The First Stone (11 page)

“No, I'm sure you have. I've read your file. But you're here now. This is day one, okay?”

“What's that s'posed to mean? Some First-Day-Of-The-Rest-Of-Your-Life psychology crap?”

Reef expected a reaction from Colville, but not the one he got. The tall man put his head back and laughed, the deep bass sound almost too loud for the foyer. Even when he stopped, the sound seemed to linger, as if its echo were embedded in the rich wood. “You're a hard case, aren't you?” Colville said at last.

Reef stared at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Right. And that's important. But here you'll learn you have to look beyond yourself. There's a whole world out there that needs taking care of.”

“My ass bleeds,” Reef replied.

Colville grinned. “Guess I'm not the only one who's big on symbols, eh?”

“Fuck you.”

Colville laughed again. Standing up, he said, “This is day one, so that won't cost you. After today, though, every curse out of your mouth will mean a job over and above your regular chores.” He nodded his head toward the newel post. “You think this was that shiny when I first bought it? It's had a lot of polishing since North Hills became a group home.” He waved his hand toward the rest of the house. “There're always lots of extra jobs that need doing in a place as old asthis, Reef. You might want to bear that in mind the next time you feel a ‘Fuck you' coming on.”

Reef felt far more than that headed his way, but he was also smart enough to know what battles to pick, something his grandfather had taught him well. So he said nothing. Sometimes silence spoke louder than words anyway.

If Colville thought he'd won the first round, he didn't show it. He smiled again and nodded toward the room on the right. “Come into my office and we'll get the rest of the day one stuff taken care of.”

“You mean I gotta sign this even if I don't want to?” Reef asked. The document he held in his hands bore an official-looking crest at the top, a miniature black-and-white version of the sign on the front lawn. Although much smaller than the original, it looked even more ridiculous. In Reef's mind, the figure with the heavy load was now a dwarf with a hunchback, and the North Star resembled those aluminum spaceships you saw in “B” movies on late-night TV, hovering ominously in the sky. Looking at that graphic, Reef thought, a person might wonder if North Hills was a home for alien abductees.

“It's a contract,” Colville replied, leaning back in his chair. Although crammed with a desk the size of an aircraft carrier, three chairs, two filing cabinets and a bank of shelves filled with binders, the office did notappear disorganized. On the contrary, even the in/out baskets on the huge desk reflected a sense of order and purpose, papers in each arranged neatly rather than dropped carelessly into piles. “And no, you don't have to sign it if you don't want to. It's your choice. Just like it's your choice whether you stay here or not. If you want to stay, you sign it. If you don't, I call Judge Thomas and she arranges for you to spend the next year or so of your life elsewhere. Simple as that.”

Yeah. Real simple, thought Reef. Blackmail all dressed up to look like free choice. He wanted to tell Colville to take a flying fuck at the moon, but he wasn't sure how far he could go even on day one.

“Read it,” Colville said. “All it says is you understand and agree to abide by North Hills's regulations. They're printed on the back.”

Reef turned the paper over, expecting to see dozens of rules all beginning with the words “Do not.” Instead, he found five short statements:

Reef blinked. “Pretty vague, ain't they?”

Colville shook his head. “They spell out everything I think is important. Like the first one. People who respectthemselves don't need to swear to make themselves heard. Nor do they need to put drugs or alcohol into their bodies to keep from feeling the things they can't face. There's a whole lot tied up in those seven letters.”

“Please don't get him going,” came a voice behind Reef. “He's five seconds away from his Aretha Franklin impression.”

Reef turned and saw a teenager with long, blond hair standing in the doorway. The teen's fine features and slim build suggested a female, but the voice was deeper than any girl's Reef had ever heard.

Colville made introductions. “Reef, this is Alex Praeger. Alex, meet Reef Kennedy.”

Alex stepped forward and held out his hand. But not like a guy would to shake with another guy. His outstretched hand dangled limply from his wrist. “Charmed,” he said.

Reef's face reddened.
Fuckin' fairy
. He glanced at Colville, who was watching him closely, then looked down at the paper in his hands and knew what Colville was waiting for. The second rule. More than anything he wanted to cram that contract up both their asses, but he was fairly certain one of them would enjoy it. He shrugged, took the fairy's hand and shook it quickly. “Hi,” he grunted.

“We're almost finished here. Alex,” Colville said. “In a minute I'll get you to give Reef the ten-cent tour. That is, if he's staying.”

Reef shot Colville a look that would have witheredgranite, but Colville only smiled. “So,” he said, nodding toward the contract, one eyebrow elevated in an expression Reef could not read. “You signing or not?”

Reef gripped the contract in his hands and fought the urge to shred it. Maybe Dorchester wasn't such a bad alternative after all. But then he thought of the stories he'd heard about prison homos and gang rapes. Probably better dealing with one fag here than five there. Or fifty. He took the pen Colville held out to him and signed his name at the bottom, then passed both the pen and the paper back to him.

Colville put the contract in a folder and stood up. holding out his hand. “Welcome to North Hills, Reef.”

Despite the urge to do otherwise, Reef shook it.

“And this is
your
room,” Alex said. His long-sleeved silk shirt made a shirring sound as he opened the door with a flourish. “You're right across the hall from
me.”

