. He opened it up and started reading it, his back to the two boys.

Chris smiled and left the store. The snow hit him in the face, cold and wet. He walked up to his bait and put his hand on the hood of the car.

Hal flanked the fag's other side, imprisoning him.

Emmett was caught off guard and squealed. He turned his head and came face to face with Justin's basher. Chris Hobbs. He would never forget that face. He could smell the man's hate. It permeated every pore in his body and radiated from his eyes.

He should be scared, he should be screaming his fairy little ass off, but all he could think about was how unfair life was.

"Emmett, got a date tonight?" Chris asked, an evil glint in his eye.

Emmett's eyes were glued to Chris's. He heard the man behind him chuckle.

"I'm just passing through," he said, knowing that it was pointless. These boys were not about to let him go easily, if they were going to let him go at all. His eyes frantically flew to the store to alert the cashier. His heart dropped. The man was purposely ignoring what was going on outside.

The truly sad part was that Emmett had been here before. Back in Hazlehurst. Sad, because he KNEW what was about to come next. If he didn't know, then at least he'd have the illusion of perhaps getting out of this in one piece for at least another few minutes. But he wasn't afforded that luxury. He sighed. "I'm so sorry, James," he thought.

"Really? I thought maybe you had a double date with your fudge packing friend Taylor."

Emmett's eyes widened. Chris recognized him as Justin's friend.

"Surprised? Yeah, I remember you. You were at my trial. How is good old Jus doing these days anyway?" Chris moved closer to Emmett.

"I have no idea of what you are talking about. I am expected at my cousins, they'll come looking for me if I'm late."

Chris laughed. "Bullshit. You dropped your little love note. Only one who'll be waiting for you is another pathetic fag like you. I don't mind, we could meet him together. What do you say? Emmm…." Chris drawled out his name almost seductively.

Emmett's stomached turned. Oh my God, what have I done? He knows where James is!

"No! Please," Emmett choked out.

Hal laughed behind him. The gas from the pump was now overflowing and drenching him.

Chris took the hose from him and placed it back in the pump station.

"You went over your limit Em. Tsk. Tsk."

"He'll have to pay then," Hal said from behind him.

Emmett's blood ran cold.

Chris reached out with astounding speed and grabbed Emmett by the throat. He flung him around and pinned his chest against the car. Hal grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back.

Chris reached into Emmett's pocket and started digging.

What the fuck? Emmett's mind was racing. What was Chris looking for?

He started struggling. Hal punched him in his back. The blow landed in-between Emmett's shoulder blades, making the air escape him. He couldn't breath.

"Move again and you're dead, pussy boy!" Hal growled and twisted Emmett's arms more painfully.

Emmett tried not to pass out. God please, don't let me pass out, he prayed. He knew how much worse it could be if that happened. A passed out victim was so much easier to kill than one begging and pleading. At least, when conscious, the victim appeared to be human, but motionless, the victim was just a target.

"Ah, here it is," Chris said and pulled out Emmett's cell phone.

He flipped it open and scrolled down the contact list. He frowned when he didn't see Justin's name. "Hmm… Seems we have a problem, Hal."

"No problem as I see it. I say we get the rope out of the Hummer and see how loud this piggy can squeal," Hal said in a sickenly sweet voice

"Well, yes, there is that. But I'm looking for bigger prey. Remember, I still have a score to settle. This is my buddy Justin's friend. We do want to invite Justin to the party, don't we?"

Hal smiled. He knew Justin was the fag Chris bashed. "Of course. Wont' be a party with out him."

Chris pulled Emmett's head back by his hair, painfully. "Why don't you have our friend's number in your contact list?" he spat into Emmett's pained face.

Emmett's eyes were glazy and he was having a hard time breathing.

"What?" he croaked out in a confused voice. Justin's number was in there, though he'd die before telling this filth.

Chris saw the confusion in the queers' eyes and frowned. He slammed Emmett's head back on to the hood of the car.

Emmett felt the bone crack in his cheek. Pain shot through his head, white blinding light flashed across his eyes.

Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out, he chanted over and over again.

Chris flipped the phone open and again scrolled down the contact list.

Ted

Mikey

Sunshine

Deb

Carl

Bri…

Sunshine.

Bingo. Chris smiled. He pulled Emmett's head back again by his hair. His cheek was cut, and blood was oozing out. "It's Sunshine, isn't it?"

Emmett was on the verge of passing out, but his eyes gave him away. They grew panicked at the name Sunshine. Chris knew he was right. He slammed Emmett's head back down again on the hood of the car.

