by Xavier Mayne
And the tiny winged sandal that was tattooed there.
He stood in front of Trevor, not moving, willing him to move his blank and glassy eyes toward the tattoo that they had talked about that first idyllic weekend together, back before the accident, back before a decade of separation.
Trevor didn’t move.
Sandler stood there for a full minute, then two, feeling hope flow out of him. How cruel life was, he thought, to bring Trevor back to him in body but not in mind—not in spirit.
“Trev, I need you,” he managed to say before a sob caught in his throat. “Trevor, please. Please.” Unable to speak any further, he gave himself over to the tears that rose from the pain he felt deep inside.
Whether it was from the pleading or the crying or simply that by standing in front of him Sandler was blocking out so much of the room—what made Trevor turn to look was a mystery. But look he did.
When he caught sight of the tattoo, he froze.
Sandler, eyes blurry with tears, blinked hard and focused on Trevor’s face, desperate for a sign of recognition. So intently was he studying Trevor’s eyes that he was unaware of the hand that rose up before him until he felt the fingertips brush lightly across the tattoo. Startled, he jolted but willed himself not to step back.
For a long moment, Trevor stared at the tattoo while his fingers made small circles around it. Then, gradually, Trevor lifted his gaze up Sandler’s body to his face.
Sandler could see the change come over him: his eyes locked into focus, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth.
“It’s… you,” Trevor said, his voice just above a whisper.
“Yes, it’s me.” Though Sandler wanted to shout, he found he could only make a rasping murmur, so tight was his throat with emotion.
“Sandler,” Trevor said, looking down at the tattoo then back up to his face. “It’s really you.”
“It is. I’m here, Trev. I’m here.”
Like a storm that sweeps in so suddenly its first raindrops glitter in sunshine, Trevor smiled widely and began to cry at the same moment. Sandler dropped back to his knees and threw his arms around him, and to his amazement felt Trevor’s arms close around him as well. Across a separation of more than a decade, the lovers embraced as if they’d never left each other’s side.
Trevor was finally able to catch his breath. “You came,” he said simply.
“I never would have left you,” Sandler replied, his tears flowing now too. “They wouldn’t let me see you, and then they took you away. I thought you were… I thought you were dead.”
“I felt like I was,” Trevor said, then fell to crying against Sandler’s shoulder. “And then today some guy shows up pretending to be Randy from the forensics team, and then he brings you. I didn’t know what to think. I thought it was a trap.”
“A trap?” Sandler asked.
Trevor nodded. “She’s done it before. For a while she brought in every girl I ever knew—or at least girls who said they knew me, but I could never be sure. Things were blurry for a few years after the accident. Then she got more desperate and would try to trick me into thinking you were dead, or were a criminal or something. Eventually I got into the habit of just closing down when someone new shows up. Especially someone like Randy. He was one of the only straight people who knew about us. I knew he wouldn’t be talking to me about his annoying sister.”
“You told Randy Filkins about us?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. I called you from the bus once on the way back from a forensics competition, and he just wouldn’t let it go. He was cool about it and never told anyone. But then when someone showed up claiming to be him and telling me that you were here and that you were going to get me out of here… well, I figured she was trying one of her tricks. Like she wanted to make me do something crazy so she would feel justified in sending me to that clinic tomorrow. So I did the only thing that seems to work when she tries to trick me—I just shut down and pretend I’m somewhere else. That’s the only way to make them give up. Until you showed me that tattoo. It’s right where I told you to put it. You are the only person who would know about that. That’s when I knew it was you.”
Sandler looked at him, marveling at how strong and alive he suddenly seemed. “The part of Randy Filkins was played by Gabriel Donnelly, who’s about the best guy you’re ever likely to meet. He says your mom told him she’d upped your dosage of meds tonight to keep you calm for tomorrow. It looked like she’d practically drugged you into a coma.”
Trevor smiled. “Here’s why it didn’t work,” he said and reached under the blanket. He pulled out two small tablets and showed them to Sandler.
“Is that… the medication your mom gave you?”
Trevor nodded. “I wanted to be clear in case you really were able to come back.”
“You wanted to be clear? What does that mean?”
Trevor sighed. “I know she’s been drugging me. She thinks I don’t notice that the dosage goes up every time I mention you.”
“How long has she been doing this?”
“For a few years,” Trevor answered, looking down at the blanket where his hands had fallen still. “At first, right after the accident, I didn’t know what she was doing. But as I got stronger, I noticed that how much I recovered depended on her mood. If I said something that upset her, I suddenly had trouble sitting up—or keeping food down.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this? Any of your doctors? She shouldn’t be doing this to you.”
“I tried. But because she has some legal paperwork making her my custodian, they won’t talk with me about it. And anyone who tried to do something about it ended up getting removed from my case. The last one they ended up fighting in court. That was when I knew no one would ever help me, and I… I just kind of gave up.”
“I’m here now,” Sandler said, his definite tone leaving no room for doubt. “We are going to get you out of here, and you will never be under her control again. I will never leave your side.”
Trevor brought his hands up to Sandler’s face and cradled his jaw in his hands. “I had given up on ever being able to do this again,” he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed Sandler.
