Well, here's my follow up to Chapter 5. Sorry for those of you who were surprised or disappointed at the way things went. This is a transitional chapter so there's not a lot of action, but a lot of stuff happens in this chapter that will affect the rest of the story. I'm gonna quit with the legal disclaimers cuz if you haven't read them by chapter 6, you're never going to and I don't know anyone who starts reading a story in chapter six. I look forward to your feedback. Enjoy.
Chapter 6
It felt as if I were floating. That's the first thing I remember. Then I became aware of a bright, white light that I could see through my closed eyelids. The events leading up to my blackout flooded back into my consciousness and I found myself wishing for the bliss of the darkness again. Then I realized I wasn't in pain. Was I in heaven? I forced my eyes open, but shut them again quickly. The light was blinding. I tried again, a little more cautiously this time.
Well, I wasn't in heaven, not unless they hooked you up to machines and painted their rooms a nasty puke green. When would hospitals ever learn?
Just then, a nurse walked into my field of vision. She was wearing the typical nurses uniform of a brightly colored top over white pants and white shoes. She looked like she was maybe in her 60's with close cropped gray hair and a don't-mess-with-me look in her eyes.
"Ah, I see you're back with us again," she said, "How do you feel?"
"I'm not sure yet. How long was I out? Was I in a coma?" I asked. My voice sounded scratchy and harsh. The pain was starting to come back now, a little more with each breath.
"No, no comas," she told me as she started checking machines and making little notes on her clipboard. "You were unconscious when they found you, and then they doped you up for the surgery. You're just now coming around. Starting to feel some pain?"
I nodded. I liked her. She was very straightforward.
"Alrighty then, we'll take care of that," she made some adjustments to the keypad on the IV stand and changed the bag at the top. "There, that should help soon."
"What happened?" I asked her. "Am I OK?"
"You're going to be fine, but the doctor will be in shortly to tell you more. If you need anything from me, like more of the good stuff to knock you out or something to drink, whatever, just push this little red button here." She showed me a small tube shaped thingy with a wire that ran out of the bottom of it to the wall behind me. A red button was on one end of it. "This will page us at the nurses station. Someone will come and check on you, although it might not always be me. Ok?" I nodded again.
She bustled about busily for a few more minutes, then breezed out, waggling her fingers at me as she went.
The medicine started kicking in soon after, and I was about to go back to sleep when a tall black man with a thin mustache wearing a white doctor's coat and a stethoscope around his neck walked into the room. I assumed he was the doctor.
"Hello there, Killian," he said. He pulled up one of the chairs in the room (they were a lovely shade of orange, to go with the puke green walls I can only assume) and sat down so he was more or less on an eye level with me. "My name is Dr. Murray. I'm your doctor. It's good to see you awake. You're looking a lot better than the first time I saw you. You've been through a lot in the last 24 hours."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Well, do you remember what happened?" he asked.
I nodded, "Aren't the police going to ask me questions now that I'm awake?"
The doctor laughed, "You've watched too many cops shows on TV. No, they aren't going to need to ask you any questions. They're saying you interrupted a mugging, classic case of wrong place at the wrong time. They haven't caught the guy yet, but they are looking. Now, as for you, this guy did a number on you. You're going to be just fine, but it's going to take a while, several weeks at least. The knife entered at a perfect angle considering he missed all the important stuff, but he did puncture your lung. We've stitched up what needed stitching. Now you just need rest to finish up the job. It's not going to be real fast, and it's going to hurt like hell, but that's why God invented drugs. I'll be keeping an eye on you, and I'm sure someone showed you how to contact the nurses if you need anything."
He stood up as if to leave, but I noticed he'd left out some important information. I struggled to stay awake as the medicine was really kicking in about now. "Wait, what about Seth?" I said. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe it wasn't really Seth, or maybe they had been able to save him too.
"That was the other young man?" Dr. Murray asked me. His slightly joking manor was gone now, and I knew the news wasn't good.
