The following story is a work of gay fiction. If the subject matter is offensive to you or you are too young, please exit now. This work is the property of the author and may not be reproduced without permission. JETjt@aol.com John Tucker.
SUPER JEFF
Chapter Fourteen
JEFF'S POV
We needed to get back home, so after taking Jon home, making sure he knew how to contact us and Ben, Chris & I sat in the car while Ben went inside with Jon to thank Jon's mother for allowing him to say overnight. When they both reappeared on the small porch, they paused and wrapped their arms around each other while they said their goodbyes. Finally they separated and walked down the broken sidewalk to the curb where we were parked. Tears were in their eyes as they parted when Ben again climbed into the back seat. Rolling down the window he extended his hand to touch Jon's for a final goodbye.
I saw the words "I love you" appear on Jon's silent lips as the car began to move forward. Turning the car to head in the opposite direction, we gave a final wave to Jon who was still standing on the curb. An hour later we were climbing the final hill to our house.
"Holy Shit," Ben said, wide eyed. "Look at the mansions! I never seen such places."
"Well, you'll be in one of them soon enough," I said as I pressed the button on the visor to open the entry gate. The gate began its swing as Ben watched.
"You live in that house?" Ben asked in astonishment.
"As of now, we live there," I answered with a painful smile.
For the first time in three hours my mind returned to thoughts of my parents and my good friend Donnie Smith. My mind flip-flopped between the determination to help Ben, and my own woes. As I turned into the drive, I resolved to get through the current trauma, knowing that Chris would be at my side through it all.
Instead of parking in the garage, I drove around the circular drive parking under the canopy in front of the main entry.
"Home sweet home," I said sadly as I turned off the ignition. "Let's go inside."
Climbing out of the car, I watched Ben as his head swiveled around taking in the splendor of the house. I circled the car joining Chris and Ben before heading toward the door.
"Let's get you settled Ben," I suggested, "but first let's find Frank."
We walked toward the kitchen, hoping that Frank would be there. My guess was right. Frank was sitting at the small desk where he planned meals and took care of household items.
"We're back Frank," I announced as we entered. "Frank, I'd like you to meet Ben. He'll be staying with us for awhile."
"Pleased to meet you sir," Frank said as he arose from his chair.
Ben was surprised to be addressed with such respect, particularly when he looked like he'd just been dragged in from a war and had been the loser.
"Uh, thanks. Pleased ta meet ya too," Ben stammered.
"Ben's room is prepared," Frank announced. "It's the room next to Chris."
"Thanks Frank. We'll show him where it is," Chris said.
"Would you like something to eat?" Frank, the consummate chef inquired.
"We had a late breakfast," I replied. "Maybe we could have a snack later. I thought we'd take Ben shopping first though."
"I'll have an afternoon snack ready," Frank promised.
"Thanks Frank. Are there any messages?" I asked.
Frank picked up a pile of phone messages from his desk and handed them to me. There must have been 20 of them, or perhaps more.
"Chris, would you give Ben the grand tour, then show him to his room? I'm sure he'd like to wash up before we leave. I'll be in Dad's study, returning phone calls."
"Come on Ben," Chris said.
"Nice ta meet ya Sir," Ben said to Frank as they left the room.
When they were out of earshot, Frank asked with a frown, "Where did you get him?"
"He was one of my campers," I replied. "He got thrown out of his home when he got back and his Dad found out that he was gay."
"He can't be all bad then," Frank said with a sly wink. "I'd get him some new clothes though. You sister is going to have a heart attack as it is."
"I'm sure of that," I agreed. "When will she be arriving?"
"She should be here by 4:30," Frank responded. "It's in your messages."
"Well, I'll go take care of these then," I said holding up the small pile of messages. "Thanks so much for your help."
"I'm here for anything you need me for," Frank promised.
"I'll not forget it either," I said with a shallow smile. "I'll be in the study."
"I'll continue to take messages on the second line," Frank said. "That way you can talk to only the people you want to."
"Thanks, I appreciate that," I said as I turned to leave the room.
As I walked toward the study I began to glance through the small stack of papers I held in my hands.
