Not The Sun - 15. Chapter Fifteen: Breakdown

15 ~Breakdown~

Brandon had already made arrangements to spend the night away from home, so after stopping to pick up something to eat, they headed back to Jordan's house. Jordan found a note left by Dylan, telling him that he was out having dinner with a client. He sighed and threw it away. Typical Dylan. At least that was one thing that hadn't been turned upside down today. Brandon sat down at the table, unwrapping the food they had picked up from McDonalds. Jordan got out some paper plates for them as they sat down. It felt a little strange to be sitting there without Nikki or Dalaja.

Brandon ate slowly, thinking hard. When he was done, he pushed his plate away. "So. What do we do now?" he asked.

Jordan looked up. "I don't know. Getting to his house and finding him gone was to be expected. Getting to his house and having one of us getting shot was not. Nikki said this person felt dangerous. This just confirmed it. There was no need for Keith to do what he did. There wasn't even anything there."

"First," Brandon said, "we don't know if it was Keith who set that trap. Dalaja said that she felt another Enabler's presence there, so there is a possibility that it wasn't just Keith living there, correct?"

"True," Jordan said. "And Dalaja and I both felt some strong psychic residue in the house that only could have come from another Enabler."

"So it was either Keith or Keith's Enabler," Brandon said, telling himself that he wasn't defending Keith, just making sure they looked at everything from all angles.

"Brandon, I'm worried that whoever rigged that shotgun was expecting you to come through that doorway. It hit Nikki in her ribs and was nonfatal because of her height. You heard what the surgeon said. If it had been a little bit higher, it could have done some serious damage. If you had gone through that door instead of Nikki... that gun would have been aimed straight at your chest. You could have died. Whoever set that gun up was aiming to kill you."

Brandon shook his head. "No."

"I'm sorry, Brandon, but-"

"No. Just stop. Don't say stuff like that."

"Brandon, I don't like this. I think we should step back. This is too dangerous. Let's turn this over to someone else, someone who has some more experience. I don't want to have to go back to that hospital and worry about someone I care about again."

"That's fine. Besides we're basically at a dead end anyhow, aren't we? Keith is gone. His Enabler is gone. We didn't find any damn clues anyway." Brandon sighed and tilted his head back. "None of this makes sense. Nothing about this entire day makes any sense."

"No argument there."

Brandon left the kitchen and went upstairs. He retrieved his bag from the bedroom he usually stayed in. It was eerie how comfortable he was becoming roaming around Jordan's house, which had once intimidated and delighted him, like it was his own. He unzipped his bag, untopped his flask and took a drink. Jordan came to the doorway of his room.

"Want some?" Brandon offered. Jordan held out his hand and Brandon passed it over. It was the same liquid as
before, with a slightly sweet taste to it.

"What is this?" Jordan asked.

"It's called Chartreuse," Brandon said. "It's one of my favorites, but it's pretty expensive." He looked at the flask contemplatively then took another drink. "Do you keep booze in the house?"

"Some bourbon. Whiskey. Why?"

"Well, if it's okay with you, I would like to get a little bit drunk. I've had far too much to deal with today."

"Does drinking really make you feel better?"

Brandon shrugged. "Sometimes. Everybody needs a crutch, whether they admit it or not. And you asked me not to cut anymore."

Jordan considered this. "I'll show you where we keep it," he said finally. "And I'm not going to drink with you, and you are absolutely forbidden to leave this house."

"Fine." Brandon got up and kissed Jordan for a moment, sliding lips against lips; drank in his flavor, his taste, the way he smelled.

Jordan pulled away slightly, refusing to kiss him back and stepping out from his embrace. "C'mon," he said softly. Jordan led Brandon to a room he had never been in before that looked like a cross between a study and a high class bar. Jordan stepped behind the bar, rummaged in some of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and Brandon's good friend, Jack Daniels. And Cuervo La Reserva tequila. Nice.

"So, Jordan, why do you not drink?" Brandon asked. He poured some Jack on the rocks.

"Never had an opportunity to acquire a taste for it," Jordan answered simply, watching him. "Why do you drink so often?"

"I've had too many opportunities," Brandon answered. "Everyone drinks, or smokes, or does drugs. Everyone has something they do to help them deal with shit. Even you. We all have something we do that is bad for ourselves. If we try to break free of one trap, we'll just fall into another, so why bother trying?"

