Drawn Together (8 page)

Something flapped and squawked next to Rory’s head. He opened his eyes to find an inquisitive seagull watching him intently. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but his shirt was a crisply dried, salty mess. He untied the dinghy and paddled it around the fishing boat to the dock. It took some doing, but he finally got himself up onto the wooden platform, no easy feat with broken ribs. As he slogged and staggered up the dock, he remembered again the first few days of the hurricane when he’d been certain he’d never be dry again. Rory was beginning to really hate water.

There were no cars as far as he could see except ones that had been parked long-term by their owners. Hardly anything moved except sea birds. He walked away from the dock, assuming that sooner or later, he’d find a bigger road or a person or a phone. He checked his pockets to find out if he still had any change. What seemed like a long distance away, at the mouth of the inlet road he was walking on, he saw a small shack. Rory kept his feet going, stumbling forward. When he got close, he realized it was some sort of security station, and in 44 Z. A. Maxfield

it, watching several closed-circuit televisions and an iPod video, was a uniformed security guard.

“Hey,” said the guard, who fumbled out to stand in front of him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Rory didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so unfortunately, he did both at the same time. Eventually, he found himself sitting cross-legged on the ground with a cup of coffee in his hands laced with a generous amount of really cheap whiskey.

“So, they just threw you in, just like that?” said his new best friend.

“Just like that. Can you help me? I’ve got to get to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. I can’t walk much more.”

“I could call the police for you.” The guard held out his hand. “I’m Allen.” Rory laughed. “A fake cop brought me here. Jeez. I’m from New Orleans and I got a beat-down in LA by a phony cop. Grandmère will never let me live it down.”

“I get off at six o’clock. If you want to wait, I’ll drive you. Southern boy to Southern boy, you are a terrible mess.”

* * * * *

The sun warmed the colors in the sky over the water as Allen drove Rory back to Long Beach. Crossing over the Vincent Thomas Bridge, Rory thanked God for his good fortune. It could so easily have been a one-way trip. Soon, he dozed off, or lost consciousness. After a while, he felt Allen’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.

As he turned to leave the car, he felt overcome. “Thank you, Allen. I can’t thank you enough,” he said, shaking the man’s hand, gripping it hard. “Give me your card if you have one.”

“Fresh out.” The man laughed. “Take care, buddy.” Rory exited the car in front of the hospital’s wide, automatic double doors. He looked back as Allen drove away. As he walked through the hospital lobby, he was aware of the stares of the people around him. He had one goal in his head, Yamane, and he didn’t see, didn’t hear, and didn’t care about anything or anyone else.

He walked up to the information desk. “Where will I find Ran Yamane? I’m Rory Delaplaines, his domestic partner,” he lied, not caring to be very quiet or polite.

“He’s in three-ten but --” the woman behind the desk began.

“Thank you,” he said curtly. As he walked away he heard things like “stabbed in the hand” and “police guard,” but he kept on walking to the elevators. Rory had no doubt he’d meet with resistance, but after what he’d been through he felt a little bulletproof.

Drawn Together

45

Getting off the elevator on the third floor, he approached Yamane’s room, the only one currently being guarded by a uniformed officer. He walked up to the man, who had a coffee in one hand and casually flipped through an ancient copy of Teen People with the other.

Rory stood before him. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re the guy,” said the officer, jumping to his feet excitedly. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m back,” said Rory curtly.

The young officer took in Rory’s battered face, his bloodstained, filthy clothes, his damp shoes, and his current expression. “What the hell happened to you?”

“You going to give me a hard time?” Rory demanded, his hand already on the door to Yamane’s room. “I’m going in.”

The officer looked marginally sympathetic. “Go ahead. I’ll call you in found.”

“Not to Jenks, he’s not a real cop, right?” he asked, holding his body rigid as if he had to decide whether to flee.

“No, there’s no one named Jenks on this case,” said the officer earnestly. He pulled out his ID. “But I’m for real, and I’ll tell my superior you’ve been found.

Rory carefully looked his badge over. “You know, I’m all about trust, but from now on, it doesn’t matter what anyone shows me. I’m going to look after Yamane and myself as if every one of you is the bastard who did this to me.”

