Hide and Seek: Stories from the Sound, #6

Prologue

Dusty sat in the chair across the room from Jon’s hospital bed reading the New York Times. It was a few days old and had been tossed into the trash bin under the sink, but a headline on the front page caught his attention.  Dusty waited for Kory and Jon’s brother Tristan to go eat—leaving him alone with a sleeping Jon—to pull the paper out and read the story. It was about the attack at The Monster Bar that left three people dead and injured dozens of others, including Jon Brennan, Kory’s boyfriend who was also a detective for the NYPD.

The events of that night had touched the lives of just about everyone Dusty knew in one way or another. Mere hours after the shooting, Kory along with Jon’s family stood vigil in a waiting room at the hospital, anxious for any news on Jon and his condition. He’d pulled through surgery and had been getting better every day. The same couldn’t be said for Gio, a bartender at The Monster Bar, who happened to be a member of their nuclear family at All Cocks by extension as Gabe’s boyfriend. Gio’s funeral was the following day, and Gabe was beside himself with grief.

It was an image of Gio that had drawn Dusty’s attention to the discarded newspaper in the first place. Beneath the storyline on the paper before him that read, Three dead and dozens wounded in a shootout at a local hotspot in the Village along with an image of a fallen officer and a man with blond hair and angry blue eyes...Dale Thompson, the shooter. The article went on to tell the story of an already unstable man that, upon learning his little brother was gay, had been so angry he damn near beat the young man to death.  He’d then proceeded to return to the nightclub he’d found his brother and the brother’s boyfriend at prior to beating him and opened fire. The article ended by stating that doctors weren’t certain whether or not the brother, David Thompson, would survive the injuries he sustained in the beating.

Dusty fisted the newspaper in his hands, pissed. It made his blood boil that anyone could be so cruel and malicious with their own goddamn kin. Hell, for all he knew, the young man had succumbed to his life-threatening injuries and the psycho Dale Thompson’s rampage had gone from a body count of three to four. What must their mother be going through—one son dead and the other in the ICU, caused by the oldest son’s actions? He almost missed the small font at the bottom of the story that read, more details on page 23." His shaking fingers smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper and Dusty slowly turned to page twenty-three.

"Local art student David Thompson still clings to life at New York-Presbyterian Hospital. The twenty-one-year-old was found in the home he lived in with his mother, Diane Thompson, and older brother, Dale Thompson, last week, unconscious. It is speculated that David was beaten by his older brother...

Dusty growled, skimming through the next couple of paragraphs that rehashed the events at the bar and spoke more on the possibly unhinged mental state of the eldest Thompson boy. How the mother, Diane, was a devout Christian and was blindsided by not only her oldest son’s actions, but her youngest son’s deviant sexual behavior. Yeah, fuck you bitch, Dusty muttered, his eyes scanning over the words on the page.

At the time this article goes to press, David Thompson lies in a hospital bed with an unthinkable list of injuries that include a broken nose, leg and clavicle as well as swelling on his brain so severe, he’s been placed in a coma until such time the swelling dissipates, or he passes from injuries sustained.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath, Dusty wadded the newspaper into a tight ball and lobbed it toward the trash can. He fought the urge to leave the room, walk down to the nurses’ station, and ask what room David Thompson was in. There was a brief surge of panic when he thought of how Kory would react. Not only to the news of learning that the brother of the man that damn near killed his lover was in this very hospital, but to learn Dusty had this...need to know what happened to the young man. But then, David Thompson had not asked to be Dale Thompson’s brother. Nothing that had happened to Jon, Gio or anyone else at that club was this young man’s fault. And Dusty shouldn’t be ashamed by the feeling of concern, even if for a virtual stranger.

The soft click of the door opening alerted Dusty that Kory and Tristan had returned mere seconds before he heard their footsteps echoing in the silent room. Kory immediately took a seat in the chair next to Jon’s bed, Tristan plopping down into the recliner in the corner. You call me if you need anything, Dusty whispered so as not to wake Jon, saying his goodbyes and leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He was exhausted and he had a shoot the next day, so he decided not to stay around and linger. Turning left instead of right, he didn’t realize his mistake until he looked up and noticed he wasn’t at the elevators.

Growling, he followed the hall until he came upon the nurses’ station again, but on the other side. Dusty breathed a sigh of relief; at least he now knew how to find his way back to the elevators. He froze when a name written on one of the hospital room doors caught his attention...David Thompson. Well, that answered one lingering question, the little brother had survived. Looking left to right and seeing no one, Dusty pushed the door to the room open and walked in.

