Dear Brian 

Chapter Four

 

“Justin, I think it would be a good idea if you went to see your grandparents for a week or two.”

 

“Jesus, Brian, what the fuck would that accomplish other than to make this guy think he’s won?”

 

“It’ll keep you safe and give me some breathing space.” They were lying in Brian’s bed together, it was three o’clock Saturday morning and neither of them was anywhere close to sleep.

 

The presents and cards and e-mails had continued through the week: More flowers had been delivered to Brian’s office on an almost daily basis, there had been food waiting for him every night when he arrived home, no matter what time it was, more clothing and then CD’s were delivered.

 

He had asked Horvath if someone could be stationed near his door to see who was leaving the food. An officer was assigned. He saw a delivery boy from the local Chinese place. The kid was in no way considered a possible suspect. The same pattern repeated every night an officer was there. The only ones to leave food were actual delivery people; the same went for the flowers and the clothing.

 

Next they tried to trace the gifts, tried to find out who ordered them.

 

There was no trail of credit cards or checks. Everything was paid for with cash.

 

Next they tried to question the clerks, asking if they remembered who had been in, as none of the orders were placed over the phone except for the first delivery of flowers. That had been done over the phone and followed by an envelope with cash to pay the bill.

 

Each clerk had a distinct memory of the man (and yes, it was a man) who had ordered the various things. He was tall and thin, with blondish hair and a moustache. He was medium height and balding, though young. He was a light skinned black. He was Hispanic. He had an accent. He had no accent. He was well dressed in a suit. He wore jeans with holes in the knees. He was about twenty. He was around thirty.

 

The all agreed only that he was soft spoken and polite.

 

Horvath thought that he might be some sort of actor or performer to have some expertise in makeup and disguise.

 

He admitted that he was guessing.

 

They had the blood that had been in the box analyzed. It was from a pig.

 

“Brian? If they don’t have any idea, what makes anyone think that my going away for a couple of weeks will make any difference?”

 

He was right and Brian knew that, but—it would make him feel better knowing that Justin was away.

 

“It’s not like he’s won.” Of course it was. He knew that. “It’s one less thing for me to be concerned about. If I know you’re safe, I can concentrate on trying to end this.”

 

“How am I supposed to go away with this hanging over you?” He rolled off of his back up on top of Brian, looking down at his face.

 

Brian kissed him, his arms coming up around his back. He pulled Justin’s face down into the hollow of his neck, “Because I want you safe. I want you around for a long time.”

 

He didn’t tell Justin that the last few e-mails had been more disturbing than the earlier ones had been. He had printed them out then hit delete so there would no chance of Justin coming across them by accident. He had turned them over to Horvath who had just shaken his head and suggested that Justin lay low for a while.

 

He had read, in part:

 

 

“That blond cunt. He was hanging around again. I really wish that you’d just tell him to fuck off when he does that, but you’re too nice for that and so he just keeps hanging around you and intruding on your time and your generosity.

 

I rally hate the way he jerks you around. I mean, I saw you both at Woody’s the other night and you were playing pool. He put his cock right in front of the corner pocket so you couldn’t shoot and then when you asked him to move he just turned around so that his ass was there instead. You laughed, but I could see that you were really annoyed and all you wanted to do was make the shot.

 

He is such a fucking baby. I wish that you’d tell him what you really think of him so that he’d go away and leave you alone.

 

It was all I could do not to walk right over there and tell him where he could fucking stick it if he wanted to, but I didn’t want to upset you.

 

You could do so much better than him. If you weren’t such a nice person, you’d have told him to go away by now.

 

He’s such a stupid twat. He thinks that he’s funny and that you really like him.

 

He makes me sick.”

 

 

Another had included:

   

 

“I really hope that Gus likes his kitten. I heard that he named it after you and I want you to know that it’s good that he thinks that it’s from you instead of from someone he doesn’t really know.

 

I know that you really wanted to give him that little thing because it would make him so happy, but that you didn’t want to get into a fight with those cunts who are raising him.

 

Well, OK, Lindsay is alright, but Melanie is a complete bitch and I hate her. I wish that she didn’t have anything to do with our boy.