“Understood,” said the officer, this time with true pity on his face. “But we won’t let you down again.”

“I know,” said Rory. He turned and entered the room. Approaching the hospital bed, he noticed that Yamane was asleep, probably aided by some sort of sedative, because it was far too early. He put down the guardrail and sat on the side of the bed. Having reached his destination, Rory felt pain signals for the first time. His body was remarkably resilient. This would not be the first time Rory had taken advantage of that fact.

Rory leaned over and looked at Yamane’s face. It was so beautiful in the late afternoon light that it took Rory’s breath away. The shocking beating he had taken combined with the stark terror of coming to what seemed certain to be the end of his life made him want to touch someone.

Rory contented himself with stroking Yamane’s long hair gently with his fingers. As he did this, Yamane stirred slightly and opened his eyes. When he saw Rory, he immediately put his good arm out. Yamane said nothing but gathered Rory to him in an unyielding embrace.

Yamane pulled Rory’s face into the crook of his neck, and his injured hand came over to gently stroke his back. Under this tender assault, Rory completely gave up control and cried like a baby.

46 Z. A. Maxfield

Chapter Eight

“I’m sorry,” Rory said, standing up and wiping his face with the sleeve of his filthy shirt. “Wow. I don’t know what that was all about.”

“I am so relieved to see you,” Yamane whispered. “I thought…”

“We Delaplaines are a scrappy lot.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to break down like that; I can’t remember the last time it happened. Probably when I was a little kid.”

“It’s not important. Where have you been?” asked Yamane. “You look awful.”

“I feel like I’m going to puke up a kidney.” Rory walked to the bathroom.

While Rory was gone, Yamane signaled the nurse’s station. An impersonal voice came over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

“I need some help in here. My friend is badly injured.” Rory came out of the bathroom, moving slowly. “It’s worse than I thought; I’m pretty sure I need medical attention.” Rory looked pale. The bruising on his flesh stood out against his bloodless face. “I’m sorry.”

Jenkins came in, followed by a nurse with a wheelchair. “Shit,” said Jenkins. “You should have gone to emergency right away.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” murmured Rory, looking away. He moaned and put his head down.

Jenkins helped him into the wheelchair. “I’m Jenkins. I’m the detective on Yamane’s case. I have lots of questions to ask you, but first, you get examined. For all we know, you’re bleeding internally.”

“Well…actually we do know that,” said Rory tightly, “I am.” Rory started to laugh, and the nurse looked at him closely.

“I think he’s going to crash,” she said. “Let’s get him down to the ER right away.” Drawn Together

47

“Where are my clothes?” Yamane slid out of his hospital bed. “I’ll come with you.” He found a plastic bag with his personal things. His hospital gown flapped open.

“Jenkins, stop checking out my girlfriend’s butt.” Yamane whirled around with his back to the closet.

When Jenkins looked at him, appalled, Rory whispered, “Made you look.” Louder, he said, “Just kidding, princess.”

Yamane raised his eyebrows. “Who are you calling princess?” Rory began to sing.

“Oh, there he goes,” the nurse said to Jenkins. “This isn’t good; let’s get him out of here.”

Yamane heard Rory singing and people scrambling around in the hallway as he tried frantically to dress. He was still a little shaky himself. His hand was virtually useless, so he just pulled on his shirt and coat without buttoning them. He pulled his jeans on and cursed the fact that they had a button too. He jammed his shoes on without socks and staggered out to find the emergency room, dragging the stunned uniformed officer after him.

* * * * *

Later, Jenkins sat in the waiting room of the ER with Yamane. “Did Rory tell you what happened to him?” he asked.

“No. He was crying.”

“I don’t blame him. I got a look at him as they were cutting his clothes off. He’s going to feel this day’s work for a long time.”

“Was it really bad?”

“Yeah,” Jenkins said simply. “Look, you’ve known each other what, two days?”

“Yes.”

“Is that normal? To see a guy for two days and be like --”

“Not in my experience.”

“I’m sorry if that’s too personal. I know it’s a brave, new rainbow world and everything, but I’m slow to catch up to these things. Is it more accepted in Japan where you live?”

