Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.
I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.
I do not won the songs referenced throughout.
Approximate words this chapter: 10,000
Four years and seven months after the concert.
Dave woke early, but, then, he always woke early. His body clock was set that way. For a little over four years, he'd been living with Kurt. For three of those years they'd felt comfortable enough to refer to each other as partners, but, given their feelings, even for that first year, it was a foregone conclusion.
Dave's return to Lima after his week-long visit with Kurt after the concert experience served to settle Dave's mind on the idea that he couldn't remain in his hometown. Something had changed; something was rotten there. Seeing Kurt's and Rachel's flat in New York City, with both Kurt and Rachel so filled with ambition and drive motivated Dave. He applied to every New York school which seemed even a remote fit for his planned course of study. He worked as many as three part-time jobs to save money for his move. He and Kurt saw each other over the holidays, and this motivated Dave even further: he wanted to be physically close to Kurt. The strangeness that greeted Dave in Lima after his New York visit wasn't something he dwelled upon; on the contrary, he spent his time and energy engineering a feasible way to move to New York. When the stories crossed his mind, it was incidental, sometimes sparked by an occurrence or something he heard in passing. A chance meeting with Sam Evans at the coffee shop resulted in a polite exchange despite their sometimes rocky relations in the past. When Dave asked Sam about Blaine, Sam merely shrugged. "Blaine just disappeared. There was that concert and the weird stuff that night. Sandy Ryerson died. We didn't even know that he died until after the funeral. The Glee Club was officially broken-up the Monday after that concert, like, it wasn't permitted to even exist anymore. Blaine vanished. The teachers and school administrators, if they heard anyone talking about Blaine, they'd call those people to the office and those people never spoke about it again. And the people who came to those concerts, the fans, they won't even acknowledge Blaine's existence. I guess it was just all too messed-up for them. It's like half the town forced themselves to forget about him and the other half was forced to forget about him by someone else."
Dave did, in fact, find one small piece of actual evidence that one of the occurrences related to the concert actually happened: Sandy Ryerson's official obituary in the local newspapers in both their print and online form. It was backdated, not actually appearing until the Thursday after the night of the concert; and it merely stated that he had been found dead in his home, no unusual circumstances noted. Further research showed that Sandy's remains had been interred the Wednesday after the concert, a day before the obituary appeared.
There were also troubling stories filtering from McKinley High School. One or two might be discounted as gossip or urban legend, but the regularity of them was unsettling: a cheerleader with a reputation for being an absolute terror whose face was mutilated when she was slammed into a locker-room mirror by an unseen assailant; an arrogant member of the football team whose eyes were irreparably burned when his contact lens solution was replaced with a different, rather hostile, chemical (apparently a practical joke gone awry); the vandalizing of the Cheerios' trophies, complete with ransom-note-style threats which resulted in a mass defection from the cheering squad, much to Coach Sylvester's dismay. In Dave's mind, Lima's complexion was irreparably scared.
By springtime, Dave's plans to move to New York were becoming a reality. Kurt and Rachel had enough room in their living quarters to accommodate a third, and Dave promised that he wouldn't require much space. Once Dave made the move, his living space and Kurt's began to overlap: this they expected but never actually voiced. Dave was set to begin classes in the fall semester, but this was not without complication. Dave's mother, upon learning that her son was rooming with another gay male, began legal proceedings to block Dave's access to the substantial amount of money which his parents had saved for his education. Determined to move forward, Dave found himself working as many as two part-time jobs which bookended his classes. It wasn't unusual for Dave to rise before dawn for an early job, attend classes during the mid-morning and afternoon hours, and return to another job in the evening. During the first two years, Dave had been, at various times, a courier, a bicycle messenger, a packager for items to be shipped, and a delivery person of pizzas, Chinese food, and flowers. After the first two years, the living arrangement dissolved amicably: Rachel taking an apartment with her boyfriend and Kurt and Dave finding a similar though smaller flat in a more polite neighborhood. Dave's jobs kept him busy but became more manageable as he found employment within the school, temporary jobs in his projected field, and internships. His grades were consistently good enough to earn him assistance and partial grants. If the final two years of his education were less taxing than the first two, it still afforded him very little time for much else.
For his part, Kurt was employed the entire time, regularly promoted from a gofer and glorified receptionist to personal assistant, consultant, and finally staff writer with his own successful fashion blog under the umbrella name of the prestigious publication whose online presence he co-managed. During this time, Kurt, though dedicated to and fond of his job, found himself dressing more casually, making his appearance less stuffy, relegating his more preened and cultivated personas to the level of "work clothes": he simply didn't have the time or the patience to be a fashion plate seven days a week.
Typically, Dave would return home, exhausted from the day but happy to find Kurt waiting for him. It was not unusual that Kurt would have retired for the evening before Dave's arrival, but the presence of their warm bodies together was a constant and mutual manifestation of the security and sanctuary the found in each other.
Though their schedules afforded them only scarce waking time together, neither ever questioned that, nor did they question why they were together. It never felt to either that they were together simply by default; on the contrary, it felt increasingly natural, increasingly faultless to both of them that they should be together.
It was a Friday morning. Dave's first Friday morning after having completed his schooling. The last five years had been a constant grind of school and jobs for Dave, but he never complained. As he planned, three weeks before his final exams, Dave had quit both of the part-time jobs he was working. He wanted a slight breather before he began studying for his exams. After his formal education was completed, he'd be tasked with finding a more permanent job; but for the final days of school and the few weeks to follow, he'd hoped to relax; he felt that he'd earned it.
The previous night had Kurt and Dave privately celebrating the completion of Dave's having earned his degree. It was very rare that they could have a quiet night together: sharing a bottle of wine, take-out food from Dave's favorite Italian restaurant, candlelight, and an early bedtime, one in which they resigned themselves to sleep long after they actually went to bed.
In addition to Dave's freedom from the structured schedules of classes and employment (for the time being, at least), Kurt had also taken a long-overdue, week-long vacation from work. The two would be spending the coming week in Lima, visiting family and possibly old friends.
