Omorphi (30 page)

Michael stilled as pain seared his heart. The trembling in Christy’s hand increased, and he began to withdraw from Michael’s grasp. Michael held on to his hand. He would deal with this after the police interview. “Christy scares easily and has a hard time defending himself, especially when someone comes on to him.” There. That was mature, wasn’t it?

Detective Davis took in Michael’s full form, as if to survey his manhood. “You’re okay with—”

Mr. Santini interrupted. “Relevance?”

“It’s important for our school liaison officer to know and understand certain dynamics in order to anticipate problems.”

“The only dynamic he needs to understand is that Christy needs to be protected,” Michael blurted.

Detective Davis gave Michael a stern look. A cop look. One Michael knew was intended to intimidate.

“Have you and Jason ever had any sexual encounters?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Christy, same question.”

“Never,” Christy growled.

“I thought you couldn’t speak.”

“He isn’t supposed to use his voice. His throat is still healing,” Michael clarified, struggling to keep his anger in check.

“May I see your neck?”

Christy grudgingly removed his scarf, ire plain on his face.

Detective Davis studied the brutal scar, leafed through his notes again, read for a moment, and raised his gaze to Christy. “Do you engage in deviant sexual practices?”

Christy paled further, if that was even possible, and Michael wanted to punch Detective Davis.

“Define deviant, and be very careful, Detective,” Mr. Santini cautioned.

“We are required to investigate Jason Whitman’s allegations. He has alleged that Christy’s neck injury occurred during a sexual act and that he prefers sadomasochistic sex.”

Michael wanted to scream. “Jason doesn’t know anything about Christy, and no, we don’t engage in deviant sexual practices, and no more questions!” Michael stood, knocking his chair backward to the floor with a loud crash.

“Are we through, Detective?” Mr. Santini asked, his calm belying the fury that lurked just beneath the surface of his skin.

“Christy, when do you plan to return to Greece?”

The realization that Christy would one day be leaving hurt Michael to the core, and it took colossal effort to keep his mouth shut.

Mr. Santini stood and, with the hand of a gentle giant, encouraged Christy to stand. “He has no plans at this time other than to graduate high school, Detective.”

“One last question. May we have your parents’ telephone number in Greece?”

“No. Contact my office if you wish to speak to Christy,” Mr. Santini said brusquely.

“Mr. Santini, we’re unsure that you can represent any of those involved in last night’s incident because you represented Jason Whitman and may have a conflict of interest.”

“Make no mistake, Detective, I do and will continue to represent Michael, Christy, Sophia, and my son irrespective of, or over, your department’s objections. If you wish to speak to any of them again, please call my office.” Mr. Santini ushered them from the room and down the hall quickly. When they reached the lobby, he silently motioned for Jake, Sophia, and Michael’s parents to follow. By the time they reached the parking lot, Christy had completely withdrawn, shaking so badly it looked as if he were freezing beneath the warm spring sun.

N
ERO
stopped everyone near Michael’s car and dug in his breast pocket. Doling out business cards as if they were candy, Nero issued instructions. “No conversations with friends, the media, or police. Contact me at the office at the smallest sign of trouble or slightest confrontation.”

Michael put an arm around Christy and rubbed his upper arm in a futile effort to warm him.

“Have they found Jason yet?” Bobbie demanded.

“They’re still looking. I suspect his father is hiding him.”

“That’s ridiculous, Nero! The police should search their home!” Bobbie snapped. A rare event, indeed.

Michael knew how distressed his mom was. Between Jason hitting him and trying to kill him, her nerves had frayed to mere threads.

“They have. I suspect that he’s hiding Jason elsewhere.”

Michael and Jake exchanged looks.

“Papa?”

Nero turned serious, dark eyes to Jake.

“Do you remember that field down near the warehouse district where we used to set up our bike ramps?”

Nero nodded.

“Jason used to say that his dad owned that warehouse, the one that sits way off in the corner of the field.”

“The old slaughterhouse?”

Jake grimaced. “Is that what it was?”

“You haven’t been inside it?”

“Jason used to say it was haunted, so we were always too chicken to go inside.”