I nodded.
"Did you know him?" he asked.
Past tense. Definitely not good. I nodded again.
"I'm sorry," he said simply, "He was dead when the police got there."
I felt a tear roll down my cheek. The doctor looked at my sympathetically and patted me awkwardly on the hand. "Try to get some rest," he said, "That's what's going to help you heal."
I wondered if he meant physically or emotionally. I suspected I would heal much faster from my stab wound.
The next time I awoke, my parents were in the room with me. As soon as my eyes were open, Mom was at the side of the bed.
"Are you ok?" she asked me.
"I'm not sure," I told her truthfully. The meds had me pretty groggy.
"Of course he's ok," Dad barked from his chair across the room. "Don't baby him. He's 16 for God's sake."
Mom looked into my eyes, and our new bond let me know that she was still concerned for me. In the interest of domestic peace, however, she moved away from the bed and sat back down.
"What I want to know is what you were doing with that fag anyway," Dad went on as if we were in the middle of a conversation. "You're mother said you went out for a walk. You weren't meeting him were you?"
I closed me eyes and hoped he'd get the hint. I didn't feel like dealing with him right now. I hadn't even taken in the fact that Seth was dead, and I had come too close to dying myself. I was still in the freaking hospital for God's sake, and all he could do was start interrogating me.
"Killian," he went on when I didn't answer, "If somebody hadn't seen that guy run out of the woods then you would be dead. I want some answers."
Join the club I thought. I fumbled around for the call button with my eyes still closed, found it and pushed the button.
"Were you meeting him there in the woods?" He was relentless. I mean I was in a hospital bed, with a stab wound, and he's grilling me.
"Gary," Mom interrupted, "He's tired, he's hurt, why don't we just let him be for now? You can ask him all these questions later."
"Did I ask you?" he said to her in his I'm-so-calm-it-hurts voice.
I was about to page the nurse again when I heard someone come into the room.
"Did someone need me?" she asked in a chipper voice, "Oh, I bet I know who it is!" Oh great, a perky nurse. Just what I always wanted.
I opened one eye and couldn't help but open the other one too. She looked amazingly like Brittany Spears in a nurse's uniform. I wondered if the meds they were giving me were causing me to have hallucinations. If so, I think I'd rather deal with the pain.
"Are you hurting again?" she asked me. If she only knew how much, I thought. Then she went on before I could even answer, "Well, we just gave you some pain medication not that long ago, so I can't give you anymore right now. I think you just need some rest." She turned towards my parents and smiled brightly at them. "He really needs his sleep, maybe you could come back later and visit with him." I liked her better already.
Dad glared at her for a second then stood up and motioned for Mom to come with him. She started after him, but paused by my bed for a second, rested her hand on my arm, then followed him out of the room.
Nurse Brittany turned her thousand-watt smile on me once they were gone. "Is that what you wanted maybe?" she asked.
I managed a chuckle but immediately winced. "You're good," I told her.
"Thanks, but you'd be surprised how many kids use that thing to get rid of their parents." she laughed and started back out the door, "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to page me."
And I was alone with my thoughts finally. I was still a bit groggy from the pain medication, but I needed to think. Seth was dead. Someone had killed him and come very close to killing me as well. From what Dr. Murray had said, the police had pretty much closed the case; saying that I had interrupted a mugging. Somehow that didn't make sense to me. I thought about how the killer had frozen when he saw me clearly for the first time. It was right after that when he ran away, almost like he knew me. They'd even cursed. I racked my brain trying to see if I could recognize the voice, but I had been too scared and their voice had just been a whisper.
Then my mind turned to the unthinkable. Why would someone want to kill Seth? Maybe it was just a random killing. It was easier to think about that than think he had been killed for personal reasons. Again I asked myself, "Why would anyone want to kill Seth?" In my heart, I knew the answer. I could hear it in Seth's own words, "I mean, I'm used to everybody hating me. My own family hates me so why shouldn't you..."
