Two Kings (History Plays, Book 4)

4: be swift like lightning in the execution

Richard - eight years earlier

I remain stable on my medication, but that and my sexuality cause unrest among my men. I'm queer, and I'm mad, and I'm not to be trusted. Of course properly medicated I'm reasonably lucid. For Robert's own safety I quit seeing him, and he's killed during a routine traffic stop, not six months later. When Harry can't persuade me not to go to the funeral, he goes with me. Everyone is disappointed in me in my grief, but I do not care. The loss of my first love, as well as general resentment that I ever had to leave him, does little for my mental health. Harry is out of the country more than not. He's a dangerously powerful enforcer and I can't bring myself to kennel him just for my own gratification.
Things come to a head one fall day, when I'm shot during what should have been a peaceful stand off. I'm fine, however I lose nearly a pint of blood before my men get me to aid, and that does nothing for my already deteriorating mental state. Reason being, blood loss will make anyone feel horrible, but in the hours I'm being transported and treated I miss a dose of meds, plus losing the blood meant I lost medication in my system. I'm well aware I'm punchy as hell by the time I'm out of surgery and while I'm still lucid I command doctors to put me on a seventy two hours psych hold or until they can balance me out. I have no intention of disappearing again, but I'm well aware I'm not making good decisions right now.
Seventy two hours turns into two weeks, largely because they have trouble getting me to take the pills the first day, and also because for whatever reason my previous cocktail decides to quit working, my Tourettes is bad as ever and the abused staff at the hospital are left with a six foot plus man who knows how to fight his way through a mob, who doesn't want to take a handful of pills. It didn't go well.
"Hey, they're gonna help," a woman, faded, pale, with dark eyes. She looks as haggard as I. Her dark hair is cut short.
"They could be trying to kill me."
"So? Being dead would be better than this, right?" She asks. She has rows of stitches on her arms.
"Would it?" I ask, twitching my shoulders.
"Hell would be better than here. I hear Satan is real sexy."
That makes me laugh. She makes me laugh. And I take the pills. Over the next few days I see her again, and again (no these places aren't gender specific don't ask me why). She always asks me how I am. But her eyes are sad.
"I'm doing better now," I tell her, one day when we are both in the day room at the same time. That's a pleasant word for a miserable room with a sofa and a broken TV. "I um—got off my meds."
"Me too. I've got another three weeks," she smiles.
I smile too, "Thanks for the help. I need it sometimes, even if I don't deserve it."
"How'd you get off your meds?"
"I got shot."
"Wow that's more interesting than my way," she laughs.
"What happened?"
"I lost the bottle—stupid um—I was moving and I didn't mean to but the bag with my pills in it, just got lost I don't know maybe somebody stole it or whatever but. Insurance doesn't pay for a refill early, and I couldn't afford it, so, I was trying to go without but—," she rolls her eyes, "Then I had a shitty week."
"That's horrible," It never occurred to me that I could run out of pills. I carry my fucking pills. Hell, Mary carries my fucking pills. They're fucking everywhere. I pay for them yes, but we've been over how much money I have at my disposal and considering I'll just die without them they're in just about every room of my damn house. I have a house with eighty seven rooms. Also, they're in a reasonable number of rooms in Mary's house because occasionally she figures I should come over and be cared for. Also for a while there Robert carried them when he found out my enchanting habit of putting things down and immediately losing them.
"It's life. Life sucks right? I'll be lucky if I have my job when I get out. Anyway, how'd you get shot? That's gotta be a better story," she smiles, "Are you a cop?"
I laugh for like twenty minutes, mostly because Harry saying 'fucked a cop' with utter disdain, comes into my head every time I nearly quit laughing.
"Guess that's a no," she says.
"Sorry-sorry I'm trying here—fuck—sorry I swear all the time—funny story it took my dad three years to figure out I had Tourrettes because everyone in my family is like this—fuck, no, I'm not a cop ah—kind of—opposite, of cop? Why you going to narc?" I ask, rubbing my mouth to try to stop laughing.
"What seriously? Who shot you?"
"Cops."
We both start laughing.
"What, you're like a drug dealer or something like that?"
"Something like that," I smile, it's not like I can tell her, "Um—I'm, Richard— Bordeaux, I'll give you my number um—," I sort for paper in my pockets. We're allowed crayons not pencils (don't look at me like that), so I write my number in crayon on a scrap of paper, "Here, I'm getting out today but um—look me up sometime or if you ever run out of pills again, yeah? I can probably put my hands on them."
