Elpida

by C. Kennedy

  Michael shook his head. “But Rob sent me a text saying he didn’t want to go to the funeral. Fix my tie, bro.”

  Jake quickly tied it and straightened Michael’s collar. “You need to learn how to do this.”

  “I know,” Michael said absently.

  AFTER THE funeral, Michael and Jake were depressed.

  “It was weird to see Rich and not talk to him,” Michael said as they rode home.

  Jake shrugged a shoulder. “Not surprising with all that’s happened. You could tell he was as upset about Tony as we were.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said noncommittally as he looked out the window and watched the city pass by. “I still can’t believe Tony’s gone. It sucks.”

  “Seriously.” Jake toed the base of the seat in front of him. “It’s good that Rich is moving back home with his parents.”

  Michael turned to Jake, a question in his eyes.

  “All I’m saying is he’s been headed down a bad path and moving home might help him.”

  Michael agreed with that. “Let’s eat junk food and play video games,” he said when the car pulled into the gated drive at Jake’s house.

  They ate and played until Jake asked a question midgame. “Do you think Tony knew we were there?”

  Michael’s thumb missed the button on the controller, and his player died. He looked at Jake. “Dude, you just killed Nate. I hope your spiritual moment was meaningful.”

  Jake half laughed as he let Sam meet his end. “Seriously. Do you think Tony knew we were there?”

  “How in hell should I know?”

  Jake shot him an irritated look.

  “Okay, I’ll be serious. I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’ll keep it simple. If there is consciousness after death, yes, he knew. If not, we need to finish this game.”

  “That’s deep.”

  “What do you want me to say? I don’t know anything about death other than it happens.”

  “Do you think there’s life after death?”

  Michael turned thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said sincerely.

  “So you think we just die and that’s it?”

  “For anything that men can tell, death may be the greatest good that can happen to them: but they fear it as if they knew quite well that it was the greatest of evils. And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know?”

  “What is that?”

  “Apology of Socrates.”

  “How do you remember that shit?”

  “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “What in hell does it mean?”

  “I’ll give you the simple translation. Death could be the greatest benefit of mankind, but we’re afraid of it, as if we know for certain it’s the greatest of evils. In other words, nobody knows, but we’re seriously vain to think we know either way.”

  Jake nodded as he contemplated Michael’s words. “So you think there is any way to know?”

  “Of course not, but we think of death as the worst that can happen to us when it may be the best.”

  “Yeah, but, like, is there any way to find out?”

  “No.”

  “So we can’t know.”

  “No, and to presume we know is vain.”

  “Is that because we don’t want to know or because we think we know it’s bad?”

  Michael stared at Jake. “Do you have a fever?”

  “No. I just want to know if we can know what happens after death, or if we don’t get to know because, I don’t know, we’re stupid or something?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Why not?”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Think existentialism. What is is. That means we do not get to know, bro. It just is.”

  “Exiswhat?”

  “Oh my God. How’d you get into Columbia? I’ll make it Neanderthal for you. The game, bro! The game! Nate and Sam are dead! If we do not play, they will stay dead! There will be no afterlife!”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  They had just reloaded the game when Anna and Bobbie entered the room quickly. “Turn the TV on, Jacob,” Anna said in a rush.

  Jake frowned. “Is it the press again?”

  “The news. Put the news on.”

  Jake used the remote control to leave the game. He flipped channels until Bobbie said, “There. Stop there.”

  Jake turned the volume up.

  “Sources say the fiery crash on the New Jersey Turnpike involved more than ten vehicles, a tanker truck, and at least twenty motorcycles. Let’s go to Taylor Lawton who is on the scene.”

  “And a fiery crash it is, John. Fire crews are working frantically to put out the fire that ignited when a semitruck carrying more than 11,000 gallons of refined gasoline overturned as it swerved to avoid hitting several vehicles. Witnesses say the accident was caused by motorcyclists belonging to an alleged club from Harlem. So far, nine are reported dead and four remain in critical condition. Back to you in the studio, John.”

  “Thanks for filling us in, Taylor. As we understand it, motorcycle clubs rarely venture out of their territories, but there have been quite a few sightings of the Harlem club’s members up here lately.”

  “That’s true, John, and police are currently investigating their unusual presence here in upstate New York. Notably, the purported leader of the motorcycle club, one Barry Williams, who goes by the name of Chase, is not among those reported injured or confirmed dead,” Taylor concluded.

  “It’ll be interesting to find out why members of the club ventured out of their territory and whether Mr. Williams was involved in the crash. We look forward to your update, Taylor.”

  “I’ll call your father,” Anna said before she and Bobbie left the room.

  Jake muted the television and looked at Michael. “That’s freaky.”

  “It’s weird that Chase wasn’t with them.”

  “No shit. Do you think Smitty had anything to do with the accident?”

  “Not going there, bro. It isn’t his style.”

