by Mel Gough
Donnie nodded mutely. Ben said, “Floyd disappeared about six weeks ago. He only came back today.”
The doctor’s gaze on Donnie was full of sympathy and worry. “We’ve made Floyd comfortable; your brother’s not in any pain. But Donnie, we haven’t put him on a ventilator yet. Floyd’s lungs are heavily damaged, and he has developed secondary infections on several vital organs. Without the HIV meds, his immune system has shut down completely and he has nothing to fight with anymore. I need to ask you: Do you want us to put Floyd on a ventilator, and give him antibiotics?”
Donnie said nothing, only looked at the doctor. The confusion and plea for help on Donnie’s face were heartbreaking. Dr. Greene seemed to understand.
Gaze on Donnie full of pity, he continued, “In my opinion, even with the most aggressive treatment, Floyd will not survive. All we’d do is prolong his suffering. Donnie, do you want us to take extreme measures?”
After a moment, Donnie shook his head. “No,” he whispered hoarsely.
Dr. Greene looked relieved but had more on his mind. “There is one other thing. Acute TB is highly contagious, and even just spending a short time with an infected person, especially so late in the disease, carries a very high risk of infection. Your own HIV status means we have to be extra careful. I want to put you on Isoniazid. It will protect you from the TB, but you might have to keep taking it for up to nine months.” He looked at Ben. “And you, too. We can’t risk anyone around Donnie getting sick.”
Ben nodded. He’d do anything to keep Donnie safe. “Of course.”
Donnie slumped a little, and even without physical contact, Ben could feel his muscles quiver with the stress. He couldn’t take Donnie’s misery any longer. Reaching out hesitantly, Ben put his hand on Donnie’s neck. Donnie exhaled shakily and leaned against Ben’s chest. Ben stroked his neck gently, and Donnie gave a small sob.
“I wanna be with him,” he said in a small, shaking voice.
The doctor looked at Ben questioningly, and Ben craned his neck to glimpse at Donnie’s profile. This close, he could see the cut on his man’s lip in every detail. With an inward sigh, Ben gave the doctor a small nod.
Dr. Greene said, “Alright, but you’ll have to suit up. Floyd’s under quarantine.”
“I’m coming, too,” Ben said as they got up.
Donnie turned to him, shaking his head and looking scared. “No, Ben. Don’t… I don’t want ya to take that risk.”
Ben held Donnie’s gaze, his eyes red from the tears, and reached out to briefly squeeze the other’s arm. “If you’re going, I’m going.”
Donnie’s expression grew soft, and he looked like he might cry again. But instead he merely nodded and said in a quiet, stunned voice, “Stay back, though.”
In a staff changing room, they put on gowns, gloves, masks, and goggles. Ben helped Donnie with the shoe protectors, then sat down on the bench next to him and took his gloved fingers.
“Donnie, are you sure? I know he’s your brother, but…”
Ben couldn’t bring himself to say what was on his mind. He hurt you so bad, then disappeared without a trace, he wanted to shout at Donnie. And he hurt you again today. And I can’t bear the thought of you getting sick because that loser decided to throw his life away. That selfish dick didn’t even think his own brother was worth staying healthy for.
Donnie didn’t need him to say it. Ben could see in his eyes that Donnie understood him exactly. He licked his dry, chapped lips, wincing as his tongue made contact with the cut. “I gotta do it, Ben.”
“Alright.” Ben nodded and, after a moment, repeated, “Alright.”
Donnie tightened his grip on Ben’s hand, his eyes behind the plastic safety goggles filling with tears. Then he pulled the paper mask over his lower face and got heavily to his feet. Ben followed suit. They walked from the changing room holding hands.
The doctor led them to the isolation chamber. When they stepped through the door, Donnie let go of Ben and turned his head.
“Stay back,” he warned again. His voice was muffled through the mask and his eyes behind the goggles were huge with fear.
Ben nodded, and Donnie approached the bed where a body lay motionless. Ben couldn’t see Floyd’s face from his vantage point and was secretly glad. The beeping of the machines and the soft murmuring of the nurses that came and went were the only sounds.
