Black & Gold
Chapter Nine
The Daily Report
Disappearances: Random or Methodical?
An increasing number of people have been reported missing over the past two months, and while some bodies have been recovered, some of the people have not yet been found, and still others have resurfaced with no recollection of what happened to them. Loved ones of the latter group say that they've noticed slight personality differences in addition to the apparent memory loss.
The question that seems to be in the forefront of everyone's mind is whether or not the disappearances are related. Our investigative journalists have done some digging and found two alarming connections: first, all of the victims or survivors have ties to Chancellor Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel, and second, a black-painted rose was left in the place from which each was taken.
As to what these details mean, it is unclear at this time. Further investigation will be conducted, but in the meantime, authorities urge citizens to be vigilant and to report any suspicious activity immediately.
Classless Magazine
What Happened to Hummel?
One of the largest symbols of the Resistance, Kurt Hummel, may be facing turmoil in his personal relationship. Sources report that he is no longer residing in his home with Chancellor Anderson, and that he may be sleeping in the back of his shop, The Golden Rose. Last time Hummel was spotted was at work, and the source says he "looked miserable." It is simple to conclude that Hummel and Anderson have split, or are at least spending some time apart. While we fully support respecting the two men and their wish for their private lives to remain private, the Chancellor and his beau have been a beacon of hope in our darkest times, and we wish them nothing but the best.
Blaine came to a few moments after passing out with a pounding in his head. He looked around and concluded that the way he had fallen, he must have hit his head on the ground, and he was thankful there hadn't been any furniture or sharp edges nearby, but damn, it hurt.
Massaging his temples to try to ease the ache, Blaine sat up and was reminded of what had caused his collapse in the first place.
The wilting flowers spread out before him in a menacing way that magnified every threat and every fear Blaine had. Somehow, instinctively, he knew that these flowers were linked to Kurt. Perhaps all along, the threat was actually for Kurt and not for him. But how could it be linked to Kurt's love for him dying out? Could it be possible that Kurt was not telling the truth?
No, Blaine, he scolded himself. You can't allow yourself to think unrealistically hopeful things like that.
He lay back against the cool tiles on the ground. The pain in his head throbbed so relentlessly that he could not think straight. He thought perhaps he should go to bed and try to work it all out in the morning after what he could only hope would be a good night's rest.
He grimaced, glancing at the flowers on the ground. Before he did anything else, he needed to destroy the roses and try to erase the fear they instilled in him.
If Blaine's three-day leave from work had been good for anything, it was piling up his mail. He sat at his desk, staring at the mound of envelopes before him and dreading the daunting task of going through them. Wes had offered on multiple occasions to handle his mail for him, but Blaine preferred for his correspondence to be personalized. He was now regretting that decision.
He started in on the first letter, feeling quite a sense of accomplishment for even being at work in the first place. The weight of the loss of Kurt was still an unbelievably heavy burden, but still Blaine had dressed and made it out of the house, though admittedly slightly less put together than normal.
Any positivity he was feeling, though, was immediately quashed upon reading his first few letters.
Keep the Low Class where they belong.
Burn in Hell.
You are single handedly destroying our beloved nation.
You don't deserve to be High Class.
Your Elite family is disappointed in you.
Repeal the new Class bill or you'll wish you'd never been born.
Blaine sighed and threw the letters into the recycling bin under his desk. He had received a few pieces of hate mail every week since he had taken the position of Chancellor, but since passing his latest proposal, it seemed that opponents were coming out of the woodwork.
He tried not to let it bring him down, tried not to turn around and tell the Council to forget it all, but he already felt so low that he was finding it extra difficult to brush things off like he normally would. It would be so easy to give in and give up. But then Kurt's words rang in his ears, telling him never to quit fighting for the cause, and he knew, even if he never saw Kurt again, that Blaine would do everything in his power to make him proud.
Blaine stared at the offending letters and briefly considered tossing the rest of the mail, but then two envelopes near the bottom of the pile caught his eye and made him gasp. They stood out from the rest, because they had been coated in a too-familiar powdery black paint.
Out of breath by the time he reached Burt's desk, Blaine panted out that he needed to see him privately then charged down the hallway.
"Of course, Chancellor." Burt followed Blaine to a small meeting room without question, clearly able to tell that something was wrong.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, Blaine looked up at Burt with fearful, watery eyes, and Burt held out his arms to catch the uncontrollably panicking who had become so dear to him.
"Blaine?" Burt dropped the formal title since they were alone. "What is it?"
Blaine spilled everything from the roses to the letters (which he intended to burn, unopened) to the potential link to Kurt. Burt listened all the while, his strong, supportive presence everything Blaine had ever wanted in a father. "I'm so scared, Burt," he admitted.
"I know you are," Burt said softly, and from the way his brow furrowed, it was apparent that he was afraid as well. "We will figure this out, buddy. I promise. I won't stand for anything happening to my boys. Either of them."
