His eyes flickered around the room. All these people, these stupid dangerous assholes, and none of them cared. How could they be so heartless? Didn't they get it? Oliver was gone. Gone, as in not there. Missing. In danger?
He was blustering, spilling over with anger. All the bullshit excuses. Fuck Frank with his insinuations. Fuck Laurel for dragging Sinclair's name out. Fuck all of them. Maybe they needed to see his apartment to understand. Oliver's phone had been left behind, a relic on their kitchen counter, a small dark spot like a knot of worry. Their fridge was thrown open. The milk carton was dented and leaking, seeping streams of white across the floor, collecting in a pale pool. It wasn't red or viscous or shiny. It wasn't blood. But it could have been. It could have been Ollie's head cracked open. Big glasses skewed and bright eyes dulling over. Lips parted in shock. Jaw slack. Dead. He could see it so clearly in his mind that his pulse spiked at the thought. Adrenaline was washing over him in waves. It was so much. too much. An onslaught of questions flew through his mind, but they all boiled down to one.
Where was Oliver?
Connor's mind was unraveling thread by thread, pulled apart by every passing moment, every new possibility. Black treacly tentacles were encircling him and he could barely breathe. Minutes ticked by. He looked at his hands. His fingers were long and pale and trembling. His room was dark. Annalise had let them call the police. They told a story that was only half true, but it was enough to catalyze a search. Then she had sent him home.
He should've felt some relief but he didn't. He didn't know what to do and the helplessness ate at him. He felt like a scale that was tipping over on one side, overloaded. The police had passed through in a blur. They asked him questions that he answered as truthfully as he could within the context of a greater lie. Yes, Oliver had been in contact with a dangerous man over a gay dating website. Why? They were getting bored in the bedroom and only discovered Phillip's connection the Hapstall case later. The question of "How?" lay thickly around them, but it wasn't pertinent just yet. What else did they know about Phillip? Nothing. Did Oliver indicate to anyone that he was going anywhere or doing anything? No.
Except, earlier he had said, with a dorky grin and raised eyebrows, "Tonight, in the bedroom, I have some things in mind." He had said it in that soft playful voice that he used to sound suave. Connor's cheeks warmed up and his heart swelled. He had walked over and kissed Ollie lightly on the neck. "Who says we have to wait until tonight" he'd whispered and nipped Ollie's ear. He had smiled against the skin of Ollie's cheek and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. Then he'd kissed him again just as light but full on. Ollie had kissed him back his with soft slow lips. Oliver had curled a hand in Connor's hair and placed the other on the base of Connor's neck. The moment was oozing with tenderness. A year ago Connor would have called it boring but he was so wrong. It was saccharine and precious and the kind of thing only Ollie could have shown him.
Instead of warming him up like any sweet memory should it chilled him anew. Fear was subtle, it crept into your mind and laid eggs in every crevice. Was that the last kiss they'd ever have? He knew he was being sentimental to a fault and that he should just focus on doing something. He had rubbed his temples and tried to give more helpful answers, but there were no more questions.
The police officer- Dave might've been his name- had jotted things down forcefully on a small yellow pad. He had the expression of a grumpy cartoon bear and he did not inspire confidence in the hearts of anyone. He made a few lackluster assurances to do his best in finding Oliver. Then he stood up, motioned to another police officer who had taken some photos, and left the apartment.
Connor continued to study his hands as he sat, practically paralyzed, trying desperately to think of a viable course of action.
After a significant period of sitting in shock, he forced himself to stand. He grabbed a towel walked over to the kitchen. Leaning down he mopped up the milk. Then he picked up the milk carton, pausing for a few moments and imagining where Ollie's warm hands hand been, and then he chucked it into the trash. He walked around to the other side of the kitchen counter and opened Ollie's laptop. The home screen was a picture of them together; a hastily taken selfie, blurry at the edges but with two genuine smiles. It hurt to look at.
He typed in the password, a ridiculous amalgam of letters and numbers that had taken him forever to memorize. It was one of the things came with dating a computer genius. His internet window was still open to Phillip's 'dude-for-dude' page. There were no new messages since there 'coffee date' arrangement. He clicked on Ollie's history. Nothing. He went back to the dude-for-dude page. Should he message Phillip? What would he say? "Excuse me, but have you kidnapped my boyfriend? Will you please tell me where to find him. I'll do anything, Name your price." That wasn't likely to garner a response. Should he continue the charade and act oblivious? Should he apologize for not showing?
He got up to make a coffee. Hopefully, some caffeine would bring clarity to the situation. He shuffled through the cupboard for a mug, grabbed his favorite, but almost dropped it. His hands were still clumsy with shock. He leaned against the counter, staring down the coffee pot. Once he pulled out the ground coffee, muscle memory got him through the rest.
As he stirred in a packet of sugar the laptop chimed. He set the mug down and rushed over. There was a banner across the top of the screen reading.
New Message : Hey …
He clicked on the notification immediately, his heart pounding.
11:23 PhilYouUp26: Hey there. Where were you?
…
11:24 PhilYouUp26 : Did you get nervous?
Okay, so Connor had to play along. He had to pretend that he didn't suspect this guy of kidnapping Ollie, maybe actually meet him and coax Ollie's location out? Should he call Annalise? She was a bitch, but she usually knew her shit. No, she didn't care about Oliver as much as he did and god knows she always has ulterior motives.
11:26 Connor: I'm so sorry. I got really caught up at work and forgot about our plans.
11:27 Connor : Do you still wanna meet? You could come over now.
11:32 PhilYouUp26 : Where do you live?
11:33 Connor: App. 303, 1102 West 5th St.
11:35 PhilYouUp26 : On my way
Fuck. Okay, he really hadn't thought this through. What was he supposed to say? How was he gonna keep it cool? How was this gonna help him find Ollie?
Maybe he should leave his apartment and stake his own building out. After Philip went into the building he check out his car, write down the license plate. Then he could wait and when Philip came back out he could follow him. The more he thought about it the more it seemed like the only logical thing to do.
Connor had driven his car to a convenient corner with a good view of the building's entrance and he had turned off all the lights on his vehicle. He sat, still and silent, and watched with baited breath. He waited.
He kept waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
Okay. Clearly, nothing was happening. Other than the occasional wind rustling leaves there was not a sound to be heard. He'd seen one woman jogging almost half an hour ago. Seriously what the fuck was going on. He had brought Ollie's laptop with him just in case he needed to check dude-for-dude, but there were no new messages. He refreshed the page every ten minutes or and still nothing.
Maybe Philip had seen straight through him. Maybe he knew that this would keep him busy and quiet long enough for him to do whatever he wanted to do with Oliver. His breath hitched sharply. He'd never felt like this before. It was a raw panic but muffled by bone-deep anger, but it wasn't the fiery "I wanna throw, punch, scream, kick" kind of anger. It was something cold and hard. It was an "I wanna watch you writhe in pain" blistering anger.
He wanted to calmly squeeze Philip's scrawny little neck. He wanted to watch his lips turn pale blue as he struggled to breath unavailable oxygen. I mean it's not like he hadn't already been an accomplice to murder. Why not commit a homicide himself, you know really up his game?