Professor Ben Bruckner. That's what the small gold plaque on the office door had said so he'd peered through the window and, when he'd seen the room was empty, he'd snuck inside. He looked ridiculous. He knew he looked ridiculous in his oversized coat and woolly hat pulled down as far as it would go while his scarf was wrapped around his mouth and nose. It was the closest thing to an inconspicuous disguise he could manage whilst walking around Carnegie Mellon. After all, people might get suspicious if Pittsburgh's most famous murder victim suddenly appeared in a University. Besides people were already peering at him strangely because he'd pulled up in a Corvette Stingray and what kind of student can afford one of those?

His disguise was probably helped by the fact that he was walking with a bit of a limp after his strenuous efforts earlier to remove his prison bracelet. He'd nearly frozen his foot off and lost half the skin in the process but it was worth it now that he was free.

Justin hobbled into the room and moved as quickly as he could to a large notice board that was on the side wall. On it were posters of some gay author's book signing, a few photo's of various Buddhist temples and right in the bottom right hand corner was an A4 piece of paper which read 'timetable'. He scanned it quickly. Ben's gay studies classes were taught mainly in room 5.32. Perfect. He could just hide out there all day until he got what he wanted. Pulling his scarf tighter around his face, he crept to the door, opened it and rejoined the students racing to their next lecture, or seminar, or workshop, or party or wherever they were heading in their totally hectic, totally fucked up lives. Like they knew anything about hectic or fucked up. Justin found himself hating them all for the simplicity and normality of their existence but even now, in a disguise sneaking around a college with his ankle in agony, he still didn't think he'd trade his last few months for anything.

It took him much longer than he'd have liked to find room 5.32 but he was grateful to find that it was a pretty huge lecture theatre, which would allow him to hide at the back until he spotted the person he was after. He rushed up the middle set of stairs and slid into some seats about two rows from the back. He sat quietly as the theatre began to fill up with people and waited until the man he'd seen just briefly the other day walked in and introduced himself as Professor Bruckner.

He told everyone they'd wait just a few more minutes and after the last of the stragglers entered the room, dipping their heads and looking embarrassed, he closed the door and turned to the class and began a lectured he'd called 'gay semiotics in film and television'.

"Can anyone tell me why it is important that more and more gay characters get shown on television shows?" Was Ben's opening question.

"Is it so we can all complain how they only ever show hideous stereotypes and protest about being misrepresented?" Asked a particularly miserable looking boy, slouching against the wall on the far side of the theatre. The boy had greasy, longish dirty blonde hair and a tone to his voice that suggested he'd seen perhaps a little too much of the world for his tender age.

"And why would you say that?" Ben asked, clearly trying to begin a debate.

"Well, it's true isn't it?" The boy said. "We all complain that all the gay characters on TV are portrayed as eunuchs. I mean Gay as Blazes is the biggest pile of horseshit I've ever seen. Fag's don't sit around talking about monogamy and books by Sylvia Plath. They don't give a shit about that stuff."

"And what do fags give a shit about?" Ben encouraged.

"Sucking and fucking."

"I don't think that's all," Ben said calmly. "I think many gay men and women have a wide range of varying interests. From poetry to sports. From painting to building."

"From blowjobs to rim jobs," the boy interrupted.

Ben seemed to stop for a second and realising he wasn't going to get through to the boy, he sighed heavily. "Well, this appears to be a very strong opinion of yours," he turned to rest of the class. "Does anyone else agree with Hunter?"

Justin smiled to himself. Excellent. So that was Hunter. This spying thing was easier than he'd thought. He sat through the rest of the lecture, his eyes trained carefully on Hunter, determined not to lose sight of him for even a second. He vaguely heard some of the other opinionated members of the class putting across their views. A guy named Cody believed that gays had to stand up for themselves and wanted to start a vigilante group to patrol the streets around Liberty Avenue. A guy named Ethan believed that to best integrate with heterosexual people was to show them that we are just as talented as they are.

"I'm able to perform a nearly perfect rendition of Paganini's cantabile in D major," he bragged.

