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Chapter 22 - I’ll Be Fine.

“BRIAN! NO! No no no nononono!” Justin was still screaming and sobbing as Detective Horvath finally arrived on the scene a few minutes later. 

“Hang in there, Kid. You’re gonna be okay now. There’s an ambulance on its way,” the detective’s soothing, deep tenor voice tried to comfort the devastated boy. “Damn, they really got you good, though, didn’t they? I'm not sure why you were trying to call me instead of 911, but either way I’m glad it worked out. When I picked up the phone and heard what was going on with these bozos attacking you, I sent the closest cruisers I could find. Looks like we were almost too late. But don’t worry, we’ll get you to a doctor and you’ll be patched up in no time.”

“No. It’s not me. It’s not . . . It’s Brian. I was calling to tell you . . .” Between the pain and the emotional trauma, Justin was struggling not to pass out and all the words kept getting jumbled in his head. “The kidnapper . . . Brian found the kidnapper . . . His sister . . . She . . . He’s hurt . . . *sob* . . . Claire, she shot him . . .” 

But before he could finish his explanation, the pain won out, and it was lights out for Justin.

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Justin reached out with his hand, his eyes still tightly shut, intending to shut off his alarm, but for some reason he couldn’t find it. He didn’t even feel the nightstand, let alone the damned alarm clock. Which was strange. And, for some reason, the repetitive *beep, beep* noises that had awakened him, didn’t sound right either; usually he had the alarm set to a melodic marimba tone, not this horrible, monotonous, electronic dinging. He wondered if, maybe, Molly had been playing in his room again and messed with his clock. 

He really wished the damn noise would stop, though, because his head was pounding and he was really exhausted. What the hell had he been doing the night before? He didn’t remember getting drunk. But, whatever. Right then all he wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep for at least a few more minutes. Unfortunately, the alarm wasn’t going to stop on it’s own, so he was gonna have to wake up enough to find the damn thing and turn off the noise. 

The boy was just about to give in and concede that he’d have to open his eyes at least long enough to locate the annoying alarm, when a miracle happened and it magically shut itself off. Sadly, the alarm noise was followed by other, even more disturbing, noises. Which meant that Justin probably wasn’t going to be left alone to go back to sleep. In fact, in their own way, those new noises were even more alarming than the alarm had been. The new noises did not sound at all like Justin‘s mother coming in to wake him up in the morning before school or his little sister sneaking into his room to give him shit. That’s what he would have expected to hear. No, these new noises didn’t sound familiar at all. And Justin began to wonder what the hell was going on in his bedroom that morning.

“There you go. Sorry about that. The wires in the monitor had come loose; that’s what that alarm was all about. But I think everything’s hooked up more securely now,” a strange voice announced.

“Is he going to be alright? He’s been sleeping an awful long time,” a different voice, one that was slightly more familiar, responded.

“Don’t worry, your friend will be just fine. He should be waking up pretty soon. But that concussion might make him quite groggy for a while still, so don’t try to push him too much. Rest is always the best medicine,” the strange voice declared. “I’ll be back in about a half hour to change that IV, but if you need anything in the meantime just push the call button.”

By the time this odd conversation was over, Justin had come to the realization that he obviously wasn’t in his own bed sleeping off a hangover. It still took him a minute or two to put all the pieces together, though. Doctor, monitor, call button, IV, concussion . . . Shit! What the fuck had he done to himself this time? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes so he could more fully assess the situation.

Opening his eyes, however, might have been a mistake. “Owww . . .” Justin groaned when the illumination from the fluorescent light fixture over his head stabbed into his brain. “Too bright . . .”

“Oh, hang on, baby. I’ll turn a few of these lights off for you.” the semi-familiar voice offered. “There, that should be better.”

Justin ventured another attempt at opening his eyes, and was delighted to find that it didn’t hurt as much the second time around. Unfortunately, the rest of his suspicions were proven correct when he surveyed the dimly lit room and confirmed that he was clearly in a hospital, not his comfortable bed at home. Even more surprising than waking up in the hospital, though, was the discovery of Debbie and Michael Novotny sitting vigil beside him.

“What . . .” Justin’s voice cracked and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’d like to know too, hon,” Debbie replied with a concerned smile. “All the nursing staff would tell us was that you were brought in with a concussion, but from the looks of you I’d say you did more than just bump your head, kiddo.”

Justin thought about it for a minute - which was pretty difficult considering his head felt like it might crack open if he even blinked too hard - before it came to him.