"Oh Jeff," Frank said as I reached the kitchen door. "There's a box that the Feds delivered. I put it on the desk. I think it's your parents' personal effects. They said their luggage and things from their room would be delivered later. I'm supposed to tell you that the things in there are from their bodies which were burned beyond recognition. You may not want to look at the items."
My stomach turned into a rock as I heard Frank's news. I stumbled toward the study, the papers in my hand forgotten. As I entered the room I saw the small box on the desk. I didn't expect it to be large as my parents rarely wore much jewelry. My dad rarely wore any except a Rolex watch. Even his wedding ring he kept in a safe deposit box since, while it was masculine, it had 5 diamonds and a Florentine design susceptible to abrasion of its solid 24 carat finish. He only wore it on really formal occasions where `putting on the dog' was a must. Likewise Dr. Mel only wore a simple wedding band, her 3 carat diamond ring resided in the box with my father's. She too wore a small lady's Rolex that matched my Dad's, and usually wore only a simple chain with a cross around her neck and occasionally simple clip-on earrings as she'd never had her ears pierced.
Knowing that I'd be shocked at seeing their things, but unable to avoid the inevitable, I took a small knife from my father's desk and cut the fiber tape sealing the box. Inside I found a sheath of `bubble wrap' enclosing the contents, held together with a single strand of the same tape. I lifted the wrap onto the desk top, then sliced through the adhesive band and folded out the bubble wrap flat exposing the contents.
`What the fuck?' my mind questioned as I looked at the items before me. I'd never seen some of the stuff in the small pile before in my life! I began to move the items to take a better look.
There were a man's and woman's wedding ring, a Rolex man's watch, earrings that were for pierced ears, and a necklace that was far more intricate than anything my mother ever wore, except on the most formal occasions. There was a wallet that was not my father's but it was empty. Next to it was a loose, partially melted American Express card. The card and the watch were the only things that appeared to be my father's. What did this all mean?' I asked myself, trying to comprehend. Maybe....'
I raced from the room shouting Chris' name. In a moment he appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Do you have the FBI guy's card?" I asked excitedly.
"Sure," he said, sensing the urgency of my question. "I'll go get it. It's in my room."
He ran to his room and raced back, card in hand. Taking the steps of the stairway two at a time, he met me at the bottom and handed me the card.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Something's crazy," I said. "The Feds sent me the jewelry my parents were wearing, but some of the stuff's not theirs! There's a credit card that's my dad's and a watch that looks like his, but that's all!"
I turned and hurried back to the study. Sitting at the desk I dialed the number on the card.
I got a receptionist, and asked for Agent Johnson, the name that was on the card. After I identified myself she put the call through.
"Agent Johnson," the man answered.
"Agent Johnson, this is Jeff Richards. Something very strange has happened. I got a box of things that were supposed to be my parents', but only the credit card is theirs and maybe a watch that looks like my dad's."
"Are you certain Jeff?" the agent asked.
"Positive," I answered as I looked down at the pile of jewelry. "The wedding ring that my mother wore was a plain band not the diamond one that's in the box. Her formal one is kept in a safe deposit box. There is a necklace and earrings too that are not my mother's. The earrings are for pierced ears and my mother never had that done. She normally didn't wear earrings except for formal wear and the ones she has are all clip-ons. Also she always wears a chain with a cross around her neck. The necklace in the box is much fancier than what she wears. She wore a ladies' Rolex watch too and it's not there. My father wore a matching men's watch. The watch looks like the one my father wears but I'm not sure. There's a man's wedding ring in the box too. Dad never wore a ring except when they were going to a formal social function and his is solid gold with diamonds in it. The one in the box is plain. Maybe the watch is his and I'm sure the credit card belongs to my dad. I checked the credit card, and it looks just like the one I carry except for the name which is kinda hard to read. Last, the wallet is not like my dad's. He carried one of those long ones, usually in his coat. Is it possible that there's a mistake?"
"It's possible Jeff, but not likely. I haven't received the forensic report yet and it's possible that the identification was done from the credit card. I'll drop everything and check it out immediately. I know that this sounds cruel, but don't get your hopes too high. It would be a major foul-up, but it's more likely that the contents of the box got mixed up rather then the body identification was wrong."
