9

'How both of them can go missing in less than twenty-four hours I dunno.' Floyd was sitting in the interview room at the police station with one of Sam's caps on pulled down low. He was wearing grubby, baggy dark jeans and one of Spencer's Tshirts with a faded logo on the front. He had called the station and they had asked him to come down and they'd have words. Words which didn't seem to be all that centred around his boys.

'You look familiar.' The detective told Floyd.

'I've got one of those faces.' Floyd answered.

'What sort of face is that? It's hard to see when you're looking down at your lap the whole time.'

Floyd raised an eyebrow at the bastard then looked back down again. 'One of those faces which people think they've seen before when they've not.'

The detective sighed. 'Yet I know you from somewhere. The way you walk, the way you stand… the way you talk… where do I know you from?'

Floyd glanced up again at the man and ground his teeth. He then moved his hand upwards and knocked the cap off his head. 'Thought you were going to break out into song there, but I was here when the Speckson crap kicked off. Though I would have looked different then… you were a very low ranked nothing back then, but you had your eye on me and Bobby Kirk. You thought you knew everything. You were wrong. You're still wrong. Are you happy now?'

'Flanders. The man whispered. You son of a bitch.'

'Nice to see you again too. I would have avoided this if but for my boys going missing. I need to know where they are. I need to find them. Something has happened and I don't feel that you're taking me seriously.'

The detective stood and nodded. 'Oh we have people looking. I'm just not sure that we'll find much. You might object, but you know when people go missing that the first place they look is close to home.'

'Well I'm not hiding them in my fucking pockets! You want to waste time searching my house then go for it, but you'll need a warrant and in the mean time can you please look for them. Grass… crushed grass, but now I smell vehicle fumes, so they're not together and please stop! Stop… I know what you're going to ask and I'm not going to go through all that shit again. I have, as you know from past chats we've had, an ability to sense things.'

'Bullshit.' The detective told Floyd. 'It's easy to kill someone then pretend you've had a vision. It's not an ability it's lies.'

'It's an angelic ability given to me by those much more powerful than your boss.' Floyd snarled back at him.

'Angels again. Good. It's nice to see that you've not changed. May I ask what the hell you're doing here anyway? And why have you moved into that house when you know what happened there? Are you a crazy sick bitch like I believed you were back then?'

'Undoubtedly – it absolutely goes without question. I'm a crazy, sick bitch, but that doesn't mean that I've hurt my boys. I never hurt Bobby Kirk. He did that shit all on his own. But you… you never looked into what Bob reported to you. You never even thought to ask why he said what he said. You just sat back and took your fucking promotion and licked the appropriate arses.'

'Bobby Kirk had a history of psychological problems. That's why you latched onto him. Easy to manipulate. Easy to fool. But Bobby Kirk isn't why you're here… tell me now… who the hell are you really and who are these people you claim are missing?'

'You know who the fuck I am!' Floyd shouted at the man. 'I've done nothing wrong. Absolutely fuck all wrong. Not back then and not now. So you need to stop with the shit talk and treat me with some damned respect. I'm not going to go over the story again with you. Sam, my lad is missing. He went out yesterday before lunch and never returned. He was wearing a pink Tshirt with a cartoon cat on the front. He had on black skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers he'd scrawled all over. His hair was loose and he'd not put make up on. He had twenty bucks on him which I gave him so he'd could get some lunch and a coffee, or some smokes. He was in a disappointed and foul mood, but not so much that he'd run away from home. He's vulnerable. He latches onto people if they show that they like him. He has been known to prostitute himself and he's been known to take drugs. I am his only family. Spencer, now he went out looking for Sam this morning. He came to see you, he visited the hospital and no one had seen Sam. Spencer was calling me every half hour. I stayed at home in case Sam returned. The last call I got from Spencer was three hours ago and I can sense that something has happened to him too… I sense a connection between the two events, but I don't think that they are together. I know that Spencer was going to go to Barton Lane area and speak to people. Now what I've personally done is come here and reported these two things. Sam wouldn't stay out all night. Spencer wouldn't stop calling.'

