Omorphi (59 page)

“H
EY
,
bro, you look beat,” Jake greeted softly as Michael slipped into Christy’s hospital room.

“Pretty wiped out, but the cabin’s back together.” He went to the bed where Christy lay sleeping, Sophia holding his hand. He brushed dirty blond curls back and kissed his forehead. “How’s he doing?”

She smiled. “Good, very good. The medication makes him sleep.”

“Pain?”

“He says only a little. He showed us the burn when the nurse changed the bandage. He is so happy the scars are less, Michael. You can’t imagine.”

“He told you about the scars?”

Sophia’s smile slipped a fraction. “I knew about them.”

Michael rolled his lips together, fighting back the urge to ask Sophia a thousand questions.

Jake rose from the plastic chair against the wall and came to stand next to him. “If your dad discharges him tomorrow, he said it’s okay for us to go to the waterfront on Sunday. Stephen and Jerry are coming too.”

Michael tried to smile. “Cool. Did he eat?”

Sophia pouted. “Not very much. The medication makes him tired, and I think he still has trouble with the throat. The nurse said he will sleep through the night now.”

“Are you going to stay in his cabin?”

“Yes.”

Michael nodded to himself. “Have you seen his paintings?”

“Oh yes, they are beautiful. I want him to put them in a gallery in New York City.”

Michael chewed his lower lip, wondering how much he should say. “Some of the paintings are… they show what happened to him.”

Sophia’s expression became tight, her smile now gone. “I know,” she said softly.

“Have you seen them?”

Sadness filled her eyes. “Some. They are horrid.”

They were far, far worse than horrid. The room was suddenly hot, his hands clammy, and his eyes started to burn. He needed to think, to process what he’d seen. He had to go.
Now
. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He strode from the room, leaving the door to close itself on its quiet pneumatic hinge.

Sophia turned to Jake, startled by Michael’s abrupt departure. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,
cuore mio
, you didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine.”

M
ICHAEL
lost count of the number of times he’d lapped the empty track in the darkness. Exhausted, he jogged to the inner field and crumpled to his hands and knees, thoughts still screaming in his mind. The run had only served to bring the images in his mind’s eye to crystalline clarity. Christy had hung suspended from above, one rope around his neck and one around each wrist and ankle. He hung there nude, blindfolded and gagged, his body contorted into a cradle. Men waited in line while others used Christy. Michael shouted a cry in agony for Christy, and it died in racking sobs that echoed across the empty field.

He dug his fingers into the cool, damp grass as he wept and forced his brain to remember the horror in every painting, every one of Christy’s scars, every ounce of pain, fear, and helplessness that haunted Christy’s beautiful, ever-expressive eyes, every tear that had traced a jagged trek down Christy’s cheek. He wouldn’t dispel the memories from his consciousness. He refused and allowed them all to fill his mind like sand sifting through an hourglass. He would be
aware
. He would
learn
. He would
know
what had happened to the most precious person in his life no matter how much it ripped him apart.

How could anyone do that to you, Christy? To a child?

Agony tore through him again, leaving sharp, jagged wounds in his mind. How could someone so brutally rip away the veil of youth? So cruelly tear innocence from a young mind and body? How could someone deny a child the immutable rights to safety, security, to grow and learn?
To be loved.

He twisted clumps of grass in his hands as another anguished cry sliced up his throat to streak to the heavens.
How could you thieve Christy’s childhood from him so viciously?
He silently screamed the question in his mind. His questions deserved answers, didn’t they? Weren’t they reasonable, sane questions that anyone would ask? Michael opened his mouth in another silent cry and let his forehead fall to the grass.
Why, God? Why?

He raised his face to the heavens and shouted, “You bastards stole his life!” “Life” echoed across the field. “And he won!” “Won” echoed across the field. “He beat you!” “You” echoed across the field. “He survived!” “Survived” echoed across the field. Michael crumpled into a ball on the grass and wept, his anguished heart and shattered mind in tatters.

J
AKE
spoke without looking at Tad as they stood high atop the bleachers. “How long has he been here?”

“A little over an hour.”

“How many laps?”

“Twenty-eight. Is he a marathon runner?”