“It may as well be. Jason’s grandfather died in that place years ago. Some say it was an accident. Some say he met the wrong end of an angry meat cleaver. I didn’t know his family owned it. I’ll ask the police to search it.”

“Nero, what has them so interested in Michael and Christy’s relationship?” Mac asked.

“I’m certain Jason’s new attorney has suggested that Michael or Christy provoked him.”

“That’s bullshi—!”

“Michael!” Bobbie snapped.

“Mom, that’s complete crap!”

“He may also try to raise the gay panic defense and allege that one or both of you pursued him,” Nero said calmly.

Michael gaped at him.

“That’s bullshit, Papa,” Jake said angrily.

“I know, Jacob, but it doesn’t help that Christy and Stephen had an encounter in the restroom at the restaurant.”

“What?” Sophia exclaimed before starting in on Christy in angry Greek syllables.

Michael pulled Christy to him. “Sophia!”

“What?”

“If someone comes on to Christy, he gets scared and freezes up. He can’t defend himself.”

She looked from Michael to Christy and back again. “What do you—?” She stopped abruptly and turned to Christy, Greek spewing from her lips again.

Jake put a firm arm around her waist and guided her away, her angry words streaming the air behind them. “See you at Christy’s, bro! Later, Papa!” he called back over his shoulder.

Michael pulled Christy tighter to his side as Christy tried to move away.

“Michael, you promised me an MRI.”

“Dad, Christy’s barbecue starts in an hour. Can I do it afterward? I feel fine.”

Mac and Bobbie exchanged looks before Bobbie said, “Six o’clock, and not a minute later.”

“How badly are you hurt, Michael?” Nero asked.

“It’s only a bruise.”

“Document his injuries well, Mac. Take pictures.”

“Will do, Nero.”

“All right. Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mr. Santini.” Michael shook his hand.

Christy held a shaky hand out to Nero, who took it and pulled him into a bear hug. Michael was amazed that Christy didn’t have a meltdown. Then, to his utter astonishment, Nero and Christy spoke in Greek.

Christy nodded several times, then shook his head emphatically. “Only Michael.” Christy’s voice broke on Michael’s name.

“
Polý kaló.
Very good. Michael, stay in touch.”

“Okay, Mr. Santini. Thanks again.”

Nero headed back into the station to speak with the police about searching the slaughterhouse.

“Six o’clock, Michael.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks for waiting for us.”

“How are you doing, son?”

“I’m okay. I don’t want to think about Jason, or last night, or my diaphragm anymore. Can we just drop it?”

“Consider it dropped.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He kissed his mom’s cheek. “See you later, Mom.”

“Bye, honey.”

Michael opened the car door for Christy. “Bye, Dad.”

As Michael walked around the car, he suddenly had an odd feeling that someone was watching him. A sense of foreboding slowly crept up his spine as he looked around. No one loitered in the parking lot or on the front steps of the police station. He watched his parents get into their car and looked around again. Jason and Yosef were out there somewhere plotting, planning, and determined, and it was starting to wear on his nerves.
Damn you both
, he silently cursed as he got into the car.

M
ICHAEL
sat quietly as countless thoughts and images ran together in his head like a macabre daisy chain.
Stephen came on to Christy
. They can’t find Jason.
Stephen kissed
Christy.
The old warehouse was a slaughterhouse.
Stephen kissed Christy more than once.
Jason’s grandfather died in the slaughterhouse.
Christy
let
Stephen kiss him.
Man, they had so much fun in that field. To think it once held hundreds of doomed cattle was downright gruesome.
Christy let Stephen kiss him three or four times.
The detective was a jerk.
How could Christy let Stephen kiss him?
Mom is fracturing.
That’s why Christy ran from the bathroom.

“Michael.” Christy’s growl was deep, ragged.

“What?” The word came out harsh, unforgiving even to Michael’s ears, and he regretted it the moment it left his lips.

Christy breathed deeply. “I am sorry.”

Michael turned to him. “What happened in the bathroom?”