"Why would I hate you?" I had asked him.
"Because I'm gay," he had answered simply and honestly. And now he was dead. What if he had been killed because he was gay? That thought was especially scary since I was still dealing with my own homosexuality. I knew it happened all the time though. I remembered Matthew Shepard from all the news coverage and I knew there were many others.
Suddenly I found myself crying. Softly at first and then harder until my entire body was trembling from the sobs. They seemed to start from somewhere deep within me, somewhere I had never tapped before. I was weeping for Seth. I was weeping for Matthew Shepard. I was weeping for all those who were killed, or killed themselves, because of something they had no control over. In my mind, they were both the same. Society had killed the suicide victims just as surely as they had killed Matthew Shepard, and now, I knew in my heart, Seth.
But most of all, I think I was weeping for myself. I felt deep sense of loss for what had happened in the park. Not even so much for Seth, I really barely knew him even though I had liked him and thought we would have been good friends if not more. I wept for what it represented. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep.
When I awoke again, Nurse Brittany was gently sliding my arm into a blood pressure cuff.
"Sorry to wake you up, Sport," she said, "But I have to take your blood pressure. Someone was here earlier to visit you, but only family can see you just yet, so they had to leave."
"Who was it?" I asked her, still not quite awake.
"Cute kid about your age, I think his name was Ashley, or no wait..."
"Asher?" I asked.
"Yes, that's it Asher."
Asher had come to see me? Why? After the way things had ended after school the day before, he was the last person I would have expected to come see me.
They kept me in the hospital for a few days, and then I was sent home to complete my recovery. Thank goodness Dad hadn't come after me again, but I knew it was just a matter of time. He hadn't been home much, but that was too good to last. Asher hadn't come around anymore either. I was pretty much bed ridden most of the time, so I had lots of time to think about what had happened.
I had come to a few conclusions while doing my thinking. They were fairly simple, at least in my mind. Number one, whoever had killed Seth couldn't be allowed to get away with it. If the police weren't going to find them, and it didn't seem to me like they were trying all that hard, then I would.
Number two, it was fairly obvious to me at least that Seth had been killed because he was gay. I didn't buy into the mysterious mugger theory. It was just too coincidental.
My last conclusion was that the killer had to have known me judging by their reaction when they saw me. It was this last conclusion that scared me the most. It meant that someone I knew, maybe knew very well, was a cold-blooded murderer.
I had been having nightmares almost every night since I had come home. They were almost always the same thing, or a variation thereof. In it, I was at the park again, by the pond. The shadows were dark and almost seemed to be alive. I was so scared. And then, there was Seth. He was standing on the bridge and he kept asking me, "Why Killian? Why me?" I would try to answer him, but no words would come out of my mouth no matter how hard I tried. And then I would feel someone come up behind me. I would awake, wet from the cold sweats, with my heart pounding in my chest and unable to get back to sleep.
Between, my dark thoughts, the nightmares and the accompanying lack of sleep, I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into depression. After what had happened to Seth, I knew I could never come out myself. I felt trapped by things I knew I had no control over. I wanted out, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about it but hate myself.
About a week after the murder and my stabbing, a knock came to our door. Mom left to answer it. I could hear the conversation from my post in the living room. I could tell it was a man, but I didn't recognize the voice. Then he introduced himself.
"I'm Adam Connelly," I heard him say, "Seth's father. I'd like to see Killian if he's up to it."
My mother was silent for a moment, then she spoke softy, "I'll check."
As soon as she appeared in the door, I nodded. She turned and motioned to Mr. Connelly. When he came into the room, I almost gasped. He looked like an older version of Seth, except tired and worn out. I wondered if he had looked that way before Seth's murder or if it was a by-product of that horrible event.
"Hello Killian," he said, extending his hand for me to shake.
"Hi, Mr. Connelly," I said.
