The Man I Love

by Suanne Laqueur

  Erik’s hand went into his pocket. His fingers closed around a flattened copper penny.

  “You bring out the best in people,” David had told him. “Haven’t you ever noticed everyone calms down around you?”

  I am the alpha male.

  “You’re one of the most decent human beings I’ve ever met,” James had said. “Your father doesn’t deserve you as a son.”

  My father doesn’t know where I am, Erik thought. Silently, he moved down a few rows. He glanced at the brass letters on the sides of the aisle seats. O. N. M. He leaned against the side of the seat. Swallowing hard, he took his fist out of his pocket and gazed down at the medallion in his palm. “James,” he said. The air was thick and resistant at the back of his head as he looked up.

  James’s head flicked around.

  “James,” Erik said again, making his gaze level, willing his voice to be steady. “Come talk to me.”

  James didn’t move. He had shaved off his goatee. It ought to have softened his face, made him young and approachable. But looking back over his shoulder, he appeared hard and remote. Drained of all empathy and human emotion. Not a flicker of recognition as his eyes slid up and down Erik’s body.

  Erik couldn’t speak. His throat was clenched.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Kees said then.

  Erik didn’t dare look back. He imagined Kees rising from behind the row of seats. Not quite standing. Just showing himself. A slightly irritated dread swirled through Erik’s stomach. It made him feel stern. Get down, he thought. You can’t lead here.

  But Kees went on speaking. “You can stop, James.” His voice was soft. Deep and gentle. And dangerously useless.

  Stand down, Erik thought.

  James’s upper lip twitched. Then his whole mouth twisted in contempt. He whipped around fast. A shot rang out. Kees howled. Erik squeezed his eyelids and tightened his jaw as he heard Kees fall between the rows. But Erik did not turn away from James. He stayed still, leaning against side of the seats.

  When he opened his eyes again, James stood over him, breathing hard, pointing the gun at Erik’s face. The muzzle was squared at the top, rounded at the bottom. Two circles on its blunt end. One open. One closed. One for death. One for decoration.

  Erik shifted his gaze to look James in the eye. He was trembling all over, and he fought not to show he knew it. He set his teeth. Slowly he raised his fist and opened it, showing James what he had. What he had carried with him all this time. He swallowed hard and said, “You’re still in my pocket.”

  James blinked then. A bit of clarity seemed to come into his face. Erik kept his eyes steady, acted as if he were standing, towering over James instead of crouched on the floor at his feet. His heart was exploding but he stayed still. He looked at James and tried to think through to him, tried to get James to take him.

  I am human valium. Take me. I am the alpha. I lead this pack. I have you in my pocket. I am decent and good. You always liked me. Let me lead. Let me calm you again. You don’t have to do this.

  James blinked again, rapidly. Keeping the gun fixed on Erik, he turned his head and looked back at the stage. His eyes swept the rows of seats and then came back to rest on Erik, who still held up his palm with a bit of flattened copper in it.

  “This is yours,” Erik said. “This is the best of you and you gave it to me. I had it in my pocket. I didn’t forget.”

  James licked his lips, staring down into Erik’s hand.

  “The best of me is on the stage,” Erik said, tilting his head. “And I’m going there. She needs my best and I need to be in her pocket. Do you understand?”

  James’s eyes swiveled to the side. Then closed. He opened them and a stream of tears fell down his haggard face. He nodded, staring off to his right.

  “Thank you, James.” Erik whispered.

  James looked at him, his expression startled by this courtesy, just as it had been when Erik offered him tea nearly two weeks ago. His surprise dissolved into a terrible anguish. The nodding head began to shake. He backed away two steps, his free hand to his brow. Frantic, he whirled to the stage, whipped back around and aimed one last time at Erik.

  His teeth set together, Erik stared down the omega male.

  I lead this pack. Not you.

  He did not blink. Not at the double-holed muzzle of the gun. And not when James, his face contorted and tear-streaked, bent his arm to set the muzzle under his own chin.

  When the gun fired, only then did Erik close his eyes.

