Dearest Readers,

OBVIOUSLY Kurt's pants magically teleported to him from Dave's car into the phonebooth. GOD, people!


Seriously though, I realize that my updating absolutely sucks. I apologize. I spent the summer literally staring at a blank computer screen, or staring at writing that I didn't like and erasing it. In other words, I came down with writer's block. Now I'm a full-time student in university, so unfortunately I can't see my updating getting all that much better. This chapter is actually just what I had so far. It's not the end of this part of Kurts, erm, "journey", but rather is kind of the first half or the first one third of the end. This is just what I wrote and what I was somewhat happy with. I didn't read through it or anything so... I hope you enjoy it. Again, sorry for the terrible updating. I'll try to do better now. :)


The Writer

So vague.

Dave could see shadows, the slight movements from the wind. He could see the outline of his body in front of him, the car to his left, the rough gravel underneath him. He could feel the wind, the road, the movement of his chest as he breathed. But his body felt like it didn't belong to him, like if he tried to move his hands or his feet nothing would budge. His mind felt like it didn't belong to him, like his thoughts had gone, or changed, or had been taken from his head.

Words appeared in his mind, and images, none of which made any sense to Dave's hurting and confused brain, like a Google search in a foreign language.

Kurt –

Talking – whimpering – sleeping – walking – breathing – naked.

Dave's muscles were tingling now, waking up from what felt like a decade long sleep. He rolled over and vomited on the road, and shuddered in pain as his stomach continued contracting, gagging on nothing. When he was finally finished, he rolled onto his back oncemore, coughing.

Kurt –

Blood – sweat – Schuester – dad – storage – crying – pain.

Dave tried to sit up but his stomach convulsed and he rolled over to puke again.

God –

Lights – running – pleasure – darkness – alone.

Kurt. Where was Kurt?

Dave tried to turn his head, looking around. His car was beside him, covered in blood. He must've gotten into a car accident.

Was Kurt in the backseat?


Driving – stopping – pleasure – no – choking –

Had he killed him? Had he done it?

His blue eyes fading, the life draining out of them…




Blaine's phone rang for the hundredth time. He figured at this point his parents would stop trying his cellphone, assuming they were smart enough to come to the conclusion that if he hadn't answered the first ninety-nine times, he either didn't have his phone, or he was ignoring it. Why he hadn't put it on silence yet he didn't know. Maybe he just wanted to moniter what was happening. Or maybe the brief distraction that came from being annoyed at his ringtone was relieving in comparison to what he felt before that.

Fear. Confusion. Angst. Sadness. Anxiety.

All things that made him wish he could just close his eyes and make his wish of seeing Kurt when he opened them again come true. He couldn't stop thinking that this was his fault, as if he somehow should've known that somebody was going to do this to his boyfriend, as if he should've seen some invisible sign that Kurt was unsafe by himself that day and Blaine should've stayed with him at all times, regardless of what Kurt said.

His phone stopped ringing. He glanced over at it, feeling a bit of relief and hoping that that was the last time it would ring. As if that was too much to ask, perhaps half a second after it stopped ringing, the screen lit up oncemore with yet another incoming call.


Blaine rolled his eyes at the phone and turned away, Kurt never straying from his mind. Irritated even more, he ignored it, turning away and refusing to look at it. His parents would just have to realize eventually that he was not going to pick up the fucking phone.

He looked out the window. The drive here had been nice, actually. He'd felt a certain sense of determination, as if he was supposed to be close to the city. He was hoping it was some kind of premonition, an inutition, showing that Kurt was going to be saved today and that he was supposed to be here so he could help him in some way. God, to see Kurt again…

No. Don't think about that.

He forced the tears that had gathered in his eyes back into his tear ducts.

No crying.

The phone stopped ringing again. Blaine tensed up, listening to see if it would start again. A few seconds past without a sound.

Finally they get it –


Blaine groaned, casting his phone the most hateful look he could manage.

Stupid annoying fucking cocksucking …

Finally annoyed enough, he reached over to turn his phone on silence. His stomach dropped when he saw who was calling.


His heart leaped with hope, then sunk when the realisticness of the situation raised up like smoke in his mind.

No. Not Kurt.

The chances of his boyfriend actually calling him right now were slim to none. After that picture, that terrible image, had been sent to him, something told him Kurt's phone wasn't currently in his possession. Something told him the person that had his phone was the same person that had taken Kurt, that had hurt him.

…that was calling him now.

Oh God…

Blaine looked at the phone. He just looked at it, his face expressionless despite the plethora of emotion washing over his mind almost painfully. He tried to slow his breath, keeping it steady to compress the feeling in his chest that he knew would lead to something much worse.

Okay, Blaine… you have to do this… you have to do this for Kurt.

With shaking fingers, Blaine answered his phone.

