Brian glanced up slowly when the man entered the room. He was young and Brian could sense immediately that he was full of himself. He wore a suit and a cocky expression... not like the others who had come and gone. He seemed different. He nodded towards Brian and Brian nodded back in silence. He had no idea who this man was or what his purpose in this whole mess was supposed to be, but judging from the look on his face -- all business... no pleasure, and the gun that glared from his belt in the sunlight when he went to stick his hands deep into his pockets -- he must have some purpose in all of this... some reason for being here.

"Brian Littrell?" The man asked and Brian's heart leapt into his throat at the mention of his own name... because how did this man know his name? He certainly hadn't told him... and why was he saying it out loud for anyone within earshot to hear?

In Brian's mind this was all a sick joke... a really perverted and twisted joke and he was sitting here like a damned fool still waiting on the punchline. He was waiting... just waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind a door or a wall and yell "Punk'd" and when he did... so help him, when he did... boy would he be ready to punch that asshole in the face.

Then again, maybe he wasn't so much waiting anymore as he was hoping. Hoping and praying that this was all just some twisted and fucked up joke... or maybe it was just a nightmare... a horrible, God-awful nightmare that would end in a scream with him waking up in a pool of sweat and tears and he would run for the bathroom and puke his guts up because that... that was exactly what he felt like doing right at this moment.

"Mr. Littrell?" The voice shook him from his thoughts and jerked him harshly back to the icy despair that was reality... where nothing was a joke and you didn't just wake up from your nightmares.

"Are you okay sir?"

What the fuck kind of question was that? And no. No he was not okay. No he was most certainly fucking not okay.

And where was all of this coming from? Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? The one with all the faith? Not anymore... not this Brian... he was done being the strong faithful one. This was all way too fucked up for that.

"No." He finally answered, afraid of what might come if he stayed silent too much longer. The last thing he needed was for the cops to say he was guilty on account of he couldn't say otherwise because he straight up refused to speak. This was all too messed up... too messed up to deal with anymore.

The man looked at him again and this time his face seemed to soften a bit.

"I'm detective Boscorelli," the man finally said after a few moments of silence during which Brian was sure he could actually hear his heart beating within his chest... it was that loud. He extended his hand to Brian and Brian returned the gesture quickly, reaching back and wincing in pain, inhaling sharply as the injuries to his stomach protested his movements.

"Are you injured?" The detective asked, concern written all over his face as he motioned for Brian to sit back down on the couch and quickly removed his radio from his belt. Brian could only nod. He hadn't realized until that exact moment just how much pain he was in. His head hurt, his neck hurt, his back hurt, his stomach hurt... his entire body hurt. He had no idea why but the blinding pain that struck was so fast but he knew it was horrible. Perhaps the adrenaline over the past few hours had held the pain at bay... perhaps it was sitting in one position for so long... whatever it was, when he moved to shake that man's hand... all hell broke lose.

He'd only thought things were fucked up before... this... this was far more fucked up than he'd ever imagined things could get.

The last thing he remembered was Detective Boscorelli standing above him calling for an ambulance over his radio... then there was a blinding pain and white light and that was all he could remember.