“Shit . . . Hobbs and his buddies . . .” He groaned because even the memory of the beating he’d taken hurt. “They all fucking ganged up on me.”

Of course, that memory led to the even more traumatic recollection of what Brian had been going through while the Hobbs Squad had been beating the shit out of him. 

“Fuck! Brian . . .” 

Justin felt sick just thinking about his lover being shot, and he didn’t want to say the actual words aloud, but he had to know. He reached out with his empathic sense and couldn’t feel even a trace of Brian anywhere. He scanned the faces of his visitors, seeking answers he didn’t know if he wanted to find, and almost lost it completely when he noted the long faces, full of concern. 

“Shit. He was . . . Fuck! . . . Is he . . .” Justin took a deep breath, ignoring the physical pain that action caused, and then asked the only question that mattered, “is he dead?”

“Oh, no, Honey. No,” Debbie rushed to reassure him. “At least, he wasn’t when we arrived. Although he is still in surgery, so we don’t really know how bad it is, I’m afraid. The idiot doctor wouldn’t tell us anything because we’re not ‘family’ - stupid, fucking, hospital regulations or something - but I did corner one of the nurses and he promised me that it didn’t look too serious.”

“Well, he couldn’t have been hurt too bad,” Michael chimed in. “I mean, he sounded okay when he called me.”

“Brian called you?” Justin asked, thinking that sounded hopeful.

“Yep,” Michael chuckled sadly as he began to relate his part of the story. “I get this call right as I’m heading out the door to meet David for dinner; I almost didn’t pick up because I was running a little late, you know, but thank fuck I did, right? Anyway, it’s Brian calling and before I even say ‘hello’ he’s yelling into the phone saying, ‘get your ass down to Allegheny General right the fuck NOW!’” Michael’s voice deepened as he related Brian’s words, as if trying to imitate his friend. “So I’m, like, ‘oh shit, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt?’ But Brian’s all, like, ‘No, I’m fine . . . Well, I’m not fine, I guess, because my fucking cunt of a sister shot me. But of course she couldn’t even do that right, so the damn bullet just broke a rib and got stuck somewhere in my side. It hurts like a bitch, though’ .”

Despite his worry and the pain he was still in, Justin had to laugh at how perfectly Michael related Brian’s character. Justin could almost see Brian in that moment; making light of his injuries in that fashion was so perfectly in character for the indomitable man. Not to mention the fact that Brian, with his notoriously hot temper, would no doubt have been extremely pissed off at getting shot. 

When everyone’s laughter died out, Michael continued with his story. “So by that point I’m totally freaking out, right? My best friend was just SHOT and I’m going into shock or something, and just babbling, ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!’ But Brian yells at me, like he always does, and tells me to ‘shut the fuck up’. So I do. And then he does his, ‘Listen to me, Mikey. Are you listening?’ thing. So I say ‘yes, asshole, I’m listening’, because if I didn’t call him an ‘asshole’ he would’ve known how scared I was.” 

Michael actually whimpered a little at that point in his story and Debbie reached out a hand to squeeze his arm gently in commiseration. Michael sniffled a bit and looked sideways at Justin as if seeking a kindred spirit; someone else who would feel just as devastated if Brian were really seriously hurt. Justin offered a nod, hoping to encourage him to finish his story quickly.

“Then Brian says to me, ‘I’ll be fine, Mikey. But I need you to go check on Sunshine for me’ . . . And then that’s it. He didn’t say anything else. And I’m, like, ‘sunshine? What the fuck does sunshine have to do with anything?’ But there’s no answer and I’m starting to panic again. Thankfully, a nurse comes on the line and tells me they’re taking Brian into surgery and that the anesthesia just kicked in, which was why Brian stopped talking all of a sudden, not, thank fuck, because he died or anything. But I still didn’t have any clue what he was saying about ‘checking on sunshine’.

At which point Deb intervened with a big smile aimed Justin’s way. “It’s a good thing he called me next, isn’t it?” Debbie’s hand, which had been resting on the edge of Justin’s hospital bed, gave the youth’s forearm a little squeeze. “Of course, I knew right away who Brian meant - it’s not like our Brian’s ever had any other sunshine in his life, right?” She chuckled with an expressive wink. “So I had Michael come get me and here we are.”

