Hadrian's Rage (15 page)

Faial stands, caught between the emotional anguish of these two. Her mother’s instinct kicks in and she chooses first to kneel beside Cantara. As soon as her hand touches Cantara’s shoulder, though, the young woman bursts up and out of the room. She exits, screaming something about het’rophobes, murderers, and Jason Fucking Warith. Shaking her head in dismay, Faial crosses to Jason’s side, crouches beside his chair, and gently rubs his shoulder. “It’s okay, my friend. The life you lead is truly noble.”

Slowly, Jason stutters out his conviction. “I—I really do believe—believe in Hadrian’s four cornerstones—the n-need for humanity’s population to decrease. Hadrian is on the right track.” His eyes meet Faial’s, imploring her to understand, or at the very least, believe his sincerity. “It’s just, prejudice—prejudice, can’t be part of the picture.”

Cantara stands in the entrance to the kitchen, the soft light of the living room creating a glow around her form. Her face is wretched. After a high-pitched squeal, Cantara screeches, “Agony is shredding through every fiber of my being, and you’re comforting him!”

“Go to her,” Jason mumbles. “I’m okay.”

Faial is unconvinced, but before she can utter her thoughts, Cantara retorts, “No, Jason, you’re not okay.” Now looking her mother in the eye, she adds, “And neither am I.”

Faial quickly stands and reaches for her daughter. “Baby—”

Cantara refuses to let her mother in. Slapping away her outstretched arms, Cantara demands, “Leave us!”

“Go,” Jason whispers. “We need to do this.” Faial is stunned. Everything is wrong, suddenly backwards; her loyalty to her friend has suddenly superseded her loyalty to her daughter.
What happened to my mother’s instinct?
Jason nods his head as Cantara stands back, giving her mother room to leave. Sarcastically, she waves her past. Jason chides her with, “You are being too rough on your mother.”

Cantara stares down at Jason. “My best friend just died.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“She. Was. Murdered!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Because she was straight!”

“I know. I’m—”

Cantara mimics him. “
I know. I’m sorry. I’m know. I’m sorry. I know.
Do you? Do you really?”

Jason stands, angered by this attack. “Yes! I know! I understand! That’s why I’m in this business. To help kids like Tara and you!”

“And you?” Her question is dripping with pity.

Jason takes the query like a slam to the gut. “Yes,” he coughs out, “like me.”

“How? By telling us we don’t belong?”

Regaining his composure, Jason begins to fight back. “No, by helping you find a way to belong. By teaching you how to blend in and be a part of our society.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe in our good country.”

“Good country, my ass.”

“Yes, good country. In many ways, Hadrian is a paragon amongst the countries of this planet.”

“Not when it comes to treating everybody equally.”

“Everybody is treated equally!”

“Not if you’re strai, or actively bi!”

“The values our country stands on are critical—values like population control and reclaiming the natural balance of our planet. These are critical, and to this end, we have to work together!”

“YES!”

Jason smiles slightly, cautiously, fearful of a verbal trap. “You see, you do understand.”

“No. I see things differently.” Jason sighs and closes his eyes. It was too good to be true. Too easy. Cantara continues, “I see humanity working together as a whole.”

“You can’t mean outside, too?”

“Ultimately. But we can’t reach out to them until we’ve healed ourselves.” Shaking her head discriminatorily, she states, “You can’t keep doing what you’re doing, Jason. It’s wrong and you know it.”

Jason recoils with momentary self-doubt and then, reining in his terror, he lashes back at Cantara with full force. “It is not wrong to try to keep our country solid. It is not wrong to try to help children fix broken lives.”

“YOU CAN’T FIX WHAT ISN’T BROKEN!”

“Their lives—”

“Strais, bis, transgendered, pansexual, gender fluid, every beautiful colorful stream of the sexual light spectrum. Does Hadrian even remember the rainbow? NO! And you know why? I’ll tell you why! Hadrian has forgotten about us—ALL OF US!” Cantara is beyond yelling, her voice now too hoarse. “They are not broken. We are not broken. No one, not one of us is broken. We are all born whole. It’s society that does the breaking. Society that does the destroying.” The tears are streaming, her nose is dripping, and Cantara collapses to her knees. Jason kneels in front of her. He reaches his arms around her as she wails, “My best friend’s dead!” Now crumbling into his arms, she weeps, “Dead, Jason. Dead.”

