Chapter 10 - Aftermath.
Justin was frantic. This was by far the angriest he’d ever seen Jack Kinney. Brian had passed out several minutes ago but Jack’s wrath was still too intense to let him stop. The stupid brute was so blind with hatred, he probably didn’t even notice that Brian was unconscious and no longer trying to defend himself against the rain of kicks and fists. Which meant that there was nothing and no one left to stop Jack. Justin was convinced that this time the monster was finally going to go too far - unless, that is, Justin could do something to make him stop.
Unfortunately, yelling and screaming at the bastard was getting Justin nowhere, since Jack couldn’t see or hear him. If only Justin’s fists could connect when he tried to strike back at the cretin. Justin would give anything - any-fucking-thing - to be able to let Jack have even a small taste of the abuse he was so fond of dishing out to his son. However, every punch Justin threw just went straight through the man as if he was the one that was incorporeal.
Jack took the last swig off the bottle of beer he’d brought down with him and then let loose one more strong kick to Brian’s body. Justin swore that he heard the snapping of a bone. Fuck! He had to do something . . . but what? If only somebody other than Brian could see or hear him!
Wait . . . there WAS one other person who could see him - Jesse! Justin didn’t know how a six year old was going to help but it was the only hope he had at that point. Justin knelt down and caressed Brian’s temple then left a quick kiss on the unresponsive cheek before he focused his mind on his little nephew and popped off to get whatever help he could.
~**~**~**~**~**~
"Jesse! Jesse, I need your help," Justin cried out as soon as he materialized in the little boy's room.
Jesse was completely startled by the sudden appearance of his guardian angel. Justin's shouting and panicky demeanor didn't help any. The blond-haired child started to back away from the noisy apparition. Justin didn't have time to worry about the kid's apprehensions, though. He knew Brian didn't have long. Justin had to get Jesse's help and it had to happen as fast as possible.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, Jesse. I really, really need your help and I need it right away. My friend, Brian, is hurt really badly. I need you to make a phone call for me to get help sent to his house immediately. Can you please do that for me, Jesse?"
"I'm not supposed to use the phone without Poppa's permission," Jesse said while shaking his head and taking another step back away from Justin.
"I know, Jesse, and normally I'd say that's a great rule but this is an emergency. If you don't help me, Brian might not make it. I need you to call 911 and tell them to go to Brian's house. Please, Jesse?"
"We talked about '911' in school," Jesse replied informatively. "My teacher, Ms. McDowell, said that you should only call 911 when it's a real 'mergency, like if there's a fire or you need the police to catch a bad guy or if your mommy gets sick and there's nobody else at home. Then the 911 people will send a policeman or a fireman to save you. Is this that kinda 'mergency?"
"Yes! It's that kind of an emergency. Brian needs a doctor right away. Please, Jesse, we have to call now or it might be too late."
"'Kay," Jesse agreed then took Justin's hand and led him down the hall to his father's study where an extension phone was set up on a large desk. "What should I say?"
"Let's put the phone on speaker so I can hear too and then I'll be able to tell you what to say as we go. How's that sound, Buddy?"
Justin pointed out the right button for Jesse to push to open the phone line and use the speaker function. The dial tone rang out loudly. Justin patted Jesse on the shoulder to show his approval.
"Okay. Now, all you have to do is push the buttons: 9-1-1. When the operator answers, you just tell them there's a boy who's hurt and needs medical help okay. This piece of paper has Brian's home address on it,” Justin pulled a discarded envelope that had the Kinney’s address printed on the front out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. “You tell them this address when they ask for it. Think you can do that for me?"
"Sure," Jesse answered but didn't sound very confident.
The small child hesitantly pushed the number buttons - 911- and then looked up at Justin for more reassurance.
"911 Emergency Services. What is the nature of your emergency," a clear woman's voice answered, the words amplified through the speakerphone.
"Go on, Jesse," Justin prompted when the boy looked like he was going to run away. "Just say what I told you."
"Um . . . Hello. There's a boy who's hurt and needs to get a doctor, please," the child stated, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I can barely hear you. Could you please speak up?"
"There's a boy who's hurt real bad. You need to get him a doctor," this time Jesse yelled at double volume.
"You said that someone's hurt? Is this person there at the same location where you're calling from?" The operator questioned.
"No. He's at his own house."
"Do you know the address where the injured person is located?"
