A/N: Thank You for all of the reviews:) I really appreciate them!
Part Seven
Scott Lee had stolen Wesley Kim's cellphone. After a few frantic searches through the house and calling the phone from the landline at his family's estate, Wes logged onto his computer. Tracking a cell phone was easy as long as a person had the right tools to do so. Most phones had their own GPS. All it required was a roaming signal and a nearby antenna tower.
Wes had found the phone in Westerville. A familiar map popped up on Google Maps and he frowned. The last time he had seen Scott was on Wednesday afternoon. His phone had disappeared sometime this afternoon. The weird part about the missing cell was when he'd called Scott and the other boy had denied it. Something was going on.
Toledo was over ninety minutes from Westerville, but he still climbed into his Escalade and headed southeast. Scott had lied. What he couldn't figure out was why. They were friends. Scott's parents kept him locked down in their house like a prisoner; Wes was the only teenager he saw beside Noah Puckerman. Scott invited Puck over when the help was scarce and his parents weren't around.
As far as he knew, Scott and Sam had broken up last year after the elections went south. Cheating had been Scott's idea. Discovering a threesome within Dalton's prestigious walls was a bit of a shock to Wes. The stories about what went on in boarding schools never actually came true, but he had seen the pictures to prove it. Scott was sleeping with a shy red head and a chubby brunette at the same time.
Wes had just started seeing Blaine during the student elections, but he really had not intended to out the three teenagers. Stumbling onto their graphic photographs and emails had been an accident: all he had planned to do was to frame Sam for rigging the votes. Dalton held elections with paper ballots, but they kept all the final tallies on electronic files. He had hacked into main system and switched the votes to Sam's favor, even though David had initially won the election. Then Wes left a sloppy, easily traced electronic trail for the IT department to find.
Technically speaking, it was the employees in the IT department that had found the dirty photos on Sam's computer. The administration was embarrassed and held meetings, suddenly worried about their student's activities. They conducted room searches and punished students with contraband. Scott was caught with some of Jack's drugs and expelled. Sam got suspended for rigging the elections and had to wait for a hearing. Wallace's parents pulled him out of Dalton as soon as they discovered his relationship with the other two boys. Desmond protested until he was blue in the face, but the twins were still separated.
Wes had cried when Wallace went missing. No one at Dalton knew he was partly responsible for it: not even Blaine. He thought if anyone would understand his sorrow and regret, it would be Scott. The trip to Westerville felt longer than it ever had. Paranoid thoughts raced through his mind. Scott was the only real friend he had beside Blaine and David.
The Lee's manor came into sight at nine thirty seven. Wes' knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. The cast iron gate swung open as soon as he entered the correct code on the key pad and he sped down the long driveway. He parked the Escalade and got out, breathless from the stress and worry. The garage door opened before he had the chance to ring the fancy, brass covered doorbell.
"Wesley Kim," Scott greeted coolly as he sauntered out of the garage, "I wasn't expecting you so soon. I thought I had at least another hour."
Any questions died in his throat when he saw the gun and its long, silver barrel. Panic and fear swamped him. Wes couldn't speak or even move. The only thing he could focus on was the gun aimed at his chest and Scott's slightly slurred voice.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Scott sighed as he stepped forward, "taking your phone was risky, but I needed it."
For a second, Wes considered asking him why he had stolen it, but the smaller teen pressed the barrel against his chest. He stared down at the gun and trembled. Confusion plagued his mind. Scott had a gun and wielded it like an expert. Maybe all those months of isolation finally got to him. He's going to kill me. Tears sprang into his eyes. He didn't want to die.
"P-please don't hurt me," he muttered; betrayed and terrified, "I—I thought we were friends."
Scott laughed. Wes flinched at the bitter, hollow sound.
"We're not friends, you idiot," he hissed, "All my life, all I've heard about is how great Wesley Kim is, and how I just can't quite measure up."
Wes tried backing up; desperate to get away from the cold steel pushing against his sternum, but Scott grabbed his wrist and threw him into the side of a white SUV. The gun left his ribcage. Wes gasped in shock as Scott shoved the Glock in his face.
"I stopped caring once I reached puberty," Scott sneered, "Even though my parents made me shadow you through life. Singing lessons, violin lessons, student council, swimming, Taekwondo-whatever you did, I had to do, because for some insane reason my parents have a weird competition with your parents, but the only way they can compete with one another is through us these days."
"They're friends," Wes stammered, "it's how they are."
Scott sent him a withering look and flung open the back door. Wes watched him wearily, afraid to move. His wrist hurt. Scott fussed with something in the backseat. He couldn't believe this was happening. Is he planning on taking me somewhere? Wes' breaths quickened at the thought.
"You can't even see how fucked up our lives are," Scott continued and pointed the gun at his face. "I hear you complain about how controlling your father is-but you never stand up to him. You roll right over like a damned dog. I might have to do things behind my parent's backs, but at least I have-had—something of my own."
"I have Blaine."
It sounded pathetic and weak, but he was surprised at the conviction in his own voice. Scott stared at him for a minute.
"I didn't realize you cared so much about him, Wes," Scott spat, "considering the way you treat him-Desmond was right. We should have gone after him instead of Hummel."
"Wait, what?"
Wes felt the familiar hatred for the countertenor instantly return despite the severity of his situation.
"The thing is," Scott rolled his eyes, "you might have had Blaine-but I had Sam and Wally. You took them away from me. I'm stuck here in this house because of you, while you get to run the Warbler's council and fuck Blaine whenever you want. I think it's only fair that you get a taste of some of your own medicine. Get in the fucking car!"
