Hostage (37 page)

“You think so?” demanded Matthew, turning back and pressing the gun against Todd’s temple so hard that Todd’s head bent to the side.

“Yeah, I know so. Just go ahead! Shoot Todd and then shoot me! I don’t care anymore. What does it matter? We’re all going to die! All of us! All the gay men in the world! It’s kind of what we deserve, don’t you think, for fucking around? I mean, how many guys did you screw in your life?”

With the barrel of the gun digging into his head, Todd pleaded, “Rawlins, just calm down. Just—”

Matthew turned to Elliot and screamed, “Do it, Elliot! Do it now! Shoot the blood into Clariton!”

Rawlins’s tone was smooth and even. “I mean, you walked out on Curt because you couldn’t watch him die. And I don’t think I can watch Todd die either, so perhaps you should just—”

“Shut up, you bastard!”

“Or did you leave Curt because you were just afraid of getting it, because it freaked you out so much?” Rawlins paused, then said, “Hey, how did you get it anyway? I guess it doesn’t make much difference, but it’s always interesting to know—did you give it to Curt or did Curt give it to you? Care to confess to us?”

“Stick the needle into Clariton’s neck, Elliot!”

Rawlins blurted, “But you have to admit, walking out on Curt just when he got sick and needed you most makes even Congressman Clariton look like a saint.”

Elliot gazed at the roller coaster as it whooshed nearby like a ghost of better times, then turned to Matthew and mumbled, “I… I…”

“Do it, Elliot!”

“But—”

“Do it, you moron!”

“Matthew, you know what Curt’s last words were?” taunted Rawlins.

Nervously fidgeting behind Todd, Matthew yelled, “Curt’s dead, I don’t care!”

“Of course you don’t care. You left him. I just thought you might—”

“Shut up!” he screamed.

“Matthew, I was right there when he died. Right there by his side. And you know what he said?”

“I don’t care!”

“He said, ‘Tell Mr. Wonderful I hate him!’ ”

“Stop it!” he shrieked.

“Those were his exact words… his last words.”

His what? Last words? Suddenly Todd switched back to a different time, a different tragedy altogether. Dear God, what was Rawlins saying? That he’d been there that fateful night? In Todd’s mind he pictured a man in a dark coat slipping down the street and creeping into a dark apartment. Could that have been Rawlins? Had he been the one? And could whatever have happened in Curt’s final moments explain the change in Rawlins in the last month—the sulking nights, the disappearance of his laughter?

“I suppose it really doesn’t make any difference who gave it to whom, but you know what’s really terrible, Matthew? The fact that you left him, that you abandoned your partner. That makes you a real shit.” Rawlins shook his head. “You broke Curt’s heart, you know.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, yes, it is. You destroyed him. And do you know what I did for the man who once loved you more than anything in the world? Do you have any idea what I did because I loved my friend so much and he was in so much pain?”

“Stop it!”

“He was bleeding and shitting and coughing and crying, and he hated you for every miserable moment!”

“He did not!”

“Yes, he did.”

“I’m going to—”

“He told me how he hated you with all his heart for leaving him like that. He told me you were the worst kind of human being,” taunted Rawlins. “And you know what, Matthew? Curt was right. You are the worst. Ten times worse than some pathetic politician like Clariton. And you’re going to rot in hell for what you did to the only person who ever loved you!”

Todd sensed it, the subtle change of the gun against his head, the barely perceptible switch in Matthew’s grip. Oh, Jesus. He knew what Matthew was going to do a split second before Matthew even moved.

“No!” screamed Todd, elbowing Matthew in the stomach and shoving him back.

But it was of little use. Matthew stumbled just as he fired over Todd’s right shoulder. In an instant Todd saw everything great in his life destroyed as a bullet rocketed into Rawlins, hurling him back onto a table.

“Rawlins!”

Todd dove forward, and as soon as he was out of the way the sharpshooters opened fire on Matthew. There was one rapid explosion of gunfire, a half dozen shots that came so quickly they sounded nearly as one. Every single bullet bit into its target, and Matthew’s body danced as if suspended, then dropped to the floor, his punctured body spurting his poisoned blood everywhere.

Aware of nothing else, Todd scrambled through the chairs as his lover collapsed. “Rawlins!”

Elliot, his sunken face stretched with terror, abruptly pushed away the congressman and threw aside the syringe. He then clamped his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his ears, standing there in hideous anticipation.

Clariton bent out of the way and bolted for safety, yelling, “Shoot him! Get him! Now!”

Elliot didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. He just stood there, undoubtedly expecting and perhaps hoping for a hail of bullets—something, anything to blast him from this world into the next. There was, however, nothing. Not a single blast of a single bullet, nothing to take him beyond.

“Shoot him, you idiots!” shrieked Clariton, tripping and pawing over chairs and tables as he stumbled out of the way.

Instead, four men with machine guns swooped upon Elliot, their weapons trained on him the entire time. In one orchestrated and balletlike instant, they swarmed around and engulfed Elliot, seizing the skinny, frail man with ease.

Todd saw the blood leaping from Rawlins’ s upper left chest and shouted, “Get a medic! Hurry!”

Falling to the floor on his back, Rawlins clasped one hand over his wound in a desperate but feeble attempt to stem the flow of blood, which was gushing with maniacal pressure.

“Back!” he gasped as Todd neared.

“I’m here!”

Rawlins held out his blood-drenched hand, cried in the weakest of voices, “Stay away!”

