Dear
Brian
Chapter Eight
Late that night Brian couldn’t sleep. Quietly, he made his way down to the living room, to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot of Cuttysark. Silently, he took it out to the patio overlooking the pool, trying to think things over, trying to get a handle on what was happening.
Obviously he couldn’t stay here. Though Justin was safe and more at ease with their being together, the stalker would escalate his torture of his friends and acquaintances until he returned home.
He honestly believed that Gus was in no real danger, although there wasn’t anyone else he knew he could think of who would be safe other than the child.
Justin, the main target would have to stay in New York or someplace until this was settled.
When he went back, the attention would shift back to him and the others would be largely left alone.
Fine.
So who was this fuck?
He eliminated some of the obvious people.
Michael was out of the running simply because it wasn’t in him. Besides, Brian knew him too well, if there were something really twisted about him, he would have known it. Granted he and Justin weren’t best buds, but still—Mikey? No.
The rest of the boys he also eliminated for similar reasons. He knew them too well to believe that any of them could be a threat to him or to Justin. Ted? Em? Ben? Vic? Ridiculous.
One of the e-mails had mentioned that the stalker had been a trick, one who had stayed the night. Well, OK, that was a possibility, but whoever it was had pictures going back almost two years. He prided himself on his memory, but who the fuck knew which one it could have been? At the usual rate of twenty to thirty tricks a month times twenty four months, that added up to around six hundred possibles—or more.
Shit.
The stalker was male. OK.
He was either wealthy or at least well enough off that he had money to throw around.
Clothes from Gucci and St. Laurent, custom jewelry from Tiffany, large deliveries of flowers, phone taps, this stuff all cost money.
OK, it was possible that he was living off credit cards of something, but Brian didn’t think so. He had the feeling that the guy really had some reserves to dig into.
He seemed to have time to devote to this.
He could come and go at will, not tied to a regular job. Or so it seemed.
Out of work? Maybe independently wealthy?
Shit, he could be a self-employed cat burglar, for all he knew.
He went back in, poured himself a refill, and returned to the patio. Without thinking he stripped down. It was a warn night and a swim might relax him more than the sex a couple of hours ago had. There had been something almost desperate about their coupling—as if Justin wanted to leave a mark, an impression that would last until all of this was over. The bites he had left were still tender hours later.
With as little sound as possible, he slipped into the warm water. The bedrooms on the second floor overlooked the pool and he would rather not disturb the others.
He did a few laps of breaststroke, playing a game with himself, seeing how quietly he could move, how little water sounds he could cause. Finally he just floated in the center, looking up at the sky.
He saw a shooting star and thought of the old legend that it meant a witch had died.
Maybe.
He half hoped that Justin would wake, join him. He thought how much he would like to take him in the water, imagined the water flowing around them as they came.
But Justin didn’t come down, worn out with worry, he was sleeping heavily upstairs. It was for the best.
Finally feeling chilled, he moved over to the ladder, climbing out and taking a towel someone had left hanging on the back of a chair earlier that day, wrapping it around his waist he went inside.
If he was driving home in the morning, he needed to sleep.
He was at the foot of the stairs when he decided, on impulse, to go back to the study. He booted up the laptop.
He had mail.
Dear Brian,
We can’t keep doing this.
You can’t keep doing this to me.
I love you, you know that and I know that you love me,
too.
I know this. I’ll never forget our night together. It was perfection,
magic.
I’ve heard that you’ve slept with a lot of men. The numbers
I’ve heard bandied about frighten and anger me. That anyone could think
you a slut or a whore has made me cry more than once. They just don’t
understand how good you are, how kind, how generous and
giving.
I understand. I know what you’re like.
I’ve always understood you and I always
will.
You give so much of that I sometimes wonder how you have anything
left for yourself.
I want to give back to you. I want to be there when you get home from
work. I’ want to have your dinner waiting—all your favorites; I
want to be able to rub your neck when you’re tired and hold you when
you sleep. I’d wake up before you to have your breakfast ready and your
clothes laid out.
You wouldn’t have to do anything; I’d take care of it all
for you.
That’s all I want, for us to be together and for me to take care
of you the way we both want.
You’ll see. It will be perfect.
Yourfan
Finally tired, Brian sighed, shut down the computer and went upstairs for what little was left of the night.
The conversation the next morning went about as he had expected.
“You can’t go back there—he’s insane. Brian, you’re in danger there. Please…”
“I’ll just end it, I’ll be fine.”
“How the fuck can you say that? You don’t know what he’ll do—he could flip out and then—any Goddamned thing could happen.”
“You’re such a fucking queen. I told you that I’ll be fine.”
“I’m going with you.”
“You’re staying here. Stop being a twat and think about your mother and your grandparents.”
“Brian…”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”
He went out to the car; the Breslin’s waiting to see him off. “I’m sorry that I never got a ride in this car of yours, Brian. Next time that you’re here…”
“We’ll make a point of it.” They shook hands. He turned to Claudia, bending to kiss her cheek, thanking her for her kindness, her hospitality.
Next he looked over to Justin, standing by the driver’s door, ready to bolt, to get in. He put his hand behind the younger man’s head, pulling him in for a kiss. “I’ll call you later. I’ll be fine.” Justin’s arms came up around him, his breathing labored.
