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answered the fucking door and proved the kid was okay.
    He stepped out of the tree line, Rig right on his heels. Bobby forced himself not to break out into a run as the unease intensified as he tromped up the wooden stairs. The night sky black, he could barely make out the outline of the house above, and no lights shone from within. He trained the beam of light on the stairs; it would do no one any good if he broke his fool neck in his haste.
    “Doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Rig muttered the obvious.
    “They could be sleeping,” he replied, even though he didn’t believe it.
    The day before he’d left a note stuck in the screen door. It had been missing when he’d returned hours later. He’d also had the odd sensation that someone had been watching him as he tried to peer in the heavily tinted windows. Bobby was convinced it had been either the cowardly Dom who was abusing the boy or the boy himself, too afraid to call out for help, but someone had been watching him. How he knew was a mystery, but something deep inside him was convinced his suspicions the boy was in danger were truths. He was sure of it. He needed to see and talk to this boy, for his own peace of mind, and then…. Bobby wasn’t sure what he’d do once he got to see the man. He’d figure it out when the time came.
    The wind picked up, creating a low mournful sound, and in the distance the sky rumbled. Bobby pushed his hair away from his face and knocked sharply on the screen door. “Hello,” he called out.
    He could feel Rig flanking him. Always the protector, Bobby thought, even for those he deemed his equal. The thought made him smile slightly as he knocked again, a little harder this time. He shone the beam of light from his flashlight through the small window at the top of the door, but the mirrored tints only sent the ray of light back at him and he blinked against the harshness of it. “Fuck,” he muttered and shoved at his hair again as the wind whipped it into his eyes.
    “Bobby!” Rig shouted.
    The hint of alarm in Rig’s voice caused Bobby to jerk his head in the direction of Rig’s beam of light. A figure lay sprawled on a large chase lounge, a half-empty bottle of liquor dangling precariously from his fingers. Without thought, Bobby went to the man and set the bottle aside. It was his sad sub he’d been looking for.
    “Hey,” Bobby said touching the man’s cheek gently, the skin cool beneath his finger.
    “Hmm,” the man mumbled without opening his eyes or moving.
    “Wake up,” Bobby encouraged, patting the stubbled cheek. “C’mon, kid, show me those peepers.”
    Another incoherent grumble came from the man, but he still didn’t stir.
    “Fuck!” Rig growled next to him, grabbing Bobby’s attention.
    “What is it?” he asked, looking toward Rig who was holding a piece of paper in his hands.
    Without answering, Rig picked up what appeared to be a prescription bottle, a frown marring his brow as he read it. Then instantly Rig pulled off the top on the bottle and poured out the contents, the pills making a pinging sound as they hit the tin table.
    Bobby stole a quick glance at the stranger; he was breathing rhythmically and shallowly but hadn’t yet moved or opened his eyes, and panic raced through Bobby as he turned back to Rig. “What the fuck is it?”
    “I don’t think he’s taken any,” Rig commented, pushing the pills around one at a time. “From what I can tell there aren’t any missing.”
    “Goddammit, Rig, what are you mumbling about?”
    “This,” Rig said angrily and shoved the piece of paper at him.
    Bobby took it and read:
     
If you are reading this, then I am already gone. I apologize for the stress or inconvenience this may cause you. I am sure finding a dead body was not on your list of things you wanted to do today, and your unease will be my last regret. I have left my cell phone; it is fully charged, I have no family or friends, so please call the local authorities.
I have