Dave woke early, as he always did, as his body-clock had been trained over the past four years, as dawn was a hazy fringe of a lighter shade of night on the horizon. As their bedroom slowly filled with light, Dave craned his head upward slightly, looking down at Kurt's sleeping profile from above. The two of them were lying on their sides, Kurt's back lightly against Dave's chest, both slightly curled at the hips and knees, nested together. Dave smiled in the silence at the sight and his opportunity to enjoy it without a schedule or appointment pressing him otherwise. He knew, however, that they needed to get out of bed soon as they were driving to Lima, and it was not a short trip by car. For the moment, though, he would breathe the luxury of this time with Kurt in the perfect silence of the coming morning.
When six o'clock arrived, Dave took it upon himself to wake Kurt. He lifted his head above Kurt's, stirring slightly as he extended over Kurt's face, and lowered to kiss Kurt's cheek. Kurt reacted by scrunching his face, squeezing his eyes closed even tighter, though a smile on his mouth betrayed the warmth and humor in the moment.
"Hey, we gotta get up soon," Dave whispered in the lightening gray of the bedroom.
"Mmmm," Kurt purred as he pushed his back more closely into Dave's chest, snuggling into the familiar warmth of Dave's form. "What time is it? We don't have to get up yet, do we? This feels so good, and we don't get to do this very often."
Dave smiled. In his mind and heart, he agreed. He didn't want to get up yet either. "We can lay around for a little while. It's eleven hours by car to Lima, though. I'd rather not pull in at, like, ten o'clock at night."
The two lay silent for a moment, Kurt arriving at fuller consciousness while Dave continued to absorb the perfect closeness of their bodies.
"Are you looking forward to the trip?" Kurt finally asked, breaking the silence with whispered words.
Dave thought for a moment. "I'm looking forward to seeing my dad. I haven't seen him since the holidays, and, even at that, we didn't get to spend much time together."
"I'm looking forward to seeing my dad and Carole also," Kurt contributed.
"Yeah," Dave dragged the word out, breathy. "I think my dad's really lonely. I think about that a lot. I really wish mom hadn't left him. I really hate that she left because of me."
"David, that wasn't your fault," Kurt countered quietly but quickly, his tone shifting serious.
"I-I know," Dave answered, sounding almost like a trained response. "I know that. I know she's wrong for thinking the way she thinks, and I know it's wrong of her to think what she does about me, about the way I am, something I have no control over. But the fact remains that she left my dad because of me. That's a true thing. I wish it weren't, but it is."
Dave was silent for a moment before expanding. "See, having a partner in my life, having you in my life, Kurt, has made dealing with adversity so much easier. Knowing that you're there, that you're part of my life, has made the constant grind of the last four years, going to school full time and working two jobs, almost a pleasure, something I'd gladly take on with a good attitude and a smile on my face. If I lost you suddenly, it would remove all of that happiness and optimism from my life, and I can't imagine how much that would hurt. But, see, that's what happened to my dad. He lost his partner when my mom left him."
"You wasted no time moving out of that town, David," Kurt spoke softly.
"I couldn't deal with it anymore. I told you about all of the strangeness. It just didn't feel like the place I grew up in anymore. Something had changed or been revealed or something. The disappearance of, like, everything related to that show. Does it weird you out or surprise you or even freak you out that Sandy Ryerson might have been murdered the night of that concert? That Blaine seems to have completely disappeared? That the ambulance driver told me about a fire that night and then denied any fire happened a couple of weeks later?"
"David, I really can't think about that stuff," Kurt spoke. "It's out-of-sight, out-of-mind. I have other things to think about. Plus, it was five years ago."
"Yeah, I know," Dave spoke, almost in a sigh. "It was a long time ago, and there's no point in thinking about it now." The pitch of Dave's voice raised as he continued. "But do you ever wonder what exactly happened to Blaine? Why no one will talk about it? I mean, you were his boyfriend for..."
"Don't remind me," Kurt cut Dave's sentence short with an annoyed tone of voice. "I left Blaine behind completely. If he was ever good for me, it's nothing I can remember in light of how everything ended."
Dave was quiet before saying, "Sounds kinda cold."
"Well, he hurt me," Kurt's answer was immediate with a hint of defiance. "He messed me up in the head and, well, if it wasn't for you, what he did to my sense of trust would have messed me up for maybe the rest of my life. I think it's quite an accomplishment that I can be indifferent, that I don't hope something horrible happened to him."
Dave absorbed the statement for a moment. "You, um, say that I helped restore your, um, trust in other people?"
Kurt turned his head to face Dave's eyes, speaking softly. "Yes, David. You were everything I could have wanted at the time. Us being together just feels like an extension of that feeling."
"We weren't even, like, officially together," Dave recollected with a small smile. "My trip to stay with you at our old place with Rachel. We kissed on the plane, but, like, continued just as friends for the rest of my stay."
"We knew where we were headed, though," Kurt countered. "You said as much before you left. It was pretty inevitable, given the way we made each other feel."
Dave smiled with greater certainty. "Since then there's never been any doubt in my mind that with you is where I want to be. And I just couldn't stay in Lima any longer, not by myself at least."
Kurt's response wasn't immediate, and it was measured, paced, when it did come. "David, you know, New York isn't exactly a bastion of honor, trust, and integrity. There's probably more messed-up stuff that goes around here than there is in Lima."
"I know," Dave's answer was quick and certain-sounding. "But, see, when I'm with you, things make sense, that's all. If you were still in Lima when I became so, um, disillusioned and confused, I might have been able to handle it better. Plus, I never became involved in any New York mysteries first-hand."
Kurt snickered. "You were always too busy." Dave smiled as Kurt continued. "But I get all that. I've never had anything that strange happen to me in New York either, but I'm sure it does."
"Well, yeah, but you and me together aren't likely to get sucked into any crazy schemes or unexplainable happenings that feel like either grand deceptions or oncoming insanity," Dave contributed, his voice rising to a quiet conversational level.
"Speaking of, did you ever hear from Sebastian after that weekend?" Kurt asked.
Dave shook his head. "No. When the ambulance took him away, that was the last I saw or heard of him. I tried to find out how he was doing after that, but he never returned my messages. Honestly, I'm not surprised. He's kind-of a citizen of the world, and he's kinda slippery. I can't deny that we struck up a strange friendship, but his absence seems expected or something, though I would like to know how he's doing after having been shot."
