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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Mr. Brightside - 2. Chapter 2
Note: off stage violence occurs in this chapter
Mr. Brightside
Chapter 2
After Shane left, Jason stood there for a bit, shell shocked. The kiss had been brief, just the merest press of Shane’s lips to Jason, yet his world had been shaken. He had kissed Shane once before, but had forced himself to forget how perfect it had felt. He couldn't do that again. This time he knew he wouldn't be able to repress his feelings for the other man.
Jason knew that if he had even the slightest chance of making Shane some part of his life, on what ever terms Shane agreed to, he would have to take it. And Jason knew that it would mean the end to the status quo, to the carefully and painfully built facade he had created over many years. He also knew that there was no way to carry on the same as before, especially with Denise.
Jason turned back toward the bar, deciding on one more drink. There was no way he could sleep, and his empty, box littered apartment held no charms for him. He ordered another beer from the same bartender who asked if he had managed to talk to Shane. Jason, not wanting to talk about their conversation, answered brusquely in the affirmative, quickly paid his tab, and took his beer to a quiet corner to mull over the problem of Denise.
He knew he didn’t love her, but he had managed to avoid thinking about that, focusing on the positives. They were good together on paper, he knew. She was the sister of his best friend, Brad, a fellow engineering student. They had become roommates after Shane had left the dorm, and Brad had gradually penetrated the shell Jason built around himself after the disastrous end to his friendship with Shane. Jason had never returned to being the carefree guy he had been before, but Brad had been able to occasionally coax him out of their room or the library for some fun.
Brad had taken Jason home with him for a summer weekend, where he had met Denise, who was home from the out of state college she attended. She was blond and pretty and uncomplicated, and had clearly taken a fancy to him. Before Jason really knew it, he was spending lots of weekends at home with Brad, taking Denise on double dates with Brad and his high school sweetheart who still lived in their hometown. Jason liked her well enough, and it just seemed the easiest thing to go along with it. The last thing he wanted was complications; life had gotten too complicated once before, ending in disaster, and he wanted to avoid that again. Besides, their dating made so many people happy---Brad, Denise, Jason’s parents, everybody it seemed. And if he weren’t so happy, what did it really matter?
So they continued date. And one day, Jason realized that everyone, including Denise was expecting a proposal. He knew he wanted a normal life, a wife and kids and a good job...the whole cliched American Dream. Why not her? His parents were thrilled with her; Denise was a good, wholesome girl, an education major. She was quite religious, raised by strict parents, and Jason was secretly relieved that she insisted on saving sex for after marriage. It just made things easier. Besides, it all seemed so far away, since she wanted to wait until after she completed her education, including a Masters’ degree, before getting married.
He hadn’t cheated on her; Jason took his engagement seriously, and except for the two trips to the gay bars, he hadn’t done anything with a guy since a bit of fooling around his senior year of high school. He had slept with a few girls in high school and had dated a bit in his first year or so of college, but it had never been particularly fulfilling. So in the past few years, he had chosen celibacy except for the occasional make out sessions with Denise, and she insisted on a “no hands below the waist” rule. Sometimes he worried about his sexual performance after marriage, but always managed to put those thoughts away, reminding himself that it was still a long way away.
But now, thinking of Shane's kiss, he couldn’t put them away. Because that quick kiss had sent shivers down his spine. That quick kiss had made him realize what he had been missing, what he had never had with Denise, with any girl, with anyone else but Shane. That quick kiss made him want more. It made him want Shane, but Jason, being honest with himself for once, wasn’t sure if he was willing to pay the price of pursuing a relationship with Shane (assuming, and Jason realized it was a very big assumption, Shane was willing to agree to try).
Still restless after the beer, and unwilling to go home even though it was very, very late, almost 3am, Jason realized he hadn’t eaten since lunch. He had been too nervous about his trip to Le Coq (stupid name for a bar, he thought) to eat dinner, and he hoped that putting some food in his stomach might help him. He Googled late night restaurants, and settled on a diner on Bourbon, the Clover Grill. At the time of the morning, the place was almost empty. An endless cup of hot coffee and a burger did help his mood a bit, but even after hours in the brightly diner, sipping on coffee and listening to the increasingly random jukebox selections, Jason was still confused about everything. What he wanted, what he was willing to risk, what he was willing to do.
Around 6am, about the time exhaustion was starting to set in and he was planning to call a cab to take him home, Jason’s phone rang. It was a local number, but one he didn’t recognize. It must be Shane he thought, a bit surprised. Jason had been hoping to hear from his former friend, but certainly not this soon. He hesitated before answering, uncertain, confused thoughts twirling through his mind, but in the end, Jason couldn’t risk Shane’s feeling rejected if he didn’t get an answer.