Jake blew a long breath and shook his head as he calculated seven miles. Michael would be a hurting unit tomorrow. “No, only sprints and hurdles.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I’ll take him home. Can you have one of your guys drive the SUV back?”

“No problem.”

Jake trudged down the bleachers and across the track to where Michael lay. He set a hand on his shoulder. “Michael.”

Michael wasn’t surprised that Jake had found him.

“Let’s go home.”

“D
ON
’
T
tell my parents.” Michael shifted on the seat and was irritated when he had to peel his sweaty thighs off the leather.

“Your eyes are really swollen, bro.”

“I’ll take a shower when I get home and blame it on the run.”

“Hope it flies.”

It didn’t fly.

M
ICHAEL
shoved tortellini around his plate and wanted to go to bed and sleep for a thousand hours. It was Friday night, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in on a Saturday morning.

“We agreed that you wouldn’t run this week.”

“Had to, Dad. Sorry.”

“What’s going on?” his mom asked.

Michael looked around the table at Jake and his parents, at his dad, then met his mom’s eyes. He wanted to tell everyone to go pound sand, but he wanted Christy in his life more. And if he was going to keep Christy in his life, his parents needed to know. He needed their help. He swallowed hard and told the truth, careful not to tell them who Christy was, avoiding any reference to Yosef, or that Christy and Sophia might be siblings. The secrets had mounted in number and were getting harder and harder to keep track of. He ended with, “So I had to run.”

Silence hung in the air until Bobbie spoke. “Are you going to tell him that you saw his paintings?”

“Dad said I shouldn’t mention what happened to him, that I should let him tell me.”

Bobbie turned to Mac and studied him for a long moment before turning back to Michael. “Your father’s right.”

Anna spoke softly. “Sophia knows of this, Jacob?”

“I don’t know exactly how much she knows, but I know Christy told her a lot.”

Anna turned to Nero and started in on him in Italian. “Anna, Anna, listen to me. Michael’s distress has nothing to do with today’s newspaper article. It has to do with him coming to terms with what has happened to Christy.”

Michael interrupted the conversation before Anna could respond. “Dad, are you going to discharge Christy tomorrow?”

“Assuming there isn’t an unexpected problem, I’ll discharge him and Jerry in the morning.”

He turned to Jake. “Sunday. Right now, we’re only thinking about Sunday. We’re going to make it a great day for everyone.”

“You got it, man.”

Michael stood. “I gotta sleep. Good night, everybody.”

S
ATURDAY
morning came, and Jerry mercilessly teased Christy into spinning his chair again.

“You two know you can’t do this! Jerry, you’ll ruin your cast!” Nurse Carol chastised as Christy and Jerry spun their chairs at the bottom of the ramp and high-fived each other.

“Bravo, bravo!” Christy’s shouted cheer was hoarse and deep.

Jerry giggled. “Again?”

“Yes!”

They wheeled up the ramp and positioned their chairs at the illusory starting line. “On your mark!” Jerry shouted.

“Absolutely not! Dr. Sattler will have your heads!” Nurse Carol scolded.

Jerry giggled again. “Get set!”

Christy grinned and shouted, “Go!”

They wheeled down the ramp as fast as they could, spun in tandem at the bottom of it, and high-fived each other with hoots and hollers.

“What is going on here?”

Carol was mortified. “Oh, Dr. Sattler, I’m so sorry! I’ve been trying to get them back inside for ten minutes! I’m so sorry. They like to spin. And they found the ramps. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Mac chuckled. “Don’t be.”

“Hi, Dr. Sattler!” Jerry called from the bottom of the ramp, and Christy waved.

“Who wants to go home?”

Christy’s mouth fell agape. “It is time?”

“Let’s have a look at you both, and we’ll see.”

No one noticed the dark-complected aide who cleaned a nearby picnic table and bore a striking resemblance to the EMT who had tended Christy after the bombing of Michael’s car.

“Y
OU
have healed remarkably well, young man,” Mac complimented after looking at Christy’s burns.

Christy beamed. “I have a good doctor.”

Mac smiled. “Time to go home.”

Rob handed a pair of sweats to Michael.

