Dearest readers,
My updating sucks. And this chapter is short. I am ashamed.
Also, I'm just going to go ahead and point out to the people who were upset with this part in chapter ten that the 911 operator is bad at her job and Burt will deal with that in the recovery sequel. GOD.
Smooches,
The Writer
PS: Silent, I have fallen madly in love with you and your amazing reviews. Let's elope.
PPS: Anon, thank you so much for sharing that amazing story with me. I apologize for reminding you of such a terrible past… but I hope you continue reading into Kurt's recovery. 3
PPPS: Reviews. Long. Long. Reviews. … required. :)
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Burt's eyes flung open.
Had he fallen asleep? Fallen asleep?
Immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him.
He lay in bed, eyes burning holes into the ceiling with dark circles growing underneath them. His body became tense, almost unbearably, his mind somehow both racing yet completely stalled. He hadn't been dreaming, not to his recollection. He didn't remember closing his eyes. He must've passed out, probably from exhaustion.
To his left, Carole was fast asleep, her breathing steady and her face relaxed. Finn was upstairs, presumably out like a light as always. Burt had no idea how. But he supposed his situation was different.
Burt couldn't sleep. The idea of slipping into unconsciousness was out of the question for him, both intentionally and not. He could not – would not – let himself close his eyes and rest without irrevocably knowing that his little boy was sleeping safe under his roof, especially not when he knew his little boy was safe under no circumstances.
He feared closing his eyes, feared the images that would come to his mind. God, the things those creeps could be doing to him, the things they'd already done to him, were the worst kinds of horror in Burt's agonized mind. He couldn't stop himself from imagining it, what they'd done before sending Blaine that picture, and what they'd done outside of it. He couldn't stop the assumption that Kurt had been crying and begging for them to stop. Burt could see the tears rolling down his cheeks, his face going red and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in pain. He could hear his high, pitiful voice, babbling the first words that came to his terrified mind, just trying to feel safe again, trying to save his own life.
And the worst part of it was that Burt knew that his son had been crying for him. Crying for his dad, while his dad was at home, God knows how far away from his child, clueless as to what was happening. He should've been able to protect him. He should've been there to save him, still should be. But he wasn't. And he wasn't allowed to be.
When the police had told him that there was nothing he could do, he'd been furious. He couldn't understand how they actually expected him, the father of a missing kid who's flaming sexuality deemed him a target to the worst kinds of hate, who's location and history proved him to be in danger, to sit at home and wait for Kurt to call. Sit at home. And wait for Kurt to call.
"Furious" is an understatement for what Burt felt.
Of course, he realized that for the sake of his child, he had to accept that. He had to understand that in this case Kurt had a better chance at getting home safely if he left it up to the authorities. This had been explained to him after he'd thrown the chair and smashed the glass on the floor, which had calmed him down a bit. He was surprised he hadn't been arrested for that. Perhaps the police had been more lenient with him, given his situation.
His situation.
Kurt's situation was what Burt was the most concerned with. And until he knew his child was safe, sleep was out of the question.
He heard Carole stirring beside him. She rolled over onto her side, her breathing growing irregular for a few breaths before relaxing back into its rhythmic and entirely unconscious fluidity. She settled back into sleep, off in another world, completely oblivious to the possibility of her stepson being tortured by the psychopaths that kidnapped him.
There must have been a way Burt could have prevented this. He should've done something else, something more to protect his boy. He should've pushed the school more to stop the bullying, should've kept his son at Dalton with the zero-tolerance policy. Moreso, he shouldn't have stayed in Lima. What was he thinking, raising a flaming homosexual in such an unaccepting little town? It wasn't just emotionally traumatizing and a warped perception on the rest of the world, it was dangerous. He should've known that Kurt wouldn't be safe here.
And those calls, the calls that degraded Kurt for his sexuality. He'd received them more than once, just a hateful voice on the other line calling his child cruel words. And not just the voices of kids either, but adult voices, voices that had no right to be used in such a way. How could those people live with themselves, tormenting a little kid like that? And Burt had done nothing to stop it. In fact, he'd been angry at Kurt, as if it had been his fault. And now Kurt was gone.
No. He's not gone.
It couldn't have been one of those idiots, could it? Why hadn't he taken those calls more seriously? He should've done everything in his power to make sure Kurt was safe. That had been his job as a parent – to protect his son. And he'd failed.
Failed.
The phone rang.
What?
Burt turned to the clock. It was just after three in the morning. Who would be calling now of all times?
His stomach dropped.
Unless…
Burt jumped out of bed faster than he thought possible. He flung the blankets off of himself and half off of Carole by accident, who rolled over but stayed fast asleep. He jogged into the kitchen and grabbed the phone, feeling a little too hopeful.
"Kurt? That you?"