“Hardly.” Yamane snorted. “Anyway, technically I’m from New York. I just live in Japan.”

“Oh,” said Jenkins. “So, you met and then what? Love at first sight?”

“Oh, hell no. He came here from Louisiana, thinking I was a woman. He wanted to sweep me off my feet.” Yamane felt tired. That seemed a long time ago. “He’s not gay. He was appalled. I’m pretty sure he was clueless… Then I teased him. I wish I hadn’t done that.

48 Z. A. Maxfield

He’d probably be home now if I hadn’t. It’s not what you think. Even I don’t know what it is. I just think we were thrown together here by something and we found each other. I think maybe we’re…friends.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe,” said Yamane. “I don’t know. Shit, that woman.”

“Can you tell me about her?”

“She thinks because I used to show her my work and ask her opinion in high school art class she owns me. Who can explain crazy people? Once, about four years ago, she asked me out for drinks. ‘I’m in Tokyo, haven’t seen you since high school, how’s it going?’ Next thing I know, I wake up bound and gagged in her rented apartment. She kept me there for weeks, running interference with my work and my family. She trashed my place. She killed my dog.

I’ve never told anyone except the police and my agent. It’s not the kind of thing a man likes to admit. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself, but a little Rohypnol, a little rope, a little duct tape. You’re a police officer. I’m sure you’ve seen it. I got my life back and she was institutionalized quietly in the US. I thought she’d be there longer. Rory just happened to be getting breakfast with me this morning. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Yamane sighed. “But he’s a knight.”

“And now you’re the princess,” said Jenkins quietly.

“He doesn’t want me. He can’t possibly love me. I seem to attract the crazies, don’t I?”

“He’s not crazy, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You are the princess. Whatever that means. What do you plan to do now? Have you thought about it?” Yamane looked down at his left hand. “My instinct is to run. Not to Japan. Someplace I’d never go. Someplace she’d never look for me. An ostrich farm.”

“Louisiana with your friend?” suggested Jenkins.

“No. That’s too obvious, isn’t it? Of course she’d look there. I’m worried about Rory’s family. The boy has no resources. They just cut up a third of his clothes. I’m not sure what to do.” Yamane looked at Jenkins for a long time. “Really. I know someday she’ll kill me, but I don’t want it to be today.” He looked away.

Jenkins muttered a curse under his breath. “Do you know how much I hate stalkers?

I’m supposed to tell you that the authorities are going to handle it and everything will be all right if you just trust in the system to work.”

“I see.”

“But if you were my family? I would say run, arm yourself, kill that bitch, and find a hungry alligator so no one ever finds out.” Jenkins saw the uniformed officer who was guarding Yamane and motioned him over. “I think I’ll go see what I can do… I’ll keep in touch; check on Rory. His doctors said they were optimistic. Stay with this officer. He’ll be here if you need him. He’s got me on speed dial if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Drawn Together

49

“Yamane, I really hope everything works out,” he said. Yamane watched him walk away. Jenkins was saying good-bye in case Yamane took his unofficial advice. Yamane asked at the ER desk if they had any information about Rory.

“I haven’t heard anything yet, he’s in radiology now,” said one of the nurses. “I’m sure when he gets back someone will let you know.” Yamane turned away once again, hating the helplessness of waiting. He walked to his chair and sat back down. He saw the nurses laughing. Probably everybody had heard about the princess thing by now. At the very least , I am nobody s

’ pr n

i cess. He got up and went

back to the registration desk.

“I wonder if you could please find me a rubber band,” he said to the woman behind it.

* * * * *

A dark-haired boy with sullen eyes rolled Rory back from radiology. Big surprise.

Three of his ribs were cracked. He wished someone would just give him something good for the pain already. He was ready to drink poison. Of all the ridiculous things, he had been singing in the hallway. So not cool. At least he’d live. The blood in his urine was from trauma to his kidneys, but after the CT scan, the doctor didn’t think it was serious enough to require more than pain medication and bed rest. Fortunately his ribs hadn’t splintered, shattered, or punctured anything. He had to at least be grateful for that.

Rory needed a hot shower, a good night’s rest, and to get out of this miserable town.