  Scream If You Gotta

  The sound of the last gunshot seemed to echo forever. An awesome noise sending Erik’s mind reeling backwards down a long tunnel. Warp speed through successively faster rectangles of light. Like the Emerald City hall in The Wizard of Oz as it framed the epic retreat of the Cowardly Lion.

  Gradually the sound faded. Instead of crashing through a window, Erik came with a thump to a gentle halt. A solid weight nestled against his shoulder blades and he remembered he was sitting up against the side of row M.

  He opened his eyes.

  He looked at space. At the wall of the theater, at the plaster frieze around the stage and the curtain within it.

  The auditorium was wrapped in screaming silence. Within this noiseless shroud, time slid out of proportion. A load of adrenaline tipped from the center of Erik’s chest and cannonballed into his stomach, splashed along his limbs until his fingernails were electric and quivering. Still he sat, pulling in breath after trembling breath and staring at the space where James had been standing. Negative space now. His stomach roiled and burned. A high-pitched whine took over one ear. A cold sweat began to creep down from the crown of his head, tingling and prickling along his hairline, dripping down his back.

  His eyes skittered around and finally lowered to the floor. To James’s sprawled body. The gun still in his hand. The halo of red in the carpet around his head.

  Clutching the arm of the aisle seat, Erik got up. He stepped over James and started down the aisle on wobbling legs. He stumbled, grabbing more seats until he steadied and began to run.

  “Get down, Fish,” someone cried from behind him.

  “It’s over,” he said, not looking back. “He’s dead. It’s over. Get help.”

  Hand and foot on the apron, springing up onto the stage just as Lucky and John came creeping out of one of the wings. Neil Martinez’s head rose over the Manhattan skyline, David came crawling around the side. The theater was twitching, unfurling tentative feelers and tasting the air.

  Blood pooled around Daisy and Will. Too much blood, Erik thought, just as his foot slid in it and he fell down by Daisy, his hands in a viscous puddle. Her head flopped over to him. She was white as death, her eyes dimmed to slate and frozen wide open. She looked at Erik, yet she looked through him.

  Lucky was down by Will, raising up his left arm. A bloody mess where Will’s hand should have been.

  “Towels,” Lucky yelled. “Look in dance bags, look backstage. Dressing rooms, wardrobe. Anything that looks clean, grab it. We need help here.”

  Daisy’s left inner thigh looked torn open, as if she’d been mauled by a bear. Erik swallowed hard and pulled off his outer T-shirt, wadded it up thickly and pressed it against the heinous gash of flesh and tissue. She cried out, her hands flying up, trying to bat his away. Her spine twisting, she tried to move away from him, get away from the pain.

  Erik gritted his teeth, knowing to help her he had to hurt her. “Lie down, Dais,” he said—using the harshest tone he had ever used with her—and he pushed the improvised bandage firmly against the wound. “Lie still.”

  “Where’s the shot, Fish,” Lucky said. “Knee?”

  “Inside of her thigh.”

  “All right. Medial. Femoral artery. Find the pressure point. Top of her leg, right in her groin.” She pointed on her own body to the place. “Heel of your hand there and bear down.”

  David, Neil and John came flying from backstage with towels.

  “John, co
me here,” Lucky said. “Take his arm. Keep the towel in place on his hand. Your other hand here, this is the pressure point. Feel it? Keep holding it tight. Neil, get in here. See his side? The bullet went straight through. Pressure front and back. Good, keep it there.”

  Lucky came to Daisy then. She snatched the towel David was trying to fold into a bandage. “Move,” she said. “Out of the way. Go get Will’s feet up, get them elevated. Fish, you keep pressure going. Let me in here.” Swiftly she replaced Erik’s shirt with the folded towel. “Jesus,” she whispered, a frantic edge in her voice. “Fuck, this is not good. We need help.”

  Not letting up on the pressure, Erik jammed his elbow into Lucky’s side, just hard enough to startle her, shock her back on track. “Don’t you fall apart on me, Luck,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know what to do. You’re the only one who knows what to do. Do it.”

  Lucky pressed her lips, drawing air in through her nose. “She breathing, Dave?”

  David now lay on his stomach on the floor, holding Daisy’s head. “She’s awake.”