Justin nodded and pushed the piece of paper with the address on it closer to Jesse. "Yes, ma'am. The address is: 347 'S' 'E' . . ." the boy hesitated at the strange street name.
"Xanadu," Justin prompted.
"X-and-u Street," Jesse stumbled a little over the name but he'd done his best.
"Did you say 'Xanadu Street'?" The operator repeated, seeking clarification.
Jesse saw Justin nodding his head indicating he should say 'Yes'. "Yes, ma'am, that's the name."
"And the name of the injured person?"
"Tell her his name is Brian Kinney," Justin directed and Jesse parroted the name off to the operator.
"Do you know what type of injury this is?"
"Type of 'endergy?" Jesse questioned, unsure what the lady was asking.
"What happened to Brian? Do you know how badly he's hurt?" The kindly operator tried again.
"He's hurt real, real bad, I think," Jesse offered.
"Tell her that Brian is unconscious and may have a broken bone or two," Justin responded, trying to explain what he'd seen in a simple way that the child would understand.
"Brian's un . . . uncon . . . Unconscience," Jesse stuttered over the big word but plowed on anyway. "He's got broke bones, too. Please help him fast."
"We'll send help as quickly as we can, don't worry. Now, honey, can you tell me your name," the operator asked, her voice becoming slightly condescending now that she was pretty sure she was talking to a child.
"My name's Jesse Taylor."
"Okay, Jesse. How old are you, honey?"
"I'm five and three-quarters," the boy answered proudly. "My birthday is right after Christmas. I'll be six years old then."
"All right, Jesse. I'm going to send a message to our dispatcher so we can get help to your friend as fast as possible. Can you just stay on the phone until I'm done in case I need to ask you a few more questions?"
"Um . . . It's almost dinner time. I gotta go, lady. You just send Brian some help, okay? Bye bye!" Jesse pushed the speaker button again, effectively cutting the call short, and then turned to Justin. "Was that okay, Justin? Did I do good?"
"You were great, Jess," Justin felt the relief flooding through him, knowing that help was finally on its way to Brian. "Thank you, Jesse. You were very brave making that call and I'm so proud of how well you answered all those questions. You did wonderfully!"
Jesse's pale plump cheeks blushed a rosy pink at the praise from his friend. Justin bent over and hugged the child to show just how thankful he really was. Jesse hugged back with all the strength in his thin little arms. They might have stayed like that for a few more minutes, but their hug was interrupted by the loud ringing of the phone. They could hear Four, who had been puttering around in the main part of the house, picking up the phone and saying ‘Hello?’. Less than two minutes later, Four was jogging down the hallway, pushing open the door to the study and staring down at his son with disapproval evident on his face.
“Yes, my son Jesse is here . . . Hold on a second,” Four said to whoever was on the phone before grabbing a hold of the little boy’s arm and leading him over to the sofa in the corner of the room. “Jesse, there’s a 911 operator on the phone. She said you called her about some boy that’s hurt? Why did you do that? Tell me what’s going on, son.”
“It was a ‘mergency, Poppa. Brian’s hurt real bad and needs a doctor. I called the 911 people so they would know to send help. That’s what our teacher said we should do if there was a ‘mergency,” Jesse explained to his father, proudly parading all the knowledge he’d gained about 911 in his kindergarten class.
“Who is this ‘Brian’? You don’t know anyone named Brian. And how do you know he’s hurt,” Four was still confused by why his son was acting like this.
“His name is Brian Kinney. I don’t know him but my friend does and he asked me to call for him since the 911 people wouldn’t be able to hear him,” Jesse explained, looking over at Justin to see if his explanation was correct, and smiling back when Justin smiled and nodded at him.
“What friend? Who was it that asked you to call 911, son?”
“Justin,” the boy answered, unaware how odd his response would sound. “Justin said Brian is his friend and he needed to get him a doctor right away, but since nobody other than me can hear him, he needed my help.”
“J-J-Jus-Justin?” Four stuttered, the haunting name coming at him out of the blue.
“Yeah, Uncle Justin. He said you were his baby brother, so that makes him my uncle. Just like Uncle Gil and Uncle Gareth, right?” Jesse answered honestly, confused by his father’s strange reaction to hearing Justin’s name.
“But . . . but . . . Jesse, honey, your Uncle Justin died years before you were born,” Four tried to explain to his son why it was impossible that he’d spoken with that particular uncle just today. “You couldn’t have talked with Justin today, son. It’s just not possible.”
