Common Powers

by Lynn Lorenz

  He showered, shaved and picked out clean slacks and a shirt, but reused his tie. His socks and briefs could stay. He’d grab some fresh ones at the house. Dressed, he rejoined the men in the kitchen.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “I called the cab for you,” Brian said.

  “Thanks, man. I mean it. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” Mitchell shook his head.

  “You’d have gone to a hotel.”

  “I didn’t even think of that.” Mitchell rolled his eyes.

  “That break-in must have really shaken you up last night.”

  Mitchell glanced at Sammi, silently listening to their conversation.

  “I guess it did.” He hadn’t been thinking clearly since he’d met Sammi, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Brian.

  “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything when you get back here, Mitchell.” Brian’s stern gaze told him that he’d have to explain a lot more than he’d shared last night.

  “Promise.” Brian deserved the truth for taking them in. And maybe he could help Mitchell figure what the hell was going on with him and Sammi.

  Sammi stood and followed Mitchell to the door. “I’ll miss you. But, I promise I won’t call.” Sammi smiled up at him. “You’re sure Brian’s okay?”

  “Of course. He’s my best friend. He’d never hurt you, babe. I trust him completely.”

  Mitchell cupped Sammi’s chin and raised it. His lips pressed against Sammi’s and he sighed into them. “I’ll miss you.”

  He opened the door and left.

  Sammi turned around and went back to the kitchen. He slipped into the chair as Brian refilled his cup.

  “Well, where do you want to go shopping?” Brian watched him as if he were waiting for some answers. Sammi wasn’t sure if he trusted Brian, even though Mitchell did. Trust came hard for him.

  “I don’t.” Sammi shook his head. “I don’t want Mitchell to spend his money on me.”

  “Do you have any money?” Brian sat and wrapped his arm over the back of his chair.

  “No.” Sammi frowned. There was only one way he’d ever known how to earn money and he’d never sell himself again, he’d made that promise to himself the night he’d left Donovan.

  “Then, for now, let Mitchell take care of you. It seems you need it.”

  “I’ll pay him back. Every dime.” He would, even though he had no idea how.

  “I don’t think he cares if you do. Mitchell is a very generous, loving person.”

  “Your best friend.” Sammi smiled.

  “That’s right. I don’t want to see him hurt, Sammi. He’s had enough of that.” Brian stared into this mug.

  Sammi brushed his bangs back. “How?” Sammi had felt the sadness in Mitchell the first time he’d heard Mitchell’s thoughts. His loneliness and pain had been so close to the surface, so very raw.

  “Did he tell you about Steve?”

  “No.” Sammi leaned forward.

  “Seven years ago, Mitchell met Steve. They were together for two and a half years. Then Steve died.”

  Sammi’s heart ached for Mitchell. “What happened?”

  “He was killed by a drunk driver. Steve had stopped to change a flat tire on the interstate. The car ran into the back of his car and he was caught between them.” Brian’s voice had lowered to a near whisper. Sammi didn’t have to try hard to feel Brian’s pain, still so fresh and aching, and it shocked him. That kind of pain meant deep feelings.

  Sammi frowned. “Did you know Steve?”

  “Yes.” Brian stared at his feet.

  “Did you love him?” Sammi touched Brian’s hand.

  Brian peered up into Sammi’s face. “Yes. Don’t tell Mitchell. He doesn’t know and I never said anything. Steve belonged with Mitchell. Please. I shouldn’t have told you.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how you figured that out.”

  “It’s a cur—gift.” Sammi gave Brian’s hand a hard squeeze. “I won’t tell Mitchell. Promise.” That sort of thing was best left unsaid—even Sammi knew that much.

  “Thanks.” Brian stood. “Let’s go shopping.”

  The last thing Sammi wanted was to go out again and risk the chance of being found by Moretti or Donovan. He grabbed the edge of his chair to anchor himself.

