Leading the way - 1. Chapter 1

By any standards, it was a monumentally bad decision. Stuart knew it from the get-go, but he saw no other way out. Everything had gone too far to back down now. Cyril needed him. It didn’t matter the man tried to convince him otherwise. He looked over his shoulder to the back seat. Wrapped in a blanket lay the form of a sleeping man. Good. The drugs were still working.

He had been driving for a couple of hours, and at the moment there was nothing but trees lining the road ahead. They were meandering through the woods, going deeper into the forest, but still not too far from home and civilization. Just as he planned. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Stuart made a mental effort to get his nervousness under control. This had to work. Otherwise, he would have to face some serious consequences.

As he followed the GPS’s final instructions and pulled into the final stretch of road leading up to the tiny log cabin belonging to a colleague, a groan could be heard from behind him. He waited for a few minutes to give Cyril time to wake up. There was no rush. He watched in silence as the other man opened his eyes, blinking in apparent confusion. After a few lazy stretches, Cyril jerked upright. He stared at Stuart.

“What the hell is going on? Where am I? What have you done?” Cyril pulled on the door handle, making Stuart pleased with himself for remembering to engage the child lock.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you for a while. In private. Only the two of us.” He used his most calming voice, as if addressing a panicked animal or child.

“Are you out of your mind? This is kidnapping!” Leaning in between the front seats, Cyril made a grab for the steering wheel. Stuart swatted away his hands, causing the car to swerve in the process.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m driving!” He pushed Cyril by the shoulder to get him literally off his back.

In the scuffle, Cyril’s shirt got untucked and rode up to reveal his back. The clearly visible bruising, a frightening mix of old and new marks, strengthened Stuart’s resolve. Cyril shied away from his horrified, but compassionate, look, retreating to the farthest corner of the back seat. He hurriedly pulled his shirt down.

“I’m not stupid. I just want to get out of here!” The hurt in Cyril’s voice made Stuart regret his choice of words.

“Sorry, but I need to talk to you.”

“Talk? You want to talk, so you drug me and kidnap me to God knows where!" Cyril huffed, but then his faced twisted into a grimace, worry etched deeply around his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. “Fred must be missing me!”

Stuart bit back a snort. That mean bastard would only miss the total control over his boyfriend. The concern Cyril felt had more to do with him knowing the consequences of defying Fred than actual emotional distress caused by Cyril’s absence.

"Never mind Fred. He'll never find you here." The words sounded more dismissive than intended, and Cyril's agitation mounted.

“Find me? But, what about when I get back? He’ll notice I was gone. He’ll be so worried.”

Worried. Cyril’s codeword for batshit crazy. That bastard boyfriend of his had masqueraded his controlling, violent, and manipulative ways as love, care, and concern for far too long. It had to change. No matter how the man pleaded, Stuart had no intention of ever letting Cyril go back to that hellish existence. He just needed to make him realize that every day spent with his monster of a boyfriend was another day closer to serious injury and possibly death.

“I just want to talk to you. Away from all that. Away from him.” Stuart glanced at his passenger in the mirror. “Just sit back and relax.”

“Relax? Are you nuts? I need to be home. I can’t be away.” Cyril ran his hand through his hair. A nervous gesture Stuart remembered from their time working and then briefly living together.

“Because of him?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I saw the marks. I’ve seen them before, so I know what they mean. And they’re getting worse.”

Cyril’s protests died for a moment. Maybe the words actually hit home.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, long enough to arrive at their destination. Cyril started pulling on the handles again, and Stuart quickly got out, opening the door for him. The upset man bolted out of the car and took a few running steps along the road, away from Stuart.

"You can't get back to town on foot. You need a car." The half-shouted words brought Cyril to a halt, but the man wouldn't face him. "If you just get back here and talk to me for a little while, I'll take you home."

Cyril spun around, panic and desperation shining from his eyes. He was still sleepy, so he wobbled from the hurried motion but regained his balance.

“Just give me a little time to talk and then I’ll drive you back. Nothing to worry about.” Taking care to keep the right amount of cajoling in his voice, Stuart grabbed his backpack from the car and then gestured toward the cabin door. “Please. I’ll make us coffee. Or a smoothie.” He figured Cyril had to be hungry or at least thirsty.