A man's voice answered him, deep and intentional. "Erm… hi." There was discomfort in his tone, but mostly concern. "Is this Kurt's father?"
"Yes. Who is this? Did they find him? Is he okay?"
"This is Blaine's dad."
Burt's stomach sunk. The bad feeling in his abdomen, the one he was getting used to now with Kurt gone, suddenly became more apparent.
No. Not gone.
Poor kid. Blaine hadn't been looking so great, he was avoiding his friends… Burt had gotten the call from the police about the horrific image that was sent to Blaine, and found out about his panic attack that way. Multiple panic attacks. Now what had happened to him?
Burt glanced at the clock again, feeling suddenly restless. "God." Something was wrong, or more wrong than it had been the day before. Burt couldn't recall ever having spoken to Blaine's dad, and now he was just up and calling in the middle of the night. Burt could only assume. "Is Blaine okay?"
"Well, he's…" There was hesitation in Anderson's voice, but his concern pushed him forward. "Blaine's not over there, is he?"
Burt's eyes closed. He paused. "No." The tension and the worry radiated through the phone lines. He could feel the sinking of Blaine's dad's heart, feel the exhale of breath. He wondered whether Anderson could hear his own quickening heartbeat, the one that Kurt would've went crazy over, yelling at him to sit down and relax because after all he was still recovering from a heart attack.
He felt the tears beginning at the back of his eyes.
No reason to cry… he'll be back soon…
"How long has he been gone?"
Anderson sighed. "I don't know. My wife got up to check on him about an hour ago and he wasn't there. He must've snuck out sometime tonight."
Burt groaned and shook his head. Of course he snuck out. Of course he had, how had any of them expected any different? Burt had seen the look in his eyes when he was told to leave Kurt's disappearance up to the police. He'd seen it, and he'd hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. He was naïve to think otherwise. He should've done something about it, just like he should've done something more to protect Kurt. Once again, he'd failed.
Failed.
It had been a look of defiance in Blaine's eyes.
Damn kids.
"Yeah, I know where he is."
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Lights flashed through Kurt's closed eyelids. Bright lights, lights that hurt his aching head. Voices sounded, echoing in his ears as though coming from a distant world. They were, in a sense, far off in the world of reality that Kurt was having difficulty grasping. These voices were probably forming words, but Kurt suddenly couldn't speak English. He couldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes.
Something touched his arm. In a frantic bout of panic, Kurt found the muscles in his eyelids and they flung opened in haste. He stared wide-eyed around him, realizing that he was shaking and feeling the adrenaline and fear starting in his blood. People surrounded him, were touching him, lifting him, making him lay down. Flashes of red and blue alarmed him, making his eyes squeeze shut again before he forced them back open. He had to protect himself. What if these people were going to hurt him?
A man's face came into focus, hovering over top of him. Kurt could see his mouth moving and assumed that sound was coming out, but he couldn't hear anything. He could barely even see the man's torso. Nothing registered but the head, hanging over his body, a look of concern and something like frustration on his face.
"…talk to me…"
Oh.
"Unng…"
"Tell me your name. Come on, I know you can hear me. Tell me your name."
"I d-don't…"
"Yes you do. You know your name. Talk to me."
He felt a change in depth as he was lifted into the back of a truck.
An ambulance.
"…what's your name?"
"K-… Kurt."
"Okay, Kurt, that's really good. What's your last name?"
"Mmm… H-…. Hum-… Hummel." When did speaking get so difficult?
He felt something cold against his leg. Looking down a bit, he saw a woman with a pair of scissors, cutting off his pants. God, hadn't he put on his favorite pair this morning? He wanted to look good for Blaine. Skinny jeans. Black ones. They'd reminded him of Sandy's leather pants in Grease.
No, don't cut them…
Then he realized that he wasn't wearing his black skinny jeans anymore. He was wearing sweatpants that were far too big for him, grey and baggy and just barely being held on him by a knotted drawstring at the top. Sweatpants that belonged to Dave. They were being cut and torn off of him, leaving him completely exposed in front of these strangers. And cold. It was cold in here against his bare skin. And all of the prodding and moving was hurting him, all the while with this floating head above him asking him questions that he should know the answer to and for some reason didn't. It scared him.
"How old are you, Kurt?"
"I… I don't… know…"
"Yes, you do. You know your age. When were you born?"
"I don't… know…!"
"Tell me your birthdate, Kurt. It's okay, you're doing great."
"I don't know!" It was all far too overwhelming. He couldn't help it; he burst into tears. "I want my d-dad… Please…"
"I can get your dad for you, Kurt, but we have to get you to the hospital first, okay?"
"Noooo….!"
"What's your dad's name?"
"B-Burt…!"
"We'll get him for you as soon as we can, okay?"
"I want him n-now!"
"Can you tell me where you're hurting, Kurt?"