"What—seriously? I don't—,"
"Really, um, better than this place, I promise," I say, handing her the paper, "You ah, may need to leave a message with someone sinister, but it's really fine. I'll call you back."
"Thanks," she frowns a little.
"Good luck, when you get out," I say, "Is um—is anyone—,"
"My roommate, yeah, she's gonna come and pick me up," she nods, "Have you got someone coming?"
"Oh yeah, they don't usually forget about me."
They don't usually. I'm mostly hoping it'll be someone I don't want to talk to so I can slip into a drugged haze in the back seat feeling sorry for myself, however, Harry's father is waiting there for me, with little tiny Harry. Both are dressed in black, matching for no apparent reason, both put away notebooks they were looking at. To be clear, the tiny Harry is five.
"You didn't have to come," I mutter.
"Yeah I did, come here, how are you doing?" My uncle asks, hugging me before examining me, "You look like shit, come on, let's get you something to eat."
"Hi Uncle Richard! I'm helping grandfather today!" Harry runs up to hug my leg.
"His mom is sick with the new baby, his dad isn't here, and three nannies already quit," his grandfather says, dryly.
"Harry, you should be good for your nannies," I say, patting his head.
"Are you better now?" Harry asks, hanging on my leg as we walk out into the rainy parking lot.
"My head is, yeah, arm still hurts like a bitch," that's where I was shot.
"Bullets will do that," my uncle is not a sympathetic person, "Get in the car."
"Where are we going? Aren't we flying out?" I ask, crawling in the back.
"No, my plane won't be ready till tomorrow morning, so, that leaves us for tonight, put on your seatbelt Richard, Christ."
"I'm going, damn," I mutter, closing the door. Harry's already climbed in his car seat, buckled himself in, and is opening a notebook again. "What—what is he doing?"
"I'm almost done, grandfather."
"Good job. So, before you get all upset, remember, I am not a babysitter—,"
"You're having him balance a checkbook? He's not a calculator," I lean over, looking at little Harry's little notebook.
"He taught me what stocks are earlier," Harry says.
"Harry's gonna kill you! Uncle, that kid did not need more education," I sigh.
"This is what he gets for leaving him with me, great kid by the way."
"So, where are we going if the plane isn't ready?" I really just want to sleep. He's pulling onto the interstate? "Are you just driving him around giving him things to add so that you don't have to watch him and he's strapped in one place?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I would never do that. He can undo the seatbelt," my uncle says, disgusted.
"I can undo the seatbelt," Little Harry says, at the same time.
"So you're driving him around while he balances your checkbook?"
"One of his checkbooks. I get a planner if I do it all right," Harry informs me, going back to his work, clutching a pencil tightly in his little hand.
"A planner?" I ask, poking my uncle's shoulder, "He's five."
"It was that or a rock, kid chose planner. You're as bad as Harry sometimes you know that? Let the kid do what makes him happy."
"I want a planner, Uncle Richard. Ned and I have plans to make," Little Harry says, softly, before going back to work.
So, a while ago, it was time for Little Harry to start school. Being Little Harry, he naturally hated it and ran away. His dad was hours away by plane at the time, Mary and I set out to find him. We caught him halfway to the interstate while I had a panic attack that OriginalHarry was gonna kill me for losing his kid.
"Stop crying Uncle Richard, dad would be glad if you lost me," Little Harry said, patting my face to dry my tears.
"No, no, no, we need our baby Harry," I assured him. But his words irked me. How could Harry let his kid feel like he'd be glad if he was gone? That's horrible.
Anyway, Mary figured Little Harry wouldn't feel so alone at the time if he had a real friend to play with. Except he's really smart like, and serious, so of course he doesn't get along with most children. He doesn't want to play with blocks or dinosaurs or the like, he wants to add things and chat with adults. I suggested we just find some unemployed college student to come talk to him about smart person shit. I was ignored. Mary wanted him to have a real friend. So she went to some little kid Mensa meeting and advertised for some genius four to five year old to come and play with her genius five year old.
I pointed out maybe we shouldn't do this, considering that he's a guy, and guys do not necessarily get smarter together, we get stupider. I point out that when my dad, and my uncle Jon, figured that I needed a friend to be braver about things, and Harry needed a friend to slow him down about things, we absolutely did NOT improve as people by association, on the contrary our stupid got acquainted, bred, and we just both became worse, not better.
