Silently, the pair seated themselves, and Brian followed suit, taking the seat on the opposite side of Christine as Brian, still full of nervous energy.
"Christine. Brian. I have to get something off my chest. I'm going to go crazy if I don't tell anyone. I can't handle this alone."
"Brian, what are you talking about?" Christine asked, genuinely confused.
"Please, just… listen, let me finish my piece. Think of me what you will afterwards, I just need to get everything out there, I'm tired of secrets."
Christine looked tentatively on her other side to see what Brian thought about this. He didn't even look like he was listening; his eyes were glued to the ground. "Alright, Brian."
Brian started off by explaining his old friendship with Corey, just as he had to Andy not so long ago. Christine nodded, not sure where this was going, but she was unsure how to feel about not even knowing they were close at one point.
Recanting this part of his life for the second time came much easier for Brian, and he knew it would be the easiest part of this confession. He segued into the conversation he had with Corey on the night of the party, how he knew what Corey was up to even then, but was held to secrecy. He knew why Brian wasn't at the dinner. He knew why Brian then pushed them all away.
After he explained that part, Christine looked, bewildered, back and forth between Brian and the still unresponsive Brian. She finally got the answer she was looking for so long, and it didn't make her feel any more relieved; just betrayed. Wearily, she saw that Brian wasn't finished, and she waved him to continue.
Brian collected his thoughts, making sure to glaze over anything that Brian wasn't better off telling Christine himself. "Corey and I kept a level of… correspondence this semester. He told me most of what was going on, always with the condition that what he said stayed a secret. Eventually… he made the mistake of trying to blackmail me to make sure that I stayed quiet. He told me that he would make sure you knew exactly how much I knew if I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I guess that got me angry enough to turn that around on him, and I lashed out against him. I made sure Brian knew first. That was my first mistake. Andy was there when I did it, he wasn't too happy with me, but I explained this all to him first."
"After Corey's… proposal was rejected, Andy and I saw Corey's face, and we knew that he was serious. After the party, during our… date, Corey called me from a number I didn't recognize—"
Brian's head snapped up, appearing to be interested in what he was saying for the first time. He remained silent, but attentive.
"He—he sounded crazy, beside himself. He was talking to himself, and he sounded like he barely knew he was on the phone with me. He mentioned something about revenge, and that's the only part of the message that I understood. He apologized for something, I still don't know what, and then he told me goodbye," Brian breathed, letting that last piece of his confession to sink in. "I don't know what I was thinking; maybe part of me was still spiteful, maybe I thought that he was joking, trying to mess with my head. After I saw what happened in Andy's room, I could start to guess why he called me. He was probably trying to warn me, daring me to try and stop him… but I didn't…"
Brian stops, looking fearfully towards Brian. Christine turned around to follow his line of sight, and tried to reach out a hand to calm him down. Brian was shivering violently, his eyes still glued to the ground, knuckles white from gripping the ends of his shorts. He struck her hand away, harder than he meant to, and got up, meeting neither of their eyes as he walked towards the exit.
Brian tried to get Christine's hand to see if she was hurt, but she scoffed at his concern, pulling her hand away, running to catch up with Brian.
"Brian! Wait up, please, tell me where you're going," Christine called, having to take extra steps to match his wider stride.
"Morgue," he whispered. Other than that reply, he gave no indication that he knew she was there. He stopped only briefly to ask a nurse if she knew where the morgue was, and she pointed him in a direction. He gave her a soft 'thank you' before continuing his hasted pace.
He stopped outside the door the nurse referred him to, not sure if he was strong enough to see Corey for himself. Christine arrived a second later by his side though, and she slipped a comforting hand into Brian's, glad that he wouldn't push her away this time.
Together, they stepped into the room, the Diener greeting them and asking what they were there for. Brian couldn't get the words out, so Christine stepped in.
"Sir, did a… body happen to arrive not too long ago? We can identify the body. He would like to see him, if that's at all possible."
