Bleeding Hearts - 4. Chapter 4

I was floating in complete darkness.

Or at least that’s what it felt like.

I don’t know how long I was there before I became aware. It could have been forever or no time at all. I was in no rush to leave.

Slowly, I began to notice a bright white light visible even through my closed eyelids.

The events leading up to my blackout flooded back into my consciousness with a sudden rush, and I crashed back into my body. I found myself wishing for the bliss of the darkness again. I remembered going to meet Seth. I remembered getting jumped. I remembered being stabbed. I remembered the pain.

The pain!

That was when I realized I was no longer in pain. Had I died? Was that what the black nothingness was? I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt so heavy. Through pure force of will I managed to open one eye only to quickly shut it again. The light was blinding. I was tempted just to slip back into oblivion, but as usual, my curiosity got the better of me. I blinked my eyes open once more, a little more cautiously this time.

Well, I wasn’t in heaven, that was for sure—not unless they hooked you up to machines and painted their rooms a sickly mint green.

A nurse wearing the typical uniform of brightly colored top over blue scrubs with white shoes walked into my field of vision. I guessed she was in her early sixties. She looked pleasant enough, with close-cropped gray hair and a competent air.

I tried to speak to let her know I was awake, but all that came out was a coarse rasp.

She started at the sudden sound, then smiled warmly at me. “Ah, I see you finally decided to join us again, Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?”

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m not...” My voice was scratchy and harsh.

She quickly offered me a sip from a straw stuck in a cup of water.

The cool liquid immediately soothed my throat, and I was ready to make another attempt. “I’m not sure. How long was I out? Was I in a coma?”

“No, no coma,” she told me as she started checking 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?”

Now that she mentioned it, the pain was starting to come back a little more with each breath. 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. 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 or you gotta pee, whatever, just push this little red button here.”

She showed me a small remote control attached to the wall with a wire. Besides the red call button, it had others to adjust my bed and control the TV.

“This will page us at the nurses’ station. Someone will come and check on you, although it might not always be me. Just don’t try to get out of bed. Got it?”

I nodded again, really hoping I wouldn’t have to pee. That sounded embarrassing.

She bustled about busily for a few more minutes, checking the various machines again, taking my blood pressure and temperature, then breezed out, waving at me as she went.

I played with the bed for a few minutes, raising and lowering it, as much to distract myself from my thoughts as for any real entertainment value.

Before long, the medicine started kicking in, and I found myself growing drowsy.

I was just about to drop back off to sleep when a tall black man with a thin mustache walked into the room. Judging by the white coat and the stethoscope around his neck, I guessed he was the doctor.

“Hello there, Killian,” he said.

He pulled up a chair (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 at eye level with me.

“My name is Dr. Murray. I’m your primary physician, and I performed your surgery. 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 twenty-four hours.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Well, do you remember what happened?”

I nodded slowly and tried to focus my eyes. The room was starting to look a little blurry. “I was stabbed.”

“Yes. The good news is you’re going to be just fine, though it’s going to take a while before you feel normal—several weeks at least. It’s never a good thing to get stabbed, but if you’re going to have a knife stuck in you, this was the best-case scenario. The knife entered at a perfect angle. It missed most of the important stuff and only punctured your lung. We’ve stitched up what needed stitching, so now you just need rest to finish up the job. Like I said, that’s not going to happen fast, and it’s going to hurt quite a bit, but that’s why God invented drugs.” He smiled warmly and waited for me to laugh at his joke.

When I failed to respond, he continued. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, and I’m sure someone showed you how to contact the nurses if you need anything. Any questions?”

“Are the police going to ask me questions now that I’m awake?”

He looked startled for a second, then burst into laughter. He had a big, booming laugh that annoyed the hell out of me.

“You’ve watched too many cop shows. No, they aren’t going to need to ask you any questions. You were awake enough just before surgery to tell us that you didn’t see your assailant. Last I heard, the police are saying you interrupted a mugging, classic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They haven’t caught the bad guy yet, but they’re looking.”

I couldn’t help feeling that he was talking down to me, yet there didn’t seem to be any point in pressing the issue. Besides, I was so sleepy.

Dr. Murray stood up as if to leave.

Through my fog I realized he’d left out some important information. I struggled to stay awake for a little longer. “Wait, what about Seth?” I asked.

Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe it had just been a bad dream, and it wasn’t really Seth, or, if it was, maybe they had been able to save him, too.

“That was the other young man?” Dr. Murray’s jovial manner was gone now. He was all business. That couldn’t mean good news.

