Day One: Justin woke on an unfamiliar bed, beneath a plain white ceiling with absolutely no idea how he had come to be there, except that it had something to do with Ethan. His head was aching and his body was weak, he couldn’t remember how to make his arms move. “Hello,” Ethan greeted him with a warm smile, standing in the open door to the bedroom. “How do you feel?” Justin groaned, unable to form words, unable to completely focus. He felt drugged and wondered if that might be true. It wouldn’t surprise him. Ethan flashed a sympathetic look, then smiled again and disappeared. He returned carrying a tray and settled on the bed. Justin tried to convince his muscles to move but they weren’t quite listening to him. He looked at the tray and wanted to laugh somewhat hysterically when he realized that there was a red rose and a dozen pieces of dark chocolate. “Open your mouth,” Ethan coaxed, picking up a single square piece. Justin squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He’d been fucked-up before and he’d still been able to kick-off Sap and make his way back to the loft. What the hell had Ethan done to him that was causing him to feel so completely out of it? “You need to eat something, you’ll feel better. Just one piece.” Ethan slipped the chocolate between his lips and Justin managed to weakly roll onto his side so his back was to Ethan and let the chocolate slip from his mouth onto the white sheets. “Get some rest, Beautiful,” Ethan whispered, his warm breath ghosting over Justin’s ear and down his neck. If Justin were more awake, he would have shivered, but he could only close his eyes tight. …………………… “Does Justin have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might try to do something like this?” Carl Horvath asked. He hadn’t connected the hang-up call he’d received earlier in the morning with anything significant until Brian had phoned to report what had happened. Horvath had managed through a lot of talking, to get a place on the case even if they were keeping an eye on him. He knew Justin after all; they didn’t need him getting emotionally involved. “Chris Hobbes,” Jennifer Taylor hissed. She’d been pacing the loft since Brian had called her with the news. Their concerns were only affirmed when reports on the rag Brian had found on the floor had confirmed the substance on the rag to be chloroform. “Ethan Gold,” Brian muttered. He was sitting on the steps up to the bedroom, his head in his hands. “Ethan?” Jennifer asked, clearly surprised by this. “Who’s Ethan Gold?” Horvath asked. “Justin’s old boyfriend,” Jennifer said waving one hand, her gaze still focussed on Brian. “You think Ethan did this?” When Brian looked-up he was staring at Horvath. “He’s been phoning Justin. Justin thought he saw him on the street a few times.” “Anything else? What sort of things was he saying?” Horvath asked, jotting something down on his pad. “I don’t know,” Brian said. He looked towards the worktable where some of Justin’s prints had fallen onto the floor. He wondered if Justin had been working when Ethan had come. Carl had said there was no sign of forced entry – Justin had let Ethan into the loft. What had Ethan said to gain entry? Had he threatened Justin? Pleaded? Brian shook his head and pressed his fingers to his temple. Justin had tried hard to put Brian at ease by dismissing the repeated phone calls. Brian knew Justin had been more than unnerved by them. “He wanted to meet with him again.” “Why?” Jennifer wondered. “He said he wanted to say sorry,” Brian sneered. Day Two: Justin stopped shouting when his voice was hoarse. He’d managed to stumble out of the bed, though his head was cloudy and his body felt as if it were barely under his control. He’d tried the bedroom door, but it was locked. He’d kicked and pounded on the door, and then had turned his attentions to the rest of the room, pulling clothes off hangers in the closet, prying drawers from the night table, pushing the mattress off the bed after ripping the bedding off. He’d collapsed in a corner, with a blanket wrapped around him because he was suddenly exhausted and scared and he couldn’t stop his body from shivering. “You need to drink,” Ethan said, ignoring the mess as he entered the room, leaving the door open behind him. He knelt down and held-out a glass of water. Justin was starving and thirsty. He hadn’t eaten the chocolate Ethan had brought the day before and that had been the only offering Ethan had made. The glass was cold against his hand and his mouth was dry. He