“So you can drug me again?” Suspicion and a hint of fear filled Cyril’s glare.

“Come on. What would be the purpose of that? You are here now. That’s all I wanted. It’s chilly outside, and I’ll get a fire going in there. I guarantee you’ll be more comfortable inside.” The man grumbled but took some steps in the right direction. Not wanting to lose what little momentum he had, Stuart quickly unlocked the door and held it open for Cyril. He stepped inside, and when Stuart was sure the man wouldn’t turn around and run out again, he fetched the groceries from the car. With a sense of relief, Stuart closed the door behind them.

Hesitantly, Cyril looked around the main room. It was a traditional log cabin, with simple, but comfortable, rustic furniture centered on a fireplace. Rugs added a cozy feeling to the room. Stuart put a couple of logs in the fireplace and managed to get the fire going after a few tries.

“Come, sit here. I’ll make us something hot to drink.”

Cyril curled up in the corner of the couch and pulled a fleece blanket around himself. The movement made him flinch, and Stuart clenched his teeth. The bastard! Cyril was in pain and there was no need to wonder who caused it. He unpacked the supplies and brewed coffee.

After handing Cyril a coffee mug, Stuart sat down opposite him in a stuffed chair. Neither of them spoke as they sipped the warm brew. Stuart didn’t know where to begin. How do you address a man you essentially kidnapped? Who was he to decide for Cyril? He just had to do something. Thinking back, maybe he could have chosen a different route. But the way things had progressed, he had felt the clock ticking and time running out for Cyril.

After that horrible day when Cyril walked out of his life and back to his personal hell, all by his own choice, Stuart had gone through his own crisis. That Cyril voluntarily submitted himself to that kind of treatment was difficult to understand. The “no contact” rule from his goodbye note was enforced rigorously, so he couldn’t get any further explanation. All calls and texts went unanswered. Cyril, of course, didn't show up to work, as he had given his notice immediately. The two-week notice was not upheld since they couldn't force him to come in. It wasn't as if Cyril needed the money.

After he got past the immediate emptiness Cyril left behind both in his home and bed, anger and fear were the main emotions ruling Stuart almost day and night. He was angry at Fred for being a manipulative, violent bastard and, perhaps unjustly, but almost equally as intense, at Cyril for accepting the way Fred punished and controlled him. Then, he got scared he would one day get the dreaded news that things had gone too far.

To do something other than sit at home and feel inept, he started hanging around outside their house, sitting in his car and trying to get a glimpse of Cyril while being careful not to be seen. Since his skills as a detective were sorely lacking, he got spotted by Cyril already on his third stakeout. The man rushed out of the house and angrily tapped on the car side window. Reluctantly, Stuart lowered the window.

“What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to leave us alone, and yet you sit out here day after day. Fred won’t be pleased if he sees you.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here?” The information surprised Stuart. He had imagined Cyril telling Fred everything. The secrecy lit the tiny flame of hope in his chest.

“No, or you would be in trouble. It’s illegal to spy on people.”

“I’m merely sitting here on the public street. How can that be illegal?” When he saw Cyril frown, Stuart hastily continued. “Listen, I just wanted to make sure you are OK.”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” The incredulous look on Cyril’s face was pulled off almost to perfection, but Stuart could see the minute cracks in the façade.

“You know why. He beats you.”

“No.” The denial came swift.

“I’ve seen the bruises. You came to me for help. You stayed with me for weeks.”

“That was simply a misunderstanding. Just a slight quarrel gone too far. Entirely my own doing.” A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Cyril was indeed nervous and possibly scared. “Now, I want you to leave. If you come back here, I can’t guarantee I won’t call the police. It’s not safe.”

“For you?” A flaring of Cyril’s nostrils made Stuart pause. A thought suddenly dawned on him. “Or for me?”

“Just go. Now.” Nervous shifting of feet and twisting of hands revealed Cyril’s unease. “Please….”

