Stranded (17 page)

“We’d better get the last of this done,” Kendall said after swallowing once Johnny had broken the kiss. “Steve is still downstairs.” Kendall stumbled a bit, his legs unsteady. Then he lifted the boxes and started down the stairs.

He made it to the first landing and was about to turn when the boxes he was carrying tipped. He tried to compensate, but then he was falling too, pushed off his feet. Kendall let go of the boxes and they fell down the stairs, glass breaking as they bounced.

“Look at this,” a deep male voice said, and Kendall was practically lifted back onto his feet and then beyond. “It’s one of the fags,” a man growled.

“That’s enough, Eddie,” another guy said as he climbed toward them.

“Come on, Hank. I’ve had to listen to them do God knows what kinds of disgusting things to each other for years. It’s sickening!” Eddie shook him and dropped him onto his feet. Kendall heard rapid footsteps coming down the stairs and soon Johnny burst onto the landing and pushed Eddie against the wall.

“You can think what the hell you want,” Johnny growled, “but this is not your lucky day. Hey, Steve!” Johnny bellowed, and within seconds more footsteps sounded on the stairs. Steve stepped behind Hank, acting more like a brick wall than a person. “What happened?” Johnny asked Kendall softly.

“They pushed me.”

Steve looked down at the boxes. “I hope you can pay for those,” Steve growled. Eddie and Hank went white. Johnny glared at them and so did Steve.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked him, and Kendall nodded.

“We were only having a bit of fun,” Eddie said a bit shakily.

“Well, your fun could have hurt someone,” Johnny countered harshly. “You broke some of his things, and he could have fallen down the stairs.” Johnny tightened his grip on Eddie, pressing him harder against the wall. “Maybe I should just give you a push. See how you like falling down the stairs.” Kendall stepped back, holding the railing.

“You can’t…,” Hank began, and both Johnny and Steve growled at him. “Dudes, he’s a total idiot, but don’t hurt him,” Hank added.

“Johnny,” Kendall said quietly and touched his arm. “Let him go. He isn’t worth it.” Johnny looked at him and then stepped back from Eddie.

“Get out of here. We’re leaving, and I don’t want to see you again, either of you,” Johnny commanded, and the two men took off down the stairs. “You might want to change your pants,” Johnny called after them, and then both he and Steve broke into peals of laughter.

“He actually wet himself,” Steve said as he turned and headed back down the stairs. “I’ll get the boxes on my way back to the truck,” he added, and his laughter reverberated off the stairwell walls until he got outside.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, gathering Kendall into his arms. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. He didn’t get a chance,” Kendall said and began to shake. “What were you thinking? He could have hurt you,” Kendall said and slapped Johnny on the arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“He could….” Johnny paused. “You’re angry with me? Why?”

“You could have been hurt,” Kendall answered, still quivering a bit.

“So could you, and I was just protecting you,” Johnny said. “I wasn’t going to get hurt.”

“How do you know that?” Kendall asked. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve known Steve for a long time, and after I came out, he taught me how to fight. Not how to box, but how to kick someone’s ass. I know you’re scared, but I’ll fight to protect you.”

“You will, huh?” Kendall said.

“Oh, yeah,” Johnny told him forcefully. “I’ll kick anyone’s ass from here to kingdom come who tries to mess with you,” Johnny whispered roughly. “You’re the person most important to me in the world. I will always be there to protect you, just like I know you’ll always be there to protect me.”

K
ENDALL
opened his eyes, gasping for breath. He was so tired and weak he could hardly move. His mouth felt like the sand blowing around outside the car. His eyes burned, they were so dry, and his lips had begun to crack. His throat constricted occasionally, and he tried not to swallow—it only brought more pain. The sun shone through the front window, worse than the day before. The wind that whistled outside the car had blown some of the scattered sand off the glass, and the car heated up even more than it had the day before. “Where are you to protect me now?” Kendall whispered. Well, tried to whisper. He moved his lips and said the words, but no sound came out. Not that it mattered; there was no one to hear it anyway.

Kendall did his best to simply breathe. In order to pass the time, he forced his mind to try to figure out who could have done this to him. He thought about everyone he’d encountered. It couldn’t have been Juan. He had been at the apartment when one of the messages was delivered. Granted, he could have had someone deliver it, but what was the point? He’d slept on Kendall’s sofa and had run interference for him for weeks.

Could it have been Lyman? At first the director had been a royal pain in the ass, but they’d come to respect one another, and over time, maybe even like each other. Besides, Lyman was as straight as an arrow. Kendall tried to remember if his gaydar had ever blipped even a little bit with Lyman, and it hadn’t. Besides, Lyman was the kind of man who said what he thought to your face. He yelled, insulted, screamed, and strutted, but he wasn’t a schemer—at least Kendall didn’t think so. It surprised him to realize he’d be hurt if Lyman had been behind this.

Was it Guy? They’d gone out a few times for drinks, but all they’d talked about was film. Guy was great, but he was boring as sin. He seemed to live for film, camera angles, and getting the perfect shot. And he talked about girls all the time. Sure, most of the time Guy was quiet, but Kendall liked him. They’d connected early on, and Kendall would hate to think Guy could do this.

Every muscle in his body ached and seemed to cramp at the same time. He figured his body must be pulling all the moisture from his muscles to try to preserve his organs. He couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d heard that. Then he remembered and smiled. Johnny had included it in the book Kendall had read before leaving for Hollywood. His legs ached and quivered. He slowly moved them back and forth, trying to limber them up a bit. Then he leaned forward and flexed his back, which ached and throbbed from his butt to his neck. Once he was done, he started over again, slowly moving one part of his body and then another. But it came at a price, because after only a few minutes, he was breathing harder. He realized he was tiring himself out and losing even more precious moisture from his body, so he sat still once again and tried to focus on figuring out who had done this. At least it gave him something to do with his mind.