I was ignored. Mary imported this tiny little skittish four year old who probably has Aspergers, to come and be Little Harry's friend. Naturally they get on like a house on fire. Naturally they have twice nearly set the house on fire. I was right, Mary doesn't care, she has the patience of a saint evidenced by her marrying Original Harry. And so. Little Harry has a little best friend also called Richard by the way, so we all started calling him Ned after my dad because we're all just simply idiots and were getting confused calling him Richard and now the kid only responds to Ned. His father is pissed, but his mom is so happy he talks now (he didn't do that before apparently, does all the time with our Little Harry) so she doesn't care.
"You being good for your mom, Harry?" I ask, tugging on his sleeve. He's often so focused he doesn't hear questions so I'll tug his sleeve or tap him as a signal, instead of, I don't know, getting mad at him like his father does.
"Yes, she's sick because she's having a baby. I was helping, but dad said I was in the way," Harry frowns, angry.
"Yeah, sometimes when you're sick you want to be alone. That's why I was in the hospital my brain was sick and I just needed to be alone," I explain, "So it's not that you weren't helping; it's that helping sometimes doesn't do any good."
Harry frowns at me, "Really?"
"Yeah, really, that's all. Sometimes you just like quiet, and your grandfather needed your help eh?" I don't know how long he's been out of the house probably a couple of days? We're a few hours by plane from where Harry lives now. I highly doubt my uncle has been voluntarily in charge of the child for long. He did his utmost to outsource my and Harry's care along with his other kids, my cousins, let alone a talkative grandchild. I feel bad. Nobody ever has the patience for Little Harry except his mother and she's got three others as well. I know it isn't the same as me but I know my constant tics and all else is irritating as well. I could never stand when people got sick of me and pushed me to the side. My mother's horror when the doctors said they couldn't 'fix' me. That the twitching and all was permanent. That it was just going to be the way I was. That was the day I learned I was considered broken. I can't stand for that to happen to Little Harry, it's awful to realize that everyone thinks you're needing to be repaired when you're just being who you are and you can't change.
"I like helping. I'm good at it. I want to be rich like grandfather," Harry says, going back to his adding.
"See? Such a good kid, I told Harry he's the best thing he ever did and he hasn't spoken to me since," my uncle laughs.
"Oh god," I mutter, "Just make sure you learn to have fun as well, Harry? Hm? I know you're good at all your chores but—," his mother made up a bunch of clever chores for him like adding up how much groceries cost or the like "—you should have fun as well. What's fun for you?"
"Can we go skating? I looked up what you said about the angle of the puck, Ned's got a whole book on it," Harry asks, hopefully. So Harry's just clever, Ned is actually certifiably a genius with math and things, though he's hyper-fixated on religion and that in my opinion is bad for everyone. I'm gay and mentally unhinged so you may want to ignore me on that.
"Sure, we'll go skating."
"Today?"
"Probably when we get back home, I don't really know where your grandfather is taking us. He could be selling us," I say.
"I wouldn't get a good price for you. The kid maybe, but his organs are kind of small," my uncle, deadpan, but he is joking.
"I'm suggesting you not? Considering he'll repeat all this around his dad?" I sigh.
"Harry, you want to tell your uncle what you and your dad fought about?"
"He said I was bothering mom, and I said I knew more than him, and he said go to my room, and I said if I was such a bother why doesn't he sell my organs on the black market and buy a new little boy who listens. He said don't fucking tempt him. And then mom heard some of that and got cross with both of us," Little Harry says, sadly.
"See?"
"Where'd you learn about selling organs on the black market?"
"I watch Sixty Minutes."
"I'll start taking him skating again," I say.
"That's really all we ask," my uncle says.
"Ned's mom asked if you skated for money, because you're so good. I said no, why don't you skate for money?" Little Harry asks.
"I um—," I don't qualify because I'm crazy. "I'm sick, since I get sick so much, they don't let me do professional sports."
"And you were against bribing them," my uncle, obviously.
"You can't bribe people to do whatever you want," I sigh.
"Actually I can."
"Can we bribe my dad to like me again?" Little Harry asks.
We both sigh a little.
"No, it doesn't work like that—," I begin.
"I can try, now that you mention it—," my uncle begins at the same time.
"Wow," I say, pushing my uncle's shoulder.
