Hold On

Chapter 2

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My head is pounding and the sound of sirens is only making it worse. Hands are pulling at me, trying to separate me from Gus, but I refuse to let go. I can feel my strength ebbing until they finally succeed in pulling me from the boy I tried so hard to protect. I close my eyes against the blinding pain in my head, but the vision of Gus' unresponsive face is etched in my mind, determined to torment me from behind my closed lids. "Please," I whisper. "Gus…"

In response I can make out only disjointed snippets of dialogue.

"… male Caucasian…"

"… gun shot wound…"

"… unresponsive…"

"… approximately ten years of age…"

"… cardiac arrest…"

"… he's going into shock…"

"… we're losing him…"

"No," I murmur. "Gus…" My own unrecognizable voice is the last I hear before slipping into blissful unconsciousness.

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I wake to lights that are far too bright and I have to close my eyes again as I try to remember what has happened. "Gus!" I hear myself call, my eyes flying open despite the pain.

"Take it easy," someone says, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"Where's Gus?" I ask the nurse at my bedside.

"I don't know," she says gently. "But I'll find out. Just lay back and take it easy."

"I'm OK," I try to assure her. "I need to know about Gus."

She pushes a button by my head and, a moment later, another nurse enters the room.

"He's awake and asking for someone named Gus," the first says.

"I'll get the doctor."

Once we're alone in the room again, the nurse turns to me. "Dr. Swanson will be here in a minute. He'll explain everything."

"Thank you," I whisper, closing my eyes as I wait.

"Well, Mr. Taylor," a voice says. "How are you feeling?"

I open my eyes to see a short, portly man standing at the foot of my bed with a chart in his hands. "My head hurts," I reply. "Where's Gus?"

The doctor makes a notation on the chart before raising his gaze to meet mine. "You are a very lucky young man," he says. "The bullet grazed your temple. An inch to the left and you wouldn't be here."

"Where's Gus?" I repeat, my panic growing as I realize they're evading my questions.

"Is there someone you'd like to call?" the doctor asks kindly.

"Brian," I breathe without even thinking. He'll make them tell us where Gus is. I feel a tightening in my chest as I think about having to tell Brian what happened.

"Brian Kinney?" the doctor asks for clarification.

"Yes, that's right."

He's silent for a few seconds. "I'm afraid Mr. Kinney is otherwise engaged at the moment."

"No, he'd want to be here," I insist. "He needs to know about Gus."

"He knows."

Those two words seem to echo in the room. "He knows?" I repeat. "What do you mean, he knows? Knows what?"

He takes a deep breath before replying. "I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor. The young boy at the scene…"

"Gus," I say firmly.

I won't let them call him 'the boy'. He's a boy, Brian's boy, but I won't let them depersonalize him to the boy.

"I'm afraid he didn't make it."

The words sound like they're coming at me from down a long tunnel. "No," I finally manage to say. "No, that's not right. You don't understand, it was just a mistake. We could have gone before we ate, or we could have waited longer after. It was just a mistake, a stupid mistake." I can hear my own voice, but the words make no sense to me. All my mind registers is the doctor's voice telling me he didn't make it. He's wrong, he has to be. "You see, he wanted to go to the video store while I went to the other one. I wouldn't let him, so this is my fault, not his. Just let me talk to him, OK?" I say, my voice rising in panic. "Just let me talk to him and he'll tell you."

The doctor and nurse exchange a knowing look which only agitates me further.

"Gus!" I shout toward the open door. "Gus, come in here, please, I need to talk to you."

The doctor writes something on the chart and hands it to the nurse before silently leaving the room.

I can see her preparing a syringe out of the corner of my eye but I can't muster the resources to care. All I want to do is see Gus, tell him I'm sorry, explain that it was all a mistake.

"He didn't make it… he didn't make it…"

It wasn't true. It couldn't be.

I feel a warmth spreading through my body and turn my head to see the nurse injecting something into my IV. "No," I whisper, but it's already too late. As the medication flows through my system, I lose the battle to stay awake.

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"Justin?"

I struggle to respond to the timid voice but the effects of the drugs keep my eyes closed, my lips still.

"It's me, Gus."

Thank God! He's alive. I knew it was a mistake, I just knew it!

"I have to go now, Justin… bye."

No!! Don't leave, Gus! I need to see you, need to talk to you.

I intensify my struggles, finally managing to open my eyes only to see my mother's tear-stained face where Gus' should have been.

"Mom?"

She practically jumps to her feet from the chair beside my bed. "Oh, honey," she whispers hoarsely. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's Gus, Mom?" I ask, ignoring her question.

"Justin," she says, her voice cracking.

"Where is he?"

"Oh, sweetie," she whispers, "I'm so sorry."

I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain her words are invoking. "No, Mom. Gus was here, I heard him, he talked to me."

"You must have been dreaming," she says gently. "He wasn't here, Justin, he's gone. I'm so sorry."

I hate the tears I feel welling in my eyes as I open them to search her face. "It's not true, it can't be. Tell me it's not true, Mom."

"I wish I could, sweetie," she says, trying to soothe me as she carefully pulls me into a hug. "God, I wish I could."

I can feel the tears on my cheeks now, feel my chest heaving from the sobs I can hear. They sound so pitiful, so wracked with pain, so … mine. "No," I manage to get out between them. "Tell me it's not true, Mom. Tell me, damnit!"

I feel the familiar warmth running through my veins. I can't believe she betrayed me like this. I can't believe she would rather let them drug me than tell me what I need to hear.

"Sleep now," she's whispering. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Brian," I manage to say through a throat roughened by tears of frustration. "I want Brian."

"I know you do, Sweetheart," she tells me quietly. "I know you do."