John's suspicions had been correct. His friends at County had been
told nothing. Kerry hung up the phone after arranging for the
services of temporary physician to replace her friend and cried. She
felt as if she had just buried John Carter. Bracing herself, she went
to talk to Luka. When she told him, he simply nodded and thanked her
for waiting this long. John had been gone for four months.
The rest of the staff felt as she did. Hiring someone, anyone, even a
temp' was like abandoning any remaining hope of John's return. The
police had been rigorous in their searching, but so far, had turned
up nothing. The blood in the Jeep was John's. Lab tests had confirmed
that quickly enough. Ms. Suda ran the comparisons herself saying that
no one could do it better. She had fully hoped that a match wouldn't
be made. When the results appeared, she too, wept remembering the
polite young resident.
Luka walked the halls like a ghost. No one knew what to say in the
face of his grief. Patients would be startled to find their physician
had tears on his face during the middle of a routine exam. Luka
usually told them that his dearest friend and partner was missing and
presumed dead; begged their pardon, and continued working. His faith
in God, work, and the support of his friends were the only things
holding him together.
Under the circumstances, nobody had dared say anything critical when
Luka's relationship with John was revealed. Most of their closer
friends recalled noticing that both men seemed happier and at first,
while there were still reasons for hoping, talked of engagement
parties and celebrations they'd have when John returned. Now, it
looked as if John would not be returning. Haleh said it best. "He was
the heart of this place." Tough as nails, Haleh began to cry when she
realized she'd said "was".
As the weeks dragged on, Luka forced himself to eat and sleep. He
made no secret of needing OTC sleeping tablets to get more than a
couple of hours' worth. He'd taken his citizenship oath three weeks
ago, his tears of grief mistaken for joyous ones as he stood with the
other brand-new citizens. His friends quietly acknowledged the event,
knowing that he and John had planned to mark the occasion with a
coming-out party. Luka prayed constantly, begging God's mercy on John
and himself. This helped somewhat, but all he really wanted was to be
able to hold John in his arms, hear his voice, and see that special,
beautiful smile that John kept just for him.
* * * * *
"So why were you put in here?" The voice belonged to a young man. He
sat down next to Carter in the day-room.
"I'm in love with a man." John replied flatly. It was as if the
intervening year had never been. He looked worse than when he'd first
returned to work after being stabbed; still in pain, still in the
depth of his grief over Lucy.
"Same here. My name's Cyril, and yours?"
"John Truman Carter" John thought maybe if he repeated his name
enough times, someone might overhear and he'd have a chance at
leaving.
"Hey, small world. You went to the same prep as a cousin of mine."
Cyril noticed John's pack of cigarettes. "You want to go outside and
get a smoke?"
Curious, John got up and followed Cyril to the French doors leading
onto a paved terrace. How could this guy be so cheerful? The two men
sat on a bench and lit cigarettes.
"I know what you're going through, I feel just like you." Cyril said,
still smiling. "Charles, my partner, is probably going out of his
mind worrying about me."
"You look Ok...", John said then he saw that Cyril's cheery attitude
was as phony as this institution's claim to be a medical facility.
"Hey I was training to be an actor. That's where I met Charles. He's
a scenic designer. How's that for a stereotypical gay couple? I made
the stupid mistake of coming out to my family, so here I am. I'm
always bright and upbeat when the staff are around. Makes them think
I'll be no trouble. In the meantime, I'm looking for ways to get out
of here."
"There is no way out of here." Carter groaned. "This place has more
bugs than an exterminator's graveyard and more cameras than
Hollywood. Everytime I go to the bathroom, I've got a video
audience. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't have these." John
picked up his lighter. "Believe me, I've thought of burning this
place to the ground, but before the blaze could get going, they'd be
there to put it out and lock me in solitary."
Cyril's too-bright smile widened and John looked up to see a staff
member headed their way. Sighing, John stood up to follow the
beckoning orderly. It was time for his daily "therapy" session.
"So Dr. Carter, have you given any thought to my suggestion?"
Carter's therapist was a late-middle aged man with piercing blue eyes.
