{fic} The Night Is Long and I Have Far To Go [7/?]
Title: The Night Is Long and I Have Far To Go
Genre: Suspense, Mystery, Drama, Romance
Overall story rating: NC-17
Current chapter rating: G
Spoilers: None. This story is AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. You probably already knew that.
Summary: A premonition of disaster has Kurt desperately searching NYC for his ex-boyfriend Dave before it's too late. But madness rules the night and Kurt quickly finds himself mired in a series of bizarre encounters with mildly out-of-character, wildly out-of-context Gleeks. Featurs all the Glee characters.
Chapter 1: The Witching Hour
Chapter 2: Of Sweat and Premonitions
Chapter 3: The Many Kinks of Jacob ben-Israel
Chapter 4: Taxi to the Dark Side
Chapter 5: Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang
Chapter 6: Who Shot JFK?
Chapter 7: Lord Tubbington Holds Court
Kurt examined himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling almost presentable from the neck up. He'd done his best to replicate his normal ablutions using Brittany and Santana's drug store equivalents of his high-end skin and hair care products. Apparently neither woman used hair spray ("That little ball that clanks around in the can? It's a microphone," Santana called through the door when he asked), so his bangs kept falling over his eyes and he kept pushing them away. It was really annoying.
Now that his body was clean, the stink of milk, eggs and cottage cheese coming off his clothing was even stronger. Kurt was about to force himself back into the stiff and sticky pieces when Santana tapped on the door.
"Here," she snapped, opening the door slightly and throwing in a pile of clothing. "That's every clean thing from the laundry room downstairs. Something's bound to fit you."
"You stole other people's clothes?"
"Well... duh! You don't expect me to give you my stuff? What's the big deal? You're just picking a shirt and pants, right? I'll put everything else back."
So much for the perfect 'Kurt to the rescue' outfit, he thought, gingerly holding a pair of baggy blue jeans to his waist. He picked out a black t-shirt that fit snugly across his chest and hugged his abdomen and toned upper arms. The only red in the pile (and Kurt was irrationally determined to wear red) was a large flannel lumberjack number that hung loosely on his slender shoulders. He decided the shirt looked slightly less stupid hanging open and untucked than the other way. Surveying his reflection, fashionista Kurt Hummel was nowhere to be seen. Would Dave even recognize him, looking so... so … pedestrian?
"Took you long enough," Santana snapped when he emerged from the bathroom. She was trying to sound impatient, but there was a vulnerability on her face that belied her tone.
"Thank you for getting me the clothes, Santana," he said, beaming genuine gratitude into her eyes.
Santana sharply turned her head away and shrugged. "Whatever. I'm just trying to get you out of our lives as fast as possible." But he could see in profile that she was grinning slightly.
"Now come sit across from us," Brittany called from the living room, "and we'll find your friend." She knelt on the floor by a low coffee table, with Lord Tubbington on her lap. Something akin to a board game lay set up on the table in front of her. In the left corner was the word YES, in the right corner the word NO, at the bottom it said "Goodbye," and in the middle of the board were all the letters of the alphabet and numbers 0-9. The strange board made Kurt uneasy.
"Are we going to play a game?" he asked cautiously.
"Ouija is not a game, Kurt," Brittany admonished gently. "It's a way to communicate with the spirit world. The spirits know everything about everyone and they can tell us about your friend."
"I didn't realize you were psychic?"
"Oh no! I'm a kindergarten teacher," Brittany laughed modestly and Kurt began to feel a little foolish for his outlandish thoughts. "Lord Tubbington is the psychic."
Kurt coughed roughly to cover his surprised gasp. "What was I thinking? So," he continued cautiously, clearing his throat, "you two communicate telepathically?"
"No, silly." Brittany looked at him like he'd just made the most ridiculous suggestion she'd ever heard. "He can't speak English, he's just a cat. That's why we use the Ouija board."
Kurt nodded numbly. Cat séance. Sure, why not? It made as much sense as everything else that had happened tonight.
"We'll put our fingertips on the pointer, and I'll hold Lord Tubbington's paw, and the spirit energy will flow through the pointer and make words. Now it's very important that you don't push the pointer. It has to move by itself or it doesn't count."
"Okay," said Kurt, positioning his hands uncertainly. "Now what do I do?"
"Ask questions, but simple ones. Lord Tubbington is very smart, but some of the spirits can be really dense sometimes."
Kurt swallowed hard. He was surprised to find his pulse racing. You're just humoring her, he told himself. No reason to be nervous, it's not like any of this means anything.
"Is my friend really in danger?" he asked loudly. He stared at the pointer. Brittany stared at the pointer. The obese feline blinked slowly several times, yawned, and idly licked its tail. Nothing happened. There followed a few long minutes of silence. Kurt was about to suggest that maybe the spirits had nothing to say, when Lord Tubbington began to purr and the indicator started to move slowly back and forth along the board.
Well, I'm pushing it unconsciously, I must be, Kurt thought. He lightened his touch so that his fingertips were barely connected to the pointer. It started moving with more conviction. Or she's pushing it, right?
"We've made contact!" Brittany beamed excitedly. "Ask again."
Kurt deliberately kept his voice level, but still it had a bit more quaver than he would have preferred. "Is Dave really in danger?"
The pointer crept up to the top left corner. YES
"That's a 'yes'," Brittany supplied eagerly. "Ask something else."
