Chapter 6

Bryan looked at the text again.

~Not feeling well. Heading home.~

Bryan had replied earlier from his meeting with: ~So sorry to hear. Rest. I'll see u later.~

~Okay~

He hadn't heard from Wyatt for the rest of the afternoon, but he hadn't really expected to. He'd called Wyatt once, but it went straight to voicemail. Obviously, Wyatt had turned off his phone to keep from being disturbed.

He didn't hear any movement from inside the apartment. Frowning, he knocked again on Wyatt's door before opening it with his key. Wyatt must really be out of it.

"Wyatt?" he called softly to announce his presence but not loud enough to wake him if he really was sleeping off his illness.

Silence.

He walked down the hall, expecting to see his boyfriend curled up in his bed asleep. But it was empty.

"Wyatt?" he called again, stepping farther into the room toward the bathroom. Bryan felt his anxiety rising, wondering if Wyatt had passed out and hit his head or something.

He fully expected to see his boyfriend's lean form passed out on the bathroom floor at this point, with blood streaming from his head as he imagined the worst case scenario. A relieved breath rushed out from his lungs when he shoved the door open and found it empty.

"Shit," he cursed, chastising himself for thinking the worst. He grabbed his phone from his pocket. "He must have been feeling better and gone out."

He pressed the icon on his phone with Wyatt's smiling face then waited for it to ring. It didn't, straight to voicemail again. "Damn it, turn on your phone!" he yelled after the beep. "I'm at your place right now. Call me."

He went back out to the living room, sinking into the couch, figuring he'd wait a while. If Wyatt was just out for one of his walks, then he'd be back soon. He flipped on the TV to some inane sitcom and rested his head on the back of the couch. As he wriggled into the plush suede sofa, he thought about how nice this couch would be in their den with his big screen TV when their households merged into one.

Imagining his arms wrapped around Wyatt as they curled up for a quiet evening, Wyatt's lean body fitting perfectly against his, he allowed himself to forget the rest of his day with the never-ending meeting and drifted off.

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He jerked when something vibrated against his hip followed by his generic ringtone. Bryan fumbled in his pocket for his phone, fully expecting it to be Wyatt finally calling.

It wasn't. Sarah's picture smiled back at him.

He frowned at the darkened room as he swiped at his phone to answer it, the haze of sleep still making his brain foggy.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bryan! It's Sarah," her bubbly voice seemed too loud in the silence of Wyatt's apartment. Bryan managed to sit up, looking around, only to realize it was now dark outside. He briefly pulled his phone from his ear to look at the time: 8:40pm.

"I guess you probably knew it was me, but anyway, I was wondering if you and Wyatt wanted to go to a movie tonight. That new Harrison Ford movie is out, and I thought it might be fun to go together. And Wyatt's not answering his phone, so I thought I'd call you," Sarah babbled on.

Bryan ran his hand through his hair as he managed to sit up and take stock of the room. Nothing had changed. Wyatt hadn't come home and it was well past dark. Where the hell was he?

"Bryan?" Sarah's voice interrupted his perusal of the room and his slowly rising anxiety. "Are you still there?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here." He moved to the kitchen, turning on more lights and scanning the apartment. "Um, Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"I'm... I don't know..." he fumbled for what he was trying to say.

"Geez, Bryan, what's with you? Did the meeting today fry your brain or something?"

He chuckled as her humor dragged him from his confusion. "Wyatt's not here. I've been waiting for him since I got off work, but he hasn't come home. I fell asleep on the couch."

"Hmm, that's not usually like him," she mused, echoing Bryan's own thoughts. "What was he doing today? Did he go hiking again? Maybe he's just running late."

She had a point. There were occasions that Wyatt had lost track of time and hadn't gotten back to the trailhead much before dusk. Then the cab ride back would put him home after nine at least. But that wasn't the case today.

"No, he'd gone to visit with my mother and came home sick. Said he was going to rest."

He heard the amused laughter on the other end of the phone. "Your mother's that bad, huh?"

"Funny," he smirked. "No, I really didn't get to talk to him because of the meeting. He just texted me, saying he wasn't feeling well and was heading home. Only he's not here."

"Hmm." And he could just imagine the plump little red-head frowning, her lips poked out as she considered what he'd said. Sarah was a beautiful woman even with the few extra pounds that she hid well; she was one he might have been attracted to at one time, but she'd always seemed to sense his attraction to men, even before he really admitted it to anyone. It was probably why they got along so well at work; there was no sexual tension between them.

"Maybe he was feeling better and went to the park or something. You know how he likes to read outside," she suggested.