“I know,” Jason murmurs softly.

“They murdered her.” Cantara’s voice is now a jumble of sobs. “They murdered her.”

All Jason can do is rock the young woman gently in his embrace. She is right. Deep in his heart, he knows she is right.

Just moments ago,
Salve!
aired an emergency broadcast to inform the populace of a cruel and brutal murder. Danny Duggin’s representation of what Tara Fowler suffered at the hands of her murderers, and the victim-blaming he focused on as opposed to the known facts, was badly done. That is not professional reporting, Hadrian, and you have the right to hear truths told about such events, not ridiculous rumors that have no basis in reality. Having just spoken to the head of Augustus Uni Security, I have learned that Tara Fowler’s murderers were not, in fact, male. Nor had the young woman solicited these two in any way. Rather, they are two female uni students who knew Tara Fowler from her Sociology 100 class. According to the bartender at The Blue Chair, they had appeared to be friends, laughing and drinking the way most college students do on a Friday night. They appeared to have left the bar amicably, if not exceedingly drunk. The bartender noted that the two women had to help Ms. Fowler up and out the door since she was too drunk to walk on her own.

The names of the two women responsible for Tara Fowler’s death are being withheld until after their confession has been heard, but the details of her death have been released—I’m sorry, Hadrian, but what they did to this poor girl boggles the mind. She was stripped, beaten, raped with beer bottles, and had her head smashed in with a brick. There is no excuse for this sort of behavior—no justification. No “decent citizen,” to quote Danny Duggin, would ever “snap” like this. Nor was this a deranged heterosexual male acting out some sordid sexual fantasy. This murder was an act of barbarism. What was done to this poor girl is not only a sign of the times but Hadrian’s
disgrace
.

And, for the record, Danny Duggin, your “source” just happens to be
one of the murderesses. The Head of Uni Security saw you speaking with her just prior to her arrest.

TRUTH!

Jeremy Stoker and Jake Matonabee's ranch house is small and cozy. Neither man goes in for ostentation, so their home only has a kitchen that doubles as their living room, one bedroom, and a bath. The kitchen is their favorite room, and though small in comparison with other homes, it is the largest room in the house. It is a Sunday evening and the two men are relaxing over a simple meal of fried steak and mashed potatoes after a long day's work.

As he always does during mealtime, Jeremy is reading HNN's news-blog voc'd up in front of him. “Sweet Hadrian's Lover!” Jeremy mutters in dismay.

“What is it?” Jake asks over a mouthful of potatoes. Jake never wears a voc, getting all his news from Jeremy.

“A young girl was murdered just outside Augustus Uni.” Jeremy Stoker gasps, raising his hand to cover his mouth.

“What is it, babe?” Jake reaches a hand across the table to caress Jeremy's arm.

Jeremy's eyes continue to scan over the voc doc he is reading. “Hadrian help us, Jake; they raped her first!”

“What?” Incensed, Jake's hand, holding his fork, turns into a fist. “What sick fucking strai did that?”

Tears begin to burgeon. “It wasn't a strai, Jake; it was the poor girl's two female friends.” He shudders. “Her two best mates murdered her because she was a strai.”

Jake lets go of Jeremy's arm. His eyes close as he breathes deeply. Resting his head in his hand, Jake begins to shake it slowly. “How did this happen?”

Through choking sobs, Jeremy relays the story to his lover. “Her name was Tara Fowler. Apparently, she had come out to her friends Friday night while they were having a few beers in the student uni bar.”

Jake pounds his fist on the table, then tosses his fork away. “That fucking uni, opening its doors to strais.”

“Please, Jake,” Jeremy murmurs. Jake doesn't know about Jeremy's little sister, Sissy Hildebrand. Nor does he know about Jeremy being bi and having had sexual relations with her. Sissy and Jeremy only became brother and sister after their fathers' registration, a registration that occurred when Jeremy was seventeen, only one year before he was conscripted into the army. The two never did grow to see each other as brother and sister, especially since no genetic bond connects them.