"Stop that. I'm driving."
"Your dad likes you Harry. You and he are just on a different wavelength. Like a radio, think about it, you can't get signals on your radio if you're tuned to a different wavelength? It's the same with you and him, it doesn't mean he doesn't love you," I say, wanting to slug Harry. How dare he let this little kid who's never done anything wrong, think his dad doesn't like him? Just because of who he is? He didn't ask to be this clever or impossible?
"All right. The route we are taking goes over the Sound which yes is water, I am telling you this fifteen minutes in advance so that you do not freak out and do something drastic like touch the windows with your greasy hands—,"
"Oh my god really, where?" I say almost immediately after he says the word 'water', pressing my hands and face to the window.
"I don't touch windows, grandfather," Little Harry says, disgusted.
"Oh, he was talking to me."
"I was talking to him."
"Water? You're taking us over water? I'm so happy, you know I love water why don't we take the kid to the beach? Our plane doesn't leave till tomorrow you said let's go to the beach," I suggest.
"I don't think I'd like it," Little Harry says.
"I don't think he'd like it either."
"Well, where are we going then?" I sigh.
"Somewhere where you two can be watched and I do not do the watching. I have a meeting tonight, ergo I am flying out. You two fly out tomorrow."
"What—why—what plane are we waiting on?"
"The one I'm leaving on to get back and get you." I swear he said a different reason earlier.
"I will go buy a plane ticket and fly commercial," I sigh, face still pressed against the window. We're going over the water and I can't even enjoy it because he's not going to stop and let me stare at it. Fucking love the water. No, I can't really swim, we're moving past that though.
"You won't. Interestingly enough the only reason I got you out of that place a week early was my lawyers convinced them we would do a suicide watch."
"Why would you want to kill yourself?" Little Harry asks.
"Um—I don't it's just because I'm sick, they worry about me is all," I say, hitting my uncle's arm.
"It's true, kid knows what suicide means. Like he said it's because he's sick, they don't want him dying on their watch," my uncle grunts.
"I don't want you dying. Who would I talk to? Or play hockey with?" Little Harry asks, frowning up at me.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," I say, and for the first time in my life I feel motivated to keep that promise. I've never been less suicidal. I'm not about to leave this boy. A fierce feeling takes hold of my chest. I didn't know I could be this strong about anything.
When my father was ill, in the hospital, at the end, he was on all sorts of medications, they had a feeding tube in him, everything. He couldn't keep a thing down. He was wasting away to nothing. I'd sit with him for hours, crying, praying, losing what little religion I had. No god was bringing my strong dad back.
Anyway, my grandfather was ailing as well at that point, old age he'd had a stroke already, my grandmother had passed and that had sucked the life from him. He came nearly every single day. Well, one day they were supposed to be changing some sort of tube and giving my dad more horrible drugs. They always ushered me out for this, to my handlers in the hall. Sobbing, I always let them, as my dad said something to the effect of, "Go on, Richie, I'll be fine".
Well, this day was worse. I don't pretend to know what they were doing, but my dad was getting worse and worse, distressed, asking for my mother, for his brothers, his sisters, his dad, his mom, my brother, me, half those people were dead. My grandfather held his hand, said he was here. I curled up by the bed and just sobbed.
The nurses, as usual when he crashed, tried to usher us out. I rose to go, not knowing how to resist them.
My grandfather just stood there, an evil in his voice that I'd never heard, nor the likes I'd ever heard of again, "That is my boy in that bed. I'm not going anywhere."
He said the words with such venom, such terrifying authority, they dared not resist. Ill as he was himself, he stayed by his son's bedside, with strength I didn't know he had, a feral instinct of protection, that if he could have fought the cancer with his bare hands, he would have.
I remember the voice, that feeling and wondering if I would ever have that kind of strength. And now it takes hold of my heavily medicated mind.
I am not going anywhere.
This boy needs me. My father, dying, asking for his dad, and his dad stayed. Little Harry, here, lost confused, alone and not understanding why the world doesn't understand him. So I'm staying. I don't know what good I'm doing. But I'm staying because he asked me to. I can't make the world understand him, or carve him a place in it, anymore than my grandfather could free my father of the cancer or the pain. But he's asking me to be here so I am.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say, petting Little Harry's dark curls from his face, "I'm not about to leave you."
