In just one year, Blaine had already forgotten how hot and smoggy LA could get. His skin had become grimy within several minutes of being in the taxi and he quickly found himself wiping continuously over his brow at the small beads of sweat that stubbornly insisted on forming. His shirt was now sticking to his back and he wriggled his damp toes uncomfortably inside his shoes. The clothes he had decided to wear were completely inappropriate for the LA climate.

Blaine held his phone to his ear, waiting impatiently for Sam to answer. It was a fruitless endeavor though because Sam was still not answering his phone. He sighed and returned his gaze to the view outside the window instead, but his mind still wandered. In his head, he couldn't help but rebuke his desperate actions and he chided himself that he was being too dramatic. He pictured the taxi pulling up, Sam appearing at his door, laughing at his unnecessary worry and then telling him that he had simply lost his phone. Somehow though, he didn't think that that would be the case.

Blaine felt a knot, deep in his stomach, begin to form as the taxi drove closer and closer to his old neighborhood and a sharp stab of guilt jabbed him. Half of his discomfort and dread was being created due to the fact that he didn't want to see his old apartment. He had never felt ashamed about his past. It had been a major learning curve and period in his life that he couldn't change and at the time, there weren't really any other options. He had therefore decided to take it as what it was; a necessity in order to survive and nothing more. Of course, he didn't go about telling his friends in New York what his past profession had been, but it was what it was. Now, however, knowing that his past was about to hit him in the face, Blaine found it all too confronting and intimidating. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he really did feel ashamed of all the things that he had done.

The knot pulled tighter and tighter as the buildings became shabbier and shabbier and the roads more dangerous. Blaine swallowed nervously, his palms becoming just as sweaty as his brow and then, sooner rather than later, the taxi pulled up outside his old apartment building.

"You gonna get out, man?" the taxi driver asked roughly, snapping Blaine out of his daze.

He blinked a couple of times and wondered at just how long he had been sitting there. He couldn't remember the song on the radio starting and it was nearly at the end, he had been lost in his thoughts for at least several minutes. Blaine glanced about and tried to gain his bearings. The cab was actually sitting in the very same spot that Kurt had stopped in one year ago when he had come to 'rescue' him. He stared at the fire escape and his thoughts went immediately to Kurt. He missed him so much right now. He wanted nothing more than to run back to New York and into his arms.

"Yeah, I'm getting out," Blaine finally answered with a resigned sigh. He gazed at the meter and handed over several notes, feeling guilty once more that it was actually Kurt's money that he was spending.

His eyes squinted against the bright sun and he shielded his eyes with his hand. Had he really lived here? The building looked destitute, run down and only suitable for prostitutes and crack heads. And then Blaine felt like slapping himself. Who was he kidding? Of course it was only suitable for prostitutes and crack heads. He had, after all, been a prostitute that had called it home. He shook his head sadly, this is what his life had been only a short time ago and worse; it was still Sam's. It was definitely a far cry from the expensive apartment that he now lived in with Kurt.

The cab drove away and Blaine shouldered his bag, feeling completely out of place and overly dressed in his expensive clothes. He gazed fondly at the fire escape one last time and, with a defeated sigh, he took the first tentative step up onto the pavement and headed purposely towards the entrance.

The stench that greeted his nose when he stepped into the foyer was phenomenal. Blaine's stomach churned and he was immediately horrified by the abundance of flies that seemed eager to waft about in front of his face. Annoyed by their persistence, he swatted at them and looked about the small space before him. As usual, the foyer had been unlocked and empty, free for anyone to walk in off of the street. He wasn't going to hang about and he headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The wood beneath him creaked under his weight, threatening to break with each and every step.

He questioned this very building. He questioned Sam and his very desire to remain living here where its walls peeled with paint, rubbish lay littered on the floor and, broken louvers hung loosely in the windows. Hadn't Sam been gaining higher paid work? That's what he had told him. He had started using Tina as a pimp and had boasted that the money had been rolling in. So why on Earth was he still living here?

Blaine's thoughts came to a stop though as he reached the third floor. He no longer had time to wonder why Sam was living here or how this whole experience was going to dig up old memories because there in front of him, Sam's apartment door stood ajar. It was open, in this hell hole, for any mad sadistic person to step through and do whatever they wished. Blaine looked about himself carefully, sensing that he was alone, but he still hesitated.

Why was the door open? And more importantly, why hadn't anyone noticed? It was Sam's number one rule, even when they were home, to keep the door bolted and locked from the inside. Whatever had happened surely had to have happened recently because the neighbors across the hall would have had to have seen the open door.

Blaine shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Dread filled him, his heart rate increased two fold, and for one small fraction of a second, he didn't know if he had the courage to enter. His imagination ran away from him, but he couldn't admit to himself at just what he was scared he would find on the other side of the door.