Justin let himself bask for just a minute in the knowledge that Brian, even after he’d been shot, had taken the time to send help for his lover. For a self-centered, uncaring, asshole, that man really was a total sweetheart. Justin hoped that Michael was right, and Brian truly hadn’t been too badly hurt, so he could tease him about it later. The alternative was . . . unthinkable.

“How the hell did you get caught up in all of this, anyway?” Michael asked, interrupting before Justin could get too caught up in another round of worrying about Brian. “I thought we left you safely at school and Brian was heading back to the loft. The next thing I know, Brian’s getting shot by his sister and you somehow end up in the hospital too? How’s that all work?”

Good question. How WAS Justin gonna explain everything without revealing his secret? He had no way of knowing what, if anything, Brian had told the police. Until they could talk, and get their stories straight, it was probably best not to say anything much. Assuming, that is, that Brian recovered and they needed a cover story . . . not that Justin would entertain another possibility because . . . 

To distract both Michael and himself, Justin chose to ignore most of the previous question and focus only on his own part of the debacle. “Well, you left me at school all right, but I’m not sure how ‘safe’ it was. Not when the fucking place is populated by roving gangs of homophobic bullies.”

“Fucking monsters! Just look at you, Sunshine. You’re a mess,” Deb pointed out. 

That statement seemed to remind Justin of his own aching body, at which point he looked down and began to assess the extent of the damage for the first time. Needless to say, he was NOT pleased with what he found. He ached all over, so even though much of him was covered by blankets, he could tell his injuries were extensive. However, what he could see was bad enough. 

To start with, both his right wrist and his left ankle were encased in black nylon braces. He couldn’t see much about the condition of the ankle but the wrist, which was closer and therefore easier to inspect, looked bad. What little skin was showing through the bulky brace was mottled with bruises and swollen so badly it barely looked like a hand. The fingers poking out the end looked like fat purple sausages. When he tried to lift his arm, it caused a jolt of pain that ran all the way up through his shoulder and intensified somewhere around his rib cage. But when he tried to shift to ease that pain, the left side of his chest throbbed even more, matching in intensity the already excruciating throbbing in his head. On top of everything else, when he grimaced because of that new wave of pain, he could feel additional twinges of discomfort in his right cheek and temple. Reaching a hand up, he discovered much of his face was swollen and tender to the touch as well. He must look hideous. No wonder Deb and Michael had been looking at him with such concern. 

“Yeah, doesn’t look like you’ll be winning any beauty contests for a while, huh?” Michael added and Justin picked up a revived gloating aura from the man.

“Hush you!” Debbie chastised her son, obviating Justin’s need to say anything himself. “Sunshine just got the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of bigots and that’s all you can say? Justin doesn’t need to worry about how he looks right now; all he needs to worry about is getting better. So if you can’t say anything nice, just don’t open your big gob at all!” 

Then the beldame turned her attentions onto the injured youth and spent the next several minutes making sure that Justin was comfortable, that he had a cold bottle of water nearby in case he got thirsty, and that he wasn’t too hot or too cold. Justin let her putter around, kind of enjoying being fussed over for a while. At least all the activity kept his mind off his other worries. Just when it seemed that Debbie was running out of self-appointed caregiver tasks, the nurse came back into the room and started in on her own version of puttering. She took all Justin’s vitals, checked over his bandages and made sure the braces weren’t too constricting, and changed out the IV bag that was pumping the patient full of fluids and painkillers, all the while keeping up a running commentary about his treatment plan. 

It turned out Justin had incurred multiple hairline fractures in both the wrist and the ankle as a result of his strenuous defence efforts. Neither would require a hard cast, but he’d have to keep the braces on for at least a month, possibly more. Most of his other injuries would heal much faster, the nurse reassured him. The concussion was the primary issue they were monitoring at the moment, but his cracked ribs were likely what was causing him the most pain, and they would take at least six weeks to heal completely. Justin was actually feeling pretty down about this prognosis until she also revealed that John Spencer - who’s knee he had dislocated, tearing several ligaments and fracturing the kneecap in the process - would likely require surgery AND need double the time his own injuries would take to heal. 

“That’s what they call karma, right Baby?” Debbie crowed, pleased on Justin’s behalf. 

By that point Justin was feeling pretty wiped out again, so he didn't have the energy to do his own gloating. The nurse had mentioned it was normal for someone with a concussion to sleep a lot, so he figured he might as well prove her right. He’d just announced to Deb that he was gonna sleep a little - but to make sure and wake him up the second there was any news about Brian - and started to close his eyes, when a whole new disturbance pushed its way into the room.