"I'll try to remember that. Call me once you know. Thank you Agent Johnson," Jeff said.
"Goodbye Jeff. I hope you're right."
I hung up the phone with Chris looking at me expectantly.
"What did he say?" Chris asked.
"He said he'd check right away, but he cautioned us not to get our hopes up. He said that it's more likely that the stuff in the box is wrong than the bodies are not my parents. I guess all we can do is wait."
"Oh man!" Chris said.
"Yeah, I'm not sure what's worse, not knowing if they're alive or knowing that they're gone for good. All I know is that I'm not going to be able to rest until it's certain."
"I'll pray that they're alright," Chris promised.
"Thanks lover," I said. "I will too."
I paused for a moment, then asked. "Where's Ben?"
"He was in the shower when you called me," Chris answered. "I gave him a pair of my clean underwear and some shorts and a tee that are mine too. He may be out of there by now."
"I guess we'd better go see," I said. "We still need to go shopping for him."
"I think you'd better stay here and wait for a call-back," Chris suggested. "I can take him if you trust me to drive one of the cars."
"That's a good idea." I responded. "It's not likely that they'll call soon but I want to be the first to know. I'll have to give you cash though, because you can't sign the credit card."
"I've still got over $400 that your Dad gave me," Chris offered.
"I really don't want you to spend your money," I said. "I'll give you $600 that I have and you can spend it first. A couple of outfits should do for now," I said. "We still don't know if he's going to stay."
"I'll go see if he's ready," Chris said. "You'd better go tell Frank about the call."
"Yeah, you're right," I said. "I'll be up in a minute to get the money for you."
We parted, with me heading back to the kitchen and Chris going to see if Ben was ready.
"Frank," I called as I entered the room. Frank emerged from the walk-in pantry when he heard my voice.
"Yes?"
"You won't believe what's happened! The stuff in the box, except for one credit card, is not my parents'," I responded excitedly.
"Wow!" Frank responded. "Do the Feds know?"
"Yeah, I called Agent Johnson who is the guy that was here earlier."
"What did he say?"
"He said he'd find out what the screw-up was," I replied. "He asked me not to get my hopes up too high, that it probably was a screw-up with the evidence."
"Probably good advice," Frank agreed. "We'll just have to hope and pray."
"Yes. I'm going to stay here and wait for his call. Chris is going to take Ben shopping. The poor kid only has what he's wearing."
"Did you get any of the calls returned or read the messages?" he enquired.
"No, I never got that far. I opened the box first."
"You might want to wait on returning some of the calls," advised Frank, "at least until you know more about your parents."
"You're probably right," I agreed. "I'll still look them over. I just don't want to have to call each one again after we know what's happening. I'll take any calls that come in though. It might be Agent Johnson."
"All right," Frank said. "I'll be here. I'm almost finished with the snacks."
"Thanks," I said as I left the room, going back to the office.
Once there, I carefully rewrapped the items, trying not to touch them further. I put the small bundle back into the box and set it aside. I picked up the pile of messages and quickly leafed through them, reading them. There was a message from Donny's parents, one from Ed, my parents' attorney and one from my friend Doug Jacobs which I separated from the others. Placing the remainder next to the box, I picked up the phone and dialed the one from Donny Smiths' folks. The phone was answered on the third ring.
"Perry Smith," the man's voice said on the other end.
"Mr. Smith," I began. "This is Jeff Richards. I'm returning your call."
"Thanks for calling Jeff," he replied. "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your parents. I saw the report in the newspaper just awhile ago."
"Thank you Sir," I responded. "We just got some further news. There might be a mix-up."
"A mix-up?" he asked. "What's happened?"
"They sent me their personal effects, but most of the stuff doesn't belong to my parents," I answered. "I reported it to the FBI, and they are looking into it. They said not for me to expect too much. It could be just a foul-up with the evidence."
"I'll pray that they're okay," he said. "Neither of us needs a double tragedy."
I knew that Mr. Smith and his wife had been more than casual acquaintances of my parents, so I realized that their condolences were personal, not just politeness.