"That's a pretty pessimistic outlook on life."

"Yeah, well, forgive me for not being Mr. Fucking Cheerful when a friend is lying in a hospital."

"Drinking isn't going to fix any of that."

"Yeah, but it makes me not care as much," Brandon mumbled.

"Why do you not want to care?" Jordan asked.

Brandon drained his drink and poured another, ignoring the question. He decided to change the subject. "When we were in Keith's house and Dalaja told Nikki to tell them number two, what did that mean?"

"They have a rather meticulous system set up in case something like this happens. Situation number two means that they tell the police that they were in the house planning a surprise party for the person who lives there. This way if they are questioned, even separately, they know what to say. I don't think it'll come to a point where either one of them would fall under suspicion, but Dalaja, at least, always likes to have a contingency plan."

"Does stuff like this happen to them a lot?" Brandon asked.

"No. Dalaja just likes to be prepared for every possibility and Nikki is flat out paranoid."

"Do you and Nikki dislike each other or something?"

"No, I don't dislike Nikki. Why do you ask?"

Brandon shrugged. "I don't know. The two of you bicker a lot when you're together."

Jordan smiled. "I bicker with people I like. She's like a sister, someone who you love dearly but who are duty bound to get on your nerves from time to time."

Brandon smiled. That description fit his relationship with his sisters perfectly.

"So how drunk are you right now?" Jordan asked.

"Not drunk enough."

"Are you still caring?"

"Not terribly much. Why?"

"There's something I want to talk to you about. And I don't think you are going to want to hear it. You're probably going to get really upset and more than likely really pissed off at me," Jordan said.

"So what, you're going to wait until I'm drunk to tell me?" Brandon asked. Christ, Jordan could be sneaky bastard at times.

"No, I was hoping to tell you when you're sober. But due to the circumstances, I really think it's something we need to talk about right now."

"Fine. Oh, hold on." Brandon set his empty glass down again and slid off the barstool. "Okay, go on then."

"Brandon... I don't know of an easy way to say this, so I'm just going to lay it out. I think Leia is still alive."

Brandon stared. Blinked. "All right. Now I need another drink." Brandon said and poured another, barely managing to keep the liquid in the glass. Jordan quietly put the rest of the bottles away where he had gotten them. Brandon took a sip of his drink and placed the glass back down on the counter. "Now explain to me why you would say such a thing."

Jordan put his hands down on the glossy wood of the bar, spreading his fingers out. "When... um... when I found out Leia had committed suicide, I was stunned. Not like you were, obviously, but I had thought that if Leia was going to do something like that, I would have known. I would have felt it, you know, through our link? And then after she had passed on and stuff... the link remained."

"The link."

"The psychic link we shared; the one I told you about."

"What about it?"

Jordan never lifted his gaze from his fingers, but he had to take a moment and try to keep it together. Brandon was up to his old tricks, trying to distract him and provoke him, to let this turn into an argument so he wouldn't have to face the issue they were addressing. For a minute, Jordan considered letting this wait... but if he let it wait until tomorrow, it would be so easy to keep telling himself that it would be okay to let it wait one more day... No. He needed to take care of this now.

"When a person has a psychic link with another person, when one person dies, the link is supposed to dissolve and disappear. It can't remain intact," Jordan explained.

"And you're saying yours didn't dissolve?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"So... What does that mean? I mean, have you been getting stuff from her? Flashes, the way you used to?" Brandon asked. It took him a minute to get his fingers to connect with his glass, but once they did, he picked it up and took another sip.

"Not at first," Jordan said. "I hadn't been getting anything from her over the link, not even a blip. But-"

"So you're not getting anything. So maybe you're just wrong. Maybe the link stays once someone dies and it's just inactive after that."

"No, I don't think that's what's going on. If she's dead, there should be no link. It needs two people to sustain it."

"But you just said it wasn't working," Brandon pointed out.

"Not working, no, but it's still there. That's the only thing that matters. You can have a link that doesn't work. That's something that would happen to our link if we both had a block up. But that doesn't mean it would go away. When she died, the link should have been gone, it should have dissolved. And it didn't. It shouldn't be possible. It isn't possible."

"Well, you're wrong then," Brandon said, then smirked. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"I don't think I'm wrong about this."

"You were about Leia's pregnancy."

Jordan paused for a moment and Brandon noticed with a detached amusement that Jordan's fingers were curling inward into fists. The fucker didn't like to be wrong, did he? Brandon thought smugly.