"Well, I watched you take care of him until the ambulance arrived," Kurt spoke. "You were fantastic. You were, like, above and beyond the call of friendship, David."
Dave smiled and nodded, humbly.
"Do you think you would ever want to move back to Ohio?" Kurt posed, answered by a startled, uncertain expression from Dave. "I mean, to be closer to your dad."
Dave shook his head and answered slowly. "Kurt, your place is here in New York, and my place is with you."
"With the way my work is, David, I work from here, our apartment, at least half of the time as it is," Kurt spoke. "I can do most of what I'm doing from any location. I might need to come to New York every couple of months, but that'd be a work-related expense. I'd like to be closer to my dad also, and we wouldn't have to actually live in Lima, you know. We could be in Akron or Cleveland. They're only a few hours away by car; or Dayton, that's just a little over an hour from Lima."
Dave's uneasy expression broke into a small smile. "I guess that's something we could think about. We'd need to get some money saved for a move like that, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find employment without much trouble."
"Last night was incredible, David," Kurt spoke, almost melodically, changing the subject.
"Yeah," Dave delivered the word smoothly and slowly, almost humming into it as a smile broke over his face. "It's so rare that we get to do that, and even less often that we can really take our time like that."
Kurt straightened his body and rolled himself to face Dave, addressing Dave's eyes with his and brushing his fingers lightly over the surface of Dave's chest and the light coating of body hair on it. "Now that you're done with school, though, and you'll be getting a regular job, we'll have the time for that a lot more often," Kurt reassured, sounding bright at the beginning with his tone and delivery shifting to a flirtatious purr as he finished his statement.
Dave chuckled in response. "Yeah, you're right about that, I know." Dave shrugged and his eyes dropped away from Kurt's as if caught with a bashful or embarrassing expression, grinning and blushing. "It's just that it seems like when we, uh, did that kinda stuff before, we were, like, squeezing it between our sleep schedules and sometimes not going there for, like, weeks because we couldn't get our waking hours and bedtimes in sync with each other's, and, well, last night, we could really take our time and, like, enjoy it without worrying about any of that other stuff, or, like, without me worrying if I was keeping you up unnecessarily."
"Are you saying that you didn't enjoy it before last night, David?" Kurt posed with a sarcastic smirk.
"No," Dave's response was immediate and nearly frantic, even if his smile remained. "Uh, I'm just saying that maybe that's why, um, last night was so, um, incredible, I think is what you said. And, yes, I've always enjoyed it, even at first when I was really self-conscious and a little worried and definitely nervous, and I think you know all that and you're just getting your kicks watching me squirm here a little."
Kurt grinned. "You're adorable when you squirm."
"Sadist," Dave muttered accusing with a slight eye-roll and smirk before raising his hands to Kurt's shoulders and kneading gently with his fingers. "You do know, though, that I got just as much out of sleeping next to you every night for the last four years. Even if you weren't awake enough to say anything or even kiss me goodnight. Just having you beside me and feeling you there and knowing you were there through the night was way enough."
"Damn it," Kurt's eyes fell and his harsh smile softened to one of sublime warmth. "You just trashed my moment of sadistic glee. You're right, though. As great as everything in the last four years was, last night was perfect. Better than the brief and almost impersonal ways we've had to conduct ourselves around each other's schedules. Almost makes me wish our first times were that perfect."
"Oh, geeze," Dave rolled his eyes. "Our first times were great and a lot of fun and everything, but I was kind-of a basket case so much of the time."
Kurt grinned in recollection. "You were nervous and so afraid that you were going to hurt me or do something wrong; and I was almost as clueless as you were, but I didn't care. I just wanted us to be that close. And as nervous and almost ridiculously careful as you were, you were really sweet, really beautiful. It showed how much you care about me."
Dave didn't verbalize a response; he merely smiled and blushed, his eyes quietly smiling also, facing downward away from Kurt's.
Kurt spoke again. "David, I felt that this was happening from that first flight all those years ago, the night of that messed-up concert, the two of us sitting beside each other and talking on the overnight flight to New York. I felt it before that even, but it was then, on that plane, when I felt like I really knew." Kurt lifted his hand and rested his fingers in Dave's hair, tangling them softly.
"I felt it then too," Dave agreed. "We felt right for each other at the time and it still feels that way, at least for me it does."
"It does for me too," Kurt voiced quietly as he pulled himself close to Dave, tipped Dave's head toward himself, and kissed his forehead. Dave blushed and laughed quietly in reply.
"You know," Dave began, "even after all this time, over four years living together, beside each other, being physically close, sometimes you can touch me in a way that still makes me shudder and feel all warm and giddy." Dave exhaled, red-faced, appearing almost exhausted. "You think I'd be used to it by now."
Kurt Grinned smugly. "I think that means it's real. I think it means that we're doing something right."
Dave lifted his face to Kurt's level, and their lips met, gently at first, then deepening, exploring, and finally parting. Dave sat upright, and Kurt followed. Dave placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and rubbed them again, more vigorously this time. This raised goosebumps on Kurt's arms and a playful grin on Kurt's mouth.
"Okay, this is what I propose for right now," Dave spoke in a normal conversational volume. "I say that one of us makes breakfast while the other showers. Then we eat breakfast together, and then the one who already showered cleans up and the one who made breakfast showers, and then we get on the road."
"I have an idea," Kurt spoke, playful grin still in place. "We could shower together."
Dave exhaled through a smirk. "If we shower together, that will delay our getting on the road for at least an hour, because, well, you know how that will go."
Kurt's face feigned disappointment as he answered. "Yes, of course. You're always the logical, practical one."
"Aw, c'mon," Dave protested, "you know I have a deep appreciation and admiration for your spontaneous and more, um, physically tempting suggestions; but we really don't have time for that today."
"Yeah, yeah," Kurt spoke, smirking though trying to sound disappointed. "I'll hit the shower. You can make breakfast. Your breakfast will be less complicated and easier to clean up than mine would be so that'll get us on the road that much sooner."