 

I’m really happy that he looks like you. He’ll be a beauty, just like you when he grows up.

 

Even if that bitch cunt is with him all the time, he still gets to see you, so your goodness can still rub off on him.

 

I just really wish she wasn’t around.

 

Sometimes I daydream about how maybe we could pick him up from school together or how maybe sometime we could take him down to Disney together. I bet he’d love that.

 

Wouldn’t it be great if we could both see him off to his first dance together?”

 

 

Brian had asked Horvath why they couldn’t trace the guy with e-mail. They had tried that. The police had tried Reverse I.P tracking, but it had yielded nothing. He changed computers and accounts and the address provided was fake. He had used terminals at cyber cafes, a different machine or café each time. The home address he had provided turned out to be a burned out house in one of the Pittsburgh suburbs.

 

Yesterday he had written:

 

 

“Why the fuck do you let Michael whine to you the way he does? Fuck me, he can’t even take a piss without calling you first.

 

How many times a day does he call you? Five? Ten?

 

I wish he’d just fucking grow up. He’s always hanging around you. Even though he lives with Ben, he still wants you to do everything for him like you were his nanny or something.

 

Maybe he’ll get AIDS and that will take care of that.”

 

 

“I’d rather stay here. I’m worried about you, too, Brian. If I stay, he won’t do anything. I’ll really be OK.”

 

Brian looked up from where he was suckling Justin’s left nipple. “You know your mother wants you at your grandparents. She’ll be less upset if you’re there.”

 

“If he makes us change our lives, he’s won. You said that yourself.”

 

“There’s a difference between standing up for yourself and being foolhardy. Stop being a twat and go visit Grandma.” He started on the right, gently pulling the gold ring. “You know, I think that for your next birthday I may get you a new ring…or maybe just a diamond.”

 

“Yeah, right. There’s no guarantee that the police will catch him in a couple of weeks. I might be going away for nothing.”

 

The same thing had crossed Brian’s mind more than once. “You know Horvath said that they think they’re narrowing it down. If he thinks he’s cornered, he might get upset. I want you safe. I told you that.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“He’s not going to hurt me. He thinks that he’s in love with me.” His tongue was now in Justin’s naval.

 

Justin’s hands were in Brian’s hair. “Stop.” Brian laughed, almost silently. “No, I mean it, stop.” He pulled Brian’s head up, started pulling on his shoulders, forcing his body back up to where they were face to face. “I’ve been looking up stalkers. This guy could become really dangerous. Right now you’re on this big pedestal that he’s put you on, but if you do or say the wrong thing you’ll really upset him and then he could become really dangerous—he might want to punish you and that could mean almost anything from just leaving you along to killing you.”

 

“Drama queen.” Brian started kissing him again. In fact he had been discussing the same thing with Horvath just the day before. Horvath had done his homework.

 

The stalker was what was called a delusional stalker, likely suffering from erotomania—considered one of the major mental illnesses, right up there with schizophrenia or manic depression. It was where the stalker is under the delusion that the victim really loves him and would also likely include the belief that they’re actually destined to be together. He was probably in the category of stalkers who believed that, although they weren’t currently in a relationship, it was just a matter of time, that it was inevitable. All he had to do was pursue Brian long enough and they would be together. It was virtually preordained.

 

Horvath had Brian talk with the police psychologists. They had explained that the stalker was likely someone from a back ground that was either abusive or severely emotionally barren. This, together with a probable tendency towards psychosis would make him want to merge with someone he would perceive as being of a higher status. Brian, as a successful partner of a large company would fit that bill—along with his high social status in the gay community.

 

The shrink had told him that it was imperative that he have no contact with the stalker—it would only encourage him. The only possible contact allowed would be for Brian to tell the man—as firmly as possible—that the relationship is over. He shouldn’t try to be nice to him or feel sorry for him (“Fat fucking chance”, was Brian’s thought to that.)

 

He was also giving the depressing news that delusional stalkers lasted an average of ten years.

 

He was strongly advised to accept nothing from the stalker, to return all gifts, to make sure that he knew the food would be thrown away, the flowers given to a hospital.

