All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.
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"THE PASSION OF MATTHEW"
Copyright Ritchris 2005
A story by
Ritch Christopher
with special literary enhancement by
Les Martin
Chapter Twelve
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Matt had called this day just ended, the best day of his young life, hadn't he? Jim reminded himself. 'Well, Matt wasn't alone there!', Jim thought, lying in his bed, daydreaming and reliving his day with Matt. Jim was experiencing feelings that made his spirit soar, almost not daring to think what his life with Matt could be like, a life with someone he could love, someone who would return that love in full measure. Then a sound intruded on his reverie, a scuffling noise from down the hall--from Matt's room? His first thought was that Matt might have fallen trying to get into bed. Then Jim heard the sound of someone screaming or shouting. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The screams were too loud to be coming from Matt! Jim jumped out of his bed and ran toward Matt's room. As he turned into the doorway, he was met by Hank, running out of Matt's room and down toward the bedroom that housed him with Bob and John.
Hank's noisy entrance into the bedroom had awakened John and Bob. He reached for his valise and grabbed the few things in his sight which belonged to him, then ran back down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, jumped into his jeep and sped down the narrow driveway as fast as the jeep would go. When he reached the highway, Hank turned right and headed north at breakneck speed.
During Hank's desperate exit, Jim had run into Matt's room and turned on the wall light-switch. Seeing Matt's lifeless body, he ran toward it while shouting for Mike at the same time. Matt was on his back, suddenly gasping for air. Blood was streaming down his face, his nose and chin. Matt was clutching his chest with his good arm. His eyes rolled backward into his head. Jim immediately placed his mouth over Matt's and began administering CPR as Mike came running in the room with Bob, John, and Art right behind him.
"What's going on?" Mike yelled.
Jim couldn't stop doing mouth-to-mouth long enough to offer Mike an explanation. Mike turned and looked at Art and shouted, "Art, call '911' immediately!" Art ran to the kitchen. grabbed the phone and punched in the emergency numbers. He called for an ambulance and a doctor to get to Mike's house instantly.
Jim had to stop blowing air into Matt's mouth to catch his own breath and all he could say was, "HANK! GO STOP HIM!"
"Did Hank do this to Matt?" Mike asked anxiously.
"I think so, but run after him and stop him anyway!" Jim repeated.
"Hank's already gone, Mike!" Art said. "His jeep is gone and I don't know whether he headed north or south."
"Then call the Georgia Highway Patrol, Art! Give them a description of Hank and of Hank's jeep. There can't be that many jeeps in Philemon!"
Once again, Art ran to the phone to did as Mike asked. Not knowing what else to do, John had run into the bathroom to get some damp washcloths and towels to wipe the blood from Matt's face and body. Bob was standing on the opposite side of Matt's bed from Jim. All Bob could do was watch. Mike pushed Jim out of the way and told Jim that he would continue with the CPR while Jim rested and caught his breath.
Jim looked at Bob and John and asked breathlessly, "Did Hank say anything to either of you when he ran into your room?"
"No," Bob said. "He woke us up when he ran into the room and he grabbed up all his stuff and ran out the front door. Bob and I were both naked; we stopped to put on our shorts before running down here."
"Let me feel his pulse!" Jim shouted, as he ran to Matt's good arm to grab his wrist. Jim watched the digital seconds click on Matt's radio beside his bed. "Forty beats a minute," Jim added. "That's not good. When the fuck is that ambulance gonna get here?"
"It's on the way, Jim," Art replied.
"Do any of you have any idea why Hank would attack Matt like this?" Jim asked, suddenly thinking to find an explanation.
"Hell, no, Jim. I thought Matt and Hank were getting along TOO well. I never saw any trouble between them," John answered.
"Neither did I," Bob replied. "I hope Matt'll forgive me for saying this, but I thought Matt was in love with Hank."
"We don't need to go into that now, Bob," Jim said. "I just can't believe Hank would do this. There HAS to be an explanation, although for the life of me, I can't seem to find one."
It took nearly ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive at Mike's. Jim and Mike had continued switching places to administer CPR to Matt. Dr. Carter had been at the hospital when he heard the call for help from Art. He'd accompanied the EMS team in the ambulance to Mike's. Quickly seeing the situation, he intubated Matt and had a direct oxygen line pumped into Matt's lungs. He telephoned the hospital during the return trip to the hospital to have a ventilator ready to hook up to Matt so that no time would be wasted. Mike and Jim followed the ambulance to the Philemon Hospital. Art, Bob, and John stayed home in case Hank came back or to give any possible assistance to the GHP who had an all points bulletin out to look for Hank's jeep.
Doctors Meade and Carlton, Matt's primary physicians, were in the Philemon Hospital, working late with a patient who had suffered a CVA from a coronary thrombosis. A nurse from the ER alerted Dr. Meade that Matt had been admitted with a life-threatening emergency and he left Dr. Carlton, rushing down to the ER to see about Matt. Matt's vital statistics were way below a normal level. His respiratory system was being artificially supported by the ventilator and, with Dr. Meade's first assessment of Matt's condition, he feared the worst. Matt could not survive the night.
