Date: Sun, 02 Mar 2008 10:26:14 -0500 From: carl_mason@verizon.net Subject: DENNY LAWRENCE - 7 DENNY LAWRENCE - 7 Copyright 2008 by Carl Mason All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Denny Lawrence" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive. This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex. CHAPTER 7 (Revisiting Chapter 6) Two weeks later, at home, Denny opened an envelope from the Willingsly Gallery, read a note of thanks from Peter, and unfolded a seven thousand five hundred dollar check! "Our patron felt that it was my best piece of work ever - and I tend to agree," he wrote. "As you can see, he was very generous. Thank you, and much love, Peter. P.S. Oliver sends his love, too, and joins me in hoping that we shall see you again ere long." (Continuing Our Story - Of Blood and Tears) When Denny had first arrived home from West Virginia, Pat Mahan wasn't there. A note was stuck to the fridge, telling him that he had been called to San Francisco for a "juvenile justice" conference and giving him a phone number at one of the City's fine hotels. Answering on the first ring, Pat welcomed him home and bemoaned his being stuck so many miles away - though, as he readily admitted, it was a beautiful place that Denny eventually had to see. The young student and his beloved mentor briefly discussed the mine trip, touching on its continuation to New York City. They would talk more on Pat's return from the West Coast. In the meantime, Denny had an assignment in the emergency/trauma center of a major county hospital. He should contact a Dr. Farley Powell as soon as possible. Dr. Powell proved to be a younger man who welcomed Denny's involvement. True, the youngster could do nothing of his own responsibility, but, on the other hand, he was welcome to see everything. The best vehicle for this observation seemed to be for Denny to serve as an orderly personally attached to the head of Emergency Medicine. His first days saw a great deal of shelf stocking and constant efforts to stay out of everyone's way, including Emergency Medicine or EM doctors (plus interns and residents), nurses, physician assistants, technicians, secretaries, other staff, and emergency medical service staff (e.g., paramedics) temporarily in the emergency/trauma center. Needless to say, the atmosphere was pretty wild, but as he gradually came to discern the rhythms of the center, his opportunities for closer observation - and even some supportive service - increased. It would be a big mistake, Denny decided, to think of the Center as a "three-ring circus". Rather, it was more like a twelve-ring circus! People with all sorts of medical problems came through its doors, often simultaneously: car accidents, sports injuries, broken bones and cuts from accidents and falls, burns, uncontrolled bleeding, heart attacks, chest pain, difficulty breathing, and the list goes on and on. Further, inasmuch as many people do not have medical insurance in this country and/or are poor, they increasingly come to emergency centers where they have to be seen and screened. However great the dedication of the staff and the commitment of the community to providing adequate medical resources, this has a negative effect on the treatment of every group. The first case to involve Denny more directly involved an incident that took place at night over on the west side of town. Police responding to a complaint found themselves in the middle of a gang fight that involved 15 to 20 adolescents, male and female. Emergency Service Technicians (EMTs) treated seven youngsters at the site for a variety of injuries. Four were brought to the hospital by ambulance. One 16 year-old was dead on arrival, but three others (an 18 year-old male, a 17 year-old female, and a 13 year-old male) were fighting for their lives, despite serious injuries. Denny had never seen so much blood. (Six other serious cases were being treated at the same time by EM personnel.) Dr. Powell told Denny that they had lost the older male, but that the girl was hanging on. Unfortunately, the 13 year-old was losing his fight. Indeed, staff doubted that he would last the night. If there was a change in his medical condition, sensors or a supervising nurse would let staff know. Other staff were trying to contact a parent or guardian, but the boy might regain consciousness. If so, Dr. Powell didn't want him to be alone. Denny sat by his bedside for nearly five hours. He came out of it briefly twice. On the second time, he smiled wanly at Denny and managed to whisper, "Hi, I'm Terry." When he got Denny's name, he pushed his hand a little closer on the bed, asking his new friend to hold it. About 20 minutes later, a sensor sounded. Denny had to get out of the way when medical personnel quickly appeared. Both Dr. Powell and the nurse spoke to him later, commending him for his "professional attitude" and thanking him for his service. (Gender Is No Protection) The second case involved the rape of a 15 year-old male who was hysterical and vowing to kill himself. Rather than call an ambulance - which would have been the safe and sane thing to do - his father brought him into the Center. Again, Dr. Powell spoke with Denny. "I was impressed by the quiet competence and caring that you brought to Terry's case," he said. "I'm working on a psychiatric consult on this one, plus getting his father to hire a psychiatric nurse, but while we're trying to arrange it, I can't leave Nate Reynolds (the 15 year-old) alone. Would you be willing to sit with him, simply be there for him...if nothing else? I've lightly medicated him, by the way, and he's more calm." "Well, replied Denny, "I'm sure no psychiatrist, but if I can help, you know I want to." Nate had been taken to a special room in the Emergency Medicine Department of the hospital. When Denny entered, he saw Nate lying on a mattress. The lanky kid - perhaps 