The door to Cyril’s house opened, making him jump. Both men held their breaths as they saw Fred sauntering down the stairs and out onto the driveway. Cyril wrapped himself in his own arms as if getting ready to protect his vulnerable midsection. The instinctive reaction sent a burst of anger through Stuart, but he kept his mouth shut and his head cool. Reasonably so, at least.

“Cyril, why are you out here, talking to people on the curb? Like some common tramp?” He glanced into the car, and his jaw tightened. “So, am I interrupting something?”

“No, Fred. Stuart was just wondering why I left and wanted to say goodbye.”

“Why you left?” The evident displeasure sent chills through Stuart. Fred obviously didn’t like to be reminded of their time apart.

“Left work, I mean.” Cyril looked up at Fred imploringly. “My colleagues send their regards.”

“Well, no need to drag this out. You don’t have to go back to that boring place ever again. I’ll take care of you.” Fred grabbed Cyril’s neck and pulled him close. If not for the flash of fear in Cyril’s eyes, it could have been mistaken for a gesture of intimacy. Stuart knew better. “So, I think you are done here. Cyril appreciates the sentiment, but we really need to go inside now. Right, sweetie?”

“Yes, Fred. We do. The dinner could be burning….”

An obvious lie, going by the waver in Cyril’s voice. The man desperately wanted to go inside. Away from Stuart.

“Cyril…” Deliberately ignoring Fred, Stuart turned to Cyril. He didn’t know a good way to say what he was thinking, but he had to say something. ”If you ever need anything….”

Pushing Cyril to the side and causing him to stumble, Fred leaned down and glared at Stuart straight in the eyes. His face had turned red, and he jabbed Stuart in the chest with his index finger.

“Cyril won’t need anything from you. He’s got all he needs right here. If you ever bother us again, I will call the police.”

“The police? And how will you explain that?” Stuart pointed at Cyril, whose sleeve had been pushed up, revealing dark, bruised skin all over his left underarm.

The three men stared at each other, the silence between them thick with unspoken allegations. Cyril’s eyes darted frantically between Stuart and Fred.

“I fell.” With only a moment’s hesitation, Cyril regained his composure, his face once more impassive and fake. “Nothing more. Just a clumsy accident.”

"Yeah, babe. You sure are clumsy." Fred squeezed his upper arm as if joking. The pained expression rippling across Cyril's face told another story. "You better leave us alone, or things could get ugly. Really ugly.”

Without any further discussion, Fred dragged Cyril toward the house. Cyril stumbled along behind, only giving Stuart a quick glance before disappearing inside again.

Stuart was sure there were other injuries, but he didn’t have the heart to push Cyril further. Besides, there was very little he could do. As frustrating as it was, Cyril had made it clear he would stay with Fred.

When he came home, his forced inaction had him pacing once more. Fatigue was weighing him down, but he knew going to bed would be useless. Sleep had all but eluded him completely for the past week. Instead, thoughts of his encounter with Cyril and Fred kept running through his mind. Something was off between them. Not just the ever-present fear or anxiety. Something else had glinted deep in Cyril’s eyes when they spoke. There was something bothering him, but the niggling concept sat on the outer-most fringe of his consciousness, refusing to materialize into a proper thought.

Nonetheless, his vague suspicion pushed him into action. Not sure where this whim would lead, he went over his apartment methodically, going through every drawer and shelf. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but something told him he would know it when he found it. After coming up with nothing, he ended up sitting at his desk in the bedroom. Deflated, he tried to accept his hunch had probably been wrong. Opening his laptop, he clicked to open his email account. As he did, he accidentally clicked on another email client, one that came pre-installed. Groaning, he waited for it to open, so he could close it properly.

To his surprise, he found he had accessed Cyril's email. Apparently, Cyril used that client and had managed to save his login for future use. When he left that day, he was probably in too much of a hurry to delete the information.

As he scrolled through the inbox, he noticed that there weren't all that many emails. Cyril had no real friends or close family, and since he had quit working, there was no need for their employer to reach him either. Mostly, there were emails from Fred, from the looks of it, details of trips or appointments.

Stuart battled with his curiosity, the shameful feeling of intrusion winning, and he moved to close the window. Just as he hovered the cursor in position, his eyes were caught by a subject heading.

