Omorphi (61 page)

“Dr. Rob said I have to be quiet.”

Michael chuckled softly as he closed the door behind Gwen. Still tiptoeing, Darien made it halfway to the couch before his eyes went wide. “He has a big bandage!”

“He can hear you. Go on over there. Just be careful of his leg.”

Darien registered that Christy really was awake when Christy motioned him forward.

“You’re awake?”

“Yes.”

“I have to be careful not to hurt the burn.”

Christy smiled. “Come. You won’t hurt the burn.”

Darien continued to tiptoe to Christy. “You can talk now?”

“If I don’t talk too much. Sit here, on this side.” Christy patted the couch, and Darien climbed up next to him, his eyes firmly fixed on the bandage. He suddenly reached up and hugged Christy, nearly knocking him backward onto the couch. “I thought you died.”

Christy hugged him in return. “I am okay.”

Darien drew back and touched Christy’s face with feathery fingertips as if in an effort to confirm Christy’s very existence. Christy took his small hand and kissed his knuckles. “I am here. I am fine.”

“When will you be all better?”

“A few weeks.”

“What about school?”

“I will go to school. Michael will help me.”

Darien turned large eyes to Michael. “What if he falls on the playground?”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“’Kay.” Darien dared to touch the edge of Christy’s bandage with a fingertip. “I had a burn once. She poured hot water on me.” Darien issued a shuddering breath and shivered through the memory. “It was bad.”

Christy petted his dark hair. “But now you are here. Now we are safe, and we have survived burns.”

Darien swallowed hard. “Yeah. It was bad.”

Gwen went to Darien. “Christy needs to rest now, Darien. Let’s go finish your painting.”

Darien brightened. “I painted another picture for you.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“’Kay. I’ll show you at bedtime.” Darien climbed off the couch and stood, taking in Christy’s full form, and turned to Michael. “You won’t let him fall down?”

“Nope. Promise.”

“’Kay.” Darien hugged Christy again and followed Gwen across the room, looking back over his shoulder every other step. “See you later.”

Christy waved a small wave.

Michael closed the door and walked back to Christy. “He sure cares about you a lot.”

“And I, him.”

Michael sat and began brushing Christy’s hair again. “Why him? I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I mean, why him and not one of the others.”

“His mother was a prostitute. They found him blindfolded and gagged with his hands tied behind his back, locked in a closet with roaches and rats. He was sitting in feces, urine, and blood, after his mother’s customers beat him. They starved him to nineteen pounds. He was three years old. It took the past two years for him to learn to eat without asking who would hurt him, and he still fears a closed door and the dark. People always look at the sexual abuse as the worst, but it isn’t. It’s the problems in the mind.”

An image of Darien pushing and shoving the big door in the main house filled Michael’s mind, and he swallowed back the lump in his throat.
Tortured like you, my pretty Christy.
“Unbelievable.”

“It isn’t.”

Michael brushed the last locks of Christy’s hair and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I know. I only mean that it’s hard to believe a parent would do such a thing.”

“It isn’t,” Christy repeated.

Michael pulled Christy back against his chest and hugged him.

“I know.”

“Will you call Jacob?”

Christy began to move away as Michael pulled the phone from his pocket. “No, no, stay here.” He pulled Christy back against him as he speed-dialed Jake. “Hey, bro, where are you?”

“Longest shopping trip of my life, man. Sophia wanted to buy Christy a few, understatement on few, things. When’s Christy gonna be discharged?”

“We’re home.”

“You’re home already?”

“We got home a little over an hour ago. Christy asked about Sophia.”

“Hang on.”

Michael listened as Jake spoke with her in the background but couldn’t make out their conversation. “We’ll be there in about an hour. Does Christy want to talk to her?”

“They’ll be back in about an hour. Do you want to speak to her?”

Christy shook his head.

“No, he’s good. We’ll see you then.”

“Later.”

Michael set the phone on the coffee table. “I guess Sophia had a need to shop.”

Christy laughed softly as he relaxed against Michael’s chest. “She is very happy with him.”

