by C J Baty
“Is he all right? I’m coming with you.”
It surprised Marcus to hear the worry in Robert’s voice and see the look of concern on his face.
“I need you here, Robert. Get busy cleaning up this mess the best you can.
I’ll let you know as soon as I know for sure what is going on.” Peter headed down the steps toward his SUV, and he and Marcus both got in.
Marcus looked back at Robert. The man’s stance was rigid, and he was staring at him, anger sparkling in his eyes again. He couldn’t possibly blame Marcus for Justin being injured, could he? Marcus didn’t back down from Robert’s icy stare; he wasn’t sure why the other man was reacting the way he was.
Peter pulled out onto the main road and headed for the hospital. Marcus stared out the window wondering what the hell had caused Robert to act the way he had.
“What the hell was all that, Peter? Robert looked like he wanted to rip into me. I don’t remember saying a complete sentence to him when I was here last summer. Why would he dislike me so vehemently?”
“Sorry about that,” Peter’s stated. “I didn’t . . . well, I had no idea he would react the way he did.”
Peter swallowed stiffly, then shrugged his shoulders before he spoke again,
“I sort of encouraged him to . . . to go after Justin. I guess he wasn’t expecting to see you show back up here again.”
Marcus wasn’t sure how he felt about this information. He had no claims on Justin that was evident. Still, it hurt to think that Peter was trying to hook him up with someone else.
“So he’s dating now?” Marcus asked. Last night, he’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to pry into Justin’s private life. He wouldn’t act like some spurned teenager just because Justin had rejected him. Their relationship had been shut down by Justin before it could really even begin. He’d hoped they could start over, maybe be friends, if nothing else, for Peter’s sake.
Now, he wasn’t sure he could settle for being friends, knowing Justin was seeing someone else.
“Not really.” Peter’s voice was soft. He turned the SUV into the hospital parking lot. “It was a huge effort to get him to at least try. After you left, he was . . . well . . . depressed for weeks. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even me, about what was bothering him. He was out, but still so alone. I thought the month he spent in Italy would help, but it didn’t. He seemed to snap out of it when I told him we were having problems at the hotel again, and then he headed home. He was ready to start working at the hotel when he got back. He seemed to take an interest in life again. I thought maybe he was ready.”
“Have they been dating long?”
Peter opened the SUV door but didn’t get out. Instead, he turned in his seat and faced Marcus.
“No. They’ve been to dinner a few times but I don’t think you could really call them dates. Robert’s a friend. He’s comfortable. They’ve known each other a long time. Though we didn’t know he was gay until after Justin came out last summer.” Peter’s gaze dropped, and he picked at something invisible on the wheel. “If I had to guess, I would say Robert’s feelings are stronger. Justin doesn’t seem to see him as anything but a friend. It might have become more given enough time, and that’s probably why Robert didn’t like seeing you back at the Warfield.”
Marcus walked beside Peter to the hospital entrance then stopped his friend with a hand to his forearm.
“Can I have your keys? I don’t think this is where we need to meet again, Justin and me. It’s too much like the last time we saw each other.” Marcus didn’t want to hurt Peter, but he just couldn’t face Justin right then.
“I’ll go out to the manor, talk to Michaels, and take a look around.” He paused then added, “It sounds like it was just a result of the storm, but I’d like to see what happened for myself.”
Peter’s face showed nothing but understanding. With very little hesitation he handed over the keys to his vehicle.
“Call me if you find anything.”
“You know I will. I’ll be back in an hour or two unless you need me sooner.
Just call me.”
Peter waved at him as he climbed into the SUV and then continued through the double doors at the hospital entrance.
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THE DRIVE to the manor proved the damage from the storm was worse this far inland. Trees were uprooted left and right along the long driveway. When he reached the large open front yard of the Manor house, he could see more debris littering the ground. Tree branches and overturned broken potted flowers were strewn haphazardly across the open expanse. A large birdbath had been pushed over by an uprooted spruce tree. The bowl, cracked in two pieces, lay on the ground separated by a large tree limb. The one thing that seemed out of place was the police cruiser parked close to the front steps of the house.
Michaels, the Warfield’s longtime butler, stood on the front steps sweeping dirt and leaves out of the way. His head popped up, and a giant smile crossed his wrinkled face. A look of surprise lit up the old man’s eyes when he realized it wasn’t Peter who was exiting the SUV.
“Mr. Drummond is that you?” The old, white-haired man squinted into the sun as he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. “It is you!”
The warm welcome Marcus received from the dear old man, was like the feeling of coming home after being gone for a long time. The fact that in all these years Marcus had only been an occasional visitor to Warfield Manor didn’t mean a thing. Michaels remembered him and welcomed him like a part of the family.
Michaels chattered excitedly, ushering Marcus into the manor. A large painting hung in the foyer that Marcus didn’t remember seeing before. It stopped him cold. He would have remembered this, and he couldn’t help but stare as Michaels continued to ramble on.
“Mr. Justin found this in one of the bedrooms upstairs. He had it cleaned up and hung it here. It’s a good likeness of them all. I remember when they looked like that.”