"I appreciate your thoughts and prayers Sir. My sister Amanda will arrive here later this afternoon to be with me. Maybe we'll know more by the time she gets here. I'll keep you posted."
"I'm glad that she'll be there for you," he said. "I wanted to tell you too, that I sent an e-mail to you regarding the services for Donny. I know that he would want you as one of his pall bearers, but under the circumstances, I was reluctant to ask."
"I'd be happy to do that if you still want me to. I'll just have to take whatever news I get about my parents as separate from my sorrow at losing my friend. No matter what happens, you can count on me."
"You're a brave man Jeff," Mr. Smith said. "Yes, I know having you help would be what Donny would have wanted. There's nothing for you to do at the visitation, but if you'd show up about 20 minutes early at the funeral the director there will tell you what you need to know."
"I'll be there," I reaffirmed. "If I get any news about my parents I'll let you know as soon as possible."
"Thanks Jeff," he said, the sadness from his own grief still in his voice. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye Sir," I said as I hung up.
Picking up the second message, I dialed Ed's number.
"Law Offices," said the receptionist.
"Ed Macgregor, please," I said. "This is Jeff Richards."
"But I thought...."
"The third," I said, sudden irritation showing as I interrupted.
"Oh.... Oh... I'm sorry," she stammered. "I'm so sorry. I'll ring Mr. Macgregor."
The line went on hold, then a moment later Ed answered. After apologizing for his receptionist's faux pas, he began to fill me in on what he knew from the Feds. I broke his report short and told him what I'd discovered and that I'd called Agent Johnson.
"That's amazing news Jeff," he responded. "I'll call the agent and follow up. I suppose I don't need to tell you to not be too hopeful."
"No Sir," I said. "Agent Johnson made it clear that it might just be a mix-up in evidence. He did say that he'd never received the forensic report though, so there's still a chance."
"I'll work on it Jeff," Ed promised. "I'll call you if I find out anything."
"Likewise, I said. "I'll be talking with you later."
"Goodbye Son," the lawyer said.
I hung up the phone for the second time.
I sat back in the high-backed chair, thinking. Did I really dare hope? Everyone said not to but I couldn't help it. For the first time I began to really appreciate my parents, not just as a security blanket but as people. Sure, maybe they hadn't been everything to me they could be, but they were mine, and I was sure they loved me, even if I were gay. If they were really gone.... I didn't want to think of it. If there was any chance... My mind jumped from place to place. I began to visualize the two of them together. I thought of what they really meant to me. I began to think of them as people... not only as others might see them, but as I alone knew them; kind and wonderful, yes and even loving. I honestly began to realize that they got more respect from others than they had received from me. I began to feel shame knowing that just because they were strong I had taken them for granted. I knew I was guiltier of that than they were. I began to recognize that I felt an emptiness inside, a feeling that I'd blocked from my conscious mind. A black void was there, one that they had always filled. Could they really be gone? I looked up to the heavens, and prayed that God would bring them back to me. Tears filled my eyes.
"God," I prayed. "I'm just a kid. I need them. Please deliver them from harm. I know I've not been the best son, but I really love them. I know I shouldn't ask because I've not been very faithful to you, but I ask you for them as well as for me. Dad helps people overcome the sickness of cancer and Mom teaches and brings people together searching for knowledge. They are good people and still have so much to contribute in our world. Chris needs them too. His parents have thrown him away because he's gay like you made him. He needs parents to love him and to make him strong. If you must punish someone, punish me. Take me if you will, but let them live. Let them come back to be the parents that Chris needs. I ask all this in the name of Jesus. Amen."
Tears poured down my cheeks and I placed my head on the desk weeping.
"Jeff, are you okay?" I heard Chris ask as he rushed to my side and knelt down, placing his arm around my shoulders.
Sniffing as my sobbing ceased, I turned my attention to the boy I loved.
"Yes Chris. I'm alright," I replied after taking a deep breath. "I guess it just hit me what my parent's loss would mean. I'm fine now."
I sat up and wiped the tears from my eyes.
"Are you guys ready to go shopping?" I asked, regaining my composure.
"Yeah," he said. "We're ready. Are you sure you don't want to go?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I lied. "Don't worry about me. I have plenty to do before you guys get back."
