by S A Sommers
“I didn’t do shit, Mom,” I said.
“I know you didn’t,” she answered. “I know. This is just college crap all over again.” She stepped back and motioned to the two men in the room. “Your boyfriend sent reinforcements.”
I laughed. “That’s what he said he was going to do.”
“Mister Romano, I’m Vincent Bertrand. This is Kyle Tormundsen. Chase—that is, Mister Garcia—has retained us to represent you in this matter.”
Shaking the proffered hands, we all sat down around the small table there. Both men were already holding copies of the warrant. I saw a police report on the table, and what looked like a witness statement.
Kyle tossed a look at Vincent. “So, we’re going to—”
Holding up my hand, I stopped him. “I have not yet heard the full charges against me from New York and Kings County and by whom. Could we start there?”
“They didn’t—” Kyle scribbled something down, and nudged Vincent.
Unfolding the warrant, Vincent sighed and read what was there. “You’re being charged with Rape in the First Degree, Criminal Sexual Act in the First Degree, and Predatory Sexual Assault.” He pulled out the police report from the pile in front of him. “It says here that Edward George Roberts filed the complaint, on June twenty-fourth, while in care at St. Vincent’s hospital. He alleges that you attacked him at the Sonic Boom Studios in—”
My mother held up a hand. “Ed Roberts?”
“That’s the name, yes.”
My mother stood up and punched the wall. She managed to dent the wallboard, and make both Vincent and Kyle jump. She turned back around and sat. “You need to contact Giles Heurbach, in Boston. He’ll have a file you need—all about the last time Ed Roberts pulled this horseshit on my son.”
I laid my hand over hers. “Mom.”
“I’m not going through this again.”
“Neither am I,” I said. I turned back to the two lawyers. “My mother will give you the name of the lawyer in Boston, and you can read over the files. Could you please read what he alleges happened?”
“That when you were alone in your studio with him, you raped and beat him.”
Mom snorted. “Oh, and beat him now…”
“Mom. Stop. Let me deal with this,” I snapped. “He went to the hospital?”
“Two days later. It says here he was ashamed he had been raped by a man.” Vincent looked up, and stared at me. “There is a list of his injuries. I have to tell you, Marcus. This is pretty damning stuff.”
I folded my hands. “This isn’t the first time he’s tried this.”
“What?” Kyle’s head snapped up.
“That’s why you need to talk to Mister Heurbach. He handled this last time,” I answered. “You’ll also need to contact the state police offices, but you’ll find there’s an order of restraint out, for me against him. The judge granted ten years, and it’s only been six.”
Vincent leaned forward. “I know Kyle doesn’t ask this, but I do. I have one question for you before we move forward another inch. Are you guilty of this in any form.”
“No.” The answer was simple. “Not even a little.” I sighed. “I went to great lengths to avoid him at the studio. Jerry put a rider on the contract that he and I should never be in the building at the same time, and that if we found we were, one of us was to leave immediately. I always did. I was not going to let him get the upper hand.”
Vincent was scribbling furiously on his legal pad and Kyle was tapping a finger on this chin. “The reports here are pretty damning, Mister Romano. I have to be honest.”
“I expect no less,” I answered. “I am innocent.”
“I don’t think Chase would have asked Vincent if you weren’t.”
There was a sob next to me, and I looked over to find my mother broken down in tears. “Please, please don’t let them put him in jail. This man is a monster and a bully. Marcus hasn’t done anything wrong. He never did anything wrong. His only crime is being gay, and that’s only in Roberts’ eyes.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed.
Kyle cleared his throat, and Vincent spoke up. “Are you saying this is a bullying or hate crime related attack on you? Slander and libel?”
“I don’t know what that hospital report says,” I answered, “but I personally never laid a finger on him at all.”
Tapping the paper, Kyle leaned back. “This is a full evaluation of Ed Roberts, two nights after he claims you raped and beat him. He has physical damage, including a bruised throat.”