Barbara. Could it be her? Kendall seriously doubted it. They’d had a bit of a rocky start, but there was no romantic tension between them whatsoever, at least not off camera. If the rumors were correct, she was dating some high-powered action star, anyway. No, he could rule her out.

Thinking about anything other than water, food, pain, and water, oh, and more water, took almost all the energy he had, but he persevered.

Could Johnny have done this? He focused on the idea, and suddenly everything became clear. He could see it all now: the stalker was just a diversion. Johnny knew where he lived because he had Kendall’s address. He also knew his work schedule and could give it to whoever he’d hired to stalk and ultimately kidnap him. After all, Johnny had laughed when Kendall had first told him what he suspected. Maybe Johnny was trying to put him off the scent so that he wouldn’t suspect him. Maybe this whole thing was the enactment of the plot from some book Johnny wanted to write. After all, he’d done worse things to his characters than lock them in a car. Johnny had tortured some of them, killed off his heroines, and even had some of his heroes left barely alive after their ordeals. “It can’t be Johnny,” Kendall whimpered. He didn’t want to live if Johnny had done this. Slowly, Kendall rocked his head back and forth against the seat.

T
HE
air around him felt a bit cooler, and Kendall opened his eyes as the sun disappeared behind the hills in the distance. The day was over and somehow he’d made it. But he knew he wouldn’t last another day, so he stared out the front window and watched the sun set for what he figured was the last time. He’d probably make it through the night, but sometime tomorrow, the temperatures in the car would bake the last bit of sanity from him, and if he were lucky, he’d pass out. Then he’d die and it would be over. He was too weak to put up a fight any longer, so as darkness fell, he sat still and waited for condensation to form on the windows.

It didn’t. Kendall wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t have the strength to try to figure it out. All he knew was that tonight there wasn’t enough moisture in the air to form condensation on the windows.
Duh
, he told himself in his mind, unable to speak and no longer having the energy to actually move his lips. The car wasn’t airtight; if it had been, he would have suffocated. The moisture had probably been leaching out the entire day, and he didn’t have enough in his body to replace it. Well, it was over as far as Kendall was concerned. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and he didn’t even want to try.

The air was still, with almost no sound whatsoever. Even his breathing had become quieter, or maybe he could no longer hear it. He let go of whatever conscious thought he had and simply floated. Maybe he’d fall asleep and simply wouldn’t wake up. He had to be close to that point now. “Good-bye, Johnny,” Kendall managed to say out loud, his throat scratching as he made the sounds. “I don’t know what happened to us, but I love you. Even though you can’t hear them, I want those to be my last words. I love you.” Kendall closed his eyes and slumped in the seat, his head hanging forward.

S
OMETHING
reached Kendall’s ears, a sound he couldn’t seem to process, but he didn’t open his eyes—he was way too tired. If dying came with a fanfare or a bunch of angels singing like the chorus of some huge Christmas show, then bring it on, because he was ready for it. If it came on slow and silent, he was ready for that too. He only hoped that heaven wouldn’t require him to move, because that he couldn’t do.

There were voices in heaven, he was pretty sure of that, because he could hear them, although he wasn’t sure what they were saying.

Then he heard, “Dear God in heaven,” and he smiled in his feeble mind. Yeah, he was in heaven, all right.

The sound of breaking glass startled him. Somehow he didn’t think that belonged in heaven.

“Kendall,” he heard, but he didn’t move. He was too tired. If this was heaven or hell, he didn’t really care. They could come take him wherever they wanted him to go.

“Be careful,” another voice said, more softly.

“Honey,” he heard whispered, and then someone touched him. Kendall groaned and forced his eyes open. “Sweetheart, it’s me.” He turned his head and saw Johnny staring back at him. Kendall moved away and whined softly.

“Get away, you did this,” he said or tried to, but nothing came out.

“It’s okay, honey, don’t worry, I’m here,” Johnny said. “Drink some of this if you can.” A bottle touched his lips, and Kendall let some of the liquid slip into his mouth and then swallowed. His throat burned, but he swallowed again. The second time it felt much better. Liquid ran down his chin, but he just kept swallowing. “That’s good. Don’t try to drink too much at once.” Johnny pulled the bottle away, and Kendall groaned. “You’ll get it back in a few seconds, I promise.”

“You found me,” Kendall said. “Did you do this to me?”

Johnny looked behind him, and Kendall saw Lyman standing just behind Johnny. Then Johnny turned back to him. “No, sweetheart, I didn’t do this to you. I would never do anything to hurt you,” Johnny said and placed the bottle to his lips once more. This time Kendall drank, gulping what he could. Johnny pulled the bottle away again after a few drinks. “I don’t want you to get sick, so we need to take it easy at first.” The bottle shook. “I was so worried about you.”

“How?” Kendall asked.

“We’ll explain everything we know once we get you out of here,” Lyman told him. “Drink some more.”

Kendall did and then turned toward the director. “Why does your accent come and go?” Kendall asked. He’d been dying to ask that for months.

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Johnny asked.

Kendall drank and shrugged. Maybe his mind was gone.

“I grew up there but haven’t lived there in a long time. It sort of pops up when I hear other Australians or watch movies with Aussies in them,” Lyman answered with a bit of a smile. “I’m going to get the cutters.” Lyman stepped away, and Kendall sat with Johnny, drinking more from the bottle.