Jake softens long enough to witness Jeremy's distress. “Hey, hey,” he coos. Reaching out once more, Jake begins caressing Jeremy's arm. “What's wrong, babe? I know any violent crime is disturbing, but you're acting as if you knew the woman.” Pausing for a moment, he asks, “Did you?”

Jeremy shakes his head. How can he tell Jake why this murder is so upsetting? How can he possibly explain his worry over Sissy's safety, even his own?

“Then what is it?” Jake asks softly.

“It was how—” Jeremy's voice chokes inside a sob.

“It's okay,” Jake coos. Trying very hard to soothe his lover, Jake begins to hum softly.

“Don't! Don't!” Jeremy insists. “That's not going to work for me today.”

Whenever Jeremy gets anxious or upset, Jake resorts to cradling him and humming softly. Jake never even realizes he's humming; the action has become so automatic. Leaning back in his chair to give Jeremy a little space, Jake responds without choler. “It's okay, babe. I'll stop.” He holds both hands palm up to show the sincerity of his expression. “Just tell me what happened that's got you so upset.”

Jeremy takes a moment to calm down and catch his breath before beginning the harrowing tale of Tara Fowler's death. “Tara was at the student's bar, The Blue Chair, Friday night. She and two of her mates were having a few drinks. I guess with the legalization of heterosexuality and the new strai gay club there, Tara must have felt emboldened. “It says here,” he points to the air a few inches in front of his right eye, and even though Jake can't see the article inside Jeremy's eye, he knows what Jeremy is referring to, “she had confided in her companions that she was strai. The bartender didn't notice anything untoward between the three women so Tara must have thought they were okay with it. I guess when they left the bar, the two
women stripped Tara naked and commenced beating her. They dragged her into an alley behind the uni where they raped her with beer bottles. Apparently, they had beaten her unconscious, and one of the girls, fearing Tara might wake up and report them, decided they needed to finish her off.”
19

When Jeremy fails to continue, Jake urges him on. “Then what happened?”

“The girl picked up a brick and smashed in Tara's skull with it.”

“Hadrian's Lover, that's awful.” Even Jake, who has no love for heterosexuals, is appalled by the violence of Tara Fowler's death. “And those two women, her friends—how did the authorities catch them?”

“They spent the evening sitting at the bar with her; and they left with her; the bartender said all three girls were laughing when they left. He said it couldn't possibly have been them, but when quadrant officials went to interview the women and take samples of their DNA to compare with the spit they found on Tara's body—can you believe they spat on her body after killing her?—the one girl's DNA matched.”

“That is sickening.” Jake can't help but feel disgust for anyone who would act as these women had. “Even so, you can understand their motivation.”

Jeremy shudders and shakes at Jake's words. “W-what? How could you possibly understand their motivation?”

Jake remains oblivious to just how deeply shaken Jeremy is by this murder. He takes a moment to muse over his philosophy. “Well, being het'ro is no longer illegal so they couldn't expose her and have her summarily exiled, so they did what they thought necessary to rid Hadrian of the het'ro plague.”

Jeremy is incensed. “The het'ro what?”

Jake takes a moment to scrutinize Jeremy's mood and posture. His lover is oscillating through numerous emotions, including fear, grief, and rage. “Take a moment to control your emotions, Jeremy. I understand that this was a violent crime, unacceptable, but these girls were acting on what they felt was in our country's best behalf.”

“It is not in our country's best interest to rape and murder someone just because she is straight!” Jeremy breaks down, no longer able to hold in the excessive fear. “Hadrian, please protect her.”

Jake stares at his lover, at first dumbfounded, but slowly, his mind begins to put the pieces together. Jeremy isn't asking Hadrian to watch over the dead girl's soul; he is asking Hadrian to protect his little sister. At first, Jake's declaration is a whisper. “She's a fucking open hole”

Jeremy hears every word as if it were a series of thunderous explosions. “W-who?”

“I knew it!” Incensed, Jake stands, pushing his chair back, roughly scraping the wood against the rough stone floor in the process. Pointing an accusing finger Jeremy's way, Jake demands to know, “She is straight, isn't she?” Jeremy responds with further tears. There's no point asking anymore; Jeremy knows exactly whom Jake is talking about, and in his current emotional state, he is no longer able to dissimulate. “Fucking knew it! Fucking knew it!” Pacing back and forth in the small kitchen space, Jake wheels on Jeremy. “She is off this ranch.”