His voice wavered. "Kurt? Baby, is that you?"

A deep, gutteral, gurgling noise was Blaine's response, as chilling as a horror movie. Blaine took a few moments to pick his stomach up from the floor before continuing.

"Kurt, honey, talk to me, please… please tell me this is you." His words came out differently than his thoughts. In his head, he was saying, "Who the fuck is this and what have you done to my boyfriend?"

Another cough, a splutter of some kind, actually, and then a deep voice. "Ha…. Ha…."

Blaine dropped the act. "What?"

"Ha… haha… ha…"

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, he was laughing. He was laughing into the goddamn receiver, when Blaine was on the other end. Laughing.

"Ha… hahahaha… hahaha..!"

Blaine felt his chest tighten, a feeling he usually relieved by putting on some gloves and beating up a punching bag. "Shut the fuck up."

A pause, and then, "Hahahaha…"

"Where the fuck are you? I'm going to fucking kill you, you sick son of a bitch! Who are you? Where the fuck are you, you fucking coward!"

"Yeah, let me just give you directions…"

That voice. Blaine froze for a moment, uncertain. He'd heard that voice before, somewhere, but he couldn't quite place where. The feeling was so vague he almost brushed it aside, but god, did it sound familiar…

"Who is this?"


"Who the fuck is this?" Blaine resisted the urge to slam his phone against the steering wheel and pretend it was the guy's face. "Where the fuck is Kurt?"

"Kurt… haha…"

"Don't laugh you fucking psychopath! What did you do with him?"

"Oh, what didn't I do with him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?

"Haha… hahahaha…"

Blaine exhaled heavily, furiously. When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy, filled with testosterone. "Why are you laughing?"

"Why shouldn't I laugh, Blaine?"

"What the fuck did you do to him?"

"Kissed him…"

Blaine froze. "What?"

"Touched him…

Blaine tried to force the images flooding into his mind to stop. "No…"

"Took off his clothes…"

Blaine's stomach dropped. His breathing was irregular again, a feeling rising in his stomach that was nervewrackingly similar to the one before his panic attack. He concentrated on keeping his throat open, his breath smooth and slow and deep. "What… what did you do? Why would you do that to him?"

"I fucked him, Blaine! I fucked your boyfriend, and I did it because he's a hot piece of ass that you don't deserve."

"You sick fuck! What, you can't get in anyone's pants on your own, so you have to rape people? What the fuck is wrong with you? Where is my boyfriend?"

"He's fucking dead, you asshole."

Blaine's heart stopped.


No … no… no…

He's lying. Blaine, he's lying.

Get a grip on yourself…

He was gasping. He could feel the air rushing into his lungs, but he couldn't feel the oxygen. He needed more air, he couldn't breathe right, he was going to die.

Oh God, Kurt! No…

"I killed him. I fucked him, and then I killed the little bastard. And you know what? I've already forgotten where I dumped his fucking body."

The tears were coming out of his eyes now. God, what a terrible death. His poor baby – he must've been so scared. He was probably in so much pain before he died, probably was screaming and crying and…

Oh god… Oh god, I can't breath … I can't breath…

"What's wrong, Blaine? Can't handle it?"

I'm gonna die. I can't breath!

Why had he left his parents' house?

"And you know why I did it, Blaine? I did it because I snapped. And I snapped because of you, because you just had to text me telling me in all your hobbit, pixie, oompa-fucking-loompa glory, that Kurt is yours. Isn't that right? Well you know what, Frodo? I don't want him anymore. You can have his lost, mangled, rotting, dead body. It's all yours."

Blaine tried to hold back his sob, but it came without his consent, right into the receiver.

"Now you know, Blaine. Now you know that you do not mess with me."

"Oh my God…" He'd heard those words before, those exact same words out of the exact same mouth. How had he not guessed this? "Fucking Karofsky!"

"That's right, bitch. Fucking Karofsky."

Blaine dropped the phone. He fumbled around with the door handle before he could finally get it open and just let himself fall out of the car and onto the road. He couldn't breathe anymore, literally. And with Kurt gone he'd never be able to breathe again.

He was dead. Fucking Karofsky had killed both of them.

He stood in the middle of the road, the tears streaming down his face, his breath coming in painful gasps, his mind flooding with horrible thoughts and images. He couldn't hear anything; his ears were plugged, focused on no noise but the ones inside his mind. His vision was gone, already minimal in the darkness of the night, but in his state, he could've been blind. Light didn't look the same. Everything looked new, like he'd literally died and had been reborn in a new world with new eyes, all that registered in his brain as horrifying and wrong.

He turned his head, looking ahead, straight down the road. A car was coming, the lights glowing bright but barely registering to Blaine's foggy mind. Blaine saw the car, but the driver didn't see him until it was too late.