  “Can’t you just pick some things out for me? I’m terrible at that stuff and I really don’t like going out. Large crowds bother me,” Sammi pleaded.

  For a minute it seemed as if Brian would refuse, then he sighed. “Okay. Write down your sizes.” Brian gave Sammi a slip of paper and a pen. “Jeans okay?”

  “That’s fine.” Sammi scribbled his information and handed the paper to Brian. “Thanks.”

  “I understand about the phobia stuff. For me, it’s snakes. I hate snakes.” Brian shuddered. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Sammi stood. “You’re a really good friend, Brian. Thanks for taking us in.”

  “I took Mitchell in. You were with him. I trust him. You, not so much.” Brian leaned forward, his hands on the back of the chair. “But he loves you. I can see the attraction. You’re just his type.”

  “What type is that?” Sammi glanced up from under his bangs.

  “Sexy as hell and nothing but trouble,” Brain drawled, shook his head and left.

  Sammi grinned. Brian had nailed it. That was Sammi’s life story.

  Sex and trouble.

  * * * *

  Mitchell stepped out of the cab and stared at the two flat tires on his car. Shit. Someone hadn’t wanted them to use it to get away. His gaze tracked up the stairs to his front door. It was shut, or appeared to be shut.

  “Wait for me,” he told the driver. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  He trotted up the stairs to the door. The frame had split, but the door had been pulled closed. Thank God for small favors. He pushed it open and waited. Silence.

  Surely whoever did this was gone by now.

  Stepping inside, he saw what was left of the ceramic bowl he kept his keys and loose change in. Shards of it were strewn across the floor, scattered among the coins. Stepping over the pieces, he moved farther inside and surveyed the damage, as he held his breath.

  With a deep exhale, Mitchell let his shoulders droop. Not as bad as he’d thought, but bad enough. Nothing was gone, but everything that could be thrown and smashed, had been trashed. Debris littered the living room floor.

  Someone had been really pissed off.

  He moved into the kitchen. The back door stood open. He’d closed it, so whoever had done this had figured out where he and Sammi had fled. In the hall, he checked out his study. The computer appeared untouched, thank God.

  The taxi was waiting so Mitchell hurried to his bedroom. The bed had been tossed, and his clothes lay strewn on the floor. He stomped over to his chest, pulled out a handful of briefs and socks, then grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and a few shirts.

  When he entered the bathroom, he froze.

  ‘I want him back’ was scrawled on his mirror with black marker. Beneath it was ‘Donovan’. Its starkness and the implied threat sent fear knifing through him.

  Donovan wanted Sammi back. What an odd way to say ‘I love you, come home.’ It sounded as if Sammi had been stolen property Mitchell should return instead of a runaway lover.

  What the hell was going on? Sammi’s old lover was either crazy or…

  After gathering the last of his things and a duffle bag to stuff them into, Mitchell headed out of the house and climbed into the cab. He’d come back this afternoon and call the cops to report the break-in, then call his insurance agent. Right now, he needed to get to work on time.

  * * * *

  Sammi pulled a denim shirt from the back of Brian’s chair and slipped it on. He’d found a blue bandana in the dresser and, with a quick swipe, he pushed back his bangs and tied the cloth around his head, pulling it low over his eyes.

  On his way out, he snagged Brian’s sunglasses a
nd put them on. Disguise complete. After shutting the door so it locked behind him, Sammi trotted down the steps and headed toward Montrose Avenue, sure he’d return after Brian, and if not, he’d just sit on the stoop and wait for him to show up.

  Thirty minutes later, he stood outside a plain, squat, brick building. The last time he’d been here was before Donovan. One of the other street guys had told him about it and that it was free. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

  The waiting room was small and bare, with a dozen metal folding chairs around the walls. Several men and two women waiting their turns glanced up at him. The men checked him out—the women went back to their magazines. Ignoring the appreciative stares of the guys, Sammi walked to the counter and pressed a button near a frosted window.