  “Neil, Johnny—is Will conscious?”

  “He’s with us,” John said.

  “Pressure, then,” Lucky muttered. “Pressure, pressure…” Her lips moved vaguely, as if reciting.

  Daisy moaned, her upper body writhing. “Squeeze my hands, Marge,” David said, giving them to her. “Hard as you want. Go ahead and break my fingers. I know you always wanted to.” Daisy moaned again and David began to speak soothingly in French. His voice was pitched low in his chest. It didn’t falter even as her face kept coiling up into spasms of pain and her knuckles were clenched white around his fingers.

  Time dripped by.

  “Will breathing?” Lucky kept saying.

  Sometimes John answered, sometimes Neil. “He’s breathing,” they said.

  “I’m breathin’, babe,” Will said once. His voice was soft and shaky, but it was there.

  “Don’t talk,” Lucky said.

  David kept whispering in French.

  Daisy said nothing.

  Little by little, Erik became aware of the presence of campus security. Then police began to fill the theater, sleek and menacing in vests and helmets. Like an invasion of black bugs they swarmed the aisles and wings, multiplied to fill the stage with authority. Loud voices. The crackle of walkie-talkies. And everywhere Erik glanced he saw guns.

  Paramedics then. Hustling in pairs with bags of equipment. They were vested as well but more benevolent in shades of blue. One of them, a large black man, knelt down by Daisy’s shoulder. His partner—slight and trim with a baseball cap—settled by her legs. Brisk and calm, he introduced himself as Greg, asked Erik and Lucky’s names, then quickly unzipped a bag and pulled on gloves. “You two keep those hands where they are.”

  “Hey there,” the black medic said, up by Daisy’s head. “My name’s Lewis. I’m a county paramedic. Can you tell me your name?”

  She gave it. Erik exhaled in relief.

  “All right, Daisy. Do you know where you are?”

  “I… I’m at school.”

  “Good. Do you know what’s happened?”

  Her head lolled side to side.

  “Do you remember anything?”

  “The glass…”

  “What’s that?”

  “I heard it.”

  “You heard gunshots, Daisy. You were hit in the leg. We’re gonna take a look at you and get you to a hospital as fast as we can.”

  “Did I fall down?”

  “You could say so. We’re gonna get you out of here. Besides the leg, can you tell me if you have pain anywhere else? In your back or your neck?” His large, competent hands began to move along her collarbones and arms. “I see you’re squeezing your friend’s hands there, excellent. No broken bones in your arms. Do you have pain in your head? Chest or abdomen? No? Just the leg.” Deftly he withdrew a penlight and shone it in each eye, held up a finger and had her follow it.

  “How long ago was she hit?” Greg said, moving in by Lucky.

  “She lay here bleeding about five minutes before anyone could get to her,” Lucky said. “We’ve had pressure on it about twenty minutes now.”

  “Did she lose consciousness at all?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “All right. Erik, you keep the pressure. Exactly what you’re doing. Lucky, you scoot back and ease up on the wound, let me in here. Let’s see.”

  Greg moved the towel dressing and Erik looked away. He had an awful ache between his shoulder blades from holding his position, holding the pressure, but he didn’t move. Daisy had her arm over her eyes, blocking the light from the lanterns over the apron. Her other hand was still clamped around David’s fingers.

  “Bleeding’s relatively minimal at the wound, Lew,” Greg said, replacing the towel. “Your hand there again, Lucky, please. Good.”

  With a pair of shears Greg cut through the ribbons of Daisy’s pointe shoes, straight up her pink, bloodied tights. A quick slide of the blades and he tossed the material aside. With his gloved hand he felt around the thigh and Daisy cried out, her head lifting out of David’s hand, teeth bared.

  “It’s all right,” David said, his voice cracking.

  Greg’s fingers ducked into the hollow under Daisy’s knee. “Popliteal fossa has no pulse. Bullet got the femoral artery or else the hematoma is compressing it. We gotta move.”

  “Scoop and scoot, man,” Lewis said. “Get an IV in, let’s fly.”

  They flew. Let rip with jargon and acronyms. Another EMT came over and relieved Erik of his pressure duties, and finally he could get up to Daisy’s head. David scooted away to make room for him.