Dave smiled, a small triumph and a painless defeat for Kurt. As both young men stood from the bed, they kissed again and parted: Kurt slipping into his bath robe and Dave pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before walking to his desk to boot his laptop.
"I'm gonna check my email and stuff before we get on the road," Dave informed. "You might wanna do the same, though you could probably check yours while we're on the road. I'll probably be driving at first."
"Oh, I'll get to it," Kurt said, partially muffled as he closed the bathroom door in mid-sentence.
The screen on Dave's laptop illuminated while Dave walked to the kitchen area and opened the freezer, eyes scanning the compartment, mumbling to himself, I don't think I could get away with frozen waffles today.
Poptarts, maybe, he mumbled after closing the refrigerator and eyeing three boxes of the packaged pastries in various flavors. They turn every breakfast into a party, he mused.
Dave strode back to his desk to access his email account, and the most recent message piqued his curiosity. The name of the sender was Sebastian Smythe and the subject line read, Greetings from an almost-friend.
As Dave clicked and accessed the message, he could hear the shower begin behind the bathroom door. Curious and with keen interest, Dave read the message.
Dave,
I hope things are going well for you. It's been almost five years since I've last seen you. I apologize for not returning your messages. I have been well.
Please check your bank account. You will find that I have made a substantial deposit. Please do not attempt to return it to me as you will not be able to do so. Please accept it.
If you should wish to speak to me personally, you can send me a reply message or call the number at the end of this message. I promise that I won't ignore you this time.
Sincerely,
Sebastian Smythe
Nearly frantic, Dave bounced to his bank's website and logged on. He was dumbstruck by what he saw when he accessed his checking account. He immediately found his phone and pecked in the phone number included in Sebastian's email message.
"Hello?" the tiny voice answered through Dave's phone.
"Hello, Sebastian?" Dave responded.
"Is this Dave Karofsky?" the voice became familiar-sounding and the speaker sounded as if they were audibly smiling.
"Uh, yeah," Dave answered, slight apprehension in his voice. "Sorry to call so early in the morning, but I got your email and checked my bank account. Sebastian, what's this all about?"
"Surprise!" Sebastian spoke melodically followed by a laugh and a pause. "Don't sweat the time of day. I'm in Paris, and it's early afternoon here. Dave, it's me thanking you."
"For what?" Dave's voice sounded somewhat urgent and disbelieving.
"Aw, c'mon, Dave, don't be so modest. You saved my life a few years back. I owe you something for that."
Dave inhaled, still taken aback. "Sebastian, I was acting out of, well, just because that's how I conduct myself. I couldn't just stand by and let someone bleed out without trying to help them. I'd have probably done that for anyone."
"But you did it for me," Sebastian countered quickly. "I'm not so sure I deserved it at the time. I was telling everyone that I was trying to straighten my life out and be a better person, but I was still the same damned asshole bastard I'd been all along. It nearly got me killed. You tried to talk me out of doing that stupid shit that night, and if I'd have listened to you, I probably wouldn't have been shot. And I can't pretend that the whole thing didn't affect me, Dave. That whole time I was hanging out with you in Lima, you were making some kinda impression on me, getting me to see what a fuck-up I was. It took years for me to get my head right. I mean, it's not easy because I think I have some natural tendency to be an asshole, I guess. But, then, all I gotta do is think about the time when my life was given back to me by this person to whom I was pretty terrible at one time, inexcusably so. That straightened my ass out more than you know. So just take the money. It's yours. And I really don't think its enough."
"Sebastian, you deposited five hundred thousand dollars into my bank account," Dave spoke, incredulous.
"Dave, I'm doing very well for myself," Sebastian explained. "A year and a half ago, my dad put me in control of one of his companies. It was flagging badly, going down the tubes. I think he thought he could pass the blame of its failure onto his fuck-up son, but I brought it back. I brought it back and turned it around; and I did it without resorting to anything shady or deceptive or criminal. I'm all above-board and ethical, and the company is thriving at this point. The employees consider me to be some kinda hero for saving their jobs, so I know how that feels, Dave. It feels pretty good. You should feel that good for saving my life."
"Well, then, thanks," Dave's voice was quiet. "Thank you, Sebastian."
"Don't thank me because I don't deserve thanks, not for this at least," Sebastian dismissed, though politely. "By the way, you were a bitch to track down. I had no idea you were living in New York. I notice that your address is the same as Kurt Hummel's. Are you guys, like, together or just rooming?"
"Uh, Kurt's my partner," Dave answered, his bewilderment still apparent. "We've been together for over four years now. I moved to New York about six months after that concert."
"So, I take it that things are good with the two of you then," Sebastian spoke, an approving, optimistic tone. "Four years. That's great. Congratulations, Dave."
"Thanks."
Sebastian laughed quietly. "That you can thank me for."
"What?"
"Congratulating the two of you, Dave," Sebastian nearly exclaimed. "Seriously, though, I'm really happy for you, for both of you. And, if you ever need help with anything financial, as long as it's legal and on the up-and-up, don't hesitate to contact me, Dave. I mean that."
Dave swallowed audibly before answering quietly, "Okay."
"So, how's the glamorous life going for the two of you in New York?" Sebastian asked brightly, shifting the tone of the conversation. "Any big plans for the weekend?"
"Glamorous life?" Dave chuckled, disarmed. "Actually. I just finished college. Got my bachelor degree in physics. Kurt and I were kinda celebrating last night."
"Hey," Sebastian sounded brighter yet, "Big congrats on that too."
"Thanks," Dave said, smiling proudly. "We're actually going to Lima today. Kurt's taken a week off of his job, and we're going to visit our parents and old friends and stuff. That is, if any of our old friends actually stayed there."
Sebastian chuckled audibly. "Sounds like you wasted no time getting out of Lima, Dave."
"I couldn't stay there," Dave's tone sobered. "It just kinda freaked me out, the aftermath of that concert thing."
Sebastian was suddenly silent.