Michaels words faded into the background as Marcus observed the portrait.
Peter was probably eight or nine, just a kid. Justin looked to be in his late teens, maybe early twenties. He had probably been in college at the time.
Maggie Warfield, Justin and Peter’s mother, was dressed in a floral summer lawn dress. She wore one of those wide brimmed floppy hats Southern women used to wear. Her hair was the same dark brown as Peter’s, and it hung in long tresses across her shoulders. It was her eyes, though, that were so different than the rest of them. Deep brown with just a hint of copper, and it wasn’t only the color that was different. Her eyes were sad, so very deeply sad.
Bradley Warfield was a big man. He took up nearly half the portrait space.
The thing that struck Marcus the most was the hard set of his jaw and face.
Sandy brown hair kissed golden by the sun and sea. The simple fact that the Justin Marcus knew today was nearly the spitting image of the stern and tight-lipped older man in the picture caused a shiver to slip along his spine.
He wore a dark-gray suit with a white shirt and plain black tie. All of it giving him an even more somber appearance.
The one striking difference between the Bradley in this portrait and Justin was that Justin wasn’t a cruel man. Bradley Warfield looked like a man bent on destroying the world around him, if it didn’t bend to his will.
“Well, what do we have here?” A voice Marcus remembered all too well drew his attention to the landing at the top of the winding staircase in the center of the foyer. Moses Lee stood looking down at Marcus.
“Chief Lee,” Marcus nodded toward the man.
“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you left town months ago,”
Chief Lee asked as he slowly descended the stairs.
“I’m back.” Marcus nodded toward the ceiling then asked, “Find anything interesting in the attic?”
“What’s it to you . . . boy?” Moses stood on the second step, so he was still looking down at Marcus. It was a trademark l
ook for Lee, looking down on people.
“Peter and Justin are friends of mine. I was just curious,” Marcus answered and began to ascend the stairs past the Chief.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to take a look around the attic. Unless you have it taped off as a crime scene, Chief,” Marcus said when he was standing two steps above the Chief. He was now looking down at the other man.
No one would ever say Moses Lee was a congenial person. In fact, most people would say he was a son of a bitch. But one thing was for sure from the rigid stance of his body and the look on his face, Chief Moses Lee did not like anyone looking down their nose at him. Especially, not someone like Marcus Drummond, a white homosexual man.
“It is not a crime scene,” Moses answered carefully. He turned to leave then stopped abruptly. “If I were you, I’d turn around and take myself right back to that big city you’ve been living in and play cops and robbers there . . .
boy.”
Marcus watched as Lee stalked across the tiled floor of the foyer with his footsteps echoing loudly. He also heard the mumbled “damn faggot” Chief Lee muttered just before he slammed the front door shut.
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MOSES LEE slammed the car door after he slid into the seat. He could barely contain his anger. The last thing he needed right now was that fucking nosy PI sticking his nose into his business. He glanced to his right at the leather bound book he’d managed to remove from the attic the night before. If he hadn’t gone back to look for another one, Marcus Drummond would never have seen him. He needed to find someone else to do his dirty work. The picture of a scared young kid’s face flashed across his mind’s eye.
Yes, he could use that one.
Driving away from the Warfield home down the winding driveway, he smiled.
He patted the journal in the seat beside him. He was going to enjoy this. Too bad Caroline had made him kill her. After all, she was the one to give him the idea. But then, she wouldn’t have wanted anything bad to happen to her precious Justin. That was a fact that he could not overlook.
5
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JUSTIN HATED HOSPITALS . Everything about them made him angry and reminded him of last summer. Made him think about choices he had made, good and bad. That’s what made him so fucking mad. Why couldn’t they just hook him up to some mind-numbing drug that would render him unconscious so his mind would just shut the fuck down?
And then there was Officer “Shit for Brains” standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him with a confused look on his face. How could Moses send some green rookie who looked like he’d graduated from high school yesterday to take his statement?
“Mr. Warfield, sir. Isn’t it more likely that you hit your head when you fell on the rain slicked floor?” Officer Green asked the same question for the third time.
“Not unless the floor was wearing muddy boots,” Justin answered, but didn’t add, you moron , though he desperately wanted to. Justin looked up to see Peter standing in the doorway. A very relieved look on his face and a crooked grin at one corner of his mouth.
He’d known Peter would be worried. Too much like their mother, he worried about everyone else and not enough about himself. It was a good thing he’d found Sally to bring a little laughter and sunshine into his life. God knows Justin hadn’t been much fun the last few years.
“Justin,” Peter said his name and a world of emotion floated around it.
“I’m okay, Peter.” Justin glanced at Officer Green before he added, “Or at least I will be as soon as the interrogation is over.”
Officer Green swallowed loudly and blushed a bright shade of red to match the hair on his head. Peter’s shoulders shook from his barely concealed chuckle.
“I guess I have enough information. I’m sure Chief Lee will be in touch.” The young man placed his hat back on his head and nodded toward Justin then squeezed by Peter in the open doorway.
“Did you have to be so hard on him?” Peter asked as he sat in the chair by Justin’s bedside.
“He’s an idiot!”
