Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; all the resemblances are just eerie coincidences. Everything in the story is owned by myself beloved, everything is copyrighted. Contains descriptive sexual scenes between males - don't read it if you shouldn't.
Note: This is a 3rd installment in the semi-series. The first story is Specter's Gamble </nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/specters-gamble/> and the second one is The Year of the Salamander </nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/year-of-the-salamander/>
I would recommend reading those first (at least Specter's Gamble) otherwise, some scenes and characters are not going to make much sense, since you wouldn't be familiar with the background and I didn't describe much of the previous events in this story. Other than that, enjoy! Feel free to e-mail me.
- XVIII -
It was first Sunday of April, and Desmond Rae – a thirty-three-year-old military school instructor – was enjoying his walk in light, lazy breeze, thinking that he still has one week of vacation ahead of him. Usually, the April break would only last one week; this year, however, the break had one delicious extra week prolonging it. Desmond wasn't quite sure why (had something to do with the school board), and he didn't really care. He has one more week of lazy bliss ahead, and that is good enough for him. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and was about to fish one out, when he heard grunting, swearing, and rather heavy breathing that came from somewhere on his right. He frowned, shoved cigarettes back into his pocket, and walked into the alley on his right.
"Goddammit, Ben...!" a tall muscular guy panted. "How much of that shit did you give him...? He is fucking white!"
"Apparently, not enough..." second man answered in the same panting manner. "I couldn't give him any more `dirty water,' but I had to knock him out with something..."
"Does he look knocked out to you...? Ow, shit!"
Desmond blinked somewhat rapidly. Those two guys were trying to shove someone into the back of the van; and that someone was resisting quite violently. Desmond found it rather amusing, since the person was a lot smaller than both men who were trying to overpower him. He was resisting with desperation of someone who has nothing left to lose.
"Hold on..." the one called Ben puffed and shoved his hand into his pocket. "Let me give him some more...!"
"No!" the other man said immediately. "With all the shit he has inside him now, that will be too much... Even whatever you gave him earlier, might be too much... Do you want him to croak on the way there...?"
"Ahh, goddammit...!" Ben growled when the smaller man managed to land an impressive kick onto his kneecap. "Son of a..."
"This looks like a hell of a party," Desmond said seriously, and both men whirled towards him at the same time. "He doesn't look like a willing participant though," he nodded at the smaller man.
"Help..." the man wheezed, and tried to shake off the hand on his wrist.
"Get out," the one called Ben growled. "Unless you wanna die... Shit! How in the bloody hell can you even stand upright, let alone do all this...?" Those last words were aimed at the resisting guy, who kept thrashing violently.
"Seriously though," Desmond nodded. "Let him go."
"Goddammit..." Ben growled again and glanced at his companion. "Shut him up, will you? I got him..." he grabbed smaller man's waist. "I think..." he added in a strained groan.
Taller man turned towards Desmond.
"You get one single warning," he said. "Get lost!"
"And I was hoping to do this the easy way..." Desmond muttered with mild regret.
The taller man swore through his clenched teeth and stepped towards him. Desmond sighed and moved aside quicker than the man expected, and then he dropped into a menacing crouch and his left leg shot forward, knocking the taller man off his feet. Desmond raised his hand, clearly aiming for man's neck, and then lowered it, after realizing that the man hit his head on one of the old bricks on the ground and was knocked out cold.
"Dammit!" Ben screamed with great frustration. "God-fucking-dammit...!"
He tried to hold onto the thrashing guy with one arm and reach for his pocket with another when Desmond sighed again and slammed two of his fingers into the side of Ben's throat. Ben froze in the spot for a second or two, and then collapsed onto the ground, hitting his head on the open door of the van as he fell. Desmond looked at the smaller man and blinked when he saw his eyes. One eye was light blue, and the other was deep brown. Both of those eyes were beyond hazy.
"Holy hell," Desmond muttered. "What did they give you...? And how much, for that matter?"
"Nngh..." the man said, and then his bizarre-colored eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the ground, landing next to Ben.
Desmond sighed yet again and lowered himself on one knee, swiftly searching Ben's pockets. He knew that this strange-eyed man had `dirty water' in him (very nasty shit if you ask Desmond), since that was what Ben said earlier, but he wanted to find out what else did these men pump into the unfortunate dark-haired guy who was unconscious right now. He pulled two syringes out of Ben's pocket, blinking at that.
"Two...?" he muttered, and squeezed a drop out of each syringe onto the tip of his finger. He tasted both drops, grimaced, and spat it out. "You have a hell of a cocktail in you, buddy," he muttered, glancing at the dark-haired man. "Add some `dirty water' to that, and there is a very good chance that you might indeed croak..."