Come home or face the consequences.

The date matched the day Cyril left, and Stuart couldn’t resist opening to read:

I can’t believe you’re keeping this charade up. How can you stay in the same house as that idiot who fills your head with nonsense? Can’t you see how he’s turned you against me? I can’t go on without you. You belong here with me. I’ve given you everything, and this is how you thank me? Ungrateful little shit! You could do me the courtesy of answering my emails, at least.

This is my final warning. Come home where you should be or face the consequences. If you come home, I’ll forgive you and him, provided you have no contact at all with him in the future. This means no emails, no calls, no chatting in the grocery store. If you don’t do as I say, I can’t answer for my actions. Not regarding him.

Fred

Chills traveled down Stuart's spine. His head felt light, and the text on the screen obliterated all other sensory input. The wording was clear, but careful. There was no doubt in his mind Cyril had read it the same way. Fred had threatened to harm him unless Cyril came home. It all made sense now. The farewell note Cyril had left, worded with such care. I’ve realized staying here would only cause hurt and I can’t stand to see you hurt. The words were so clear to him now. How could he not have realized the hidden message before? That’s why Cyril had left so abruptly.

The realization reinforced Stuart’s resolve to get Cyril away from Fred. The main question was how to achieve his goal. Hanging around their house had already proved not to be a good idea. He needed a smarter approach. To get Cyril to leave Fred, he needed to get through to him and preferably get him to the police while he was at it.

The thought gave him an idea. Perhaps the police could do something. Weren’t they obligated to intervene if they had reason to believe a violent crime had been committed? With a renewed sense of resolve, Stuart drove over to the nearest station. He had never been to the police before, and standing in the middle of a crowded room, unsure whether it was OK to approach the reception desk, he felt lost. Then he pulled himself together and walked up to the woman sitting behind the desk.

“I’d like to report a crime.”

Her interest wasn’t immediately displayed, but she slid a form across the desk at him.

“Fill this out and then wait for your turn.” After noticing his hesitance, she pointed to the upper right corner of the form. “You’re number fifty-seven.”

A glance at the electronic display above her head revealed the current customer was number thirty-four. So, a bit of a wait. Then again, he had to fill out the paperwork. He located a reasonably quiet corner and began entering the information. Remembering dates and other specifics turned out to be difficult, but he imagined the police would only use the information as a starting point. Cyril would provide the rest.

When he was done, he sat down to wait. The numbers changed excruciatingly slow. After almost two hours, his number was finally called. He was shown into a room, much like the interrogation rooms on TV. The reality of what he was doing began to sink in, but he steeled himself. He was doing this for Cyril.

“So, what you got?” The officer, while young, already had a distinct jaded quality about him, but he perused the form with at least some interest. “Assault? Abuse? But not you?”

Stuart nodded. Maybe this was unusual, but it could hardly be unheard of.

“It’s a friend.” He paused for a moment. What had they been? More than friends? But not quite lovers? “A close friend. Who’s involved with an asshole.”

If the officer understood the implications of his words, he didn’t show it. Perhaps this was all in a day’s work.

“So, you’ve witnessed the abuse?”

“No, not really. I’ve seen the bruises. And Cyril told me.”

“But you never saw him get abused? Did anyone else see it happen?” The officer tilted his head slightly. It struck Stuart as a practiced move to gain trust and show interest.

“He doesn’t have many friends. It’s not like Fred did it in public.”

“So no actual witnesses.” The question made sense, of course, but it still upset Stuart.

“Look, he showed up at work all black and blue. I saw it myself.“

“Did he say it was from abuse?”

“Maybe he didn’t use that word, no.” Stuart breathed deeply to calm his rising emotions. “He came to my house seeking shelter, scared out of his mind. He was hurt, by the man who is supposed to love him. I tried to help him, but then that bastard threatened me and Cyril relented.”

“Threatened you?” This made the officer perk up a little.

“By email.” Stuart tried to recall the wording. “Said he couldn’t answer for any consequences if he didn’t come back.”

“Did he say he’d hurt you?”