"The op… operator … hung up on me…"
Kurt was sobbing, his voice higher pitched than he thought possible without sounding like a chipmunk.
"D-Dave's h-hurt…"
"It's okay, Kurt. You're going to be okay. Stay with me, now."
"I'm c-cold…!"
"…stay with me…"
"I… n-… need…"
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Finn awoke rather suddenly, his eyes squinting, looking around the room curiously. The phone was ringing.
He looked at the clock. It was nearly five in the morning. And the phone had woken him up. That meant nobody else was answering it. Otherwise he would've slept through it.
Groaning, he rolled over and nearly fell off his bed, then made his way onto his feet and into the hallway, wishing he was either half his size or not so goddamn lazy.
On his way to the kitchen, he passed by Kurt's room. The door was closed. Lucky jerk – he'd probably heard the phone and hadn't bothered to get up and answer it. He'd left it for Finn. Finn knew this because Kurt woke up a thousand times easier than he did – the only person that could sleep through a phone call longer than him was his mother – and if the phone had been ringing long enough to wake him up, it had been ringing more than long enough for Kurt to wake up. He wondered if Kurt was awake in his room. He probably heard Finn walking down the hallway, and was sniggering, half-asleep, because Finn had to get up and he got to stay in bed, warm and comfy and content and –
Shit…
Finn nearly stopped in his tracks. His stomach sunk. No, that wasn't right. He glanced back at Kurt's closed door as he made his way to the kitchen, a new slow concern in his step as the emptiness of Kurt's room followed him like a ghost.
The moment Finn reached the kitchen, the phone stopped ringing. Any other time, this would've pissed him off so much he would've had to make a snack as a type of compensation and then ate it on his way back to bed. This time, his concern was elsewhere, with his little brother. His little brother, who was actually older than him and not related to him at all, who he'd thrown pee balloons at and then fallen in brotherly love with, whom he'd sworn to protect and stand up for, two promises he'd excercised everyday since he'd pronounced them as Furt.
Who he'd left at school the day he disappeared.
Who was gone now, being tortured by some freaks who thought it was okay to hurt a little kid.
On the table, he noticed a scribbled note, signed by Burt, lying on the counter: "Two words. Damn Kids. Out looking for Blaine. Call my cell if you hear ANYTHING!" Great. As if Finn didn't have enough to worry about, now he could add Blaine to that list.
Sighing, he turned to the phone and looked at the caller ID. His eyebrows furrowed, then his stomach dropped. Blaine disappeared from his mind.
St. Josephs Hospital?
In Fort Wayne.
Near New Haven.
Kurt.
Fuck!
Finn pressed the redial button, yelling for his mom and Burt. Carole came running into the room within seconds. It was a miracle how she could sleep so easily through a phone ringing but the second she heard her son's voice she was as wide-awake as a college student on uppers.
Carole burst through the door. "Finn? Finn!"
"Hospital called. I'm calling them back." He gestured to the phone against his ear, anxious and impatient. "I think it's Ku – " Just then, someone answered, interrupting him. "Hello, s-someone just called here…"
"Let me talk!" Carole snatched the phone from his hands. "Hello? This is Carole Hummel. Please tell me you have my son." The colour was gone from her face. She noticed the note Burt had left, skimming through it quickly. Finn couldn't see her face – she was turned from him, but she'd turned very still suddenly, her breath stopping. Finn's stomach dropped.
Oh God…
Carole turned around slowly. Finn searched her eyes, hoping to God he would find a hint of good news in them.
"Call your father right now!"
"Is Kurt…"
"They have him. He's alive."
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Dark black sky, no stars, little wisps of dark blue, maybe clouds –
– the car door, still opened, hanging there, vaguely blowing in the wind and covered in blotches of red blood, strands of short, brown hair and bits of scalp –
– blood covering the driver's seat, splattered over the steering wheel, dripping down onto the floor and down even further out of the car and into the dirt, a puddle forming there, thick and hot and dark, deep red, a trail of bloody footprints leading away.
Somehow, despite the horror movie gore, the scene could be peaceful. The night was silent, almost compassionately, as if nature was aware that the living were asleep and was resting with them.
A body lay on the ground by the car. The skin was pale, the lips bluish, the hands white. The eyes were opened, the irises gazing blankly forward. The mouth was resting opened. It's absence of movement was unnerving despite the stillness of the night.
In the distance, an ambulance sounded, loud, unnecessarily loud in the silence of the night. A police siren followed it, too epic in the world's otherwise peacefulness.
- the police siren –
- the hint of flashing lights –
- looking down, a pale, bloody body –
- he saw his hands, just barely, beginning to come into focus, his ears ringing and his head throbbing, the blood soaking through him like water –
And Dave's eyes blinked, the first hint at his vague consciousness.
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END NOTE
I lied. There is another chapter after this one.