Shattered Glass

by A. C. Katt

  To make sure he got it right, Liam took the water glass Rick brought him earlier and banged it on the edge of the sink. It broke. He took the largest shard to slit both his wrists twice. Lurching over to the now-swirling hot tub, he managed to fall into the water. Righting himself, he sat back and contemplated all of Milo’s gardens that he would never see. Tears tracking down his cheeks, he passed out to the sound of “Lover’s Suite.”

  Rick showed up at the house at three thirty as ordered, but sans syringe and still flying high on the dose of Special K Bart had intended for Liam. He knocked on the front door, but Liam didn’t answer. The door was locked. Rick knew Liam didn’t lock it before they left, and knowing the effect of the drugs Liam had, knew he likely didn’t lock it himself. Worried, he walked around the perimeter of the house. The spa room had French doors leading to a private patio, intended for the exclusive use of the occupants of the suite.

  Rick climbed a trellis and jumped the wall onto the patio, where he had a full view of the spa tub. Liam lay in a whirling pool of blood-red water. Heart racing, Rick rolled his jacket around his arm and broke a pane of glass on the French door nearest to the handle and gained access. Pulling Liam out of the tub, he called Sam.

  “Sam, I’m at Liam’s. He’s made a suicide attempt. Looks bad.”

  “Stay on the phone. I’m calling a private ambulance service.”

  It only took a minute for Sam to get back on the line. “What the fuck happened? Tell me what you see.”

  “There’s an empty bottle of Xanax. He cut his wrists, but I’ve wrapped them in towels. Is there anything else I can do?”

  Sam spoke to someone else. “The hospital says try to wake him up. You should be hearing the ambulance any moment now.”

  Rick heard the siren before Sam finished the sentence. He ran to the front door and put on all of the outside lights. “Where are they taking him?”

  “I’m sending him to a private hospital that specializes in these cases. Follow the ambulance. I’ll meet you there.”

  The ambulance attendant let Rick ride with Liam. The kid kept mumbling Milo’s name in his stupor. Rick squared his jaw in an effort not to scream out his guilt.

  This is it. After Liam is fixed up, I’m never seeing Bart Hedge again.

  * * * *

  On his way to the clinic, Sam made several calls. The first call insured the discretion of both the ambulance service and the facility, which he did with a rather large donation of Liam’s money. The second was to Milo, but Milo couldn’t be found.

  Sam stood at the end of the bed when Liam came to his senses.

  Liam looked at Sam. “I’m so worthless and pathetic I can’t even do this right.” He buried his head in the pillow.

  Sam felt frightened. Liam still sounded suicidal. “Look, you owe Rick your life. If he hadn’t come along, you’d be singing with the angels.”

  “Does Milo know?”

  “I can’t find Milo.” He shoved back his anger at Milo to focus on Liam. “Hasn’t he done you enough damage? Do you want to self-destruct? Your volatile relationship broke up the band, and now you are looking to destroy yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “It’s about time someone told you this—it’s time for you to make a clean break. Milo isn’t coming back, and it’s time for you to get that through your head. Grow up. You have a life outside of your past with Milo. Right now you’re pretty worthless. I’m your friend, but I’m not your babysitter. You need to start taking responsibility for yourself. I want you to see a good shrink who isn’t afraid to help you see just what you’ve been doing to yourself and those around you. Call me when you wise up and you’re ready to talk.”

  Sam walked out and consulted with the doctor, hoping his tough love would do the trick. He couldn’t depend on Milo to undo the damage he’d wrought.

  * * * *

  Liam spent two weeks in the clinic and learned the game. He talked about self-esteem, and the virtues of staying clean and sober. He made promises he never intended to keep and conned his way into a get-out-of-jail-free card. Liam walked out and didn’t look back. Nor did he keep the follow-up appointment with the therapist, or even fill the prescription for anti-depressants he was given. He went back to his mausoleum of a house and made a deliberate effort to pursue a downward spiral to oblivion through self-destruction for four more months.

  He wanted to forget Milo and decided to drink himself into oblivion.