"Good," Little Harry, content with my assurance, unaware of the gravity it carries in my own heart, looks back down at his work. A child's happy innocence. I say I'm staying, and he believes me. He has no clue how hard that might be. But I'll do it. I'll keep taking the meds. I'll stay alive. Because what other goddamn choice do I have? Even when he doesn't need me I'll stay. Because that's what you're supposed to do. He's supposed to go off and have friends and think he's cleverer than anyone and think his parents and his uncle are boring. He's a child, he needs to know we're here.
My watch dings. Speaking of. My meds. I sigh, sorting for the capsule I keep my pills in, in my jacket pocket. It's there, and I sort out the proper dosage for this time of day and toss them in my mouth, taking one of the cups of coffee from the center counsel. One sniff confirms it's been spiked—and the other one too.
"Jesus, Uncle, do you have anything non alcoholic in this car?" I choke, accidentally taking the pills with vodka when I find a water bottle in a seat pocket that I assumed was safe.
"Christ, I hope not. Why?"
"I'm trying to take my meds!"
"So—-?"
"I'm not supposed to have alcohol with them," I say, putting the vodka far from Little Harry.
"Oh. Check the kid's bag; he should have water."
"It's over now—more than that you're not supposed to have alcohol either," I point out. He's been sick, nothing terrible just his heart which is natural at his age however. The point remains.
"My son, my internal organs would shut down if I stopped drinking alcohol. They'd go into shock, have no idea what to do with themselves, it would be a disaster. Trust me. I'm doing my liver a favor after all these years, it would die in sheer protest if I stopped giving it alcohol."
"You're not supposed to drink coffee either," I'm now just sorting drinks which are all in some form alcoholic and caffeinated.
"Your dad actually, this is funny, got me addicted to caffeine when I was twelve," he laughs, "He was seventeen when you're seventeen it's funny to fuck up your younger brother, Small-Jon—," that's what he calls Harry we don't know why other than to piss OriginalHarry off, but Little Harry now responds to it, "—you should take note of this you have younger brothers."
"Noted," Little Harry nods, still hard at work.
"You never told me this," I say, quietly.
"Yeah, I was probably gonna be thirteen? Anyway your dad had me out all night god knows why, doing stupid shit I expect, anyway after that we were all going to play paintball and your dad he wasn't about to not let us win, he gave me and your uncles, all manner of caffeine. Damn boy," he scoffs.
"My dad died when I was a bit bigger than you," I say, to Harry, "He got cancer."
"Is it hereditary?" Harry asks.
"Yeah, but he was older than I am now, and look your grandfather is also related to him and despite his best attempts he's doing fine," I say, holding up another bottle of alcohol.
"All right, this is us, kid, you finished with that yet?"
"Yep, been done, I've been making notations and suggestions—,"
"Okay great, here's your planner—,"
"Yay!" Grinning broadly now, clutching a black leather day planner that was clearly intended to be my uncle's.
"Where are we?" I ask, looking at the tree lined drive. It's a nice enough house, easily worth a couple million, but in a quiet neighborhood, not it's own estate. I don't recognize it, but then I don't know all my uncle's properties.
"Someplace hopefully you'll get to stay, come on—Harry, get your bag, here be ready to stay, Rich get your things—oh right you don't have anything, stop flipping me off, you want the kid to do that to his dad?"
"He already knows how to do that."
"I already know how to do that."
"His dad taught him to for pictures when the press is on us."
"Dad taught me to for the photographers."
"Only need one of you to answer me at a time," my uncle says, sorting for a key and leading us up to the door to let us in.
We walk in to a surprisingly lived in house. A couple of little spaniel dogs run up to great us. Little Harry laughs and starts to pet them. A woman, my age or a bit older, attractive, wearing her hair in a towel and sweats, jumps at our entrance. I wave apologetically and try to make it clear through arm gestures I didn't escape, I was let out and that I am not dangerous despite being dangerous.
"Hello, Kitty!" My uncle, charmingly.
"It's not Thursday," the woman says, completely upset.
"And I'm not staying, my nephew and grandson are leaving tomorrow, and they need a place to stay for the night—now the little one likes watching TV and writing in that book he's real quiet, the tall one is gonna forget to eat, but he can easily be bribed with cheese don't let him get near the water, all right I'm off—,"
"It's not Thursday?" I push my uncle's shoulders.
"Who are you?" Little Harry asks the woman.
"Hi, sweetie, I'm somebody your grandfather comes and stays with. On Thursdays," she says.