"Maybe. But that doesn't explain why he's not home by now."

"Could be on his way back. Maybe he stopped to watch the kids at the skate court. It's lighted and open 'til nine. I know I've sat on those bleachers with him watching those ridiculously dangerous tricks those kids do."

Bryan found himself nodding in agreement, that was possible. But, damn it, he should have turned his phone on! "I guess. Maybe I'll call my mom and see what happened."

"That sounds like a good idea. I'm sure he'll be home shortly. Give him hell for not turning his phone back on, Bry," she teased.

"That's pretty much guaranteed," he grumbled.

Sarah's soft laughter soothed his irritation as they hung up. He was irked Wyatt hadn't bothered to turn his phone on, and it disturbed him that Wyatt was being so indifferent to Bryan's feelings. He had to know that Bryan would be worried about him.

Hell, Bryan just wanted to know he was okay, that he was feeling better. It wasn't like they had to spend every moment off work together. Bryan had no problems if Wyatt wanted to go off hiking or spend time in the park watching the skaters, or hell, shopping at the mall. If Wyatt wanted Bryan to leave him alone, so what? That was fine as long as Bryan knew what was going on. He just wanted to know that Wyatt was fine. Was that too much to ask of someone he loved?

Did Wyatt think he was acting too much like Darrin or something? He had felt a little more possessive after the last couple encounters with Wyatt's asshole of an ex. Maybe he'd smothered Wyatt a bit, and he'd taken this afternoon to be by himself? Maybe he even faked being sick to keep Bryan from bothering him.

Fuck. He squeezed his phone, anxiously raking his hand through his hair. Maybe he'd call his mom... maybe she could tell him what Wyatt had been feeling when he'd left.

He waited anxiously while the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mom? It's me, Bryan."

"Oh, hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?" she said breathlessly, and he wondered what she'd just been doing. Maybe she'd had to run down the stairs again to get her phone from her office.

"I'm fine. Hey, listen, I was wondering how your meeting with Wyatt went," he tried to sound casual, keeping the anxiety out of his voice.

"Oh, it was great! I really enjoyed talking to him. Didn't he tell you about it?"

"Oh, um, no. I haven't talked to him yet. I got a text earlier that he was feeling sick," he stated.

"Yes, he was." His mother sounded sad and concerned. "He had to leave before we finished. I think he was coming down with something. He seemed a little dizzy and feverish. Said his stomach bothered him. I hope it wasn't the potato salad, but he didn't get sick while he was here. I called a cab for him because he was having a hard time with the phone."

"Oh, so he really was sick," Bryan was a bit relieved at that, not that he wished Wyatt ill, but at least his boyfriend hadn't lied to him.

"Oh, yes, he was even a little shivery when he left but said he felt a little better after resting. He got in the cab all bundled up, even though it wasn't that cold out," she stated. "Why? Is he not feeling any better?"

"Oh, um, well, I don't know. I haven't seen him yet. He's not at his apartment, and he's turned off his phone."

"Ahh, I see," she murmured, but the tone in her voice made Bryan feel like there was something she was reluctant to say.

"What is it, mom? Did he say anything to you today?"

"Oh, no... well..." she hedged, apparently not wanting to say whatever it was.

"Mom, come on, what is it?" he sighed in exasperation.

"Well, he did mention that he'd been having second thoughts."

Bryan froze. Second thoughts? About us? No, no he was sure Wyatt had been fine. There's no way he would...

"Second thoughts? About getting married?"

"Yes, sweetheart," his mother sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. We started talking about wedding plans, but he did get sick rather quickly as we started getting serious about them. You don't think maybe he had an anxiety attack or something, do you?"

Well, fuck. That's probably exactly what had happened. Why hadn't that occurred to him before? Oh, God, had he pushed Wyatt too hard? Maybe between the pushing to pack and the talk with his mom about wedding plans, Wyatt had begun to have doubts again. The recent run-ins with Darrin probably hadn't helped either.

"Bryan?" he heard his mom's voice interrupt his internal berating and realized that he must have been quiet too long.

"Yeah, mom."

"Sweetheart, it'll be okay," she said softly, obviously sensing his heartbreak even over the phone. "He probably just needs a little more time."

"Yeah, yeah, maybe," Bryan felt his breath coming in short pants. "Uh, thanks, mom. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Anytime."

He hung up quickly before he broke down to his mother. Suddenly, the room seemed suffocating. Wyatt's scent, his essence was everywhere.

He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest with how hard it was pounding. God, what if Wyatt had taken off? What if he didn't come back?

He grabbed his keys, intent on getting out of the apartment, but paused. If Wyatt had left, he'd have to have taken stuff with him, right? Maybe...

