Date: Thu, 30 Sep 1999 00:59:32 EDT
From: Rysh1422@aol.com
Subject: Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 6

Well, here's my follow up to Chapter 5. Sorry for those of you who were
surprised or disappointed at the way things went. This is a transitional
chapter so there's not a lot of action, but a lot of stuff happens in this
chapter that will affect the rest of the story. I'm gonna quit with the
legal disclaimers cuz if you haven't read them by chapter 6, you're never
going to and I don't know anyone who starts reading a story in chapter
six. I look forward to your feedback. Enjoy.


Chapter 6

	It felt as if I were floating. That's the first thing I
remember. Then I became aware of a bright, white light that I could see
through my closed eyelids. The events leading up to my blackout flooded
back into my consciousness and I found myself wishing for the bliss of the
darkness again. Then I realized I wasn't in pain. Was I in heaven? I forced
my eyes open, but shut them again quickly. The light was blinding. I tried
again, a little more cautiously this time.

	Well, I wasn't in heaven, not unless they hooked you up to machines
and painted their rooms a nasty puke green. When would hospitals ever
learn?

	Just then, a nurse walked into my field of vision. She was wearing
the typical nurses uniform of a brightly colored top over white pants and
white shoes. She looked like she was maybe in her 60's with close cropped
gray hair and a don't-mess-with-me look in her eyes.

	"Ah, I see you're back with us again," she said, "How do you feel?"

	"I'm not sure yet. How long was I out? Was I in a coma?" I
asked. My voice sounded scratchy and harsh. The pain was starting to come
back now, a little more with each breath.

	"No, no comas," she told me as she started checking machines and
making little notes on her clipboard. "You were unconscious when they found
you, and then they doped you up for the surgery. You're just now coming
around. Starting to feel some pain?"

	I nodded. I liked her. She was very straightforward.

	"Alrighty then, we'll take care of that," she made some adjustments
to the keypad on the IV stand and changed the bag at the top. "There, that
should help soon."

	"What happened?" I asked her. "Am I OK?"

	"You're going to be fine, but the doctor will be in shortly to tell
you more. If you need anything from me, like more of the good stuff to
knock you out or something to drink, whatever, just push this little red
button here." She showed me a small tube shaped thingy with a wire that ran
out of the bottom of it to the wall behind me. A red button was on one end
of it. "This will page us at the nurses station. Someone will come and
check on you, although it might not always be me. Ok?" I nodded again.

	She bustled about busily for a few more minutes, then breezed out,
waggling her fingers at me as she went.

	The medicine started kicking in soon after, and I was about to go
back to sleep when a tall black man with a thin mustache wearing a white
doctor's coat and a stethoscope around his neck walked into the room. I
assumed he was the doctor.

	"Hello there, Killian," he said. He pulled up one of the chairs in
the room (they were a lovely shade of orange, to go with the puke green
walls I can only assume) and sat down so he was more or less on an eye
level with me. "My name is Dr. Murray. I'm your doctor. It's good to see
you awake. You're looking a lot better than the first time I saw
you. You've been through a lot in the last 24 hours."

	"Like what?" I asked.

	"Well, do you remember what happened?" he asked.

	I nodded, "Aren't the police going to ask me questions now that I'm
awake?"

	The doctor laughed, "You've watched too many cops shows on TV. No,
they aren't going to need to ask you any questions. They're saying you
interrupted a mugging, classic case of wrong place at the wrong time. They
haven't caught the guy yet, but they are looking. Now, as for you, this guy
did a number on you. You're going to be just fine, but it's going to take a
while, several weeks at least. The knife entered at a perfect angle
considering he missed all the important stuff, but he did puncture your
lung. We've stitched up what needed stitching. Now you just need rest to
finish up the job. It's not going to be real fast, and it's going to hurt
like hell, but that's why God invented drugs. I'll be keeping an eye on
you, and I'm sure someone showed you how to contact the nurses if you need
anything."

	He stood up as if to leave, but I noticed he'd left out some
important information. I struggled to stay awake as the medicine was really
kicking in about now. "Wait, what about Seth?" I said. Maybe I had been
wrong. Maybe it wasn't really Seth, or maybe they had been able to save him
too.

