Only Prompts - 6. Do No Harm

Do No Harm

I waited for the nurse to leave the room before turning to glare at Jack. I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him out of the room and down the hall to one of the ward offices. I pushed Jack inside, probably more roughly than I should have, closed, and locked the door.

I wheeled around and hissed at him, “What the fuck are you doing?

My words hit him and he sat on the desk, his ass rocking the dirty plate someone had left behind.

His icy-blue eyes considered me. “What?”

“Seriously? What? I’m warning you right now. This is the last time. You do this again and I’ll call the cops. I should have long ago.” I was angry with Jack, but with myself more. I’d let this continue to happen.

“You won’t.” He sneered, his eyes flashed dangerously.

“That boy down the hall loves you, Jack. Yet you beat him, degrade him and I don’t understand why. He’s good for you, would do anything for you. Did you actually look at him down there, actually see? I mean really see what you have done?” I stopped for a breath. Although I felt some guilt, Jack had been the one to actually assault Tommy.

I had known Jack since pre-med. We’d both wanted to be doctors, we’re both gay and we were drawn to each other—well, me to Jack’s edginess. He was everything I wasn’t and his ‘fuck you’ attitude was exciting—he dragged me out of my protective shell.

He took me to clubs and bars I’d never have gone to on my own. They were exciting places, yet they frightened the quiet farm boy inside of me. Deep down, where I’d chosen to hide the truth, I knew Jack was unstable. There were many nights which had proven that, but the one that always surfaces through the mental barriers I’ve tried to put in place, was the one at the bar called Dangerous.

It was a BDSM club and anything went there; there were no rules. Jack convinced me we’d have a great time and likely get laid. Back then sex was a big draw for me since I was still a virgin at twenty years old. So I agreed to go.

Jack was dressed in leather pants so tight they must have been sewn on. His shirt was also form-fitting and left nothing to the imagination. He carried with him a small leather bullwhip. Masculine power and sexuality dripped from him and I trotted behind like his slave-boy, though I was overdressed for the part. Our table was in the midst of everything and I saw sights that both excited and repulsed me—subs performing oral sex and naked girls and boys being slapped or spanked, or in the next room an orgy. We’d had a couple of drinks, and were awaiting our third, when our waiter, a sweet, slim submissive type, slipped and covered Jack in beer and rye.

Furious, Jack leapt to his feet with the bullwhip in his hand. He proceeded to strike our poor waiter. The young man now on his knees cringed on the floor, begging for forgiveness. Jack seemed out of control and no one around us seemed to think much of his treatment of the boy. But I did and I ineffectually said Jack’s name a couple of times, but he was enjoying his work and wasn’t listening to me. Finally I got to my feet, and as he raised his arm again to strike the now-bleeding boy I grabbed his wrist, and pulled the whip from him with my other hand.

“Stop it!” I yelled at him. “That’s enough.”

He whirled on me, and I swear my heart stopped in my chest, such was the look on Jack’s face. The only way to describe it was complete hatred and evil. So strong was my reaction to him, I took an involuntary step backward. He glared at me for a moment, before turning back again to his prey. He pulled the waiter to his feet and then in close. Jack spoke to the waiter too quietly for me to hear, but the boy ran, with tears in his eyes once he’d been released.

Then he turned back to me. His eyes were soulless and his voice flat. “Touch me again and I promise you will regret it.”

He stalked off, leaving me on my own at Dangerous.

At first these places with live sex shows or BDSM were enough for him, but eventually he found more corrupt interests and eventually dropped out of school. Though we still saw each other from time to time, to be honest, it was a relief to be away from him.

It had been three years ago when he first asked for my help. A sex game that had gotten too rough—would I have a quick look at his boy? These injuries from rough play occurred a couple of times and I always felt compelled to help him. I didn’t help so much for Jack’s sake—no, it was for me. Jack still excited me; he appealed to part of my nature I’m ashamed I have.

The first time I met Tom Hillary was when I’d invited Jack over to dinner on the spur of the moment, when I’d run into him at a local burger bar—I’d told him to bring a date if he wanted to.

It was in mid-January and they both came in laughing. Outside it was snowing heavily, and they were covered in large fluffy flakes. Jack is tall, blond and Nordic, and Tom is his opposite, dark, and Mediterranean. I remember thinking how sexy Tommy looked dressed in a hunter green leather coat, but there was a sense of humour in the lime-green hat.

