by Dakota Chase
“I don’t know. He was older—Billy always liked older guys. He’s built too. Billy was never very interested in what was under the skin, you know? Muscles and a nice butt were enough for him.”
“Billy needs to grow up.” It wasn’t a judgment, it was an observation, and I knew Dylan was right.
“I only hope he gets the chance. You don’t think that dickhead did something to him, do you?” I asked, wanting with all my heart for the answer to be “no.”
“I don’t know, dude, but it didn’t sound very good.”
Mentally, I calculated the miles to the Starlight. It was a dumpy little motel on 27 that rented its rooms by the week, the day, and the hour. Personally, from what I’d heard other kids say, I wouldn’t go near it without full body armor and an industrial-sized can of Raid.
It was at least thirteen miles to the motel. Not undoable, but it was getting late and would be full dark soon. Plus, I was still hurting from the accident. I had exactly twenty-one dollars in my wallet. That might be enough to buy me a cab out there, but I didn’t know if I’d have enough for a return trip, and the buses stopped running at dusk.
Maybe I could walk to the diner and beg Mom for the keys to the car. No, that wouldn’t work either. She refused to let me drive unless she was in the car with me. Besides, one look at me and she’d be dialing 911. Doug was out of the question. He wouldn’t lend me his car if the fate of the world depended on it.
“Hurry it up, Jamie,” Dylan called from the driver’s side of the Mustang. “We need to get over to the Starlight.”
My head snapped up. “You can’t drive me over there, Dylan! What about your practice? Your dad will kill you.”
“Let me worry about my old man. Get in. Let’s go!” he said, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine.
I was too grateful to say much. He was proving to be a real friend, something I’d never expected when I’d seen his name next to mine on the tutoring list. “Thanks, man.”
Dylan only shrugged, squealing out of the lot onto the highway. Dylan had a lead foot—we made it the thirteen miles in as many minutes.
“Man, you need to have a serious talk with Billy if he lets his dates bring him here,” Dylan said, looking with obvious distaste at the motel. I couldn’t blame him—I felt the same way. It made my skin crawl just thinking about going into the place to look for Billy.
Set back from the highway across a cracked and pitted parking lot, the Starlight was a collection of tiny cabins, most missing porch lights. The paint was peeling; some of the windows were cracked. One of them was out altogether, yellow “caution” tape spanning the opening in a large X.
There were a few people standing around in the nearly-empty parking lot, but none gave us more than a cursory look before going back to whatever they were doing—bargaining for drugs or sex was my guess. I didn’t care, either. The only thing I cared about was Billy’s car sitting near one of the bungalows. I noticed that Billy’s four hundred dollar hubcaps were missing, and I was willing to bet his CD player was gone too. Billy was going to be pissed when he found out. He loved those hubcaps like most people loved their kids.
We walked into the dingy front office, where a beefy old man with white chest hair and a shiny, bald head sat behind the desk, reading a newspaper. He looked bored when he glanced up at us.
“Hey. I’m looking for a friend of mine named Billy. Kinda short, skinny, red hair…,” I said. “Have you seen him?”
“Don’t know nothing,” the old man said, dismissing us. He went back to reading his paper.
“Look, I just want to know if—”
“Kid, folks come here for one thing. Ain’t my business who, only that they pay in advance,” the old fart said. “If you’re not renting a room, get out.”
Dylan opened his mouth to speak, probably to tell the guy off, but I shook my head. Pulling out my wallet, I dug my lonesome twenty-dollar bill out and slid it across the desk.
The old man looked at the money, then swept it up and tucked it into his pocket. “Room 15. He came in last night for a party. I figured he left with the last of the guys. Might still be in there, though—the room’s paid through to tonight.” He returned his attention to the paper.
“What kind of party?” I asked, pressing. I wanted my money’s worth from him.
He shrugged. “If you don’t know, you’re better off,” he said, never taking his eyes off the paper.