“Yes.” Then he realized that wasn’t completely honest. “Well, no. Not outright. But that’s what he meant.”

The officer hummed, but his interest clearly had dwindled.

“You have to do something! He’s going to go too far one day and end up killing Cyril. It gets worse. I’m sure of it.”

“Listen, there really isn’t much we can do unless this guy, Cyril, wants to press charges himself.”

Stuart had to bite his tongue not to yell at the policeman. Frustration and fear grew inside him.

"You don't understand. He's getting hurt, and I can't help him. You have to help him."

“I understand this is very upsetting for you, but you need to get him to come in here to file a complaint. If he does, we’ll help him. Until then, our hands are tied.”

“But….”

“I’m sorry, sir. The DA won’t move ahead in a case like this without a victim willing to testify.”

Even though Stuart did his best to persuade him to change his mind, the officer didn’t budge. A personal report and a willingness to testify were absolute demands. So he was back at square one. Or worse, since Fred was now watching Cyril like a hawk, and any transgression was sure to cause more abuse.

As the days went by, Stuart found he could barely concentrate at work. He made stupid mistakes, making his manager give him first the disappointed look, then the stern face, until finally settling on concerned.

“Stuart, could I talk to you for a moment?” Clara, his manager, rested her hand lightly on his arm. “What is going on?”

Her eyes searched his as if they would tell her what she wanted to know. Stuart didn't feel comfortable talking about this with her since she knew of Cyril, but had no clue as to what his life was like. Would it be a betrayal of his confidence to tell her? He floundered.

“I need you to be honest with me. It’s not like you to turn in assignments of such poor quality. For the past week, I’ve had to go over all your work just to spot easy mistakes. It can’t go on like this.”

She gently gripped his hand, and for some reason, the simple act of caring opened the hatches, and the whole story poured out of Stuart. Clara listened without interruptions, her eyebrows creased. When he was done, Stuart looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. He wasn’t used to confiding in his manager. His personal life had always been personal.

“I don’t like the sound of this, but I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do. If the police aren’t able to anything, I think you have to accept there isn’t much you can do either. Unless Cyril wants help, he has to handle this on his own.”

Shaking his head, Stuart opened his mouth to protest.

“At the same time, I can see that this situation has affected you deeply. Perhaps you need some personal days? You haven’t had much time off the past few years and no sick days.”

“But I would go nuts if I’m stuck at home with nothing to do!”

“You could borrow my family’s cabin. It’s isolated and very peaceful. Maybe some time in the woods would help you sort things out and get back in balance? Just for a week or so.”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you could come up with a plan on how to help Cyril? If he indeed wants help.”

Something clicked in Stuart's head, and a crazy plan hatched. He got up and shook Clara’s hand. The surprised look on her face at his sudden change of heart would have been funny if he hadn’t already been miles away in his head.

"Actually, that's a great idea. Some time alone would be great. I'll wrap some stuff up here, and then I'll be out of here. You can email me the details of the location." With a new spring in his step, Stuart left her office.

“Sure. I’ll send you the information.” Clara’s bewildered words followed him out the door.

He spent the rest of the day plotting. Getting Cyril in his car would be the biggest issue. He knew he had to incapacitate Cyril, but would it be a far too crazy idea to drug him? His sleepless nights had been rough enough for his doctor to prescribe some pretty strong sleeping pills, so he had the stuff. The only problem was the risk of harming Cyril by administering drugs without proper training. He did some online research about dosage, and finally felt confident on how to proceed safely. As a ruse to get Cyril out of the house, he decided to use some clothes left behind by Cyril in the hamper, among them his favorite sweater. It was a long shot, but perhaps that would be enough bait.

He got the directions from Clara, picked up a key from her, and then left the office. On his way home, he swung by the grocery store and bought food for at least a week. He made sure to include as many of Cyril’s favorites as possible. After packing his own clothes, and also the items left by Cyril, he glanced at his phone. Only 3:00 p.m. Fred would still be at work. Perfect timing.

As he sat in his car outside Cyril’s house, he once more questioned whether this was such a brilliant idea after all. What he was about to do was definitely illegal, if not for a very creative interpretation of self-defense or perhaps duress. But he had to do it, and he was prepared.

