Beyond Reason

Chapter 2

"Mr. Taylor, you have to realize that you're implicated in this whether you want to be or not."

"This is horseshit. I had nothing to do with it. There are a hundred people who can testify that I was at Babylon when the fire was started."

They were sitting the loft, the morning after the main classroom building of PIFA had been totaled in a massive fire that had been set by as yet unknown persons. Two students working late in studios on the upper floors had been killed and among the other losses were hundreds, if not more, student projects and the entire Bursar's and Admission offices, including all of their files. It was still not known if student academic and financial records had been completely backed up and could be salvaged or not. The entire semester could be a total loss and it was too soon to know where, when or even if the school would be able to reopen.

The only department not seriously damaged was the music department, housed in a separate building. It was one of the music students who had called in the alarm, having seen the flames from across the yard.

"No one is seriously suggesting that you personally caused the damage but the letter is very specific about the person's motivation for starting it."

"But I didn't…"

"It seems to have been some kind of effort at vengeance against you. Do you have any idea why anyone would feel that way, especially strongly enough to do something like this?"

"No." Justin looked like he might lose it. One way or another this had been his fault. Two students had died because of him. Brian put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He received an almost invisible smile in return.

"Have you had any arguments with anyone at the school recently? Can you think of anyone who might have reason to feel slighted by you or who may have reasons to feel some sort of resentment against you?"

He just shook his head. Ethan? He wouldn't so something like this. He wouldn't. One of his classmate's maybe? Someone who thought he was getting special treatment because of his hand? One of the kids who had dropped out or been cut from the program? There had been a lot of talk when Justin had sold two paintings from the student gallery and even though everyone had been nice about it, he'd caught some undercurrents from a few of the kids, sort of a jealous 'what makes your stuff so hot shit?' vibe.

But to actually burn the place down? Who the fuck would do that?

"I don't know who'd do this. I…no, I don't."

Brian looked across at Carl. "Are you done with him now?"

He nodded. "If you think of anything that might help us, you'll give me a call, right?"

Five minutes later the police had left and the two of them were staring at one another over the counter in the kitchen, Justin thinking that food might help. Besides, they had missed breakfast.

"I can't fucking believe this-did you see that fucking letter? Some perv burns down an entire school just because he thinks I'm being favored or I'm the teacher's pet or something. This is fucked."

"Do you have any idea who would do something like that?"

Justin shook his head. "I've been going through everyone I can think of and even the ones who are kind of loosely wrapped-I don't think any of them would do anything like this."

"Well then who did?"

Justin just shrugged. Ethan? He was the most obvious choice but even he-he wasn't violent. He was sort of a wimp when you came down to it and he had already moved on to someone else from what Justin had heard in the gossip chain at school. One of the guys who had tried to hit on him in the cafeteria or after class? The ones he'd never told Brian about because they didn't matter? No, it was too much of a stretch. Not even the guy he'd let blow him last month, that time Brian had been in Chicago for a couple of days.

He had no idea.

Brian had enough brooding. "You know what? Fuck this. Let's get out of here. We're fags, let's do brunch somewhere. Get your ass ready to go."

"My ass is fine, thanks."

"…Get your shoes on, twat."

Twenty minutes later they were walking down Liberty Avenue.

"You know, we could actually go somewhere else. It's Sunday morning; everyone on the planet is doing brunch. No one will care."

"The younger generation, no sense of tradition, no sense of the way things should be done. It's sad…Fuck off, asshole." Some one accidentally bumped against Brian's shoulder.

"Fuck you back."

"Brian, come on, it wasn't on purpose." Brian relaxed slightly; the other man deciding to not engage though his look was murderous. He walked off muttering about 'jackasses…'

Justin had assumed that they were headed to the diner, but they walked past it, going to a new place that had opened up about a month ago. It was one of those too cute bistros with tables out front, bright window boxes with a menu consisting of things that were slightly too precious.

"You want to eat here? You hate places like this."

"The food is bullshit, but the waiters are supposed to be hot." Rolling his eyes, laughing, Justin followed them to their table. It was, of course, the best one they had.

Settled, their waiter came over. He was hot, no question-in that slightly vapid caught in the headlights sort of way. He seemed intent on Brian to the extent that he almost neglected to get Justin's drink request. Brian was loving it.

"I told you I'm hotter than you are." Brian was practically gleeful.

"He just knows you have more money."

"That, too…you want him?"

"What for my birthday?"

"I was thinking more like dessert." They came to a silent and quick agreement. The man came back with their omelets.

He glanced at the nametag. "So Brad-what time do you get off?" Brian was all charm.

Brad knew a good thing when he saw it. Two good things. "We close at three on Sundays. You think you may be hungry later?"

"I think I can just about guarantee it." Brian was too cool to break his façade. Justin had seen it a hundred times before. "In fact, I think my friend here may want some, too."

"The more the merrier."

"Corner of Tremont and Fourth, say about four? Top floor."

"I think I know the address…you're a local legend-Brian. Now can I get you anything else?"

The deal made, Brad went back to work and the boys finished their food.

Justin was smiling. "You know, you should write a book about how you do that."

"Some things can't be taught. You're either born with it or you're not. Luckily, I was."

"In spades."

That's when Justin brought up the subject du jour that they had been avoiding. Joking was over, this was about what was really going on beyond the latest disposable trick.

"Brian, on the way back can we swing over to PIFA? I want to see if there's any chance that…you know, maybe not everything was totaled. I know it's a long shot, but maybe if they got there in time or something."