Colville was right—if you were paying by the hour, it was a ten-cent tour. Alex had first shown Reef the grounds. Besides the postage-stamp lawn and sign out front, there was a back yard with some large trees, a deck with the biggest barbecue Reef had ever seen, an herb garden and an old greenhouse. Along with the living room, foyer and office, the first floor included a large kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom and a family room, the last of which his guide had gushed over. “Ooooh, the
family
room.” he'd bubbled. “Just wait tillyou see what happens in
there!
“ Resisting the urge to tell the fag to fuck himself, Reef had swallowed his disgust and followed him up to the second floor, where there were six bedrooms and two baths, then to the third floor, where, because of the sloped ceilings, there were only three bedrooms and one bath. Reef's room was on the third floor and, although it was small, he liked the view from the windows that filled two semicircular areas at both ends.

“The slanted ceilings make it awfully narrow,” Alex said, “but you have turrets.”

Second rule or no second rule, Reef lost it. “Look, you freak!” he roared. “
You
may have problems but there's nothin' wrong with
me!
I ain't got Tourette's, and I'll kick the shit outta anyone who says different. Including that sonuvabitch Colville downstairs!”

Alex's face flickered through several different reactions, like those flip-books that kids make in school when they're bored, riffling the edges of their looseleaf to make a figure change expressions. Alex's showed surprise, then confusion and, finally, hilarity. Nearly choking with laughter, he managed to gasp, “Oh, Reef honey, are you for
real?”

Reef's face reflected his own astonishment, and, for the first time in a very long while, he could think of nothing to say.

“Almost finished.” Carly Reynolds said as she inserted Leeza's morning catheter.

Leeza stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about what the nurse was doing. Although her catheter was changed four times daily, she was still mortified by the procedure. Her problem was the reverse of the incontinent residents at Silver Meadows. Because her muscles had been stretched by the accident and during the subsequent surgery that repaired her pelvis, her bladder was unable to empty itself voluntarily. In the weeks ahead, this would be one of many things that physiotherapy would strive to correct. Until then, however, she would continue to be subjected to the indignity of plastic tubes and urine bags.

Carly seemed aware of Leeza's embarrassment and changed the subject. “It's okay if you want to put out some personal items, Leeza. Pictures, knickknacks, things like that. This is going to be your home for several weeks, so feel free to make it look that way. Brett certainly has.”

Leeza had already seen the myriad photographs of a good-looking young man pinned to the wall above the other bed and mounted in frames on a table by the window. Sam, of course. But Leeza had no intention of trying to make this place look like home. Her silence said so.

The nurse seemed bent on coaxing her into conversation. “I see from your chart that you had a restless night. The first one's always the hardest,” she explained, as she finished the procedure and drew back the privacy curtain, “but believe it or not, you get used to it.”

Leeza doubted that. Despite the medication the night nurse had given her, she had woken several times, pulled from sleep by pain that throbbed her to consciousness. Pain like the icy knife drawn up and down her body now, slowing momentarily to jab and twist into a nerve before moving on to another target. But there were other times during the night when she'd been woken by something else, by sounds from down the hall. Eerie, guttural cries that, at first, she thought she'd made herself. Embarrassed, she'd forced the corner of her pillow into her mouth, then listened in surprise as the sounds had continued, rising and falling with siren-like regularity.

“Who's the—?” She stopped, unsure how to phrase the question.

“The screamer?”

Leeza turned her head slightly to see Brett enter, expertly guiding her wheelchair past the nurse's trolley, beds and visitors' chairs that dotted the beige landscape of their room. “Amazing as this may seem to you now,” Brett said as she pulled toothpaste and a toothbrush out of a drawer by her bed, “you'll even get used to
him.”

“Who …?” Leeza's voice trailed off. It seemed wrong somehow to be talking this way about a patient she didn't even know.

“Stephen Hayes. Private room three doors down,” explained Brett.

Carly popped an electronic thermometer into Leeza's ear. “Stephen has been here over two years. Had an accident with a four-wheeler. Along with other injuries, he received severe trauma to his brain. He's quiet much of the time, but he tends to shout when he gets agitated.”

“And not just at night,” Brett said as she wheeled herself into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

“She's right,” Carly agreed. “Could be any time.” The thermometer beeped, and the nurse pulled it out, read it and made a notation on Leeza's chart.

“T-two years?”

The nurse glanced up from the chart and saw the look of astonishment on the girl's face. “His rehabilitation hasn't taken that long, Leeza. He's only herebecause we haven't been able to place him. There just isn't an opening in a facility suitable for him to go to. Not yet, anyway.”

As if on cue, a low moan from down the hallway rose to a shriek that lasted several seconds before tapering off into silence. “You
do
get used to it,” Carly continued. “And at least it's not all the time. We've had other patients do that their whole stay.”

At that moment, Leeza bit back a shriek of her own and gasped as the phantom knife slashed at her, leaving her weak and trembling.

Carly glanced at her watch and made another note on the chart. “Almost finished. Then I'll give you a needle for pain. You're just about due for one anyway.” She applied a pressure cuff around Leeza's arm and pumped the bulb, listening through her stethoscope and watching the pulse of the silver liquid. “You know, most people hearing Stephen for the first time get this mental picture of someone being tortured by sadistic nurses. It's really not like that. He has a good quality of life. His outbursts are just part of his day.” After recording Leeza's blood pressure, she removed the cuff, swabbed her upper arm and then drew some liquid from a vial into a syringe. “This will take the edge off,” she said.

She was right. Moments after the injection, Leeza could feel the icy knife grow warm and dull. It was still there in the background, still moving, searching for something vulnerable, but it no longer jabbed andtwisted into her. It was like an echo—a muted imitation of the original. Leeza smiled.

“Makes you wonder what you'd get for that stuff on the street, doesn't it?” Brett asked, grinning from the bathroom doorway.