Going or Staying

Chapter 8

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Once he'd seen the newscast repeated, Brian's first impulse was to call Michael.

"Yeah?" came the sleepy answer.

"Ben? I need to talk to Mikey," Brian managed, trying to control his voice.

"Brian?" Ben asked incredulously. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It's close to 4," Brian stated evenly. Then, in a much quieter tone, he added, "And I need to talk to Mikey."

Something in his tone gave Ben pause and he was silent for only a few seconds before replying, "Yeah, hold on."

It seemed like hours before a sleepy Michael took the phone. "What the fuck, Brian?" he demanded irritably.

"I need a favour, Mikey," Brian said.

"At 4 in the morning?" Mikey whined.

"There was a shooting at Brett Keller's house," Brian grated, hating to have to say the words.

"What?" Michael gasped, concern and surprise evident in his voice. "Is Justin OK?"

Brian closed his eyes. "I don't know," he managed through a tightly clenched jaw. There was nothing Brian Kinney hated worse than knowing he wasn't in control of a situation. "Two people were killed," he explained as calmly as he could. "Others were injured. They're not releasing names yet."

"Fuck," Michael breathed in disbelief. "I'll be right there, Brian."

"No. I don't need you here. I need Brett Keller's number."

"Uh," Michael hesitated, trying to think. "His home number?"

"I don't give a shit if it's his fucking dry cleaner's number," Brian hissed. "Just give me whatever you have. You signed a contract with the man; you must have a business card or something for fuck's sake!"

"Yeah," Michael said hurriedly. "I have his office number."

Having already lost any patience he'd been trying to hold on to, he demanded. "Then give me the fucking thing already!"

After Michael recited all the numbers from Brett Keller's business card, he tried to calm his agitated friend. "I'm sure Justin's OK," he offered quietly.

"Yeah," Brian croaked around the lump in his throat. "Go back to sleep, Mikey."

Brian immediately tried all the numbers, only to get three automated messages telling him to call during regular business hours. "What the fuck do regular business hours have to do with Hollywood!" he raged after the third recorded message. Slamming the phone on the counter, he ran a hand through his hair while contemplating his next step.

"Daphne," he breathed as inspiration struck. He quickly dialed the number and waited for the groggy voice to answer.

"What?" she demanded into the phone. The greeting would have amused him if he'd been calling for any other reason.

"It's Brian," he said directly. "Do you have a number for Justin in L.A.?"

"Brian?" she repeated. "What time is it?"

"Why is everyone so concerned about the fucking time?" he growled. "It's a little after 4. Do you have a number for Justin or not?"

"Um," she stalled, her mind still muddled from sleep. "He emailed this morning. Said he was going to get a phone and he'd send another email with the number."

Brian rolled his eyes. That was Justin, all right. Why rack up long distance charges when email was cheaper? "And?" he prodded.

"Hold on," she sighed. A minute later, he heard the telltale sound of a computer being booted up in the background and knew she was in the process of checking for the email. When she came back a few minutes later, her disposition hadn't improved much. "Got a pen?" she asked harshly.

"Yeah," he replied, ready to take down the number. When he was done, he thanked her and was about to hang up.

"Don't 'Thanks, Daph' me," she growled irritably. "What the hell is going on, Brian?"

He considered telling her what he knew, but didn't want to worry her in the event that there wasn't any need. With any luck, she'd hear from him before she heard the news about Brett's party. "I just need to talk to him," he said simply. "I'll let you know if … there's anything you need to know," he trailed off, realizing he'd almost given it away.

She tried to protest, but he cut her off quickly and hung up the phone just as the buzzer sounded on the intercom. Going to the panel by the door, he pressed the button. "Yeah?"

"It's us," Michael's voice sounded from the street.

He couldn't resist a small smile as he buzzed them in and proceeded to unlock the door. Mikey was never one to stay away if he thought he was needed. When the newlyweds arrived at the door, Brian was on the phone trying the number Daphne had given him. He waved them inside while he waited for a connection to be made. When it only rang three times before going to voice mail, he cursed loudly and ended the connection.

"Anything?" Michael asked unnecessarily.

"Goddamned machines," Brian ranted. "That's all you get anymore."

Ben was standing by the TV, trying to catch any further piece of information. By the time the story was reported once again, they had no more information than when Brian had seen it earlier. This time, however, news cameras were clamoring to get shots of two gurneys being wheeled toward a coroner's van.

"Jesus," Ben breathed.

Brian's face lost all color when he saw the two dark body bags.

"Are you sure he was there?" Michael asked hopefully. "Maybe he stayed in a hotel or something."

Brian couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen where the two stretchers were being loaded into the waiting vehicle.