Sandler felt the years fall away, and they were right back on his aunt’s sofa, feeling the heady rush of first love. He ran his fingers across Trevor’s face, remembering every feature—though his sharp cheekbones and angular chin had softened a little with the decade that had passed, it was terrain he knew well. They sat and smiled stupidly at each other for a long while.
“Your friends think we’re insane,” Trevor murmured, looking over Sandler’s shoulder. Sandler turned around to see Donnelly and Kerry standing by the connecting door, arms around each other, tears running down both their faces.
“Gabriel, Kerry, I’d like you to meet Trevor. The only man I’ve ever loved.”
The two rushed across the room to cheer the reunited couple. There were hugs all around.
Finally, it fell to Donnelly to get the group back on track. “If we’re going to get you out of here, we need to move now,” he said. “Trevor, I found a bag your mom packed for you. Do you think it has everything you need in it?”
Trevor nodded. “I don’t have much. She keeps me in pajamas all the time so I couldn’t get very far if I did try to escape.”
Donnelly turned to Kerry. “What did you find in terms of meds?”
“It’s like a pharmacy in there,” she said, shaking her head. “Lots of stuff that shouldn’t be taken together, plus some stuff that you can’t get in the US anymore. All of it is psychotropic, though. There’s nothing for physical issues at all, at least as far as the meds go.”
Sandler’s ears pricked up at this. “What does that mean, ‘at least as far as the meds go’?”
Kerry paused for a moment, and Trevor answered for her.
“She means she found my wheelchair.” Trevor turned to Sandler. “I can’t walk, Sandler.”
Sandler sat back in shock. He felt
as though his stomach were going to lurch up into his throat. “I… I am so sorry.” He sucked in a deep breath, but all that came back out were great coughing sobs. “I am so sorry I did that to you.” He broke down completely.
Trevor put his arms around Sandler and pulled him close. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you—no one would. This just… happens sometimes.”
Sandler continued inconsolably sobbing.
Donnelly, who knew a thing or two about paralysis from his friend Will, asked, “Trevor, are you paralyzed, or do you have some function in your legs?”
“It was a sacral injury, but an incomplete one. I was in physical therapy for a while, and I was making progress, but then Mom got paranoid that I was developing a crush on my therapist, so she wouldn’t take me anymore.”
“Good God, these people,” Kerry fumed. “What parent would do that?”
“One who wants to be sure her sexually defective son doesn’t ever escape,” Trevor said bitterly. “She never had to worry that I’d run away if she kept my wheelchair under lock and key.” One look at Sandler and his face softened. “She wouldn’t let me walk if the only place I wanted to walk to was back to you.”
Trevor’s words jostled Sandler out of his guilt-ridden fugue state. He wiped his eyes, slapped his cheeks a couple of times, and shook his head to clear it. “We’re done,” he said, the resolve back in his voice. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“I’ll have them bring the car around,” Kerry said, bolting for the door.
“I’ll grab Trevor’s bag and meet you down there,” Donnelly called, racing through the doorway to the Hendrickses’ room. He returned seconds later, pushing a wheelchair in front of him, a duffel bag sitting on the seat. “Ready to roll.” He shoved the wheelchair in Sandler’s direction and shouldered the duffel. “Trevor, is there anything else you need me to grab?”
“I don’t need anything from this place, now that I have him,” Trevor said. Then he turned to Sandler and stuck his tongue out. “That sounded a little sappy.”
“I love it. Now let’s get you into this chair and get the hell out of here.”
“Do you need help?” Donnelly asked, already halfway out the door.
“I think I can handle this guy myself,” Sandler replied with a grin.
As Donnelly disappeared into the hallway, Trevor threw off his blanket, revealing a lightly built body clad in gray sweatpants and a thermal shirt.
“Grab on to me,” Sandler said, leaning down to Trevor. He scooped one arm behind his knees and one under his buttocks. Once Trevor’s arms were around his neck, he lifted, amazed at how light Trevor was. “We need to get you into the gym.”
“That’s obviously the worst part about being held prisoner—you can’t reach your fitness goals.”
Sandler pivoted slowly and set Trevor gently into the seat of the wheelchair. “Prepare to breathe the sweet air of freedom, buddy.”
“Wait,” Trevor said as Sandler began to wheel him toward the door. “I should leave a note.”
Sandler swallowed what he wanted to say—something along the lines of his parents not deserving any explanation at all—and grabbed up a pen and notepaper from next to the telephone. These he handed to Trevor, and stood back to let him write.
It took no more than thirty seconds for Trevor to write a few lines, fold the paper over, write “Mom and Dad” on it, and set it on the bed. He settled back into the chair and nodded to Sandler. “Good to go,” he said.
Sandler rushed at the chair and shoved it toward the door once again. In a blur they were out the door, down the hallway, and into the elevator.
As they descended, Trevor looked up at Sandler. “Look at me, rescued by a knight in shining armor,” he said with a wink.
“I don’t do this for no damsels,” Sandler replied, sounding like a Knight of the Jersey Shore. “Youse gonna put out, or what?”