Shortly thereafter, Dr. Carlton arrived in the ER and performed his own assessment on Matt and sadly concurred with his colleague's prognosis. However, refusing to five up hope, Dr. Carlton went straight back to his office on the second floor and made a long distance call to the VA hospital in Atlanta. Dr. Carlton talked with a pulmonary specialist at the VA and described Matt's condition as best he could. The pulmonologist advised Dr. Carlton that the only thing which might save Matt would be a lung transplant, provided a matching donor could be found. If so, the VA would pay for air transport from Philemon to Atlanta, but without a donor, such an effort would be futile.
Dr. Carlton returned to Matt's examining room to see Mike.
"Does Matt have a brother or a sister?" Dr. Carlton asked.
"No, Doctor, Matt has no living relatives except me. He has no siblings and both of Matt's parents are deceased."
"Mr. Sawyer, I presume that, since you and Matt have the same surname, you are a blood relative rather than an uncle by marriage?"
"Yes, Matt's father was my brother."
"I just talked with the pulmonary specialist at the VA in Atlanta and he said it's POSSIBLE that Matt could be saved with a lung transplant, preferably from a donor whose blood type matches Matt's."
"Doctor, how soon could you check to see if I'm a match?"
"It'll take only a few minutes."
"Then let's give it a try."
"You're willing to donate one of your lungs and give it to Matt?"
"Doctor Carlton, I'd give every organ in my body to keep my nephew alive." That phrase seemed to echo in the doctor's head.
"Before we go any further, I should warn you that you might not be a match and there's no guarantee that Matt will live through the operation."
"We can at least give it a try, can't we?"
"OK. Mr. Sawyer, are you currently taking medication for any condition...hypertension, high cholesterol, an STD?"
"No."
"Have you ever been treated for a life-threatening condition such as cancer, TB, or a staph or strep infection?"
"Not that I know of..."
"Then, in that case, I'll have your blood tested if you'll come with me."
Mike followed Dr. Carlton into the next room where a nurse drew two large vials of blood from Mike's arm and rushed it to the lab to be tested.
"Is that it?" Mike asked.
"Well, that's it for now, but we have to wait now for the result."
"They WILL hurry, won't they?"
"As much as it's humanly possible. Tell me, Mr. Sawyer..."
"Please call me 'Mike'!"
"All right, Mike, tell me what happened to Matt. He's suffered bruises and contusions all over his chest and face. Did someone beat him or did Matt get into a fight?"
"I don't exactly know what happened, Doctor. A young man who has been taking care of Matt suddenly rushed out of his room about half an hour ago and ran out the door and disappeared while driving his jeep."
"It appears that Matt was badly beaten. Since Matt's lungs aren't healthy to begin with, it's not possible to see how much damage was done tonight or if it was lesions from his original accident in the war."
Dr. Carlton kept asking questions of Mike about Matt until the phone rang from the lab.
"Yes?" Dr. Carlton said, answering the phone. "Yes...yes...yes...I see. All right, thank you very much!"
"Well?" Mike asked, eagerly.
"It's a match. There are a few papers of consent you'll have to sign, Mike, but in the meantime, I'll call the VA and tell them to get their air transport ready. You'll be flying to Atlanta with Matt. Is there anyone you need to call to tell them?"
"No, anyone that needs to know, my friend, Jim, who's in the room with Matt, will call them for me."
The doctor made his call and a nurse brought all the consent papers for Mike to sign while Mike went back into the examining room to tell Jim what the medical plans were.
"Mike, could I go with you and Matt?" Jim asked.
"I don't know," Mike replied, but then turned to Dr. Carlton. "Doctor, is it all right if my friend accompanies Matt and me to Atlanta? You see, Matt is very fond of Jim and I think having Jim close by would help Matt."
"If Jim is a close friend of Matt's, he might be an added emotional support for Matt. Sure, I don't see any reason why Jim shouldn't go with you."
"Thanks, doctor!" Jim replied. The pressures that tried to overwhelm Jim gave him the feeling that he might implode at any moment.
Jim left Matt and Mike long enough for Jim to call Art to let him know him what was going on. Art left the house immediately to go to the hospital. When Art arrived, he went into the private room where Mike was sitting.
"Hey, buddy..," Art spoke to Mike.
"Hey, Art. I didn't expect to see you. Thanks for coming," Mike replied.
"Jim called me to tell me what you're doing."
"It's the least I can do, Art. Hell, I don't smoke and I only need one lung, but if that's all it takes to give Matt a chance, he deserves it, Art. I told the doctor I'd give every organ in my body to keep him alive and I think you know I meant it."
"After Jim called me, I got to thinking that I wish I was blood kin. I would have given Matt one of my lungs if I thought it was a match. I mean, I'm old, Mike. You're just entering the prime years of middle age."