Love seemed to have changed Jack for the better.

Tom I found was a sweet, funny guy, devoted and very loving. I’d have cherished him if he were mine, not used him as a verbal and physical punching bag.

“You wouldn’t dare report me, John. They’d take away your medical license. So unless you’re willing to do that, just shut-up.” Jack’s words filtered into my thoughts.

“Maybe so, but it’d be worth it if it stopped you from hurting him.”

Jack stood up and moved me out of his way. He unlocked the door and glanced at me. “You don’t mean that or you’d have done it already.”

“Don’t ask for my help again.”

“If that’s how you want it.” With that he walked out of the office. He’d turned right, so I knew he wasn’t heading back to Tommy’s room.

Now that I was finished ranting, I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. Would this mean things could be worse for Tom? If I wasn’t willing to help him when Jack beat him next time, maybe he’d not receive any treatment. That wasn’t good. Not good at all.

I walked down the hall to see my patient.

Tommy was on his left side and I could tell by the small quiet convulsions of his shoulders he was crying. It broke my heart.

I pulled up the chair and sat with him. I spoke to him softly, “Tom? Tommy? It’s John.”

The poor soul lay there, face wet with tears, several butterfly bandages on the cheek near his left eye and it was black and swollen—he couldn’t open it fully. Under the cotton sheets and the hospital gown were broken ribs, bruised kidneys, and all manner of bruises and contusions.

Tommy looked at me through teary eyes and slowly reached out a hand.

That prick should be here with his boy, not me.

I took his hand and squeezed. “Hey, how are you doing?”

He squeezed back to his credit, and whispered, “Okay, John.”

Damn, I was angry, but I tried not to let it show. “How’s your pain?”

“Guess about a seven.”

“I can get you something for it, if you’re too uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m okay. Tom sighed. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Tommy. I spoke to him earlier but he walked away.” Now was probably not the time for my next question, but I was rarely alone with Tom. “Tommy, why? I mean why do you let him do this to you?”

“Let him? I don’t let him, John.”

“Then I don’t understand.” I couldn’t read the look in his eyes but it felt like a warning.

“He’s not alone when he does this.”

My stomach turned when he said those words, but I steeled myself. I was sure there was going to be more. “Tommy, you need to tell me what’s going on. Please, let me help you, otherwise I think he’ll kill you.”

“You can’t help me.” Tommy closed his eyes. “Once I’m not of any use, he’ll let me be killed.”

“Let you? Tommy, you need to tell me.”

“John, did you ever wonder how Jack makes money? You’ve known him for a while.”

I thought about that. I mean I had known Jack for a while. He had a beautiful house and a nice car. He said he worked in personnel for a well-known brokerage house. I’d never had reason to doubt him.

Tommy then related to me stories so horrible I don’t think I’d ever be able to imagine them on my own. Stories of brutal men who paid Jack to find boys for them, who they then abused, tortured and raped. He explained that when these poor boys were no longer of any use, there were even more debased men who took them away.

Tommy sighed and said, “He’s never said what happens to them, but I’ve never seen them come back.”

Jack sometimes took one as his favourite, but that boy still had to earn his keep, so to speak.

“I really thought he loved me, but he was just grooming me so when he gave me his sad story, I’d go willingly to help pay whatever debt he owed. Eventually, he just told me the truth, cuz he knew I’d never get away. He said I was the lucky one … .”

God—I wanted to weep. It was so much worse than I’d thought.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then, to change the subject, I asked him what he’d do if he did get away.

“You know what I want, John? “

I smiled at him and said no.

“I’d like to live by the water someplace. Like with running water, ya know? So you can hear it. And shade—I’d really like there to be shade. What are those big trees called the ones where the leaves and stuff touch the ground?”

“You mean a Weeping Willow?”

“Yeah that’s it. I’d like one of them. I can see it, ya know? Such a green peaceful place.”

“It sounds perfect, Tom.”

I took my leave of Tom and left notes he was not to be disturbed by anyone, including Jack, and went home. As I drove I thought about Tom’s special place and especially the Willow. It was a symbol of healing and peace—the perfect choice.