"You know, the driver of the ambulance that picked you up told me later that night that there had been a fire at Ryerson's house," Dave began. "Someone was found dead of a gunshot wound in the house and a young guy was rescued from the fire. I could assume that the body was Ryerson and the young guy, who was found handcuffed to a sling, was Blaine. That night I left to stay in New York for a week with Kurt. When I got back to Lima, it was like everything was erased: no stories in the newspapers, Ryerson's obituary was completely generic and said that he was found dead in his home, Blaine was, like, completely eliminated. I ran into that ambulance driver, and he told me that no fire had happened, that I was confused. I drove past Ryerson's house after that, and it had been torn down."
Sebastian remained silent. The silence extended, long and unnerving.
"Sebastian," Dave spoke, some element of discovery in his voice, "you know something about all of this, don't you?"
"Dave, maybe you shouldn't be too quick to question things if they don't concern you directly," Sebastian answered. "Early that Sunday morning after I was shot, before the anesthetic had worn off, still groggy as fuck and half asleep, a well-dressed man came to my hospital room. He offered me twenty thousand dollars to leave Lima. He said I could take the money and leave or I'd leave by whatever means his people wanted to use to remove me. He gave me a week to make up my mind. I took the money and was out of town by Wednesday. I had to hire people to help me pack as my left arm was not entirely usable at the time."
"What would be the purpose of that?" Dave asked. "When I returned to Lima, I kinda didn't expect you to be around, but, like, it was like the events of that weekend never happened."
"Dave," Sebastian spoke loudly, hanging onto the name, cutting Dave short and pausing before continuing. "Local politicians, the money behind the local politicians, a perfect little Bible-belt town like Lima: there are certain things that those people are going to want to keep from their public, no matter how true they might be. They're willing to pay and bribe and who-knows-what-else to keep up their little facade of hygienic bliss alive. And the teenage girls and their housewife moms don't want to believe what they saw, so they just play along. Blaine comes from a wealthy family, maybe they had a part in that too. Hell, for all we know, the Andersons could own the mayor of Lima, the Allen County Water Authority, and every church in the tri-state area. Just know that there are certain things that these people will go to any length to protect. If that means burying a news story about a probable pedophile living in their midst who had a playroom set up in his house and a video library of his activities on his hard drive, they'll do it. They think their public wouldn't be able to handle it, and they have a constituency to which to answer. They can't let a story like that one go public on their watch. And that public doesn't want to believe it happened either, so they'll deny it out of existence. And it's pretty easy to shut up a few EMT workers and police officers and hospital workers if you give them the choice between keeping quiet and minding their own business or losing their jobs."
Now Dave was silent.
"Dave, you're naïve," Sebastian spoke, quietly. "Sometimes I envied that about you. I think it's what woke me the fuck up and shook me out of that disreputable life I was living."
"But what happened to Blaine?" Dave asked quietly. "He has to be somewhere."
"It doesn't affect you, so you really shouldn't worry about it, Dave," Sebastian countered.
A heavy, palpable silence hung on the phone between them.
"Do you remember the Head of Janus?" Sebastian asked.
"What?" Dave responded, obviously clueless to the inquiry.
"A few years ago, a little over a year after I left Lima, I got an internship at an agency that manages entertainment industry acts," Sebastian began. "Singers, groups, songwriters, all kinds of music-industry people. We had three recording labels under our umbrella. I thought that interning at a place like that would familiarize me with the business. At the time, I was still planning to pursue a singing career even though I was studying business, entertainment business, specifically. I'd worked there for about six months when a video by this act who went by the name the Head of Janus began making a big stir on the internet. Nobody knew what to make of this act, but it was catching fire. It appeared to be a male singer. The video was professional: somebody had spent a lot of money on this thing, and it was getting attention. It was just one song, a cover version of the old sixties song "This Magic Moment", in a big arrangement with strings and orchestration, really romantic-sounding, except for the singer's voice. I mean, the guy could sing, technically he could hit the notes, but his voice sounded completely destroyed, like a crazy, on-key croaking or something. There were people speculating that it wasn't even a real voice, that it was being electronically manipulated. It's hard to figure who all these people were who were making up this act's following, but their numbers were going up: message boards and fan websites and blogs devoted to this Head of Janus guy. The size of the following was hard to argue with, and the labels were taking notice. He was in the video, but you could never get a really good idea of what he looked like. See, he wore this mask that covered one side of his face, like the one in the Phantom of the Opera musical; and he had this kinda mop of dark, curly hair that he wore to one side, keeping his face partially-hidden with that. He was dressed in this frilly Victorian get-up, but all of the shots of his face were either quick edits or half in the dark."
"So, what's this got to do with anything?" Dave asked. "I never heard of this Head of Janus guy, but, then, I haven't done much for the past four years but work and go to school."
Sebastian continued. "It doesn't have anything to do with anything. It's just a crazy story, that's all. See, I also came to realize that the entertainment business is extremely corrupt. Working that internship was probably a lot like your experience with all of your disillusionment with Lima. You had to get out of Lima, and I had to get out of the entertainment industry. I mean, I can really sing, right, but here's this guy whose voice is either destroyed or manipulated to sound fucked-up who has record labels ready to eat out of his hand."
Dave shook his head, understanding Sebastian's reasons for abandoning his singing career but confused by the story. "So, um, what happened to his Head of Janus guy anyway?"
"He got signed," Sebastian answered. "His label gave him a big push, sunk tons of money into advertising and promoting. His CD came out and crashed and burned. The fad had run its course. Frankly, the one original video could be seen as art or parody or something; but the album was creepy, like some creepy croaking guy in a mask trying to be the next Josh Groban. The label lost millions and lots of people probably lost their jobs in the debacle."
"Was the agency you were working for involved with this guy?" Dave asked, almost disinterested at this point.
"No," Sebastian replied. "I mean, they definitely made him a few offers. As far as I know, no one in the business-end of things ever met this Head of Janus guy. Everything was conducted via his handlers over the phone from a blocked number. I can say that I listened in on one of the phone conversations once, but there was nothing remarkable about the conversation. Just typical industry contract negotiation."
"Were you allowed to do that?" Dave spoke, baffled, "to listen in on the conversation?"
Sebastian laughed. "It was part of my job. They encouraged it. Besides, the call was scheduled for a specific time so they could have a technician tap my line to trace the number's origin. I had to monitor the actual call while he was doing his tracing."
"Dude, that sound kinda creepy," Dave sounded dismissive, "wrong, even."