	"That was the other young man?" Dr. Murray asked me. His slightly
joking manor was gone now, and I knew the news wasn't good.

	I nodded.

	"Did you know him?" he asked.

	Past tense. Definitely not good. I nodded again.

	"I'm sorry," he said simply, "He was dead when the police got
there."

	I felt a tear roll down my cheek. The doctor looked at my
sympathetically and patted me awkwardly on the hand. "Try to get some
rest," he said, "That's what's going to help you heal."

	I wondered if he meant physically or emotionally. I suspected I
would heal much faster from my stab wound.

			* * *

	The next time I awoke, my parents were in the room with me. As soon
as my eyes were open, Mom was at the side of the bed.

	"Are you ok?" she asked me.

	"I'm not sure," I told her truthfully. The meds had me pretty
groggy.

	"Of course he's ok," Dad barked from his chair across the
room. "Don't baby him. He's 16 for God's sake."

	Mom looked into my eyes, and our new bond let me know that she was
still concerned for me. In the interest of domestic peace, however, she
moved away from the bed and sat back down.

	"What I want to know is what you were doing with that fag anyway,"
Dad went on as if we were in the middle of a conversation. "You're mother
said you went out for a walk. You weren't meeting him were you?"

	I closed me eyes and hoped he'd get the hint. I didn't feel like
dealing with him right now. I hadn't even taken in the fact that Seth was
dead, and I had come too close to dying myself. I was still in the freaking
hospital for God's sake, and all he could do was start interrogating me.

	"Killian," he went on when I didn't answer, "If somebody hadn't
seen that guy run out of the woods then you would be dead. I want some
answers."

	Join the club I thought. I fumbled around for the call button with
my eyes still closed, found it and pushed the button.

	"Were you meeting him there in the woods?" He was relentless. I
mean I was in a hospital bed, with a stab wound, and he's grilling me.

	"Gary," Mom interrupted, "He's tired, he's hurt, why don't we just
let him be for now? You can ask him all these questions later."

	"Did I ask you?" he said to her in his I'm-so-calm-it-hurts voice.

	I was about to page the nurse again when I heard someone come into
the room.

	"Did someone need me?" she asked in a chipper voice, "Oh, I bet I
know who it is!" Oh great, a perky nurse. Just what I always wanted.

	I opened one eye and couldn't help but open the other one too. She
looked amazingly like Brittany Spears in a nurse's uniform. I wondered if
the meds they were giving me were causing me to have hallucinations. If so,
I think I'd rather deal with the pain.

	"Are you hurting again?" she asked me. If she only knew how much, I
thought. Then she went on before I could even answer, "Well, we just gave
you some pain medication not that long ago, so I can't give you anymore
right now. I think you just need some rest." She turned towards my parents
and smiled brightly at them. "He really needs his sleep, maybe you could
come back later and visit with him." I liked her better already.

	Dad glared at her for a second then stood up and motioned for Mom
to come with him. She started after him, but paused by my bed for a second,
rested her hand on my arm, then followed him out of the room.

	Nurse Brittany turned her thousand-watt smile on me once they were
gone. "Is that what you wanted maybe?" she asked.

	I managed a chuckle but immediately winced. "You're good," I told
her.

	"Thanks, but you'd be surprised how many kids use that thing to get
rid of their parents." she laughed and started back out the door, "If you
need anything else, don't hesitate to page me."

	And I was alone with my thoughts finally. I was still a bit groggy
from the pain medication, but I needed to think. Seth was dead. Someone had
killed him and come very close to killing me as well. From what Dr. Murray
had said, the police had pretty much closed the case; saying that I had
interrupted a mugging. Somehow that didn't make sense to me. I thought
about how the killer had frozen when he saw me clearly for the first
time. It was right after that when he ran away, almost like he knew
me. They'd even cursed. I racked my brain trying to see if I could
recognize the voice, but I had been too scared and their voice had just
been a whisper.

	Then my mind turned to the unthinkable. Why would someone want to
kill Seth? Maybe it was just a random killing. It was easier to think about
that than think he had been killed for personal reasons. Again I asked
myself, "Why would anyone want to kill Seth?" In my heart, I knew the
answer. I could hear it in Seth's own words, "I mean, I'm used to everybody
hating me. My own family hates me so why shouldn't you..."