His legs shaking and his stomach doing summersaults, he walked up and rang the doorbell. His nerves caused him to stumble on the flight of stairs, almost making him drop the specially prepared coffee. He had to make sure not to mix up the two coffee cups in his hands or his entire plan would fall apart. It took close to one minute for Cyril to open the door. When he saw Stuart, he flinched.

“What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone!” A frantic look around indicated how scared Cyril was.

“I know. I just came to return some things you left at my place.” Stuart tried to sound calm and unbothered. “You know, that blue sweater you like so much. And I brought that coffee you like. Mocha nutmeg.” He held out the paper cup, trying to keep his hand from shaking. He hoped he wouldn’t spill his own cup and scald himself.

“OK.” Cyril calmed slightly, accepting the offered beverage. “So where is it?”

"Oh, right. It's in the car. Walk with me, and I'll give it to you. Just over there." Taking a long sip, Stuart pointed at his car. To his satisfaction, Cyril mimicked him. This might just work.

With his arms tightly tucked against his torso while cradling the coffee, Cyril stepped into his shoes and followed Stuart. He kept his eyes to the ground, taking up as little space as possible. Unease made him sip repeatedly from his coffee. Stuart slowed his steps to allow Cyril to drink as much of the brew as possible. Maybe he should have parked further down the street.

When they reached the car, Stuart stopped by the back door and took another deep sip while trying to look inconspicuous. Again, Cyril mimicked his move.

“Your stuff is in that bag.” With his head, he indicated the plastic bag lying on the other side of the seat. “So, how have you been?”

The clumsy attempt at small talk caught Cyril off guard. He seemed at a loss for words and took another drink instead.

“OK.” Glancing around nervously, he took a step closer to the car.

“How’s not having to work? Not getting bored to death?” Stuart tried his best to start a conversation. “I don’t think I would be able to be at home all day. Would be climbing the walls.”

"Well, it's OK. I get to do whatever I like." Cyril's reply was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. The man wasn't allowed to do anything unless Fred approved.

“That’s great then.” Both men fell silent and took a drink to fill the silence.

Suddenly, Cyril wobbled on his feet. He gave Stuart a puzzled look. “Can I get the stuff now?”

“Sure.” Stuart didn’t move but took another drink. “I just wanted to see how you were. Last time, we didn’t really get a chance to talk.”

"I don't have time for this." There was a slight slur to Cyril's words, and he tried clearing his throat. "I have things to do."

“So, you try any new hobbies?”

Cyril didn’t answer. He was blinking at Stuart.

“Can you step aside so I can…” He swallowed heavily. “So I can get the bag?”

“Sure.”

Cyril gave him a questioning look but leaned in to grab it. Trying to be as quick but gentle as possible, Stuart grabbed his legs and shoved him inside. Before Cyril could turn around from his head first position, he had closed the childproof door and gotten in on the driver’s side.

After getting Cyril in the car, the drug had taken effect quickly. Stuart only had to lean back over the seats and hold Cyril still for a minute or two. Then the man was out cold. Tucking him in a blanket, Stuart made sure to place him on his side to keep his airway clear.

Now, they were sitting opposite each other in the cabin. Cyril’s face displayed all sorts of emotions, ranging from anger to fear.

“We have to talk.”

“So talk.”

And talk they did. Long, discussion-filled days turned into sleepless nights of arguing. Stuart had expected Cyril to be stubborn, but the man took it to a whole other level. To say Stuart was frustrated would be an understatement. Just to get Cyril to agree with his having problems in his relationship took the better part of a day. Then he had to spend a full two days convincing Cyril that it wasn't his fault, and he didn't deserve the treatment he got from Fred. Maybe he could possibly get through to him since they had, in fact, shared his house for a while. Cyril couldn't completely deny that episode. When they finally got to the point of discussing going to the police, Cyril slammed down on the brakes. He refused to budge, even when Stuart explained that he knew about Fred making threats against him. In his desperation, he contacted Clara to let her know he would perhaps need a few more days. She asked him what was going on. Without revealing his criminal act, he told her Cyril refused to go to the police.