"Brandon, I know that you don't like to hear this, but you have to look at what we might be facing here."

"I know what you are saying. But what if this is like the thing where Keith's Enabler is somewhere even though you couldn't find her? It doesn't make sense, no, and it shouldn't be possible, but it is. Just because it's something that you can't make sense out of doesn't mean that it absolutely can't happen."

"There's something else," Jordan started to say but Brandon interrupted him. "And here is another little flaw in your theory. Leia is dead. D-A-E-D."

"D-E-A-D," Jordan corrected.

Brandon stared at him. "What the hell ever, man," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's dead. They gave her an autopsy. We buried her. You stood there with me and you watched them put her in the ground."

"I know that. But-"

"But nothing," Brandon said. "It happened. I saw it; don't you tell me that they didn't."

"Bran, shut up for a minute and let me talk," Jordan said, sounding annoyed. Brandon figured Jordan's feathers were just ruffled because he couldn't defend himself against his Creator's infallible logic.

"I said I hadn't been getting anything over the link. And I didn't, not at first. But recently..." Jordan looked away and his eyes were watery and dull. "Things are changing, Brandon."

"How?"

"I'm beginning to get stuff again. Feel stuff. Over the link. From her."

Brandon shook his head. "No. No." Jordan opened his mouth and Brandon cut him off before he could even say the words. "No, Jordan, don't you fucking dare. You are wrong. So wrong. I don't know what it is exactly that you are feeling or what is going on with that link or anything about this psychic shit. You know more about that than I do, I'll admit that, but no. No. It's not Leia. It's something else. It's not her."

"It is."

"No, it's not. You just think it is. She's dead. She's dead. They autopsied her. They buried her. I mourned for her. And she's dead. And that's a fact. And nothing, not your link, none of this is going to bring her back. Death is final and it took her from us and she's not coming back and nothing you say is going to change it. Nothing at all. And I'm not going to listen to any more of this."

Jordan stared at him for a long time. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet. "Is this how it works for you, Brandon? Ignore everything you don't like to hear? Pretend something doesn't exist if it doesn't fit into the nice little boxes you've shaped your life around? Because if this is how you deal with stuff, you're going to be in for some damn rude awakenings."

"Shut up," Brandon said. "Just shut the fuck up." He slammed the glass back down on the counter. "Christ," he mumbled. He felt tears prickling his eyes and felt angry and uneasy. He turned away from the bar so Jordan couldn't see his face. He needed to get out of there. "I'm going for a walk. I need to clear my head a little bit."

"You promised not to go anywhere while you were drinking."

"I lied." Brandon saw Jordan rounding the bar from the corner of his eye and grinned. "What are you going to do? Knock me down, drag me to a room by my hair and lock me up inside?"

"I probably could if I really wanted to," Jordan replied.

"I don't doubt that, but I'm hardly worth the trouble. I'm just going to be gone for a few minutes. I'll be right outside. Chill."

Brandon left without waiting for a reply. Once he was outside, the cool bite of the fall air was refreshing. He stomped down the driveway, pulled out his cell phone and called a cab. He waited at the end of the driveway, hidden from the front of the house by the numerous trees, and felt his insides relax slightly as he saw the cab pull up.

He ended up going to Alexis' house... He didn't know where else to go. He couldn't go home in this condition and he wasn't going back to Jordan's place. His first instinct, absurdly enough, had been to go to Keith's, but then he remembered that Keith was gone and his house was now off limits.

When the cab pulled up, he saw people on the lawn, spilling out of Alexis' house, which was lit with black lights and neon. She was throwing another rave. Perfect.

He walked inside, nodding to several people he knew. This was the perfect place to catch his breath, to have some more drinks, to dance until he couldn't move, couldn't smell anything but his own sweat and couldn't feel anything but the scream of his overtaxed muscles.

Alexis saw him and came over to give him an enthusiastic greeting, sounding almost surprised at seeing him there. Andrew was also there, but didn't come over to say anything to him, didn't do anything but give him a rather cool nod. Brandon felt a little jerk of surprise mixed with guilt. Had he been spending too much time with Jordan, neglecting his other friends? When had that happened?