Mom made a gross sound, but I patted her hand. “You’re going to hear worse, Mom. This is Ed.”
“So we want to get you out of here. You’re not a flight risk, we’ve convinced the DA of that,” Vincent said. “Would you be willing to wear an ankle monitor? I’m not sure we can get the DA to just agree to bail.”
“Damfrey knows you’re in a bad place to be in gen pop on Riker’s,” Kyle said. “They do bad things to gay men. Especially one who is on a rape charge.”
“If an ankle monitor keeps the cuffs off and keeps me out of a holding cell, yes,” I said. “House arrest?”
“No, just an ankle monitor and bail.”
Mom leaned forward. “What’s bail?”
“Seventy-five thousand,” Vincent said. “We might be able to get it reduced if you have a record of showing up for your previous court appearances.”
My mother choked and tears rolled down her face. “I don’t have that. I don’t have it. I have to find a bail bondsman.”
The door behind me opened, and we all turned to see Chase walk in, suited and tied and polished. He moved to the corner and looked at the two men. “Repeat the bail amount?”
Vincent sighed. “Seventy-five thousand.”
“Check, or do they want a bond?”
I whipped around and stared at him. “Chase!”
He stared me down and repeated the question. “Check, or bond?”
“Bond,” Kyle said. “If it was a few thousand less, I’d be okay with a check. But it’s a lot of money. Can you get one?”
He pulled out his phone and tapped out a message quickly. “Done. It’ll be here in under an hour.”
“Good, excellent,” Kyle said. “I’m going to go get some of this paperwork going, and request these documents from Massachusetts.” Kyle stood and put a hand on my shoulder. “Marcus, my goal is to get this dismissed and expunged. There’s no reason for an innocent man to suffer any of this.”
“Thank you.” My voice was shaking.
He marched out and Vincent let out a breath. We all looked at him, and he blushed bright red. He cleared his throat. “I…uh…I’m not used to working with him. Just against him. But he’s the best across the aisle, and I know that you wouldn’t ask me for help if you weren’t serious, Chase.” He closed the folder and shoved it inside his small over the shoulder portfolio. “I have things to do as well. Kyle will be back to get you out of here and Chase will give you my office address so we can get going on this.”
Nodding, I stood and shook his hand. “Thank you. Vincent. I know you don’t know me from Dick, but I appreciate this.”
“Any friend of Chase’s is a friend of mine.” Politely nodding at my mother, he moved out of the room, and closed the door.
“Chase!” Mom yelled, making us both jump. “A check for bail that big?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m not letting my boyfriend stay in Rikers.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Can you explain what’s going on? Why is someone accusing you of rape?”
I grabbed the copy of the reports that Kyle had left behind, and spun them so Chase could see them. “He’s not just accusing me. He’s doctoring the evidence. I’m hoping that once these cops look at this, the whole case falls apart.”
CHASE
THE PICTURES ON the table were no fucking joke. They were of a man who was beaten badly, and…well. Clearly had been penetrated.
Dawn stood. “I’ll let him tell you the story, I
can’t hear it again. I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Marcus nodded and waited until the officer outside let her out.
As soon as the door closed, I grabbed Marcus and pulled him to me for a hug. “Damn it,” I hissed. “I am so sorry my brother did this. He’s been ejected from the house. Mom won’t let him back.” I leaned back and looked him up and down. “Are you all right?”
He ran a hand down his face, then shook his head. “No. I don’t think I am. Chase, I can’t afford two lawyers, and I don’t have the money to pay you back for this bail. I just don’t. I appreciate what you’re doing—”
Pulling him to me again, I slanted my mouth over his and kissed him hard. “Did you mean it?”
He went red from his toes to the top of his hair, then ducked his head. I grabbed his chin and lifted him to look at me. “Did you?”
Marcus’ eyes welled with tears. “I…yeah. Yes. I did. I do. I’d been kind of thinking about it a bit, but after it slipped out, I really felt it.” He leaned forward and whispered against my lips, “I love you, Chase.”