“That’s good. I know Jake is madly in love with her.”

Christy sighed. “I feel so much better after the shower.”

Michael hugged him a little closer. “Good. Are you in any pain?”

“Only a little. I do not want to take medicine. It only makes me sleep.”

“Dad said you could take Tylenol. Do you want me to get you some?”

Christy shook his head. “I am peaceful.”

Michael’s phone rang, and he picked it up and looked at it. “Hey, Mom, everything okay…? It’s all good…. No, I gave him a shower and redid the bandage…. No… okay… okay…. Can I eat here…? Thanks….” He groaned. “
Mom
. Why do you always ask me that…? Like we’re going to do that. He just got out of the hospital….
Stop
…. Yeah, okay. Love you too.”

Christy laughed softly, and Michael sighed. “She wants to make sure we don’t do anything to hurt you.”

“It’s nice that she cares like this.”

“Yeah, I know, but she doesn’t need to be so nosy about sex.”

Michael’s phone rang again. “Jeez.” He answered, “Grand Central Station.”

Rob chuckled. “Hi, Michael, I just wanted to check to make sure you were decent before I came to the cabin.”

Michael made a face. “Have you been talking to my mom?”

“No. Why would I have spoken with your mother?”

“Because she just called and asked if Christy and I—crap, never mind. Of course we’re decent. Come on over.” He hung up. “Why does everyone need to know if we’re having sex?”

Christy laughed and sat up. “Did he ask this?”

“No. He asked if we were decent.”

“Decent?”

“He means dressed, as in do we have clothes on.”

Christy laughed the hardest Michael had heard yet and began to cough. “Hey, hey, hey, calm down, calm down. None of that. You don’t want to end up back in the hospital.”

Christy calmed, still laughing softly.

“I’m glad you find it so hilarious.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“We are adults. No one would ask this in Europe. They would simply assume it.”

“They wouldn’t care even if we’re still in high school?”

Christy shook his head. “Though I believe Rob was only trying to give us privacy.”

Michael sighed. “I guess I kind of overreacted. I hate it when my mom asks me about it.”

A
SOFT
knock sounded at the door, and Michael worked his way out from behind Christy carefully. He checked the peephole before opening it and ushered Rob inside.

Rob held a tray of cut fruit, various cheeses, tea, and water in his hands and set it on the coffee table. “How are you doing?”

“I feel better after the shower.”

“No trouble with it?” Rob asked as he went to the fireplace and started a low fire. It was spring and they didn’t need it, but it added to the ambiance of the room.

“No problems.”

“Christy is still very weak,” Michael added.

“Stands to reason,” Rob said as he took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. “Something to drink?”

“I will do it.” Christy began to pour a cup of tea from the small porcelain pot with a shaking hand. Rob took it from him and finished pouring it. Christy frowned but said nothing.

Michael took a bottle of water and an apple slice from the tray and resumed his seat next to Christy. “Michael, one of the agreements Christy and I made about working together was that Christy would choose the subject matter of our discussions. Christy, what would you like to talk about?”

“I feel peaceful.”

“Good. Why?”

“I am home, I am safe, I am clean, I have Michael here, and Jerry is here. And I have clothes that I like.”

Rob admired the white lace negligee. “It’s very pretty.”

“Yes, Michael gave this to me as a gift. I do not have to repay it like before.”

“How would you have to repay it in the past?”

“I would… I would have to do what they asked of me.”

“What would they ask you to do?”

Christy breathed deeply, again seeming to dispel discomfort with deep breaths, and looked away. “Things that made me very angry.”

Rob nodded. “What did they ask you to do?”

Christy considered this for a long moment. “You saw the paintings when you moved them.” His words were but a breath on the air, but his eyes were accusatory.

Michael sucked in a breath and waited for Christy to explode. When Christy didn’t, he shot a nervous glance at Rob.

“We didn’t see all of them,” Rob clarified.

Christy balled the negligee in his fist and turned away. “Which ones?”

“The ones that look like illustrations from Edgar Allan Poe’s works.”