  But the letters kept coming, describing in detail Milo making love to Bart. When they arrived, Liam would go out and find someone to screw so he could pretend that someone cared.

  Drunk, he didn’t notice it wasn’t Milo’s cock pounding his ass. Drunk, he didn’t care if Rick and Sam had deserted him. He found plenty of friends as long as he remained willing to buy the drinks.

  Inevitably, one night he picked up the wrong guy, someone his fame didn’t impress. He awoke in an alley, face down in a mud puddle, with broken ribs, black eyes, and missing his wallet, cash, and identification. Looking back, he got lucky, he didn’t lose his life. He’d been mugged and rolled by a rent boy. The conversation stuck in his mind.

  “How much?” Liam asked. The street kid had recognized him as soon as Liam propositioned him. The kid wanted to talk, but Liam was too drunk and drugged to manage. Liam remembered mumbling, “Just fuck me, asshole, and get it done with it.”

  “Just because you’re a rich bastard who happened to be lucky enough to be born with a set of golden pipes, doesn’t mean you can diss me, you motherfucker.” The kid beat Liam, kicking his torso with heavy boots, trying to get at his cock and balls. He managed to break a few ribs and bruised the entire left side of Liam’s body, which later shone in bizarre shades of purple. Liam did not even fight back. He curled up on the pavement in a ball.

  When Liam regained consciousness, he called a cab with the loose change he found in his pocket. The driver took him to the house and waited for Liam to go in and get his money. As soon as he sobered up, he called Sam.

  With trembling fingers, Liam dialed Sam’s number. “I’m hurt. I need help.”

  “Do you need an ambulance? Where are you?”

  He coughed and winced at the pain in his ribs. “I’ll live, but…” He closed his eyes. “I’m gonna need an HIV test.” He took a deep breath despite the pain in his ribs. “And the name and number of that shrink you wanted me to see.”

  Sam let out a relieved-sounding sigh as his voice gentled. “Thank Christ, you’ve seen the light. Now tell me what happened.”

  Liam fought his tears as he told him. “I can’t do this anymore. You’re right, I have to face reality. Milo’s not coming back, and I have to find a way to live what remains of my life alone.” He stared at his bare finger, where the ring Milo had given him was now missing.

  Later, when Sam asked what he remembered about the attack, Liam told him the kid spit in his face. But that didn’t give Liam nightmares. He told Sam, “He said that he wouldn’t fuck me with the Devil’s own dick because I’m a walking corpse who hadn’t the brains left to lie down and die. That did it. It was time.”

  When Sam tried to broach the subject of Milo and the break-up, Liam stopped him. “Please, I don’t want to talk about that with you.” He struggled to maintain his composure. “I’ll talk about it with the shrink, but I want to move forward.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay, kid. Sure. I understand.”

  * * * *

  When The Devil’s Imp of Shattered Glass woke with his face in a mud puddle and his pride in the toilet, he decided to become Liam O’Shea again, no matter how much it hurt to inhabit his own skin.

  When he’d called Sam, he’d worried the man would hang up in his ear. He didn’t. He helped. “You are ready to face it now,” he’d said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Sam drove Liam to his first appointment. Liam went to the office ready to talk. He needed someone to give him an explanation. He felt dead inside. Why hadn’t Milo believed him? He didn’
t think even Sam believed him and he was tired of trying to defend himself when he didn’t do anything wrong.

  Did Milo just stop loving him? Did Bart get it right when he told Liam that Milo thought him an obligation? He didn’t get answers, only more questions. Many a night since the breakup, his head would start pounding. He would fall to his knees and wonder what kind of monster he’d become.

  Surprisingly, he liked the psychologist, Patricia O’Hearn. Sam got it right. Patricia let him talk and didn’t judge—she listened. Without Milo, Liam felt worthless.

  But on Liam’s first visit, Patricia made him understand he spent the last months trying to subconsciously prove Milo right.

  “Liam, why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “Because Milo turned out to be right. I’m nothing but a slut boy. The first opportunity I took to go out, I got gang banged.”