"I agree," Sebastian countered. "That's why I had to get out of that line of work."
"Was the guy able to trace the number?" Dave asked, a sarcastic smirk returning to his face.
"Oh yeah," Sebastian assured confidently. "It was coming from Allen County, Ohio."
Dave was stunned silent.
"Hey, Dave, nice talking , but I gotta get going. Have a good time in Lima. Don't let the place freak you out. You have nothing to worry about as long as you don't ask too many questions. Take care, big guy; and do let me know if I can ever help you and Kurt, okay?"
"Alright," Dave answered slowly, jostled from his silence. "Hey, uh, if you're ever around or anything, I would really like to see you, just kinda hang out and say hello. I'm sure Kurt would wanna do that too."
"Sounds good. Take it easy, Dave."
"Bye and thanks, Sebastian."
The call ended from Sebastian's side almost too quickly after Dave spoke. Dave sat silent for a moment, roused from his uncertain state by the sound of Kurt opening the bathroom door. Dave turned to face Kurt who was fully-dressed thought his hair was still wet and unstyled.
"No breakfast yet?" Kurt asked, an almost playfully demanding tone.
Dave shook his head as if trying to wake himself. "No, sorry. I was actually on the phone with Sebastian. He'd emailed me and kind-of suggested I call him."
Kurt's face became surprised, then serious. "Now that's a coincidence. We were just talking about him. Is everything okay?"
Dave's face relaxed to a gentle smile as he looked downward then up again to address Kurt's eyes. "He thanked me, kinda in his own way, for saving his life a few years ago. And he says I helped straighten his life out a little."
"Thanked you in his own way?" Kurt questioned. "What does that mean?"
"He deposited a pretty enormous amount of money in my bank account."
"Oh my god," Kurt exclaimed. "Are you going to keep it?"
Dave shook his head, facing downward again. "He said he won't take it back. He said he's doing really well, running one of his dad's businesses. He also said that if, in the future, you or me should need any kind of financial assistance, we should let him know and he'd help."
Kurt smiled, though with an air of disbelief, shaking his head. "How much did he give you?"
"A lot," Dave said. "Five hundred thousand."
Kurt gasped.
"Maybe we can take some time an look at some potential houses in Cleveland or Akron or Dayton this week when we're in Ohio," Dave suggested.
Kurt continued smiling and shaking his head, obviously speechless.
"Poptarts and coffee okay for breakfast today?" Dave asked, sounding more relaxed.
"Yeah," Kurt finally spoke, a hinted laugh. "That's fine by me."
Kurt sat himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, a half-wall which separated the dining area from the kitchen area. Dave placed coffee mugs on the bar's countertop and sat quietly next to Kurt. Kurt almost instinctively leaned toward Dave, and Dave raised his arm behind Kurt, resting his hand on Kurt's far shoulder, rubbing warmly as it landed there.
"You going to be okay with all of this?" Dave asked.
Kurt shrugged and exhaled a breathy laugh. "What's not to be okay with? I mean, it's like winning a lottery or something." Kurt snapped a cinnamon poptart in half and broke it further, separating two smaller pieces, lifting one into his mouth and the second to Dave. Dave smiled and gently took it into his mouth while pulling Kurt closer to him, both breaking into smiles.
The two remained silent for a while, drinking coffee and eating, staying physically close, the back of Kurt's shoulder touching to Dave's chest frequently.
"Do you remember something called," Dave spoke finally, pausing for a moment, "Head of Janus?"
Kurt grimaced and rolled his eyes. "That crazy video from a couple of years ago? The creepy-looking guy in the mask?"
"Yeah, I guess," Dave responded. "I'd never heard of it, but Sebastian said that he interned at an entertainment management agency for a while. That was one of the acts they were trying to sign. He said that it was weird, but the guy could actually, like sing, in, like, a technical sense or something."
"That's true," Kurt agreed. "I mean, I spent a lot of time training my voice in the past, you know that: all my work with the glee club in high school and such. Yeah, the Head of Janus had an obviously trained voice, but it just sounded horrid, like he had to be in pain or something to get those sounds. I didn't get the attraction at all."
"Sebastian said that it was all the rage for a while," Dave mentioned.
"That's true too, for all of, maybe, six or eight months," Kurt confirmed. "I still have no idea what the target audience was. I mean, it looked a little like goth and a little romantic, but that voice was just creepy. I think it was more novelty than anything. Haven't thought about that thing in years. Didn't think about it much when it was happening."
"Just curious, that's all," Dave spoke softly as the two finished breakfast.
One year and five months later, six years after the concert
"Well, hello, Sebastian," Dave spoke into his phone upon reading the incoming call information.
"Hello, Dave," Sebastian answered in return. "Long time."
Dave snickered. "Yeah, well, the last time we talked was over a year ago when you decided to surprise me with that completely amazing and mysterious deposit into my bank account; and the last time before that, well, we were singing together waiting for an ambulance to arrive."
Sebastian laughed. "Okay, we don't chat frequently, but you can't say it's not memorable when we do."
Dave laughed heartily at the observation. "And it's great to hear your voice. So, to what do I owe this call, Sebastian?"
"Well," Sebastian's voice betrayed an air of disappointment. "I'm in New York right now. It's a Saturday morning, and I was hoping to meet with you and Kurt like you suggested when last we spoke; but, well, I looked you up, and, apparently, you and Kurt no longer live in New York."
Dave exhaled loudly. "Yeah, that's true."
"And I thought I was keeping such effective tabs you," Sebastian spoke in an affected near-whine before brightening his voice slightly. "So, where are you living now?"
"We bought a house just outside of Cleveland, kinda between Cleveland and Oberlin," Dave answered. "Uh, we came into some extra cash last year, and Kurt and I decided that we wanted to be a little closer to our parents."
"That's awesome," Sebastian commented, sounding genuinely happy for the couple. "Tell me, though, did you and Kurt get married before you moved from New York? Please tell me that you did."
Dave laughed, shaking his head. "You know it. It happened really quick otherwise I would have invited you."
"Don't sweat it," Sebastian retorted. "I know how these things just kinda happen sometimes."