 

He was also told not to do anything at all until a threat management expert did a risk assessment.

 

Fuck.

 

“Brian—stop. I have all this stuff I found about it. You have to read it—it’s really scary.”

 

Yeah, no shit.

 

“Justin—just do this for me, OK? Go to your fucking grandparents and I’ll call you.”

 

“I want to be with you—what is going away for a couple of weeks going to accomplish? How do you know that you’ll catch him then?”

 

“I don’t, but I want you safe and I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m worried about you. You know that.”

 

“But I’ll be fine…”

 

“Please.” Justin had never heard that particular note in Brian’s voice before. He was really afraid for him.

 

“…Alright. I’ll call me grandparents in the morning.”

 

“Good.” They slept with their arms around one another, drawing enough calmness from one another to rest.

 

The next morning they were over at Jennifer’s condo packing up what Justin would need to make it through an extended stay. They had called PIFA, explaining the situation and asking for a leave of absence. Horvath had also called, adding his opinion that it was the prudent thing to do. The leave was granted, all projects due for the next month or so given extensions. They would miss him; he should please take care of himself.

 

They packed the clothes and the art supplies into the car, filling the trunk and the back seat.

 

Brian had offered the loan of his car, knowing it was more reliable than the used one Justin drove. He had been refused. He had offered to share the driving then fly back, he had been refused.

 

They had called the grandparents, living in a small town on Long Island about forty-five minutes from New York City, telling them when they could expect his arrival. The three hundred and fifty or so miles would take about seven hours, more or less.

 

After they had all finished the farewell hamburgers, they walked Justin out to the car.

 

Molly saw it first.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“Molly!” Jennifer was about to send her up to her room when she saw it herself. “Oh my God.”

 

All four tires had been slashed and shredded. Spray painted on the side of the car were the familiar words, “Watch your ass.”

 

It was late morning on a weekday. None of the neighbors were home. No one saw anything.

 

Taking two suitcases out of the truck, Brian drove Justin to the airport, personally putting him on the next flight to New York.

 

Returning to Jen’s condo, he had dealt with the tow truck and the hysterical woman. Horvath had arrived, promising a police watch that night, although with Justin gone, there was really no need.

 

Brian went back to the loft, also under escort. Starting the computer he learned, again, that he had mail.

 

 

 

Dear Brian,

 

I saw the blond cunt leave and I was really glad.

 

I know, you still sort of like him, but I really wish that you’d understand that he’s just not what he looks like. I know he looks so pure and all of that, but he’s really a lying little shit and I wish that you would stay away from him.

 

Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean it like that. I know you liked him a lot and now you’re being nice to him, but he’s just not good enough for you and it hurts me to see him hanging on you the way he does.

 

I know that sounds mean and you would never be like that, but it’s what I think and I hope that you’ll still like me a little bit.

 

I was really sad when I found out that you had returned all of the presents that I got you and when I first found out, I was at home and I cried.

 

After I’d had some time to think about it, though, I realized that you’re such a good person that you would never take anything from someone and besides, you’re so beautiful, you would never wear anything that you hadn’t picked out yourself.

 

I hope that you aren’t really mad at me for getting you those things.

 

I guess that you’re such a giving person that you’re not comfortable when someone gives something to you.

 

I know that when the twat gives you a painting or a drawing you always hang it up either in your loft or in your office and that you just do it because you’re so nice and you would never want to hurt someone’s feelings.

 

I just wish that you could see that he’s not good for you and that he’s going to hurt you again.

 

I mean, I know he’s sort of cute and all I hear that he gives really good blow jobs, but I didn’t think he was all that good and I’m better than he is.

 

I really hope that we can become friends.

 

I think that we could be really happy together.

 

If I send you another present, would you maybe keep it and wear it to Babylon so that I could see you in it?

 

Please?

 

Yourfan

   

 

Brian sent the e-mail to Horvath. As soon as he’d had a chance to read it, he called.

 

“Hey Brian, I think you might have yourself a problem here.”

 

“No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“No, you’re not getting me. I talked to the shrink. You’re starting to slip off your pedestal. Watch what you do.”

 

 Return to Dear Brian