He hit the dance floor with a vengeance. His bones shook and vibrated with the force of the music as he stomped, twisted and spun. A face kept resurfacing again and again in the crowd around him, a boy of his age with a shock of platinum hair streaked with red and black. He sported a lip ring, a stud through his eyebrow and a nipple ring winked shyly though the strategic, artistic rips in the boys T-shirt. Brandon wasn't a fan of multiple piercings but he could admit that this boy was able to pull it off very well. And he was pressing up against him in the tight crowd of bodies, heat radiating out through his leather pants as he rubbed and ground against Brandon's body. Brandon had a fleeting thought of what Alexis or Andrew might think if they saw the two of them dancing together this way, but it was only a thought, easily occurring and then just as easily gone. So he danced with him, hands on tight leather and damp cotton, inhaling the scent of the other boy's clean sweat.

A slower song replaced the dizzy fast beat of the techno tracks. During this intermission the boy slipped away, leaving the dance floor and returning with two cups. “Work up a sweat?” the boy asked with a coy smile.

“Yeah.”

“Here,” he held out the plastic cup. It looked like coke. Brandon took a sip and noticed a funny aftertaste to it. He shrugged, figuring it was just spiked with some type of alcohol. He didn't like the taste of it, whatever it was, and took several long deep gulps until the glass was drained. He licked his lips and saw the boy staring at him with huge eyes. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” the boy said, then he pressed up on his toes and gave Brandon a light kiss as the music started up again and they danced some more. After a few minutes, though, Brandon felt himself get a little woozy and stepped away, leaning against the wall to try to steady himself. The boy followed, moving up against him, kissing him and pressing a hand against his crotch before lifting his head and looking at him. The hand didn't move from his body, applying a welcome pressure.

Brandon felt himself growing hard at the thought of what he was being offered. He hesitated slightly when he thought of Jordan, but he was able to vanquish any guilt that thoughts of him caused pretty easily. They had only been out on one date, after all, and that hardly meant they were exclusive. Besides, he was still pissed at Jordan for concealing such important information for such a long time and at this point wasn’t even sure if he wanted to remain friends with him, much less let anything else develop.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Brandon suggested, his voice soft and low, wanting some more of what the anonymous boy was offering, but not where anyone could see them.

The boy smiled again. “Lead the way.”

Brandon moved towards the stairs, pulling the boy with him. He stumbled as he reached the top of the staircase, all the alcohol he had consumed that night seeming to catch up with him all at once.

The boy giggled and grabbed Brandon by his belt. "Come on," the boy whispered. He tugged Brandon into a bedroom, Brandon stumbling over his own tired feet, the room beginning to spin and tilt. The boy pushed him to the bed seconds before Brandon's legs stopped working and he landed hard on the mattress.

"You okay?" he heard the boy ask before his face appeared in Brandon's field of vision. "I didn't give you that much."

What the hell? Brandon thought.

The door creaked open and Brandon had just enough strength to turn his head to see who was entering the room. His stomach tightened into a ball of sick dread as Keith smiled at him.

Shit.

The boy glanced up. "This the one?"

"Sure thing. Good job." Keith reached into his back pocket, pulled out several folded bills and handed them to the boy. The boy took them, counted them out quickly then stuffed them away.

The boy turned to Brandon, blew him a kiss. "No hard feelings okay?" he chirped, then skipped out the door. Keith closed it behind him, twisted the lock and then turned back to Brandon. Brandon could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction a predator felt at seeing his prey helpless before him.

"What did you do?" Brandon asked.

"I did nothing," Keith said. "However, that substantial amount of money there convinced that young man to slip a little something into your drink and lure you away from your friends downstairs."

"Why?" Brandon asked.

Keith shrugged, moved forward to straddle him, planting his knees on either side of Brandon's hips. "Why not? You always were fun to play with." Keith smiled. "I know you well enough to know just who to get to lure you away. Those with dark hair always go for the blonds, don't they? Balance the dark with the light."

Brandon tried to squirm away, to do something, but his head felt like it was full of cotton, his arm and legs like they were full of lead.

"You're too easy, you know that?" Keith said softly, unbuckling Brandon's belt. "I was hoping for at least a little bit of a fight from you. After all, you managed to escape that bullet I had waiting for you." He tugged the belt free of its loops and tossed it aside. "But perhaps it's for the best. I would much rather kill you myself."

Brandon's eyes grew wide and Keith chuckled darkly. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you right now. I think you deserve a good fuck before you die; don't you agree?"