drank greedily and then threw the glass against the wall, watching it shatter with a vague sense of satisfaction. “I’m trying to be patient,” Ethan said softly, raising his palm to cup Justin’s face. Justin swallowed convulsively and let his head fall back against the wall. After his outburst, he no longer had the energy to move. “Why did you bring me here?” Justin asked. “You belong here.” “You’re sick,” Justin said, it sounded disturbingly like a pained moan. He felt hot and cold, and wondered if he was about to throw-up on Ethan. The thought was satisfying, but his body wasn’t cooperating. “Let me go.” “You know I can’t do that,” Ethan said. “Why not?” Justin said. “Let me go. I won’t press charges, I’ll forget this ever happened,” he lied. “Let me go.” “You’d forget,” Ethan said, his tone indicating bitterness. “You forget things so easily, don’t you? But it’s okay. I’m going to help you remember,” Ethan said. Justin watched as Ethan leaned forward. The world seemed to be moving so slowly, he felt as if he had a thousand years before Ethan came anywhere near him. He twisted his body slightly, leaning on his left hip and tilted his head so Ethan could press their lips together. His eyes were open as Ethan kissed him, his breath shaky as he waited. A slight moan and Ethan’s tongue flirted across Justin’s lips. Justin opened his mouth at the same moment he kicked out with his right foot, shoving the man away from him. Justin was up and out the bedroom door before Ethan registered the fact that he’d been pushed away onto his back. Frantic, Justin stumbled out of the short hallway and for the first time realized he was being held prisoner in a small apartment. He didn’t spare much thought for the scenery once his gaze locked-on to the front door, and he sprinted towards it, his whole body shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion as he slid into it, stopping himself with a palm against the wood of the door so that he didn’t completely slam into it. He reached for the knob and it didn’t budge. “Help!” Justin screamed. “Someone open the door!” he kicked and pounded. There was no sound, nothing to indicate that anyone could hear him. When his knees gave-out, Justin slid to the floor and rested his head against the unforgiving wood and tried to remember to breathe. …………………… “Jesus Christ,” Debbie said. “You’re certain?” Carl nodded his head. They had congregated at Debbie’s, in her living room, and everyone’s face was displaying some hint of the shock they were all feeling. He had noted that Brian held-back from the group, refusing to sit down. Jennifer hadn’t spoken, but Carl had watched her as she kept close to Brian. He wondered who was supporting whom. “He seemed like such a sweet kid,” Debbie said. “They always do,” Ted muttered. “Cut it the fuck out,” Michael shouted, shooting-up off the couch and glaring. He hadn’t believed Carl when he’d explained what was going on. It seemed as if it was finally sinking in. “This isn’t something to joke about,” Debbie said, her tone harsh. Ted spared a shame-filled glance towards Jennifer. “Do you think he’s going to be alright?” Emmett asked. He’d been crying, and his eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse. Brian scoffed at the question. “I don’t know,” Carl offered. “These kinds of things, it’s always hard to tell. It depends on what this Gold kid wants from Justin.” “He wants him back, no doubt,” Michael muttered. Carl had figured the same thing, and if that was the case, it seemed pretty certain that even if they recovered Justin, he wasn’t going to be ‘fine’. “We’re doing all we can,” he said, because it was true, even if it was inadequate. ………………….. Justin gave-in to his grumbling stomach and ate the broth that had gone cold, idly tugging on the chain that connected him to the bed. He was feeling a bit clearer, though not by much. The door to the bedroom was open and every now and then he would catch a glimpse of Ethan moving around. As punishment for tearing the room apart, Ethan had taken all of Justin’s clothes from him, and removed the bedding as well. Most of the books and decorations had been removed. His escape attempt had been met with amused laughter and a chain on his ankle. Justin was a prisoner, and for some reason he couldn’t think straight. He wondered if he might be in shock. “Ethan,” Justin called. He’d been trying for the past several hours to coax the man back in. At least he could figure-out what was going on in his captor’s mind. So long as Ethan was