I kissed him back, softly, slowly, sweetly. “I love you, Marcus. Please, tell me what happened here so we can get you out and get home and celebrate that.”
“You may not want to after you hear this.”
I put my hand on his cheek. “Did you hurt someone? Did you kill someone? Did you rape or abuse anyone?”
“God no!”
“Then, nothing is going to change my mind. Tell me. And I’ll tell you why I can afford Kyle Tormundsen.”
His eyebrow rose. “Bribery, sir?”
“Damn skippy, and I’m tossing in some sex for the hell of it.”
Turning solemn, almost sullen, Marcus sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “So…I got accepted to Boston Conservatory for a whole host of things. I got in on visual arts, vocal arts, and classical guitar.”
“You play—”
“Nothing and I’ll explain why in a minute.” He took a deep breath. “I started dating Ed Roberts in my junior year. He was not an ideal boyfriend, and I should have realized what was up ages before the incidents. But I wanted the support of a boyfriend and he was there. Too there, if you know what I mean. Pushing me to go out with him, always at my rehearsals and recitals. I thought it would be fine once I got used to him. And you, of all people, know that getting used to someone is a bad sign. I wasn’t that smart.
“We started dating in October, and by February we were always together. He moved me into his apartment and started isolating me. I was smart enough to see that coming, though, and about four weeks after I moved in, I moved back out, telling him I just wasn’t ready.
“April was already heavy rehearsal season for the upper classmen, and I pushed through, relieved to go home for the summer.
“When I got back the next year, my senior year, people who had been kind of friendly were giving me looks that would take a SCUD missile down midflight. Some of the people I had called almost friends were avoiding me. Some of the friends Ed and I shared were now fully and only his. And of course, I had no idea what was going on.”
Marcus shook his head and I could see he was having trouble talking. I scooted my chair closer and took his hand in both of mine. I wasn’t going to push him for the story, but he started up again in a moment.
“During the course of the summer, he’d started a rumor I had been abusing him. That he had kicked me out of the apartment after I’d wormed my way in. And about mid-October, I’d had enough and I wanted it over with. I asked him nicely to meet me in the library and we could talk this out and be done.
“I was arrested a week later. Suspicion of rape. Ed had filed the report on me saying I had raped him in the library. The spot he said I did it was one of the few not covered by a camera.
“My parents had to drain their savings to get me out of it. The lawyers, the bail, the civil suit. God, they had to bond their house to get me out. Roberts’ family was wealthy and had the ear of a lot of the Boston elite. I was so close to screwed.
“Someone, somewhere decided to set the Roberts family to rights, though, and we pulled the best judge we could hope for. Judge Helen Allen. She heard the evidence, she heard how my story never changed. She listened when I told my side of the story. She directed that courtroom like one of the conductors at the school. And the jury came back with a not guilty. She ordered the ten year restraining order, and I was released. All bail monies released, and bond paid. Lawyer paid. It was over.”
Marcus stopped again, and I pulled one of the bottles of water over to us, cracking the top open for him. He took a hard pulled on it, and I could tell he wished it was whiskey or maybe even the sterno.
“It wasn’t over, was it?” I asked quietly.
“Not by a fucking long shot.”
I waited, and after another drink of water, Marcus went on.
“I lost all but a few of my friends. My roommate beat the shit out of me on the first day back to classes. I never knew he had a brown belt in Okinawan karate. I did after that night. I had to go to the ER, which was fun. My twink roommate decided that I was a rapist and laid into me, a massive linebacker. Size does not trump skill. Ever.
“I started couch surfing among the few friends I still had. They were happy to pass me along between them, and I only went back to my very expensive dorm room when I knew my roommate was out. I made sure I orchestrated the last semester so I would only be on campus three nights, and home the rest of the time. Four and a half hours back and forth every weekend.
“Even some of the teachers had turned on me, and I could barely pass their classes, tests, and recital panels. But. My guitar teacher never did. He arranged for an audition for a small but well-paying classical group, and I went in December.