Brandon, without even being certain what he was doing, flung his mind open wide, letting it spill everywhere before screaming out desperately.

Jordan, Jordan help me...

Something flew up in his mind, stunning him so strongly for a moment he was sure he had blacked out. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Keith staring at him, pressing a finger over his lips.

"Hush, hush now, Brandon. You don't want to spoil all the fun by adding another party to the mix, do you?" His eyes grew dark and serious. "Who is it, Brandon? Who is your other half?"

Brandon blinked at him. He felt sleepy and heavy and it took his muddled brain a few minutes to even figure out what Keith was talking about.

"Come on, Brandon," Keith cajoled, his voice calm and reassuring while his hand came down over Brandon's crotch, pressing down and squeezing until Brandon was gritting his teeth in pain. "I know you have one; I know that was who you were calling out for a few moments ago. They won't come, you know. I blocked your call." His voice took on a mocking, singsong tone. "We are unable to complete your call. Please check the number and try again." He smirked, moved his other hand to tangle in Brandon's hair, pulling hard while grinding his hand down into Brandon's cock again. "Who is it? One of the people downstairs? The fat chick you're always hanging out with? It's not the dead girl. Your Enabler is alive and well; Liz told me that much. Come on, Bran, tell me."

Brandon didn't say a word. Not that it was difficult. Whatever he had been given, in addition to making his body weak and heavy, also made his mind fuzzy and soft. He was scared and worried; it was perfectly clear that Keith planned on raping and possibly killing him if his words were any indication, but it was difficult to work up the appropriate amount of panic. He reached out for Jordan again somewhat sluggishly and felt something, a foreign presence pushing his energy back into his own mind.

"Cut it out," Keith said. He sighed. "Fine, then don't tell me. I was curious. However, it doesn't matter. After I kill you, they'll be taken care of eventually anyway." Keith reached down and tugged Brandon's shirt off, rubbing at his nipples before pulling on them sharply with his fingernails, tugged until they throbbed and burned. Brandon tried to lift his hands, but only managed to slide them aimlessly over the sheets. "You know, sweetheart, if you had been just a bit more friendly towards me, I might have been tempted to take you with me on this little venture," Keith said. "It was so unfortunate that your little friend got caught up in this entire mess though. She would have made such a fine mother."

"Shut up. Don't you talk about her," Brandon spat out.

"Stop me."

"Fuck you."

"Oh no, honey. I'm fucking you, not the other way around." Keith's hands went to Brandon's jeans, unfastened them, pulled them down his hips, off his legs. His underwear followed. During this time, Brandon tried to struggle against Keith, to kick, to do something, but his legs were just as useless as his arms at this point. He doubted if he could even manage to scream. He wasn't sure if he could remember how.

"Stop," he managed, the words slurring in his mouth.

"Sure thing, Brandon," Keith said sarcastically. "Christ, you're such a baby. Always protesting that you don't want it when your body is praying for it." Keith put his hands on Brandon's hips, turning him over. A cool hand ran over the flesh of his buttocks. "Do you remember what I told you the first time we met? About tying you down and beating you with my belt?"

Brandon heard the slithering sound of a belt being pulled from its loops and his entire body tensed up. Keith must have felt the shift in his muscles and laughed.

"Worry not; as much as I would love to just thrash that beautiful ass of yours, I don't have the time for such luxuries," Keith said, pulling Brandon's hands behind him and wrapping the belt around his wrists. "I'm afraid I'll have to get right down to business, but you'll forgive me the lack of foreplay this one time, right sweetheart?"

"Get...off..." Brandon managed.

"Nope." Keith chuckled and licked his ear, worming his tongue into the canal. Brandon grimaced and tried to pull away, but Keith wound his fingers in his hair, holding his head down. He couldn't believe he was just laying here passively, taking it. He couldn't even try to get away; his body wouldn't cooperate. Even if his muscles worked, his mind was so fuzzy and soft that he doubted he would be able to make it out the door. He couldn't even work up a good solid panic to help clear his mind. Goddamn it.

Keith's tongue painted a wet trail along his neck and down his back. Then his tongue was slipping in between the crease of his buttocks, licking down the tight cleft. Brandon gasped and tried to pull away, his toes digging for purchase among the sheets, but his body just lay there limply, helpless as he had always been. His face burned with shame at being in such a humiliating predicament.

"Mmm." Keith said, his breath puffing against Brandon intimately. "You taste good."

