The next morning, Blaine rolled out of bed sticky, then stumbled into the hotel shower. He dressed and began to pack his things for the drive back to Ohio. Kurt, always the early riser, was already showered with his hair perfectly arranged by the time Blaine got up.

Blaine noticed the case of oil pastels sitting on the desk. “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked, holding it up for Kurt's inspection.

“Toss it in that chest,” Kurt said, indicating a small case that matched the rest of Kurt's extensive luggage set. Blaine unsnapped the lid and picked up the oil pastel set to toss it inside, stopping short when he saw the other contents of the small trunk.

Everything was folded and arranged with care, showing a diverse display of colors and materials. The effect was that of a shadowbox, but nothing was glued in place. Blaine lifted a gauzy white skirt, running his hand over the soft fabric that was marred with tiny brown dots of dried blood. He touched a familiar sunflower barrette. Finally, he picked up a very recognizable green velvet flower, an image that had been burned into his brain and recurred in his nightmares.

Something clicked in his mind, and as he set down the oil pastel case next to the other items, he could not help but ask the question that could no longer be ignored.

“Kurt, by any chance... did you play the game Clue a lot as a kid, growing up?”

“Almost every week, until my mom died. It was her favorite. Why?”

“Never mind,” Blaine grinned. Kurt's subconscious was a delicious puzzle to him still. He continued pawing through the box of treasures, coming across a sparkling gold star and a red leather belt. The only unfamiliar item in the chest, in fact, was a bundled up piece of plastic wrap. Without really thinking it through, Blaine picked up the item and picked apart the layers of plastic until the contents were revealed.

Blaine shuddered and recoiled from the object, squishing the plastic back in place and dropping it before slamming the lid shut.

* * * * *

“Are we going to be able to make it back to your dad's house tonight, babe?” Blaine asked as he fiddled with the radio. Unable to find anything except the wrong kind of political talk radio and country music, he plugged in his iPod and spun up his Katy Perry playlist.

“Again, Blaine? You'd think that between all of the gigs on both of our iPods we wouldn't have to listen to that playlist like every other day.”

“Have to? No. Want to? Yes.” Blaine grinned and pressed play.

Kurt huffed in mock-frustration, grinning slyly. Blaine was cute when he was acting on an obsession. “To answer your question, I don't think we'll make it home in time for dinner, but we won't be too late. We just need to take care of this one errand and get back on the highway. It won't be a problem.”

“Okay,” Blaine said, “I hope you know where you're going,” he added before belting out the next verse.

Kurt steered the car onto a barely-visible old logging road, driving slowly to preserve the car's suspension. “This parcel backs up onto a national park, so it's not technically federal land but still rather remote. Anyway, this looks like a good spot. Give me a hand?”

“Always,” Blaine replied cheerily, pausing the iPod and hopping out of the car.

Together they lifted the bound boy from the trunk compartment, Blaine carrying the heavier head and shoulders and Kurt dealing with his thrashing legs. They set him down on the ground, where he squirmed like a dying fish, trying to ineffectually move away from the pair.

Kurt pulled a baseball bat from the car and spun it around in his hand, contemplating the boy, who happened to be named Johns. “Let's take him further into the woods,” he said, snatching up the kicking legs once again.

After twenty minutes of trudging through the forest, Kurt tossed the boy down, letting him land roughly on a pile of rocks.

“I think I'm going to sit this one out,” Blaine said, curling his lip at the sight of the baseball bat, reminded of his own experiences as the victim of violence. Blaine walked some distance into the woods and stretched out against a tree, putting on his headphones to listen to the rest of the playlist in peace while Kurt did what he needed to do.

Kurt shrugged, turning to his prey. “A small town boy, Johns? We're practically neighbors,” Kurt smirked.

Johns wailed in response, muffled by the gag stuffed into his jaws. Kurt knelt and loosened the rags so that he could get responses to his questions.

“That's better. Now, Johns, what makes you think you deserve to go to NYADA? You had to write an application essay, correct? Surely you can justify yourself.”

“Let me go, please, oh god, please, my parents can pay, do you want money? Oh god...” Johns babbled, tears streaming down his face.

“You're lying. I saw your house. You parents don't have money. Not that it matters, anyway. What a bore.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Come on now, must you fall to pieces at the first hint of a challenge? I asked you a fucking question. What makes you think you should have gotten into NYADA? Tell me!” Kurt punctuated the phrase with a crack to Johns' knee, which didn't help the boy focus on Kurt's questions.

Kurt sat down hard on a rock, tossing the bat down at his feet. He set his face in his hands and rubbed his forehead. This wasn't working. It had been a stressful day, and all he wanted was the satisfaction of answers to a few simple questions. A nagging voice at the back of his mind told him that the questions weren't simple, and that the answers might never come.

Kurt broke down, crying softly, grateful that Blaine was out of sight on the other side of a tree and probably couldn't hear him over the music. Blaine had been wonderful, so supportive, and the last thing Kurt wanted was to worry him more by showing his courage slipping. He stayed like that for several minutes, letting out some pent-up tension in the peace and quiet of the forest, until a sharp rock came singing through the air and struck him in the head.