That was obviously all the information we were going to get. We left the office, trotting toward Room 15. It was the room next to the one with the blown-out window, and the one nearest to where Billy’s car was parked. I banged on the door, calling out Billy’s name.
“Billy? Are you in there? Open up! It’s me, Jamie!”
No one answered.
“He’s got to be in there,” I said to Dylan. “His car’s in the lot, and he’d never leave it here.”
“Move,” Dylan said. He stepped around me and kicked out hard with one foot. It was like being in an episode of Cops. The lock broke, and the door slammed in. I would have been really impressed if I hadn’t spotted Billy lying sprawled on the bed.
The room was a wreck, littered with empty beer and booze bottles, half-eaten sub sandwiches, and broken poppers. I remember Billy telling me about them—small capsules of amyl nitrite used to enhance sex and loosen up anal muscles. He’d made them sound great; I’d looked them up after he’d left and found out they were not only illegal, they could give you rashes, headaches, lower your immune system, and possibly cause fainting, strokes, or heart attacks.
Everything in the room stank of cigarette smoke, body odor, and sex. I had absolutely no doubt about what had gone on in that room. Billy hadn’t just gone in there with Robbie. He’d gone in with a group of men, and I could only imagine what they’d done to him.
He was naked, breathing, but unconscious. I shook his shoulder, yelling his name, but he only groaned and stirred a little. “Billy! Billy, wake up!” I screamed.
“Jamie, we need to call an ambulance. Something’s wrong with him,” Dylan said, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. I turned on him, probably looking like a deranged maniac. I was beyond frightened; I was losing it, and losing it fast.
“He’s sleeping, that’s all!” I hissed. I knew he wasn’t, but I didn’t want to admit it. For the second time that day, I was in shock.
“No, he isn’t. There’s something seriously wrong. I’m calling 911,” Dylan said. Later, I’d be grateful he’d remained so calm. At the moment, all I could think was that Billy was naked. I didn’t want anyone to see him like that. As Dylan dialed the numbers, I tore through the room, looking for Billy’s clothes. All I could find was a pair of boxers in the bathroom. I wasn’t even sure they were his. I found his wallet, thrown into the bathtub along with his car keys. His wallet had been emptied of everything but his driver’s license.
“I can’t find his clothes,” I said to Dylan. He’d covered Billy to the chest with the bed’s stained, torn bedspread. “He can’t go home without his clothes.”
“Jamie, it’s going to be okay. The ambulance is on the way,” Dylan said.
I was shaking like a leaf, scared out of my mind that my best friend was going to die. I kept babbling about his clothes, keys, and wallet. In a dim corner of my mind, I knew I was hysterical. It felt as if my brain had shut down and I could only focus on one thing. For me, it was Billy’s clothes, keys, and wallet.
Suddenly, I found myself wrapped in strong arms, leaning against Dylan’s broad chest. How great was this guy? Straight as an arrow, but still willing to hug a friend when he needed it. Somehow that made me even sadder than I already was, and I broke down completely.
We stayed that way, me sniffling like a snotty-nosed baby, him silently holding me, until the sirens wailed in the parking lot. He let me go before the paramedics came through the door.
Things happened pretty quickly after that. The cops arrived with the ambulance, and they quickly separated Dylan and
me. I guess they wanted to be sure we were telling the same story.
I had to answer a crap load of questions. Why was Billy here? What happened? How did I know where to find Billy? Who was Dylan and why was he with me? What happened to my head? Luckily, one of the cops remembered my dad, and they took it easy on me. Their distaste for what had probably gone on in that room was as plain as their badges on their chests, though.
By the time the cops finished with me, Billy had been loaded on a stretcher and was being wheeled out of the hotel room to the ambulance. I walked over to Dylan. “I hate to ask, but can you give me a lift to the hospital? They won’t let me ride in the ambulance with him.”
“Sure. Come on.”