“…Be careful.”
“I will, you know that.”
Getting in the car, Justin put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Drive carefully, OK?”
He nodded. Later.”
“Later.” Putting the car in reverse, he started back.
The drive back took over twelve hours. Around every bend, or so it seemed, was another accident, another stretch of road construction. Normally around a seven or eight hour trip, it started to become unendurable before he had even hit Harrisburg. When, finally, he pulled into his regular parking spot by his building it was almost ten at night. He was hungry and he was exhausted. His back ached, his butt hurt, his neck and shoulders felt like they were being held in vices and he had a bitch of a headache.
Leaving the elevator, he put his key in the lock, sliding the heavy door open and hitting a couple of light switches.
Oh, Jesus, no.
The place looked like a tornado or hurricane had washed through.
Not a single piece of furniture was standing upright, not a piece of upholstery was left either unslashed or unstained. The kitchen was torn apart, the cabinets emptied, the fridge left open so that everything in it was now in the early stages of rot. The flat screen TV was a pile of broken glass. Up in the bedroom, the bed looked like a gallon or more of what appeared to be blood was splashed over the mattress and bedding. A glance in the bathroom showed piles of broken glass where both the mirror and the shower walls had been smashed.
The clothes in the closet had also been doused in blood and the contents of every drawer in the place had been dumped on the floor.
Close to shock, he made his way back out to the living room, his eyes drawn to the large painting of the naked guy. Spray painted over the surface, in lavender paint were the words “Welcome Home.”
Christ.
Taking his cel phone, he called Horvath. The cop said he’d be there within twenty minutes. Next he called Justin, telling him that he’d made it back alright, but was tired from all of the delays. He’d talk longer tomorrow. No, really, he was fine.
Next he got his laptop out of his bag, plugged it in and booted it up.
He had mail.
“Dear Brian,
I’ve been thinking about things the last couple of days and I’m
getting pretty upset with the way things are going.
I mean, fuck me, asshole, but I’m the one doing all the work
here and you can’t even write me a frigging
e-mail?
Not even a Goddamned ‘thank you’ for all the shit I’ve
sent you, all the time I’ve invested in you, all the attention I’ve
shown you?
I think I’ve been pretty Goddamned patient with you up til now.
I mean, I put up with your little fling with Cuntboy, and I’ve gone
along with you returning some of my presents and I’ve even let
it go that you’re not wearing that ring I had made for you—although
that’s pissing me off. I’m wearing the matching one
already.
I was going to wait until you actually put it there yourself, but
fuck it. I know what we mean to each other and the rings are the symbol.
You’re supposed to have yours on, too. They’re a set, a pair, a
couple. Like us.
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE WEARING YOUR FUCKING
RING.
I want to see you wearing it.
I’m getting pretty upset with the way things are going
here.
Tomorrow you’d better be wearing that ring or I’m going
to know that you’ve been lying to me all this time and that you’ve
just been jerking me around and that you don’t really love me and that
you’re not the person I thought that you are.
I got a little carried away in our loft.
You said that you’d be home by around six the other night and
I waited, but you didn’t show up, you went to fucking New York
instead.
I had dinner for you and I’d picked up your dry cleaning and
everything, but you never showed up.
I really hate it when people are inconsiderate. I just fucking hate
it.
But I’ve had some time to think about it and it’s actually
a good thing.
The place really needs to be renovated if we’re both going to
live there.
I’ll pay for it and we can pick things out
together.
Yourfan
“Holy crap.” Brian jumped at the sound. Horvath. He was pulling out his cel, “I need a forensic guy over here…break in and vandalism…no, it’s totaled.”
He took a look at Brian. “You OK?”
“I’m just swell.”
“Anything missing?”
Just my privacy, peace of mind, sanity. “I’m not sure. I don’t know yet.”
“Do you have any idea who’s doing this shit?”
“….No.” He remembered something. “Another e-mail just came in. On the desk.”
Horvath read it. “Look, this guy is about to blow. I want you to answer this. Tell him, in no uncertain terms that it’s over, that you won’t see him—you know what sort of thing. Break it off. Make it definite.”
“You think I encouraged this fucking psychopath?”
“Look, don’t give me fucking attitude, just write the man a letter.”
“Isn’t that just going to piss him off?”
“Yeah, it probably is, but we’ll put a guard on you and when he shows himself, we’ll get him.”
“Christ, Horvath, what are you going to do, out me in protective custody? What about my friends? What about Gus?”
“You reject him, he’ll show himself.”
Brian turned to look out the window. A squad car was just pulling up, a couple of men got out.
“Look, Kinney, he doesn’t get stopped, he’s going to keep going. This time he wrecked your house. Next time he might cut your brakes.”
Against his better judgment he sat down at the desk.
“You are to stop all contact with me.
I will not return any communications from you.
I will not read any e-mails from you.
I will accept no presents or gifts of any kind from
you.
We have no relationship.
We did not have a relationship in the past.
We will not have a relationship in the future.
You are to cease all contact with my son
immediately.
This matter has been turned over to the Pittsburgh Police
Department.
Brian Kinney