5'9" tall, jeans and a T-shirt that showed several splotches of vomit, medium- length brown hair in complete disarray - had dug his face into the mattress. Occasionally, one heard a quiet sob. Denny went over to the bed and sat down a short distance from Nate. "Nate, I'm Denny," he announced quietly. "May I get you a soda or some juice? Would you like a clean T-shirt?" In an unexpectedly deep voice, the 15 year-old answered, "Yeah, a root beer or a cola would be fine - and a T-shirt, too, if it's not too much trouble. This one really stinks." Denny went over to the door where he knew Dr. Powell had been observing through the one-way glass port and spoke with him for a moment. "Comin' up," he said as he turned back to Nate. Within two minutes, someone knocked on the door. When answered, a hand gave Denny a cold bottle and a clean T-shirt. "Root beer for Nathaniel Reynolds," he announced, handing the cold bottle to the lanky one. He kept the shirt for a moment, walking over to the sink where he prepared a hot, soapy washcloth. Back at the bed, he asked, "Would you like to wash off before putting the new T' on?" Nate looked up, a glazed but not unfriendly look on his face. Stripping off his T-shirt, he took the washcloth, mumbling, "Yeah. Thanks, Denny." Once the clean T' was on, he retrieved his drink from the floor, and settled back onto the pillows with a deep grunt. "You ok, man?" Denny asked hesitantly. "Nah" came the quick response. I'm dead meat. You gotta write all this crap down?" "Why would I write it down?" Denny asked in honest surprise. " Cause you're a shrink!" Nate exclaimed forcefully. "Hell no, I'm no shrink. I'm not even a doctor!" the curly-haired one retorted. "Well, if you're not a shrink, what in hell are you?" persisted the 15 year-old. "Long story," Denny began. "A few months ago, my life was seriously out of control. I hated the person I was becoming...crooked, some drugs, using people, and worse. The Court gave me a choice: some serious adult prison time or working with this guy who would help me get my head on straight and, maybe, pay back society a little for some of the crap I pulled. Having to do the work scared the hell out of me, but with that guy's help I think I'm pulling myself up out of the shit." "Man," Nate sighed. "I wish I'd met someone like that...before it was too late, that is." Denny gulped and interrupted, "What in hell happened, Nate?" "You're no shrink?" the boy asked as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd been told. "NAH!" Denny yelled and slugged him playfully on the upper arm. "I tried to off myself earlier today," the fifteen year-old began, "but I screwed up. Don't worry...I'll do it tomorrow or the next day." "Why in hell would you want to kill yourself rather than fight back?" the curly-haired one asked in some confusion. "Because there's no chance of winning," Nate choked, close to tears. "See, I love my dad even though he's gay...and I thought I was straight. Last night, his partner, Rolly, fucked me. When dad finds out what's goin' on AND THAT IT WAS MY FAULT, he's gonna hate my guts!" "A guy rapes you, and it's YOUR fault?" Denny asked in amazement. "Yeah, I must have asked for it. I started to sweat just like I do with Kathy. I got hard and then I got harder. When he let go...yuh know...I creamed all over the bed. I'm a fuckin' queer who's played around with his dad's partner. I'm shit! I don't deserve to live!" Bursting into tears, he yelled, "I hate myself, Denny; I hate myself!" 'A fuckin' queer, eh?' Denny snarled to himself. Then he caught himself. Right now, Nate's situation was more important than his hurt feelings. He was about to object even more strenuously when someone knocked at the door. Opening it, he found Dr. Powell. "No luck finding the psychiatrist?" he asked nervously. "Oh sure," the M.D. replied. "He's been watching you through the one-way for about five minutes. Said you had him talking and that was half the battle." With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Said he might let you take this case! Well, in any case, Denny... Nate's father is paying for the psychiatric nurse. She's on the way right now, but you know traffic this time of day. Do you mind staying until she arrives?" "I guess not," Denny admitted. He's a good guy." Then, with some embarrassment, he asked, "But what do you do when you think what the guy is saying is nuts?" "Just keep him talking, Denny. He has a lot of poison in him that he has to get out before he can start to be more rational. We were able to pump most of the pills out of his stomach and neutralize the rest, but there are some poisons that stomach pumps can't reach." When Denny rejoined Nate on the bed, he threw his arm around his shoulder and whispered, "I hated myself, too, Nate, but I don't think there is anything bad that we do or that others do that can't be worked out...with time and with the will to do it. Hang in there, man!" The boys continued talking until Mrs. Bauer arrived. Denny knew Nate had a long ways to go, but his spirits rose when he received a wide grin from the lad just before it was time to leave. (The Approaching Storm) Due to working with Nate, it was quite late when he finally began preparing to go home. Not long before he left the Center, three teens were brought in by the EMTs. He overheard that they came from the same party where they had overdosed. Treatment had already begun as Denny walked out the door and saw that parents and friends of the teens were arriving. To his utter horror, two of their friends were among the group with whom he had experimented with hard drugs. Further, they recognized him in his white coat, shirt, and pants just about as quickly as he recognized them. This problem had not come up in Family Court, and he wasn't at all sure that Pat Mahan knew anything about it. He had hoped that it would never be necessary to tell him. To Be Continued