The Diener raised his eyebrows at her peculiar choice of pronouns, but guided them nevertheless to the only body that had arrived that day so far. Even though he'd done this more times than he could count, he still couldn't help but hesitate slightly before he pulled open the bag. He sighed with relief, seeing that the face was intact. He would never be able to get used to seeing dead bodies with disfigured faces.
He went off to continue his work in another part of the room, giving them some space.
No change came over Brian's expressionless face, but tears were steadily falling, and Christine could feel his hand shaking in hers, squeezing hers tighter for support. Gently, he reached forward, touching Corey's cheek.
"He's cold…" he commented in a hushed tone, as if he was still processing that he was no longer alive. He cupped his cheek softly, willing the pale face to smile at the contact, like it always did. There was no smile. Brian didn't even know if the cold was from his skin, or from his own clammy hands.
"Why did you leave me…" he whispered, talking directly to the corpse. The Diener didn't even blink an eye towards them. People did this kind of thing all the time.
In his mind's eye, he saw a living, healthy Corey standing across from him, examining the corpse of himself in curiosity. "I'm still pretty freakin' hot when I'm dead," the hallucination joked.
Brian glared at the empty space across the table, but he was unable to dispel the projection of his own thoughts.
"Can't get rid of me? Pretty ironic, don't you think? Since you… kind of already did," his imagination said, nodding towards the body.
"I didn't… no, I never wanted…"
"I know. You don't have to tell me. Hell, I'm just a figment of your imagination. Why are you talking back at all?"
"I just want to be with you… just tell me what I have to do…" Brian pleaded uselessly at himself.
The imaginary Corey wore an arrogant grin that Brian knew all too well. The phantom told him what he needed to do. Brian's eyes grew wide for a moment, and then returned to their expressionless state. He caressed the corpse's cheek once last time.
"Anything for you," he whispered; a glint of madness in his tone.
Without another word, Brian turned around, Christine still by his side, concern on her face from hearing Brian talk with himself.
"Can you drive me to my car?" He asked her, a disquieting calmness in his voice.
--
Christine drove back to the hospital, thinking slowly on everything she had seen and heard. I can't believe I never even guessed that he was gay. What else do I not know about Brian. I've never seen someone look so sad before. I feel so bad for him. I shouldn't even have let him drive back to Corey's. I wish I knew what was going on. I wonder how Andy's doing…
She pulled into the hospital parking lot, walking slowly to the main entrance. She looked up at the crystal clear sky, the sun casting the world in a bright afternoon glow. How can the day be so pretty, after all the terrible things that've happened today?
Brian looked up from his seat, in which he was quietly rocking back and forth. He didn't feel the flood of nervous energy like he had earlier that day. He was just ready for it all to be over. "Where's Brian?"
"Home," she said curtly, taking a seat on the other side of the hallway. She couldn't help but feel betrayed, but she understood that it was for a good reason. I wo
uld have given nearly anything to talk with Brian again too, if I was given the chance. I just wish he'd told me that he used to know Corey.
Brian looked at her from his distant seat, frowning. He could tell that she wasn't upset with him, but that she just needed space. He leaned back into his chair. Everyone would need a little bit of space for a while. There was a lot to think about. First and foremost, Brian was just concerned about Andy. He wouldn't let go of the breath he was holding until he heard that his friend would be okay. A sharp pang of guilt nagged at his head though. He might hate me for my part in this. It doesn't matter, as long as he's alive.
A few hours of silence later, the doors of the emergency room finally opened again, nurses wheeling out of a sedated Andy on a bed. By that time, Andy's mother had arrived, and was waiting with them. His mother followed the nurses to the room he was going to be placed in, and instructed Brian and Christine to wait for the doctor's good word, just to be sure.