“Let’s get you dressed so we can get you home.” Michael helped Christy to his feet.

Christy winced as he put his weight on his leg. “Will Jerry go home?”

“Yes,” Mac answered as he made notes in Christy’s chart.

“I will miss the races.”

Mac peered over his spectacles. “Dare I say that Carol won’t?”

Christy bit his lower lip in a failed effort to hide a smile. “She is not the only nurse who is angry with us.”

J
ERRY
and Christy lined their wheelchairs up at the beginning of the hallway as Mac handed Christy’s discharge paperwork to Rob to sign and made a few more notes in Jerry’s chart.

“Ready?” Jerry whispered.

Christy nodded. “Oh no, wait for the gurney to pass.”

Michael’s eyes drifted from the two chairs ready for takeoff to a stern and angry-looking, beak-nosed minister headed their way. “Don’t look now, but I think that’s Jerry’s father.”

Mac looked up from the chart. “Indeed, it is.” He rounded the counter to greet the man. “Father Lafayette, it’s nice to meet you.”

Father Lafayette ignored Mac’s outstretched hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jerry’s physician, Dr. Sattler. I’ve spoken with Jerry’s neurologist, and he’s free to go home today.”

Father Lafayette turned to Jerry, who suddenly looked terrified, and turned back to Mac. “I didn’t come to get Jeremiah. I came to tell him he’ll be going to a group home. They’ll pick him up tomorrow.”

Michael was stunned. “Why?”

“Why don’t we step over here for a moment?” Mac suggested.

“No need. We know what kind of boy he is now and, until he’s cleansed of his vile notions, he won’t be welcome at home.”

Mac guided a belligerent Father Lafayette into a nearby waiting room as everyone looked on in astonished silence.

“Rob, what’s he talking about?” Michael asked.

Rob pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

Michael trotted over to where Christy and Jerry sat, now holding hands. “What’s your dad talking about, Jerry?”

Jerry shook his head. “He’s mad about the medical care. Or because I chose to get it.”

“Where’s he sending you?”

Jerry looked scared and bewildered. “I don’t know.”

The waiting room door opened with a whoosh and slammed against the wall. Father Lafayette stormed from the room and down the hall without as much as a “see ya” to Jerry.

Jerry looked lost and hurt. “Dad!”

Father Lafayette didn’t look back.

“Jerry, it would seem your father has learned of your homosexuality,” Mac said calmly.

Jerry’s eyes went wide. “H-h-how?”

“I don’t know, but he has decided that you’d be best off in a place that can offer you counseling on the matter.”

Jerry looked horror-stricken. “Like one of those places that try to make you not gay anymore? That kind of place?”

Mac sighed and was honest with Jerry. “Apparently so.”

“Oh, hell no! I’ll kill myself first!” Jerry jumped from the wheelchair and ran down the hallway toward the elevators.

Mac shot forward. “Jerry, wait a moment!”

“I’ll get him.” Michael sprinted down the hall dodging gurneys, carts of linen and vials, orderlies, and nurses. He caught up with Jerry at the elevators as he frantically pushed the down button.

“I’m not going! My dad can go to hell!”

Michael reached for him as he darted past to the stairwell door. “Jerry, stop! Let’s just talk for a minute!” Michael took off after him.

“No!”

The stairwell door slammed in Michael’s face. He entered the stairwell and took the stairs down two at a time until he caught up with Jerry and cornered him on a landing. Jerry tried to duck Michael’s reach and shoot past him, but Michael was quick. He caught him by the waist and swung him around to put his back against the wall. “Jerry, wait! Let’s just talk for a minute!”

“No!” Jerry wriggled from Michael’s grip and tried to dart away, but Michael caught him and lifted him off his feet.

“Jerry, c’mon, there are other places you can go! Let’s just talk!”

Jerry’s struggling slowed. “Where?”

“I don’t know, but you don’t want to be homeless, do you?”

“Rather be homeless than in one of those fix-the-fag places! Do you know what they do to people in there?”

Michael set Jerry back on his feet. “Yeah, I know, but c’mon. If there are any two people who can figure something out, it’s my dad and Rob. Give ’em a chance.”