"You're not old, Art, and besides, even if you are older than I, you need both of your lungs to stay around and look after Matt and me. You and my dad were so close. After he died, I always looked up to you as my adopted dad."
"The doctors think that you're strong enough to go ahead with this transplant operation?"
"They must or they wouldn't have let me sign the consent papers."
"You just got to take it easy after the operation is over. Try not to exert yourself because you'll only be getting half the oxygen your body is accustomed to receiving."
"Yeah, that's right...I'm gonna have to depend upon you more than ever."
"I just pray to God that everything works out all right with Matt. I don't suppose I have to tell you about the situation that's progressed between Matt and Jim."
"No, I'm well aware of it, Art. I've never seen anything wrong with two guys being in love. I've always thought it was stupid that men couldn't live the way they wanted to. Hell, I've known that John and Bob loved each other more than they loved their wives for years...but the two fools let society dictate that they get married to women and have a kid each."
"You seemed to have kept a lot of thoughts to yourself, Mike. I only wish we had had this conversation a long time ago."
"Don't you ever get lonely, Art?"
"I used to, but not any more. When you get to be my age, you stop thinking about the future...only what the end might bring. An old person's body begins to deteriorate piece by piece. When I leave the house to go to work every morning, I don't know if I'll get back to go to bed and live to see another day. You see all these ads on TV about drugs that will keep you alive longer. Yet, in spite of them, a person dies of a heart attack every thirty seconds. When I go to bed at night, I think a lot about dying and about which pain or which condition is gonna take me. Babies die in their cribs from that infant sudden death syndrome. People of all ages die every day in car accidents. Young people die from drug overdoses without getting a chance to live out their lives. Oh, I could be a hypochondriac and convince myself that every stomach pain or every headache was a cancer, a brain tumor, or a potential stroke or A heart attack. There's no certainty to life or to the way we're all gonna die. I'm just so proud of you for being the man you are. Your giving a part of your body to let Matt live is another star in your crown, Mike. I just wish it could be me, instead of you."
"Art, I trust the doctors and I've no reason to doubt that the operation will be a success, but if anything SHOULD go wrong, I know you'll be around to look after Matt."
"You're wasting your breath if you think otherwise, but I'm hoping that Jim will be the one to take care of Matt. Jim honestly loves Matt and I think Matt's in love with him. Who knows? In a couple of years, the two of 'em might adopt a kid or two and you'll be a grand uncle."
"Matt knows that I love him, doesn't he?"
"He's never stopped believing that, Mike. Matt loves you too. For one man to speak the words 'I love you' to another man is pretty difficult. I guess that's why I've never said it out loud to you, but, Mike, I DO love you."
"And I've always loved you, Art."
"I guess I'd better leave and see if they'll let me in to see Matt for a minute."
"I'm sure they will."
"Well, hang tough, Mike, and I'll see you when you get back!"
"We have a pipeline to finish before September."
"It'll get finished! Don't you worry!"
Art took Mike's hand to hold it for a moment and then leaned forward to kiss Mike on the forehead. Then Art left Mike's cubicle and slipped into Matt's cubicle, next to Mike's. Matt's eyes were closed. Jim was holding Matt's hand as Art walked up to Matt's bedside and leaned over to kiss Matt as he had just kissed Mike's forehead. Art didn't say a word. He looked at Jim and gave him a 'thumbs up' before leaving. Art left the hospital, wiping tears from his eyes all the way to his car.
Forty-five minutes later, the air lift to arrive and fifteen minutes after that, Matt, Mike, and Jim were on their way to Atlanta.
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An hour later, Matt was on a gurney headed up to surgery at the VA hospital. In another elevator, Mike was on a gurney as well. Both of them were wheeled into the operating room where Dr. Irving, a staff of surgical nurses, and an anesthesiologist waited. Jim had ridden the elevator up with Mike and now waited just outside the operating room in a waiting room. Due to the time of morning, Jim was alone inside the waiting room. All Jim could do was sit, wait---and pray. He had called Art before they left Philemon to tell them what was happening and what was about to take place. He also asked Art if anyone had found Hank yet and was told that no sign of Hank had been found yet.
The operation was long and arduous since both of Matt's lungs were severely damaged, either from the military accident or from the blows Hank had delivered to Matt in his nearly insane rage. Mike and Matt were put under anesthesia at the same time, but immediately before the anesthesiologist began his work, Mike slipped a note into the surgeon's pocket. Dr. Irving was to do the removal of one of Matt's lungs and replace it with one of Mike's. Another VA surgeon was assigned to remove Mike's lung at the same time that Matt's was removed. Matt's chances were much improved by receiving a living organ as opposed to a lung from a donor who had just deceased. The odds of Matt's body rejecting Mike's lung were lessened by the fact that their familial blood was an exact match.