"If you're sure," Chris asked, his words questioning my answer.
"Go Babe," I ordered in a soft voice. "I'll be here when you get back. I just can't leave not knowing."
"I understand. Come on Ben," he agreed with my request as he arose then walked to the doorway where Ben stood watching what had transpired. "We'll get back as soon as we can," he said, half to me and half to Ben.
"Bye guys," I said as they disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, I looked down at the remaining note. Doug Jacobs and I had been friends since we were small. Like Donny's, his parents and mine had also been friends. His father was an anesthesiologist and often worked with my father when surgery was called for with my dad's patients. It was socially that I met Doug. It had happened years ago and we'd stayed close. When I knew that I was gay, Doug was the first person I'd told. He was a bit shocked at first, but our friendship won out over any dislike he might have had of homosexuality. He accepted me and it never became an issue again. My only regret was that we could not be closer socially. I occasionally dated girls, more for appearance sake than for desire, and we even double dated a few times. His passion for girls however, far surpassed the mere friendly feeling I had for them. He jumped from love affair to love affair, leaving a trail of ex-virgins behind in his wake. I, on the other hand had not found anyone to love, and just found fun things to do, mostly with other guys, while he was out getting laid. I decided that I'd call him next, then afterward stay off the phone and wait for my call from the FBI.
"This is Doug," he said when he picked up the phone.
"Hello Doug. I'm returning your call," I said, my voice still a bit unsteady.
"Jeff, buddy," he said recognizing my voice. "My dad just told me about your parents. I'm really sorry my friend."
"Thanks Doug," I replied. "I'm afraid to hope, but there might have been a mix-up."
"What kinda mix-up?" Jeff asked with curiosity.
"Only a couple of the things that were sent to me as their personal effects are really theirs. I called the FBI agent and he said that he'd check and that it might just be an evidence mix-up, but he also said that he had not received the forensic report from England. He agreed to look into it, but not to get my hopes up."
"Wow! Is it alright if I hope for you my friend?" he asked.
"Sure, I'd appreciate it," I responded. "Just don't spread it around too much. I'm not counting on it being a mistake and don't want to have to talk to people twice if it turns out not to be."
"Do you want me to come over?" he asked almost as a suggestion.
"Sure. I'd like that," I replied. "You can meet my boyfriend when they get back from shopping."
"Boyfriend? They?"
"Yes. I'll explain when you come over," I replied. "It's a bit complicated to tell you about it over the phone."
"I'll be there in about 15 minutes. Bye" he said as he hung up the phone.
JEFF RICHARDS' II POV
I awoke with a raging headache and a feeling that my entire body was held down by a huge weight. My eyes opened and slowly came into focus. I was in bed in what appeared to be a hospital room. I tried to lift my arm but it wouldn't move. Tipping my head forward I could see that there were straps across my chest and abdomen and that my hands were restrained by separate wrist straps. Strangely I felt no need to urinate. As my thoughts began to become less fuzzy, I felt what had to be a catheter inside my penis.
`Where was I?' was my most pressing thought. I tried to remember what had happened. My mind recalled that Mel and I had gone on a trip to France and then to England. I thought back, remembering as the thoughts of our activities entered my conscious mind. I quickly skipped thinking about France, remembering the train trip to the UK crossing under the English Channel through the Chunnel. I remembered our traveling to Scotland, then returning to London where we were spending a few days before returning to California. I searched my memory trying to recall anything that would have resulted in my being in a hospital. I tried to visualize the last activity I could remember. I could see the view of the countryside through the windows of a small car that we rented to go sightseeing. After spending the day enjoying the English countryside we were returning to our hotel when Mel and I decided to stop at a quaint village pub outside London. We went inside where we ordered a drink and a light repast to tide us over until we got back to our lodging in the city. I remembered ordering a nice single malt scotch and the wonderful taste that it provided. I remembered too the fish and chips that we had ordered to snack on. When finishing our light snack, we paid the bill. Upon leaving we noticed that it had become dark. Our car was parked a bit away from the entrance to the side of the building. As we passed the corner of the building.... Now I remembered! We were attacked by four men! After a brief struggle, one held my arms and the other put something over my face. I remember the smell of ether and my attempt to hold my breath. That's all I remembered.