Brandon's tongue lay thick and useless in his mouth. He could barely form words anymore. Total helplessness, ultimate humiliation. Angry tears slid from his eyes, down his face.

Keith's tongue continued to lick and probe, exploring him intimately. Soon after, Brandon felt the quick intrusion of two fingers. They wiggled inside him, pressing deep.

"You like that?" Keith asked, his voice hot next to his face. "Still so nice and tight for me. You're going to feel good."

Brandon closed his eyes, tears seeping out. This was so fucking unfair. What had he done to deserve this? All he had done was saved Keith from getting the shit beat out of him at a party that he probably hadn't been invited to. He should have just left him alone.

Brandon felt wet lips at the back of his neck as grinding fingers pushed in deeper. "Ready baby?" Keith asked, his free hand coming up to push his hair back. His tongue ran up the side of Brandon's face, licking up his tears. "Ready to get fucked? Maybe this time you'll give me a scream."

A heavy thump on the other side of the door interrupted him. Keith glanced at the door and pulled his fingers free, shifting his position. There was another thump, not as loud that time, then a click. The door swung open on its hinges and Brandon felt a surge of relief as he heard Jordan's voice.... cold and angry.

"Get the hell away from him."

Not top on his list of people he would want to be seeing him in his current condition. Under different circumstances, maybe. He heard Jordan's voice again, addressing him. "Get up, Bran. Let's get out of here."

"Don't move, Brandon," Keith said and Brandon seethed. The little creep knew he couldn't move even if he wanted to, and now he was using it against him. "Now this here was a private party and I'm afraid you're not pretty enough for my taste," Keith continued. "So if you'll excuse us..."

"He doesn't want to be here. He's leaving."

"Not until I'm done with him," Keith said. "How do you know he doesn't want to be here? Did he call you?"

Jordan was silent.

"Ah, how interesting," Keith said. "So opposites do attract, I suppose." There was a rustling sound, an ominous sounding click and Jordan speaking in a low voice of disbelief. "Holy Fuck."

It took all the strength he had left, but Brandon managed to turn his head so he could see what was going on. His blood ran cold.

Jordan was in the doorway, Keith next to the bed, facing him. He had a gun in his hand.

"Keith." A smooth voice interrupted the scene and Jordan turned as a woman walked into the room. It was the one that Brandon had drawn for Nikki and Dalaja, the woman with the cold eyes and fascinating face. "What are you doing?"

"Taking care of some personal business. Leave me be," Keith said. The gun was pointing at Jordan, who was perfectly still. Keith's hand was trembling.

"Put the gun down and stop this foolishness. We need to go." The woman spoke from the doorway, standing behind Jordan, who was not keen on the idea of moving.

"Let me kill them. Let me kill them both," Keith said breathlessly. The hand holding the gun steadied.

"You've made one too many mistakes already," the woman said, a shard of ice piercing her words. "I should never have allowed you this silly indulgence. Come now. You will shoot no-one. The last thing we need is unnecessary attention."

"They know."

"They know only what you've told them. They know only what we want them to know. Come now. We don't have time for this."

Keith took a step forward, until the barrel of the gun was pressing into Jordan's chest. "I know who you are," Keith said softly. "And I have the one thing that he wants and that you can't give to him. Don't forget that." Keith's thumb slipped back along the gun, re-engaging the safety before his hand dropped and he stepped out of the doorway with the woman.

Jordan stared out after them for a moment before crossing the room and pulling at the belt around Brandon's hands, untying it. "Can you get up?" Jordan asked.

Brandon let out a weak chuckle. "If I could, you think I would be lying here?" he asked. The belt dropped from his hands and Brandon let them flop back onto the bed, the circulation returning with a faint tingle. "He drugged me."

"What a bastard."

"How did you-?"

"I was on my way over here anyhow when you didn't come back to the house, and when I finally got here, I asked around and your friend, the tall guy-"

"Andrew."

"Yeah. He told me you had gone upstairs with a stranger. I came up here looking for you because--because I had a bad feeling. I came to this door and it was locked, plus the aforementioned stranger was sitting outside, playing guard, so I ran the guy off. I couldn't get the door open from force, so I checked the doorframe for a skeleton key and opened it that way. And found you here," Jordan said. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Brandon shook his head. "No. He just tried to."

Jordan leaned down. "Are you really alright? Tell me the truth."