Christy pulled his pad and pen, something he hadn’t used since the day before, and began to write. When he finished, he held the pad out to Michael with a trembling hand.

“Does your throat hurt?”

Christy nodded before offering the pad to him again and accidentally dropping it.

Michael fished it from between the seat and the center console and read it. Fury and jealousy soared, and he pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to Stephen’s number.

“Hi, Stephen…. Back at you. Listen, I need to tell you something. I’m Christy’s boyfriend. I should have told you yesterday. Please don’t come on to Christy again.” Michael listened for a long moment. “No, he didn’t act interested. He can’t”—Michael glanced at Christy—“Stephen, do you know what Wellington is…? No, it’s a home for abused and neglected kids…. Yeah…. Yeah, so he can’t defend himself real well…. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that he’s afraid to say no for fear you’ll hurt him…. Yeah, it’s like that…. Yeah, okay, apology accepted. See you tomorrow.” Michael pocketed the phone. “He says to tell you he’s sorry.”

Startling Michael, Christy shot across the expanse of the car and hugged him. Michael sighed long, slow, and deep, his anger and jealousy dissipating in the comfort of Christy’s arms. In Christy’s arms, he felt complete, whole once more. When Christy sniffled, he drew back and found tears streaming Christy’s cheeks. “Don’t cry.” Michael hugged Christy tightly and stroked his back. “You need to tell me when something like that happens.”

Christy shook with silent sobs.

“Hey, come on, look at the bright side. You got away from him before anything bad happened. Or anything too bad, anyway. You rescued yourself. That’s what’s important.”

Christy drew back and looked at Michael, his brow contorted in that odd frown despite the tears. “It is the first time I saved myself.”

Michael smiled. “See? Maybe it happened for a reason.”

Christy sat back in his seat and wiped at the tears with the back of a hand. Michael reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a couple of napkins for him. Christy wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and coughed.

“You okay?”

Christy nodded. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I cannot save myself.”

Uh-oh. Damn Rob for making him keep secrets from Christy.
“That morning Evan hassled you, you were frozen. Your eyes were empty and when I put my hand on your shoulder, you thought I was going to hit you.”

“I was afraid.”

“I know. I saw it.”

“No, I mean to say I was afraid of Stephen.”

“What scared you about him? His size?”

Christy shook his head. “It isn’t one thing or the person. It is the possibilities.”

“Possibilities? I don’t understand.”

Christy rolled his lips together and brought the napkin to his eyes again. “You can’t imagine what can be done to a human body,” he sobbed.

Michael’s heart rent in two at that very moment. He thought of Christy’s three-page letter and thought sadly, more accurately, what the human body and mind can endure. He had no idea what to say and settled for stroking Christy’s curls gently, softly, reassuringly.

“When I could not push Stephen away, I thought of Jake. He says ‘get off me, gay boy’ and pushes you. I willed myself to push, to say this. I could not do it.”

“You got away, Christy. That’s what matters. It’s over. You don’t have to worry about Stephen anymore. If anything, he’ll fall all over himself apologizing to you.” Michael stroked his ringlets again. “You’re a survivor, Christy. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“There are many things wrong with me, Michael.”

Michael leaned his head against the headrest and looked at Christy. Even in tears, he was beautiful. “How much of that is perspective?”

“Do you mean to say I imagine it?”

Michael smiled a small smile. “No. I mean it’s very hard to see yourself as you truly are. For instance, I see myself as generic, and you see me as hot. I think I bumble along in life, just there and not particularly good or smart, but you think I’m kind and smart. It’s perspective.”

“I don’t understand things very well, Michael.”

“That isn’t true. You wouldn’t have good grades if you didn’t understand things.”

“Not the academics. The emotions, the expressions on the faces of people, why we are to do or not to do certain things.”

“I’ll help you.”

Christy blew his nose again. “Are you very angry with me?”

“I’m not angry with you. I was angry at the situation, but I’m not angry anymore.”

“What is the punishment?”

The question astounded Michael. “Punishment?”

“The belt? The whip? Do you wish me to—?”

“God, Christy, no!”

Christy looked at him, terror plain on his face. “Beaten?”