"No. Your 'suggestion' as you put it, is inhuman, cruel, unecessary,
and morally offensive. There is no way I'm giving up Luka. I love him
and I always will. Do you have anything in here to read? That way, I
can spend an hour in your company and not lose what's left of my
lunch."
"My, we *are* in a hostile mood today."
"Wouldn't you be? Put yourself in my place for a moment. You're
legally of age, good at your profession, your private life is just
that, private. Then all of a sudden, you're dragged off the street
and stuck in a place that looks like a five-star resort but is run by
the same people who gave us Auschwitz. Forgive me, if my temper's
offensive to you Dr. Mengele, but I have more than sufficient cause."
"You weren't 'dragged off the street.' Your records indicate you
signed yourself in for treatment of a personality disorder."
"I never signed anything and you know it. How you, a physician, can
sit there pretending to treat people is beyond me. I seem to remember
taking an oath that includes, 'first, do no harm'."
"You think I'm harming you?"
"Quit trying to play concerned therapist. The role doesn't suit you.
I've worked with a real therapist. I gave you her name. She would
tell you that there is nothing pathologically wrong with my
personality. But you can't call her can you? No. Contacting her would
reveal where I am and then you'd be fired for letting one of your
meal-tickets get away. So instead, you go through the motions of
treating me and your other victims, never considering that most of us
would be cured immediately upon getting out of here. Don't call
me 'Dr. Carter' anymore. I'm ashamed to be practicing medicine with
monsters like you around." John's anger was not diluted by his
outwardly calm demeanor.
When the sham-session ended, John went to his quarters. His
description of this mink-lined prison wasn't exagerated. His large
room was furnished like a hotel for the super-rich, albeit with
security cameras covering every angle. Flipping the bird in the
direction of the nearest spy-cam, John fell onto his bed, covered his
eyes and cried like a child. Vision's of Luka's worried face filled
his dreams. If only he could get in touch with him somehow; reassure
him. Tell him that he was alive. Luka would wait for him. Worn out
with grief, John fell asleep. At least there were no cameras
recording his nightmares.
In the morning, John woke up still in the clothes he'd worn the day
before. He went to shower and change knowing that if he didn't, one
of the orderlies would do it for him. Patient hygiene was governed by
all sorts of rules. Breaking them led to all sorts of indignities.
During his time spent in the day-room, John had overheard stories
that alarmed him. Inmates who tried to commit suicide by starving
themselves were force-fed. Any kind of aberrant behavior was punished
stringently.
After a breakfast that tasted to him like wood shavings soaked in
stale water, despite its being prepared by a top-knotch chef, John
headed to the day-room. If he didn't go, he would be dragged there.
Cyril was waiting, a sunny smile on his face, his eyes however,
looked sad. "Care to join me for a smoke?"
"Sure." They went onto the terrace.
His rictus smile still in place, Cyril began speaking quietly. His
animated jestures were eerily at odds with what he had to say. "You
told off the head shrink yesterday and the staff is furious. I
overheard two orderlies discussing putting you on drug therapy. Do
yourself a favor, pretend to go along with them. You and I both know
the stuff they dope you with here will turn you into a drooling
idiot."
"You're kidding."
"Nope." Cyril said brightly as an orderly came to escort him to his
own therapy session. "See you at lunch *right*?"
"Yes. You're right. I'll be there." John replied. He was more scared
than he'd ever been in his life.
* * * * *
"Have you heard from John lately?" Millicent wanted to know.
"Robert Carter frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sorry Millie, I put off
telling you because I knew how disappointed and hurt you'd be."
"Telling me what?"
"John and I had an argument about a month ago. He told me he wants to
have nothing to do with me or this family. He was vehement; insisted
that we stop bothering him. He's not returning any phone calls. I'm
truly sorry. I thought I could bring him around once he'd cooled off
some, but it looks as if he's written us off." Cyril would have been
proud of Robert's performance.
"You two never did get along. I suppose a major quarrel was bound to
happen. I've got some clinic business to see to next week. If I see
him, maybe *I* can calm him down some." Millicent suggested.