“Hello,” he said, uncertainly.
“Is this Jason Reid?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“I’m with the Lakeside Hospital. A patient with no I.D. has been brought in, but we found a card with your name and number in his pocket. Is there any chance you might be able to identify him?”
A sick feeling rolled through Jason, and the bottom dropped out his stomach. It was with great difficulty that he managed to not throw up.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Does he have red hair and a beard? And a big tattoo on his right arm?” The woman on the other end paused, and Jason heard a sound like rustling paper.
“Please be a mistake,” he kept whispering to himself, “Please be a mistake….”
“Yes,” she said. “That matches the description of the patient.”
“I’ll be right there. What’s the address?”
Jason paid his bill, cursing the time it took to run his card, but while the server was finishing the transaction, the short order cook was calling a cab for Jason. In what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes, Jason was on his way to the hospital. Awful thoughts were running through his head; he had been so stunned that he hadn’t asked why Shane was taken to the hospital, or even if he was still alive. Worst case scenarios kept running through his mind, and he gritted his teeth at every red light and stop sign. When they finally made it to the hospital entrance, Jason threw a wad of cash at the driver with barely a glance and ran inside.
Once inside, he found admittance and the woman who had called.
“Is he okay? The guy you brought in. Is he okay?” he yelled.
“Sir, calm down. I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”
With every ounce of effort he possessed, Jason willed himself to breathe deeply and focus. “I’m sorry. Is he okay?” he said.
“Are you a family member?” she asked.
“No. I’m……” he paused, “a friend.”
“I’m really sorry,” her face reflected that she was speaking the truth, “I can’t discuss his case with you since you’re not related. But…” she quickly added seeing Jason’s fallen face, “but he is still alive. He’s in ICU. He's in a coma. He….” here she lowered her voice, and looked around as if to make sure no one could hear her, “was attacked...beaten. They think he will make it.”
“Jesus.” Jason lowered his face to his hands.
“Sir,” the gentle voice came again. “I want to help him. I need you to give me his name and information please.”
Jason looked up. “Of course. Sorry. His name is Shane. Shane O’Neal. With an “ea”” he added.
“Next of kin?”
“His mother died when he was in high school. His grandmother, too.”
The woman looked up, with a questioning look.
“Car accident,” Jason said. “His other grandparents died before he was born. No siblings, and I think his parents were only children too. I don’t remember him mentioning any aunts or uncles. He had a couple of older cousins. Third cousins I think.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “Father? Is he still alive?”
"Ummm…..I actually don’t know. He has to be in his late sixties. He was in his 40s when Shane was born. Last I knew of him was 4 years ago. He had a farm up in North Louisiana. Carroll Parish. I think his first name was Joseph. I know he remarried.”
“Well, at least we have something to go on. We’ll try to contact Mr. O’Neal or his wife.”
“Birth date?”
“November 29…” he thought for a moment, “1991.”
The questions continued, and he answered as many as he could, which was a distressingly small amount. Just as he was finishing, two men walked over to him. One was in his early 30s, about 6 feet tall, not fat, but with a bit of a belly. He was cleanly shaven with dark hair in a neat, conservative cut. His partner was older, Hispanic, approximately the same size, but with longer, shaggy black hair and a goatee.
“Mr. Reid?” the Latino asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Rodriguez and this is Detective Venturi. Are you finished here? We need to ask you some questions.”
Jason looked at the admissions nurse, who indicated they were done. Feeling surreal, as if he had wandered into an episode of Law and Order, Jason followed the two detectives into a small room.
“We understand that you are the name on the card found in the victim’s pocket. Is that right?” asked Venturi.
“Yes.”
“Do you know how he got your card?” Venturi continued, as Rodriguez made notes.
“I gave it to him.”
“What is the victim’s name?”
“Shane O’Neal. With an “ea” not “ei”.”
“Thanks. Do you know his address?”
“No.”
“How do you know the victim?”
It was starting to annoy Jason that they kept calling Shane “the victim.” “Shane,” he emphasized the name, “and I were friends in high school and roomed together in college for a while.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Tonight.” The detectives exchanged looks.
“What time?” Rodriquez interjected.
“I first saw him around midnight, then I actually talked to him after his shift around 2am. Look,” Jason interrupted. “What happened to him. The nurse just told me he got beaten. What happened? How bad is it?”