Once home, I showered and I tried to eat, but found I wanted nothing. Then I sat with the television on, but there was nothing that could keep my attention. I finally went to bed—I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing Tommy’s broken face, the horrible black eye and hearing him say I was the lucky one.

It was about 2am when I got up, dressed and climbed into my car. I drove to Jack’s house. I’d expected it to be lit up for some reason but it wasn’t, it was black. Not a light anywhere. I wanted to yell at him, tell him to stop. I was going to tell him I wanted Tommy.

Opening the car door I stepped out onto the road. I walked to the house and the security light on the porch came on. I rang the doorbell, long and hard. A couple of minutes passed before the door was pulled open.

“What the fuck?” Jack stood there in leave-nothing-to-the-imagination boxers. “John? Do you know what time it is? Did something happen to Tommy? Come in.”

I entered the beautifully appointed house. It was a wonderful place, bright, and it always seemed happy to me. It didn’t right now.

He stood there, blond and handsome. “Well? Is Tommy okay?”

Mentally I cleared my head, “Yes. He was asleep when I left him. He told me … things …about you.”

Jack stared at me, then turned and stalked into the kitchen. I followed him and stood next to the counter. Jack poured a very good whiskey into crystal glasses and handed me one. I waited until he’d sipped before trying some myself. Jack smirked as he watched me.

“So what did my imaginative boy tell you, John?”

“He told me how he got the bruises and how you make money.” I put my glass down. “I’ll keep quiet but it will cost you.”

Jack gripped the edge of the island in the centre of the kitchen. “Will it? How much? Never thought you’d have the balls for blackmail.”

Ignoring his taunts I told him, “I want Tommy.”

Jack laughed. “Do you? Why? You think he’s gonna fall in love with you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not thinking that far ahead. I just know I want to save him from you.”

Suddenly the mood in the room changed, Jack’s eyes were cold as he said, “That is not going to happen, John. I can forget tonight. Go home, be there when I need you and keep your mouth shut.”

“No.”

Bitter laughter spilled from Jack’s lips. “Then you leave me no choice John. It’s a shame though, your skills came in handy.”

As he came around the island toward me, he had the same look I’d seen back at Dangerous. He was angry and I couldn’t breathe. I took a step back—I know my Hippocratic Oath said First do no harm—but I didn’t think about that at all when Jack started to come closer. I looked at the countertop, pulled the carving knife from the block, and when he got close enough I sank it into his chest and pushed upward into his heart.

Takes a little while for the victim to die that way and he did fight a bit, but I held fast to the knife. He slumped backward on the island and his blood formed a puddle beneath him. Finally he was still and I helped his body slide down to the floor.

I hadn’t planned to kill him, and at least right now, I felt no remorse for having done so.

I found bleach in the cupboard under the sink and made a solution in the sink itself. I used some kitchen paper to carefully clean the handle of the knife. Then I wiped down all the kitchen surfaces—I hadn’t touched much in there anyway. I washed both glasses carefully in the same solution, rinsed them well, dried them, and put them away in the cupboard, never allowing my fingers to touch the glass.

After spending a bit more time cleaning, I left and drove home. It was nearing 5am. The sun was rising as I pulled into my driveway.

Damn, that bloody squirrel is in my bird feeder again! I opened and slammed my door. The little black marauder scampered off. Bastard!

Suddenly weary, I sat in the car, holding the steering wheel at the top. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against my hands, enjoying the coolness there. Then they were wet with my tears. Why was I crying over that poor excuse of a man?

I had to think and wiped away my tears. What would I tell Tommy? He’d want to know where Jack was. Should I tell him the truth?

No, no, never. It’s your sin, you carry it. You cannot share this to make yourself feel better. You know, Johnny old boy, Jack would have killed you today … yes, yes I know and I know it’s wrong but I wasn’t going to let him kill me.

When they tell you, you can see murder in their eyes, let me assure you, you can.

I went into the house, showered and dressed for work. I badly wanted to go bed. I wanted all this to be a dream. I wanted to turn back time … No, no I didn’t. I could only pray I’d done the right thing, for all those boys he would have hurt in the future. For Tommy.

My patient was sitting up and eating jello when I arrived. His eye was still very swollen and he grimaced when he moved, but he gave me a little smile when I entered the room.

“Morning Tommy. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad, John. Well, a little sore.” Tom kept looking toward the door. “Have you heard from Jack?”