Kurt fell backwards onto the forest floor, dazed and bleeding from a ragged gash to the pale skin stretched across his temple. He blinked and tried to focus, detecting a scrambling sound somewhere past his feet, as Johns picked up the baseball bat and charged. Kurt was barely able to roll out of the way as the bat crashed down upon him.

“Blaine!” He cried, crawling away behind a rock, his head spinning. He tried to get to his feet, but had to dive away as Johns swung again. Kurt landed on his back, and this time when Johns swung the bat it connected, sending pain shooting through Kurt's ribcage.

Kurt moaned and coughed, curling into a ball. The pain was overwhelming and he couldn't think straight, couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears, couldn't see through the blood in his eyes, couldn't fight back. Johns' shadow loomed over him, and Kurt was only able to cringe in response to the threatening figure.

A sickening crack rang out, and Johns fell at Kurt's side, an ugly dent newly marring his head. Blaine tossed aside the sharp stone in his hands, then picked up the bat and bashed John's skull once, twice, thrice, until his face was past the point of being recognizable as a face. Blaine wiped off the handle of of the bat and tossed it on the ground, then dropped to his knees at Kurt's side.

“Baby, baby, look at me,” Blaine begged, his eyes brimming with tears. “Can you hear me? Oh my god, you're bleeding so much.”

“It's not that bad,” Kurt mumbled. He tried to sit up, but immediately winced and dropped back down. He was sure he had several cracked ribs, and the blood was stinging his eyes.

Blaine choked back a sob. He wiped the blood off of Kurt's face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then gently took Kurt in his arms and picked him up, cradling him to his chest. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck, crying softly from pain and relief as Blaine carried him out of the forest.

* * * * *

“Dad, we're home!” Kurt called, dragging a suitcase across the threshold. Blaine followed close behind, carrying the smallest trunk directly up to Kurt's bedroom. Kurt set his suitcase down, adjusted his hat to make sure it still concealed the bandage on his forehead, and went looking for his father in the kitchen. He found Burt there, washing up the dinner dishes. Burt dried his hands quickly on a dishtowel, pulling his son in to a bear hug.

“I missed you, kid. How was the trip?”

“It was great, dad,” Kurt beamed, “We went out on a boat in Florida, and went to the Smithsonian in Washington. It was so much fun. Just what I needed.”

“That's great... it makes me feel better.” Burt said, clearing his throat and glancing at his shoes. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled down something that had been affixed to it with a magnet. “Kurt, by the way, I have something for you. A detective has been coming by, and he gave me his business card. He wants you to give him a call.”

Kurt took the card gingerly between two fingers. “Sure dad, I'll do that,” he said lightly. “What... what did you tell him?”

“Nothing, just that you were out,” Burt said gruffly. “I didn't want him bothering you while you were on vacation. This must be about that kid in Dayton who disappeared?”

“Must be,” Kurt smiled, pocketing the card casually. “Are there any leftovers? I'm famished.”

* * * * *

Kurt opened the front door and braced himself, wincing as a small, brunette form hurled itself at his body. Arms wrapped around his waist and a squealing filled the room, only partially muffled against his chest.

“Kurt! It's been so long! I've missed you! I was worried, you really should have called more often.”

“Rachel, we texted nearly every day,” Kurt sighed, leading her into the kitchen and setting up the coffee pot to brew.

“I know, but with all of the disappearances lately that was simply insufficient.” Rachel pressed him back from her grasp and held him at arm's length to look him up and down, her eyes twinkling. “You look good, how are things with Blaine? He went with you on your little vacation, did he not?”

“He did, we're good. How about you? Any...” Kurt studied her fallen expression. “Never mind.”

“I'm focusing on myself right now,” Rachel said brightly after recovering her smile. “Besides, the last thing I want is to be attached to some guy in Ohio when I'm trying to make my dreams come true in New York City. Finn was right about that.”

“Well, it's great that you've come to terms with that, Rachel,” Kurt said, pouring them each a cup of coffee and sitting down at the kitchen table across from the brunette girl. “How has your summer been otherwise? What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Well, I mostly stay home, to tell you the truth,” Rachel said, “You've been gone, and my dads are being very strict about me going places alone. They don't want what happened to those other kids to happen to me, even if the police kept insisting that there isn't a killer on the loose.” Rachel's eyes darkened and she took a shaky gulp of her coffee.

“Who would know better than the police? What reason would they have to mislead people? You shouldn't worry so much.” Kurt said coolly, stirring just a bit of sugar into his coffee.

“Maybe they don't want to cause a panic, or don't want the killer to know they're on to him! Or maybe they're wrong, Kurt, did you ever think of that? You can't brush this off, Kurt. You could be next. You don't know what that would do to me... or Blaine or your dad. Promise me you'll be more careful.” Tears were rolling down Rachel's face, and she gripped Kurt's hand tightly over the table.

Kurt's face twitched as he suppressed a smile. “I promise I'll be more careful, Rach. Now, how about a song to cheer you up? I know just the one.”

Rachel smiled softly and nodded, her face brightening further when Kurt began to hum and she recognized the song enough to join in.

“Forget your troubles (Happy days)
Come on get happy (are here again)
You better chase all your cares away (The skies above
are clear again)
Shout hallelujah (So let's sing a song)
Come on get happy (of cheer again)
Get ready for the judgment day (Happy days are here
again)”