Emmett passed out.

Chris flipped the phone and dialed "Sunshine". He looked over at Hal.

"He's out." Hal let him go and Emmett's body sank to the snow covered ground. Blood sprawled out along the virgin white snow giving it a gruesome look.

"What now?" Hal asked.

"Now, the party begins," Chris said as the phone rang for the third time.

PART 2

Justin reached for his cell just as Brian was walking out the door. "And don't forget the whipped cream!"

"Don't forget I'm going to spank your ass when I get back," Brian said and slammed the door shut.

They went through a whole gallon of ice cream, but Justin was insatiable tonight. He wanted another gallon, and whipped cream. Brian cringed at all the calories they were consuming, but hey, what better way to eat ice cream then off of his blond's red-hot sexy ass?

Justin wanted to go with him but Brian insisted he stay home. He wanted him hot and ready when he walked back in the door. He needed a cigarette anyway, and he'd been trying to stop smoking in the loft. What with Gus coming over more often, and a new baby on the way, he had to get use to smoking outside.

He stepped out of the building and shivered. Fuck, it was freezing, and there must have been at least two feet of snow accumulated. He started walking down the street. There was an all night convenient store two blocks away, he decided to walk. It would be much quicker then taking the time to dig his car out of the snow.

He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Emmett's number. This storm was really bad. Fucking queen should have canceled his date. No fuck was worth risking your neck for.

Ok, not true…his mind rebelled; he just hoped he got there all right.

It went straight to voice mail. Brian frowned. Well, maybe he turned it off because he was too busy being rammed, or rimmed, by James.

He left a message.

"Honeycutt. Give me a call when James gives your ass a rest. Justin wants to know you made it through this storm," he said then hung up.

He had an uneasy feeling. Emmett never shut his cell off. The man was notorious for 'not missing a thing'. James had complained that Emmett would answer his cell mid orgasm in fear he might miss some gossip.

A cold chill ran down his spine, that he worried had nothing to do with the weather.

"So, is it a Merry Christmas?" Justin answered the phone cheerily hearing Emmett's ringtone, which was the song "It's Raining Men" by the Weather Girls. He was worried he'd get lost or stranded in this storm.

"Why yes, it is a very Merry Christmas. I got my present, want to know what, or more accurately, who I got?" Chris's voice came over the line.

Justin felt like he was just punched in the stomach. He sank to his knees.

God, this is not happening. Please.

"Hobbs" he said in a dead calm voice.

"I'm flattered, you remember!"

"Where's Emmett?" Justin asked, afraid of the answer.

"You're little fairy friend is currently, lets say, unavailable. He had a little run in with the hood of his car. See that's the problem with you fags. Got soft heads."

Bile rose up in Justin's throat. "Is he alive?" Justin asked, all emotion void from his voice.

Show no fear…

"I believe he is. You'll have to come and find out for yourself." Chris laid down the gauntlet.

Justin didn't even hesitate. "Where"?

"Meet me at the old warehouse on Filmore."

"I'll come, but first I need proof Emmett is alive."

Hobbs sighed. He went over to the freak's body that was lying face down in a pool of his own blood and kicked him.

Emmett groaned.

"Get up, fag. Justin wants to talk to you." He put the phone down by Emmett's ear.

"Em?" Justin asked, choking back his tears.

"Jus..?" Emmett managed to croak out.

Chris pulled the phone back. "Convinced?"

"Yes. Me for him, Hobbs. Deal?"

Hobbs laughed. "Do I look stupid, 'Sunshine'? First, you come alone. When I'm satisfied that you are alone, I'll have MY friend, bring your friend. If you call the cops, or show up with anyone, I'll know, and then I'll have my friend kill your friend. Show up alone and maybe your friend gets to live. Now, how about that deal?"

"Agreed," Justin said. 'FUCK FUCK FUCK!'

Brian was going to kill him. If Hobbs didn't kill him first.

"Good. Be there in an hour," Chris said then hung up the phone. He threw the cell on the ground and reached down and hauled the filthy fairy up by his collar.

"Come on, princess. I need you alive. For awhile anyway." He threw him into the back of the Hummer.

"What about his car?"

Chris looked around. "Park it around back. No one's going to miss it, or the fag, for awhile."

Hal did as he was told then got in the driver seat of the Hummer. He started it up and pulled out of the gas station.

Emmett was awake in the back, but feigned unconsciousness. He needed to gather his strength.