"Well, your, um, contribution to my bank account definitely made the house and the move a possibility, so you should have been at the wedding at the very least," Dave spoke, sounding apologetic.
"Like I said, Dave, don't let it bother you," Sebastian defused Dave's playful guilt. "We'll get together sometime. Until then, just let me congratulate you."
"Aw, thanks, Sebastian."
"You're welcome, and pass my congratulatory greetings onto Kurt, will you?" Sebastian requested.
"Sure will."
"So, everything's good with you two, I guess?" Sebastian asked.
"I cannot complain," Dave spoke with a smile. "I'm freelancing for several architectural firms in the area. There's a lot of development going on, and my schedule is pretty full at the moment. Kurt is still working for that fashion website via the internet, and he has his own blog. He goes to New York every couple of months, and if I'm free, I make the trip with him. And he's started this fashion-consulting business. Craziest thing, all these rich women pay Kurt to suggest things he thinks they should be wearing for swanky events."
Sebastian laughed aloud. "You gotta be shittin' me."
"No, not at all," Dave confirmed with a chuckle of his own. "He's outfitted whole weddings and stuff. It's pretty amazing that he used to be this complete slave to fashion, and now he just regards it as 'his work'. Otherwise, we've got Cleveland just east of us if we want to go into the city for a concert or a big show; and we have Oberlin just to the west when we want to see some of their cultural events. Kurt's even been thinking about maybe taking some classes over there to maybe get back in the swing of performing, but, like, just as a hobby. How are things with you?"
"Things are good," Sebastian answered, sounding calm. "I'm expanding my business, and my dad put me in charge of a few other things because I've shown that I could do well with this kinda stuff. He didn't have a great opinion of me for a long time, but I think I kinda won him over."
"That's great, Sebastian," Dave spoke sincerely. "Any special man in your life?"
Sebastian laughed. "No, not at the moment. Honestly, it's taken me a while to get my head straight enough to feel like I deserved a special man in my life. I'm getting there, though."
"Well, I'd love to talk more, and I'd love to get together with you sometime, but I kinda gotta get going," Dave informed.
"Oh, well, I don't wanna hold you back," Sebastian spoke, sounding slightly clumsy, "What do you have going on today?"
"Kurt and I are driving out to Lima," Dave informed. "We're going to meet up with our dads and Kurt's stepmom and my dad's girlfriend, and we're all gonna go out to the Buckeyes game at OSU. We'll stay the night in Lima and go back home tomorrow."
"That sounds like a great time, Dave," Sebastian remarked.
"Yeah, it is," Dave replied. "We do this most weekends when there's a home game. I didn't get to do this kinda stuff very often when I was in college, and not at all with my dad. I really like his girlfriend too. They seem to get along great, and I'm glad he has someone to spend time with."
"Does Kurt enjoy going to the games?" Sebastian asked.
"Yeah, he does," Dave's reply was honest but not enthusiastic. "I kinda got Kurt to appreciate the games, and his dad likes that he gets something out of it. Yeah, it's good all around."
"Does Lima creep you out like it did before you moved to New York," Sebastian asked, hesitantly. "I know that was part of the reason why you moved."
"No, it was the whole reason why I moved," Dave answered confidently. "And, no, it doesn't creep me out as long as I realize that there's a bad side to every place. There's enough good people around to keep me in blissful denial of that kinda bad stuff. And if something gets to me in a bad way, Kurt makes everything make sense again."
Sebastian was silent for a moment, audibly breathing, before saying, "Man, I'm so happy for you, Dave, for both you and Kurt."
"Thanks."
"Good talking to you, Dave. Have a great weekend."
"You too, Sebastian. We'll get together soon, I hope. Goodbye."
"Bye, Dave."
No sooner did Dave end the call than he heard Kurt's voice behind him.
"Phone call?"
"Yeah," Dave said through a chuckle as he returned his phone to his shirt pocket. "It was Sebastian of all people. He's in New York and thought we still lived there. Wanted to try and get together."
Kurt smiled and snaked his arms around Dave as he approached closer. "That was nice of him."
"Yeah."
"Do you miss New York at all?" Kurt asked, eyes pointing upward into Dave's.
"Yeah, I kinda do," Dave answered, "but I love what we have here too much to want to go back."
Kurt grinned wide and spontaneous. "Me too. That's exactly the way I feel."
With that, Kurt pulled himself closer to Dave, and Dave's arms instinctively wrapped around Kurt. Their lips met in a quick, playful kiss before they parted and Kurt asked, "Are you all ready to go?"
"Yep," Dave answered definitively and cheerful, "Let's get on the road.
Kurt and Dave were making good time: the traffic and road conditions were prefect for travel. They'd been on the road for just over two hours, less than forty minutes away from their destination when Dave ran over a particularly rough cluster of potholes. It was another ten minutes on the road when Kurt mentioned the way in which he noticed the car was riding.
"It's pulling to the right, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," Dave answered. "Probably nothing major."
"Yes, but it's probably something as simple as the tire pressure," Kurt commented. "Those potholes weren't so bad as to cause any damage, but you should probably check the pressure. There's an exit we can take coming up on the interstate."
"You don't think it can wait until we get to Lima?" Dave questioned, almost innocently. "We'll be there in another twenty minutes."
Kurt affected a glare. "David, I'm the son of a mechanic. I'm a mechanic myself. Improperly inflated tires wear unevenly and can mess up alignment as well as adversely affect mileage and..."
Dave smiled in defeat. "Okay, okay, I should have known better than to make a dumb statement like that to you. I'll get off at the exit and check the tire pressure."
"And if it is something more severe like alignment, we can probably get it fixed up in dad's garage before we go home tomorrow," Kurt added. "And thank you."
Dave steered the car onto the exit ramp, taking it into a wide arc as it merged onto a main road lined with hotels and eateries.
"I see a gas station just after that intersection," Dave noted. "I can check the tires there if they have air."
"Ooh," Kurt sighed with a hint of enthusiasm. "There's a coffeehouse next door. Could you go for a coffee or biscotti or both?"
Dave turned his head to face Kurt, smirking. "Of course. I'll drop you off at the coffee shop, drive over and check the tires, and pick you up when I'm finished."