“Hey kid, I know you’re upset,” Venturi said while Rodriguez gave him a dark look. “But what we’re trying to do is find out what did happen. I can tell you,” he continued as Rodriguez turned his glare to his partner, “he was beat up, and really bad. He’s still unconscious, which is why we’re talking to you instead of him. So, to get back to it,” Venturi paused and looked at the notebook in his partner’s hand. You said something about a shift. You saw him at work, then? Where?”
Jason, paused, squirming. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to these two about a gay bar. After a moment, while the detectives looked at him expectantly he sighed, and said. “He was dancing at Le Coq. That’s where I saw him. After he finished, I talked to him for maybe 5 minutes right outside. Then he walked off down the street. Toward Esplanade.”
“Le Coq? On Burgundy, right?”
Jason nodded.
“Anyone see this conversation?” Venturi continued.
“There was doorman taking covers. I’m pretty sure he saw us. Anyway, after Shane left I went back in and ordered another beer.”
:”Would the bartender remember you?”
Shit, Jason realized in horror. They think I’m a fucking suspect. Jesus Christ, could this get any worse? “I think so. We talked for a bit.”
“How did you pay?”
“Credit card. Wait a minute,” Jason dug in his pants, pulling out the receipt. He handed it to Venturi, who examined it carefully before passing it to Rodriguez who also examined it, and made some careful notations.
“I recommend you kept hold of that,” Rodriguez said, passing it back to Jason. “Is that what you were wearing when you saw the victim at Le Coq?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think the bartender will remember it?”
Jason looked down. He was wearing a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and khaki cargo shorts. Hardly a memorable outfit. He shrugged in answer.
“Before tonight, when was the last time you saw the victim?” Venturi asked.
“Shane,” Jason said. “His name is Shane.” Again, an exchanged look and a notation.
“Before tonight, when was the last time you saw Shane?” Venturi, repeated the question emphasizing the name.
“4 years ago.” Jason caught a look of surprise from Venturi. “We had a…..” he paused and thought carefully before finishing “falling out at the end of fall quarter our sophomore year. Shane ended up dropping out that spring and just left. I didn’t know how to reach him.”
“Did you go to Le Coq to find him?” Rodriguez asked.
“NO!” Jason said, far too loud. He collected himself and continued. “No, like I said, I haven’t seen him in four years. I didn’t even know he lived in New Orleans. I just moved here a few days ago. Last night, I just decided to go out. I don’t really know why I went to Le Coq, I just ended up there. I was really surprised to see him.”
Rodriguez gave him a little smirk as if to let Jason know that the Detective knew exactly why people like Jason went to that particular bar. Jason tried to ignore him.
“When did you leave Le Coq?”
"About 3.”
“Where did you go after?”
“I was hungry, so I went to Clover Grill.”
“ How long did you stay there?”
“I was actually there when the hospital called me.”
Again, the detectives exchanged looks. Venturi spoke. “You stayed there for almost three hours? Why?”
“I had a lot of my mind. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, and I didn’t want to go home.”
“Do you think the staff will remember you?”
“Yeah. Of course. They calmed me down. I was freaking out when the call came about Shane. The cook even called the cab for me.”
“Do you have a receipt?”
This time Jason, didn’t answer, just automatically dug for the receipt. Again it was examined, and Rodriguez made notations.
“You took a cab here? Do you remember which company?” Venturi asked.
“United, I think. The guy at Clover will know. He told me it’s the one he uses.”
“Can I see your hands,” Rodriguez asked. Jason shot him a puzzled look, but stretched his hands out toward the detective, who carefully examined them, turning them over, before making more notes.
“Look, kid,” Rodriguez, said, finally closing his notebook and looking at Venturi, who nodded at his partner, “We’ll have to check this all out, but there ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell you’re our perp. Whoever it was beat that kid,” apparently anyone under 30 qualified as a kid, Jason thought, “worked him over pretty bad. Ain’t no way he didn’t get blood on himself and came away without bruising his own knuckles pretty bad. Still,” here he dug in a pocket and produced a card, “keep in touch, especially if you decide to head out of town. Or if you remember anything that you think might help.” They got up to leave.
With the relief of knowing he wasn’t a suspect, Jason relaxed. Suddenly, something occurred to him. “Wait,” he said. The pair of older men stopped and turned, looking at him with surprise. “I don’t know if this means anything or not, but something did happen a little weird at the bar.”
Rodriguez retrieved the notebook, flipped it open and said, “Shoot.”
“Well, when Shane was leaving the floor to change, some guy grabbed him. I was too far away to hear what he said, but whatever it was, it pissed off Shane. He hit the guy, then one of the bouncers hustled him out.”