"Brian?" Michael urged gently with a hand on his arm. "Are you sure he was staying at Brett's?"

Brian shook his head slowly. "He shouldn't have been there at all, Mikey," he whispered hoarsely. "The job doesn't start for three weeks. He should be here. I should have… I …"

"This isn't your fault, Brian," Ben tried to assure him in a calm voice.

Brian slumped into his desk chair without looking at either of the two men. "You were right, Mikey," he said after a while. "I should have celebrated his achievement." He looked up at his best friend with tears in his eyes. "What if…" He couldn't finish the thought as his voice cracked and he lowered his eyes to the blank computer screen.

Ben squeezed Michael's shoulder supportively. "Look after him," he whispered in his husband's ear. "I'll keep trying the phone."

Michael nodded and went to stand beside his friend, putting one arm around his shoulders and using his other hand to clasp Brian's. "So, you'll celebrate when he gets back," he said softly. "He won't mind."

He didn't say anything else, knowing words were unnecessary. The scene mirrored that of three years ago when they'd sat silently in a hospital corridor waiting for word on the same blond man.

Ben kept hitting redial, encouraged by the fact that the phone was ringing a few times and not going straight to voice mail. After the tenth attempt, however, it became obvious that the phone had been turned off.

"Straight to voice mail," Ben sighed, putting the phone down in obvious disappointment.

Brian was watching the drama unfolding on the TV screen and suddenly had an idea. Dialing information, he requested a number for the Los Angeles Police Department.

Ten minutes later, he had a sergeant on the line and was explaining his dilemma.

"I have reason to believe my partner was at Brett Keller's party this evening," he explained as calmly as he could. "He was staying at Keller's house and I haven't been able to contact him." He listened for a moment before saying, "Justin Taylor, T-A-Y-L-O-R." After another moment's silence, he answered the question obviously being asked on the other end of the line. "Light blond hair, blue eyes, 5'9, 155 lbs." More silence during which Brian shook his head slightly. "No, no tattoos. A small scar on his right temple though." This time the pause was considerably longer and what little color left in Brian's face began to slowly ebb away. "What do you mean you don't know?" he finally demanded, his voice hard. "It was fucking Keller's party. He should be able to tell you who the guy is!" His shoulders slumped as he listened to the response. "Yeah, OK," he said wearily. He gave his name, the loft number and his cell number before thanking the sergeant and hanging up the phone.

Ben and Michael looked at one another, but remained silent as Brian stood stock still. When he didn't say anything for another minute, Michael once again put his hand on his shoulder. "Brian?"

Brian looked up, slightly startled as though he'd forgotten they were there. "One of the de… one of the … bodies… had no ID on him," he said slowly. "Blond hair, blue eyes…" His voice trailed off and Michael swallowed hard.

"We don't know that it's him," he said, his voice holding more conviction than he felt. "It's fucking California, Brian. 99% of the population has blond hair and blue eyes for fuck's sake!"

"Michael's right," Ben said gently. "Besides, like you said, Brett knows Justin. He'd tell them it's not him."

"He's in surgery," Brian replied, shaking his head.

"Christ," Michael blurted out in frustration.

"I need to get out there," Brian murmured, heading for the computer.

"Brian, why don't you let me do that. I'll get you a seat on the first possible flight. Michael, why don't you go and help Brian pack a few things."

Michael caught Ben's gaze and nodded slightly. Of the three of them, Ben was the best choice for making arrangements at the moment. "Come on," he said gently to his best friend. "Let's go get you dressed so you'll be ready when Ben's through."

Brian only nodded and headed silently for the bedroom.

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An hour later, Brian had taken a quick shower and dressed while Michael packed a few things in a small overnight bag. When they exited the bedroom, Ben came toward them from the direction of the computer. "There's a flight leaving at 9," he informed them. "If we leave now, we can drop by our place and pick up a few things for Michael before we head to the airport."

Both Michael and Brian frowned at him in slight confusion. "You can't go out there alone, Brian," Ben said gently.

"He's right," Michael agreed with a short nod before turning to face Brian. "We'll both go, and we'll find him, Brian, I promise."

"Yeah," Brian finally agreed.

"In the meantime, I'm going to forward the loft's calls to our apartment," Ben continued, always thinking ahead, "in case Justin calls before you get out there."

"Good idea," Brian replied with a nod, feeling marginally better now that a solid plan was forming. "I'll call you once we get to L.A."

Ben nodded in agreement. "I'll have Hunter stay by the phone while I take the two of you to the airport, then I'll be there until we hear something."

Unable to think of any other details they might have forgotten, Brian took a deep breath. "Let's go, then," he said, trying to keep the dread from his voice.

He wasn't at all sure he was ready for what might await him in L.A.

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