"It's not Thursday?" I repeat, pushing him.
"I have informed you, boy, I highly recommend you select one vice to indulge in until it kills you. I have selected beautiful women and I'm doing quite well with that," my uncle, unperturbed, not even ashamed.
"How many of these are there?" I ask, waving a hand.
"At least five," the woman, Kitty apparently, says, leaning on the counter, clearly entertained.
"I'm going to pray for you," Harry says, glaring at his grandfather.
"Oh shut up until you hit puberty, child. Richard, stop glaring at me like that. What do you expect me to do?"
"Not have a woman and house waiting in each different city???" I say, exasperated.
"Huh, no wonder you're depressed. All right, stay here, she'll feed you, I'll be seeing you, see you Thursday—,"
"No, who even are they? Is this one of your sons? No, you can't leave me with them—," the woman darts to block the door when she sees him going.
"The house has four bedrooms, I know this, I bought the house. The tall one makes noise when he sleeps ignore him, just don't let him leave. The little one will be fine let him balance your checkbook if he gets bored, he's—very good at it—all right," Looking at the book Little Harry gave him back as he edges out the door.
"I don't want to stay here either," I say.
"Why does he look like he just got out of prison?" Kitty calls after him, as he just leaves.
"I um—it was inpatient actually," I wince.
"Fuck me," she glares at us, closing the door.
"I can pray for you too," Little Harry says.
"Double fuck me."
"I'm not—dangerous I just—I got thrown off my meds; it was a voluntary hospitalization to keep them straight, that's all. I was traveling when I got thrown off so that's why I'm here and don't have anything but the clothes that I got to have in there," that's my jacket which has a bullet hole in it, and a grey sweatsuit with no elastic or strings. Mary sent me that when I went in but it and a few pairs the hospital gave me is all I have.
Kitty nods, sliding a box of cheddar cheese slices at me.
"I promise I'm no trouble I just want a decent shower and to sleep for a while—wait can I really have this?"
She nods.
"Thank you," I say, opening it. I'm supposed to eat when I take the pills, or it upsets my stomach.
"Can I sit here?" Harry asks, pointing at the sofa.
"Sure, what's your name, baby?" She asks.
"Henry Monmouth-Lancaster," he says, sitting down.
"Okay, Henry Monmouth-Lancaster, is that a real gun in your bag?"
"Yes, I might need it—what?" Harry looks aghast as we both dive across the room. I get his bag first and she blocks him from stopping me.
"It's not loaded," I sigh.
"No, the clip is in the front pocket. Dad taught me how to carry guns safely so I'm practicing so he'll be proud."
"It's fine, it's fine—I've got it—I'm handing it to you because I look insane, got it," I sigh, handing her the gun and clip.
She checks it, expertly, pointing it away from all three of us, and checking the chamber, before going to lock it up.
"Okay," I say, trying to steady my breathing.
"And you are?" She asks me, returning from I suppose putting the gun in a safe.
"Richard Bordeaux," I say.
"You play hockey in highschool?" She frowns.
"Yeah, Bards."
"Huh, my brother's team played you I think, once or twice," she says, nodding.
"Huh um, yeah, probably," I say, feeling my shoulders twitch.
"If you want to get changed, Jon leaves clothes upstairs, for the body guards. You're tall but something oughta fit you," she says, nodding.
"Okay, thank you, um—,"
"Kitty's fine."
"Kitty," I nod, looking over at Harry, who is using multi-colored pens to color by which I mean write, in his planner, "Harry um—you going to sit there for a minute?"
"He's fine," she shakes her head.
"I'm good," Harry gives me a thumbs up.
"Okay," I nod.
"Second door on the right," she nods upstairs.
I go, following the leaning blue stairs up to a narrow hall. I choose the correct door on the third try, and find a neat guest room. As predicted, there's several sets of clothes hanging in the closet, varying sizes. I find a pair of jeans that are a bit too loose, but still they'll do, and a large rough black t-shirt. I usually wear silk but I'll manage. I find a shaving kit and face wash and hair gel, not my usual brand, but I'm realizing how spoiled I sound okay just, I am spoiled and I'm happy like that. No seriously it's important to have a good self-care routine it helps with the mental-illness to have a solid grooming schedule so you don't neglect it and I'm really good at that part of my treatment. Anyway. I take a moment to shave properly and put gel through my hair to at least keep it off of my face, then I head back down stairs.