  “I’m here, Dais,” Erik whispered, sliding his hands where David’s had been.

  She turned her head toward the sound of his voice. “Did I fall down?” she asked again.

  He ran his hand carefully along her face. “You fell down,” he said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Give me a vein, give me a vein,” Lewis said under his breath, his fingers palpating along Daisy’s arm. “You’re a little thing with little veins aren’t you…”

  She did look little. Small and defeated. Down by her leg, Greg was packing fresh gauze and Erik made the mistake of looking. At the sight of the gunshot wound, he clamped his teeth on his lip, fighting not to break apart.

  “IV going in, Daisy,” Lewis said. “Big pinch here and some sting. Scream if you gotta.”

  She didn’t scream, just closed her eyes and moved her hand with Erik’s against her mouth. She set her teeth against Erik’s knuckles. Tears began to slide from her eyes, running diagonally toward her ears.

  “It’s all right,” Erik said, lying down on his stomach to put his head by hers.

  She was breathing harder now, her eyes flitting all around. “Where are you?”

  “I’m right here. I won’t leave you.” He glanced up, catching Lewis’s eye.

  “She your girl?” Lewis said lowly.

  Erik nodded.

  “Where are her parents? How far from home is she?”

  “Two hours.”

  Lewis gave a grunt, his hands busy. “I can’t let you ride in the back of the bus,” he said. “You can ride up front if you keep cool, stay out of the way and don’t puke.”

  “Thank you,” Erik said, forcing his voice into calmness, digging down and pulling it together from some unknown reservoir of strength. He was grateful for the simple directions, which he repeated like a mantra: keep cool, stay out of the way, don’t puke.

  He stayed by her as Greg and Lewis immobilized her leg. When they needed to get a backboard under her, he helped by keeping her head and shoulders in line as she was rolled toward the uninjured leg and back again. His fingers were beginning to throb from her clamping grip, but he kept a hand in hers as the team counted off and lifted her onto a gurney. He helped the medics hand the gurney down from the apron of the stage. The theater hummed with purpose. Huddles of police and EMTs in the a
isles, working on the injured.

  And James’s body still lay in the aisle, covered now with a sheet.

  Will’s gurney was handed down from the stage. He was swaddled up in white sheets. Lucky walked by his head, lovingly holding his long, thick ponytail.

  A man in a grey suit fell into step by Erik. Reaching into his breast pocket he withdrew a badge. “Detective Nikos Khoury, Philadelphia PD. I need to ask you some questions about what happened today.”

  Erik’s heart twisted in his chest. “I can’t,” he said, walking. “I have to go with her.” He felt annoyed and affronted. He was busy keeping cool, staying out of the way and not puking.

  “I need to speak with you now, son,” Khoury said, and the entourage stopped.

  Erik looked at Lewis, who shook his head. “We gotta go, man.”

  Erik felt he would either blow up or burst into tears. Nobody understood. Nothing needed to be asked. Nothing required investigation. No need to search the building or question the witnesses. It was all James’s doing. James and only James and he was a clump of white sheet in the aisle and it was over. Everyone could just move along and let Erik do what he needed to do. Which was stay with Daisy.

  “I can’t,” Erik said again, his voice rising. “I go with her.”

  “Hey now,” a third voice broke in. It was a campus security guard. He put a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Listen. She has to go. You stay and talk to the police, while it’s fresh in your mind. You take the time and tell them everything that happened. Believe me, this will be the better way. You’ll get it done. You go to the hospital now and they’ll only make you leave there to go down to the precinct. Am I right, Boss?”

  Detective Khoury nodded. “We need to clear this building. We have a command central setup in the health center. You come there, give me the time, and then you can go be with her.”

  “Let go, Erik,” Lewis said. “We don’t have time for this. She doesn’t have time.”

  Erik willed his fingers to loosen but they wouldn’t. It was Lucky who had the bravery to let go of Will and come to Erik’s side. Swiftly she took his hand out of Daisy’s and into hers. She kissed Daisy’s fingers and tucked them into the sheet. “I got him,” she said to Lewis. “Go.”