Outed

Kevin wandered into the kitchen to drain the last of his tea. The hockey was finished for the night, it had been a good game. He looked in the fridge and realised Stuart was late, really late. At that moment the wall phone rang, his heart rate skyrocketed.

“Hello” he answered.

“Hello Kevin, it’s Damian Baxter.”

“Oh hello Damian, is anything wrong?”

“Not really, sorry to ring you so late.”

“That’s fine, I was up anyway, how can I help?” Kevin asked.

“I’m sure Stuart has told you we’ve asked Tim to spend his nights here.” Damian began. “Until, well until, he sorts himself out. We’ll support him of course; we just don’t want him to rush things. You know, youthful delusions, so to speak.”

“Damian, we’ve known each other for almost twenty years, I’m not sure delusions is the right word.” Said Kevin gently.

“Yes, yes, sorry. You’re right. He’s been so down lately, we’re really concerned.” Apologised Damian. “Anyway, to the point. We’ve asked Tim to stay at home, and we’d appreciate it if he’d respect our wishes. We know its late, but can you ask him to make his way home please. He’s not answering our texts.”

“Err, I would, but he’s not here.” Replied Kevin, increasingly concerned. “Stuart’s not here either. I was just wondering where he was.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Damian, someone’s at the door. I’ll call you back.” He never got around to it.

The officer who had knocked, hated this part of the job. Kevin would never be able to remember what she actually said in the minutes after he opened the door. Damian and Cath Baxter, had a similar account of their evening.

*

Twenty minutes after the first call came to emergency dispatch, Stu’s ambulance was reversing into the ER receival dock at Jillander General Hospital. On route, his ‘head injury’ bus had been given priority over Tim’s, which was now hot parked and waiting to admit the teen.

Rushed to an ER booth, Stu was descended upon by two doctors and three nurses. Tim was admitted four minutes later.

The police who had briefed the parents, had cautioned them against rushing to the hospital. There wouldn’t be any news for at least an hour.

*

90 minutes later the head doctor ushered Kevin back into the ER waiting room. He immediately ran into Damian and Cathy who had been briefed by their doctor, twenty minutes before. Cathy hugged him as a grim-faced Damian patted him on the shoulder.

“How is Tim?” Kev asked.

“He’s going to be ok, broken wrist, bruised kidney, a few cuts and scratches.” Replied Damian. They’ll set his arm in a few hours.” He paused, “Stuart?” he asked tentatively. Kevin dissolved.

Minutes later they were sitting around a plain laminate table in the hospital cafeteria.

“He’s not bleeding on the brain, thank god.” Said Kevin, continuing the conversation he’d started on the way down in the lift. “The doctor says that’s good, but they want to keep a close eye on him. They say they are going to keep him unconscious until they’re sure.”

The table sunk in to silence.

“Tonight, when the police arrived, I thought I’d lost him.” Said Damian, “all I could think of was everything I’d wanted to say, but hadn’t.”

“It’s strange, that’s how I felt when I first heard that Stu was mixed up in the bashing of that other fellow.” Informed Kevin, “He told me if I didn’t want to love him anymore, he’d be sad. But he’d accept it.” Kevin put his head down and cried. The Baxter’s stayed quiet. When he pulled himself together, he snuffled. “I don’t think I will ever be able to un-hear those words.”

“I think you’ve handled this so much better than us.” Said Cathy. “The whole rushing back from my mum’s place. If we’d just stayed there, they would have been walking together tonight.” Her turn to cry.

“Excuse me,” said a police officer tentatively arriving at their table. “Mr & Mrs Baxter, Mr Bolton?”

The Clifton Hill officer spoke to the parents for the better part of an hour. They had nowhere else to be, and it served as a productive distraction. The police were seriously concerned that underworld connections were attempting to intimidate the boys out of their testimony.

Both boys remained in hospital overnight, Stu kept in deep sleep.

*

By next morning the local Facebook page, had surpassed its former high point frenzy. How people knew what was happening, when the police had not issued a statement, amazed on-lookers. Rumors, speculation and pure guesses, flooded the site.