"You clean up good," Kitty comments, she's getting things out of the fridge, her hair now out of the towel long and dark down her back.
"This is not a good me day, trust me," I say, darkly, coming to help. She seems surprised, if amused at my offer of help.
"My boys will be home in a minute, they always need to eat the moment they get through the door," she explains, looking over at Harry, "Henry, you hungry?"
"No thank you, ma'am."
"We just call him Harry usually, I'm surprised he remembered his name's Henry," I say.
"I'm the same way," she smiles a little, then it fades a bit as my shoulders jerk again.
I'm spared explaining my Tourettes by the door bursting open and two little boys rushing in, maybe a bit bigger than Harry. They run up to her, not even disturbed by my presence.
"How are my angels?" She picks them both up, damn she's nearly as tall as I am. What is it with Harry and his father and falling for women who look like they could tear them apart with their bare hands? I'm gonna point that out to them next time they're together and watch them both try to get so drunk they'll forget I said it.
"Boys, this is Harry he's staying with us for a little while, do you want to ask him to play?" She asks, as the boys snatch snacks from the kitchen table.
"Oh, he doesn't always often play—," I caution.
"Harry, we're playing pirates, do you want to come?"
"Are swords involved?" Harry asks, hopefully.
"Yeah."
"All right then," Harry puts away his things in his backpack.
"Harry, go easy—this isn't like playing with your brothers—," not everyone has a dad and uncle teaching them to use real knives not practice ones. I think we try to be more normal than our dads were with us, but I don't think we're succeeding.
"They're fine, trust me," Kitty says, pouring a glass of wine for herself before going out to watch them, she holds out a plastic wine glass to me. I shake my head no.
"I can't—,"
"Oh right—,"
"No, not, I'm not an alcoholic, not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm on certain meds, that's all," I explain following her outside, to a small, leaf covered yard. The boys have built a pirate ship from crates and things and have toy swords. Harry is holding his sword at ready, expertly. So for whatever reason, his dad and he are more destructive to themselves and others when together. Yeah, so I finally convinced Original Harry to go play with Little Harry and he wound up teaching the kid how to fight with daggers using a reverse grip. You know. Like you do with your five year old when your cousin suggests you go out and play with him because he's missed you.
"Harry, go easy," I call.
"I will!" Harry calls.
"They're bigger than him."
"Uhuh, he's mean," I say, watching critically as Harry easily disarms the boys, who have weak grips on their toy wooden swords.
"Where's his mom?" She asks, watching as her boys bounce around, begging for Harry to beat them up again.
"She's back with—oh he's not mine, sorry. Um, his mother is back with his brothers she's been having a bad pregnancy so we were splitting up the kids for her. I'm his uncle—well not really, I'm his dad's cousin but we grew up together so I'm like his uncle, that's all, his dad's out of the country for work," I say, eating some of the cheese.
"Are you Jon's kid?"
"No I'm um—I'm his nephew, Little Harry's dad—also Harry, is his son," I explain.
"Ah. There are two Harry's. Two different Harry's. All right. I just lost money to people. This is fine," she nods, sipping her wine.
"Who do you—,"
"Not important—,"
"It's his other women isn't it?"
"Yeah okay, fine, he thinks we don't talk but we talk, it's funnier this way, letting him think we don't talk is funnier that is, so anyway, he always talks about some Harry wearing him out, all the time, and then at one point he started talking about some Harry being a 'good kid' and 'real chip off the old block' and 'the only one in the bloodline to inherit braincells', and anyway I thought maybe he was just finally warming up to his kid."
"No, that's this new one."
"I know that now."
"Okay," I nod.
"What about you? Got any kids?" She asks.
"No um—no, no, this is just me, what you're seeing here is—my best," I say, motioning to my gaunt frame, in too big borrowed clothes, breaking off chunks of cheese from a package. I look like I don't belong indoors, and like if you let me in I'd definitely kill you. My eyes are sunken and hollow, hazy from the meds, my facial expressions too slow also from the meds. You can just see the black band tattoo on my upper arm, and then on my right arm a set of three feathers, identical to a tattoo my father had. That's on my forearm, then on the back of my left hand, two hinds supporting a lion. I also have a full back tattoo of a silhouette of a deer, the tips of the antlers you can probably see on the back of neck past this shirt. I look like the dangerous criminal I am, and at home I can escape or at least ignore that.