I nodded.

“Did you know him?” he asked.

Past tense. Definitely not good. I nodded again.

“I’m sorry. He was gone when the police got there.”

“Gone?” I asked with a note of hope. Maybe he just meant he’d gotten up and walked away.

“I’m sorry, Killian. He was...already dead. There was nothing they could do.” The doctor looked at me sympathetically and patted me awkwardly on the hand. “Try to get some rest. That’s what’s going to help you heal.”

I wondered if he meant physically or emotionally. I suspected my physical wounds would heal faster, but I didn’t have long to think or react before drugs overtook me, and I slipped once more into darkness.

 

 

The next time I awoke, my parents were in the room with me. As soon as my eyes fluttered open, Mom was at the side of the bed.

“Are you okay?” she asked me.

“Not sure,” I mumbled truthfully. The meds had me pretty groggy.

“Of course he’s okay,” Dad barked from his chair across the room. “The doctor said he’s going to be fine. Don’t baby him. He’s sixteen, for God’s sake.”

Mom looked into my eyes, and our newfound 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 down at the pond at that time of night,” Dad said as if we were in the middle of a conversation. “Your mother said you went out for a walk. You weren’t meeting that faggot, were you?”

I closed my eyes and hoped he’d get the hint. I didn’t feel like dealing with him right then. I hadn’t even absorbed the fact that Seth was dead, and I had come too close to dying myself. I was still in the damned hospital, for God’s sake, and all he could do was start interrogating me.

“Killian,” he went on when I didn’t answer, “if some dog-walker hadn’t seen someone run out of the woods wearing a stocking mask, then you’d 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.

“Were you meeting him there in the woods?” He was relentless. I was in a hospital bed with a stab wound, and he was grilling me as if I were 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?” asked a chipper voice. “Oh, I bet I know who it is!”

Oh, great, a perky nurse—just what I’ve always wanted.

I opened one eye and then couldn’t help opening the other one, too. She looked amazingly like Britney Spears in a nurse’s uniform. I wondered if the meds were causing me to hallucinate. If so, I’d rather deal with the pain.

“Are you hurting again?” she asked me.

If you 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 toward 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 go with him. She started after him, but paused by my bed for a second and rested her hand on my arm before following him out of the room.

Nurse Britney turned her thousand-watt smile on me once they were gone. “Is that what you wanted maybe?”

I managed a chuckle but immediately winced. “You’re good.”

“Thanks, but you’d be surprised how many kids use that thing to get rid of their parents.” She laughed and started back out the door. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to page me.”

I was alone with my thoughts at last, 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 told me, the police had pretty much closed the case, saying I had interrupted a mugging.

That didn’t make sense to me. At the very least, shouldn’t they have waited until I was more awake to ask me if I had seen my assailant clearly? I didn’t even remember talking to them. Didn’t they use witnesses’ descriptions to make those police sketches? Not that it would have helped even if they had asked. I hadn’t seen him clearly. In fact, I couldn’t remember his face at all. Hadn’t Dad said something about someone wearing a stocking mask? That would explain it.

One thing stood out, though. The killer froze when he saw me clearly for the first time and then ran away—almost as if he knew me. He’d even cursed. I wracked my brain trying to recognize the voice, but I’d been too scared, and the voice had just been barely more than a hiss.

My mind turned to the unthinkable. Why would someone want to kill Seth? Maybe it really was just a random mugging gone wrong. That was easier to believe than to think he was targeted specifically. Somehow, though, I knew it wasn’t as simple as a botched mugging. 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?”

“Because I’m gay.”

His answer had been simple and honest. People hated him for no other reason than because he was gay. They didn’t even know him, but they hated him. Now he was dead. What if he was killed because he was gay? That couldn’t happen in my town, could it? I’d grown up here. I knew everyone. Sure, most of them were ignorant small-town hicks, but they wouldn’t kill somebody just for being gay, would they?

I knew it happened all the time, though. The news was filled with gay bashings, murders and suicides. I was sure there were many others who never got national news exposure, cases swept under the rug. Was that what was happening with Seth?

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 all those who’d been killed, or had 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 it had killed Seth.

I was also weeping for myself. I felt a deep sense of loss for what had happened in the park. Not even so much for Seth—if I was honest, I had to admit I’d barely known him. I had liked him, though, and we probably would have been good friends. I wept for the loss of that opportunity and all it represented.

Above all, however, I wept because I was afraid. I’d only just admitted to myself that I was gay. What if someone else found out? Would I be next? Would the killer return to finish the job?