  It slid open and a woman in green scrubs shoved a clipboard at him.

  “First name only, please.” She gave him a tired smile.

  Sammi wrote his name and pushed it back at her. She took it and checked his name. “Take a seat, please. Your name will be called soon.”

  Sammi doubted that. The others in the room had the look of people who’d been there for some time. He glanced at the clock. He had hoped he’d return before Brian did, but this was taking more time than he’d planned. Well, he’d just say he’d gone for a walk, that’s all.

  The room emptied and filled with a new collection of people.

  The door opened and another woman dressed in blue scrubs glanced at a clipboard.

  “Sammi.”

  He stood and followed her inside. She walked to a scale.

  “Height and weight.”

  He stepped onto the scale. “One hundred sixty-seven pounds.” She raised a metal staff above his head, flipped out a shorter bar, and read off the measurement. “Five feet ten inches.” She scribbled the information on the papers trapped under the clamp of the clipboard. He’d gained weight since last time. Probably all the muscle he’d built up working out at Donovan’s. He’d insisted Sammi work on his body, to be more marketable.

  “This way, please.” She led him to a small room.

  Sammi paused at the doorway and peeked in. Small, but not too small. Another deep breath and he stepped in.

  “Up on the table.” Sammi hopped up and looked around. Ahead of him was a blank, green wall. A small counter with a sink and some medical supplies lined one side near the door. Other than a stool, the rest of the space was empty.

  “Take off the shirt, please. I need your blood pressure and listen to your heart.” Sammi slipped it off. She pushed the sleeve of the T-shirt up, took his arm and wrapped a long wide strip of plastic around it, and began pumping. The cuff puffed up and tightened on his arm.

  “It hurts,” he said.

  “It’s supposed to.” She stopped pumping and he watched the needle on the dial go down as the cuff relaxed. “Temperature.” She held up a thermometer on a curly cord. Sammi opened his mouth and she placed it under his tongue. After a few seconds, it beeped and she pulled it out.

  Then she hooked the stethoscope into her ears and placed the round part against Sammi’s chest. “Deep breath.” He inhaled and held it as she listened. She repeated it, moving to his back. Then she pulled the stethoscope out and hung it around her neck.

  “I need some medical history.”

  “Okay.” Sammi licked his lips, sucked the bottom one into his mouth, and chewed on it. He remembered this part.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “When was the last time you saw a doctor?”

  “You mean, here?”

  “No, I mean a real doctor.”

  “A long time ago.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten, I guess.”

  “Did you get shots then?”

  “I think so.” Sammi scrunched up his brow.

  “Why do you want to see the doctor?”

  “I want to get a checkup. And a blood test.”

  “We’ll do that after the doctor sees you.”

  “Okay.”

  She finished writing and went to the door. “Someone will be in to see you in a few minutes.” She left.

  Sammi stared at the wall. It was the ugliest shade of green he’d ever seen. All the walls were cracked. His gaze climbed upward. The ceiling was made of those big white tiles and the light was a cheap florescent fixture. The shadows of the bugs that had died in it formed patterns on the yellowed plastic.

  The door opened and a young woman came in. “Hello. I’m Beth. The social worker.” She sat on the stool and put her clipboard on the desk. “This is a free clinic and is funded by a variety of grants. One of those grants requires us to gather information about the patients for research. All the answers you give are anonymous. Please give the most honest answers possible. Okay?” Facing away from him, she bent over the desk to write.

  “Okay.” Sammi steadied his voice by focusing on a spot on the ugly green wall.

  “Do you consider yourself heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual or trans?”

  “Homosexual.”

  “Have you ever had sexual relations with someone of the opposite sex?”

  “No.”

  “How old were you when you experienced your first sexual encounter? That can mean anything from a kiss to full intercourse.”

  “Ten.”

  “How old were you when you first had full intercourse?”

  Sammi paused. “Ten.”

