Cody Kennedy: Tharros Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“They raided the yacht this morning,” Nero said calmly.

Christy’s small frame went rigid. “How many like me?” Though nearly inaudible, his words steady.

“Several,” Nero answered.

Christy bowed his head and closed his eyes again. “Dead?” The single word was but a whisper on the air.

“Some,” Nero answered honestly.

Christy’s head snapped up, his Jell-O entirely forgotten. “Who?”

Michael caught the bowl as it slid off his lap, and Carol took it from him and set it on the bedside table.

“They have yet to identify them.”

“Please ask General Sotíras to send the pictures. I wish to know if my friends are dead.” Christy’s words were adamant.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should wait until they can give you names,” Michael said gently.

Christy shook his head. “I wish to know if my friends are dead. Please ask the general to send the pictures.” His words brooked no argument.

Nero pulled a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and Rob stayed him with a gentle hand. “Christy, Nero has pictures with him. Are you certain you’re strong enough to see them?”

Christy looked up at Rob, anger large in his eyes. “I can do it.” He held a hand out for the pictures, insistent, demanding.

Rob paused nearly imperceptibly before passing them to Christy.

“I wish to have the pen to write,” Christy said flatly.

Mac withdrew a pen from the pocket of his white coat and handed it to him.

“I will write the name if I know them and where they are from.”

Nero nodded. “Bene,” he said in his native Italian.

Christy’s entire body trembled as he looked at the first photograph. Michael put an arm around him and he leaned into Michael, seeking comfort as he wrote in perfect Greek script. “This is Stefano. He is from Italy.” He handed the picture to Michael.

Michael studied the gruesome photograph of the dead young man briefly before handing it to Nero.

“This is Antonio. He is from Spain.”

And so it went through eight out of twenty-four pictures in all.

“I do not know the others.” He handed the photographs back to Nero. “Timotheos is not in the pictures. He is the son of Yosef. Does he live?”

Nero’s face lost all its color. “Yosef has a son?”

Christy nodded once. “Yosef tells the story of the rape of a girl when he was young. She did not want the boy and Yosef took him. He was with me the night my father...used me for the last time. Thimi is....” He thought for a moment. “He is fifteen years now.”

“Are you certain that he is Yosef’s son?” Nero asked, incredulous.

“Yes. He is very small like me, very pretty in the face, with eyes of.... I do not know this word in English. Topázi.”

“Topaz? Amber?” Nero asked.

“Yes, he has the eyes of this color and the dark hair. He has the very big upsilon burned on the back.” Christy’s words were matter of fact, absolute, as his trembling increased and tears filled his eyes again.

Michael brought him into his embrace and held him close. “You’re okay. You’re safe now, babe.”

Christy’s breaths came faster. “They are cruel.”

“Yeah, they are, but they’re never going to hurt you again,” Michael promised as he rubbed Christy’s back in long soothing strokes. Christy’s breath was warm and soft on Michael's neck as he calmed and his breathing slowed.

Nero jotted quick notes. “May I ask another question?”

Christy slowly withdrew from Michael’s arms and gestured for him to continue.

“Did you ever meet a woman on the yacht?”

Christy’s eyes took on a faraway look, the very look that made Michael feel helpless, and he glanced at his dad in a silent plea for help.

“She would tell us when to bathe, what clothes to wear,” Christy said quietly.

“Do you recall her name?” Nero asked.

“We could not know it. We were to call her Mother when she...punished us.”

Nero frowned. “She partook in the abuse?”

Christy slowly returned from his far off place and nodded. “She was the punishment if we did not obey. Michael, what is the thing we saw in the window of the terrible store?”

The terrible store to which Christy referred was the Pleasure Chest, a sex paraphernalia shop they’d happened upon during their stroll down Genovese Avenue right before the kidnapping went down. When Christy had recognized the window displays for what they were, he’d been horrified.

“The whip?” Michael asked.

“The other. In Greek it is olisbos.”

Nero looked disgusted. “A sexual prosthetic device?”

A light bulb went on in Michael’s head. “The, ah, the dildo?” he stammered, not comfortable saying the word in front of adults.

“Yes, this is the thing. She would hurt us with this.”

Michael winced. Christy had endured so freakin’ much, it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his mind.

“Can you describe her, what she looked like?” Nero asked gently.

“I will draw the picture. I must have the blank paper.”