talking, Justin would be receiving information, buying time. He was certain Brian was looking for him; it was only a matter of time before his lover found where he was. “Ethan!” But his captor continued to ignore him. Day 6: Brian could remember how he had felt that day in the parking garage, kneeling beside his bleeding lover and trying not to focus on the blood. For the longest time he’d looked back on that night and thought it was impossible to feel anymore helpless, anymore useless. As each minute ticked by in another hour of another day in which he could do nothing but sit and wait and fucking wonder, Brian thought he’d definitely been proven wrong. At least on his knees in a growing pool of blood he’d had Justin. He could mutter and beg and plead and had the luxury of believing that maybe his lover could hear him and might obey his repeated commands that he be alright. There had been the cell phone in his hand and the authoritative voice of the woman who had taken his emergency call and dispatched help and insisted he stay on the line: “Sir, is he breathing? Can you feel his pulse?” There was something to do. And when the ambulance had come there had been a long list of allergies that he had recited dutifully, parroted to doctors and nurses once he arrived at the hospital, kept repeating because it was something, something that he could contribute, that might make things better, easier. The drive had been long and difficult, but he’d been there right beside Justin for the entire time. Had been able to count the minutes in his head when Justin’s heart stopped and he’d listened with sick relief when it started again. Now there wasn’t anything. Was Justin still in Pittsburgh? Was he hurt? Was he frightened? Was he even alive? It terrified him when he’d stopped to talk to Carl and had heard people talking about the case – generally after a week they start looking for bodies. A week. One more day, and the police would concentrate their efforts on the morgue. There wasn’t a single thing Brian could do, not a single thing he could say that might make anything different. He wracked his brain trying to remember something that Justin might have mentioned, something that might shed some light on where Ethan might have taken Justin. There was nothing. Two years since Justin had come back, and since that time they rarely recalled Ethan at all. When the phone calls had started, Justin had been just as surprised. Ethan didn’t even live in Pittsburgh, apparently. Carl kept him posted. They’d spoken with Ethan’s landlord and apparently his rent was paid for several more months and the apartment was empty and neat except for a dead cat they’d found, and the landlord hadn’t been informed that Ethan was going anywhere. They’d spoken with Ethan’s manager and he’d been told only that Ethan was taking a break for a while. That he’d been very stressed and more moody than usual. That he spoke often of returning to Pittsburgh. That when police had shown a picture of Justin, Glenn had laughed and shaken his head and insisted he’d known from the start that the blond was trouble, but if Ethan had taken-up with him again, Glenn hadn’t seen any indication of it, and that was exactly what he’d insisted on, so all was well. They’d questioned the orchestra, and a mousey little blond had cried at the sight of the photograph and said: “So that’s Justin.” And it had taken them an hour before they could get him to say anything that made sense – which wasn’t anything anyone hadn’t guessed already. Ethan was obsessed. “But you still don’t have a lead on where they might be?” was what Brian always asked. Carl would shake his head and offer some supportive words. On the sixth day, all Carl had done was grasp Brian’s shoulder. Brian wasn’t prepared to wonder at what that meant. Justin would be fine. The only problem was finding him. …………………………….. Justin lay on the bed, naked and disoriented and starving. There was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and think. He decided that you didn’t know yourself at all until you spent days on end with nothing but yourself and the sense of threat always hovering just at the edges of the mind, with barely and food and water. In the beginning, Justin had thought of Ethan as he had remembered him. He’d reasoned and fought and struggled, and yelled and teased and taunted based on his experiences with the dark-haired violinist. Based on those months they’d shared an apartment and a bed, based on those romantic words and late nights under