An hour later, both Matt's and Mike's chests had been opened and Matt's lung had to be removed first before removing Mike's. Matt's vital signs were stable which relieved Dr. Irving. Carefully, he excised Matt's left lung. The doctor was amazed at how leathery both Matt's lungs were. He didn't know how Matt had continued to breathe without the help of a machine for the past two years as Matt's lungs had deteriorated so badly. Once Matt's lung was removed, it was placed in a stainless steel catch pan and Dr. Irving nodded to his opposite to complete the removal of Mike's left lung.
As meticulously as Matt's lung had been removed, the surgeon took the same care and pains in removing Mike's. With precision and skill, Dr. Herbert handed Mike's lung to Dr. Irving and carefully but swiftly Mike's lung was placed into Matt's chest cavity. Everything up to this point was going as planned. It looked as if the transplant would be a success, at least for this part. It would be several days before anyone could decide if Matt's body would reject or accept his new lung.
Dr. Herbert continued the process of closing off Mike's air duct to the now-gone organ so that Mike would breathe normally from one lung. Once the clamp was in place, it would be safe to close up Mike's chest, but at the same moment, Mike's pulse rate and blood pressure began to fluctuate. It began rising higher and higher and suddenly it dropped until one of Dr. Herbert's assisting nurses said, "Doctor, I think the patient is going into cardiac arrest. CODE BLUE!!!"
"He's crashing! Defib paddles!" Dr. Herbert ordered.
With Mike's chest still open, Dr. Herbert used side paddles that went directly on each side of Mike's exposed heart like a long pair of tongs or forceps and the stimulation would be direct.
"CHARGING TWO HUNDRED!" the nurse announced.
"CLEAR!" the doctor yelled as the defibrillator jolted Mike's heart.
The first try didn't work and the doctor asked that the intensity be raised.
"CHARGING TWO-FIFTY!"
"CLEAR!" and a second jolt went through Mike.
Still nothing and so they raised the intensity a third time.
"CHARGING THREE-HUNDRED!"
"CLEAR!" came the third jolt with no good result. "SWITCHING TO HAND MASSAGE!"
Dr. Herbert inserted his hand, gripping Mike's heart inside it as he massaged and manually pumped it to start Mike's heart beating again. A few minutes later, the doctor realized his attempt to revive Mike was useless. Mike was dead.
"OH, MY GOD!" Dr. Herbert exclaimed. HE wasn't suppose to die. HE was a healthy donor!
Dr. Irving has paused for a few seconds to watch as everyone tried to revive Mike and then, he spoke up. "Dr. Herbert, I think since your patient was my patient's only living relative. I might be overstepping my bounds as a surgeon, but it's my belief that the uncle would want his nephew to have his other lung!"
Dr. Herbert took a split second to think and replied, "I'm sure you're right, Dr. Irving. I'll remove this man's other lung as soon as you're ready to receive it."
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Jim had sat waiting and worrying for over six hours while the surgery was being performed, knowing nothing, fearing the worst. He had no way of knowing that Mike had died and that Matt had received both of Mike's lungs. Jim was tired and scared, he was frustrated and angry with Hank and his nerves were tied up into knots. While he waited, Jim tried to imagine any and every conceivable reason Hank might have had to beat up Matt and try to kill him. Jim had no answer. Probably only Hank and Matt knew the reason. Hank was gone, God knows where, and Matt could be dying in surgery.
Jim needed a cup of coffee so badly, but he was afraid to leave the waiting room. About a dozen times, Jim found himself wishing that he had offered his blood to see if he could be a donor to Matt. Jim would gladly have given a lung, a kidney, a large portion of his liver, or any other organ of his if it would keep Matt alive. Matt just HAD to pull through because there was no doubt in Jim's mind that he loved Matt and that Matt loved him. Jim wanted to spend the rest of his life together with Matt. Surely Mike would like to be given a break from being Matt's caretaker. Mike was still young, he still had a full life ahead of him. Mike would probably give his consent for Matt to go live with Jim, wouldn't he?
Six hours of waiting...waiting...waiting..."Oh dear God, please............"
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Hank had no idea why he was headed north in his flight from what he's done except that going south would take him through Atlanta and then onward to Florida. By going in the opposite direction from Atlanta, he had options of going into the remaining forty-six interconnected states. The first largest city on his route to his eventual but unknown destination was Chattanooga, Tennessee. This gave Hank two choices, he could travel on Interstate-75 or go west until he reached highway US 27, going through Rome, Georgia, a road which was less traveled and therefore less likely to be covered by the GHP who, he was certain, were looking for him.
Oh, yes, Hank had no doubt that he was being searched for by the police. Psychology teaches that when a crime has been committed, the emotions of the human psyche alternate between anger and fear, going back and forth. After Hank's uncontrollable rage in Matt's room and the horrible consequences, he fled the house. By the time he had reached the highway in his jeep, the rage had quickly transformed itself into fear. For now, Hank was sure he had killed Matt, perhaps not instantly, but Matt would surely die from the injuries Hank had inflicted on Matt's body.