The noise from all the machines lined up next to the bed were distracting, and the only light in the room came from the window; the curtains were pulled open. A small body lay in the bed, tubes and wires connecting him to the various machines. One leg was in a cast from above his knee down to his toes, a thick band attached to a pole at the foot of the bed holding the leg a few inches above it. A patch over one eye with gauze wrapping around his head made Dusty think of a pirate. The young man’s small body was littered with bandages, cuts and bruises. It left Dusty feeling nauseous and he couldn’t fathom why. He should have avoided even entering the room; this kid was the brother of the man that had tried to kill his best friend’s lover.

Instead, he felt an overwhelming urge to pull the chair in the corner up beside the bed and set up a vigil, to watch over the young man that lay there broken, battered and bruised and dare anyone to lay a finger on him. And so he did just that. Dusty had no idea how much time passed as he sat there watching David’s chest rise and fall while he slept. A gasp from behind him drew Dusty’s attention and he turned to find a petite nurse staring at him, wide-eyed. Seeming to gather her senses, she walked over to the opposite side of the bed and proceeded to check all the tubes, monitors and machines, keeping one eye on Dusty.

Finally, she spoke. Are you a friend of the family?

Dusty shook his head. No. Seeing the look of uncertainty mar her pretty face, he quickly added, I’m a friend of David’s.

She immediately deflated and gave Dusty a sad smile. Well, thank goodness, I was beginning to think this poor boy didn’t have a soul in the world that cared for him.

I care. I’m not sure why yet, but I do, Dusty thought, but kept that morsel to himself. Left alone in the room Dusty found himself confident in his decision to stay and offer David the support he obviously didn’t have, but desperately needed.

Chapter One

Sleeping Beauty

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Dusty pulled into a spot on the third floor of the parking garage. He put the car in park and killed the engine, in no hurry to climb out of the car yet. Fingers tightly clenching the steering wheel, he stared off into the distance, thinking. He’d been coming to the hospital almost daily since Jon was discharged and he didn’t have to worry about running into Kory or anyone in the Brennan family. Dusty wasn’t quite sure how he’d explain to any of them why he was visiting the little brother of the man that had almost killed Jon. Whatever it was Dusty was feeling when he initially veered into the young man’s room, he hadn’t expected to feel protective of David Thompson.

Critically injured, David had been put into a medically induced coma the night he arrived at the hospital and had spent several days in ICU. In the weeks since that first day Dusty wandered into David’s room he’d learned that while many of his injuries were severe, what worried doctors and nurses most was the trauma to the young man’s brain. Almost two months later, Dusty still couldn’t fathom how anyone could hurt someone they were supposed to love. Being an only child, Dusty didn’t have firsthand knowledge of the bond between siblings. He did, however, see the relationship between the four Brennan brothers; while the three youngest often wanted to drop the oldest brother, Sal, off a cliff, they still had each other’s backs regardless.  

Get a hold of yourself, Dusty, he whispered, before jerking the keys out of the ignition and opening the door. Once inside the hospital, he greeted a couple of nurses he recognized with a head nod and a smile. The staff at the hospital had gone out of their way to be accommodating to him since that first day. It saddened Dusty to learn that no one else had been to visit David. Eavesdropping on a conversation a couple of nurses were having at the nurses’ station one afternoon while he made himself a cup of coffee Dusty learned that they had reached out to David’s mother, and she refused to come. Apparently, she stated she had no son and disconnected the call.  

Lost in thought, Dusty almost ran right into the nurse coming out of David’s room. Stepping to the side, he apologized. Sorry, Sheila.

She smiled at him. Afternoon Dusty, you doing all right today?

Can’t complain; how’s our boy? he asked, nodding toward David’s room.

Her smile faltered a fraction. His vitals are good, but he still hasn’t woken up. Sheila looked over her shoulder, her vibrant smile back in place when she turned to face Dusty. But he will, we just have to give him time.

Dusty nodded almost robotically, assuring Sheila he’d stop by the nurses’ station and let her know before he left. Once inside David’s room, he took his usual place in the chair next to David’s bed. Though he’d yet to wake up, the beautiful young man with almost white-blond hair looked far better than he did the first time Dusty had walked into the room. All the bandaging on his face and head had been removed. The majority of the cuts and bruises had healed, aside from a few scars and the dark circle around his left eye that would likely always be a reminder of what David had lived through.