I might still have been a virgin, ignorant of a lot that went on in the world, but as Dylan pulled out of the lot and chased the ambulance down the highway, I felt like I’d left my innocence behind in that dirty, seedy motel room.
Chapter Nine
I PHONED Mom first thing after getting to the hospital. I called the diner and got Hank, the owner. I explained it was an emergency and heard him call for my mom.
“Jamie? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Mom sounded panic-stricken. I never called the diner unless it was serious.
I quickly explained what had happened, although I left out certain details like my having been hit by a car and finding Billy naked in a motel room. I only told her that Billy had been rushed to the hospital, that he was unconscious, and that I would probably need a ride home that night. She agreed to swing by the hospital after her shift to pick me up.
The nurses wouldn’t let me in to see Billy. I saw his parents come in an hour or so later, dressed in expensive coats and looking like they’d just stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine. They disappeared into Billy’s room for about fifteen minutes before leaving. They never said a word to me, even though I was sitting right there in the waiting room across the hall.
I kept checking at the nurses’ desk, but they wouldn’t give me any information other than: “It’s serious. He’s in critical condition.”
I knew what “critical” meant. It meant there was a possibility Billy might not make it. What would I do without him? He was my best friend. He knew everything there was to know about me, and even though he could be flaky sometimes, and self-absorbed, and could make me angry, he was still like a brother to me. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want him to die.
What had those bastards given him? Drugs? Alcohol? Both? Why had Billy been stupid enough to take them? He was smarter than that. Exactly what kind of a party had it been that he’d ended up naked and unconscious? Had Robbie been there? Had he stayed for the party? The only one who would tell me the answers to those questions was Billy, and he wasn’t talking.
Dylan stayed with me until my mom got there. Mom immediately spotted the bruises and scrapes I’d all but forgotten about in the rush to get Billy to the hospital. We had to undergo the third degree until she was satisfied I was okay and had been telling her the truth about the accident.
“I have to go, Jamie,” Dylan said quietly, after my mom had settled down. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for everything, Dylan.”
“No prob. Call me if you hear anything, okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks again.” He left, and even though my mom was sitting with me, I felt alone.
It had been six hours since we’d brought Billy in when one of the nurses finally took pity on me. “Look, one quick peek and then you’re going to go home and get some sleep. His condition was upgraded to stable. He’s sedated, but he’s going to be fine,” she said, offering the first smile I’d seen all night.
My mom and I followed her into Billy’s room. He looked so tiny, like a little kid lying there, covered with a thin white blanket and hooked up to an IV and a few other machines. He looked pale, much more than usual, with dark smudges under his eyes. In the dim light of the room, even his bright red hair looked washed out and faded.
Mom put her arm around my shoulders as we looked down at Billy, watching him sleep for a while. At least I’d seen with my own two eyes that he was alive. There was nothing else I could do for him.
I’d thought the feeling of foreboding I’d been having was all about Billy hiding something from me, but maybe I was wrong. He had nearly died, which was a lot worse than lying. It couldn’t get worse than that, right?
So why did I still feel like something was wrong?
I WENT to school the next morning under protest.
How could I be expected to concentrate on school work when my best bud was lying in the hospital? Besides, I had been in an accident myself the day before. You’d think that would have bought me a Get Out of Jail Free card, but no. Mom fixed me with that spooky look moms get when they know you’re pouring it on, angling for a day off. She didn’t say a word, just stared at me until I finally rolled my eyes and hustled off to shower and dress.
I just couldn’t stand against that look. Not without a crucifix and a bottle of holy water, anyway.
The hours dragged by. I could swear I heard each tick of the big wall clock that sat over the door in each classroom. Dylan waved to me at lunchtime, but he was sitting with his friends across the room, and I didn’t feel comfortable going over there. I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me. Besides, I really just wanted to be alone. I sat at the table I usually shared with Billy, feeling too upset to eat. After a while, I left and walked around the grounds until it was time for class again.