Hank's hatred toward Matt was redirected into hatred for himself. Most of all he hated his dad. If Hank had to kill anyone, it should have been Martin Lazarus. Hank's feeling for his father had fluctuated from fear to hurt to hatred and finally to indifference mixed with a combination of the other three emotions since the death of Hank's mother. If one of his parents had to die, why had it not been his father instead of his mother? Even though Hank's mother might not have approved of his being gay, his mother would never have disowned him as Martin had.
Hank was certain that the police would arrest him for murdering Matt, so why not go back home and kill his father too. If the courts found Hank guilty and gave him a death sentence, he could only die once. No one could put him to death again for a second murder.
He knew that he'd done the right thing by breaking up with Lance, but he was still puzzled as to why Matt would 'out' him to his dad...after all, didn't Matt love him? Jealousy can cause people to do things which they would regret, either later or almost instantly. But what did Matt have to gain by calling Martin? Hank knew that Matt had access to Martin's telephone number because the number was inside Mike's address book beside the telephone in the kitchen.
Hank realized that he must carefully obey all the Georgia highway laws. It was a known fact that many small towns in Georgia had speed traps set to make it easy for some outsider to commit some traffic violation. Hank remembered one of the guys at Mike's site saying that he had been given a ticket in a small Georgia town for going 30 mph in a 15 mph school zone at three o'clock in the morning when the school was closed and all the students at home sound asleep in their beds. The guy said he had been fined one-hundred-fifty dollars and he had discovered it was pointless to try to fight his case in court. The lawyer would have charged him nearly three-hundred dollars and even famous attorneys such as Johnny Cochran or Alan Dershowitz didn't stand a chance against a small town Georgian judge. So Hank decided to drive with special care, not breaking any laws, not speeding, stopping, or committing any violation which could provide a reason for the GHP to pull his jeep over to the side of the road.
Hank was glad that it was early on a Sunday morning since he still had his dad's credit card and surely Martin couldn't reach Capitol One to cancel the card at that late hour. Hank was counting on being able to buy gasoline and charging it to his dad's Visa card. Hank's reckoning had been accurate on which highway to take. The Georgia Highway Patrol were looking one hundred miles north and south of Philemon on Interstate 75 while only a few GHP cars were watching for him to travel on GH-27. Hank saw a road sign advertising, Chattanooga--45 miles as he traveled through a tiny town, so tiny that it only had one traffic light and less than twenty stores...maybe ten on either side of the highway. The traffic signal wasn't working at 1:30 in the morning. Neither side of it was lit red OR green, but Hank stopped his jeep just the same and looked both ways before traveling across the town's one and only intersection There were no cars coming in ANY direction and so Matt proceeded to continue on his northern journey. Just as he was passing the last building, he saw the lights flashing from a sheriff's car behind him. There were two officers inside the car and the one on the passenger side had his flashlight outside the window, waving at Hank's jeep, signaling for Hank to pull over to the curb on the right.
Hank was positive he had broken no laws or committed no traffic violations. The first thought which crossed his mind was that he was being stopped because the police in Philemon had an APB broadcast to look for a jeep traveling on a Georgia highway. But this town was so small, Hank figured there was only one police car in the entire city and he doubted very seriously if that one car had received a bulletin to search for and stop him. Hank also surmised that a town this small had closer city limits on either side and so perhaps, the car pursuing him would be out of the its jurisdiction in less than a mile from the main drag. And so, instead of stopping and pulling his jeep over to the side, Hank thought he'd outrace the sheriff's car because it could be only a short distance until it had to stop to let the next town's police continue the chase.
In his rear view mirror, Matt saw that the policeman who had been waving the flashlight now had his head and upper torso leaning out the passenger's window and Hank could hear him yelling "STOP" or "HALT". Hank was sure he could outrun the pursuit and slammed his foot on the accelerator. His jeep, however, did not have the power to go faster than the car chasing him and the police car quickly narrowed the gap between them. Hank continued to plunge straight ahead until he heard the first gun shot fired at the back of his jeep. His attempt to escape now seemed futile and so Hank pulled over to the side of the road after he had decreased his speed.
When the jeep came to a complete stop, the police car came to a halt about three feet behind Hank. The sheriff who was driving the police car had a battery operated megaphone in his hand and used it to order Hank to step out of the jeep with his hands in the air. Having heard a shot fired at him, Hank realized he was caught and there was no escape. Perhaps they weren't looking for him for murdering Matt and so Hank raised his hands straight up and stepped outside of the jeep. The sheriff and the policeman got out of their car, both having guns aimed at Hank.
"Don't MOVE!" the sheriff commanded.
Hank stood still, facing them, almost afraid to breathe.
As the two police offers walked toward Hank, Hank's cell phone which he had put in his pants pocket started ringing. On the second ring, without thinking, Hank lowered his hand to his pocket to answer his cell phone.
At that moment, the deputy yelled, "Look out, Sheriff, he has a gun!"