“Well, I have a friend who is a lawyer. Maybe he can help you explain what needs to be done?”

“I don’t know.”

"He mostly works with corporate law, but does some pro bono work as well. I'm sure a matter like this won't be news to him."

With a phone number in hand, Stuart changed tactics. Instead of talking about the police, he urged Cyril to get legal advice. Just to know what his options were. Finally, the man relented, and they set up an appointment.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Abruptly, Cyril stopped right outside the rather imposing, dark glass door. A couple of somber brass signs, one of which stated their destination, Roberts, Ander and Tierney, didn’t help matters. The whole building oozed seriousness. Stuart couldn’t afford another nervous meltdown or have Cyril bolt when they were so close. He gently stroked Cyril’s back and felt the man shaking through his hoodie. He also felt too many protruding bones, making it clear Cyril couldn’t wait. If he didn’t do this now, he would soon need hospital care to ward off the effects of his not eating.

“We’re just here to talk. Nothing more. It’s a good idea if we both know what would happen if you went to the police.”

Cyril nodded but didn’t move.

“And they won’t make me go to the police?”

"They can't. Lawyer-client privilege. Sworn to secrecy kind of thing, you know." It was a bit of a lie. Stuart had no idea if the lawyer was obligated to report more serious crimes. But it wasn’t as if Fred had killed anyone. Not yet, anyway. He shuddered.

“OK.” At a snail’s pace, Cyril moved toward the door. It opened before either of them touched the handle. Some automatic door opener had reacted to their movement. Inside, they hesitantly approached the reception desk, where three young men in uniform sat trying to look as if they hadn’t just been talking trash. Barely suppressed laughter thwarted their attempts at coming off as purely professional.

“How can I help you, Sirs?” The slightly older one composed himself first.

“We’re here to see…” Stuart had to look at the text on his phone. “Lucas Berg.”

“With the law firm? Is he expecting you?” After a nod from Stuart, the security guy grabbed the phone and dialed quickly. A few mumbled phrases later, he looked at the pair in front of him and smiled.

“Just take one of the elevators on the left side. You’ll see which floor inside.”

Stuart subtly ushered Cyril in front of him, being careful not to push or use any kind of force. This was the trickiest part since the reality of his situation could dawn on Cyril at any moment now. However, the man offered no resistance as they entered the elevator, and he even pushed the button. Maybe he was committed to at least hear the lawyer out. After an argument just earlier that morning, Stuart hadn’t dared to get his hopes up.

The ride up was tense, and Stuart could feel the anxiety rolling off of Cyril. Just before they reached their destination, Cyril, nonetheless, leaned over and gave Stuart’s arm a quick squeeze. More for comfort or support than any passionate emotion, but Stuart didn’t mind. As long as he could be there for Cyril, he would. As difficult as it had been to control his hopes of a deeper relationship, he was determined at least to be the best friend he could.

When they entered the offices of the law firm, Cyril froze. After spending nearly two weeks at the cabin, he hadn’t seen any other person except Stuart during all that time. To stand in a busy lobby with people swirling about them was probably a shock. Stuart chanced placing a hand on Cyril’s shoulder for reassurance. The man twitched but didn’t try to leave.

They walked up to the reception desk, but before they could even speak, the efficient woman behind the desk smiled at them.

“You’re here for Mr. Berg? Juan told me. I’ve buzzed him.” Spotting someone behind them, she nodded. “And here he is.”

“Hi. Are you Stuart? We spoke on the phone.” The brown-haired man in the expensive-looking suit shook his hand firmly and then turned toward Cyril. Instantly, his demeanor changed, and he became softer, more inviting. “Hello. Cyril, isn’t it?” His outreached hand was left hanging, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

"We can go into an office over here." He urged them to follow, and Stuart placed a hand at the small of Cyril's back to move him along.

“If you sit down, I’ll get us some water.”

Stuart guided Cyril to a sofa and sat them both down. He didn’t like that Cyril had turned all quiet, and the way he was eyeing the door was disconcerting.