I don’t know how long I cried, but 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 chirped. “I have to take your blood pressure. Oh, by the way, you had a visitor earlier, but only family can see you just yet, so he had to leave.”

“Who was it?” I asked her groggily. I still wasn’t quite awake. It was hard to really rest in the hospital. It seemed as if people were constantly waking you up for one thing or another.

“Cute kid about your age, tall. I think his name was Ashley or, no wait —”

“Asher?”

“Yes, that’s it. Asher.”

Asher had been to see me? Why? Considering the way things had ended after school on Friday, he was the last person I would have expected to come for a visit.

They kept me in the hospital for a few days before releasing me. I was relieved to get out of there even if it did mean going home. I was ready for some real sleep.

But my rest wasn’t any better at home. I had terrifying dreams nearly every night. They were almost always some variation on the same theme. I would be at the park again by the pond. The shadows under the trees were dark and writhing, almost like living things. Most of the time, Seth was there, sometimes still alive, sometimes already dead. The one thing that never changed was the horrifying presence of the killer. I could never see him clearly, but I could feel him watching, waiting. I would wake with a start, wet with cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest, unable to fall back to sleep.

Thankfully, Dad hadn’t come after me again. I knew it was just a matter of time, though. He was prosecuting some big case and hadn’t been home much, a situation that was too good to last. Asher hadn’t come around anymore, either. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to or not.

Since I was pretty much bedridden, I had lots of time to think about what had happened. I had come to a few conclusions—fairly simple ones, at least to 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 they were trying all that hard—then I would.

Number two, it was pretty obvious—to me anyway—that Seth had been killed because he was gay. I didn’t buy into the whole mysterious mugger theory. It was way too pat, too easy. My intuition told me it was more than a simple mugging. There was no doubt in my mind. For starters, I couldn’t remember the last time there’d been a mugging in our sleepy little town.

Number three, the attacker had to at least be an acquaintance of mine, judging by his reaction when he saw me. This idea scared me the most, since it meant that someone I knew—perhaps very well—was a cold-blooded killer.

Between my dark thoughts, the nightmares, and the accompanying lack of sleep, I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into depression. I had a lot of time to think about being gay, too. It was clear to me by then that I was, and I had accepted it. After what had happened to Seth, though, I was certain I could never come out. I felt trapped by circumstances over which I had no control. I wanted out, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about it but hate myself and the mess I was in.

About a week after the murder and my stabbing, there was a knock at our door. Mom and I had been reading in the living room—or at least she was reading. I was pretty much just staring at my book. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d turned a page. I’d read the same paragraph over and over without ever seeing the words.

She left to answer the door.

I set my book down and listened. I could hear the conversation clearly from my position on the sofa. I could tell it was a man as they exchanged greetings, but I didn’t recognize his voice. Then he introduced himself.

“I’m Adam Connelly, Seth’s father.”

My breath caught in my throat. What was he doing here? Had he found out I was meeting Seth that night? Did he blame me for his son’s murder? What if he told my mom I was gay?

“I’d like to see Killian if he’s up to it,” he continued.

My mother was silent for a moment, then replied softy, “I’ll check.”

As soon as she appeared in the door, I nodded nervously. I wasn’t sure why he’d come, but I needed to find out. She studied me for a second, then turned and motioned to Mr. Connelly.

He entered the room and gave me a sad, uneven smile. Obviously, Seth had taken after his father. The man looked like an older version of his son, except tired and worn out. “Hello, Killian.” He extended his hand for me to shake.

“Hi, Mr. Connelly.”

“Please, call me Adam. Seth spoke so much of you I feel like I know you. You were his only friend...” His voice cracked and he stopped to clench his jaw.

My eyes shifted to Mom. She was staring at me with a funny expression on her face that I couldn’t quite interpret.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” she murmured and walked away. What was she thinking? Had she figured it out?

Adam sat down in the chair closest to my makeshift bed on the sofa, and I forced my attention back to him.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, 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 may be 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. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I simply nodded.

“I have something for you.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I found it in Seth’s room on his desk. It was a letter he started writing to you. I hope you don’t mind that I read it. It was one of the last things he wrote before he died. I think he tore it out of his journal. I guess he decided not to give it to you, but I thought he’d like you to have it now. To remember him by.”

He handed me the envelope, and I stared at it dumbly. Was I supposed to open it with him sitting there? I wasn’t sure I wanted an audience for that.

“Please, if you don’t mind, would you read it while I’m here?”