He knew it was coming. Much as he would like to be able to make it go away, he couldn't. They had a problem and a big one at that. "Of course, no problem. The building that burned-is that the one that your studio was in?" He smiled another invitation at Brad when he brought the check.

"You've been there, the whole place is connected by those covered hallway tunnel things. My studio is over in Music, but it's really close to the main building."

"The one that's gone."

"Right."

"I thought there was only one building there."

"There is-except that Music and some of the studios are-were in the annex."

Whatever.

On the way out Brian accidentally brushed against a young woman with a stroller on the not quite wide enough Liberty Ave sidewalk. He apologized and she started to smile at him. "No harm done." She saw the two men together, holding hands. "Faggots." It was said with enough hatred to take both men aback.

Justin recovered first. "Well, that's what you get when you spend a day in Fagville."

Angry, furious at the moral outrage of their existence, she left with her child.

It was just another nail in the coffin of the day.

Diving up Forbes Avenue they could smell the campus before they could see it.

The fire was completely out, the main PIFA building a charred ruin.

They parked the jeep and walked over to see for themselves. Though the police tape kept them back the stench was almost overpowering. All the things that had been incinerated had produced a noxious mess. The plastic from the furniture and the computers, the paints, the wool of the carpets, the wood and plaster of the building itself and God knew what else-the destruction was complete.

It looked like nothing had survived intact. Not a single interior wall remained. There were no floors or ceilings or a roof left.

They didn't say anything as they walked around the ruins of the building where two of Justin's classmates had died. There was nothing to say.

The music building seemed to be open, or at least part of it seemed to be. They went over, exploring, hoping to get as far as the studio. The smell wasn't quite as strong here but it was still pretty bad. That's what a lot of people don't realize about fires. Bad as everything else about them is, it's the damn smell that stays with you the longest.

Going up the stairs to the fourth floor they tried to get to Justin's shared space, but were stopped by the police tape again about twenty yards away from his door.

"Screw this." No one was around. He hopped the tape. Two years worth of work might still be in there. He was about to use his key when he noticed that the door wasn't quite latched. No one left their studios open; everything would have been ripped off inside of a day, art supplies are expensive. He pulled the door open and stopped. "Fuck me." The oath was almost whispered.

The damage inside hadn't been caused by the fire.

Paint had been splashed across the entire room, drenching both his work and the things of his studio partner. The canvases were ruined; the sculptures had been thrown or smashed. The brushes were broken in half; the tubes of paint were all over the floor, color jetting out where they had been stomped on.

The work of both boys had been ruined.

"Jesus, Brian."

"When were you here last?"

"Friday afternoon."

"The paint's still wet. This had to have happened this morning or last night."

Justin was close to tears. Even more than the fire and the police coming to talk to him that morning, even more than the deaths, this was getting to him. This was personal. This was directed right at him.

Brian tried. "Maybe you're not the target. Maybe it was your roommate in this place."

"Bullshit. The letter the cops have mentioned me by name."

Yes, it did.

"Two fucking years of work was here-Goddamnit, Brian, this is…Goddamnit."

Brian walked out of the studio, Justin heard his footsteps going down the hall and vaguely wondered where the hell he was going, too upset to care for the moment. He was back in a few minutes with a couple of largish cardboard boxes he'd found somewhere. "Come on. We'll save what we can."

With no better idea, Justin started going through the wreckage, pausing to call Ken to tell him that his things had been hit as well. He said he'd be there as soon as he could.

Justin paused for a second. "We should call the police and tell them about this."

"Yes, we should. We can if you want. Do you?"

What was the point? Fingerprints or something? "Fuck it. Let's just do this."

There was, surprisingly, more to be saved than either of them would have thought. Though a lot was ruined, a lot had been missed. Anything that had been covered by something else seemed alright. Some of his supplies, the ones in the cabinets, hadn't been touched. The small closet was still OK.

In a while, maybe an hour, Ken arrived, made pretty much the same comment Justin had and started to save his own things. They worked in silence for a while other than the occasional "What about this?" or "this is gone."

His back turned, bent over his own pile of sketch pads, Ken finally said something else.

"Hey, did that guy ever find you?"

"Who?"

"I don't know who he was. Some guy was looking for you a couple of days ago. I was working here and he said he was a friend of yours. He said he'd met you at some party a while ago."

"That fucking tells me nothing."

"Screw you. Clean cut, young, sort of a puppy kind of guy. Nerd. Gay. I don't think he's a student here. He seemed sort of pissed that you weren't here."

The frat boy? Maybe. Shit. He was the only one Justin could think of who fit the description.

But maybe not.

Brian was listening to them. It was apparent he knew Justin had a possible clue here.

The three of them started going over what they knew about the whole thing, talking about the whole thing; the fire, the letter, and the vandalism. They settled in, trying to piece it together and rambled along for a while. Glancing out the window Brian started. It was dark. Shit. They'd been there all afternoon. He was getting hungry again.

They could pick up take out on the way home if Justin felt like eating.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At the same time, on the sidewalk outside of Brian's building Brad was waiting. Asshole, keeping him waiting, blowing him off, jerking him around.

He looked at his watch. Five-thirty

Just because he was fucking Kinney he thought the usual rules didn't apply.

Fucking rude.

Goddamned inconsiderate.

He hated shit like that-people who let you know you were nothing, that they had more important things to do than you.

People who couldn't even be bothered to let you know…

Prick.

Pricks.

Both of them, Kinney and his blond.

Arrogant game playing jerk offs.

He hated shit like this.

He really hated shit like this.

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