Scared, embarrassed, humiliated, drugged and drunk, but aside from that, yeah, I'm peachy. "Yeah. Can you get me my clothes please?"

Jordan had to help him dress, which would have been embarrassing enough on its own. "I heard you, calling me," Jordan said.

"Good," Brandon said, as Jordan helped him maneuver heavy arms into his T-shirt. "I wasn't sure. He did something-"

"He blocked you. Not good," Jordan said. "Brandon, we have a big problem. This guy and that woman, they are seriously dangerous."

"Liz," Brandon said. "He told me her name was Liz."

"I didn't want the regular police involved, but I'm calling the people in Arlington. We have a rogue team that is trying to hurt other teams. People need to know and to be aware. This is more than I bargained for." He looked surprised as Brandon leaned heavily against him. "Are you really okay?"

Brandon tried to smile and crack a joke, but he couldn't and just sat there with his heavy head resting on Jordan's shoulder, hating himself, hating Keith, hating the entire world.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a place that was vaguely familiar. A long wooden room. He sat up on the couch. At the end of the room, a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. Leia was seated at the piano, playing. He listened, but the song was one he didn't recognize. She was still wearing black velvet, sleeves that hung over her hands and hid her rapidly moving fingers on the keys. Her noose was around her neck. Brandon felt sick just looking at her, but he forced himself up from the couch and crossed the narrow room, sitting beside her on the bench.

She lifted her fingers from the keys. "I cannot play with you sitting there. You're in my way."

"Sorry," he said, and stood back up. Leia closed the cover over the keys and stood up as well, the piano bench between them.

"You are always sorry. What good does that do anyone?"

"Leia?"

She looked at him, sad and serious. "You have forgotten me," she said softly. A tear leaked from a swollen eye and slid down her cheek.

"No," Brandon whispered, horrified by what he was hearing. "No Leia, I could never forget you, never. How could I?"

"You've stopped looking for me."

"For Christ's sake, Leia. How am I supposed to find you?"

"You idiot," she said, her voice cracking. She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm right here, I'm right fucking here, can't you see?"

Brandon reached out for her and she stepped back so his hands only encountered thin air. "I'm sorry," he said again, helplessly.

"Don't be sorry, Brandon," she snapped, her voice hard with a bright edge of anger. "You're never going to find me if you don't start fucking looking."

The room dissolved around them, the surroundings shifting and melting, until there was only Leia and him and nothing else but his tongue stuck uselessly to the top of his mouth.

He woke up with a jerk, his head swimming and his stomach rolling. He got up and stumbled into the bathroom, tripping over something in the dark and falling down on the linoleum, his knees crying out in pain from the impact. He crawled over to the toilet and retched violently. His stomach didn't have that much in it, but what it did have, it gave up willingly enough. He laid his head down on the seat briefly after it was over, breathing heavily, with the smell of vomit hanging in the air. God, he loved being drunk, but damn if he could handle the aftereffects sometimes. He reached up and flushed the toilet, then slid down to the floor, pressing his cheek against the linoleum. God, it felt good. Maybe he could just sleep here...

He didn't remember much about getting back to Jordan's house. He could remember seeing Alexis' anxious face, could remember Jordan and Andrew having to carry him, fucking carry him to the car. He didn't remember much of the ride home or being put to bed. Like a fucking baby. God, he was so humiliated. He would never live this down. He was going to kill Keith if he ever saw him again.

He stared up into the darkness and thought about the dream he had just had. About Leia, in that same room. Was it his mind, using his subconscious, trying to unwind the tangled streams of doubts he had been struggling with all day... trying to make sense of what Jordan was trying to tell him about Leia? Or was this a not so subtle sign...

He rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself onto his hands and knees, staying there for a few minutes before deciding to stand. He slowly wandered in the dark, hands up in front of him, keeping him from bumping face first into the walls and sighing in relief as he finally encountered something soft that had to be the bed. He flopped face down on it, barely managing to pull his legs up onto the bed with him. He felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest.

Leia being alive didn't make any sense, but none of it did, not since the beginning and he had to learn how to deal with it. Maybe he could just listen to Jordan's theory and see how it worked into everything. Listening couldn't hurt anything. And then, maybe...

You're never going to find me if you don't start fucking looking.

Maybe he could forget the angry disappointment in his dream Goddess' eyes.

'Cause God help him, if she was out there...

...he was going to find her.