At 10 the next morning when Damian and Cathy arrived to collect Tim, a discussion of wills erupted.

“I am not leaving this hospital.” Tim said, quietly.

“We understand.” His mother replied.

“I am not leaving this hospital.” He repeated without emotion, without seeming to hear her. “If you physically carry me out, which you will have to do. Then as soon as you put me down, I will crawl back here if I have too.” His mother held her tongue. He needed to have his say.

“Tim we’ve spoken about this.” Said Damian, gently.

“He’s my boyfriend, I don’t care what happens, I’m not going anywhere until he’s awake.” He continued, on a path and not getting off. “I should have been with him.” He stopped in his tracks.

“Mum, Dad,” he paused, the words stuck in his throat. “What if he dies?” he self-destructed on the spot, a night’s worth of worry and a week’s worth of confusion, cascading out of him.

The three of them hugged as one.

When he had pulled himself together. His father held his head firmly and locked eyes.

“It’s our turn to talk now, Ok?” Damian said. Tim nodded. “The doctors say that every hour that goes by he is more out of danger. Kevin says they plan to start waking him up tomorrow. Do you follow?” he did.

“We have also asked if you would be able to have a kit bed installed in his room, now that he’s out of intensive care.” Tim’s eyes widened. They have said ok, but only if you keep out of their way, and keep quiet. Do you think you can do that?” Tim nodded wildly, not trusting himself to speak.

*

On the last day of the week, Tim and Stu’s school was a riot of conjecture and concern. Not least of which was that two of the team’s handy players would now have to be replaced for tomorrow’s game. As the players spoke with each other through the day, a subtle division began to emerge. Almost undetectable, only the most attuned picked up the feeling.

Alex took his time walking the crowded corridor on his way to double chem. As a senior and a big guy, the mass flowed around him like a stream diverts for a boulder. The news had rocked him, a team mate down, two team mates! He looked up and strangely found himself near Stu’s locker. FAG adorning its door. It would be wiped away tomorrow, when the cleaners did their Saturday deep clean. He knew the graffiti would return next week, without fail.

He paused and looked around. He found what he was looking for, Room 2.14 would do nicely he thought.

*

As the weekend arrived. The police issued a statement about Tim and Stuart’s assault, short and predictable, ‘all avenues of investigation were being pursued’ it said. Facebook again spiked. The proximity to the other bashing, made it crystal clear who was responsible.

The last regular game of the season went ahead without a blimp. The final scores didn’t reflect the struggle it was, but the team cruised to victory anyway. Coach seemed a happy man. Maybe it was because all that lay ahead were the finals, maybe it was because balance had been returned to the team?

This was the best chance he’d had to secure a Championship. Years of crafting and moulding the team to perform as he wanted, and peaking at the right time of the season. The years of setbacks were behind him now. Even so, he had to remain alert.

The last few weeks had been a challenge. Who could have scripted it? Some phantom gay porn writer? Even if it was written, you couldn’t believe it! On the eve of the finals, not one, but two fairies surfacing in the team. It was an astonishing threat to de-rail years of work.

Then, an equally unlikely event. Both antagonists taken out when they’d got themselves mixed up in a criminal bashing. A fair return for pushing their sick and twisted ways, he thought, just desserts.   

He returned to contemplating the finals. The cup was so close, he could almost feel it in his hands.

*

At the hospital, the doctors began to decrease Stu’s sleep drug. It took him a full day to even slightly stir. It was clear the medicos were growing increasingly concerned. When he still hadn’t emerged from his coma by nightfall, a specialist was called and asked to examine the boy.

As the room had grown increasingly busy through the day. Tim had been asked to wait outside. When Stu started to deteriorate, he was taken back to intensive care around midnight. Tim sat with his parents looking at the cafeteria food, and not touching it. He hadn’t told them his side was aching, and it had been getting worse all day. He knew they’d insist on him returning to the house to recover properly.