'Man up, Blaine!' He berated himself. If Sam was lying dead in his apartment, Blaine had to do the right thing. He had to go in there and find him, call the police, and let them find the asshole who had done it. Blaine squared his shoulders, swallowed against the lump in his throat, even though it still remained, and stepped closer to the door.

The door swung back noisily on its hinges. Sam was never a neat and tidy person but he at least had the chairs standing up, plates and cups in allocated spots on the shelves, and draws in their dressers. Blaine gaped at the chaos and destruction in Sam's apartment. It was obvious that someone had ransacked the place. Sam had more respect for his belongings than this. There was not one item in place.

The one good sign was that the apartment didn't smell. There couldn't be a dead body inside, but then Blaine stopped. How long did it take for dead bodies to begin to smell? He shuddered because he didn't know. If Sam had been killed only a couple of hours ago, he still might have the unfortunate surprise of finding him. He closed his eyes and began a quick mantra inside his head. You can do this! You can do this! Sam is okay! Blaine took another deep breath and braved the rest of the apartment.

It actually only took Blaine thirty seconds to investigate the rest of Sam's place, it only had three rooms after all, not including the bathroom. Sam was not there, which was a relief in one respect because there was no dead body to find, but it was also a worry because Blaine still hadn't discovered what had happened to him. He checked the fridge; the milk was still fresh and what food was there was still edible. The stove was cold, as was the kettle.

He scratched his head and gazed out the window, the very window he had climbed out of the night he had first met Kurt. He sighed, trying to think of what he should do next. Sam, where are you? He wondered. It was then that he saw something that made his stomach churn. It was a deep red liquid below the windowsill. It was blood and not just a few drops, but a substantial pool of blood. His knees went weak and he rushed to the bathroom where he lost the entirety of his airplane meal.

When he had finished retching, Blaine crumpled to the floor, a new line of sweat sprouting across his brow. His head was a mess, it was just too much. He had to get help. It was apparent to him that there had been a break-in at the very least, a struggle even, and now, it was really clear to him that Sam was in fact missing. He pulled out his phone and called the police.

***

Blaine blushed a deep red. The blood outside the window had apparently been dry red wine. He had overreacted, his imagination and panic preventing him from making reasonable sound choices and instead he had reacted on the first thing that had come to mind. He had even missed the empty bottle beside the spilt drink. Blaine felt like a fool because it quickly became clear that his mistake had not helped him in the least.

The officer was young, fit and now, uninterested. Blaine had waited for over an hour for the patrol car to pull up and now that he was here, Blaine really wondered as to whether he would be of any use at all. The officer swept his eyes around the disheveled apartment, disgruntled that he was actually going to have to report what he was seeing, but he pulled out his notepad anyway.

"He's definitely been gone a good twelve hours," Blaine told him, hoping that he could in some way revitalize the man's interest in helping him find Sam. "I've tried calling him at least twenty times."

"And you're sure that your friend hasn't just gone off for a bit of fun, forgot to close the door, and someone else has come in and ransacked the place?" The officer held his arms wide in front of him and gave Blaine a condescending look at the same time.

Blaine's worried frown deepened and he began to protest. "You can't say this apartment isn't enough evidence of foul play? Look at it!" Blaine just wanted to hit him or himself for that matter.

The officer gave a quick glance over the front door. "Well, there's no obvious sign of forced entry," he shrugged his shoulders and squinted his nose at the mess again. "You just mentioned you hadn't seen your friend for almost a year, so how do you know what state his apartment was in before he left?" The officer chewed on his pen for a moment. "From the bottle of wine outside, who's to say that he didn't just have a party and then left to party some more somewhere else?"

Blaine shook his head, his frustration mounting but before he could make any further comment, the officer continued.

"So what line of work is your friend in?" He kicked at some clothes that had caught on one of his boots. Blaine paused before responding, but he had to be honest.

"He's, he's a prostitute." That did it. Blaine saw it. Whatever small amount of interest the cop had left, it was all gone now.

"Drugs?"

Blaine swallowed uncomfortably. "Sometimes," he responded. "I think he's been clean for a while though."

"Hmmm." It was the officer's only response but it was clear he didn't believe him. The man glanced up and he must have taken pity on the worried and frustrated expressions on Blaine's face. "To be honest," he said, while he took another glance around the main living area, "you don't actually have to wait any amount of time to report your friend missing when you're in LA. You can do it as soon as you notice something is up."

"Well, that's some good news then," Blaine acknowledged, nodding his head appreciatively. But then Blaine felt like hitting himself because he suddenly remembered; he did have proof that foul play was involved.

"What about the phone calls and messages he sent me?" he quickly mentioned, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he spoke.

