aterovis_bleedinghearts.pm6 (6 page)

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 60s, 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 47

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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 OKAY?”

“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. Okay?” 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.

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“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 manner 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 me sympathetically and patted me awkwardly on the hand. “Try to get some rest,” he said, “That’s what’s going to help you heal.”

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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 okay?” she asked me.

“I’m not sure,” I told her truthfully. The meds had me pretty groggy.

“Of course he’s okay,” Dad barked from his chair across the room. “Don’t baby him. He’s sixteen 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. “Your mother said you went out for a walk. You weren’t meeting him were you?”

I closed my 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 50

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wound, and he was grilling me like a defense witness at one of his trials.

“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 Britney 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 Britney 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 51

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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. He’d even cursed. I racked my brain trying to see if I could recognize the voice, but I had been too scared and the 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 who didn’t get national new exposure, that were simply swept under the rug.

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.

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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 Britney 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 53

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happened.

I had come to a few conclusions. 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 him, 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 coin-cidental.

My last conclusion was that the killer had to have known me judging by his reaction when he 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: 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 with cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest, 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, there was a knock at our door. Mom left to answer it. I could hear the conversation from my post in the living room.

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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 make-shift 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.