A slew of doctors had been in and out of David’s room as days turned into weeks, and then months. The surgeon who operated on David’s leg, set the breaks and cast it, said in all likelihood he’d regain complete mobility after the cast came off and he went through physical therapy. Each body part that was broken or bruised had its own doctor, it seemed. Including the optometrist, who commented to Sheila while examining David that he was certain David had lost the sight in his left eye. The doctors rarely talked to Dusty about any of David’s injuries, but he’d gotten good at eavesdropping on their quiet conversations with the nurses. The only thing anyone knew for certain was that there were no guarantees until David woke up from the coma and the deep-rooted injuries could be thoroughly examined and evaluated.

Scooting the chair closer to the bed, Dusty reached for David’s hand, squeezing gently. Every once in a while, David would squeeze back. Again, there were no guarantees, but the nurses sounded hopeful when they’d told Dusty there was a possibility that David could hear him when he talked to him. They encouraged Dusty’s ramblings with an unconscious David that varied from the weather to sports and everything in between, including how Jon and Kory were doing, settling into their cohabitation.

Holding David’s hand in his, Dusty reached over and brushed a strand of hair off David’s face, smiling. You’re gonna need a haircut when you wake up, D, Dusty chuckled, and probably a shave. The same white-blond hair covered his cheeks, chin and neck with a bit of red showing, making it look strawberry blond.

So, William is all moved in now, but he’s only there a couple days a week. He still spends a lot of his time out at Vic’s place. Got a new neighbor down the hall last week and holy shit, the man is hot, D. Dusty cocked his head to the side, watching David’s hand in his, absentmindedly running his thumb back and forth over David’s fingers. Hoping and praying that today would be the day he would sit up and talk back.

He wondered, not for the first time, what the hospital staff would do if they learned that he and David were virtual strangers. Sure, Dusty had spent the last two months sitting vigil at the guy’s bedside talking to him, but in reality they had never met. Dusty had created an image in his mind of how David would be when he finally woke up. What color were his eyes? Dusty imagined a serene blue, like the ocean after a storm. Was his voice deep and raspy, melodic or high pitched? Melodic, Dusty chuckled.

Sighing, Dusty leaned back in the chair and yawned; he was exhausted. He and Ricardo shot a scene the day before that ran late so he didn’t get home to the apartment until almost three in the morning. Then he was awake by eight to get a workout in with his trainer, before showering at the gym and heading straight to the hospital. Forty winks would do me some good, he muttered, laying his head back and stretching his legs out. 

The aide coming in to change David’s IV bag woke Dusty an hour or so later, asking if he wanted to order anything from the cafeteria downstairs. No, but thank you. I should be going. He rose and without even thinking about it, leaned over and kissed David on the forehead. As he stood there, it hit Dusty what he’d just done. It was a simple show of affection, the soft kiss. It felt right, natural, so before he could overanalyze the gesture, he whispered, See you tomorrow D, and left the room. Dusty reached for the TV remote that also functioned as a call button and placed it next to David’s hand as he always did before leaving the room.

Shuffling toward the elevator, Dusty pushed the button before he remembered he was supposed to tell Sheila he was leaving, so he turned and headed toward the nurses’ station at the other end of the hall. He could see Sheila heading his way so he stopped, waiting until she stood in front of him to speak. I’m gonna head out now.

You didn’t have to push the call button, Dusty, especially since you were going to walk down to the station and tell me, Sheila admonished, hands on her hips.

Dusty froze, eyes wide. I...I didn’t push the call button, Sheila.

They turned and ran back down the hall to David’s room. At first glance, everything seemed to be undisturbed. A faint Hello drew Dusty further into the room. Sheila moved around to the far side of the bed, smiling down at David. Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty. Sheila waved Dusty over.

Slowly, he walked toward the bed, grinning and reaching for David’s hand. He jerked back, eyes going wide when he looked up at Dusty. Dusty held his hands up, speaking softly in the hopes of calming David. Hey, it’s okay D. You’re safe here; I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.

As soon as Dusty spoke, David visibly calmed, reaching out with a shaky hand. I know you. You’re the angel in my dreams; I recognize your voice. David’s voice sounded like he’d gargled with glass then brushed his teeth with sandpaper. But there was a melodic tone to it as well, exactly the way Dusty had imagined. He laughed, grabbing the offered hand and gently squeezing. Catching the leg of the chair with his boot, Dusty pulled it closer so he could sit, refusing to release David’s hand. Much to his dismay, he had to let go long enough for the nurse to check David’s vitals, but he didn’t go far.

Sheila was removing the blood pressure cuff from David’s wrist when one of his many doctors wandered into the room, smiling. So good of you to finally join us, Mr. Thompson, the doctor joked before taking his turn at poking and prodding, asking David what the last thing he remembered was, hands still gliding over David’s various injuries.

Everything is still a little fuzzy, he said, wincing when the doctor put pressure on his abdomen. "I remember my brother was