"Um... what is he in danger from?"
The cat continued to purr loudly as the disk slid around the board, stopping very deliberately on each letter in turn.
K-N-I-F-E.
"'Knife'. Does that match your dream?" When Kurt nodded slowly, Brittany seemed delighted. "This is so awesome!"
"Uh, yeah... awesome," Kurt echoed hollowly, trying not to panic. "When will he be attacked? What time?"
S-O-O-N.
"But when exactly? Can't you tell me when?" Kurt couldn't help sounding high-pitched and frantic. Lord Tubbington's purring stopped abruptly. "What?" He looked pleadingly at Brittany. "What's wrong?"
"You have to stay calm, Kurt. Lord Tubbington is very sensitive, and your strong emotions are blocking out the spirits." She lifted her hand from the pointer and shook it a bit. "Take your hand off, close your eyes and breath. Just try to clear your mind." He obeyed. "Now count to ten and shake out your hands." He did. "Do you feel more in control?" He nodded. "Okay, then put your hand back and we'll continue."
The instant Kurt's fingertips reconnected with the pointer Brittany was already touching, the cat began purring again. Which did not creep Kurt out even one little bit. No, not in the slightest.
"Um, okay." He gulped another deep breath. "Can you tell me exactly when Dave will be attacked?"
S-O-O-N.
Kurt frowned. "No, that's good," Brittany assured him. "If the spirits can't give us an exact time, it means his fate isn't fixed. You can still change it."
"Wh-where is he? Where can I find him?" Kurt tried hard to keep the desperation out of his voice, and was relieved when the cat kept purring.
The pointer was still for many minutes. Just when Kurt was about to drop his hand and give up, it began to creep forward at an agonizingly slow pace.
B-A-R.
"A bar? But there are thousands of bars in New York. Can you be more specific?"
F-I-S-H.
"Oh, sweetie," Brittany chided the cat playfully, "I know you're hungry, but you have to be patient. Mama will give you din-din as soon as we finish helping Kurt."
"I think he mean's Finn's Sports and Karaoke Bar in Alphabet City," Santana said, coming over from the table where she had been rifling through her neighbors' pants and shirt pockets for notes and change. "It's a total dump, but we go there sometimes for GLBT karaoke-bingo night. The owner's midget girlfriend is like a total singing freak and they have the best song selection in the Lower East Side."
"Finn! That's the name of Dave's roommate. At least, he used to be Dave's roommate."
"It must be the same guy," Santana replied. "How many mothers are heartless enough to name their kids 'Finn'? This one is like freakishly tall."
"I only met him once, but I think that's right."
"Let's make sure." Brittany sounded so sensible, it took Kurt by surprise. "Oh Spirits Who Are Communicating Through Lord Tubbington, do you mean Finn's Sports and Karaoke Bar in Alphabet City?"
YES
Lord Tubbington yawned and became silent. Brittany seemed about to take her hand off the pointer when Kurt blurted out, "Wait!" The cat and the ladies looked expectantly at him. Kurt hesitated, embarrassed. "C-can I ask just one more question?" he asked shyly.
"Sure. That's okay, isn't it, darling?" the blonde coo'd, petting the cat indulgently. "One more question and then Mama will feed you something extra-nice because you've been such a good psychic kitty." Kurt could have sworn the tabby nodded. His purring renewed.
Kurt drew in a deep breath. Should he ask? It was stupid to ask. He wasn't even sure he believed anything else the cat had told him. And boy, wasn't that a sentence he never thought he'd say in this lifetime! But still... he'd gone this far into the night...
"Does Dave... h-hate me?"
Now Kurt held his breath. His heart was thumping loudly. Lord Tubbington purred steadily for some minutes but the pointer stayed still. Finally, it traveled to the upper right corner.
NO.
"Super!" Santana announced so sharply even the tabby was startled. "Dave doesn't hate you. Now you can go rescue him and and live happily ever after and we'll all forget any of this ever happened. Sorry to be a bitch - well, no, I'm not sorry about it. That's kind of my thing. Anyway, you've already been here 42 minutes, which is 45 minutes longer than I wanted you here. So lace up those Bottega Veneta boots and hit the bricks, Mr. TV Actor."
Kurt knelt by the door to put on his shoes. Suddenly, something was thrust in his face.
"Here!" Santana snapped roughly. She held out a slip of paper and a 5-dollar bill. "The address for Finn's Sports Bar and enough money to get you home on the subway. Don't start crying like an eight-year-old," she scolded when Kurt's sea-green eyes began to mist. "I'm just making sure you don't come back here."
Without hesitating, Kurt rose and pulled her into a tight hug. Santana endured it for a few seconds before pushing away.
"Kurt," Brittany said shyly, "I can't give you my phone number because my phone was stolen. Oh, that's right, you knew that. Anyway, Santana wouldn't let me give you my phone number even if I had a phone, but if everything turns out okay, would you leave a note for me at the CD register in the Virgin Mega Store? Just say it's for Brittany S. and they'll know who to give it to. Me. Because I'm Brittany S." Kurt promised he would, and she hugged him fiercely. "And be nice to August," she whispered in his ear. "He really loves you."
And then Kurt was once again amidst the living night, feeling a strange mix of hope and urgency as he walked quickly east towards Avenue A. It was 2:49 AM.
Chapter 8: The Ghost of Christmas Past
Chapter 9: ...and Here's How it Ended