Lucas returned with water, glasses, a pen, and a legal pad. Apparently, the man still liked to work in a slightly old-fashioned way. It set Stuart more at ease, but didn’t seem to have the corresponding effect on Cyril.

After pouring them each a glass of water, Lucas sat back in his chair, pen poised over the pad.

“So, Cyril, could you please tell me why you wish to consult with me?”

The silence quickly felt oppressive as Cyril remained quiet and kept his eyes on the floor. Inside, Stuart swore to himself. He tried his best not to reveal his emotions, but he was sure Cyril could pick up on his frustration. Over the phone, he had given Lucas some information, but he hadn’t gone into much detail. It would have felt as if he betrayed Cyril’s trust.

"You know you can talk freely here. Nothing will leave this office unless you want it to." Still not a sound from Cyril. Lucas took a deep breath. "You should know victims of abuse usually feel better after taking legal action. If you go to the police…."

Oh, no. The P word. Cyril jumped up and moved toward the door. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to leave and never come back. Before Stuart or Lucas could say anything, the door opened.

“Lucas, I got us some coffee. I have time for a quick drink before I head to practice.” The man stopped short. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had someone in here.”

Stuart stared at the man. Or was it a giant? He was one of the biggest men he had ever laid eyes on, both in height and muscle. With very short blond hair and striking blue eyes, he could have been imposing. Instead, his persona exuded calm and gentleness. A well-harnessed power, like a lion at rest.

“It’s OK. We haven’t really gotten started." Lucas got up and slowly moved toward the giant and Cyril. "That's Stuart, and this is Cyril." From his tone, Stuart could tell Lucas wanted the man to know who the client was. "My pro bono client. Guys, this is Joel. My husband."

“Hello.” The giant shook Stuart’s hand and then turned to Cyril, who was still on the verge of leaving. “Are you OK?” Stuart had expected Cyril to freak at the sight of the huge man, but somehow, despite being so impressive, Joel didn’t give off any threatening vibe at all. Again, Stuart thought of contained power paired with kindness. Cyril remained silent and looked anywhere but at the three of them.

“He’s a bit nervous about….” Stuart fell silent, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t his story to tell.

"I hear you have been through some rough times," Joel spoke in a soft, rumbling voice directly to Cyril, placing a hand on his upper left arm. Seeing that made Stuart groan internally. Now, Cyril was sure to rush out of the room.

To Stuart’s great surprise, Cyril sighed and looked up at Joel. The tension left his body, and he relaxed into the hand. Joel held his weight with ease and led him back to the sofa. When Joel sat down close to Cyril, Stuart opened his mouth to protest, fearing the closeness would scare him.

“Let them talk.” Lucas spoke in hushed tones.

“But he’s scared of any close contact.” Every instinct in Stuart was calling for him to protect Cyril.

“Just watch.” Lucas nodded towards the odd pair on the sofa.

In amazement, Stuart noticed Cyril was talking. Not only clipped sentences, but a flood of words was pouring out of him. Joel hummed on occasion, but said nothing.

“What’s going on?” Stuart was amazed to see Cyril open up to someone, especially a mountain of a man. Part of him felt a prick of jealousy, but he pushed the feeling down. Cyril talking to someone about his situation was a good thing.

“That’s just Joel working his magic.” A slight grin revealed Lucas wasn’t surprised, but pleased. “He’s a cop from Sweden. They are all like that. Like rocks on legs, perfect to lean on.”

They waited for the flood of words to subside. Stuart was on the verge of intervening when Cyril started crying, but Joel handled that effortlessly too. After close to an hour, Cyril blew his nose and got to his feet. He shakily approached Stuart and embraced him. The hug far surpassed any other hug they had shared before, since now there was no specter between them. The ghost of Fred had finally dissipated.

“I think I should go to the police.” A weary smile, but still a smile, graced Cyril’s lips. “Will you come with me? All three of you?”

“Of course, we will.” Joel didn’t hesitate, and Lucas nodded.

Cyril's eyes met Stuart's and, deep within them, there was something new. Something resembling relief and perhaps even a tinge of hope.

“It’s time. Let’s go.” Cyril took his hand and led the way out the door.