'Dr Reid. The man who came in earlier… Are you sure that he's not just picked the lad up and gone somewhere with him?'

'Absolutely.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because he knows that I will kill him if he does that. Honestly. He'd not do that. We trust each other.'

'You are lovers?' The detective asked.

'We are as husband and wife.' Floyd replied.

The detective smirked. 'It's always your sort that comes here and causes trouble. I had my suspicions that Bobby Kirk was a queer, but not you. Tell me how Sam fits into all of this.'

'I don't walk around with I like it up the arse written on my shirt… does orientation have anything to do with this? What the hell has my sex life got to do with my boys or Bobby?' A deep sharp breath. 'Sam is my spawn.' Floyd told him. 'He is part of me. He is me. We are one and the same. Except that he's severely lacking in the common sense department and I'm over flowing with it.' Floyd pulled a smoke out of his pocket and thought the detective was shaking his head, Floyd lit up.

'This is a no smoking facility.'

'Screw you.' The detective was informed and Floyd puffed away. 'Are you looking for my boys?'

The detective waved smoke out of his face and slowly shook his head. 'If you are here… Then I think that your boys, as you call them, are probably safe. You know that. You know where they are.'

Floyd glared through the thick yellow smog. 'If I knew, I'd not have exposed myself to you…' He paused, thought about what he'd just said and wondered if he should rephrase it, but carried on. 'If I knew where they were I'd go and fucking well get them! Why are you not down at Barton Lane looking?'

'Did I say no one was looking for them?'

'Yes.' Floyd snapped. 'You think I have them hidden somewhere. You think I'm some kind of a monster. You probably think I had something to do with the Specksons and that fucking mess too. I'd not be all that shocked if you tried to blame me on the fire which gutted this town and tore the heart out of it. Really, go for it! Blame me for everything since the woolly mammoth died out!'

'What I suggest you do,' The helpful detective sighed, 'is that you go home and wait by the telephone. I'm sure that Dr Reid has just forgotten the importance of calling.'

'No he hasn't.' Floyd interrupted. 'He's not forgotten. He's unable to call. He knows that my fury will be unleashed if he fails to follow my direct orders. I cannot think why he'd risk such a thing. I will return to my home and I will attempt to zone in on my boys but sir, if they're injured because of your lack of concern because you feel they deserve what they get… I know your sort.' Floyd stood… the track of what he was saying lost in the anger inside his head. '…you think that because we have that tag faggot on us that we deserve getting beaten… we deserve to be molested and abused and I'm telling you, that no one deserves it because they think differently. You might well consider that this is a life choice but it's not. So get off your damned moral high horse and accept that I like men and just be comforted by the fact that I don't find you at all attractive and don't want to stick anything belonging to me inside anything belonging to you… because I know that's how you stuffed shirt arseholes think. You don't consider that we have feelings which can be hurt and damaged beyond repair because of the failure of people like you to stand up and…'

'Enough… that's enough.'

'It's far from enough. Very far from it. I'm sick of the attitude of the guys who are supposed to protect us. We are meant to be able to come to the cops and report abuse and for the most part we are scorned and mocked. We are thrown in a cell because it's assumed we are in the wrong and the rest of the fucking world is in the right. Do you know how difficult it is for a guy to go to the cops to report a rape? Have you any idea? I'm sure you don't. People like you don't even consider anal rape as a real offence. You don't think of it as real rape. I know… I've seen it over and over again and 'tis always the same tune playing on the old record… "You act like you want it… you got what you wanted… why are you complaining?" Well sir, I'm fucking complaining. Find my boys. Something happened to them. Matters not if they are gay or straight or somewhere in the middle. Doesn't matter if they're transexed or in drag… doesn't fucking matter. They are my boys and I want you to find them.'

'They were in drag?' The detective now stupidly asked.