the stars that only later Justin had recognized to be superficial. He’d torn the room apart, kicked and scratched and banged on the walls always thinking that Brian would be looking for him and would find him. That Ethan could be reasoned with. By the second day Justin had been stripped down and locked in an empty room with no contact with anyone – not even Ethan, except for a few short minutes each day when the man would offer a few sips of water, or a morsel of food – never anything substantial, never enough to really feel full. And Justin started longing for those moments just because they broke-up the monotony of the day. It became very clear that Brian wasn’t going to be able to find him. Justin didn’t even know where he was. He could be in Canada for all he knew. The only way Justin was going to get free was if he freed himself. But more and more the strength was leaving him. He’d curl on the bed, shivering and trying always to get warm, feeling too hot and too cold and moaning and always feeling a terror at what was happening to him to make him feel as weak and sick as he did. In the evenings Justin felt particularly disoriented, so detached from himself that his vision was white around the edges, and he would think that he heard someone singing to him, and stroking his hair with nimble fingers, and caressing his heated cheek. That morning, was it the fifth day? Of his imprisonment, Justin had woken in the arms of his once-lover, and hadn’t had the will to wriggle free. For all the harsh words he’d thrown at the violinist whenever he brought food, Justin hadn’t wanted Ethan to go. ………………… At night, Brian dreamed terrible dreams of never finding Justin. Of Justin dead, or tortured. Of the bashing. Of that frightened, nervous form that he had held still so many times, had to coax outside – the lost boy that had barely resembled the pillar of strength Justin had always been. When Brian was awake he worked long hours at Kinnetic, at the loft. He drank JB and made frequent calls to Horvath. He didn’t trick, he didn’t dance, he rarely went to the Diner, except when Debbie or Michael called and insisted. Sometimes he’d talk to Jennifer, but her shock at the suspected kidnapper being Ethan Gold had led the woman to blame herself, that she should have known when she’d met the boy that he was bad for her son. She felt guilty at the shock of delight she’d felt that he was young and friendly and not Brian. Brian blamed himself because he’d been the one to push Justin away, if he’d gotten over himself and accepted Justin from the start then Justin would have never known Ethan. It made for tedious phone conversations. Day Eight: Justin was resting his eyes when he heard the lock click. He felt Ethan’s fingers on his ankle, and could hear the other man moving before he felt warm breath against his neck and arms wrapped around him. “Hush,” Ethan soothed as he carefully picked Justin up. Justin was frozen with the realization that the arms felt good around him. No matter how superficial the sensation, Justin felt cared for. Memories of when they were together flashed through his mind, and Justin almost wished he could go back to those times – when Ethan was safe. When Ethan was the only steady point in Justin’s spinning universe where even Brian had been full of confusing contradictions. The difference was, Ethan wasn’t safe. Far from it. So Justin thrashed weakly and scraped his nails down Ethan’s neck. However much he struggled, the sum of his efforts was barely enough to make Ethan stumble. It became clear in a sudden burst. “What did you put in my food?” Justin mumbled weakly. “What are you giving me?” “I’m giving you a bath, Precious,” Ethan said. “Just relax.” “What did you do to me?” Justin said, ashamed that he was near tears. His emotions had been somersaulting since he’d first opened his eyes. “What did you do?” “Shh,” Ethan soothed. “I’m just trying to help you, Justin.” Justin sat on the side of the tub and fought back tears of shame and frustration as Ethan ran the bathwater. He didn’t fight when Ethan shifted him into the tub, and barely struggled when Ethan began to wash him – slowly and meticulously. Fears kept circling through Justin’s mind. Why was Ethan suddenly concerned with his body? Why was Ethan spending more time with him? Where was Brian? Why was Ethan doing this? What had Ethan done to him? Why couldn’t he think straight? Why? Why? So many thoughts that Justin was immobilized, unable to struggle against Ethan’s touch. …………………. Brian