03-Strength of the Mate (43 page)

The door opened behind him. Adam turned, surprised to find a third man accompanying his usual guards, “Groucho” and “Harpo”. The stranger’s face looked pleasant. Like he always did, Adam checked to see if the new guy had a weapon of some kind. Not this time. Instead, this guy carried a large leather case.

Harpo was loaded down with the plates and bowls that usually contained their meals. Groucho seemed just as inconvenienced by the three large bottles of water he carried as he always did. Both men had slung their weapons across their backs. Their vigilance with Adam had relaxed in the time they’d been his guards. He was always docile and cooperative. They shared his meals with him, so Adam was trying to form some kind, any kind, of connection with them. Maybe if they liked him a little, it’d be harder for them to kill him.

The new man set his bag on the small corner table and opened it. He gestured Adam forward. “You sit,” he said gently, gesturing toward one of the straight-backed chairs. “I am a doctor.” He patted his left bicep and gestured toward Adam.

Hesitating only a moment, Adam crossed the room and slowly sat down. His arm throbbed constantly, and he’d been running fevers off and on for the last couple of days. He knew his wound was infected, but he couldn’t be sure what kind of medical care he would receive. Still, it would be good to have it cleaned again, and fresh bandages applied.

As the doctor began to unwrap the ragged, soiled bandage from Adam’s arm, Harpo collected Adam’s empty water bottles and tended to his bucket. The bandages were stuck to Adam’s wounds. Doctor said something and Harpo left the room. Doctor used a pair of blunt-tipped scissors to cut away the excess bandage. Harpo returned, carrying a large bowl of steaming water, and a long, shallow pan.

With antiseptic added to the water, Doctor poured some into the shallow pan. He guided Adam to set the back of his arm in the water to soak. Using a four-by-four gauze pad, he saturated the bandage on the front of Adam’s bicep, until it finally pulled loose from the wound. Adam hissed at the sharp flash of pain. When the second piece of bandage finally came away, Adam clenched his jaw to keep from swearing.

His arm was ugly. The wound he could see was swollen and angry red. It oozed blood and pus, and the smell was stomach turning. Adam groaned and looked away. He knew the back of his arm looked just as bad.

“Infected,” Doctor said quietly.

Adam nodded his understanding and agreement. “Hurts,” he replied softly.

Doctor used the fresh water in the bowl and several 4x4s to clean Adam’s wounds. It was excruciating. Adam was lightheaded. He endured it, though. He knew he’d be better off when this was over.

Doctor was thorough. Adam began to think he really was a trained doctor. He apologized for causing Adam pain, but he made sure to clean inside the wound, flushing out all the infection. As bad as it hurt now, Adam knew this would help his arm feel better and heal.

Finally satisfied, Doctor handed the soiled gauze to Harpo. He carefully dried Adam’s arm. Adam clenched his jaw, steeling himself. He looked down at his arm. His flesh was raw looking; the wound itself was inflamed. The skin around it was red, and a streak had started to rise toward his shoulder. Even if he didn’t have a doctor for a brother, Adam knew enough to know that was bad. Gangrene and sepsis were real possibilities now.

Breathing slowly through his nose, Adam was relieved to see bright red blood trickling from the wound. It looked like Doctor had cleaned out all the pus. Washing his hands in the bowl of untainted water, Doctor removed a yellow gauze pad from its foil packaging. The gauze looked like it was covered with a gel, or an ointment of some kind.

“Anti-bacteria,” Doctor said, placing the gauze over the wound on the front of Adam’s bicep.

Adam nodded again, letting Doctor know he understood. So that’s what the ointment was. This was good. This would help keep the infection from getting worse. Doctor placed another slippery gauze over the wound on his tricep. He wrapped Adam’s arm with a large roll of gauze, covering the wounds and the ointment in several layers of clean bandage. It might be his imagination, but Adam’s arm already felt better.

Doctor removed several things from his case, setting them on the table. He had a long conversation with Groucho, pointing at the different items on the table. Adam watched his hand gestures and realized, his wound was going to be cleaned and bandaged on a regular basis. Did that mean Adam was valuable to them? Had they made a demand for ransom?

Turning to Adam, Doctor placed a large bottle of white pills in front of him. “Aspirin.”