Mac removed the chart from his clipboard, clipped a blank charting sheet to it, and handed it to Christy.

Silence descended as Christy sketched quickly, his hand moving deftly over the paper in spite of the bandages. Ten minutes passed before he handed the clipboard to Nero. “You will know her by the missing finger on the left hand. My father cut it off when she lied to him.”

Michael winced again. Christy’s father had been so freakin’ sick.

“Bene, bene, thank you, Christy. This is very good.”

“Did you want the rest of your Jell-O, Christy?” Nurse Carol asked.

Christy shook his head, the questioning clearly having exhausted his reserves. “I wish to rest now.”

Michael sat next to Christy’s bed and held his hand as he listened to the cardiac monitor drone on. The monitor skipped a beat every so often reminding him that Christy’s heart wasn't in great shape. Whether his heart struggled because it was taxed from the terror of his abduction or because of his injuries, Michael didn’t know. He only cared that Christy was alive and that his father assured him Christy would fully recover.

He turned Christy’s small, bandaged hand in his. He would go to the ends of the earth for Christy.

It had been that way since the day he ran into him, literally. He had been on his way to class early one morning when he realized he’d left his English Lit essay in the car. He turned abruptly to go back to the parking lot and ran smack into Christy. He tripped, nearly sending them both to the ground, and quickly caught Christy’s arm to steady him.

“Sorry, man, didn’t see you.”

Then he did. Christy’s eyes had sparkled in the bright morning sun like the crystal waters of the Caribbean. Mesmerized, he hadn’t been able to prevent the words that tumbled from his lips. “Your eyes are amazing.” A shy smile had flashed on Christy’s heavenly visage and, after a beat, uncertainty filled his eyes. Embarrassed, Michael blurted, “Sorry, man.” Christy had only nodded and walked away. It had been love at first sight for him and from that fateful morning, pretty Christy had been the object of his desire. It had still taken him two months to work up the courage to talk to Christyt but, when he did, he knew he’d never met anyone sweeter.

He leaned forward and brushed the curls from Christy’s forehead. The severe bruising and swelling in his face had faded and lessened over the time they’d been in the hospital and he was nearly perfect again. Only the skin around one eye remained a phenomenal shade of greenish-yellow. Still and all, Michael silently thanked his lucky stars again that he would be all right. It could have been worse. A hell of a lot worse.

“I love you, Christophoros Tryphon Alexis Castlios,” he whispered. Despite his anguish, mirth tickled him, and a soft snort escaped him. Christy’s name was so freakin’ long it would be absurd for anyone, let alone someone of Christy’s diminutive stature. At five foot two inches and a hundred pounds, you could wrap it around Christy three times and still have letters left over.

The soft squeak of Carol’s shoes sounded behind him as she entered the room.

“How are you doing?” she asked quietly as she came around to inject something into Christy’s I.V. line.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“A sedative.”

Michael was immediately disappointed and utterly failed in his effort to hide it.

“Your father wanted him sedated as a precautionary measure,” she offered.

Michael couldn’t disagree. He wanted Christy’s nightmares gone and today's conversation about the raid of the yacht was sure to bring them back.

“He’ll sleep through the night. You should try to get some rest,” she encouraged.

Michael set his jaw. “I want to be awake in case he has another bad dream.”

“Stay then, but don’t tell your father I let you stay up all night again.”

The sound of her squeaky shoes faded as she left the room and he smirked to himself. He hadn’t known that his dad wielded so much power at the biggest hospital in the city until he became a patient. It seemed to him that his dad all but ran the place.
He looked at the clock on the wall. He had Christy, Jake, and Sophia’s hospital schedules down perfectly, and it was time to visit Jake.

“Stop,” Christy breathed softly.

Michael’s heart leaped in his chest. Was he awake or was this the beginning of another nightmare? “Christy?”

“Stop,” Christy repeated, his voice a little stronger now.

Michael hobbled to his feet and leaned over him. “Christy? Are you awake, babe?”

“You are...thinking...too much....” Christy’s words trailed off.

Michael dared to hope he was awake. “Are you awake, baby?”

Christy mumbled “S'agapó,” and was lost to Neverland again.

He had no idea what sa-ga-po meant. He brushed Christy’s white-gold curls back, kissed his forehead, and left to check on Jake.

Chapter Four