“I know that he’s ‘apposed to be dead - Justin told me all about it. He said he borrowed your car and got in an accident and that’s how he died. He said it wasn’t scary or anything. He just woke up the next day and knew he wasn’t alive. But he still comes and sees me and talks to me and helps me when I get scared or lost or hurt. Justin’s real nice to me, Poppa.” Jesse replied, not understanding at all why his father was so upset about him talking to one of his Uncles.
Four, on the other hand, was completely floored by the concept of his five year old son apparently talking to his dead brother. He knew for a fact that nobody had ever told Jesse about the circumstances surrounding Justin’s death - it was still a painful subject in their family and because of that they rarely ever spoke about Justin. He didn’t think that Jesse had even heard Justin’s name before. So how was it that the child not only knew about Justin but even had the facts about how he’d died? It didn’t seem possible.
“Jesse, honey, can you tell me what your friend, Justin, looks like,” Four asked, holding his breath to see what his son would say.
“He’s real pretty, Poppa. He has bright yellow hair, just like mine, and big really blue eyes. Justin always smiles a lot, too. His smile makes me feel warm inside.”
“Shit . . .” Four couldn’t help but swear at the answer his son provided - the boy’s description fit his brother Justin to a ‘T’. “Jesse, how long have you been talking to Justin?”
“Like forever. Justin has always been there, even when I was just a baby. We talk all the time,” Jesse looked over at where Justin was waiting by the study door. “Justin, why can’t Poppa see you and talk to you?”
“I really don’t know why your Poppa can’t see me, Sweetie,” Justin answered as truthfully as he could. “For some reason, you and Brian are the only people who can see me or hear me. That’s why I needed your help to make the 911 call for Brian.”
“Poppa, Justin says he doesn’t know why you can’t see him, but that’s why he needed my help. The 911 people wouldn’t have been able to hear him either and he needs to get help to Brian. The 911 people did help him, didn’t they?”
“Hold on a minute, son,” Four said, finally remembering that he was still holding the phone with the 911 operator waiting for him. “Hello, I’m sorry I kept you on hold . . . Yes, I spoke to my son. He says that this Brian is really hurt . . . No, I don’t think he’s making it up. Jesse's a very responsible boy. I believe that he believes this is a real emergency and he’s convinced that the boy is badly hurt . . . Okay. Thank you and I appreciate you calling me back to tell me about this . . . Alright. Thanks.”
Four hit the button that would disconnect the call and set the phone down. He reached over and pulled his son into a hug, looking around the room as if to try to discern where the elusive Uncle Justin was hiding. Jesse hugged his father back with all the exuberance of a not-quite-six year old.
“The operator said they’d already sent out the police and an ambulance to help your friend, Brian,” Four announced to both his son and the room at large. “They might already be there. You did a good thing, Jesse, by calling 911 like that. And you tell your Uncle Justin that . . . that I love him and I miss him a lot.”
“Silly, Poppa,” Jesse laughed. “You just told him yourself already. Bye, Justin. I hope your friend Brian is okay. See ya!” Jesse waved goodbye to the apparition in the corner as Justin disappeared.
“Uncle Justin is off to go see that Brian’s okay, Poppa,” Jesse said as he cuddled closer to his father’s strong chest. “He said to tell you that he loves you too!”
~**~**~**~**~**~
“Brian? Brian Kinney! Why didn’t you call and tell me you were here in the hospital, Honey,” Debbie Novotny insisted as she barged through the door of Brian’s hospital room with Michael traipsing along behind.
Brian, who’d been dozing until his room was invaded by the loud-mouthed Novotny clan, rubbed his eyes and turned to look in the direction of the bellowing. He managed to stifle the groan he felt rising out of his gut at the prospect of having to deal with his ‘guests’. However, since it was already too late to run and hide, Brian knew he’d just have to make the best of things and let himself be coddled a bit by his surrogate mom and his whiny best friend.
“Hey, Deb. Mikey. How did you two manage to find me?” Brian asked with full-on snarkiness.
“Well, it’s not because you took the time to call and tell us what happened, that’s for sure,” Deb replied, just as snarkily as Brian.
“I was worried when you hadn’t been at school all week, so I went over to your house this afternoon right after school,” Michael began explaining as he moved around to the far side of the bed and Debbie usurped the spot on the other side. “Your mother told me you’d been suspended from school? What the hell is that all about, Brian?”