Horrified by what he saw, Todd couldn’t stop. He grabbed Rawlins’s bloodied hand, scrambled down, and knelt in the pooling blood. He touched Rawlins’s shirt, looked for some way to stem death. But the wound was so big, the blood flowing so quickly.

“Get back!” whispered Rawlins.

Panicking, not knowing what to do, Todd reached up, ran his own now-bloody hand through his hair, then pleaded and screamed, “Where’s a doctor?”

Rawlins closed his eyes, then opened them and looked up. His lips parted, he tried to speak, but couldn’t. He grabbed Todd’s arm and squeezed. And finally his eyes fell shut.

“Rawlins, stay with me!” shouted Todd, caressing Rawlins’s face. “I’m right here! Don’t go! Rawlins!”

Beside me I hear pain and confusion, such suffering. It’s Todd, and he’s crying so hard I’m afraid something’s breaking within him. If only I could open my mouth, because there’s so much left to say. This really isn’t so scary. No, my eyes are closed, but it’s not dark. In fact, there it is, that light, the one they always talk about, so pure and white, beckoning me to come, calling me with its clarity.

There, I can still move my fingers. And that’s your arm, Todd, that beautiful, wonderful arm that you used to wrap around me. I’m closing my fingers, clutching you. Do you feel that? Do you? I’m not trying to hang on, I’m really not. I just want you to understand, sweetheart, that I’m going to be okay, that I’m fine, really I am. In fact, I feel flush with a kind of overwhelming sense of well-being. If only I could make you believe this, if only I could move my lips and smile. Hey, right this moment I’m realizing that the secret of life is like a ball that you have to keep rolling. So that’s what you got to do, Todd, just push on, because, after all, it’s like your old boss used to say: This ain’t no dress rehearsal.

Wait, the light’s getting brighter and there’s someone out there, a radiant face, an outstretched hand.

Curt, is that you?

“Of course it is,” says the smiling, glowing face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

What is this? Am I going crazy? Am I hallucinating? This vision is so real.

I’m sorry, Curt! Really, I’m sorry! I’ve regretted it every day since then.

“What are you talking about?”

But—

“Rawlins, you did me a favor. Holy shit, you saw how sick I was. And you knew I didn’t want to die in a strange place, that I just wanted to die at home. The cyanide was my idea, you fool.”

Yes, but—

“You just followed through on our little plan. You helped me when I needed it most. You did as I asked.” Curt’s smiling now. “Do as I say: Go back to him. It’s not your time. Go back to Todd. He’s the one that needs you. And don’t give up. Someday—someday real soon—this AIDS crap is going to be over.

The white light is beginning to dim. The wondrous face is receding.

Curt? Curt!

“That’s it,” said Todd, trotting alongside the gurney as they rushed Rawlins to a waiting ambulance. “Take a breath. Good.”

Thank God. Oh, thank God, thought Todd, his eyes beaded with tears as he saw Rawlins’s eyes flutter open.

The Hostage Rescue Team had, of course, considered every possibility, including emergency medical care, which they had rushed to the third floor even before Matthew had fired the first bullet. And within thirty seconds of being shot, two emergency doctors and a nurse—all of them wearing heavy rubber gloves, smocks, and goggles—descended upon Rawlins, stopping the horrendous flow of blood and slapping an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. They’d saved him. Rawlins had been tumbling away and in another minute or two he would have died. As it was, they’d caught him just as he was slipping from this world.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” coached Todd. “You’re on a gurney and they’re going to take you to the hospital. I’ll stay right with you.”

Rawlins tried to say something.

“No, just be quiet, buddy.” He saw Rawlins’s eyes flit about, and Todd explained, “You’ve been shot, but you’re going to be all right. Elliot’s okay for now. They have him in custody. He wasn’t shot but he’s awfully weak.” He added, “Matthew’s dead.”

Beneath the plastic mask Rawlins opened his mouth and faintly said, “Curt…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk later. But I know you did something quite drastic for your closest friend. Everything’s going to be okay.” Todd lifted Rawlins’s left hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I love you, and I’m never going to let you go.”

R.D. Zimmerman
is the Lambda Award-winning and Edgar-nominated author of numerous mysteries. Under the pen name of Robert Alexander, he is the author of The New York Times bestseller,
The Kitchen Boy
, and other historical novels. For more info:
www.robertalexanderbooks.com

• Other Books
  
• Title Page
  
  • Copyright Page
    
  • Acknowledgements
    
  • Dedication
    
• Hostage
  
  • Prologue
    
  • Chapter 1
    
  • Chapter 2
    
  • Chapter 3
    
  • Chapter 4
    
  • Chapter 5
    
  • Chapter 6
    
  • Chapter 7
    
  • Chapter 8
    
  • Chapter 9
    
  • Chapter 10
    
  • Chapter 11
    
  • Chapter 12
    
  • Chapter 13
    
  • Chapter 14
    
  • Chapter 15
    
  • Chapter 16
    
  • Chapter 17
    
  • Chapter 18
    
  • Chapter 19
    
  • Chapter 20
    
  • Chapter 21
    
  • Chapter 22
    
  • Chapter 23
    
  • Chapter 24
    
  • Chapter 25
    
  • Chapter 26
    
  • Chapter 27
    
  • Chapter 28
    
  • Chapter 29
    
  • Chapter 30
    
  • Chapter 31
    
  • Chapter 32
    
  • Chapter 33
    
  • Chapter 34
    
  • Chapter 35
    
  • Chapter 36
    
  • Chapter 37
    
  • Chapter 38
    
  • Chapter 39
    
  • Chapter 40
    
  • Chapter 41
    
• About the Author