Both officers fired at Hank. The first hit Hank in the shoulder while the second blasted a hole in Hank's abdomen. Hank began slumping to the ground while still trying to retrieve his cell phone. Seeing Hank attempting again to get into his pocket, the two policemen fired one more shot each. One impacted Hank in the left side of his chest and the other went directly into Hank's liver and Hank fell flat on his back on the concrete highway. The officer, meanwhile, looked at the scribbled piece of paper carefully folded in his left shirt pocket to check the license number and the color and make of the jeep. It was a perfect match! The two small town officers were heroes! They'd captured the suspect wanted by the GHP.
Hank, by now had managed to pull the phone from his pocket and the sheriff hollered "NOW, DROP YOUR WEAPON!"
Matt dropped the cell phone from his hand while it continued to ring.
"Sheriff! He didn't have a gun! It was one of those goddamned wireless phones!"
"Well, how the fuck was I to know?" the sheriff yelled at his fellow officer.
Hank was lying on his back looking at the night sky. It was a clear summer night and every star in the heaven was looking down at the wounded young Hank.
"Do you think we should answer it?" the officer asked.
"Yeah, maybe whoever it is will give us some idea who this feller is."
The officer picked up the phone as his and Hank's eyes met. At least Hank got a look at his executioner.
"How do you answer this fucking thing?" the officer shouted at the sheriff.
"Just keep pushing them buttons until it stops ringing, I guess!"
Finally the officer clicked the 'talk' button and the ringing stopped.
"Hello?"
"Hank?" the voice asked.
"Who are you calling?"
"I'm calling Hank Lazarus. Is this his cell phone?"
"I don't know..."
"Well, IS HE THERE?"
"I suppose so."
"Then let me talk to him!"
The officer looked at the sheriff. "It's some guy who wants to speak with...with this...you know..."
"Well, hold the damned phone down to his ear. It looks as if this is going to be the last call he'll ever receive. Might as well let him die listening to a friendly voice!"
The officer knelt down beside Hank's wounded body and placed the phone next to Hank's face. Hank was barely strong enough to say, 'Hello'.
"Hank?"
"Yes?" Hank uttered, breathlessly.
"What's wrong, you sound like you're outside, far away from a satellite! This is Lance, Hank!"
"Hi, Lance!"
"I'm sorry you left the motel without leaving a note, but I can understand why you did it. I know it's late to call you, but I have to warn you. Lois knows all about us. I think she or some guy she knows, a guy named Marcel, has called your dad to tell him everything. So if your dad calls, don't answer him. Tell your friends at the house to tell your dad that you're not there if he should call you. Do you understand?"
"Yeah..." Hank said, as he began to get weaker. Hank took one last look at the stars, he tried his best to smile before he dropped his head to one side and Hank died.
The officer saw that Hank was gone and raised the phone back to his own ear.
"Hank?" Lance cried out.
"No, sir, this isn't Hank. Can I ask who you are?"
"Not until I know who YOU are!" Lance replied. "Please put Hank back on the phone."
"Sir, I'm afraid that's impossible."
"Who the fuck are you and why do you say that it's impossible for me to speak with Hank?"
"Sir, I'm Officer Campbell of the Georgia police, now who are you?"
"I'm...I'm Lance Langley! Officer, has something happened to Hank?"
"Yes sir. It seems that 'Hank', as you call him, was involved in a serious traffic accident. The sheriff and I found him on the side of the highway...and I'm sorry to tell you that Hank has just passed away."
"OH MY GOD! NO! NO! NO! HOW DID IT HAPPEN, OFFICER?"
"I'm sorry I can't reveal any details since the sheriff has the accident scene under strict investigation. Are you a member of Hank's family?"
"No, I am...or was his...his best friend."
"Does he have any kin?"
"His father lives here in my town."
"Maybe you can notify his father of Hank's accident and have him give the sheriff a call at area code 706, then dial SHERIFF."
"I'll DO that!" Lance said, disconnecting the cell connection.
The sheriff walked closer to Hank's body and he nudged Hank's leg by his shoe to see if Hank was dead.
"Well, the GHP alert didn't say whether they wanted him dead or alive, but we caught him just the same," the sheriff said. "Burt, you and me just might get a bonus for capturing this felon. I just wonder what the hell he was wanted for."
"Sheriff, I was just wondering where he was headed and where or what he was running from!"
"Well, it don't seem to matter because he sure as fuck ain't gonna git there now!"
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A week later, Matt was still in the VA hospital recuperating from the double lung transplant. The work at the site had been suspended for Mike's funeral or until a new foreman was named to replace Mike before they proceeded with the project.
Except for taking time to attend Mike's service, Jim had remained at Matt's bedside day and night. On the fifth day, Matt had recovered enough for Jim to tell him about Mike's death and Matt felt more guilty than ever before. Mike had died while saving his life. Art, Bob, and John had left to return to their homes until work on the pipeline was to commence once again. They all had learned of Hank's tragedy on the following day after Hank was shot and killed. Jim kept this tragic news from Matt.