The officer's face lit up, a glimmer of hope that the entire call-out had not been a complete waste of his time. He held out his hand for the phone, but it was just at that moment that Blaine felt it vibrate in his hand. They both jumped slightly and stared at it.

"You going to answer it?" the officer asked him with an amused expression.

Blaine ignored him and glanced at the screen. It was an unknown number. He excused himself politely, turned his back on the officer so he could concentrate, and answered the phone.

"Get rid of the police officer or your friend's dead."

Blaine froze. Every single muscle and minute living cell in his body froze. "Excuse me?" he finally managed to stammer after an excruciatingly long pause that was filled with silence from both sides.

"You heard what I said," the male voice came down the line again. It was laced with annoyance and impatience but it was its coldness that penetrated Blaine to his core. "Pretend that you're speaking to Sam right now and that everything's all right."

Blaine was speechless. He had no idea how to respond. He had not been expecting anything like this.

"Sam!" he suddenly exclaimed, his subconscious successfully pulling his untrained acting skills to the surface. "I can't believe it's you! Where have you been?"

He paused, pretending to listen to Sam's response and, to his dismay, he spied the detective's disapproving head shake and hands on hips out of the corner of his eye. Blaine felt his insides churn at the lies that had just fallen from his mouth.

"Your missing friend?" he asked.

Blaine only nodded. He wasn't capable of anything else.

"You sure?" the officer enquired but it was obvious he wasn't really that concerned for he was already on his way to the door.

"Yes, it's him," Blaine answered weakly, watching the officer leave. His eyes longingly followed after him. He wanted to scream out that things were not as they seemed. He still needed his help because right at this moment there was a crazy sadistic person, who for most part, had just confessed to knowing something about Sam.

Blaine continued to hold the phone to his ear, his hand shaking while he waited for the person on the other end of the phone to speak again. "Good, good," the voice began after several moments. Blaine moved to the window and caught the officer's patrol car move off. Were they watching the building? "Continue to behave yourself and you just might get to see Sam again."

"Who the hell are you?" Blaine forcefully asked down the phone.

The caller only chuckled. "Be patient, you'll find out in good time."

"What?"

But the line was already dead. Blaine looked around the room, the despair he had originally felt was only a tiny miniscule of what he was feeling now. What the hell was going on? They were watching him? Blaine shivered as prickles of fear worked up his spine and over the back of his head. He had to get answers and right now, off the top of his head, there was only one person who he could think of that he could trust.

***

The sun was already approaching the horizon when he arrived at the Blue Banana. The place was empty but a few older patrons, pausing on the way home to drink their fill after a day at work. It wouldn't be until much later that the younger, more partying crowd would start to appear.

He spied the old man as soon as he walked through the door.

"Schuester!" Blaine exclaimed, the first real smile forming on his face since arriving in LA.

The man looked up from the bar and threw his rag cloth over his shoulder as his eyes fell on the familiar face before him. A loud laugh escaped his lips and he quickly made his way to step around the end of the bar. He approached Blaine eagerly and gathered him into a large bear hug.

"Blaine! You shouldn't be here, but I'm glad you are." His eyes ran up and down Blaine's body and they went wide as he nodded his head. "Heard you fell in love with some out-of-towner and are doing it big in New York. Looks like I heard right." He stepped forward and gave him another fond embrace. "Good for you. I'll get you a drink and we can catch up."

"Actually," Blaine stopped and looked about him cautiously, and when he felt confident that no one was listening he continued, "I was hoping we could go somewhere quieter, like your office maybe, somewhere private?"

Blaine saw the look in Schuester's eyes. He saw the change and the bright optimistic smile that had been on his face disappeared instantly. He nodded his head glumly and signaled with his hand to follow him.

"Do you know where Sam is?" Blaine asked as soon as the office door was closed behind them. "He tried to contact me yesterday and now he's disappeared."

"I should have known that this wasn't a social visit," Schuester sighed as he slowly made his way around his desk to take his chair. He sat down, resting his head on his hands.

"I saw him about a week ago," Schuester told him after he had thought for a quick moment.

Blaine frowned, he had hoped for sooner.

"He looked all happy, showing off some brand new clothes. He didn't stay long though, hinted that he had some big top shot client that he had to see."

"So, he was getting some more high paid work?"

"Yeah," Schuester answered and then he shook his head unhappily. "I had a gut feeling that something bad was going to happen, as soon as I saw him that first time."

"What do you mean?"

"The new clothes, labeled stuff, you know the stuff that costs a couple hundred dollars when you can buy a replica exactly the same down the street for a tenth of its price." Schuester's frown deepened. "It all happened so quickly, first the clothes, then he was getting picked up from here in fancy cars, disappearing for a couple of nights and then he wasn't even basing himself from here at all. Was meeting his clients somewhere else."