"Just nearly perfect?" Hunter asked. "Because I can perform a perfect blowjob in O major," he smirked.

"Do you think the straight people would wanna know about that?" Ethan asked coldly. "Do you think they'd be impressed by your ability to suck cock?"

"I know plenty of 'straight' guys who've been very impressed by my ability to suck cock," Hunter shot back.

"Who cares what impresses hetero's anyway?" Cody snapped. "They're just fucking breeders who hate us behind our backs and to our faces."

Justin couldn't help thinking that these three men were like three parts of Brian Kinney. Promiscuity belonged to Hunter, bitterness was Cody and arrogance was Ethan. He imagined that this lecture would be the best glimpse he'd ever get into the inner-workings of Brian's mind.

"I think that's a little brash, Cody," Ben complained, trying in some way to mediate the discussion. It was obvious to everyone that his students were quickly getting out of hand.

"Is it?" The boy with the buzz cut asked. "What about that kid who got killed and left in a dumpster?"

"We've already discussed this several times," Ben sighed. "I don't think we need to talk about it again."

"But you admitted that you thought the press were only as interested as they were because the scandal was queer."

"I told you that kid in the dumpster wasn't that Taylor, kid," Hunter muttered.

"Yeah, yeah," Ethan dismissed. "You knew him from your hustler days."

"It's true," Hunter insisted.

"I don't think we should be so quick to dismiss Hunter's theory," Ben suggested and Justin could tell the professor was thinking back to a couple of days ago and the fiasco that had been a dinner party at Deb's. "What do we actually know about this case? Only the stuff the media have told us. For all we know, Justin Taylor's is alive and well."

"But we know it was him," Ethan insisted. "They caught Kinney, they've done all the DNA tests. It all matched up."

"So they tell us," Hunter pointed out. "That body was such a mess, it could have been anyone."

"But that's my point, isn't it?" Cody cried as though he thought he might finally get through to the people around him. "It could have been anyone. You," he pointed to a boy in the third row, "you," a girl near the middle, "even you," his finger landed on Justin and he shuddered. Justin couldn't help think how close he'd been to actually being 'dumpster boy' or at least 'attic boy'.

"Any of us could have been lying dead in that dumpster," Cody finished grandly, "and the cops didn't do a goddamn thing to stop it."

"Well, they arrested the guy who did it," Ben pointed out.

Justin was feeling restless at the back of the room. They were talking about him, about Brian. This was what the real people of Liberty Avenue thought had happened. They thought that he'd been kidnapped, killed and tossed in a dumpster by Brian. They didn't know Brian wasn't like that. They didn't know the way Brian had opened up to him, told him things about his childhood he'd never told anyone. They didn't know how Brian had told him he loved him or how much he, Justin Taylor, was in love with Brian.

"Kinney? They arrested him afterwards," Cody retaliated. "When the damage was already done. This is why we need people on the streets protecting people now."

"That'll just cause more friction," Ethan argued. "We need to bond with them."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Scorned Hunter. "Let me guess, display for them your wonderful musical skills because let me tell you, Ethan, fags won't be interested in the size of that talent."

"Yeah," Cody joined in, "what are you going to do if a straight asshole decides to take a knife to your throat? Serenade him into submission? Play him into Paralysis?" He took pleasure watching Ethan squirm for a second before turning to the rest of the class. "We need to take action against the breeders who think they can kick us around before it's too late."

"But wasn't Kinney gay?" Asked a tall girl sat near the front. She had a bright pink Mohawk that stretched from temple to temple and along her head cutting off like 'V' at the back. She was wearing a leather jacket and too much black eyeliner and looked like the only person in the group of otherwise quiet students that would attempt to stand up to the three pompous assholes currently arguing.

"What are you saying?" Cody asked, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

She just shrugged. "What I'm saying is, you can blame breeders for all your problems if you want to, but it seems to me like you just don't wanna accept responsibility for your own mistakes. If you go out looking for trouble, you're just as bad as they are."

"You don't know anything, you fucking dyke."

"Faggot!"