"Please, call me Adam," he told me. "Seth spoke so much of you, I feel like I know you. You were his only friend..." He choked up and had to stop speaking. My eyes shifted to Mom. She was staring at me with a funny look on her face that I couldn't quite interpret.
"I'll be in the kitchen," she said and walked away. I forced my mind back to Adam. I turned to him just as he was sitting down in the chair closest to my makeshift bed on the sofa.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling horribly inadequate, "I'm sorry for what happened..."
He waved his hand to stop me and I faded out. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. You're maybe the only person I know in this pathetic town who doesn't have anything to be sorry for." He shook his head as if to clear it, "I'm sorry. I'm still dealing with a lot of anger, but finger pointing doesn't accomplish anything. You're probably wondering why I'm here."
I couldn't argue with that, so I simply nodded.
"I have something for you, Killian," he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket, "I found it as I was cleaning out Seth's room. It's a letter that he wrote to you. I hope you don't mind that I read it. I thought he'd like for you to have it."
He handed me the letter, and I looked at it for a moment.
"Please, open it and read it while I'm here," he asked me. I could hear the pain in his voice. How could I say no? So I opened it with trembling hands, and pulled out a single sheet of lined notebook paper. I unfolded the letter and looked at the date on the top. It had been written the day he kissed me. I forced my eyes down the page and began to read.
"Hey Killer," it began. "I'm really sorry about what happened today. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe that's the whole problem. I wasn't thinking. I wanted so badly for you to be gay, that I guess I imposed it on you. I get so lonely here in this town. I wanted to find someone I could love and who could love me. I guess I was expecting too much. I know I've probably ruined everything by now, but if not, if you can forgive me, I'd still like to be your friend. If you don't hate me that is."
The letter stopped here and then picked up again in different color ink.
"Wow. I just got off the internet after talking to you. I can't believe I was right! You are gay! But I'm not getting my hopes up or anything. I'm just glad you don't hate me and you still want to be my friend.
"After you signed off I looked up your middle names. I think its very interesting what it meant. Maybe you will too. Travers means "the crossing." Do you see it? I think it means that you are at a crossroads right now. You know you're gay, but you don't know what to do about it. There are several paths you can take, but only you can decide what path is right for you. And there really is only one path that's right for you.
"I hope you find it and I hope that maybe I can help you along that path."
It was signed, "Your friend, Seth."
By the time I reached the signature, tears were streaming freely down my face. I looked up to see that Adam was crying as well. I cleared my throat, "Why didn't he give it to me?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said simply, "but I think he'd like for you to have it now." Then he stood up. "That's all really. I wanted to give you the letter. Thank you for being a friend to my son. I can let myself out."
He started out of the room, then stopped in the doorway. He stood there for a few moments and then turned. "He's right, you know. You are at a crossroads. What path you choose now will have an impact on the rest of your life in a way that you can't even begin to fathom now. Choose carefully." And he was gone.
Mom came back into the room a few minutes later. She took in my tear stained face and the letter in my hands and then sat down in the chair Adam had just vacated. She sat for a few moments in silence.
"Killian," she said finally, "are you gay?"
I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I sat like this for what seemed like an eternity before I finally pulled myself together enough to shut my mouth. I nodded instead.
She sat there for a few more minutes without saying a word. Just when I thought the silence would deafen me, she simply stood up and walked out of the room. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out. I know that sounds like a cliché, but that's exactly what it felt like, as if suddenly there was a gaping hole where my heart had been.
I began to cry, and then once again I was racked by sobs. I don't know how long I cried, but suddenly I became aware that a storm had come up. I could hear the rain beating against the house and slight rumbles of thunder in the distance coming closer with each crash.
I struggled up from the sofa, ignoring the physical pain. The emotional pain had taken precedence for the moment. I opened the shades at the window and stared out at the storm and thought about how it reflected the storm I was feeling inside, slowly building up to the point where it was a force that couldn't be stopped.
I was at a crossroads. What path should I take?