Jeremy looks up at his long-time lover, stunned. “But you never see her. She lives on the north quarter, takes good care of our sheep. What possible difference could it make letting her stay there?”

Jake is having none of Jeremy's excuses. Deep-seated suspicion has rooted itself, and now it is beginning to grow inside, suggesting what he has always denied. Instead of expressing his fears, he shouts, “My great-great-grandfather started this ranch, started it even before Hadrian was a country! I will not have the likes of her living and working on my ancestors' soil.” Suddenly, spinning, Jake reaches a conclusion, a slightly more preferable conclusion than the one he is desperately running from. “That man, that man she hired over three years ago, he was her cunt-hammer? He was, wasn't he?”

“I—I have no idea.” Jeremy is flabbergasted by Jake's aggressive onslaught of verbal violence against his little sister and the man she loved. Suddenly, Jeremy sees a whole new side to his partner. Sissy's lover had been brutally murdered two years ago. Although members of the bi and strai community cried hate crime, it was never proven. All details surrounding Quinton's death were dismissed as his parents insisted that claims their son was straight were blatant lies and dishonoring his memory. Quinton's family had their suspicions, though, and Sissy was not allowed to attend her lover's funeral.

“Oh, you know, you know, you know!” Jake's voice rises in intensity. He knows Jeremy knows because Jeremy hasn't been riding north to visit his little sister anywhere near as often as he used to. “I want her gone!”

Jeremy stands. He stops Jake from pacing by grabbing his lover by the shoulders. “Jake, she's my little sister. We can't just throw her out in the cold.”

“She is a fucking het'ro, Jeremy! A breeder!” Jake spits out the word “breeder” with so much vehemence and hate Jeremy is frightened of what he might do if Sissy were in the room—or if he knew. Now standing, Jake shoots his finger like a bullet towards Jeremy's face, pronouncing Sissy's fate. “I want her off my ranch, tonight! Her and any fucking cunt-hammer she may have with her!” Shivering with rage, he adds, “You voc her, and you voc her now.”

Jeremy knows now exactly what he has to do. He nods his head, stands, and gets ready to leave. “Okay, Jake, but she's not on your ranch; she's on my fathers' sheep farm, which they left to both Sissy and me. You can't legally kick her off her own homestead.”

“You're siding with that bitch.” Jake is now circling Jeremy like a wildcat circles its prey. “You've known all along she's a stab. You and she have been lying to me all these years. And that fucker we hired to help her out up there, he was a strai too, wasn't he?” And then with a sneer that sends shivers up Jeremy's spine, Jake adds, “That's why they murdered him.” Jake begins pacing the kitchen like a panther, his glaring eyes burning with hate. “You voc quadrant officials up in Peace River—” Peace River is the small farming community nearest the Cattle Ranch. “You voc 'em now and you tell 'em, you tell 'em she's a strai. Strais got no legal rights in Hadrian. You can get them to sign her share of the land over to you.”

“What?” Jeremy can't believe what he is hearing. “I will not steal from my own family! She's my sister!”

Jake isn't fooled. He's been suspicious of those two for quite some time. “She's more than that to you, ain't she?”

“What are you talking about?” Jeremy knows exactly what Jake means, and though he tries to remain calm, a slight quiver marks his voice.

“You fucked the bitch, didn't you?” When Jeremy reddens and fails to deny the accusation immediately, Jake comes to his own conclusion and punches Jeremy in the face, slamming his back against the refrigerator. Jeremy's knees weaken, but he regains his balance quickly. The advantage of being Peace River's bucking horse rider is that Jeremy can take quite a beating without getting knocked down.

After stepping away from the fridge, Jeremy wipes the blood Jake drew
from his mouth and shakes his head sadly. “I'll pack and be out of here in the hour.” As he turns to leave the kitchen, he lets Jake know, “I'll voc Sissy that I'm coming up to live with her.”

The last words Jeremy ever hears his lover say are, “I don't ever want to see you or that fucking breeder again!”