“Just another pile of shit heaped on my life, Mikey. Nothing new,” Brian groused without giving up any real information - he really didn’t want to talk about any of the incidents that had happened in the past week. All Brian wanted was to forget about everything.
“But how would YOU get suspended, Brian? Your mom said you got caught with drugs on school property? That’s not like you, Bri . . . I mean you’re the one who gave me the lecture about never bringing drugs to school. Why would you break your own rules like that? It’s just not like you Brian. I don’t believe it for a second.” Mikey wasn’t about to let his best friend off the hook for something he was sure was completely out of character for Brian.
“Mikey, I really don’t want to get into it. Just . . ."
“I agree with Michael, Brian. I want an explanation too. That just doesn’t sound like something you’d do - not that you wouldn’t take a toke now and then, but I thought you were way too smart to get caught with drugs on school grounds,” Debbie insisted, her fists planted firmly on her ample hips and her face displaying it’s usual stubborn demeanor.
“Unnnhh, Deb, can’t we just talk about something else. I don’t want to think about all that shit,” Brian tried to divert his guests onto any other line of inquiry, although he knew it was probably futile.
“Fine, if you don’t want to tell me about what happened at school, then how about you explain why you’re lying here in the hospital? I mean, look at you - you’re one big fucking bruise all over. And, if that cast means what I think it means, you’ve got a fucking broken arm too? What the hell happened to you, Honey?” Debbie moved on to a topic she knew Brian would want to discuss even less than the school suspension.
“I’ll be alright. They’re letting me out of here in a day or two,” Brian answered evasively.
“Not good enough, Brian,” Debbie lamented, pointing a long, bright red fingernail at her pseudo-son.
“Brian, you do look really bad . . .” Michael looked like he was about to start crying over Brian’s obvious injuries and he didn’t even know the half of it.
“I’m fine, Mikey. I promise. Stop snivelling all over the clean hospital sheets,” Brian said, starting to lose his temper at all the mollycoddling and sympathetic looks from both Novotny’s. However, the sad big brown puppy-dog eyes that Michael leveled at his friend didn’t let up even for a moment and Brian realized he was going to have to give them something in order to shut up the Novotny’s. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe that just as soon as I buy Joan’s explanation that you just had another little ‘accident’,” Debbie added with enough sarcasm in her tone to make your hair curl. “Your choice, kiddo - you can start with the school suspension or the ‘accident’ but either way, I’m not leaving without a full account of how you ended up here.”
“Shit,” Brian mumbled, knowing that he was caught. “Fine. You want to know what happened? Lars and I got caught with a baggie full of pot - that’s what happened. That fucking bitch, Ms. Saluka, called our parents and, of course, Jack came down to school to find out how I fucked up this time. Let’s just say Jack was rather disappointed by my behavior and promised the Vice-Principal that he’d make sure I was punished for my actions. Saluka was kind enough not to report us to the police but she did suspend me for two weeks and I have to do after school detention for the rest of the semester. I might also get kicked off the soccer team unless Coach Stephens takes pity on me. That’s what the fuck happened. Happy now?”
“Fuck, Brian,” Michael whined. “What the hell were you and your boyfriend doing with pot at school? You would never be stupid enough to bring that shit with you to school . . . Fucking Lars - this has to be his fault, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter who’s fault it was, Mikey. I’m not going to rat anybody out to Saluka. She thinks the drugs were mine and even though I told her they didn’t belong to me, she wouldn’t believe me, so what the fuck does it matter anyway,” Brian offered dejectedly, turning away so he didn’t have to look at Mikey’s angry countenance.
“Fuck! I knew it - Fucking Lars! It’s all that asshole’s fault. They were HIS drugs, weren’t they, Brian?” Brian sat mutely, unwilling to admit anything and yet also unwilling to lie to his friends. “Well, I don’t care if he is your boyfriend, Brian. I’m not going to let him get away with this.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Mikey, so just let it drop, okay,” Brian insisted, still not meeting either Michael or Debbie’s eyes. “Besides, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t do boyfriends anymore, Mikey. You can’t fucking trust them. The only person you can rely on is yourself. Everyone else will just use you and then fuck you over. I don’t need that kind of shit.”