At 1.15am, Tim collapsed as he suffered a complete kidney shutdown. The only saving grace was he was in a hospital. For the second time in two days, he ended up in the emergency ward, this time he left it, unconscious.

Kevin and the Baxter’s spent a second night at the hospital worried sick. Sunday saw little change, other than an increasingly large group of specialists, dealing with what was initially thought to be routine. It wasn’t.

*

As soon as the janitor opened the front doors, Alex walked in with his ruck sack and a plastic carry bag. He didn’t really walk in, as much as limp in. The game on Saturday had been tough and he’d picked up a corked thigh, it would be right by next week, but today it hurt like shit.

He looked at the hall clock, 6.52. he was sure he’d never been to school this early before, and never on a Monday. He put his ruck in his own locker and made his way to room 2.14. as he drew the blinds and got himself settled, he dragged the plastic bottle from the shopping bag. He sat it on the desk and inspected the label. Methylated Alcohol it declared in industrial font, he set it to the side.

As he looked up. he confirmed he had perfect line of sight to Stu’s locker and its spotless door. It wouldn’t be long now he thought, as he again checked the time, 7.04. He was right. At 7.12 a shadow crossed Alex’s classroom door, it made directly for Stu’s locker. Alex rose to his feet without noticing any pain in his legs. He held the bottle, hanging down between two fingers.

He walked to the door and opened it silently, and made his assessment. Shadow boy had produced a plump tipped magic marker, and set about reinstating the tag. Handy work done; Alex heard the cap click in place as the guy took a step back.

“Admiring your work Harris?” Asked Alex clearly. Travis squeaked in surprise and spun around at record speed.

“Alex!” the boy said. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching out for my teammate’s locker. Since he’s still in hospital and all.” The big guy clarified.

“You’re looking out for the Fag?” Travis asked, almost confused.

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed slowly, “and this is the way the next few minutes are going to go.”

“Wha… what do you mean?” asked the boy starting to panic.

“Well, we’re going to clean the locker off, make it real nice.” The guy revealed. “and, just so you know, if you fuck off before I’m happy, I will beat your arse.”

“I don’t have any cleaning stuff.” The smaller boy attempted to deflect. Alex calmly uncapped his bottle.

“You’ve got all you’re going to need.” As the last word left his mouth, Alex struck like a rattle snake, grabbing the back of the boy’s neck. Travis squealed in fear, as he found his left cheek pressed directly to the graffiti. Alex poured a liberal amount of alcohol between the locker and the guy’s head. He used the guy’s face to scrub the steel surface up and down. The magic marker, spread wide over both surfaces.

Satisfied with his work on the left, Alex dragged the right side of the guy’s face up and down to match.

When he finally released the boy, his mug was smeared in black ink.

“What the fuck man! What the fuck!” he stumbled back trying to get the alcohol out of his eyes. Alex surveyed the locker door. ‘Fag’ was mostly gone, but a black mess remained.

“Take your windcheater off.” Alex instructed.

“What?” Travis failed to compute.

“Now!” Alex boomed. The boy realised the guy wasn’t fucking around. He was defending Stu and Tim! What the hell? He dragged off his white school windcheater and tossed it on the floor.

“Pick it up, I’ll pour, you clean the rest of this shit off.” Continued Alex nodding toward the locker. Travis complied, transferring all the remaining ink to his clothing.

“Dress,” said Alex as he took his camera from his pocket. He snapped a quick shot and moved to stand close. “Have you done Tim’s locker too?”

“No, not yet.” He answered too quickly, and regretted it.

“I see. Do you think I could fuck you up, if I wanted?” Travis nodded, “good, we understand each other.”

“I’ll see you at 3.30 on the steps. If you look any different than you do now. I’ll be fucking you up on those steps, for all to see.”

“I go to class like this all day?” Travis asked, horrified.

“You made Tim and Stu live with it. You’ll be doing the same.” Alex declared.

As he prepared to leave along the still empty corridor. He turned and as he did, he snapped Harris in the nuts. The kid dropped immediately.