"Alright, alright," Ben said, trying to stop the imminent boxing match that was about to take place in his class. "Look, it's clear you all have strong opinions on the Justin Taylor case. Perhaps, as Brian Kinney's court date is going to be in a couple of weeks and it's therefore current and affecting us now we can do an assignment on it." He seemed to think for a second before deciding, "2000 words on what affect the verdict will have on the gay community with a brief paragraph on what's actually happened in the case so far." He looked quickly at laptop and said, "I'll collect that in a week on Friday."

The collective groan from the class made Ben smirk a little but he didn't change the date. "Okay," he sighed, looking up at his class. "You can go. See you Friday everyone."

The flurry of action and movement threw Justin completely and he immediately lost track of Hunter entirely in the crowd of teenagers. He got to his feet, the right one still stung like a mother bitch as he tried to walk down the steps and follow the mop of greasy mousy coloured hair that he knew belonged to Hunter. He pushed through the floods of people, keeping his sites locked on the back of Hunter's head. He was more than a little relieved to see that he was walking with the pink haired lesbian, well that would make him easier to follow.

As soon as they left the lecture room and moved out into the corridor, Justin thanked his lucky stars that Ben had decided to let the class out early because it meant that the only three people in this corridor at the moment were himself, the Mohawk girl and Hunter. He hobbled quickly after them and called Hunter's name loudly. The other boy turned around to glare at him.

"I'm sorry," Hunter frowned. "Do I know you?"

"Sort of," Justin replied from behind his scarf. "Most people do. Can we talk? I've got a favour to ask."

Hunter looked shifty, his eyes flicking around everywhere as though expecting the police or camera's to catch him on film. He leant forward and whispered in Justin's ear, "if this is about hustling, I don't do it anymore. Not here anyway."

"It's not," Justin said quickly, horrified that he'd been misunderstood. "It's about an old friend of yours … Jason Kemp."

Hunter narrowed his eyes carefully at the man in front of him. He looked ridiculous in his huge coat and his scarf and big hat but there was something somewhat familiar about him too. He looked around him and then to the girl behind him.

"I'll see you later, Kel."

The girl just rolled her eyes. "Fags," she muttered under her breath. "All they care about is getting their dicks sucked."

"Munchers," Hunter smiled at Justin. "All they do is moan about things."

"I think you'll find that's girls in general," Justin smirked.

Hunter just nodded. "It's why I'm a fag," he chuckled. Then he looked at the man and along the corridor which was quickly filling with people. "We need somewhere to talk," he confirmed. "In here," he took hold of the sleeve of Justin's shirt and dragged him into the restroom.

Hunter checked under the door of the two cubicles and satisfied they were the only ones in the room, he locked the main door.

"Right," he said turning to look at Justin. "Who are you?"

Justin sighed heavily. He guessed he wouldn't be able to get through this meeting without revealing his identity but he had no idea how the boy would react. He hoped Hunter would be sensible enough to not run to the nearest authority. He hoped he'd understand and help him with information about Jason Kemp but Justin couldn't be sure. He was finding it difficult to trust anybody's reactions after the baseball incident with Michael but he had to do this … for Brian.

He reached up slowly and began to unwind his scarf and pull off his hat. He watched as the other man just gaped in confusion as his identity was revealed.

"Shit," Hunter whistled, his face blanching a little. "Is it…" he stammered. "I mean… Are you really him?"

Justin just nodded slowly.

"Justin Taylor," Hunter whispered. His hand reached up as though he was going to touch Justin's face but he seemed to think better of it and his arm fell limply to his side. He just stared for a second and then seemed to snap out of whatever spell he was under and smirked a little. "What the fuck's a dead man want with me?" He asked.

Justin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as relief at how well Hunter seemed to be taking this washed over him.

"I need you to tell me what you know about Jason Kemp," he said sternly. "Everything depends on it."

"That's a lot of pressure," Hunter said, nodding slowly. His eyes were darting all over the blonde ahead of him. He looked somehow different to how he'd looked on the TV. He looked older, wiser, perhaps a little more cynical and angry. He looked like he'd seen things he'd rather forget and Hunter felt like he could relate to that but that didn't mean he trusted the ex-dead-man. "What would be the point in telling you?" He asked. "No one believes me."