  CHRISTY WOKE late in the evening. He had no idea what time it was and didn’t care. His entire body ached, and the gnawing pain in his gut told him he hadn’t eaten enough. Since the trial, he hadn’t been the same. He’d known all along that testifying would mean Michael would find out what Yosef did to him. But he hadn’t expected the video. He hadn’t known about that. It was one thing to know it; it was another to watch it. Though he’d heard Michael’s reassurances, he knew human nature all too well. Michael would eventually judge him, and he was no longer certain Michael would stay with him. In the end the trial had cost him the little stability he’d built for himself, and he wasn’t certain he could get it back. He didn’t feel certain about anything now.

  Taking care of Thimi had become a 24-7 job, and had triggered every catastrophic reaction he possessed. If it weren’t for his memories of what it had been like when he’d first left captivity, he’d think Thimi might need to be institutionalized. But he remembered every detail, especially the chronic fear that had imbued every fiber of his being, each moment in his life, and all he’d attempted to accomplish. His nervous system had been powered by terror, as if it thrived on it, drinking it in until his body could no longer physically tolerate it. He hadn’t been able to sleep or eat, vomited until he thought his organs would leave him, and endured incontinence, chronic migraines, and agonizing stomachaches. The fear had been pervasive, absolute, inescapable, and dread impaired every aspect, every particle of his existence.

  He’d had no sense of self, all of him having been obliterated by unspeakable acts—both inflicted and committed to avoid pain, starvation, sleep deprivation, and physical torture—all of it had debased his soul. Humiliation, shame, and guilt, all were vicious beasts who whipped him with his own spine as they rode him like headless horsemen. He’d never trusted anyone; his life had been spent perceiving, gauging, hedging, every action or inaction calculated to avoid the unthinkable and survive the inconceivab
le. It had been a moment-by-moment fight to endure—to want to live.

  By the time he’d met Michael, he’d learned to keep his heavy burdens to a low hum in the back of his mind. Then Michael had given him life. His absolute love had fortified him, given him safety and security and the first person he could trust. Above all, Michael gave him hope.

  Now, in Thimi’s presence, the before had returned, and he hung from a mental cliff by psychological fingertips as despair assailed him and he fought not to fall into the abyss he’d painstakingly crawled out of. He was now in a fight to persevere, to reclaim his desire to live. Exhaustion beat at him, and his soul was tired… so very tired.

  He needed to be stronger. He needed to fight off the dreams that traumatized him over and again. He needed to get back to eating and sleeping normally. He needed Michael. He desperately needed hope.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d so badly underestimated what taking care of Thimi would do to him. A little more rest and then he’d call Michael.

  ANOTHER DAY went by and when Michael tried to reach Christy, Rob said he was asleep. Christy had also stopped texting in the middle of the night. Michael’s concern turned into outright distress, and an ugly anxiety began to throb in his veins. He concentrated on reading everything he could about Oxford and went to the British embassy to obtain the visa he needed for school. What bothered him most was that he was certain something was wrong, and it was becoming harder and harder to deal with not knowing what it was.

  At practice on Friday, Jake wasn’t making his times, and he looked as if someone had kicked his puppy.

  “What’s wrong, bro?” Michael asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Right. Spill it.”

  Jake kicked at the track and headed to where his bag lay on the sidelines. “Sophia left for Paris last night.”

  Michael couldn’t prevent outright surprise from filling his face. “Just like that? No warning? No nothing?”

  Jake only nodded.

  “Why?”

  “She said one of her clients threw a fit about her not being available for a wardrobe fitting, and then something about going to Greece to check out the cemetery where Alexis is buried. Guess Christy found out where their mother was, and that bastard, Vasilis, had tombs made for her and Christy.”

  “You have to be kidding me. Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack, bro.”

  Anger and concern filled Michael in equal measure. Why in hell didn’t Christy call me? “Did she say what she was going to do about it? The tombs, I mean.”

  “No. She only said she won’t be coming to the Trials.”

  Michael wondered about Christy as he studied Jake. He hadn’t spoken with him, was still a little pissed off that Rob didn’t want him there when he told Christy about Ptolemy, he had no idea what was going on, and this news was just plain sick. “Sorry, Jake. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Christy will make it either.”

  It was Jake’s turn to wear surprise on his face. “Why not?”

  “I haven’t talked to him since the barbecue.”

  “Like, not even hello and good-bye?”

  Michael shook his head. “He doesn’t return my calls or texts.”

  Jake made a face. “That doesn’t sound like him. Did you talk to Rob?”

  “Yeah. He says Thimi’s nights are really bad, but that’s all he’ll say.”

  Jake hooked an arm around Michael’s neck and kissed the side of his head. “It’s you and me, bro. Just like old times.”

  Michael smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just like old times.”

  ON SATURDAY morning Michael couldn’t take it anymore and resolved to go to Wellington to talk to Christy. “I’m going to Christy’s. Back later.”

  “Did you call to see if he’s available?” Mac asked without looking up from the newspaper.

  “No sense in calling. He doesn’t answer his phone or texts anymore.”

  Bobbie looked up at him. “Have you spoken with Rob?”

  “Yeah. He says Christy’s busy with Thimi.”

  “Okay, honey. We’re giving what’s left of our furniture to the Carlisles and may not be here when you get back.”