	"Why would I hate you?" I had asked him.

	"Because I'm gay," he had answered simply and honestly. And now he
was dead. What if he had been killed because he was gay? That thought was
especially scary since I was still dealing with my own homosexuality. I
knew it happened all the time though. I remembered Matthew Shepard from all
the news coverage and I knew there were many others.

	Suddenly I found myself crying. Softly at first and then harder
until my entire body was trembling from the sobs. They seemed to start from
somewhere deep within me, somewhere I had never tapped before. I was
weeping for Seth. I was weeping for Matthew Shepard. I was weeping for all
those who were killed, or killed themselves, because of something they had
no control over. In my mind, they were both the same. Society had killed
the suicide victims just as surely as they had killed Matthew Shepard, and
now, I knew in my heart, Seth.

	But most of all, I think I was weeping for myself. I felt deep
sense of loss for what had happened in the park. Not even so much for Seth,
I really barely knew him even though I had liked him and thought we would
have been good friends if not more. I wept for what it
represented. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep.

	When I awoke again, Nurse Brittany was gently sliding my arm into a
blood pressure cuff.

	"Sorry to wake you up, Sport," she said, "But I have to take your
blood pressure. Someone was here earlier to visit you, but only family can
see you just yet, so they had to leave."

	"Who was it?" I asked her, still not quite awake.

	"Cute kid about your age, I think his name was Ashley, or no
wait..."

	"Asher?" I asked.

	"Yes, that's it Asher."

	Asher had come to see me? Why? After the way things had ended after
school the day before, he was the last person I would have expected to come
see me.

			* * *

	They kept me in the hospital for a few days, and then I was sent
home to complete my recovery. Thank goodness Dad hadn't come after me
again, but I knew it was just a matter of time. He hadn't been home much,
but that was too good to last. Asher hadn't come around anymore either. I
was pretty much bed ridden most of the time, so I had lots of time to think
about what had happened.

	I had come to a few conclusions while doing my thinking. They were
fairly simple, at least in my mind. Number one, whoever had killed Seth
couldn't be allowed to get away with it. If the police weren't going to
find them, and it didn't seem to me like they were trying all that hard,
then I would.

	Number two, it was fairly obvious to me at least that Seth had been
killed because he was gay. I didn't buy into the mysterious mugger
theory. It was just too coincidental.

	My last conclusion was that the killer had to have known me judging
by their reaction when they saw me. It was this last conclusion that scared
me the most. It meant that someone I knew, maybe knew very well, was a
cold-blooded murderer.

	I had been having nightmares almost every night since I had come
home. They were almost always the same thing, or a variation thereof. In
it, I was at the park again, by the pond. The shadows were dark and almost
seemed to be alive. I was so scared. And then, there was Seth. He was
standing on the bridge and he kept asking me, "Why Killian? Why me?" I
would try to answer him, but no words would come out of my mouth no matter
how hard I tried. And then I would feel someone come up behind me. I would
awake, wet from the cold sweats, with my heart pounding in my chest and
unable to get back to sleep.

	Between, my dark thoughts, the nightmares and the accompanying lack
of sleep, I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into depression. After
what had happened to Seth, I knew I could never come out myself. I felt
trapped by things I knew I had no control over. I wanted out, but I was too
much of a coward to do anything about it but hate myself.

	About a week after the murder and my stabbing, a knock came to our
door. Mom left to answer it. I could hear the conversation from my post in
the living room. I could tell it was a man, but I didn't recognize the
voice. Then he introduced himself.

	"I'm Adam Connelly," I heard him say, "Seth's father. I'd like to
see Killian if he's up to it."

	My mother was silent for a moment, then she spoke softy, "I'll
check."

	As soon as she appeared in the door, I nodded. She turned and
motioned to Mr. Connelly. When he came into the room, I almost gasped. He
looked like an older version of Seth, except tired and worn out. I wondered
if he had looked that way before Seth's murder or if it was a by-product of
that horrible event.

	"Hello Killian," he said, extending his hand for me to shake.

	"Hi, Mr. Connelly," I said.