"Where do we start?" Blaine was determined. If there was a way to figure out how to make this all stop, if there was any chance, as small as it may be, that Kurt still had some feelings for him, or even to bring them back together as friends, he was going to find it.
"We start with a who. If we can find one person with a connection, we can unravel the whole thing. I think. I'm no investigator...are you sure you don't want Morgan in here to help? As the head of your security team, he may even have some insight that we don't have. Or Wes?"
"No," Blaine shook his head. "We can do this together."
What he did not want to tell Burt was that he was the only person he trusted wholeheartedly. He had begun to suspect that someone in his inner circle had been compromised, and Burt was the only person he could never see falling to something like that since he would never ever hurt his son.
Burt took a pen in his hand. He wrote ROSES on the smartboard behind him. They listed the places where the roses had been found — Blaine's office, the hotel room in New York, Dalton, his home.
Then Burt wrote DISAPPEARANCES down next to it, and they listed the people who had been taken to either later be found dead or to turn up, seemingly confused and not themselves.
Lastly, Burt wrote PEOPLE.
"Look at what we've written so far, Blaine. Look at the places you've found threats and the people who were targeted. Think about anyone who could possibly have access to your life who would know where you were going to be, and how you're connected to the people who've disappeared."
Blaine cleared his throat awkwardly. "Forgive me for even having to say this, but you told me to be thorough…"
"Just say it."
"You."
Burt cringed as he wrote his own name down. "For the record—"
"I know. I know, Burt," Blaine cut him off.
Kurt's dad nodded grimly and turned back to the board. "Who else?"
"Technically anyone in our house could find the information…the housekeeper, the cook, the driver…" he talked as Burt wrote. "Also Kurt's old assistant Chase…Wes…" he trailed off while Burt finished the list.
They both stepped back to inspect the notes. "What do you think?"
"I think—I think it's pretty obvious," Blaine said in a choked voice. "Only one person on this list knew every detail of our lives and had access to all of those places."
"I agree," said Burt solemnly, circling the name.
Blaine turned to the man next to him looking even more defeated than he had in the last few days and his lip trembled. "But how? Why?" Blaine's shoulders shook with dry sobs. He had cried himself out over the past few days, but the awful truth of betrayal stung so deeply.
Burt clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "I don't know, buddy. I'm sorry."
A knock came at the door. "Blaine? You in here? I brought you lunch."
Wes cracked the door open and held out the bags of takeout in a way that was meant to be enticing.
"NO!" Blaine roared, scattering papers and pens every which way as he bounded over tables and across the room. "Get out. Get out!" He shoved Wes backward until he was out the door.
Wes' incredulous gaze searched around for any sign of what could have triggered the extreme change in Blaine's behavior. His eyes landed on the board behind Burt and Blaine with his name circled in bright red.
"No, Blaine, you can't honestly—"
"I said get out! You're fired. Leave here immediately or I'll have you escorted out. I trusted you, Wes. I trusted you! What did you do to Kurt?" He tugged his hair out of its gelled hold with white knuckles. "God damn it! I never want to see you again. Get out!" Blaine slammed the door in Wes' face and then fell against it, trying to catch the breath that had eluded him for days and once again giving into his despair.
The two girls who ran the storefront for Kurt were a godsend. Leaving the customers in their capable hands allowed him to remain behind closed doors, where he could mope in private.
Kurt had thought, albeit naively, that the pain would ease after a few days, but a week later, it still felt like a strong hand kept squeezing around his heart. And how could the pain go away? Blaine was everywhere; he was in every thought, every design, every memory.
After the first day, Wes had stopped by, relieved to find Kurt in one piece (physically, anyway), but Kurt had begged him to leave and not return, as he could not deal with seeing Blaine's best friend, and one of the people who reminded him most of what he had lost. Wes had left reluctantly that day, but he was not the sneakiest of people, and though he did not contact him again, Kurt knew Wes stopped by the store every day to check in on him with the girls out front. They even brought lunch back to his office (purchased by Wes, of course), but upon seeing the meals from his and Blaine's favorite restaurants and remembering the times they'd gone on dates there or abandoned their takeout in favor of more intimate activities, he felt too sick to eat.
His dad had come by to try to talk, as well, but Kurt knew there was no way he could see his dad without the dam breaking and spilling every last detail of what was happening. He refused to put his father in danger like that, so he brushed off his attempts and asked him desperately to leave and to go back and take care of Blaine.
By his own design, Kurt was more alone than he had ever felt in his life. The only thing tethering him to reality was the gold and rose gold ring around his finger. It was a tangible representation of Blaine's love for him, and if the only thing Kurt knew for the rest of his days was that Blaine loved him, that would be enough. He looked down and kissed the ring tenderly.
"I love you, Blaine," he whispered into the emptiness of his office with tears streaming down his face. "I love you and I'll do whatever I can to get you back."
Kurt knew where he needed to start, and that was by tracking down the person he least wanted to see in the world: Chase.