thought he might be going crazy. He barely slept at night, and his nightmares haunted his waking hours. He went to work but couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. None of it mattered, the only thing that did was out of his hands. Brian was barely left to himself anymore. He’d confiscated the extra keys to the loft not long after Justin had returned to him following their time apart, but that didn’t mean that Debbie didn’t come over with pasta or macaroni, or that Michael didn’t call him, or that Emmett and Ted didn’t insist that they go out, go dancing. Brian humoured them as much as he could, compromising with Ted and Emmett by drinking a few rounds at Babylon, eating a few bites of Debbie’s latest concoction. Most of the time it felt as if he was somewhere else. Daphne had shown him where Justin had once shared an apartment with Ethan, and even if Horvath had already explored the building thoroughly, Brian sometimes went there in his Jeep and tried to think. There had to be something. There had to be some kind of clue that he was overlooking, because the police weren’t finding anything and Brian refused to believe that this was it, that Justin was gone and they couldn’t find him. No matter how hard he tried, he could think of nothing. Day Nineteen: There were no days. There were no nights. He’d realized long ago – near the beginning of his captivity, that he was being drugged, that the drugs were in the water or the food, or both, or neither, depending on Ethan’s whim. He’d tried to avoid both, but that had ended poorly, with Justin sick and disoriented to a point that he simply hadn’t cared for anything and it had terrified him how willing he felt at that moment to give-up, that when Ethan came with a glass of water and begged, Justin had conceded. Every day Ethan woke Justin with a kiss and asked if he loved him. Justin had laughed, but it had become very clear that Ethan wanted to hear it. He wanted to know that Justin was his, that they were whatever Ethan had imagined they had been. Justin could see very clearly that he wasn’t prepared to die, and he wasn’t prepared to surrender to this captivity, but that if he remained in the apartment, he’d never have a chance to breakout. There were small windows near the ceiling but they were caked with mud, and the door was strongly locked and no one could hear his screams. There wasn’t much in the apartment to use as a weapon, no phone, no real way of escape. It was a lesson he seemed to be getting a number of times, like Kip, or his stint as a Go-Go boy. So Justin once again admitted there were some things you had to do. The next day when Ethan asked, Justin had smiled sweetly. He’d said nothing, he wouldn’t lie, he refused to court Ethan’s fantasy to the point that he lost himself in it. It would have been different if Ethan had hit him. If Ethan had mistreated him openly or said things that made him angry, something, anything that could spark something within in. Ethan did none of those things, and the longer Justin stayed there, captive and yet not mistreated. The longer Ethan whispered in his ear, or touched his hair, the harder it was for Justin to remember that Ethan was insane, that he was keeping Justin hostage against his will, that he could just as easily try to kill him. ……………………… Three leads and each of them had led them nowhere. Brian spent most of his time in his loft. He smoked weed sometimes, but he never drank. He wanted to be clear-headed. He needed to think. Near the beginning, Horvath has kept his hopes up with thoughts of a phone call, of a possible ransom. Some contact with Ethan, anything that might be a clue. But Ethan had disappeared and they hadn’t heard nothing from him. Horvath was entertaining alternate possibilities. Justin’s smell had long since vanished from the loft. Brian spent hours staring at the prints on the table – he hand’t moved them. He’d hired a private detective, of course, but there was no further detail from her either. Justin was disappearing from everything, but Brian could still close his eyes and remember him – his smell, how it felt to run his fingers down that smooth back, his moans, his mischievous look, his pissy look. Every bit. The trouble came when he had to open them again. Day Twenty-Three: “Don’t put anything in my water today,” Justin said, draping his arms around Ethan’s neck and whispering in he other man’s ear. Ethan was quiet and sullen, more than he had been when they’d shared an apartment. His moods fluctuated, but Justin