  Irritation zinged his spine. “Haven’t you done enough for them?”

  Bobbie frowned, and Mac looked up from the newspaper. “What’s wrong, son?”

  “Nothing.” Michael stormed from the room.

  SECURITY PULLED into the parking lot at Wellington, and Michael got out of the car. The place seemed eerily quiet on the late June morning, and he headed around the main house to Christy’s cabin. He knocked softly and received no answer. He tried the door handle, and it was open. He opened the door ajar, peered in, and was shocked by what he saw.

  Christy was a total neat freak, and the cabin was a mess. Clothes heaped in piles on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, blankets and towels strewn over the furniture, and the place smelled… odd. Even the bed looked like a disaster zone.

  “Christy?”

  When he received no response, he entered and closed the door softly behind him. He looked around for Christy’s phone and found it on the nightstand. It was off. He tried to turn it on and found it wasn’t charged. What in hell? He set the phone back on the nightstand and looked at the bed. The sheets were wet in one spot, but before a question could fully form in his mind, the answer came to him with acute clarity. The smell in the room was no longer a mystery.

  The bathroom door opened, and Christy and Thimi exited arm in arm. Shock registered on Christy’s face, and Thimi darted back into the bathroom.

  Something fractured inside Michael, something he couldn’t quite grasp, and the words that tumbled from his lips didn’t feel like they were his. “You… had… sex with him?”

  The look on Christy’s face said it all.

  CHRISTY COLLAPSED to his knees, and only the excruciating pain radiating from his thigh and ribs kept him conscious.

  “Christophoros!”

  Dots danced at the edges of his vision, and Thimi’s hoarse exclamation was a faraway echo, a soft reverberation from a distant canyon. He reached out blindly for something, anything to grasp to keep himself upright, and only managed to eke out “Get Rob” before his world turned to black.

  A FOREIGN numbness began in Michael’s chest and spread outward. He left the cabin and barely made it to the car. His entire body shook as he tried to open the door, and Tad opened it for him. He tripped as he climbed in, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. He didn’t remember the ride to Jake’s house. He didn’t remember getting to the bedroom and then the bathroom. But he did remember vomiting.

  He woke in the middle of the night feeling strange, disconnected, and then the day’s events flooded his mind. The agony that tore through him was indescribable, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he cried himself to sleep.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHRISTY SLEPT quietly as Thimi rocked his small frame against the back of the couch, staring off into the distance, his arms clasped tightly around his knees.

  “Can you describe what happened?” Dr. Jordanou prodded gently.

  Thimi rocked faster.

  “Did Christy hurt himself?” Rob asked softly.

  Thimi shook his head no.

  “Did he trip and fall?” Dr. Jordanou tried.

  Thimi shook his head no again. “M-Michael.”

  Rob frowned. “Michael was here?”

  Thimi nodded.

  “Did Michael hurt Christy?”

  Thimi stilled but remained silent.

  Dr. Jordanou spoke in Greek. “It’s important to know what happened so we can help Christy. What did Michael do while he was here?”

  Thimi resumed his rocking. “T-talk.”

  “Did Michael and Christy have an argument?” Rob pressed.

  Thimi said something in Greek and Dr. Jordanou translated. “He says only Michael spoke and Christy turned white.”

  Rob leaned forward
in the overstuffed chair. “Did Michael raise his voice?”

  Thimi shook his head no.

  Dr. Jordanou clarified for Thimi. “Michael came into the cabin and said something that upset Christy. Do you know what it was?”

  Thimi rocked faster again. “B-bed.”

  “What about the bed, Thimi?” Dr. Jordanou asked gently. Thimi spoke in Greek again, and Dr. Jordanou pressed further. “Does he think you slept in the same bed?”

  Thimi rocked faster yet and spoke in Greek again.

  Dr. Jordanou turned to Rob, concern etched on his face. “Michael thinks he and Christy had sex. Christy couldn’t refute it thanks to their time with Yosef and couldn’t defend himself, so he said nothing, and Michael left.”

  ON SUNDAY morning Bobbie leaned against the doorjamb to Michael’s guest bedroom. “What happened, Michael?”

  She was angry, and Michael rolled over and looked at her. “With what?”

  “What happened between you and Christy?”

  Anger began to seep into his numbed state. “Rob called you?”

  “Of course he called. Christy had to be sedated. What happened?”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  “I’m not angry at you. I’m upset for you and Christy.”

  Michael rolled back over and issued a curt “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that, Michael. I heard you vomit last night. Did you and Christy drink?”

  Michael turned back fast. “What? No!”

  “Do you have a fever? Do you have the flu? Are you sick?”

  “No!” Michael turned back and put the pillow over his head, smashing it against his face in an effort to shut out the world.

  She approached and tried to pull the pillow from him, and he held on to it. “Go away!”

  She relented, and he listened to her soft footsteps as she left the room. He’d never spoken to his mom that way, and a small part of him felt guilty. But the rest of him still felt numb. Well, except for the other small part that was pissed off at Rob. Fuck him for calling his mom.