Brian refused to discuss the matter any further, sitting there staring into space, completely unresponsive to anything else Michael or Debbie said. He figured he’d already said too much. It didn’t make things any better. Rehashing everything just made you feel bad all over again. Brian preferred to just forget about everything and move on. He’d learn from his mistakes and wouldn’t fall for Lars’ type again. Enough said. Time to move on. Debbie eventually got the point and herded her son out of the hospital room, with promises to Brian to come by again the next day with some real food.
Brian finally let himself relax back into the comfort of his bed, trying without success to move without agitating his broken ribs or his broken wrist or aggravating any of the hundreds of bruised spots that swarmed over his body. From the shadows at the far end of the room, a familiar blond teen emerged and moved over towards the patient. Justin helped Brian get settled comfortably in bed, then climbed up next to his charge and wrapped his arms around the quietly sobbing Brian. The dispirited young man who refused to let anyone see his pain, finally let go and allowed himself to be consoled by the only person he knew he could always trust.
~**~**~**~**~ **~
“Get your ass out here, Lars!” Michael yelled in accompaniment to his fist pounding on the front door of Lars’ house.
“What the fuck bug got up your ass, Novotny?” Lars demanded as he pulled open the door and then quickly pulled it closed behind him. “You’re gonna get the whole neighborhood out here if you don’t shut the hell up.”
“I don’t give a shit who hears me, you little asswipe. What the hell did you do to Brian, huh? I want to hear exactly how you think you can get away with betraying him and letting everyone think that HE would be stupid enough to bring drugs onto school property,” Michael insisted, using his index finger to make his point by jabbing it into the other boy’s chest repeatedly.
“I didn’t do anything to Brian. We got caught smoking a joint behind the bleachers at school, is all. I didn’t force him to take a toke, so lay the fuck off me already,” Lars’ voice had lowered to a furious hissing whisper so as to keep the argument as private as possible.
“And what about the fucking baggie full of pot, huh? How exactly did that turn up in Brian’s backpack?”
“Shhhhh!” Lars desperately tried to get Michael to lower his voice so that the whole house didn’t hear their topic of conversation. “Yeah, all right, the pot was mine, but I couldn’t get caught with it again. I’ve been in trouble ‘cause of drugs before, okay. My dad’s ready to fucking send me off to some military school. I didn’t want to fuck everything up. So, I sorta . . . I hid the stash in Brian’s bag. I didn’t think he’d get in trouble for it. But the fucking bag wasn’t zipped up and the pot fell out right at Saluka’s feet. My father was fucking insane, man. He was yelling and screaming at me and throwing shit in Saluka’s office. I didn’t know what the hell else to do. I didn’t actually say it was Brian’s fault, I just sat there and let them think it was Brian’s. I didn’t mean for him to get suspended. It’s only for a couple of weeks though. No big deal, right?” Lars’ excuse sounded lame even to his own ears.
“No big deal for you!” Michael was so incensed he could barely get out the words. “Brian’s in the fucking hospital, you jerk. You knew about his dad, didn’t you? Well, because of your fucking betrayal, Jack Kinney beat the shit out of Brian. He’s been in the hospital all week because of you. He’s got a fucking broken arm and god knows what else is broken. All because you fucking didn’t stand up and take the blame for what YOU did.”
“Shit! I didn’t think . . .” Lars started trying to make more excuses, but Michael wasn’t about to let him off the hook no matter what he said.
“No, you didn’t think, you stupid fuck! Everyone knows how horrible Jack is to Brian. But you didn’t care, did you. You threw Brian to the dogs to save your own skinny ass. Well, fine, if that’s how you want things. Don’t worry, Brian’s too loyal to ever rat on you even though he’s taking the brunt of the punishment. But just hear this, I don’t EVER want to see you near Brian again. You hear me! You fucking leave him alone from now on. If I ever see you so much as talking to Brian again, I’ll get Spike and Victor, the two biggest fucking leather daddies on Liberty Avenue, to come and give you a bit of personal attention.”
“But, Michael . . . You can’t keep me away from Brian. You don’t have the right . . .”
“Yeah, I do have the right. You’re the one who doesn’t have the right to call Brian your friend anymore. So just leave him the fuck alone or you’ll end up in the hospital too, asshole.” Michael spat out with enough assurance that even Lars wasn’t about to doubt him.
“Remember, you don’t come near Brian or me or the Liberty Diner - EVER!”
Michael turned and stomped off down the sidewalk, leaving Lars standing on his front porch with his mouth hanging open in amazement at the balls little Mikey Novotny had grown.
~**~**~**~**~**~**~