was skilled at walking the tightrope. To get free, Justin had to make Ethan believe that he was trustworthy. It was about slowly pushing for concessions – fewer hours spent incapacitated by the drugged haze, more freedom, little by little, until the locks came off the doors. There was only so far Justin could take the illusion, and thus far his luck had held. “Why not?” Ethan asked. Justin kissed Ethan beneath his right ear. “You know it makes me feel sick,” Justin said. “Hm,” Ethan sighed as Justin nuzzled his neck. “Can I trust you?” “You know you can,” Justin said. Ethan tugged on Justin’s arm, pulling him so that they faced each other. For a long moment, Ethan simply stared deep into Justin’s eyes. “Are you lying to me?” Justin’s memory flashed back to when he was seventeen and determined. He tried to be that now. “I would never do that.” Another intense look broken when Ethan shot off the bed and paced swiftly back-and-forth across the room. Stopping to kick the empty nightstand where he paused, his back to Justin, his head bent. Justin could hear his heavy breaths and wondered what the outcome of this attempt could be. It might earn him a few more hours of relative clear-headedness. Then Ethan paced back to the bed and yanked Justin forward, hard, so that their chests pressed together. Justin tensed, ready for an attack, and it came in the form of a biting kiss that forced his lips apart. He felt the exchange, wondered what the tablet was and tried to jerk away and spit it out. He jerked in Ethan’s grip, but the brown-haired man lunged forward, pushing him flat on the bed, a hand across Justin’s mouth and plugging his nose so he couldn’t breath and couldn’t spit the pill out. Even thrashing as he was, Justin couldn’t dislodge Ethan, who was exploiting his better leverage and staring mercilessly into Justin’s eyes. “I’m trying to help you remember,” Ethan kept insisting. “You love me. You love me.” And Justin blinked, surprised to feel the tears running down his temples. He swallowed convulsively and Ethan pulled his hand back, moving instead to stroke Justin’s hair as Justin sobbed. “It’s okay, it won’t hurt you.” Which was a lie, Justin felt increasingly weak each time Ethan slipped something into his food or his water. Whatever Ethan was using it was wearing him down. “I’m being careful because I love you. I love you and I’m taking care of you.” Ethan tried to kiss his cheek but Justin turned his head into the bare mattress. He’d gambled and he’d lost. Now he was helpless again. Already his vision was going white around the edges. He couldn’t stop sobbing and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Desperate, Justin curled in on himself, and wished it could be over. ………………….. Ethan stepped back from the bed, still apologizing. Justin would forgive him; he’d understand when he was better. With a sense of resolve Ethan turned on his heel and went to the drawer of the cabinet, he picked-up the video recorder. It had to be done. He was looking after Justin, and this was just another thing that had to be done. He checked the battery and turned back towards the bedroom. It would be all right. Justin loved him, after all. ………………….. Day Twenty-Five: It was sitting in a brown manila envelope by his door when he returned from work. Brian had a mailbox that his friends were all familiar with, and larger packages were left with his landlord. He saw it as soon as he stepped off the elevator and his sent a chill through him. For a while, he only stood there and stared. There were numerable possibilities, but somehow he knew exactly what it was. He picked it up carefully and entered the loft, setting it on the counter and eyeing it with trepidation as he changed. No amount of avoidance would appease his growing fear of what was in the package, and the more he tried to keep away from the counter, the worse his imaginings became. Carefully, Brian opened the envelope, and stared at the innocent looking cassette it revealed. The phone call to Carl was relatively simple. Brian demanded the man come and pick-up the tape, maybe there were fingerprints on the envelope that might be useful in making a conviction stick when Justin was found, and then Ethan could rot in prison. Maybe there was something on the tape itself. “Don’t watch it by yourself,” Carl said, but Brian was already hanging up. He took the cassette to his TV and with a bracing breath, inserted it into the player. “Kinney,” Ethan greeted him after a moment of black-screen. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked as unkempt as he always had, Brian couldn’t contain his snarl as he watched the fiddle-fuck smile. “Lose something?” he taunted. “Fuck,” Brian breathed in a whisper. “Fuck.” He looked at the scenery behind Ethan. A sitting room, nothing special. The walls were plain white and there wasn’t a lot of furniture. There was no sign of Justin. “I want to make something absolutely clear between us,” Ethan continued. “Justin’s mine. He loves me. He doesn’t remember you, and that’s for the best.” Brian watched Ethan’s expression darken, surprised at how threatening the man could look. Brian could recall a time when he had dismissed him as a spoiled and conceited piss-ant. Harmless. “All those times, Kinney, that you fucked with his mind. And he went back to you. I don’t blame him, I screwed up and it was hard for him. I should have known you’d be sniffing around him again. But that’s the last time you fuck with him. All those times, Kinney … all those times I’d sit there and lend an ear while he railed and cursed you. The things he said … he doesn’t love you.” Brian knew Justin well enough to know he’d never railed or yelled. Knowing his lover as he did, Brian was almost certain that, even if he were feeling it, he hadn’t said a word about Brian to Ethan if it could be avoided. “I’m the one now, Kinney. I’m the one who holds him after his nightmares. I’m the one.” And if Justin’s nightmares were back that was a definite sign of the blond’s state of mind. Brian felt a wave of helplessness flood him and he sunk down in it. “You’re nothing,” Ethan was insisting. “Nothing but a bad dream. … And I can prove it.” Ethan stepped towards the camera then disappeared. A moment later the camera started moving, through a door into a bedroom that looked barren. Brian focussed immediately on the familiar figure on the bed, curled into a small ball and shivering. Justin was curled up, naked and shaking on a bare mattress. “Oh fuck,” Brian said, not even aware he’d made a sound. “Fuck. Jesus. Justin.” Ethan brought the camera close so Brian could see the dampness of his lover’s cheeks and the streaks that proved that Justin had been crying. Justin had visibly lost weight. He was pale, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Brian couldn’t help but notice that those familiar blue eyes were glazed. “Hn?” Justin moaned, sounding a little delirious, as Ethan shook him. “Say hello to the Asshole, Love.” Brian watched as Justin leaned into Ethan’s touch, feeling his heart clench. “I told you, Kinney, it’s me now. It’s always been me he wants.” “What are you doing?” Justin asked, looking confused. “Shh, Baby. Don’t worry,” Ethan said. The camera shook and blurred and then settled again. The vantage point had changed; no doubt Ethan had set the camera on a bureau. Now Brian could see the bare mattress and the almost-empty room. He noticed the cold metal cuff around Justin’s ankle and the bruising that peaked out – Justin had clearly been struggling with the chain. He could see Ethan, too, as the man climbed on the bed beside Justin and began kissing him. He knotted his fingers in his hair and clenched his jaw, watching as Justin weakly pushed at Ethan’s chest as the other man pressed down, devouring Justin with the kiss. He listened as Justin whimpered for Ethan to stop. And he cursed as Ethan jerked his lover off while Justin feebly protested, clearly weak and delirious, and all the while Ethan spat vicious words at him, his glare focussed on the camera. Justin wasn’t crying. His head lolled back and his glazed eyes seemed to roam, not taking anything in, which almost seemed worse. Brian wondered if Ethan had raped him, and was sick to realize that, as this video demonstrated, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He’d known it before, of course, but now he had visual proof of the possibility. It was terrifying. Then Justin came, but his face wasn’t one of pleasure. It was a confused wince, and he seemed to blink out of his daze, looking around as if expecting to see someone. He seemed oblivious of Ethan, who was lying beside him. “Brian?” Justin asked, and the voice haunted Brian in the way that the sound of the bat still haunted him. Justin sounded lost and frightened, and confused, like he couldn’t understand why his lover wasn’t there. The moment was broken with a sharp smack, and Justin’s stunned face as Ethan knelt above him, his face dark and furious, and then Ethan rolled from the bed. The recording went black.