I could hear the pain in his voice. How could I say no? I opened the envelope with trembling hands and pulled out a sheet of lined paper, its edges still jagged from being ripped out of a notebook.

Hey Killer,

I’m really sorry about what happened today. I’m such a jerk.

He must have written it the same day he kissed me.

I guess I should call or text you this, but it somehow feels more real to write it down. Maybe I won’t even send it to you. I just need to sort it all out first. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe that’s the whole problem. I wasn’t thinking. I wanted so badly for you to be gay that I guess I imposed it on you. I get so lonely here and you were nice to me. And...well...you’re really cute. I wanted to find someone like me, maybe someone I could love and who could love me. I guess I was expecting too much. I know I’ve probably ruined everything by now, but if not, if you can forgive me, I’d still like to be your friend...if you don’t hate me. I’m really sorry I kissed you. I know I crossed the line. I’m sorry I’m such a fuckup. Maybe I’ll text you after all. Apologizing here isn’t going to help anything.

The letter stopped there, but at the bottom of the page Seth had scribbled some notes.

Travers = from the crossroads

Is Killian at a crossroad?

My chest hurt reading his words. His pain was palpable even in his handwritten scrawl. I was very glad we’d texted, at least, so he didn’t die thinking I hated him. But what did the last part even mean? I looked up to find Adam staring at me intently. I knew I had to say something.

“We talked. After he wrote that, I mean. We talked and he knows—he knew I wasn’t mad at him.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Seth talked to me, the night he died. He asked for my advice.”

I felt my eyes grow wide and my face flush as a wave of nausea washed over me. So he knew.

He must have guessed what I was thinking. He leaned in and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I would never out somebody. That’s your decision and your decision only.”

I nodded and gave him a weak smile. “Do you know what he meant at the bottom there?”

Adam shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “I was hoping you’d know. It almost looked like some sort of code to me. Travers equals from the crossroad...”

“Travers is my middle name.”

“Ah. Then knowing Seth that’s probably what your name means. He’d been on a kick lately of giving great weight to name meanings.”

“Oh yeah. He asked me what my middle name was the other day. He’d looked up what Killian meant and...” I trailed off, remembering the kiss.

Adam smiled sadly. “That sounds like Seth. Always looking for meaning in the world.” He stood up and shifted awkwardly toward the door. “I guess that’s all really. I just wanted to give you the letter and thank you for being a friend to my son. I can let myself out.”

He started to leave, then stopped in the doorway. He stood there for a few moments then walked back over, leaned in close to me and once again spoke in a low voice. “He’s right, you know. Seth was sometimes a little overly dramatic with the name stuff, but you are at a crossroads. You know you’re gay, but you don’t know what to do about it. There are several paths you can take, but only you can decide which one is right for you. Whatever path you choose now will have an impact on the rest of your life, in ways you can’t even begin to fathom yet. Take it from someone who chose to stay in the closet for far, far too long—choose wisely.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, fished out a business card and handed it to me. “And if you ever need anything, anything at all, just call me.” He rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then turned and left.

The front door had barely shut before Mom appeared in the doorway, a slight frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. I quickly slid the card into my pocket. She stood there for a while, then slowly crossed the room and sat down in the chair Adam had just vacated. She looked at the paper in my hand, and I reflexively crumpled it in my fist.

The silence stretched out. I could tell she wanted to ask something but didn’t know how. I was afraid I knew what her question would be, and I didn’t want to have to answer.

She took a deep breath. “Killian, are you gay?”

It was exactly as I’d feared. I didn’t know what to say, so I turned my face into the couch, refusing to meet her eyes. We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, until it started to feel like some sort of standoff. I was so tired. She was waiting me out, and I didn’t have the energy to lie.

I finally nodded, just a single nod, still not looking at her.

She sat there for a few more minutes without saying a word. Just when I thought the silence would deafen me, she abruptly stood up and walked out of the room.

I felt as if she had ripped out my heart and taken it with her. I’d always heard people talk about a broken heart but the sudden painful ache in my chest made me understand exactly what it meant.

Sobs racked my body. I don’t know how long I cried, but I gradually became aware that a storm had come up. I could hear the rain beating against the house. Thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer with each crash.

I pulled myself up from the sofa and moved to the sliding doors that opened to our backyard. I stared out at the storm—the winds growing stronger, whipping the trees violently about while lightning flashed—and thought about how it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside my head. I could feel it slowly building up to the point where it was a force that couldn’t be stopped. When an enormous clap of thunder shook the house and the lights flickered, I didn’t even jump.

I was at a crossroads. Which path should I take?