"I will," Justin promised. "Tell me."

Hunter looked into the blue eyes and took a deep breath. He had no idea what was going on, seeing Justin Taylor standing in front of him was freaking him out more than he let on. Although he'd been sure a few months ago when the body in the dumpster was found that it was Kemp, as time went on he figured he'd made a mistake. He guessed there'd been loads of blonde twinks that disappeared. He'd begun to believe the lie everyone told him because it was easier that way but now…. Now everything had been turned on its head again and this man was telling him everything depended on what he knew. He trembled. That really was a lot of pressure.

"I knew him," Hunter started quietly. "Jason. We used to hang around in the same bars. He was kinda new to it so I … I showed him the ropes. How to tell who was gonna treat you okay and who…." He shuddered a little, twisting his thumbs in his hands. "Anyway," he continued steadily, "this guy came in and I sorta knew of him. He was a bad one, a real bad one, everyone knew it but Jason was desperate for the money. They were gonna evict him or something, I don't know." He sniffed, his head still dipped as he stared pointedly at the floor. "I followed them. I didn't think I'd be able to do anything but I wanted to I dunno … be there or something, I guess. The guy took Jason back to his house. That was strange 'cause he never took anyone back to his house. It was too risky. I watched Jason go in but…" he swallowed before choking, "he never came back out." Hunter stopped for a second, he was shaking a little as he spoke. "The guy wheeled out this big suitcase a couple of hours later, got in the car and drove off in the direction of Liberty Avenue. Next thing I know, you, Justin Taylor, the missing twink, has been found dead in a dumpster. How fucking convenient for him?"

"For who?" Justin insisted. "You know who the guy was, don't you?"

Hunter shifted nervously.

"Come on, Hunter," he encouraged. "It's just us here. What's the guy's name?"

"Rikert," Hunter almost sobbed. "Officer Rikert."

Justin just stared in shock and disbelief. This was why they'd wanted to cover up the murder of Jason Kemp. This was why they were using Justin's name. This was why they were letting Brian take the blame. They were covering the ass of one of their own, letting Justin's own family suffer, leaving Justin to die to make sure he couldn't ruin things. Well, fuck that … he was still here and he was going to ruin everything if he could.

"You have to tell the police," Justin said immediately.

"Really? Which one should I tell? Rikert himself or one of his buddies like Stockwell?" Hunter scorned.

"I know someone, someone who's above all of them, someone who can get justice. You just have to make a statement."

"The fuck I do!"

"But if you don't, Rikert and Stockwell will get away with it."

"And if I do, I'll end up the next body in a dumpster." He sighed and looked at the man ahead of him. "Sorry Justin, it's better this way. Then no one else will get hurt."

"What about the people who are already hurt? All my family that think I'm dead. A whole police force who need me to not exist and Brian … what about him? He could get life in prison if you don't say something."

"Why the fuck do you care about Kinney?" Hunter frowned. "Wasn't he the one who kidnapped you?"

"He didn't kidnap me," Justin scowled. "I ran away with him."

Hunter raised an eyebrow and smiled a little. "Shit," he said. "The news really did get it all wrong, didn't they? Fuck." He grinned a little before, looking at Justin carefully, "you lucky son of a bitch," he shook his head in mock envy, "Kinney's fucking hot."

"I know," Justin frowned. He was a little confused by Hunter's reaction.

"I get why you'd want him back," the boy smirked. "I bet he's a great fuck."

"Yeah, he is" Justin frowned. "Listen, will you help me or not?"

"I'd love to," Hunter said. "But you wanting your little sugar-daddy back isn't reason enough for me to risk my life."

At that second the bathroom door swung open to reveal a very frustrated Ben in the doorway, with a bunch of students with full bladders jiggling about behind him. He spotted Justin and immediately turned to look at the crowds of impatient male students.

"Sorry," he lied. "These toilets are flooded. You'll have to go to the ones upstairs."