The doctor eventually came out, and he waved the pair to him. "He'll be just fine. But whoever did those things to that poor boy, he had a sick sense of humor. He certainly did a number on him. In all the years I've done this, I've never seen anything quite like the injuries on that boy's chest. Fortunately, none of the cuts were deep enough to be lethal, but his mother will have to sign off on a plastic surgeon if you don't want the scarring. As for his… lower injuries, they are of a more urgent nature. We have a gastroenterologist on board that will discuss the full range of options with his parents, but if I had to guess, there is a good possibility that the level of injury is too much for just chemical therapy to be effective. Surgery is likely to be necessary."
The doctor examined the lost faces of these two teenagers, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, that must have been too much to take in. Go on, go to your friend. I'll have to repeat it all anyway."
The pair took his advice, and began to head for the ward where Andy was assigned to be kept. They walked into the room, making sure to close the door behind them. Andy's mother was hovering over his sleeping form, cradling his hand gently in hers, as if willing some of his suffering to transfer itself into her. The helpless feeling was driving her crazy.
"Did you speak with the doctor?" She asked hesitantly, not even looking in their direction.
"He assured us that Andy will be okay, but he said he'll go all the details again later," Brian stated, trying to fill his voice with a confidence that he didn't have at the moment. He approached the bed slowly, noting the sheet that was currently covering all of Andy except for his left arm. Mrs. Taylor had to be careful just cradling his hand, or else she might risk damaging the remains of the stab wound that was currently stitched up.
He looked back at Christine for approval for what he was about to do, and she nodded, knowing instinctively what Brian was intending. "Excuse me, Mrs. Taylor… the doctor was being vague about something. Do you mind if I just—"
"Go on, I'm sorry for hovering over him like that," she replied, backing away, curious at what Brian wanted to see.
Brian subconsciously held his breath, taking a corner of the sheet and pulling it down, enough so that Andy's torso was revealed. He had to look away, resisting the urge to retch again at the morbid display on Andy's chest. He couldn't even imagine what it must have looked like before it was cleaned and stitched up. Corey, how could you do this to someone?
Christine softly comforted Andy's mother after she turned away, shivering from the message on his chest. Even without the open wounds, the swelling and stitching made the intent of the deep cuts blatantly obvious. "Happy Birthday!" was spelled out in two lines, perfectly centered across his pectorals. Corey did this for Brian…
The silence was broken when Brian's phone rang. He looked at the number, and furrowed his eyebrows. With a very careful tone, he answered. "Brian?"
"I'm at Corey's house. I've been doing a little bit of thinking. Could we have a talk, just the two of us? The door's open. Take your time."
The line died, giving Brian no room to either accept or deny his request. Christine gave him a curious look, and Brian shrugged. "Brian wants to talk with me. You guys should be okay here. I won't be long."
Despite everything Brian had done, Christine couldn't help but feel a tingle of concern for him as he walked out of the room. Brian isn't well, Brian. Don't get yourself into anything you can't get out of.
--
Brian parked in the Towers' car pad, noting that Brian's car was among the cars currently there. Hesitantly, he pushed the doors of the mansion, and like he promised, they were unlocked.
Before Brian even managed to call for Brian, Brian shouted, his voice echoing through the empty house. "I'm at the bar!"
Brian walked quickly in the direction of the voice, not wanting to keep Brian any longer than he had to. He grimaced when he caught sight of him drinking. Alcohol is never a good sign with Brian… Brian held a glass of something expensive looking in his hand, swirling it around, apparently amused just by watching the liquid swirl.
"It's cognac," Brian said, anticipating the question. "Corey and I drank almost an entire bottle of this stuff the night that I asked if I could move in with him. We didn't even know it yet, but I'd consider that night our first date. Do you want me to pour you a glass?"
To his surprise, Brian's words were still clear. He didn't even sound remotely drunk. Brian shook his head politely, denying the offer, choosing instead to take the seat next to Brian's. "What did you want to talk about?"