"Where to, boss?"

"The old warehouse on Filmore." Chris smiled. - Boss. - He liked that. It was time after all that he took more of a leadership role. Mac would be proud he thought. He wished he were here.

On impulse, he pulled out his cell and dialed Mac's number.

He might not be around to enjoy the fun, but at least he could give him this small Christmas present. The knowledge that not only did he bag himself a queer tonight, but that he was finally going to get his revenge on that fag that got away.

Mac will be so proud…

PART 3

The cashier watched from the corner of his eyes as the hummer pulled away. When he was certain they were gone, he went outside and walked over to the pool of blood and shook his head. Fucking assholes were going to get him involved in shit he didn't need to be involved in. He walked back into the shop and got a bag of sand. He came back out and covered the bloodstain with the sand.

When he was satisfied it was all covered, he started to head back in when he heard music.

It was some disco tune. The cashier looked around and saw the cell lying on the ground several yards away. He went over to it and answered it, not thinking.

"'Ello?"

"Emmett?" the man on the other end asked.

"No Emmett. Emmett gone," the cashier said, as a moment of conscience hit him

"Who the fuck are you, where's Emmett? Did he get my message?" the man on the other end asked frantically.

The cashier cursed in his own language. "Your friend gone. Bad men took him away. Know nothing. No want trouble," the cashier said in his heavily accented voice and then hung up.

Brian's heart slammed in his throat. He had tried Emmett's cell again, knowing something was wrong. He hated being right. 'FUCK!'

He rushed back to the loft to see if Emmett had called Justin.

He slammed the loft door open calling Justin's name.

Nothing.

"JUSTIN!" He yelled again.

Silence.

"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Brian's mind screamed. He willed himself to calm down. Getting hysterical was NOT going to find Justin or Emmett. He pulled his cell out and called the number James gave him for emergencies only.

"Brian." James answered the cell on the first ring, knowing exactly who was calling.

"Emmett's in trouble."

"I know. Hobbs got to him. I'm on my way."

Under any other circumstances, James would be on automatic. No emotion, no remorse. But this was Emmett. It was personal, and his heart was slamming in his throat.

When Hobbs called him to brag about his deed, it took all of James effort to keep in character. He laughed, and congratulated Hobbs. He did put in a request though. He told Hobbs that he was coming back first thing in the morning and could he could keep the fags alive until then, so he could watch them die.

Hobbs was only too happy to accommodate him. He told 'Mac' where he was going to hold Emmett and Justin.

James would handle this, alone. He didn't need Brian there, it would only complicate matters.

"James, Justin is not here. Does Hobbs have him?" Brian asked, already knowing the answer.

Fuck! James was afraid of this. "Yes."

Brian was out the door, keys in hand ready to roll. "Where?"

Murderous rage coursed through his veins. His mind could not even contemplate Hobbs hurting Justin again. All he could think of was getting his hands on that scum and killing him. Slowly.

James didn't answer Brian. He knew what the man was feeling. And emotions like that caused mistakes. Mistakes that could get someone killed.

"Let me handle this, Brian."

"FUCK YOU! TELL ME NOW!"

James cursed. "Brian, if I tell you, promise me you won't move until I get there. You're closer than I am. I'm about a half hour away, you're only fifteen minutes away. I got Hobbs to promise me he'd keep them alive until tomorrow. He thinks I'm in Portland. If you fucking make one wrong move, it could mean one or both of their lives, understand?" James stressed in a commanding voice.

"I'm not a fucking idiot, just tell me where," Brian said, his car already on route, to where, he didn't know, but he was on his way.

"Promise me that you won't make a move until I get there."

Brian couldn't make the promise; he knew that if he saw Justin hurt, he'd kill Hobbs. But if he didn't make the promise, James wouldn't tell him. He had no choice. Brian never broke a promise, in his life.

"I promise."

'There was a first for everything' he thought.

James told him where they were being held.

Brian turned the Vette in that direction.

Fear gripped Brian, fear like he'd never experienced before. He could not believe this was happening. Not again, not to Justin.

DAMN IT NO! His mind screamed.

He silently prayed to a God he questioned even existed.

"I never asked for a fucking thing my whole life. I figure life hurts, and we either deal or we die. I didn't need you. Not when I was getting the shit kicked out of me by my father, or when I was being raped by some trick, or even when Andy was dying. I never asked for help or mercy. But I'm asking now…If you're up there, hear me…God please have mercy…help Justin."