“Oh hell yeah. I’ve got years to make up for,” Trevor said with a giddy grin.
They were sharing a kiss when the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, which even at this hour was alive with activity. There were guests, and bellhops, and—
Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks.
“MR. AND Mrs. Hendricks?”
They turned away as the elevator doors opened, clearly startled to be called by name in a hotel lobby so far from home.
Brandt smiled diplomatically. “I’m so sorry to intrude on your evening,” he said, drawing them away from the elevator, “but there’s a matter of some importance that I must discuss with you.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Hendricks objected. “What is this about? Who are you?”
“I’ll explain in a moment,” Brandt said. “I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Schwegler, the director of the clinic—the clinic at which you have an appointment with your son tomorrow? He would like to speak with you about Dr. Rauthmann.”
The mention of the doctor’s name got the attention of both of Trevor’s parents. The exchanged a look, but followed Brandt as he led them toward a group of chairs where Schwegler awaited their arrival.
At the edge of his vision, Brandt could see Sandler rushing to the exit… pushing a wheelchair? He knew when Kerry and Donnelly had sped through that things were reaching a critical stage, but clearly their plan had dissolved into madcap improvisation.
Brandt hated improvisation.
He turned back to the task at hand. “Dr. Schwegler, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks.”
Schwegler stood. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hendricks, Mrs. Hendricks,” Schwegler said, shaking the hand of each in turn.
They nodded politely, but their expressions remained bemused.
“Is it your habit, Dr. Schwegler, to seek out patients the night before they are admitted to the clinic?” Mrs. Hendricks asked. Her graceful words carried an unmistakable accusation.
“Not at all, Mrs. Hendricks,” Schwegler replied soothingly. “Please, sit, so that we may have a quiet discussion on the subject of your son’s upcoming treatment.” He gestured to the chairs next to the one in which he’d been sitting, and the Hendrickses reluctantly followed his lead and sat.
Brandt remained standing.
“Is she on her way?” Schwegler asked him.
“Yes, she should be here any minute,” Brandt replied, looking toward the street doors of the hotel.
As if on cue, the doors were hauled open by the doorman and Kerry swept into the lobby, looking pink and flushed after having gotten Sandler and Trevor securely away in a town car. She hurried over to Brandt, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Dr. Schwegler, this is Kerry Mercer.”
Schwegler stood again, and extended his hand. “Ms. Mercer, thank you for joining us.”
“If I can be of help, I’m glad to be here,” she said. She and Brandt took chairs opposite the Hendrickses.
“This is all very strange, Doctor,” Mrs. Hendricks said. “If you think we’re going to discuss the care of our son in a hotel lobby with strangers—”
“You should know, Mrs. Hendricks,” Schwegler broke in gently, “that I spoke with Dr. Rauthmann this afternoon, and I have some concerns.”
“Concerns?” Mr. Hendricks demanded. “What kind of concerns?”
“I question whether his protocol is of any credible therapeutic value.”
Mrs. Hendricks made a noise that established her offense at this remark to all within earshot. “Are you insinuating that we don’t have the best interests of our son foremost in our minds?”
“Not at all,” Schwegler replied, using a voice that had doubtless dissuaded numerous psychopaths from attempting rash action. “But I would be remiss in my duties as director of the clinic—as a doctor—were I to let you proceed without all of the facts.”
“I believe we have all the facts we need,” Mr. Hendricks said dismissively. “We didn’t fly to Geneva on a whim.”
“There is no doubt in my mind that you intend the best for your son,” Dr. Schwegler replied, his voice calm
and even. “But when we grow desperate for a particular outcome, we may become willing to take greater risk than is reasonable.” As Mrs. Hendricks drew breath to take issue with Schwegler’s characterization, he cut her short by turning to Kerry. “Ms. Mercer is a chemist employed by the firm that makes the drug Dr. Rauthmann uses in his protocol. She happened to be in Geneva this week on another matter, and agreed to consult with me on this case.”
This unexpected turn left the Hendrickses glancing blankly at each other.
“Ms. Mercer, would you summarize your concerns for Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks?”
“I would be happy to.” She turned her smile up to full clinical strength, and trained it on the Hendrickses. “Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks, the protocol Dr. Rauthmann uses has been studied by my company, and we have found that it poses a significant risk to the patient who receives it. We have repeatedly demanded that Dr. Rauthmann cease offering the treatment, but he has so far refused. We expect to have a court order within the month to force him to stop using our drug this way.”
Mrs. Hendricks fixed her with a fearsome glare. “We are aware that Dr. Rauthmann’s treatment is controversial. But we have studied every possible avenue for our son, and we believe that he is our only hope.”
“Mrs. Hendricks, I know you want to do the right thing for your son—”
“You don’t know anything about my son,” Mrs. Hendricks interrupted in high dudgeon. “And I don’t have to justify the decisions we’ve made in his best interest, not to you, not to anyone. My son is a very ill young man, and I will do anything—anything—to make him healthy and strong again.”
“I was unaware that you were seeking Dr. Rauthmann’s care for a physical condition,” Schwegler said. “From talking with Dr. Rauthmann, it seemed your son’s condition was psychiatric.”