  “Don’t you mean gang raped? There is a difference.”

  “I asked for it.”

  “You asked for drugs to be put in your drink? You picked out and enjoyed the men who raped and severely beat you?”

  “No, of course not.” Liam grimaced. The mystery voice of that night still haunted him.

  “If none of the things I asked you are true, why do you feel you are a slut boy?”

  “I guess I’m not but—”

  “Liam, you said yourself you aren’t promiscuous. Do you really think your relationship with Milo was built on the love and trust you counted on to exist when he never trusted you?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “What did you feel when you awoke that night? Why did you try to end your life? Didn’t you say you always tried to do what Milo said?”

  He thought about it. “You mean I tried to commit suicide because I wanted Milo to be right?”

  “What do you think?” He returned to her office every week for months, slowly coming to terms with everything. The rationale for his behavior began to gel inside his head and made a strange sort of sense.

  “I think we had a flawed relationship. I became too dependent, and even after the guardianship ended, I continued to behave more like a boy than a man. I liked to think I took some responsibility, but in reality, I let Milo do all the heavy lifting.”

  “How do you feel about that now?”

  “Guilty, sad. I realize now that I have to assume a lot of the blame for what happened to us, and to the band. I could have sent Danny, Nora, and Jimmy to John Hopkins and stayed to explain about Jimmy to Sam, if Milo wouldn’t listen. I didn’t, I just ran away from Milo’s anger. I behaved like a scared child rather than an adult.” He hesitated, then took the plunge. “There is something I haven’t told Sam and I don’t want him or anyone else to know.”

  “What don’t you want them to know? Is it a good idea to keep secrets?”

  “I have a stalker. It started as soon as I left Milo.”

  “Shouldn’t you notify the police?”

  “I did, initially. But, now he’s blackmailing me.”

  “You’ve given him money?”

  “No, just my silence. If I go to the authorities, he’ll go to the rags and do a number on the guys. It would all come out—Milo’s sexuality, Rick’s drug addiction, my promiscuity after the breakup, and accusations of Milo making love to me when I was underage. That last bit is a total lie. Milo and I first made love on my eighteenth birthday, but that would be very hard to prove. As to the rest of it, you know from our sessions it’s all true. All the blackmailer wants to do is torment me. I have to protect the rest of them, if only because they protected me for so long.”

  “What are you planning to do with your life, now that you are feeling better?”

  “Music. It’s all I really know and still care about.”

  Chapter 9

  I had to get away from the water

  It wore me down

  You swimming in the moonlight

  Me following you around

  I wanted to get closer

  And climb into your skin

  But I was your confessor

  And you were my biggest sin

  —Milo Stamis, “Drowning,” Words Without Music

  * * * *

  Rick emerged from rehab clean and sober. However, he still felt dirty for the things he did to Liam, Milo, and in consequence, to the band. He got a new gig with an up-and-coming group, but his heart still belonged to Shattered Glass. He needed to smoke a load of weed each night to be able to play the type of bubble gum music he despised. It didn’t take long to make the leap from pot to heroin. Heroin became his drug of choice to dull the senses, and Rick needed enough to plaster over his conscience.

  Since he could no longer depend on the guys for a quick loan, he started to borrow from the local sharks. With the gig, he could barely make the payments, and his habit grew. It took five bills a day to keep the gremlins at bay. Because of his habit, despite his misgivings, he agreed to meet with Bart when the man called him one afternoon.

  “How are you, buddy?” Bart asked cordially. “You want a beer?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take a beer so long as you’re buying.”

  The bartender brought two beers. Both men took a sip. Rick eyed Bart warily. “I hate to put a damper on this happy reunion, but what do you want?”

  “Why do I have to want something to ask to see an old friend?”

  “Old dupe, you mean. Ask. Depending on the circumstance, I may agree. I’m short on cash.”

  “Rehab didn’t take?”

  “That is none of your goddamn business, especially since you started me on this road.”