“Justin! My word! What happened? Are you okay?” Jennifer Taylor flustered her way up to her son's bed and proceeded to break into hysterical tears. “I got a call from the police saying you’d been ASSAULTED and were in the hospital and I didn’t know what to think! The officer who called said she didn’t know your condition but made it sound serious. Please, Honey, tell me you’re alright!”

A groggy Justin blinked up at the frantic woman, trying to think of something he could say that might calm her down. He couldn’t take much more of her loud and overbearing concern in his current, exhausted state. It would probably be rude to throw your own mother out of your hospital room though, right? 

Justin pushed the button to raise the head of his bed again, groaning as the movement elicited another stab of pain to his ribs, and was just about to greet his mother when all of a sudden he got a frizzle of awareness coming from the other end of his Brian link.

“There you are!” Justin exclaimed, meaning Brian, not his mother.

“Of course I'm here, Honey. Where else would I be?” Jennifer responded, looking confused as she bent down to deposit a kiss on the teen’s poor, bruised cheek. “What in the name of creation happened to you, Justin? Who would do something like this?”

“Chris Fucking Hobbs,” Justin answered - sounding much more cheerful while naming his attacker than one would expect in the circumstances - while at the same time reaching out with his mind to connect with his lover. “Well, him, and John Spencer, and Ross Adams, and Paul Wells, with about a third of the school’s varsity football team offensive lineup backing them up.”

“Chris? Darla and Stephen’s son? I can’t believe it. We’ve been friends with the Hobbses for years . . .” Jennifer sounded more offended by the fact that anyone from their country club set was being accused of wrongdoing than that Hobbs had tried to beat her own son to death.

“Well, believe it, Mom. He’s been the head of ‘Team Bully Taylor’ all year long,” Justin asserted, holding up his broken hand as evidence of his veracity. “But I guess they got tired of just tripping me in the hall and knocking my books out of my hands and decided to escalate all the way up to attempted murder this time.” Since Jennifer still didn’t look convinced, Justin sighed and offered a little fuller explanation. “They waited till I was all alone and there was no one around to see, ganged up on me, knocked me to the ground and started kicking me, and were planning to drag me off to the athletic equipment shed to ‘teach me a lesson’ when the cops arrived.”

“Yeah, well, you probably shouldn’t have announced to the entire school that you gave the quarterback a hand job,” A gravelly voice interrupted as police detective Carl Horvath came into the room. “The way I heard it, that sort of pissed him off. Not exactly smart, Son.” 

The twinkle in the big, burly man’s eyes as he spoke belied his rebuke. Justin smiled impishly back at him. Meanwhile, Michael and Debbie were giggling and Debbie even reached out to gently tap the patient’s arm in a gesture of approval. In fact, the only person in the room who didn’t seem to find the revelation humorous was a furiously blushing Jennifer Taylor.

“You might be right about that, Detective,” Justin conceded, offering up some dry humor of his own. “Unfortunately, I was too busy at the time - worrying about my boyfriend getting FUCKING SHOT - to take poor little Closet Case Chris’ hurt feelings into consideration. Hobbs and his goon squad can bite me. I just hope he and his buddies all get nice long prison sentences for what they did to me. At least that way Chris can get fucked up his closeted ass to his heart's content for the next several years,”

“Justin! Language,” Jennifer intervened, appalled by her son’s cursing and vindictiveness. 

“Sweetie, I’d think, after what the kid’s been through, he probably deserves to let loose an f-bomb or two,” Debbie gently chided the self-righteous woman. “And, while I’m not a proponent of violence or vengeance, sometimes you just gotta love the way fate works, dontcha?”

“Fuck, yeah!” both Justin and Michael agreed at the same time.

Jennifer, realizing she was out numbered, didn’t bother correcting any of them.

“Forget about me,” Justin piped up, eager to find out how the story had unfolded after he passed out. “How are Brian and Gus? Did you get Claire and Joan? Nobody’s told me anything.”

“Gus? You got my sweet grandbaby back? Hallelujah!” Deb sang out so vociferously that Justin’s head gave an extra painful throb.

“Deb, please. Concussion, remember?” Justin begged.

“Oh, sorry, Sunshine. I’m just so thrilled with the news. I was outta my mind worried about that poor baby.” Then Debbie turned to the big detective and offered up an apologetic smile, one that was returned with interest by the appreciative Detective. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please tell us what happened.”