To avoid outright lies as much as possible I decided to be as honest as I could be. “No, I haven’t heard from him since last night, Tommy.”

“He’s not answering my texts or calls.”

God! I wanted to shake some sense into him, but Tommy went on without input from me.

“He’s probably with someone else. Wouldn’t be the first time, or the last I guess.”

“Jack cheated on you?”

“All the time. Is it cheating when the guy you live with comes in with someone and says: We’ll be busy in the bedroom. Stay out here?”

My temples throbbed with guilt and exhaustion, but mostly with the horror of what this young man had been through. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“And go where? I have no friends or family.”

“Me? I’ve been a friend.”

Tom was quiet for a minute, his dark eyes confused. “You? Jack said you were his best friend. True and loyal.”

I snorted. “I knew Jack, but we were not really close. I tried a few times to get closer to him, but he never seemed interested.”

We talked a little longer, but Tom was tired and I left him after he lay down to rest.

After rounds, some clinic duty and a final visit to a worried Tommy, I finished my shift and went home.

I slept through the night with no dreams good or bad. My alarm went off at 5am. I could hear my phone ringing while I showered; once out and dry I checked it. A page from work, could I call in please. I made coffee and put in some bread to toast; then I called my service.

“Dr. Reynolds, your patient Tom Hillary had to be sedated this morning. They are asking you to go in. The police are there and are asking to speak with you,” Maria, one of the women who worked at the answering service I use, related.

“Let them know I’m on my way, please. Thank you, Maria.”

Tommy was asleep when I got to the hospital. But there were police to deal with—I found them in one of the meeting rooms.

“You were looking for me? I’m John Reynolds, Tom Hillary’s doctor.”

The detective eyed me carefully before he spoke. “I’m Detective James Kitchen, thank you for coming in early, Doctor. There’s been a murder—Jack Arbour was found dead by a neighbour today. You know him, I understand.”

I blinked and nodded, “Yes I know him, for a few years now. Murdered? Do you mind if I take a seat?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” I slumped into a nearby chair. “Murdered? Who’d want to kill him?”

“We’re not sure. What happened to his boyfriend, Tom Hillary? You’ve been treating him.”

“Jack happened to him.” I drew in a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, they loved each other, but their relationship was always very physical.”

“Dr. Reynolds, are you saying that Arbour beat his lover?”

“Yes.” I wished for water. “He was admitted three days ago, for broken ribs, severe bruises, the black eye. He confessed it was Jack who’d done it. Oh my god, you’re not thinking it was Tom?”

Detective Kitchen gazed at me mutely for a few seconds. “No, the timelines don’t work. Okay, Doctor, thank you. I may have more questions for you later.”

I got to my feet. “Of course, Detective.”

Going through my usual routine helped stave off the attack of nerves that threatened to derail me—I checked on other patients before finally returning to Tom. The nurses had been in and he was washed and in a clean gown, but he’d been crying. Sucking in a deep breath, I walked into his room.

“John, hi. The police were here. They told me … told me … that Jack is dead. They asked me if I knew who would want him dead.” He dabbed at his leaky eyes with a rough hospital tissue.

“What did you say?” I sat in the visitor’s chair next to him.

“I told them everything. All the stuff he’d done to me, where they could find everything. He kept recordings of a lot the … play. He watched it later—made me watch it too, while he … he … .”

I held a finger to my lips and reached for Tommy’s hand and held it.

A year and a half has passed. There had been a big trial of multiple suspects on numerous charges. They tracked down the people who were involved in Jack’s sick business but they hadn’t been able to prove who had killed Jack.

Tommy had lived with Jack for just over a year, so he received whatever Jack left behind—he’d had no other family. Tommy couldn’t live in that house, so he sold it and bought a sweet bungalow down by the river. It’s a perfect place for him. There’s even the willow tree he wanted—their supple branches providing cooling shade and their strength is a metaphor for people recovering from abuse.

Me? I’ve dealt with my guilt—what I’d been forced to do. I rarely think of Jack Arbour any more. And us? Well, Tommy and I saw each other now and again. I never asked him out because it wasn’t right at the time. We both had to get over Jack.

But today, today I’m calling Tommy and I’m going to ask him out on a date. There will be a kiss at the end of it, right on the lips. And if I’m lucky, this will be the start of something good.

***