I looked over when I heard the door begin to open. In the doorway was a dark bearded man accompanied by another man with a dark complexion wearing a doctor's lab coat.
"Ah, Doctor Richards," the bearded man remarked with a wicked smile. "I see you've awoken from your little nap."
"What's going on? Where am I? Why am I restrained? Where is my wife?" I questioned.
"One thing at a time, one thing at a time. I'll answer all your questions in a moment. First we have to see how you survived your little journey," the evil looking man said as he sat down on a chair at my bedside. The lab coated man, who looked like a doctor, grabbed my wrist while looking at his watch. He continued taking my vital signs, then after nodding in the affirmative, lifted my hospital gown and removed the catheter. Picking up the bottle from beneath the bed he turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
"Is my wife alright?" I asked in a pleading voice.
"Yes, she's fine," the man replied. "She woke up an hour ago."
"Can I see her?"
"Not yet," the swarthy man replied. "We have things to discuss and things to do first."
"What kind of things?" I queried.
"I'll ask the questions," the man said forcefully. "If you are truthful and are cooperative we may let you live. First, what is your name?"
"Jeffery Richards II," I answered suffering shock at the conditions he stated.
"Doctor Jeffery Richards II?"
"Yes."
"What is your specialty?" he demanded.
"I'm trained as a surgeon, but my field of expertise is in oncology."
"I'm pleased that we got the right man and that you understand the importance of cooperation," the bearded man said with a smile.
"I don't have much choice," I observed.
"Ah, a very practical man, I see," he commented. "How do you feel?"
"I still feel weak and a bit dizzy but better every minute except that my hands are numb from the restraints on my wrists," I replied.
"I'll release the restraints in a moment. First I have to tell you that there are two guards outside your door and that we're on the fourth floor, so escape is impossible. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good! I'll release you, but you must understand that if you try to escape or to attack me, a simple call and the guards will be here at once. If you continue to cooperate, we'll make every attempt to make you comfortable. If not....... well, let's just say that your wife will never leave this hospital alive."
Although I half expected a threat, I was beginning to fully understand the ruthlessness of my captor.
"I'm in no condition to attempt an escape," I said, trying to convince him that I was powerless, though I felt much better than I was letting on.
"Good," he said.
He stood up from the chair and reaching under the bed, he unfastened the straps that constrained me, and loosened the straps encircling my wrists. Once free, I rubbed my wrists and flexed my fingers, trying to regain the circulation in my hands.
"When we have finished our conversation, you may dress but you may not leave this room," he informed me. "Your clothes are over there," he said pointing to a small table on top of which they resided in a pile. "In the meantime you may remain in bed or get up and sit on this other chair while we conclude our business."
"Alright," I said, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed's side before sliding off and landing on my feet. I was still a bit unstable, but grabbed the bed rail for support as I stepped to the offered chair and sat down.
"Now you may ask questions," he declared.
"Where are we?" I asked first.
"You're in a hospital in Damascus Syria," he replied.
"Syria?" I responded in surprise.
"Yes, we had quite a problem getting you here. We had to create a diversion."
"What kind of diversion?" I asked.
"Let's just say that the world thinks you're dead. About the time you were reported missing, the English police found two bodies matching your age and physical description in a burning car with some evidence we planted. It was that same car that you rented."
"I'm sure they won't be fooled for long," I commented.
"They didn't need to be. We just didn't want them to be searching for you when we spirited you out of the country."
"You killed two people, just as a decoy?"
"It worked," he replied with an evil smile.
"Why did you bring us here?" I asked.
"We have a job for you," he said. "Our leader was diagnosed with lung cancer. We need a first-class specialist to cure him."
"I can't guarantee that," I said. "I can only try. I didn't know the leader of Syria was ill, but I guess I don't follow international politics very closely."
"It isn't the leader of Syria. He lives in Afghanistan."
"The new President of Afghanistan has cancer?"
"No...our leader isn't with the government."
"Who is your leader then?" I asked. "I must not know him."
"Oh you know him alright," the evil man grinned. "His name is Osama bin Laden."