“Worse, he’s Lee’s idiot!”
Peter smiled at Justin.
“What?”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Peter’s smile widened just a little, but he tried to hide it with his hand. “So when can you get out of here?”
“As soon as the doc signs the papers. I’ve got concussion, and he said someone had to be here to take me home. He wouldn’t sign them until you showed up.” Justin scooted to the side of the bed. “Thank fuck they took the IV out. Help me go pee.”
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BEING IN the hospital had been painful for Justin, but sitting in the front seat of his brother’s SUV beside Marcus Drummond was far worse. It was almost like being tortured. They’d nodded politely toward each other. Even murmured a hello, but it had been awkward as hell.
Peter, who had insisted on taking the backseat, had not shut up. He seemed to think that filling the tense atmosphere in the vehicle with a nonstop monologue was the right thing to do. Justin leaned against the door and stared out the window. His head throbbed constantly. He knew he should
apologize to Marcus for the way he had acted and the way he’d left things between them. He just didn’t feel up to it right now. He didn’t feel like doing anything right now, but something in Peter’s ramblings caught his attention, and he turned too quickly to look at his brother in the backseat. Which was clearly a mistake, as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him.
“What did you say?” he asked, shutting his eyes momentarily to stave off the nausea.
“I said, it only makes sense for Marcus to stay at the house. Doc said you weren’t to be left alone for another forty-eight hours, and Michaels isn’t strong enough to help you, if you were to fall.” Peter repeated his words, apparently finding nothing wrong with his statement.
“That isn’t necessary, I can—” Justin was cut off by Marcus’s curt voice.
“No, you can’t,” Marcus said firmly. He took a deep breath and then continued with a softer tone, “You have a concussion, Just. You could be dizzy, nauseous, or even disoriented for several days.”
“The only reason they let you out, well besides all the commotion you were causing, was because we agreed . . . you agreed to the doc’s orders,” Peter chimed in.
“It’s not necessary,” Justin complained crossing his arms over his chest.
Marcus whispered, though Justin knew Peter could probably still hear his words.
“Let me do this, Justin. Please.”
The warmth in Marcus’s voice curled around Justin, and he found himself agreeing with a slight nod of his head, which clearly was another fucking mistake. Obviously, he needed to stop nodding, twisting, or moving his head in any direction or he was going to lose the contents of his stomach all over the floor of the SUV. As soon as the dizziness let up, Justin looked over at Marcus.
He could see a tiny smile settle on Marcus’s face, but he didn’t look at Justin. His focus stayed on the road, and he kept driving.
The SUV rolled to a stop in front of Justin’s home. When he’d left earlier that morning in the ambulance, he hadn’t seen the damage left by the storm the night before. His heart ached at the sight. Overturned trees and debris littered the front yard. There were two men with a very loud chainsaw cutting down the tree that had fallen against the house during the storm. It was the tree that supposedly caused the huge bump on the back of his head.
Justin felt a chill run through him, and he shivered uncontrollably.
“You okay?” Marcus asked.
“That tree did not hit me.”
“I know.”
Marcus’s certainty caused Justin to turn his head too quickly, again. A wave of dizziness washed over him. And even though it felt like his head was going to spin off his body, it felt better knowing someone, especially Marcus, believed him. He stared into the creamy-coffee de
pths of Marcus’s brown eyes for a long moment, but then Peter opened the passenger door, and the moment was broken.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside so Winnie can fret over you.”
Justin leaned heavily on his brother as they mounted the stairs to the porch.
Marcus gathered Justin’s bag from the SUV and jogged ahead of them to open the door. Just that little bit of exertion had Justin needing to sit.
“Rest for a minute,” Marcus said as he dumped his load by the door.
“Mister Justin!” Michaels’ worried voice came into the foyer before he did.
“You need to be in bed right now.”
Justin agreed. Lying down right now sounded like a very good idea. Peter took his good side and Marcus supported his bad shoulder. His body instantly remembered the tingling sensation that always came when Marcus touched him. If he hadn’t felt so completely out of it, he would have enjoyed the way his nerve endings buzzed with awareness.
The climb up the stairs felt like he’d run a marathon, but now relaxing against his own pillows in his own bed, sleep was quickly overtaking him.
His eyes were closed and he was close to oblivion, but whispered voices in the room wouldn’t let him completely give in to darkness.
“Are you sure about this, Marcus? I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s fine, Peter. You’re needed at the hotel anyway, and you know it. This way Michaels and Winnie can go to their place and get some rest during the night. They’ll have more energy to fuss over him tomorrow.”
“I know but—” Peter started, but Marcus cut in again.
“It’s fine. Really. How about I ride back to the hotel with you and pick up my things and my car. I can be back before it gets dark.”
“What if he won’t talk to you about last summer?” Peter’s footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor.
“We’re both adults; we can handle this. If he decides he wants to talk about it, I’ll listen. If he doesn’t, I’m not going to bring it up.”
Justin didn’t hear anything else except the quiet closing of his bedroom door.
Sleep finally overtook him, but it wasn’t a peaceful rest. His dreams were filled with thunder, lightning, and muddy boots.