On the eighth morning after Matt's operation, Doctors Meade and Carlton came into Matt's room to talk with Matt and Jim.
"Well, Matt, how are you feeling?"
"I can breathe much better, but...well, I'm still depressed about what my uncle did for me."
Dr. Carlton replied, "Then what Dr. Meade and I have to say to you will cheer you up a bit."
"What is it?" Jim asked, eagerly.
"Your uncle slipped a note into my pocket before the surgery. It looks like he knew what would happen and he asked that anything else that COULD be done, be done to help you. I guess he was right, because it looks as if your body has accepted your new lungs without any complications. It will be months before you're strong enough to assume your daily activities, but the important thing is, you're alive and you're gonna get better and stronger each day from now on."
"That's wonderful!" Jim exclaimed. "Don't you think so, Matt?"
"I could if only my getting better didn't come at the cost of Mike losing his life...just for me."
"Matt, that's what your uncle wanted or he would have never consented to give you his lungs. He understood that there was a risk---a BIG one---before we decided to operate," Dr. Meade explained.
"Matt," Dr. Carlton interrupted, "there's someone else I want you to meet."
Matt hadn't noticed that a third physician had entered his room behind Doctors Meade and Carlton. "His name is Dr. Sommers. We'll leave now and let him talk with you."
The two surgeons left Matt's room while Dr. Sommers came closer to Matt's bedside. Jim was still standing on the opposite side, holding Matt's good hand.
"You're Mr. Cummings, aren't you?" the doctor asked Jim.
"Yes, I am."
"Then you're the one who brought in the picture and gave it to my assistant?"
"Yeah, I suppose so."
From behind his back, the doctor pulled an 8 x 10 black and white photograph of Matt's high school graduation picture.
"Take a look at this, Matt, and tell me what you see!" the doctor said.
Matt took a quick glance at the photo and quickly turned his head away to face the wall.
"Who is this, Matt?" the doctor asked again.
"It's me, goddammit! The way I USED to look!"
"Matt, I'm asking you PLEASE to turn your head and look at the photo more closely!"
"Why, for God's sake?"
"I need to ask you a few questions about what you see..."
"It's too painful for me to look!"
"LOOK ANYWAY, MATT. I'm a doctor and I'm the one who gives orders, just like you took them in the Marines."
Slowly Matt turned his head to once again stare at his photo.
"OK, I'm looking! Now what?"
"I want you to examine each part of your face...your forehead, your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth, your jawline, and your chin."
Hank looked at each part of his face in the photo and carefully examined each of his features as the doctor had ordered.
"All right, I took a look. So what?"
"I've been told, Matt, that you are a movie fanatic and I heard about the movie stars you liked best."
"So?"
"So what do you see in your photo that keeps you from looking like Brad Pitt or Colin Farrell, or what's-his-name...Josh Duhamel?"
"First of all, Brad Pitt has perfect lips, mine are thinner. Josh has this terrific straight nose. Colin Farrell has a nearly perfect forehead and eyebrows..."
"And which of those three has the best chin?"
"None of those. I think Matt Damon has the nicest chin."
"And how about...who has the best-looking cheekbones?"
"Ah, that's easy, Dean Cain, by far!"
"That would make quite a handsome composite if I could take those features and put them together into one face."
"But why are you asking this?"
"Because, Matt, I'm a plastic surgeon and your being a veteran allows you to receive free plastic surgery. You know we can even give female soldiers breast implants so why can't I rebuild your face to make it look the way you want to look!"
"But that's impossible, Doctor. I was told by the doctors in Germany that with my bad lungs, I couldn't live through plastic surgery..."
"But you have PERFECT lungs now, Matt, and I see no reason at all why we can't rebuild your face, given two or three months for you to recover from your pulmonary operation."
"You mean I can look normal again?"
"Better than normal. If I build a new face copying the features of Brad Pitt, Colin Farrell, Matt Damon, Dean Cain, and...the other star you named?"
"Josh Duhamel."
"Yes, Josh Duhamel, I wouldn't be surprised if you got some calls from Hollywood to become the next movie star yourself."
"Ha! That'll be the day! What about the rest of my body...my arms? my legs."
"We can graft new skin to cover those areas, provide you with a more efficient prosthesis and even attach a real looking arm to your amputated one."
Matt looked at Jim, who was doing the best he could to hold back his tears.
"Jim, do you believe this load of bullshit?"
"What have you got to lose, Matt?" Jim answered. "If Doctor Sommers can do half of what he says he can, it would still be wonderful for you."
"Yeah, but everybody in Philemon would still look at me like an overhauled freak."
"Maybe, but not in Boston..." Jim replied.
"Why Boston?"
"Because that's going to be your new home...in Boston...living with me. If you decide to go to college or get a job, I'll help you in whatever way I can."
"You want--you want ME to live with you in Boston?"
"Yes. You see, in Boston, when two guys love one another, they're allowed to get married legally---to each other."
"You want US to get married?"