He stood up and picked up the smaller man from the ground easily, throwing him across his shoulder. The guy weighed maybe 130 pounds if that. Desmond started walking, thinking melancholically that he should use the back streets while he is making his way to his house. He didn't want anyone to gawk at him while he was carrying an unconscious guy on his shoulder.
...He rang the doorbell, since he didn't want to reach into his pocket for his house key.
"Open up, Rayhe..." he muttered impatiently a minute later and rang the doorbell again, this time longer. "Goddammit, Rayhe..." he hissed and was about to ring the doorbell yet again when the door finally opened.
"Did you leave your keys at home or something...?" a tall, brown-haired man started saying, and then he stopped talking once he saw Desmond.
"No," Desmond said and walked into the house. "Didn't feel like reaching for them..."
"What the hell?" the tall man asked incredulously and shut the door.
"Oh," Desmond muttered and dropped the unconscious man onto the couch. "Saw two dumbshits trying to shove him into the van... He didn't look like he wanted that though..." He glanced at the taller man. "Decided to help the guy out," he shrugged.
"Why is he unconscious?" the other man blinked.
"They pumped shitload of drugs into him," Desmond sighed and straightened up. "I guess they were trying to make him more mellow and agreeable... It didn't work though," he nodded thoughtfully. "You should've seen him... I have no idea how he was able to do that with all that crap in him, but..." he shrugged again. "Apparently, he has a hell of a strong system," he finished and went towards the bathroom. "Gabriel, take his shirt off, will you?" he called before walking into the bathroom.
He came back a couple of minutes later with a syringe and two capsules of transparent liquid.
"What's that?" Gabriel asked, checking every pocket the unconscious guy had.
"Cleanser," Desmond said and broke the top of one of the capsules. "Flushes various shit out... Good stuff," he nodded after he filled up the syringe. "I don't think you are going to find any I.D. on him," he noted, watching Gabriel methodically go through every single pocket. "Move, will you?"
Gabriel stepped aside, giving Desmond more room.
"You gonna give him two?" he frowned slightly after seeing Desmond empty the syringe into the slender arm and break the top of the second capsule.
"Yeah," Desmond muttered. "With all the stuff that's floating through him right now, he might need the third dosage..."
He emptied the syringe into man's unresponsive arm once more and straightened up, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"The cleanser should help, right?" Gabriel asked with the same thoughtful expression on his face.
"Yeah," Desmond said slowly. "Either it will help or..." He looked at Gabriel and shrugged. "...he'll die from an overdose," he finished. "Apparently, he has `dirty water' in him as well..."
"Holy hell..." Gabriel grimaced. "That stuff is nasty and beyond addictive..."
"Yeah," Desmond said again and put the syringe onto the small coffee table in front of the couch. "I'm gonna get him into Sam's old room..." He picked up the unconscious man, whose arm slid out of Desmond's grasp and limply hung on the side. "Get the door, will you?"
Gabriel nodded and walked towards one of the bedrooms. He opened the door and walked inside, heading towards the bed. He pulled away the covers, and Desmond carefully laid the man onto the mattress, checking the pulse on his neck briefly. He grimaced when it was racing.
"Maybe we should get him to a doctor," Gabriel said doubtfully, and Desmond shook his head.
"No," he replied. "The doctor won't do shit for him... Believe me," he glanced at the taller man. "Right now, I am better than any doctor... That and we don't even know who the hell he is... Maybe he wanted to stay out of everyone's sight..."
"Leave it to you to bring home an unconscious criminal..." Gabriel muttered.
"I didn't say he was a criminal," Desmond rolled his eyes.
"He probably is," Gabriel nodded. "Knowing your luck..."
"Shut up, Rayhe," Desmond grimaced. "I'll check on him in a couple of hours."
...It was three hours later, and Desmond held a slender wrist in his fingers, frowning thoughtfully while counting the pulse.
"How long is he going to be unconscious?" Gabriel propped his arms on his sides. "Telling you, he needs a doctor..."
"He doesn't need a doctor," Desmond muttered and lowered man's arm onto the bed.
"Since when are you a medical expert?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes.
"It's not a medical condition, Rayhe," Desmond rolled his eyes and touched dark-haired guy's forehead. "It's just a bloody drug overdose... And when it comes to stuff like that, I am better than any doctor, okay?"
"Well, Doctor Rae," Gabriel said somewhat poisonously. "It's been three hours since you injected him with your wonder-drug, and the patient is still unconscious. Wouldn't you agree to a consult...?"