IT TOOK THE rest of the day for Floyd to die. One of the nurses brought Ben a chair, and he sat down in a corner, attention unwaveringly on Donnie. Ben only left the room once, when the doctor asked to speak with him.
“I thought I’d tell you first: We need to make a report about Floyd to the CDC. All TB cases get recorded. When we contact them, a team will be dispatched to clear the infected person’s home. If I tell them that a police officer has already done that, nobody will ask any questions.” Dr. Greene’s eyes were full of kindness. “We have to report the TB, Ben, but Donnie and you don’t need the rest of Floyd’s life dragged into the limelight.” The doctor hesitated. “I saw the needle marks, and the alcohol damage to Floyd’s liver.”
Ben nodded at Dr. Greene, grateful for his discretion. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Then Ben made a phone call to a useful crime scene contact he had worked with on several cases, told the man to send the bill directly to him, and doubled the fee. His and Helen’s savings were really taking a hit in all this. The task concluded, Ben returned to his vigil over Donnie.
Whenever Ben thought it might have any chance of success, he asked the nurses to bring Donnie something to eat and drink. Donnie refused all food, but finally, around dusk, when Ben wouldn’t stop his pleading across the sickroom, he let one of the nurses pull down his mask and sipped some water through a straw.
And then one of the machine’s beeping became frantic. Dr. Greene stepped to Donnie’s side, and Ben straightened up. The doctor rested his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. Donnie went stiff, then slumped into himself, seemingly too exhausted to care. He gripped his brother’s fingers more tightly.
The doctor spoke quietly, and his words were just audible over the annoying machine noise. “Floyd’s breathing is becoming too erratic, Donnie. His blood isn’t carrying enough oxygen anymore.”
“Is…is he in pain?” Donnie sounded very scared.
“No. Shall I turn this off?”
Donnie nodded. When the next monitor started flashing red and beeped loudly, the doctor turned that off, too. The room was eerily quiet for a moment. Ben stood up.
The wet, labored breathing from the bed was loud in the sudden silence. Donnie’s shoulders tightened with his brother’s dying breaths. One breath. Silence. Another breath. A longer silence. A breath that sounded like a moan.
Then nothing.
Dr. Greene let go of Donnie’s shoulder and placed one gloved finger against Floyd’s neck. They waited for what felt like an eternity, but it could’ve hardly been more than thirty seconds.
“Time of death: nine thirty-two p.m.,” Dr. Greene announced.
Ben was moving before Donnie was on his feet, and that was a good thing. Donnie turned, took one step, and then staggered as his knees gave way. Ben caught him, and Donnie clung to his forearm so hard it actually hurt.
“S’okay, buddy. I got you.” Ben held him tightly until Donnie’s eyes lost their vacant expression and he was able to get his feet under himself again. Ben waited until Donnie gave a little nod and Ben was sure he wouldn’t pass out. Then he shifted Donnie around in his arms until they stood chest to chest, Donnie breathing hard. For a long moment, they didn’t move.
“Ben, I…,” Donnie said finally, but his voice broke. Ben waited. Donnie started again. “I…I don’t wanna die like this.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
THERE WAS A mountain of paperwork for Donnie to read and sign. The doctor took them to an empty examination office and spread the papers on a gurney. Donnie stared at them, not taking in a word of the explanation Dr. Greene gave. Ben toyed briefly wit
h the idea of asking the doctor to admit Donnie overnight and give him something for the shock. Donnie looked utterly, painfully exhausted, and it made Ben worry for his health. But Donnie would never consent. The memory of his stay in the ICU was still too fresh.
“Before you go, I’ll have to examine you both,” the doctor finally said. “We need to be sure you’re not already exhibiting symptoms of tuberculosis, in which case I would prescribe you different medication. If everything is as it should be, you can go down to the pharmacy and pick up the Isoniazid. You’ll have to start taking it right away.”
Ben went first. The doctor listened to his chest and back, then made him take off his shoes and pants to check for the telltale early TB rash. Afterward, the doctor examined Donnie, who let everything happen without showing a single emotion. Donnie needed Ben’s help with his shoes and pants, and Ben stayed very close, alert for any sign that his man was on the verge of collapse.