  “Were you sexually abused as a child?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was this by a family member, a trusted friend, or a stranger?”

  “Family member.” If you count foster parents as family.

  “Was this ever reported to the authorities?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever tell your parents?”

  “No. I was in foster care.”

  “Are you currently sexually active?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in a monogamous relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  Sammi paused again. Would she laugh? “Two days.”

  “How long was your longest monogamous relationship?”

  He couldn’t even count Donovan. “Three months.”

  “How many times in the last year have you had sexual relations? Zero to ten. Ten to twenty. Twenty to fifty. Fifty to one hundred. Over one hundred.”

  Sammi bit his bottom lip. “Twenty to fifty.”

  “How many sexual partners have you had this year? Zero to ten. Ten to twenty. Twenty to fifty. Fifty to one hundred. Over one hundred.”

  “Twenty to fifty.”

  “Have you ever exchanged sex for money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this your primary source of income?”

  “Yes.” I am a whore.

  “What was your last year of school?”

  “Eighth grade.”

  “Do you have a job?”

  “No.” If you don’t count fucking men for money and shelter.

  “Have you used a condom every time you’ve had sexual relations?”

  “No.”

  “Just a few more questions. Have you ever taken drugs? That includes drugs like marijuana, cocaine, meth, and heroin.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you take any drugs intravenously?”

  “No.”

  “What drugs did you take?”

  “Marijuana and cocaine.” Donovan had all the good stuff, anything he or Donovan’s clients wanted.

  “When was the last time you took either of those drugs?”

  “Six months ago.”

  She checked off the last box and stood. “That’s it. Thank you for participating. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”

  “Okay.” He’d just told a complete stranger more about his life than anyone else in the world knew, all condensed into a game of Twenty Questions.

  After she left, Sammi chewed his lip and stared at the wall. It had a long crack that
reminded him of a road going over another crack shaped like a hill. He and Mitchell might drive that road, go over hills, and maybe see some lakes or the beach. He’d never seen the beach. Or hills, for that matter.

  The door opened and a man in a white coat stepped in. He wore blue plastic gloves. A nurse, also wearing gloves, followed, carrying a tray.

  “Sammi? I’m Dr. Fowler.”

  “Hello, Dr. Fowler.” Sammi sat up straight.

  “I see from your forms that you haven’t had any shots since childhood?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay. Well, there are several that I’ll give you today.”

  “What for?” Sammi didn’t like shots, that much he remembered.

  “Hepatitis. Tetanus. Tuberculosis. Meningitis.”

  “I can’t pay for them.”

  “All our services are free, Sammi.” He smiled, very friendly.

  “Okay.” Sammi shrugged.

  The nurse prepared a needle and handed it to the doctor. He gave Sammi the shot in his right arm. It hurt, but no worse than a bee sting. The nurse gave one to his left arm. Then they did it again. Both arms ached.

  The doctor listened to Sammi’s chest, his heart, had him breathe deeply several times, and felt his throat. Then Sammi lay back on the table and the doctor felt all over his belly.

  “Stand up, face the table, and lower your pants and underwear. I need to do a rectal exam.”

  Sammi did what he was told.

  “Just lean over.”

  He did. The doctor’s fingers spread the cheeks of his ass apart and he slipped a cold, lubed plastic-clad finger inside Sammi. He flinched as the doctor felt around, then pulled his finger out. After snapping off his glove and tossing it in the wastebasket, he slipped on a new one. Then, he cupped Sammi’s balls and asked him to cough. He did.

  Sammi had never had a man touch him down there without it being sexual. The doctor’s touch was different and as matter-of-fact as the way he’d listened to his heart and lungs. It was very odd, but in a way, it made Sammi feel safe.

  “Everything seems fine. You appear to be a completely healthy young man.” The same patient smile. “Of course, the blood test will tell us everything. Nurse Wells will take some blood. Do you need any condoms today?”

  “No.”