"He is not unconscious," Desmond sighed and took his palm off guy's forehead.
Gabriel blinked at that.
"He is breathing, Des..." he said slowly. "He is not dead..."
"Good God, Rayhe," Desmond rolled his eyes again. "Morbidly fascinated much? Just because he is not unconscious doesn't mean that he is dead! He is asleep, genius!"
"How can you tell?" Gabriel blinked again.
"Because his pulse is fine," Desmond said patiently. "And he is not burning up anymore... He'll be fine," he nodded. "When he wakes up though, he's gonna throw up like no other..."
"Why?" Gabriel frowned.
"All that cocktail in his system," Desmond explained. "He is not unconsciously retching right now only because of my wonder-drug... Once it wears off..."
"Great..." Gabriel muttered. "Well, since you have next week off, you can go ahead and babysit him then."
Desmond just sighed at that.
When Raven finally came about, he felt like his entire body was about to twist inside out. He never felt so nauseous before. He moaned and tried getting up, but he shook so badly that he just ended up hitting his head on the bed post when he fell back onto the bed. He helplessly glanced around, feeling the nausea escalate with very dangerous speed, and to his relief, there was a bright-orange bucket next to the bed. He grabbed that bucket without even trying to look inside and make sure it was empty, folded in half, and threw up so violently that everything around him turned black for a minute or two. He put the bucket back onto the floor very carefully, shaking from sudden chills, and hating the scent and taste of bile in his mouth.
Suddenly, the door opened, and some guy walked into the room. Raven had no idea who he was. He was rather tall, quite skinny, had long black hair that he wore in a ponytail, and his eyes were almost ridiculously green. Raven didn't think it was possible for someone to have such eye color – it was almost emerald. Of course, Raven was not the one to talk about unusual eye color.
"Awake, huh," the guy nodded with slight satisfaction. He glanced at the bucket and sighed. "Be right back," he nodded again, this time with less satisfaction but with more defeat. He grabbed the bucket and walked out of the room. A minute later, Raven could hear the toilet flush.
Several minutes after that, the same guy came back, and there was a thin white towel across his shoulder and a bottle of water in his bucket-free hand. He put the bucket on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, opening the water bottle. He wet the towel and wiped Raven's face with it. Then he looked like he was considering something. Finally, he sighed once again and brought the bottle to Raven's lips.
"If I give it to you, you gonna spill it all over the bed," he explained when he saw thief's expression. "You are shaking like no other..."
Yeah, he did. Raven took a quick breath and latched onto the bottle. He took several desperate gulps, and then the guy pulled the bottle away.
"You will end up throwing up again if you drink too much," he said after Raven let out a protesting moan.
Raven dropped his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes. "Where the hell am I...?" he thought hazily. "And who is this guy...?"
He felt a touch on the side of his neck and slowly opened his eyes. Black-haired man held his fingertips against Raven's pulse, and his forehead was frowning in mild concentration. Finally, he nodded and lowered his hand.
"You'll be fine," he said and stood up. "Well," he shrugged. "After a while... You gonna vomit for... Ohh..." he sighed. "A couple of days probably... Yeah," he nodded at Raven's expression. "That and there is a hell of a chance you'd be addicted to `dirty water'..." he muttered, and Raven shook his head weakly.
"I don't..." he whispered, marveling at how difficult it was to push the words out of his throat. "...don't get addicted..."
"Huh," the man said, clearly impressed. "Good for you! What's your name?"
"Ra... Raven..."
"I am Desmond," the man nodded. "Well, try to rest," he said and sat the bottle of water next to the bucket. "Don't drink too much," he warned again, and Raven nodded. "Puke in the bucket if you can help it, okay?"
Raven tried to smile at that, but it didn't work; he just nodded again instead.
"I'm gonna leave the door open," Desmond said. "If you need me..." He thought for a second, and then opened one of the drawers on the bedside table. He pulled out a small rubber ball and put it on the blanket. "Throw this into the wall."
Raven managed another nod.
"Th... thanks..." he whispered, and Desmond just waved his hand.
"Rest," was all he said before leaving the room.
Raven closed his eyes, listening to guy's voice from behind the door a few minutes later. It sounded like he was talking on the phone.
"Hey, kid," he was saying. "Do you have any chicken soup...? No, the canned type... Of course, you do... Can you do me a favor and bring a couple of cans over? Err, I'll explain when you get here... Uh huh... Okay, see you in half an hour."
Raven thought of reaching for the water bottle, but realized that he would probably end up dropping it, the chills so bad by now that his teeth were clanking. He pulled the blanket over himself, and ten minutes later, he was asleep.
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