Adam picked up the bottle and read the label. He recognized the main ingredient in aspirin, and it reassured him a little. He nodded at Doctor once again, showing he understood and believed.

Next, Doctor set down a very large vial, topped with the kind of rubber lid used for filling syringes. He also set down a box of disposable syringes. “Penicillin.”

Adam read the label, clearly printed with the name of the antibiotic. He’d much rather have pills, but at least the syringes were disposable. It was better than nothing at all. When Adam set the bottle back on the table without saying anything, Doctor seemed to interpret that to mean he understood.

Doctor showed all three of them how to load a syringe with antibiotic. When he gestured for him to bare one hip, Adam complied. He’d never been a fan of needles, but then again, was anybody? Doctor had a light touch, at least. The injection burned a little, but faded fast.

Adam stood still and endured Doctor’s scrutiny for several moments. He wondered if the doctor was assessing the overall state of his health. Adam had no idea how he looked. He knew the bruises he could see had faded. Harpo and Groucho made sure he was well fed and hydrated. He slept okay, all things considered. But Adam hadn’t showered in two weeks, and he had a pretty good growth of beard now. His clothes were filthy, especially his T-shirt, stiff with his own dried blood.

Doctor spoke sharply to Adam’s guards. Whatever he said sent Harpo scrambling out of the room. He returned moments later carrying a stack of fabric in his arms.

“You want clothes clean?” Doctor asked, gesturing the length of Adam’s body.

“Yes. Please,” he replied eagerly. Adam even smiled a little, to let them know just how much he’d appreciate getting his clothes washed. Maybe he could even figure out how to ask for a bath. Hell, he’d be willing to use the water leftover from cleaning his wound.

Harpo held up a pair of loose, white cotton trousers. Adam took them from Harpo’s outstretched hand. Next, he held up one of the long, loose tunics the men wore alone, or over loose trousers. Harpo also gave Adam a worn pair of sandals.

Doctor packed up and closed his case. Harpo gathered up the bowl and pan. All three of them left the room, Doctor giving Adam a shallow bow before closing the door.

Adam knew his guards would be back in a few minutes. They always shared his meals with him. Adam quickly kicked off his boots, stuffing his disgusting socks inside. He stripped off all of his clothing. It reeked with his own body odor, and was stiff with filth. It was a relief to pull on the fresh, clean clothes. They were loose and light. Adam was more comfortable than he had been since he’d been snatched.

He was just putting on the sandals when Groucho and Harpo returned. Harpo gathered up the pile of Adam’s soiled clothing, and left the room with them. He was back moments later, and began laying out their morning meal.

They ate in their usual silence. There was nothing awkward or strained about their meals, thankfully. They were able to communicate well enough when they needed to, but the language barrier meant they spent most of their time together in silence. Groucho put the least amount of effort into making himself understood, but Adam got the feeling that he was just quiet by nature. Harpo made the effort to talk, from time to time, not that there was much they could to say to each other.

Adam did everything he could think of to make himself likeable and sympathetic to his guards. He was pretty sure neither one of them would hesitate to kill him, if they were ordered to. But Adam didn’t think they were willing to kill him for no good reason. Mostly, they hadn’t pushed him around, or tried to hurt him, since a couple of days after he’d been moved here.

Groucho ate in his usual silence, his mobile face reminding Adam why he’d given him that name. His unusually bushy eyebrows and mustache were in constant motion as he chewed. Adam had given Harpo his name because he looked like he could be Groucho’s brother, except for his bushy, curly hair.

Giving everybody names, inside his own head anyway, gave Adam something to think about besides his situation. It distracted him from thinking about death. In a way, it let him pretend he wasn’t even being held prisoner. Adam sometimes wondered if he was going crazy, thinking like this.

When the meal was finished, Harpo stacked their dishes. Groucho packed up the medical supplies Doctor had left behind. Nobody said anything, but Groucho did give Adam a final, curt nod, when they closed and locked the door.

Adam was on his own until his guards brought his lunch. He took two aspirin, swallowing them with water from one of the many bottles. His arm still throbbed a little, and it hurt to move it, but it was starting to feel a little better. Adam was relieved.