The collective groan was pretty loud but Justin didn't care. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode out of his chest. He couldn't believe how lucky he'd been. He couldn't even imagine what would have happened if a caretaker had opened the locked door or even any other faculty member. He was even grateful that Ben's heavily toned and muscular body had meant he'd been blocked from view of anyone else. It had been close. Way too close, he decided.

Ben shut the door and glared at Justin.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He demanded and then looking to Hunter he scowled so much his eyes almost disappeared. "You better not be turning tricks in the College restrooms," he snapped.

"He wasn't," Justin said quickly. "I was asking him what he knew about Jason Kemp."

Ben's eyes flicked from one to the other and clearly deciding he believed them, he sighed heavily. "I'll take you home," he said.

"I've brought a car," Justin explained.

"I don't care," Ben snapped. "I'm taking you home. You too, Hunter. Come on, let's go. And Justin, keep your head down."

Justin wrapped his scarf back around his face and pulled his hat down over his face and with that they left the bathroom as quickly and quietly as they could, pushing their way through the crowds until they reached Ben's car.

"What do you mean you don't know where he is!" Horvath yelled. His voice was so loud and so thundering, Emmett wasn't sure how the window panes had stayed intact.

"He's missing," Debbie repeated calmly for what must have been the eighth or ninth time. Horvath had been yelling the same things over and over for about ten minutes and instead of being intimidating it was just boring.

"Missing where?"

Debbie sighed heavily and slumped back further into her arm chair. "We don't know."

"But how can you not know where he is?"

"Because he's missing."

"Missing where?"

"Jesus Christ," Debbie cried. "We - don't - know!" She said slowly sounding out each and every syllable in that way people do sometimes when talking to a foreigner.

"Well, you should have been taking care of him, stopping him from disappearing."

"I thought that was the job of your fancy machine," she scowled. "But he was long gone before you had any kind of indication that the anklet had even been tampered with. In fact, you only received a signal at all because I decided to unwrap the machine, so don't come here telling us it's our fault."

Horvath seemed to calm down for a second. A screaming match with Debbie was not a worthwhile time for his efforts. He thought hard and then said,

"Well he can't have gotten that far, right? We'll split up in different cars and look for him."

"We can't," Ted sighed. "The Corvette's gone. Wherever he is, he got there by car."

"What!" He bellowed. "Well where the hell would he have gone?"

"We don't know," Debbie sighed.

"What do you mean you don't know?" … and the circular conversation continued.

::

They were still repeating the looping conversation five minutes later when the doorbell sounded.

"Oh thank god," Emmett said, jumping to his feet immediately. "Something to break up groundhog minute." He almost ran to the door and opened it as Horvath continued to ask where Justin had gone and how he had escaped.

"Well, well, well," Emmett smiled as he spotted the professor holding onto the scruff of Justin's shirt. "Professor, you really are a saint." Then he looked at Justin and raised an eyebrow, "we've just been talking about you," he said. "Come on in." He cleared his throat loudly to gain the attention of the other three people in the room. "I, Miss Honeycutt, have the answer to all your prayers. In you come boys." And with that he ushered Ben, still with Justin clutched tightly in his hand, into the sitting room. He looked around at the stunned people and smiled. "It's all about presentation when it comes to giving a gift and presentation doesn't come much better that this," he hugged Ben's bicep a little and smiled.

"Sunshine," Debbie cried, finally regaining her ability to speak.

"Hi Deb," he said sheepishly. He did feel bad that he'd worried them but it had been worth it, he felt sure of that. He watched as Debbie leapt up to hug the kid so tight he could hardly breath.

"Oh my god," she breathed, rocking him gently, "we were so worried. Oh Ben, where did you find him?"

"Actually," the professor smiled a little, "he sort of found me. Or one of my students anyway."

"He's in the car," Justin beamed. "Hi Ted."

The older man just nodded his head in response.

"Who's in the car, baby?" Debbie asked.

"Hunter, the kid who saw who murdered dumpster boy."

::

He'd taken some persuading. In fact, he'd had taken a lot of persuading … more than a lot. But eventually, a combination of pleading and bribery meant that Hunter was sitting in Debbie's living room, giving a written statement to Horvath.