He stormed back to the bedroom, throwing open the closet. He was relieved to see Wyatt's suitcase and duffle bag still sitting on the floor.

"Thank God." Well, at least he now knew that Wyatt hadn't left, even for a few days. He was just taking the night. Maybe even visiting a bar.

Okay, Bryan told himself, that was fine. Good even. He'd leave Wyatt alone tonight, stop calling and trying to talk to him. Give him time to think. And pray Wyatt found it in his heart to come talk to him.

He sent one last text: ~I'm here when you want to talk. Love you.~

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His head was pounding. Fuck. It felt like his whole body ached. His mouth was dry and felt like cotton was stuffed in it. "What the hell did I drink last night?" he moaned as he flopped from his side to his back. He hissed abruptly when his spine was met with something hard and cold.

His eyes shot open, blinking rapidly. But it didn't help. It was completely dark. He realized he was practically naked on a concrete floor. Only his boxers remained.

What the hell?

Was this some kind of practical joke?

"Bryan, damn it, where are my clothes?" he muttered to the dark, fully expecting to hear his fiancé laughing from somewhere nearby. God, he hadn't even remembered getting that drunk.

He rolled to his side to sit up, intent on finding his clothes and figuring out what was going on, but his foot was yanked to a halt, a chain clanking next to him. His panic rose as he realized a wide leather cuff was bound around his ankle. He tugged again. It was attached to a chain. Oh, shit, what the hell was going on?

"Bryan?" he called out anxiously, but his hope was quickly fading to far more sinister thoughts. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he began to realize that this wasn't looking like a joke.

He scrambled to feel the cuff, looking for the buckle or however it was attached, his breath catching as he felt a padlock at the buckle.

"Hey! What the hell's going on?" he yelled into the darkness, groping along the chain to find it bolted into the stone floor. He yanked at the chain, hoping but not really expecting, that he could pull it loose. Of course, it didn't budge. "Let me out of here!"

He frowned, trying to make sense of where he could be, what had happened. His own harsh breathing was the only sound he could hear. He could tell he must be in a basement, an old one. It smelled musty and dank. Unused. He buried his face in his hands before raking his fingers through his hair. This couldn't be happening... it had to be a joke. Maybe some bachelor prank or something.

"Hey! Hey! This isn't funny! Let me out!" he continued to yell as he stood up, his arms out, searching for... something, anything. Nothing. He couldn't even reach a wall. He groped upwards. His hand met something soft and slimy on what might have been wood.

"Fuck!" He yanked his hand back, his heart racing in fear. "Help! Let me out of here!"

Standing there, yelling himself hoarse, yanking violently at the chain tethering him to the floor in anger and frustration, he abruptly pitched forward, falling in exhaustion to the cold, damp floor. His hand knocked over something metal that clanked. A moment of hope surged through him as he scrambled to feel for whatever it was. His hand brushed against something plastic that fell over as well—a water bottle. Then he grabbed the metal object—a bucket.

Oh, fuck. Tears prickled at the edges of his eyes as the reality of his situation began to really sink in. Someone had chained him here with a bucket to relieve himself in and one bottle of water.

Dread slowly crept over him. Panting heavily on his hands and knees, he suddenly felt an uncontrollable shiver as the chill of the air swept over his sweat-dampened skin.

He sat back on his haunches, the stone biting into his bare knees and shins. Rubbing his hands over his arms in an effort to warm himself, he felt the cold snake through his body. Tears threatening to escape, Wyatt forced himself to calm down to try to figure out what had happened.

He remembered being with Mrs. Foxgrove, talking about wedding plans. Then he'd gotten sick and had to go home. He couldn't remember the cab ride, but Carol had called him one, he was sure of it. Had the cabbie dropped him off, but he was so out of it he'd wandered off and someone had kidnapped him? Why the hell would someone want to kidnap him anyway? Nothing made any sense. He tried to think of anything else that had happened that would explain—

Oh, shit. Darrin. He'd had two run-ins with Darrin. Last night and this morning before meeting with Bryan's mom. Even as he wondered if Darrin was capable of doing this to him, he knew. Darrin was a sick, possessive bastard, and Wyatt's engagement had probably pushed him over the edge.

The question was: what was Darrin planning? What did he expect to accomplish by doing this?

He stopped rubbing his arms abruptly as he realized something was wrong, something was missing. His heart jumped in his throat and he nearly gagged. Oh, God. They'd even taken the leather band Bryan had given him. No. No. No. Oh, God, please no. He choked on a sob.

He was sure Darrin would never let him go.