“Probably nothing,” Venturi said, “but still…..What did the guy look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him. I only saw him from behind. He was taller than Shane by a couple of inches…..I remember him leaning down to whisper in his ear.” Jason closed his eyes trying to concentrate. “He was white. About average weight. Not too big, not skinny. He had a cap on, but he had brown hair…..sorry that’s all I remember.”
“Do you remember which bouncer?”
“Bald. Big black beard. Lots of tattoos. Kind of scary looking.”
The detectives looked at each other. “Barry,” they both said at the same time and laughed. They saw Jason’s surprise, and Rodriguez explained, “In this line of work, you eventually learn all the bouncers. That’s where a lot of the good info is. Anyway, kid, sorry about your friend.” He looked Jason in the eye, and Venturi put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise you we will do our best to find the creep who did this.”
After they left, Jason found the admittance nurse and tried to find out more about Shane.
“I really don’t know anything,” she said. “Look,” she paused and pulled up a schedule on her computer. “ICU visiting hours start tomorrow at 1. My friend Laurie is working then. I’ll let her know to look for you. Maybe she can tell you something.” Jason started to protest, but she stopped him. “Look, honey, quite frankly you look like shit. There is nothing more you can do for your friend right now. Go home, get some sleep, and come back at one. That’s an order.”
Recognizing the wisdom, in her words, Jason left. A quick Google search later, he was in a cab headed toward his apartment. It was almost 8am. Reaching home, he took a quick shower, remembering to turn on his alarm clock and to turn off his phone before falling into bed to catch a few hours of sleep. At 12:00, the alarm blared, startling him. He ruefully remembered how hard it had been to train himself to wake to one after having gotten used to Shane’s shaking him awake every morning. Thinking of Shane brought back the memory of all that had happened, and he was in a somber mood as he made coffee and a sandwich before heading back to the hospital.
When he reached the car, he remembered he had turned his phone off earlier, and wasn’t surprised to see a flurry of texts and missed calls from Denise. She usually called him a couple of times a day and didn’t like it when he was out of pocket. He thought about ignoring her, but realized that would only make it worse when she finally got in touch with her. Oh God, he thought as he dialed her, if this is bad, how bad is breaking up with her going to be?
She answered immediately. “I’ve been trying to get you all morning. Where were you? Why was your phone off?”
“I turned it off to get some sleep. I was up all night and had to go the hospital first thing this afternoon.”
“Hospital? Oh my goodness, are you alright? Do I need to come down? Oh my goodness.”
Jesus he thought, Jason, you really are stupid. Why did you mention the hospital? He said, “Calm down it wasn’t me. One of my friends got attacked in the French Quarter, and he had my card in his pocket. He’s….,” Jason swallowed hard thinking about Shane, “he was unconscious and didn’t have I.D., so the hospital called me.”
“You had me so worried. I’m sorry about your friend, but thank goodness it wasn’t you.” They spoke for a minute about various things, but before Jason could get of the phone, she said, “What friend was it? I didn’t think you knew anybody in New Orleans.”
Briefly, Jason thought about lying, but he was tired of lying, and too tired, period, to come up with a story on the spur of the moment. “It was Shane. My roommate before Brad. I happened to run into him the French Quarter.”
“Shane?” Denise said, “The gay guy? Well, in that case I can’t say I’m surprised he got beaten up. You know those people and their lifestyle. I’m surprised he’s still alive; I assumed he had already gotten AIDS. At any rate he’s not your concern.”
Jason was stunned. He knew Denise and her family were deeply religious and conservative, and he quite frankly knew they held a dim view of gays. He had certainly avoided the topics of gay rights and same sex marriage around them, but he was still taken aback by her vitriol.
“Denise,” he said, trying to keep his tone even, “whether or not Shane is gay, he was, and is, a friend, and deserves some compassion.”
“I didn’t make the rules,” she said, “God did. ‘The wages of sin are death.’”
He snapped. “Do you even hear yourself? My friend,” he emphasized the word friend. “is in a fucking coma after being fucking beaten, almost to death. And you can’t find any compassion for him? And you call yourself a Christian. Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You do not talk to me that way. Do you understand me?” she screamed. “It’s not my fault some queer’s choices caught up to him. I will not allow that kind of….”
Jason cut her off. “Go fuck yourself,” he said, hitting the end button. Almost immediately the phone rang, but he quickly turned it off and flung it into the passenger seat.
Note: off stage violence occurs in this chapter
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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