'What? No! No… no they weren't. I've told you what they were wearing and though Sam might be a bit on the odd side of the dress code he still looked like a bloke – virtually – he had guy's shoes on at least and no make up. Now I shall do what I said I'll do and I'll go home and I'll sit by the phone and I'll expect you to call if you find anything. I will be making a formal complaint about the treatment and the lack of concern you've given me and to my boys. This is unacceptable.'

'Good day Mr Flanders.' The detective didn't try to shake Floyd's hand; he just turned and left the room.

'Mother fucker!' Floyd shouted after him. The man was a homophobic fool. How he'd kept his job so long Floyd didn't know.

o-o-o

Whilst Floyd was talking to the cops, Spencer was being treated to a ride out into the country. He was being delivered threats which he didn't know whether to believe, but was not going to risk that they were empty.

'If you report this to the cops we'll come after you and we will kill your little butt friend, Sam.'

Spencer didn't respond to this. He didn't know where Sam was, but he knew that one of these guys had Sam's sneakers and that wasn't a good sign, unless Sam had used them to pay for something, which was maybe something to consider, though Floyd had stated that Sam was in pain and at risk of drowning.

'What have you done to Sam?' Spencer asked. 'I just…'

'Not something you need to concern yourself with.' Fabio told Spencer. 'He's not going to be a problem unless you flap your trap and go running to the cops.'

'Surely this situation could have been completely avoided had you not attacked me.' Spencer informed them. 'Let me out of the van now and let me go and this will be the last you hear of it… at least from me.'

Muttering. Spencer could hear them talking amongst themselves. They weren't sure what to do with their prisoner. If they just let him go then he might go straight to the cops but they couldn't keep him forever… and they didn't have the stomach to kill someone for no reason. 'You'll blab to the cops.'

'It was all just a misunderstanding. I know that. Let me go now and nothing will happen. I can promise you that I'll say nothing to anyone. I'll keep this to myself. Really who will believe me anyway? I was obviously out looking for trouble and found some. It's my own fault. You can drive on off away and we'll never see each other again. Take my shoes if you want… take my wallet.'

'We already have your wallet. Dr Reid.' Fabio told him, but it seemed to decide things. 'OK… but we're not letting you out here. Behave and you'll be all right.'

Spencer lay on the cold metal floor in the back of the van and wondered if he had any chance of fighting these people off and maybe he did if he though his life was in danger, but these were lightweights. They didn't want a killing on their hands, which in turn comforted Spencer. Had they killed Sam they'd carry on and do him too. Sam must still be alive. 'Is Sam here?' He asked. The answer wasn't vocal. It was sudden hideous pain to the side of his face which was already bleeding from the knife which had been so readily used there. The pain took Spencer to a lovely comfortable place where there was nothing but cotton candy and hugs.

It was a few hours later when he woke up alone, in the dark, tied to a tree somewhere. His first thought was that he was still alive… and for that he was grateful. His second thought was that he still had his pants on… and again he was grateful. It was realising that he was tied by his hands and feet to a fallen tree in an unknown woods full of unknown creatures, in the dark, in a place he knew there were creatures crawling in the shadows – creatures which tore you apart and ate your internals… that was what caused the panic and the tearing of the cords which bound his hands behind his back and his feet (sans shoes) to the tree further down. He was stretched out on the leafy summer woodland, his back to the tree which had probably fallen during the spring storms, facing the pitch blackness of a night which seemed to have no moon or stars. They'd not gagged him. They'd not stripped him naked, but they had as far as Spencer was concerned, done something far worse.

He struggled for ten minutes.

He screamed for twenty.

He struggled again for half an hour… giving his throat a rest… and then lay there wondering how long he'd been here, how long it was until daylight… wondering if he was dead and this was his own little bit of hell. His wrists, he could feel, were bleeding. His ankles felt sore and bruised. He would have liked to have slept… kept his energy for the daylight when shouting for help might produce something other than blinding fear. But sleep was the last thing he dared do.

'Crap.' Spencer whispered a small curse which he thought was very well deserved.