He returned to his same spot by the window. It was mid-morning now. For the next few hours, Adam had absolutely nothing to do but think. Sometimes, he wondered if anyone was still searching for him. When he felt himself going down that road, Adam reminded himself that Tim was still searching. His brother wouldn’t give up until he found either Adam, or Adam’s body.

He thought about Dawson a lot. What had Dawson done, when he’d heard about Adam? Was he letting everyone else do the searching? Or did he go out every day, trying to find Adam? Where was Dawson, right now, and was he thinking about Adam?

Running both palms over his face in fatigue and frustration, Adam settled down on his mat. Lying on his right side, Adam listened. He never heard anything familiar. He had no idea who was here, besides his guards. He never saw or heard anything outside his windows, either. Adam had no idea where his food came from, or if Harpo and Groucho stuck around in between his meals.

He wished he could figure out where he was. Adam wasn’t actively looking for a way to escape, but if he saw an opportunity, he had no idea if he should take it. Was he five miles from Fallujah? Or was he halfway to Baghdad now, out in the middle of nowhere?

As Adam slipped into a light doze, he wished Dawson would just come find him.

§ § §

Adam was glad to be back in his own clothes. He wasn’t surprised they kept his boots. It was so fucking hot inside his cell, the sandals were more comfortable, anyway. Harpo had brought him a bucket of clean water, so he hadn’t put clean clothes on his completely filthy body. It wasn’t the best solution, but Adam felt a hell of a lot better than he had before. He scratched his cheeks. He’d love to get rid of his beard, though.

Adam wondered if Dawson would like him with a beard. He’d like to see Dawson with a beard, just to see how he looked.

He flexed his injured arm. It didn’t hurt anymore when Adam moved it. It was still painful when he had to touch the actual wounds, but the daily cleaning and bandaging—plus getting a needle stuck in his ass—had kicked the infection.

The locks on the door opened. Adam tensed, turning to face whoever was about to enter. He’d already had breakfast, and it was too early for lunch. His heart leapt in his chest when Machete Man came through the door. Groucho and Harpo were right on his heels, along with two men Adam had never seen before.

His brain had just enough time to register the fact that Machete Man had an AK-47 this time. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it looked. Machete Man grabbed Adam’s wounded arm, Groucho grabbed the other. They dragged him to the center of the room.

For several heartbeats, Adam forgot he wasn’t supposed to resist. He dug in his heels and tried to pull away. Machete Man’s rough jerk of his arm reminded him. He stood passively once they got him to the center of the room.

When he saw the roll of duct tape in Harpo’s hand, panic rose inside of Adam. His breathing was audible, and his mouth went dry. His heart raced so fast, his chest hurt. Harpo taped Adam’s wrists together, tight enough to hurt. The tape cut into Adam’s skin, turning his fingers red.

His captors led him outside. A small pickup was parked with its tailgate down, several tarps and blankets piled in the bed. Shit was going from bad to worse. Adam waited for the barrel of a gun to touch the back of his head.

He was forced to sit on the tailgate. Harpo knelt down and taped Adam’s ankles. It was too tight, and the pain was already bad. Adam knew it made his body easier to roll up, transport, and dispose of. Christ, what if they never found his body? His parents didn’t deserve that. They’d been through too much already, losing Jase.

How would Dawson handle it?

Groucho and Harpo climbed into the bed of the truck with him. They dragged him toward the cab, laying him down on one of the many blankets. Groucho put a hood over his head, and Adam knew his death was seconds away.

Shit. Adam should have called his mom more often. He was such a major fuck up. His parents were going to suffer the loss of a second child. At least Tim was home, this time. Adam wished he and Eric knew each other better. He’d used their age difference as an excuse for too long.

He was covered with another blanket. His captors rolled Adam several times. He was tightly cocooned. Please don’t let Dawson be the one to find my body. Adam needed Dawson to remember him as he’d been in their bed, the last morning they’d been together. He should have known something would go wrong. He’d been happy. Dawson gave him absolution. Adam shouldn’t have let himself have feelings.

The heavy blanket muffled all the sounds around him. Adam thought he heard the crackle of plastic. A tarp, maybe? It would catch the blood, if they laid him on it. It was so fucking hot inside his death shroud. Adam struggled to breathe in the stuffy, confined space. The crackling plastic surrounded him. It sounded louder, but it was still too muffled.