	"Please, call me Adam," he told me. "Seth spoke so much of you, I
feel like I know you. You were his only friend..." He choked up and had to
stop speaking. My eyes shifted to Mom. She was staring at me with a funny
look on her face that I couldn't quite interpret.

	"I'll be in the kitchen," she said and walked away. I forced my
mind back to Adam. I turned to him just as he was sitting down in the chair
closest to my makeshift bed on the sofa.

	"I'm sorry," I said, feeling horribly inadequate, "I'm sorry for
what happened..."

	He waved his hand to stop me and I faded out. "You don't have
anything to be sorry for. You're maybe the only person I know in this
pathetic town who doesn't have anything to be sorry for." He shook his head
as if to clear it, "I'm sorry. I'm still dealing with a lot of anger, but
finger pointing doesn't accomplish anything. You're probably wondering why
I'm here."

	I couldn't argue with that, so I simply nodded.

	"I have something for you, Killian," he said, pulling an envelope
out of his pocket, "I found it as I was cleaning out Seth's room. It's a
letter that he wrote to you. I hope you don't mind that I read it. I
thought he'd like for you to have it."

	He handed me the letter, and I looked at it for a moment.

	"Please, open it and read it while I'm here," he asked me. I could
hear the pain in his voice. How could I say no? So I opened it with
trembling hands, and pulled out a single sheet of lined notebook paper. I
unfolded the letter and looked at the date on the top. It had been written
the day he kissed me. I forced my eyes down the page and began to read.

	"Hey Killer," it began. "I'm really sorry about what happened
today. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe that's the whole problem. I
wasn't thinking. I wanted so badly for you to be gay, that I guess I
imposed it on you. I get so lonely here in this town. I wanted to find
someone I could love and who could love me. I guess I was expecting too
much. I know I've probably ruined everything by now, but if not, if you can
forgive me, I'd still like to be your friend. If you don't hate me that
is."

	The letter stopped here and then picked up again in different color
ink.

	"Wow. I just got off the internet after talking to you. I can't
believe I was right! You are gay! But I'm not getting my hopes up or
anything. I'm just glad you don't hate me and you still want to be my
friend.
	"After you signed off I looked up your middle names. I think its
very interesting what it meant. Maybe you will too. Travers means "the
crossing." Do you see it? I think it means that you are at a crossroads
right now. You know you're gay, but you don't know what to do about
it. There are several paths you can take, but only you can decide what path
is right for you. And there really is only one path that's right for you.
	"I hope you find it and I hope that maybe I can help you along that
path."

	It was signed, "Your friend, Seth."

	By the time I reached the signature, tears were streaming freely
down my face. I looked up to see that Adam was crying as well. I cleared my
throat, "Why didn't he give it to me?" I asked.

	"I don't know," he said simply, "but I think he'd like for you to
have it now." Then he stood up. "That's all really. I wanted to give you
the letter. Thank you for being a friend to my son. I can let myself out."

	He started out of the room, then stopped in the doorway. He stood
there for a few moments and then turned. "He's right, you know. You are at
a crossroads. What path you choose now will have an impact on the rest of
your life in a way that you can't even begin to fathom now. Choose
carefully." And he was gone.

	Mom came back into the room a few minutes later. She took in my
tear stained face and the letter in my hands and then sat down in the chair
Adam had just vacated. She sat for a few moments in silence.

	"Killian," she said finally, "are you gay?"

	I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I sat like this for what
seemed like an eternity before I finally pulled myself together enough to
shut my mouth. I nodded instead.

	She sat there for a few more minutes without saying a word. Just
when I thought the silence would deafen me, she simply stood up and walked
out of the room. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out. I know that
sounds like a cliché, but that's exactly what it felt like, as if
suddenly there was a gaping hole where my heart had been.

	I began to cry, and then once again I was racked by sobs. I don't
know how long I cried, but suddenly I became aware that a storm had come
up. I could hear the rain beating against the house and slight rumbles of
thunder in the distance coming closer with each crash.

	I struggled up from the sofa, ignoring the physical pain. The
emotional pain had taken precedence for the moment. I opened the shades at
the window and stared out at the storm and thought about how it reflected
the storm I was feeling inside, slowly building up to the point where it
was a force that couldn't be stopped.

	I was at a crossroads. What path should I take?