“We got em,” Horvath declared with a huge grin on his usually placid face. “Caught em literally red handed; the two of them were on their way out of the house, intending to flee the scene, as we drove up. The sister had the baby in her arms and the mother was carrying the bag full of ransom money. Both of them still had traces of the victim’s blood on their person.” Horvath beamed at his audience, clearly satisfied. “It doesn’t get better than that as far as direct evidence of criminality is concerned. Both women will be going to jail for a good long while. I can guarantee you that.”

“Thank fuck!” This time it was Debbie cursing but she just ignored Jennifer's renewed glare of wounded propriety.

Justin was so relieved by the cop’s news that he sank back into his pillows and finally started to fully relax. Horvath went on to explain to the others how he’d overheard the start of the attack on Justin when he picked up the call from the boy, who’d been trying to report the information he and Brian had discovered on the kidnapping. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t known that’s why Justin was calling. It wasn’t until Justin’s warning, just before he passed out cold, that the police realized what was going on and immediately rushed off to save Brian.

“Of course, it took us a little longer than we would have hoped,” Horvath explained with a shrug. “All your boy here told me before we lost him was that Brian had been shot by his sister Claire. No last name. No address. Nothing much to go on.”

Justin smiled tiredly. “Sorry, concussion,” he pointed out again.

Horvath nodded understandingly and then continued. “Even once we figured out Claire's married name was ‘Tyson’, and got a residence address for her, we were still out of luck because it turns out she was evicted a week ago. Luckily, the neighbor who watches the younger son, Peter, when Claire works nights, suggested she was probably over at her mother’s and gave us the address.” 

Horvath paused and looked towards the two mothers in the room, assuming they’d be interested in a little side note he had to relate. “By the way, it turns out both Claire’s kids had been staying with the neighbor all week while Claire said she was out looking for a new place to live. The dad, meanwhile, had been going nuts trying to find them. He thought Claire had run off with the boys in order to avoid his petition to take over sole custody. Seemed like a decent enough guy and the kids were real happy when we dropped them off at his place.”

“Anyway, we finally show up at Joan Kinny’s place and catch the two women about to hightail it out of town. Claire, the pathetic bitch, actually tried to argue that the baby was hers for about two minutes. And then, would you believe it, Kinney comes stumbling out of the house, blood dripping all down his side from where he’d been shot, barely able to stand on his own two feet, and completely ignoring everyone trying to tell him to sit down and let the paramedic take care of him. Instead, he toters over to his sister, takes the baby away from her, punches her dead in the face, and then drops to his knees in the middle of the driveway.” 

There was a chorus of awed chuckles, almost everyone there agreeing that would’ve been perfectly in character for their Brian. 

“So I’m thinking I’m gonna have a second vic pass out on me in the space of less than an hour,” the policeman continued. “But, no. Kinney INSISTS he’s fine and orders us to go save YOU instead,” Horvath looked over at Justin and chuckled. “It took me almost five minutes to convince him that we already rescued the kid. He’s a stubborn one that Kinney; even tried to refuse treatment when they got him here to the hospital until the doctor assured him that you were already being treated yourself. The doctor said Brian was lucky he didn’t bleed out before they finally got him to agree to lie down on a gurney so they could roll him into surgery.”

While all the others were exclaiming over Brian‘s antics, Justin grasped the pertinent point of the cop’s last statement and ran with it. “You talked to Brian’s doctor? Did they tell you how the surgery went? Is he going to be okay?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” Horvath reassured. “Dr. Singh said he’d lost a lot of blood but that no vital organs were damaged so they’re hoping it’ll be okay. From what Kinney told me in the few minutes before the ambulance took him away, it sounds like they were struggling with the gun when it went off. He’s lucky it wasn’t a straight shot or he’d be dead. As it was, it sounds like the bullet hit at a weird angle, struck a rib, bounced off, and slid around the side of his rib cage. They still had to operate to remove the bullet, and he’s got a couple of broken ribs, but he should be up and around in no time. I checked just before I came up here and the doctor said Kinney was already out of surgery; he should probably be waking up anytime now . . .”

Justin figured Horvath was telling the truth, seeing as his empathic link to Brian had been getting stronger and stronger as they spoke. He couldn’t wait to finally see his lover again. He’d been so scared. There was no way he ever wanted to go through something like that again. In fact, once they were finally reunited, Justin might never let the man out of his sight ever again.

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