“Ed and his groupies met me outside the audition after I had given a flawless performance. Best of my life. I had nailed it, perfect. Every note, every beat.
“After his cronies smashed my guitar, they held me against the wall. Ed grabbed a brick and smashed my left hand. The one that sat on the fingerboard, that made the chords and notes. He kept smashing it. Six times. Four with the flat of it and two with the edge.”
Marcus held up his left hand. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” He put it on the table in front of him. “I spent the rest of December and all of January in the hospital. I had an external fixator, like I was fucking Doctor Strange. The bones healed. There are small pins in some of them. I spent two years relearning how to use my fingers. And for the most part they work. But they were never strong enough, nimble enough again, to play the guitar.”
He lifted his ring finger above the others. For the first time, I saw the tiny round scar there. “Fixator scar. I was able to minimize all of them with wound care.” He curved them and the held them there. Not fifteen seconds later, they started trembling. “That’s it. That’s all I have. That’s all the strength I have. I can type, because the keys are so light now. But the guitar?” He let out a breath.
“I spent my last semester of college learning all the sound tech shit I could cram in my brain, and made sure that my voice lessons were on track and on campus during the middle of the day.”
“Did you ever find out why he did all this?”
Marcus nodded, slowly, sadly. “He was jealous. He’d heard me play, and he knew that he didn’t have the talent I had. He didn’t have a chance at being a professional beyond some cheap jazz clubs. In all the months we were together, I had no idea he played. I never saw him practice, not once. I thought he was there for sound production alone. He didn’t practice, as it turned out. He had a natural talent, but he never did anything with it.
“I’d been playing since I was seven. Guitar was my backup for my vocal career. I was good. Fucking good. Then it was gone.
“I can’t even enjoy messing around with the fucking thing because I can’t use my fucking hands that way anymore. He took that from me, and now he’s back. He’s going to take more away from me. My job, my ability to live
my life.
“Everything is going backward, Chase. I worked so hard to get where I am. I deserved that award last year. Now it’s all in retrograde. My whole life is spinning backward.”
I wrapped my hands around the nape of his neck and pulled him close, leaning his forehead on mine. “You know what’s good about retrograde? It only appears to be spinning backward. Eventually, the illusion stops and everything starts moving in the right orbit again. I want to be that orbit, Marcus. And I want you to be mine.”
He burst into wracking sobs, and I just held him.
MARCUS
I DRAGGED MY ASS TO THE DOOR of my apartment and let out a sigh. “I’ll see you in the—”
Chase spun me around and kissed me hard. “No. You’re coming in here with me and I’m going to fuck you senseless and you’re going to realize that you’re not doing this alone.”
“I have my parents—”
“Who can’t stay down here because they have a life upstate,” he said, taking my elbow and pulling me toward his apartment. “They love you, Marcus, and they will stand behind you. But I love you too, and I want to help you.”
“You have already,” he said.
He pulled me in close so his next words ghosted over his lips. “Not the way I wanted to, I can’t do that in public.”
The door opened and MC was there nuzzling the wall next to us as we walked in. My mother popped out of the kitchen, holding a chicken pot pie. The place was clean and organized and smelled like…
Home. It smelled like a place I wanted to spend the rest of my life.
God, I was not going to fucking cry again.
I took a minute for myself, and ducked into the bathroom, just to wash my face and compose myself. It felt natural to be in Chase’s space, and I liked that. It felt as natural as being in the old house in Troy.
“Marcus Chastain, come eat and be social.”
I laughed. Mom was a balm for my tired soul. How at twenty-eight was I this exhausted?
She’d left as soon as Vin and Kyle had confirmed the bond was set and the corrections department was on their way to buckle the damn ankle monitor on. They programmed it so I could walk the dog, go to the vet, the grocery store, and work. Anything outside those parameters was grounds for being hauled back in unless I could prove that it was an emergency.