Rough hands shoved him into the seat. Wes wanted to argue that it wasn't his fault that Wallace and Sam were sent away, but he instinctively knew any protests would fall on deaf ears. Scott had a manic glint in his eyes. It terrified him, despite the other boy's smaller stature. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere with a crazy, attention starved kid that hated him.
Without thinking, Wes shifted his balance to the balls of his feet. A perfect, powerful back kick sent Scott flying into the well-organized tool bench. The slender teen hit the metal with a loud crack and the gun slid across the counter. Sensei Chang would have been proud. I am very impressed with your progress, Mr. Kim. Mr. Lee, I think you need to practice more. For the first time in his life, Wes was grateful for the forced Taekwondo lessons and his father's incessant practice sessions.
He scrambled across the floor and reached for the gun, just as Scott recovered from the hard kick. The other boy screamed in rage and lunged. I don't want to die. Wes screeched and pulled the trigger. Time seemed to slow down as the bullet left the chamber. Blood erupted from Scott's right shoulder and he stumbled back into the worktable, shock etched into his young face. Wes watched in mute horror as the teen's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped over.
Dark red blood pooled around Scott's torso and formed a messy pile on the cement floor. Wes had never seen so much blood before; his stomach churned. The Dim Sum he'd eaten for dinner came up faster than he could process feeling sick. He winced at the pile of vomit and swiped his mouth with his sleeve, disgusted by the noodles and bits of chicken lying on the ground.
His hands shook, but steadied a little when he saw Scott was still breathing. The garage was quiet. No one knew he was here. I can walk away from this. It was a fleeting thought, yet he held onto it with a strange, burning passion. I can walk away from here—from everything. Dad, Dalton, Westerville, Ohio. There were so many things he could do without his father around. He could reinvent himself; move to Vancouver and enroll in a small liberal arts college. If he wanted, he could participate in a local play or break dance in public. He wouldn't have to hide his relationship with Blaine.
Blaine. The younger boy was already in Arizona, but he could probably talk him into running away with him. Who would miss them? Chin Ho Lee was cold and ruthless. Hana Lee was nothing more than a trophy wife, always willing to turn a blind eye towards her husband's transgressions. Blaine had one parent that stuck him in boarding schools because he didn't want to see him and another parent in a mental institution. They could disappear and no one would care after a while: not if they were smart about it.
Wes stood and calmly wiped the grime from his clothes. There wasn't time to go back to Toledo for his things. Fortunately, he knew Scott's house like the back of his hand and he had stashed his laptop in the Escalade before he'd left his house. Scott's parents were out of town until the twenty third. The help would come in sometime tomorrow. No one would even start looking in the next twelve hours.
The house was eerily quiet as Wes made his way upstairs to the second level. Scott usually had televisions on or music playing at night to keep him company. He hurried into his (former) friend's bedroom. As always, the spacious bedroom was tidy. Wes rummaged through a few drawers and smiled when he found a drawer with a hidden compartment. The small slot contained several fake identification cards, a large wad of money, a little black book, and some zip lock bags with drugs inside them.
The drugs weren't labeled. Wes retrieved a large duffle bag from Scott's walk-in closet and shoved all of the contraband inside it. The black book contained phone numbers, bank account numbers, and most importantly, the code to the Lee's safe. Wes grinned at the book, ridiculously happy that Scott's loneliness left him with boredom and loose lips. Once he crossed state lines, he decided he would call an ambulance for the injured teen.
Wes bypassed Scott's closet for clothes and made a beeline for the third floor, where the gigantic master bedroom was located. Scott was at least two sizes smaller than he was. He could never fit into his clothes. The lights stayed off as he bolted upstairs, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Freedom was mere minutes away.
Excitement won out over the fear and nausea: the future looked brighter than it ever had. Wes rifled through the Lee's closet and shoved some practical clothes into the duffle bag. The safe was tucked behind a wall of designer shoes. He entered the code with unnecessary force, eager to leave Westerville and Ohio in the past.
The door popped open. Stacks of money, expensive jewelry, papers, and a few manila envelopes sat inside the safe. Wes threw the cash into the bag, but left the jewels and folders alone. Some of the jewelry looked rare and priceless. He couldn't steal them; they belonged to Mrs. Lee. The money could easily be replaced and the folders didn't interest him.
Wes closed the safe and journeyed into the bathroom. Travel sized toiletries went into the duffle and he grabbed the useful medication bottles concealed behind the mirrors. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Prescription Motrin, Vicodin, Ambien, Prozac, and Valium were tossed inside the sack.
The duffle bag felt much heavier as he ran back downstairs. Scott hadn't moved from his position on the floor. Wes glared at him and fetched his computer from the Escalade. There was no way he could take his own vehicle. The Ford Expedition was cold, but the keys were still in the ignition. Wes started the engine and hurled the bag into the back.
A soft moan escaped from the backseat. Wes froze at the unexpected sound and turned around. A thin, prone figure was stretched out in the seat. He flicked on the overhead light and frowned when Kurt Hummel's face swam into the light. The sophomore was sleeping. Thick ropes bound his hands and feet. Scott's words floated back into his mind. "We should have gone after him instead of Hummel."
Wes started and realized that Scott had planned to frame him for kidnapping and murder. The nausea returned full force. Scott wanted him to go to prison for a crime he didn't commit. Fuck me, I almost went to prison! Rage bubbled in his gut. Wes debated dumping Kurt beside Scott and taking off, but decided against it. Blaine might not believe him if he told him that he hadn't anything wrong. Wes knew Blaine cared about Kurt, more than he should.
No, leaving him behind would be a bad idea. Blaine needed to see firsthand that he had nothing to do with Kurt's disappearance from Lima. Wes would take Kurt to Arizona. As he carefully backed out of the garage, he turned on the radio and smiled. Westerville was only a few hours from the state line. They would be in Kentucky before midnight.