Kurt smiled a genuinely happy, almost childlike smile. "What do you want?"
Having navigated the intersection, Dave slowed the car and stopped at the walkway, just in front of the entrance to the coffeehouse. "Just coffee. You know how I like it. A shot of cream. Nothing special, I don't want anything fussy right now. You can surprise me with a flavored coffee or something, but nothing with whipped cream or anything, okay?"
"Okay, got it," Kurt answered, reaching for his messenger bag and stepping from the car. "Anything to eat?"
"Uh, if you're getting something, you can grab me something also," Dave answered before Kurt nodded and slammed the car door closed.
Dave watched Kurt enter the coffee shop. He set the car into drive, slowly navigating the paved areas connecting the lot of the coffee shop to that of the gas station. He sighted the air dispenser and drove his car next to it. Once parked, Dave popped open the lid to the compartment between the front seats and searched for his tire-pressure gauge. There were three in the compartment: it comes with being married to a mechanic's son, Dave thought to himself. He lifted one of the three gauges from the compartment and exited the car after turning the ignition off.
He first checked the tires on the passenger side of the car, the ones which would have been most directly affected by the road, crouching and checking twice to get an accurate reading. The pressure was indeed down significantly in both the front and rear tires; the driver-side tires read their proper level of air pressure.
Dave walked to the air dispenser and uncoiled the hose, resting it on the pavement next to the passenger side of the car. He then reached into his pocket for change. Four quarters were needed to purchase air; more quarters would buy more air, however. He had six quarters in his pocket. He instinctively fed four into the machine, hoping that either he could adequately inflate the tires on four quarters or that he'd have enough time to feed the two additional quarters into the machine before the air stopped.
He heard the machine begin to hum and the air hose jumped and emitted a hissing sound. He crouched to the front tire and pressed the air hose to the tire's intake, checking the pressure at regular intervals. Once the front tire was brought to its proper inflation, Dave moved himself to the rear tire and repeated the process. He was able to get both tires inflated before the air dispenser timed-out on him.
Dave gathered and coiled the still-hissing air hose in his hands, preparing it to hang on the hook under the dispenser. A gas station worker approached the dispenser, a short man in a typical gas-station-attendant's clothes. The man looked old; he walked with a slight hunch, and he checked the trash receptacle located to the side of the air dispenser, loosening the liner, and pulling it free from the trashcan.
As Dave approached the air dispenser with the coiled hose in his hand, he noticed that the attendant's right hand seemed somewhat palsied or injured as he struggled tying off the plastic liner. Dave shifted forward to assist the man, but the man had the liner tied off by the time Dave was beside him.
Being next to the man, Dave noticed that the man was probably not as old as he had appeared from a short distance away. The man's facial complexion was rough, appearing like a severe case of acne scarring. As Dave reached the coiled air hose to the hook under the dispenser, he noticed the burn-scars on the attendant's wrists, thin bands of flesh that appeared stressed to their limit, a lighter, redder color than the rest of his arms.
Dave reached forward and hung the hose onto its hook as the man struggled to insert a fresh liner into the trash receptacle. Dave instinctively turned toward the smaller man.
"Let me help you with that," Dave said as he took the side of the fresh liner from the man's disabled right hand and pulled it tightly around the edge of the trashcan. Slowly the man craned his head upward. Dave thought the man's slow, lethargic movement bore the mark of someone heavily medicated. The man's eyes met Dave's; this all but confirmed Dave's assumption about the man's medicated state, but the man's face blessed Dave with a possible realization, a horror.
The man's face, though rough and scarred on the surface was pulled into a disturbing asymmetry: it's left side bore more definite lines of scar tissue. The left eyelid seemed stiff and leathery as it hung, almost closed, over the person's left eye; and the eyes themselves bore only the faintest trace of consciousness.
The man wore a hat typical of gas station attendants, but Dave could see very little of the man's dark, almost black hair peeking out from the edges; and the man's eyebrows were the faintest trace of black lines above his eyes, the left one broken by one of those lines of scar tissue.
"Thank you," the man spoke understandably but with a harsh rasp and nodded with unfocused eyes to Dave, startling him. Dave felt his blood literally run cold. The man continued to move slowly, gathering the filled trashcan liner, and moving away from Dave toward the direction of a dumpster, unaffected by the strange exchange.
Dave stood for a moment in the crisp autumn air, breathing deeply, the cool restoring his place in the moment. He was standing beside his car, having just checked the tire pressure and filling the tires. He slowly moved to the driver's side of the car, opened the door, and clinbed inside behind the steering wheel.
He drove back to the coffee shop in the adjacent lot. Kurt was waiting for him, smiling, standing at the edge of the raised walkway, holding two tall paper coffee cups and a small brown paper bag. Instead of merely slowing and stopping to allow Kurt to enter the car, Dave drove to a parking space located under an overhang and parked the car, shutting the engine down.
Kurt walked to the car, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. "Was the tire pressure down?" Kurt asked.
"Yeah," Dave mumbled quietly, almost exhaling the word.
"Did you remember to add fifteen pound to the cold pressure rating because the tires are hot from driving for the last two-and-a-half hours?"
"Yeah."
"I got you a pumpkin-spice coffee," Kurt smiled brightly, placing the paper cups into the dashboard cup holder. "I got some shortbread cookies too. That okay?"
"Yeah."
No sooner after had Dave breathed the word and Kurt placed the cups into the holder did Dave gently reach to Kurt, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his head into Kurt's chest. The embrace became firmer, almost frightening in its intensity for a moment. Kurt couldn't see the tortured grimace which Dave wore for a moment as his head was tucked tightly against Kurt's chest.
"David," Kurt spoke softly, holding Dave's head gently in one hand while running his other over Dave's back. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Dave was quiet for a moment, gathering himself, eyes watering but not spilling. He breathed in the calm he felt coming from Kurt and the shelter he felt within Kurt's arms, Kurt's strength and empathy.
Dave finally loosened his grip and spoke softly, backing from Kurt and addressing him with his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay." His face formed an unsure smile. "Just weird being back in Lima sometimes. And you make it right."
Kurt smiled a full, genuine smile, and all the uncertainty in Dave's face was erased.