And then they were finally on their way home, two prescriptions worth of pills in a brown pharmacy bag on the back seat of the car. At first, Donnie stared out of the passenger window, still looking completely blank. When they were halfway back to Corinth, he started fidgeting, rubbing the palms of his hands on his pants legs and squirming in his seat.
“What is it, buddy?” Ben asked, alarmed.
“Can still smell it, all over. The hospital. Him…” Donnie gave a shudder, looking frantic. “Floyd’s all over me.”
“Tell you what,” Ben said quickly. “Soon as we get home, we hop in the shower, and we’ll throw out all our clothes.”
Donnie gave Ben a quick, grateful glance and settled down again, eyes unseeing on the countryside rushing past.
They came back to a dark house that smelled strongly of antiseptic. All blankets and pillows from the living room had disappeared, but Ben was relieved that the cleanup crew hadn’t taken the sofa. All that was left in Floyd’s room was the empty bed frame, the equally empty closet, and a chair. Donnie glanced into the room on their way to the bathroom, but said nothing.
Clambering out of Ben’s car, Donnie had nearly fallen flat on his face, and he was in no condition to shower on his own. Thus, in the bathroom, Ben helped Donnie strip off everything and sat him on the closed toilet lid. Then Ben quickly undressed as well, stuffing all their clothes into a rubbish bag. He hurried through the house buck naked, cracked the front door open until the bag fit through, and chucked it into the yard. Then he returned to the bathroom.
“C’mon buddy, let’s do this. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”
Donnie leaned heavily on him as Ben helped him up. Ben turned him gently toward the tub—and froze. Staring at Donnie’s back, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Large pink scars crisscrossed Donnie’s entire back. The skin looked as if it had melted and solidified again in new twisted shapes. Without even meaning to, Ben reached out and placed his fingers against the biggest welt near Donnie’s spine. Donnie stiffened.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Not now…can’t…”
Ben nodded. It took him a moment to find his voice, but then he said, as gently as he could, “Okay, buddy. Okay.”
How had he never seen these scars? Ben cast his mind back, trying to think of the times they’d been naked around each other. Had he really not noticed that Donnie was hiding his back the entire time? It was possible, Ben supposed. And it probably came naturally to Donnie by now. The scars looked very old. Were they Floyd’s doing as well? But for now, Ben had to keep all his horror and curiosity in check and focus on the task at hand.
He helped Donnie climb into the tub, then stepped in after him. Goose bumps erupted on Donnie’s arms and spread over his back and neck. Ben tested the water temperature and gently urged Donnie under the hot jet.
He lathered the soap on Donnie’s chest and back, trying not to let his hands and attention linger on the scars. Rinse. Repeat on himself. Coaxing Donnie to wash the rest, holding him by the shoulders. Making sure neither of them slipped in the soapy suds.
Hair last. Ben took a little bit of time with this when Donnie relaxed under his fingers as Ben massaged his scalp. He moved on to Donnie’s neck, then the shoulders. He could feel the knots, the misery, the sadness in the bunched-up muscles.
Ben had almost finished rinsing Donnie’s hair when Donnie started to cry. There was a brief sense of relief in Ben that some of the misery was working its way out, but then Donnie slumped against him, sliding down like a rag doll. Ben had no option but to go down with him.
“Heyheyhey, buddy. S’okay. I got ya. Shhh…” He held Donnie, rocked them both while trying to keep the shower spray from hitting Donnie directly in the face. Donnie’s tears were almost silent, and he trembled and shook in Ben’s arms. The water went from hot to warm to tepid. When it was cold enough to make them shiver, Ben turned all the taps off.
They had to get out. Donnie needed to be dry and warm. Ben did his best to move quickly, but Donnie couldn’t help. Once he was back on his feet, he let himself be led, but they nearly fell out of the tub anyway. Donnie was shivering hard.
Ben quickly wrapped a large towel around Donnie and a smaller one around his own waist. “Time for bed,” he said, his voice echoing hollowly around the silent bath.