"Millie, you can't see him."
"Why on earth not?"
"He's filed a restraining order. We are not supposed to get within 50
yards of his residence or his place of employment. If we do, we'll be
arrested. I'm sorry Millie. That boy wants us out of his life."
Millicent Carter was shocked into silence. She looked closely at her
husband who'd returned his attention to his newspaper. She imagined
she could find a way to "accidentally" run into John and then, maybe
try to patch things up.
* * * * *
Cyril Francis Madison's advice was sound and Carter took it for what
it was worth. They were careful not to be seen in each other's
company too much, knowing the staff would see their nascent
friendship as sufficient reason to keep them apart. Their mutual
addiction to nicotine provided cover for brief conversations; and
even then, a staff member usually appeared within minutes of their
lighting up.
Normally, an open, trusting person, John was shocked at how easily he
was able to conceal his true feelings. Next, he requested his
therapist be changed. The staff complied without comment. He hoped
this alteration would provide the jailers with an explanation for his
new willingness to cooperate in this psychiatric travesty. After
observing Cyril, John too began to smile. If Luka could have seen
him, he would have known immediately that these smiles were grosteque
falsehoods. Indeed, thinking of Luka was only way John could force
his lips to make the effort.
After a month or so, the deception began paying off. The ever-present
orderlies eased up on their constant attention, leaving only the
cameras to worry about.
"Shit, your childhood sounds like something from a Bronte novel...
everything but the blood-hounds nipping at your rear end." Cyril
observed early one evening during their post-prandial smoke.
John shocked himself by actually laughing aloud: the first time since
that morning, a million lifetimes ago, when the sight of Luka in
socks, sporting an erection he could have used as a coat hook, had
prompted the same reaction. The thought that he might be getting used
to this place quickly sobered his mood. "What about you?"
"Hey, I had it easy. Oldest child and only son; spoiled rotten... I
loved every minute of it. I found out I was gay at summer camp. Had a
major pash for this male counselor. He never laid a hand on me, mind.
He was too busy chasing some 'Tracy Lord' knock-off who supervised
the girls' cabins. Didn't stop me from fantasizing about him
everytime I choked the chicken, though." Cyril's smile was genunine
this time. "And your epiphany?"
"Prep school. My dressage coach. He looked like a Greek god. Needless
to say I freaked out and immediately got busy with dating girls."
"Bisexual, huh?" Cyril observed. "Must be confusing."
"Not really. I'm naturally monogamous. With only a couple of
exceptions, I've always loved the person I took to bed."
"Luka was your first man?"
"First, last, and only." John confirmed, glad to be able to say this
to someone who understood.
"Same with me and Charles. You know they say, 'a girl never forgets
her first'." John grinned at Cyril's theatrical mannerisms. Cyril, in
turn, interpreted the look on his new friend's face. "Yep, that's me.
I'm beyond gay; I'm enchanted. Fairy wings keep my feet at least a
yard off the ground. Why my parents needed me to *tell* them I was
gay is one of the great unsolved mysteries of the universe. Hell, my
sisters had the best dressed Barbie dolls in town---I designed and
made all their clothes."
"My sister used to try to make me play with her's. I hated it." John
remembered.
"And that's you, butch to the bone." Cyril laughed.
"Oh I don't know. Luka gave me this scarlet silk caftan as a six-
month anniversary present. I loved wearing it." John admitted. "It
felt ..."
"Like he was sliding his hands over you." Cyril finished the sentence.
"Yeah." John smiled remembering the first time he wore it. "Oh yeah."
"There's hope for you yet. You'd make a cute drag queen." Cyril
looked at John with one eye closed, picturing how he would dress his
friend.
"I don't look a thing like Judy Garland." John objected.
"Boy, are you out-of-date! No, with your nose, I'm thinking a young
Barbara Streisand. Maybe in that peach-colored hobble suit she wore
in "Funny Girl". With your coloring, you'd look fabulhoff." Cyril was
serious.
John's laughter rang out just as an orderly walked by. "It's getting
cold out here, I'm going in." They extinguished their cigarettes and
went inside.