The afternoon didn’t pass any faster than the morning had.
One look at me and my bumps, scrapes, and bruises had the coach sending me home. “No practice today, not with that lump on your head,” he’d said. That was fine—I didn’t want to run anyway. In truth, I would’ve been happy to play my head injury up a little more than necessary just so Coach wouldn’t let me practice.
I looked for Dylan before I left, but couldn’t find him. Maybe he was still in the dressing room. I wanted to tell him I’d seen Billy before I left the hospital the night before, and to thank him again for going out of his way to drive me around.
I glanced at my wristwatch. If I hurried, I could catch the four o’clock bus for downtown, which would drop me off only a couple of blocks from the hospital. I hurried around the side of the school through the parking lot, toward the bus stop.
A car pulled up next to me, beeping its horn. It was Dylan.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to see him. “Why aren’t you at practice?”
“I ditched practice. Hop in. I’ll drive you to the hospital. That’s where you’re going, right?” he grinned.
“You… ditched practice? Dylan! You have a scholarship on the line. You’d better get back there and—”
“Shut up and get in,” he said, laughing. “One missed practice won’t kill me or hurt my stats. Hurry up, before somebody spots me. I’m supposed to be going straight home with explosive diarrhea.”
I laughed, sliding into the seat next to him. “Thanks for the visual, pal. Why are you skipping practice? Billy’s stable. I looked for you before to tell you. Maybe you should go back, have a miraculous recovery or something.” I didn’t want Dylan screwing up his scholarship chances over this. Billy was my friend, but Dylan barely knew him.
“Nah. It’s fine. That’s good to hear about Billy, though. Did you talk to him? Find out what happened?”
“No. They sedated him. He was still sleeping when I left.”
Dylan nodded, shifted, and steered the Mustang into the street.
The going was a lot slower than it had been the night before because of rush hour traffic. It took us nearly a half hour to get to the hospital parking lot. I had a sense of déjà vu as we walked from the car to the hospital’s main entrance.
The person at the desk told us Billy had been transferred to a private room.
Private room. His parents’ attempt at caring, I thought. Well, at least they’d done that much for him. They’d only
stayed with him for fifteen minutes last night. I was bitter and I knew it. I hadn’t forgotten his dad’s attitude when I’d called to ask where Billy was.
His room was on the fifth floor, at the end of the hallway. The door was open, so we walked straight in. Just as I figured, his parents weren’t there. The room smelled like disinfectant, sharp and almost too clean.
“Hey, Billy,” I said softly as we stood next to the bed. He looked a little better than he had the night before—not as pale, although he still had smudges under his eyes. His lunch sat on a tray next to the bed, untouched.
“What are you doing here?” Billy asked, blinking up at me. “What’s he doing here?”
“Be nice. Dylan drove my butt all over town yesterday looking for you. What were you thinking, Billy? What happened? What did they do to you in that motel? Why didn’t you call me? Was it Robbie? Didn’t I tell you he was bad news?” Every question I’d been chewing on since Saturday night came flying out of my mouth, almost without my taking a breath in between. I couldn’t help it; I was too relieved to hear Billy’s voice again.
“Nothing happened. I’m fine,” Billy said, his voice sounding a little raspy.
“Bullshit! Billy, you almost died!”
“Look, can we talk about this later? I’m sort of busy being attached to IVs and machines, and having nurses stabbing my butt with needles every five minutes.”
“Billy, I deserve to know,” I snapped back. I didn’t care that the nurses were using his butt as a pincushion. He’d put me through hell, and I wanted some answers.
“Not now.” He said it to me, but his eyes were on Dylan.
“Look, I’ll be out in the hallway if you need me, Jamie,” Dylan said. He walked out, and I felt angry and insulted on his behalf.
“Billy, he’s been really cool about all of this. He’s the one who drove me to the motel to look for you, to the hospital—”
“You were at the motel?”