"Name?" Horvath started.

"Hunter," the kid replied.

"I need your whole name, son," he said softly. He didn't want to scare the kid off. This was probably his only chance at getting some tangible evidence. A real witness to the crime.

"James Hunter Montgomery," Hunter sighed. "But everyone calls me Hunter."

"Why?" Debbie asked, "James is such a nice name."

"Hunter does the trick," the kid replied. Then he smirked and added, "in more ways than one."

Emmett smiled a little bit and lowered his voice so only Ted and Justin could hear, "Brian would love this kid."

"I know," Justin sighed. "It's a bit weird how similar they are."

Emmett smiled and put his arm around Justin's shoulders. "Brian loves you too, sweetie. That man's lucky to have someone like you to do things like this," he pointed to where Hunter was beginning to give his statement, "for him." He gave him a gentle kiss to the cheek and whispered, "well done baby."

"A suitcase?" They heard Carl say interestedly as Hunter came to the end of his story.

"Yeah," Hunter nodded.

"What did it look like?"

"An old brown thing, with blue straps I think, I'm not sure … why?"

"An old brown suitcase with blue straps was found in the attic room, where I discovered Justin," he said sternly. "There's blood all over it we just didn't know who's it was. I guess we'll try Kemp." He turned back to Hunter. "You saw him with the suitcase, what happened next?"

"He threw it in his car and drove towards Liberty Avenue. That's the last I saw of him," Hunter said.

"Okay," Horvath nodded, finishing off the paper work. "How old are you, Hunter?" he asked.

"How old do you want me to be?" Hunter smirked, immediately reverting to hustler mode, but seeing everyone's solemn faces he sighed, "eighteen."

"Okay, then you can sign this statement. Read it first to make sure it's correct."

"Tell you what officer," Hunter said, "I'll just trust you." And he signed the piece of paper without glancing at a single word.

"Well, I won't," Debbie frowned, taking the statement off Hunter and skimming it quickly, when she was satisfied, she handed the paper back to Horvath and nodded. "It seems fine," she said, almost as though she'd been hoping for it to be full of lies.

"Not all cops are bad people," Horvath smiled.

"Same could be said for criminals in a way," Justin piped up. "You've got a statement, I'm alive. Can you get Brian out now … please?"

"I've already told you, kid. That's not my case. But hopefully now we can get the ball moving."

"Fuck," Justin yelled, stamping his foot a little in anger. "I've done everything you asked of me … and more! Why can't you get him back for me?"

Horvath just ignored Justin, as the kid began to breath heavily, his fists clenching in anger. His right fist suddenly going into spasm as the muscles clenched too much.

"Ahh," he cried, shaking it out. As though things couldn't get any worse. The pain was pretty intense and he couldn't straighten his fingers at all.

"You okay, baby?" Emmett asked, reaching out to help.

"I'm alright," Justin snapped. Then to Horvath, he hissed, "what are you going to do next?"

"I'll see if I can get anywhere with Rikert. I'll expect you both," he looked from Justin to Hunter, "available for court dates in the next month or two, okay?"

"Sure," Justin said, grimacing as the pain of his hand shot up him arm.

"Baby, let me help you with that," Emmett soothed softly. "We'll run it under some warm water. Come on."

Justin reluctantly allowed Emmett to help him but his attention was still on the conversation in the middle of the sitting room.

"I have to go to court?" Hunter asked nervously.

"Yes, just to confirm that what is written on here is what you said, maybe answer a few questions."

"I don't know if…"

"It'll be fine," Horvath said.

"It'll be okay, Hunter," Ben promised his student carefully. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Hunter shuddered a little and looked up at his professor. "That's exactly what I said to Jason about two hours before he went home with Rikert," he shuddered.

"The law will protect you," Horvath tried again.

"Like it protected him?" He asked, nodded his head in Justin's direction. "He told me how the police just left him for dead."

"It won't be like that for you," Horvath promised. "It's almost over now. Everything will be alright."

And those were what people often refer to as famous last words….