"You're right, cognac is too formal. Let me get something more fun," he commented, getting up to rifle through the impressive selection of drinks across the wall. He pulled open a refrigerated display case, looking through the shelves for a specific drink. "Jagermeister. Awesome." He pulled out the unopened bottle, searching under the counter until he found a pair of shot glasses, and returned to his seat on the other side of the bar, pouring them both a shot.
He downed his without much hesitation, holding up a hand as he grinned off the burning feeling on the way down. "That's good shit. Try it."
Brian's insistent facial expression told Brian that he didn't have too much choice in the matter, and he took the glass, correctly anticipating the burn as it journeyed down his esophagus. He could have sworn he even felt it drop into his stomach. The bitter taste didn't last too long though, and Brian could already feel the buzz. He smiled for the first time that day. He was actually starting to feel a little bit better.
Brian smiled warmly, passing him another shot. "See? It does work. Takes a load off your mind."
Brian downed another shot, but Brian noticed that he still didn't even sound like he was intoxicated. A few shots later, and the pair were talking animatedly, about nothing, about everything. Brian was starting to feel self-conscious. He could barely see straight anymore, but to his annoyance, Brian was still steady, talking evenly, still with barely any slurring.
Brian didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth anymore, he just knew that he couldn't feel his guilt quite as badly, and he had a warm, fuzzy feeling that everything was going to turn out just fine. In this dampened state, he didn't notice Brian's smile turn from warm to malicious. As Brian handed him another shot, he declined, swooning slightly before falling asleep with his head on the bar counter.
Brian scoffed, drinking Brian's shot before chugging the remaining contents of the Jagermeister bottle, wiping his mouth dry. "Lightweight," he muttered, softly clutching at his stomach in pain.
Softly, he shook Brian, testing to see how deep his unconsciousness was. Brian mumbled slightly, trying to get the hand to leave him alone. "Wake up, sleepy head. Come on, I said WAKE UP!" Brian snarled, picking up Brian like he was a puppy, throwing him across the sparsely furnished room as far as he could.
Brian landed on his back, utterly disoriented from the alcohol, the air knocked out of his lungs. He tried to coax air to come back in, gasping softly. Brian was swaying slightly now, approaching Brian as a predator would. Brian didn't know wher
e he produced it from, but Brian was drinking steadily from a second liquor bottle, like it was water.
"You seriously thought I just wanted to have a friendly little chat with my old buddy Brian, didn't you?" He mocked, stooping over the sodden man.
"None of this, none of what happened was Andy's fault. Do you understand that? You will, even if I have to beat it into you. What happened to Corey, to Andy, was our fault; and ours alone. And we'll both pay for it. I don't know about you, but I can't live with myself. But I won't make that decision for you. I'll just make sure you… remember exactly how sorry you should be."
Brian, even in his inebriated state, understood the threat behind his words. Shit, he's got nothing to lose. What did I get myself into…
Brian laughed cruelly when he saw recognition hit Brian's face. "You get it now? I like the idea of an eye for an eye, it's simple, and it's fair... A life for a life? That's on me. In fact, I can't wait. Not even alcohol can wash away what I'm feeling right now. That leaves you to repent for what happened to Andy. Shit, you're going to wish you were him by the time I'm done with you. Enough talking, I don't know how long I've got left before this bottle kicks in." He emphasized his last statement by finishing the bottle off, spitting spitefully on Brian.
Brian clutched at his stomach again before throwing the bottle in a random direction, picking Brian up easily by his shoulders, standing him up. Brian smirked, and put a shoulder against Brian's sternum before running as fast as he could towards the nearest wall, the collision with their combined momentum causing an audible crack in Brian's ribs.
Brian released a "hurk" from having the air painfully removed from his lungs again, not even having a moment to recovery before he was thrown across the room again, landing painfully amongst the bar stools. He didn't even know if he was bleeding, hell, he could barely tell where his limbs were. All he knew was that breathing was painfully difficult, and from his slitted eyes, he saw a swerving Brian making his way towards him.
"Not done… I can still move," Brian slurred, drinking hastily from another liquor bottle.
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