  “You made your own choices. I didn’t force your hand.”

  “Whatever. Get to the point.”

  “I make a lot of extra cash selling celebrity dirt.”

  “So?”

  “I need a new source. I’ve heard you’re running short these days, and it came to me that your brother’s office is full of material for the rags.”

  “I’m not selling Sam out.”

  Bart continued as if Rick had never spoken, “In exchange, I’m willing to keep what I know about Shattered Glass on the down low. For instance, these lovely photos of Liam being banged by half the clientele of Chains that night before he tried to off himself. Here, take a look.” Bart pulled them up on his cell.

  “You cold bastard.” Rick’s stomach turned into a knot.

  “Yes, technically, and also a son of a bitch, but that doesn’t change the situation. Cooperate, and these pictures never see the light of day, plus I’ll help you out. Don’t cooperate, and the photos go out to the Internet, wire services, and TV entertainment shows in all fifty states. Your choice.”

  “And how do you suggest I get this information?”

  “Fuck Margot’s assistant, Jane. She’s always had the hots for you.”

  “All right, I agree. What assurances do I have that you will keep your word?”

  “You don’t. But then again, why would I compromise an enterprise that will be profitable for both of us? Oh, and one more thing. Rumor has it that the brat is working on an album. I want his schedule every time he goes on the road.”

  “Why?”

  “That, my dear, is none of your fucking business.”

  * * * *

  Liam started work on a new album eighteen months after the collapse of Shattered Glass. It took another year before he felt it ready for release. He called Sam and e-mailed him a demo copy of the CD. Twenty minutes later, Sam got Liam on his cell.

  “It still needs a bit of studio work, but I think we can release it in the fall. If we can manage that, it will be eligible for awards season.”

  “Seriously, I’m not looking for any awards. I just want to be left alone to write my music.”

  “If I produce this album, you will have to go on tour. Can you manage that?”

  “Yes. I’ve spoken to my shrink, and she thinks it’s a good idea. You know, time to get on with my life. I’m almost twenty-four years old. It’s about time I started taking care of business.
”

  “You have plenty of money. With what Lily left and what the band made, you never have to work again if you don’t want to.”

  “I need to work. I have to have something in my life that’s mine, something no one can take away from me. I can’t depend on other people to prop me up. I have to be my own reason to live, and what gives me that reason is the music.”

  Sam laughed. “Good for you. Okay, I’m buying. Call Margot to arrange the extra studio time and I’ll set up a production schedule and a promotional tour.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate the break and the friendship. I can’t erase the past, but I promise you, if you need me, I’m here.”

  * * * *

  Milo read the copy of Sizzle in his hand.

  Sam Stein Productions is quietly readying a studio for the finishing touches on a new solo album from Liam O’Shea, former lead singer of the now-defunct mega-band, Shattered Glass.

  It hurt. Liam had moved on without him. His baby didn’t need Milo as much as Milo needed him.

  In the years since that fateful day, Milo had been shattered by the realization that he’d become his father. Unlike his mother, Liam didn’t take his shit, and he left. Since that day, Milo spent every hour making an effort to make himself into a man worthy of Liam’s love. He wrote letters, sent e-mails. The letters always returned, unopened, the e-mails probably floated somewhere in cyberspace.

  Milo felt miserable without him.

  He knew where Liam lived, but his house had heavy security. A gatehouse had been built at the edge of the property. Absolutely no one ever got in, and Liam almost never went out. Now Liam finally emerged from his cocoon and Milo had to find out through a damned rag.

  Milo needed to know why his supposed best friend hadn’t told him.

  “Stein here.”

  “I know that, I called you,” Milo said. “You’re producing an album for Liam and didn’t bother to tell me? I’m in New Mexico, not Tibet. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it?”

  “No. I honestly didn’t think the topic would hold any interest for you after all this time.”

  “Sam,” Milo said in exasperation, “of course he still interests me. I love him. I found his address and sent letters, but every single one returned to me. I don’t have his phone number. You knew I wanted to talk to him. Why didn’t you tell me?”