In the bedroom, Ben rubbed Donnie dry, then sat him on the side of the bed and got him into boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Donnie was no longer crying. His eyes had a glazed, faraway look.
They should be taking the first dose of the Isoniazid right away, but it was all Ben could do to get Donnie into bed. There was no way either of them could get any food down now, and they couldn’t take the pills on an empty stomach.
Finally, Donnie lay curled up under the blankets, and Ben found a pair of clean underpants for himself. When Ben joined him in bed, Donnie pushed himself up and into Ben’s arms with an inhuman sound. Ben pulled him close, and they clung to each other in muted misery.
THE NEXT FEW days went by in a blur of grief and activity. Ben called into work first thing in the morning to request another couple of days of emergency leave. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting Donnie fend for himself at the moment. “Two more days, Griers,” Captain Buckley said. “That’s all I can do. Your track record’s been impeccable until recently, but we’re getting into hot water now.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ben said. “Two days will do fine.” He would find a way to cram in the most urgent tasks into the next forty-eight hours.
So they set to work. That first day, Donnie was too stunned and exhausted to do more than lie on the sofa, watching Ben make phone calls and go through paperwork. Ben got them both started on Isoniazid with their breakfast, and the first dose made him drowsy and slow. Donnie fell asleep on the sofa around noon.
The next day, Donnie was feeling better and started phoning funeral homes to make arrangements for Floyd’s memorial. After the third call, he dropped the phone into his lap with a sigh. Ben looked up questioningly.
“It’s no use,” Donnie said quietly.
“What isn’t?” Ben put down a folder full of jumbled bits of paper that somehow related to Floyd’s life.
“I got no money to pay for this.”
Ben clambered to his feet from where he had been crouching on the floor and went to sit next to Donnie on the sofa. “We’ll figure something out.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me call Arthur.”
“No, Ben…”
But Ben smiled soothingly and put one hand on Donnie’s neck while he dialed Arthur anyway.
“Floyd was a veteran,” Arthur said thoughtfully once Ben had explained the problem. “Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll get back to you.”
Ben hung up and looked at Donnie. “Floyd served?”
Donnie nodded. “Army, for ten years. Suited him, really.”
Donnie’s eyes grew opaque with renewed sorrow, and Ben hugged him close. He wasn’t all that surprised to learn that Floyd had been a soldier. Sometimes, when a man’s upbringing had left something to be desired,
he took well to the order and discipline of a military career. Ben wondered what had gone wrong but didn’t say anything. Donnie wouldn’t be able to bear any questioning right now.
How different these two brothers had reacted to the same history. Donnie was a good man, gentle and smart when given half a chance. He had just needed someone to believe in him. Maybe if Floyd had met someone like Arthur sooner…. But Donnie had said that Floyd hadn’t liked being helped. Or maybe, Ben mused, it really was just luck, good and bad, where you ended up.
In any case, it was his luck that he’d met Donnie when he himself had needed love and support. A great wave of affection overcame him, and he put his other arm around his man. For a while, they just sat together in silence, Donnie resting his head on Ben’s shoulder.
Arthur phoned back within the hour. A veteran’s charity would provide funds, and they were able to arrange a service with an Atlanta-based funeral home in three days’ time.
The next day, Ben had to go back to work, at least for a few hours. He hated to leave Donnie alone, but he had no choice. The captain had made that quite clear. The moment he got to the station, Jason started asking questions about where he had been, but Ben couldn’t bring himself to be honest with his friend.
He still worried what Jason would think of him if he knew he’d moved in with Donnie. That Ben was attracted to both men and women had never been openly discussed between them, even though Jason had probably always suspected. Ever since junior high, they’d been very close. They had even masturbated together a few times after they had both turned seventeen, but Ben had never confided in Jason that what had gotten him off then had been watching the other boy’s arousal.
The issue, in any case, wouldn’t be that Ben was with another man, but that he was with this particular man. It had been dislike between his partner and Donnie from the moment they had set eyes on each other, and while that would need sorting out sooner or later, now was not the time for that.