Part 5


“Tell me you know where he is. Tell me he’s alive, and he’s going to come back to me, please,” JC begged, his eyes glassy with tears.

“Mr. Chasez…” the detective sighed, rubbing his temples slowly. “As I told you before, we’re not sure if Mr. Fatone was the one that kidnapped Justin.”

“But you said that there was a connection, something that made you believe he was involved.”

“Yes, but—“

“No. Do you have any idea what the last year of my life has been like? How horrifying it was to walk in that night and find that note, telling me that the love of my life was gone? I laid awake every night, praying that someone would find him. And when I slept, there were only nightmares of his lifeless body. Please, Detective. Please. Give me anything.”

He looked at JC’s sad eyes and his heart went out to the young man. “JC, I wish I could tell you that we think Justin is alive. But I’m being completely honest with you here…we just don’t know. But…”

JC looked at him expectantly, hanging on his every word.

“There were traces of blood at the scene…much of the blood belonged to the victim…but some of it came from an unknown source.”

JC’s stomach twisted at the mere possibility that the blood belonged to Justin.

“The blood is being tested as we speak…and the homicide detectives on the scene found this hat,” he said, reaching under his desk and pulling out a plastic bag before setting it on his desk. “They believe it may have belonged to Justin. Hair samples were taken from the hat, and we’ll know in a few hours if it is, in fact, his.”

But JC didn’t need any tests to confirm what he already knew. That was Justin’s hat. The hat he’d been wearing the last day JC saw him. The baby blue North Carolina hat that he was constantly pulling over his eyes.

Tears welled up in JC’s eyes as he reached slowly for the bag. “Can I…”

The detective nodded, and JC slid the hat out of the bag, hands shaking. He brought it to his face, inhaling the barely there scent of his missing lover, tears dripping down his cheeks.

“You don’t need any tests to prove that this is Justin’s hat.”

“Mr. Chasez…you should go home. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. I don’t want to give you false hope here.”

JC clung to the hat like it was his life line, his face still wet with tears. “Take the hat with you. You deserve to have something of his. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Thank you,” JC whispered, pushing out his chair and heading to the door. He turned to face the detective, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “As soon as you hear something, right?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

JC nodded and left the detective alone.

“Poor kid,” he said aloud. “For his sake, I hope Justin’s still alive.”




Justin rolled over, reaching for a body that wasn’t there. He frowned in his sleep, his hands roaming the bed, searching for the warmth he was craving.

He groaned loudly, pulling the covers up to his chin, suddenly very cold.

Get up.

The crease in his forehead deepened and he burrowed further into the bed.

I said get your ass up, you little punk.


“No…” he breathed, curling his body into a tight ball.

Fingers tangled in his curls and pulled hard, yanking him from the bed. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, his heart racing in fear.

First thing we’re gonna do is get rid of these curls.

“No!” he begged, wincing as his hair was tugged again. A rough hand forced him into the chair, and his hands were tied tightly behind him with rope. He struggled to get free, his wrists burning.

Stop your fucking whining. He yelped in pain as the hand made contact with his face, the stinging feeling cooled only by the tears that rolled down his face.

He heard a soft buzzing, his eyes widening as the razor was lifted to his head. “Please…no…” He sobbed as his curls fell to the floor.

Aw, poor baby gonna miss his pretty little curls. Cruel laughter followed. It doesn’t matter pretty boy. The only one that liked them was—

“NO!” He shot up in the bed, gasping for breath, hands running over his head, remembering the mountains of curls that used to lie there.

“Justin! God, Justin, what’s wrong?” Lance said, running from the bathroom, still dripping wet from the shower.

“I…I don’t…”

“Shh, Justin, it’s ok, it was just a dream,” Lance cooed, pulling Justin close to him and rocking the younger boy slowly.

“It was so real, Lance…so real…”

“It’s ok, Justin. I’m here, it’s ok.”

He rubbed Justin’s back lightly, holding him close, until Justin’s breathing became shallow and he fell into a dreamless sleep. Unable to resist, Lance pressed a soft kiss to Justin’s forehead. “Everything’s going to be ok, Justin. It’s going to be ok.”



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