* * * * *
Luka's first real smile in months, occured two weeks after John's
conversation with Cyril. He'd left work, and unwilling to go to the
too empty apartment, went to evening mass. The familiar liturgy
calmed him considerably. As always, he called out John's name during
the portion of the service when the prayers were offered for those in
need. After the benediction, he asked the priest to hear his
confession.
"Father forgive me, for I have sinned grievously. It's been over
fours years since my last honest confession.", Luka began.
"Please, make your full confession now, my son." The priest replied.
"Father, since coming to the United States, I have entered into two
homosexual relationships. They included physical relations. For the
past eleven months, I have been in a relationship that will probably
be my last earthly union. I love him completely and am not ashamed of
this. I don't believe these relationships are sinful so I never
included them in my confessions. Nevertheless, I took communion; a
grievous sin under any circumstances."
"The previous relationships, were they casual?"
"No father, I was committed to both men, but I was working as a
floating physician. I moved constantly. The relationships ended when
I had to go to another city to earn a living. On my part at least,
there was the sincere intention to build them into something
permanent. I did not enter into them lightly."
"I see, and now?"
"As I said, I love him totally. I cannot foresee ever loving anyone
else and now that he's gone..." Luka's voice broke and he wept.
"My son, come with me to my office. It's more comfortable there and I
will try my best to help you."
The two men left the bi-sected booth and went across the street to
the parsonage. Father Thomas pulled out an overstuffed chair for Luka
then placed two glasses on his desk. He poured a generous amount of
clear liquid into each and sat down next to Luka, handing him one of
the glasses.
Luka smelled the familiar aroma of a liqueur popular in his homeland
and tossed it down like medicine. Father Thomas offered a refill, but
Luka shook his head. "I take sleeping pills, Father. Anymore might be
dangerous." He explained tiredly.
"What happened, Luka? They'd introduced themselves when Luka first
visited the parish in the company of the bishop to ordain the man he
was confessing to. "Did your partner leave you?"
"No. He's been missing for over five months. No one knows where he
is. The police can find no trace. I'm afraid he may be dead. That's
the only thing that would keep him from communicating with me."
Father Thomas's eyes went wide. "Merciful heavens." This was not the
answer he'd been expecting. "So, as far as you know, he's never
stopped loving you as much as you love him?"
Luka nodded, waiting for the kindly, but firm explanation that his
love for John, though honorable in its intent, was an abomination
before God and the Holy Catholic Church.
"Well then, you've been making full confessions all along. There's no
need to fear the commission of a mortal sin." Father Thomas replied
smiling.
"What?" Now it was Luka's turn to be surprised by an unexpected reply.
"Luka, I believe the church is mistaken when it maintains a double
standard for same-gender unions. I also believe that reserving sexual
activity for procreation is a silly waste of one of God's greatest
gifts to His children. I would probably be censured for taking this
stand publicly, but in private, like now, I've told gay and lesbian
parishioners there is nothing inherently wrong or sinful in their
relations with each other as such. Whorish, irresponsible, profligate
behavior *is* sinful no matter who commits it. You have indulged in
none of these things." The young priest thought for a minute. "Tell
me, honestly, would you and this man get married if you could?"
"Yes, Father. We often discussed it. But what church would condone
it?"
"Not this one, that's for certain. Our new bishop toes the party
line. Continue to pray for your partner's safe return..."
"His name is John." Luka interjected quietly. "John Truman Carter."
"...and I too, will pray for John's safe return. And when he does,
for I believe in God's infinite mercy; I will marry you with all the
rites of the Church at any place you choose, except for across the
street, of course." Father Thomas smiled.
Luka shook his head. "You musn't risk your spiritual well-being for
us Father."
"Are you nuts? Most priests I know would have to confess the sin of
envy over my presiding at the marriage of two evangelists. After all,
I'll be uniting Luke and John in Holy Matrimony. You know, I always
wondered about those two."
Grinning, Luka left the parsonage and returned to their apartment
with renewed hope. He fell asleep without using pills and slept 'til
dawn.
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n