Christy turned back to Rob. “How did you know this?”

Rob gestured to Michael. “Michael identified each story depicted and then saw Clarke’s
Nightmares in Decay
.”

Christy turned to Michael. “You know this?”

Michael nodded and removed Christy’s balled fist from the negligee and held his hand. “They’re incredible. The surrealism you created for ‘A Dream Within a Dream’ is fantastic.”

“You know this too?”

“The entire poem.”

“Which part do you like?”

“That’s tough. I think it might be ‘I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore, and I hold within my hand grains of the golden sand.’”

“Why do you like this?”

“I think it says that important things haven’t slipped from my grasp. I also think it’s amazing that you knew the sand was gold.”

“I researched this.”

“What’s your favorite part of the poem?” Rob asked.

“‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.’”

“You prefer the statement to the question?” Michael asked.

Christy nodded.

“What do you mean, Michael?”

“The first verse ends in the statement. The second verse ends in the question, ‘Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?’”

Rob’s eyes moved to Christy again.

“The first part is me. I do not try to save the grains any longer. They are gone.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The parts of me they took away. One grain at a time.”

Rob nodded. “Are you angry about that?”

“Yes.”

“You should be. We also saw the painting of you with the rope around your neck.”

Christy stiffened, and his hand clenched around Michael’s.

“Is that a depiction of what happened to you?”

Christy shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. “It was much worse. I did not paint the whip, the board to hit the bottom of my feet, the blood in the picture.” Again, Christy’s words were nearly inaudible.

“Why not?”

“I do not like to see these things.”

“That’s understandable.”

Christy’s squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “Why did you look at this one?”

Rob looked to Michael, and he took it as his cue to speak. “It was accidental. I uncovered the paintings looking for the rest of the ocean paintings.”

“What of the others?”

“We didn’t look at any others.”

Christy’s brow furrowed, his eyes still closed. “Why not?”

“I threw up.” Christy tried to withdraw his hand from Michael’s, but he held onto it. “Nothing that happened to you is ever going to change how I feel about you, Christy.”

Christy bowed his head and covered his face with his free hand.

Rob sat forward in his chair. “Christy, those paintings show that, even though you haven’t taken advantage of my help, you’re trying to work through your therapy by yourself. That’s excellent, and it tells me that you’re very strong and determined, but you can’t get through it all on your own. I wish you would allow me to help you more.”

“I am working with you now.” Christy’s words remained nearly inaudible.

“Yes, you are, and I appreciate that. How do you feel right now?”

“Afraid.”

“Why?”

“They will know.”

“Who?”

“The people… the people who do these things to me.”

“How would they know?”

Christy shook his head, eyes still closed. “They always know.”

Michael glanced at Rob, asking silent permission to speak, and Rob nodded. “You know what I like about your paintings?”

Christy shook his head. “You cannot like anything about them.”

“Yes, I can. I like that you’re able to work through what has happened to you, but better than that, I think they would make great evidence for the police.”

Christy’s hand slid away from his face, and he raised soulful eyes to Michael. “Never.”

“Why not? They’re like onomatopoeic words. Saves you from having to tell it or write it out.”

“You lost me, Michael. What does onomatopoeic mean?” Rob asked.

“It’s a word that imitates a sound associated with a thing or an action, like boom, pow, cuckoo, sizzle, that kind of thing, but his art is better. The paintings are imitative of the actions and events through and through. It’s like a graphic novel showing exactly what happened. It’s better than any statement or testimony could be.”

Now Michael had Christy’s attention. “Why do you say this?”

“It’s a graphic statement. I don’t mean graphic vulgar, I mean graphic as in vividly detailed. It saves you a lot of talk and words. Speak through your art, not from your mouth.”

Christy’s eyes went wide. “I can do this?”

Michael nodded. “I think you can, and I think it would be far less painful for you.”

Christy thought about this and scowled. “I must paint the blood.”

“Why don’t you paint the pictures without the blood first, and let’s take a look at them,” Rob suggested.