"Only if you're agreeable."
"That's sounds like an excellent offer, Matt," Dr. Sommers said to Matt. "One that most guys couldn't refuse in their right minds."
"God damn! I don't know what to say?"
"How about, 'yes'?" Jim said softly.
"I would if I were in your place, Matt," the doctor added.
"In that case...HELL, YES! I'll marry you."
"We'll have a June wedding in Boston, just like the uppercrust does."
"I think I'll leave you two alone to let you have some privacy," Dr. Sommers said, going out the door.
"Dear God, Jim! Can this be real? Can this really be happening to me?"
"Yes and good things are going to continue to happen to us for years and years to come."
"Would you kiss me?"
"I told you once, you never have to ask me that."
"I know, but I can't REACH you!"
"I'm sorry." Jim came closer to Matt's bedside and the two kissed, long and passionately.
"I love you, Jim."
"And I love you too, my little soldier!"
They kissed again.
The world would go on turning, the living would continue their lives. Bob, Art, and the others would always remember Matt...and Mike. They'd go on as before, making some mistakes, finding an occasional happiness that they could tuck in their mental back pockets to relive during the bad times. But outside the hospital window, the sun broke through the clouds. A new day was starting there too.
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fin.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I seldom end my stories with a note of explanation, but due to the controversy this story has caused, I feel obligated to write one.
The version of "The Passion of Matthew" is not the one I wrote originally for Nifty. After the first chapter was posted, I received email from guys who knew more about Matthew's passion than I. They had been to Iraq. They had fought the fight and some returned in conditions similar to Matt's. I was surprised to learn that they had read my first chapter and was even more surprised to see that they were reading gay fiction. Perhaps, 'surprised' is the incorrect word to use, but you get my meaning, I hope. It did take courage for them to imply that they are gay, or even gay-friendly, especially in today's military service.
After receiving their letters, I deleted the original story and began writing "Passion of Matthew" anew...WITH a lot of input from the GI's. I was asked to go into the psychological aspect of their return...how they felt about the war before going overseas, how they felt during the war, and what they faced when they returned home. NONE asked for pity, but rather for understanding and tolerance while they tried to readjust to home life.
My regular Nifty readers are a very caring, intellectual group and many of you recognized that "Passion" was not my similar style of writing. Some even saw through the story and wrote to me saying, that there must be more truth in this tale than I was revealing. They were dead-on accurate, as usual. There is a LOT of truth in "Passion",
At the conclusion of chapter eleven when Hank beats Matt savagely with his fists, I received tons of letters complaining why I should be so cruel? Let me take a moment to explain that, too.
Hank represented the other victims of the war...the ones who didn't go, but watched their brothers, sons, lovers, and husbands go instead. When these loved ones returned home after the conflict, these were not the same brothers, sons, lovers, and husbands who had left. These loved ones were not the same. They had changed physically, emotionally, and mentally. Stress victimized the families. The families were not trained to be nurses, therapists, or counselors as seemed to be required upon the reunions. Hank's patience wore thin as did that of wives, mothers, and lovers. Divorce papers have been filed. Wedges of distance and despair were driven hopelessly between the families and their beloved warriors. Many family members reached a breaking point, as did Hank. So I learned that not all war casualties are suffered by the ones who went to war, but also by the ones who waited for their soldiers to return...back to normal, whatever that means.
The story ends with two deaths...Hank's and Mike's. Both loved Hank in different ways, but stories of war usually don't end happily. I chose the happy ending for Matt and Jim to let my GI readers know that there is hope and that happiness of some kind CAN be found. I'm sorry if this story upset you, my readers, but it upset me as well, as I wrote it.
I am deeply indebted for those who wrote and fed me their unbiased input. I hope I did justice to your descriptions.
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(If you're pro-war, read no further, even IF you've read the entire story. Below is a list of facts which might anger, alarm, and/or educate.)
As this story comes to a close, the war in Iraq is still raging with no sign of victory or peace. At the end of 2005, it was reported that 2,390 U.S. servicemen have lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan. Sixteen thousand have been critically wounded. Thirty-seven thousand have mental disorders, including 16,000 who have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorders; 46.000 veterans of the war are receiving V.A. benefits due to musculoskeletal problems. An October 2005 V.A. report shows that 119,247 servicemen who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan are now off-duty and receiving health care from the V.A. It is unknown how many Iraqi civilians have been killed. The British Medical Journal "Lancet" estimates the Iraqi body count is over 100,000...one-hundred thousand who were promised democracy and freedom from Saddam Hussein. The projected US cost of the war is now estimated at $2 Trillion dollars.
No two people can agree as to why the US invaded Iraq and perhaps the real answer is only known by a privileged few who sit around the cabinet room in the White House.
Matt, and countless others like him, didn't know why he'd been sent to war. After he returned. he, and the rest of the world, sit back and voice an unanswered, "WHY?". It appears that the perpetual inmates have taken over the proverbial asylum.
R.C. 03-12-06
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