"He's still working for Tina?" Blaine asked.

Schuester leaned back, a deep frown appearing on his forehead, aging him significantly. "You really haven't been in contact with Sam, have you?" he asked in disappointment. Blaine blushed. The fact that they had grown apart had not been intentional and the last thing that Blaine wanted was anyone to think that he had snubbed Sam now that he was obviously living a better life.

"No, we haven't spoken in a couple of months," Blaine answered. "We've kind of just drifted apart."

Schuester nodded at his words, "From what I know, yes, he's still working for Tina."

Blaine didn't like the sounds of this. It appeared like Tina had gotten Sam involved in some high scale prostitution circle. Yeah, it would definitely be better pay than picking people up off the streets, but high-end prostitution also meant more organized gangs and therefore more organized crime to go along with it.

"Look on the bright side," Schuester suddenly exclaimed, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. "He'll probably come waltzing in here any moment now, bragging about some exotic party he's been held up at for the past week."

"A party that goes on for a week?" Blaine asked, not believing it for a minute.

"Heck," Schuester began, "he once came in bragging that he had spent a whole weekend on a luxury yacht." Blaine was shocked. Yes, definitely high-end prostitution. His stomach churned again, this really wasn't going to a place that he was happy about.

Schuester saw the worry engraved on Blaine's face and he reached out across the desk and patted his arm. "Blaine, I'm not going to lie to you. Things have really changed around here. You wouldn't think as much by looking at this place," his eyes fondly flickered over the old but comfortable office. "But yeah, things have changed."

"Obviously!" Blaine answered sarcastically.

Schuester ignored his tone and continued, "There's been a movement, a shift in the people who are running things on the streets, out there," he nodded his head towards the outside road. "The Asian crowd, I think they're the ones behind this new elite customer base. A couple of months ago, a big name from Asia found their way here to L.A., and rumour has it, they were escaping from the police in Hong Kong and they're now doing their work here, on our local turf."

Blaine swallowed hard. He really didn't like the sounds of this. If the Asians were the source of this new prostitution ring, it really could mean trouble. He hadn't wanted to go that way but from the looks of things, he was not going to have a choice; he was going to have to approach Tina.

"Looks like I'll be speaking with Tina then," Blaine said. He leaned back in his chair as well and crossed his arms across his chest.

Schuester leaned further across the desk. "You be careful Blaine," he warned and their eyes locked. "You and I both know that Tina had connections before but now..." Schuester let out a low whistle.

"What does that mean?"

"Let's just say, you wouldn't want to cross her."

Blaine appreciated his warning, but it wasn't going to stop him. "I'm going to have to speak to her," he stated firmly and his eyes rose above him to the second floor where he was certain that he would find her.

Schuester saw his quick glance upwards and he laughed once again. "Hah, you won't find Tina in here anymore."

Blaine's eyebrows rose in surprise. He should have known better though, this wasn't exactly the place where people who had yachts and week-long parties hung out. "Where is she now?"

"You need to head over to The Lotus Garden," Schuester informed him. Blaine's eyes went wide.

"The Lotus Garden?" he repeated just to be sure.

Blaine rubbed his chin, deep in thought. A year ago, The Lotus Garden had been a place where Blaine had only walked past and wished he had the clothes, the money, and the elegance to enter. It was an up-scale restaurant and bar that would change into a nightclub and karaoke club in the later hours of the night. It was popular among the locals, Asian locals included and the tourists. He couldn't believe that it would end up being a place that Tina would be hanging around in.

"You heard me right the first time," Schuester told him, watching Blaine's face as he thought. He looked at his watch. "I've got to get back to work, got one more delivery coming in soon." Blaine only nodded in response, his mind still wandering as to what on Earth was going on. "Be careful, Blaine," Schuester warned again. "I have always been fond of you boys so you got to watch your step. Things have really changed, and changed for the worse. These new people, they mean business. So just watch your back. And, if you do find Sam with them, I hope you find him alive."

Blaine nearly choked as he heard his last words. Schuester was not the kind of man to exaggerate. Schuester stopped, the handle of the door already turned, but not opened. "For your sake, I hope Sam has just done a runner and skipped town."

"Thanks," Blaine acknowledged, extending his hand in gratitude, but Schuester ignored it and swept him up into another warm hug. "Take care, Blaine. I would tell you to just turn around and go back to New York where you belong, but I know you won't do that." He paused for a moment and Blaine could really see the desperation in his expression. "You've got a heart of gold so I know you would do anything to help Sam. Just don't let yourself get hurt as well. Make sure you get back to that gorgeous man in New York that whisked you off your feet, hmm?"

Blaine struggled to speak, half of him choked up by Schuester's caring words and the other half of him choking on the worry that he really was well in over his head.