Kitty smiles, a little bit, she's still in house clothes drinking wine at four pm, "Same."
We both smile.
"Seriously though? You're not married?"
"No, nor do I keep houses wherever I think I might be going and keep people in them so I can avoid going a night not getting laid," I say, making her snort out wine. "No, seriously though. No, I'm not—there was someone once but—," I shake my head, looking away.
"What happened to her?"
"How dare you imply anything I've done since we met, one hour ago, is heterosexual? I'll have you know I have eighty different colorful silk shirts, and three types of face cream."
She laughs so hard she has to steady her wine, "Jesus, Richard."
"He," I say, smothering a grin, "No, I'm being an ass. I'm bisexual, but it is a he."
"I'm sorry. He."
"He died. Well, I sort of broke up with him first. Not exactly safe, being queer or being with me, in my line of work," I say.
"What's your line of work?"
"Imagine what my uncle does, make it twice as sinister, needlessly violent, times that by three, and you're about there," I say.
"Damn."
"Yeah, you don't introduce a cop boyfriend into that. He got killed on the job, it was—a while ago now, I don't know," I shrug.
"I'm sorry," she says, not smiling anymore, "That's rough."
"My life is apparently."
"What are you going to do now?" She asks.
"Relationship wise? Oh nothing. Life wise? Oh I don't know except I promised that kid I'd stay alive. That seems to be hard for me to do but you know," I shrug.
"I mean where are you going? You're waiting for a plane to go home?" She asks.
"Yeah," I shrug.
"You don't look happy about it?"
"I'm not happy about anything. I do need to get that one home though," I nod at Harry, who has gotten out—where did he get paper? A poster board and is drawing a very competent plan of attack. The two boys look like their eyes are glazing over. Harry does this with his brothers all the time. It's equally exhausting then.
"Okay, what do you want to do? If you could do whatever you wanted, what would you do tomorrow?"
"I don't even know," I sigh.
Harry confuses the other boys entirely and eventually Kitty rounds them up in for dinner, baths, and bed. Harry doesn't go to bed, but I inform him he's having a bath and trying dinner. He does not like the tacos she makes, but he eats a few bites before I usher him off to the guest bath instructing him I'm holding his notebooks hostage till he comes out moderately clean. He does entirely too quickly, but I give up, letting him come down to the living room to sit on the floor writing in his books and reading. He usually does that in his room, but if I can help it I bring him back out to sit with me or whoever, so he can talk if he likes and not be so alone all the time.
"He doesn't sleep," I explain to Kitty, letting him get set up.
"What—ever?"
"He'll sleep for like, maybe four or five hours. His mother and I just let him sit with someone if we can, he's not tired it's just—you know, him," I shrug, going to the kitchen to find sparkling water.
"Want something to eat?" She asks, she's putting cream cheese on bagels.
"Oh Lox, hell yes," I say, sliding her a container of smoked salmon that she had out.
"The kids think this is gross, I have to eat it when they're not around," she laughs.
"Their loss," I smile, "Are you—really happy like this?" I wave my hand at the house generally.
"It's a life. Apparently I couldn't figure out how to have a different one. And your uncle's not a bad guy. In case you hadn't figured this out yet, a lot of guys are bad."
"No, no we are," I nod.
"So. It is what it is," she says, shrugging, "You have to try something, you know?"
"I suppose," I nod, looking over at Harry.
"You'll find someone," she says.
"And sabotage it or ruin their life because of mine? Again?" I sigh.
"We're not all made of glass," she says, "Give people a chance. Some of us are damn strong. Don't flatter yourself that you're gonna break us."
"It's not just me though, I'm something of a package deal that includes the fun tag-line 'oh by the way if for whatever highly common reason I miss even one dose of these pills let alone two I may try to kill you and myself'," I say.
"Damn," she says, trying not to laugh.
"It was meant to morosely funny. I'm schizophrenic, I'm on a couple of anti-psychotics that work 90% of the time if I take them religiously. If at any point I miss a dose, due to losing the damn pills, being trapped in an airport, being injured and transported to the hospital—- I have a med alert necklace to get me my pills, they found it three hours too late last time. Oh and just sometimes the previous meds, I build up an immunity and I get worse and worse and we have to hospitalize me till we find something that does work. It's a terrible ride that's going to get worse, not better, as I get older," I say.
"Damn," she says again, wincing sympathetically.
"Yeah. That's me." I say, "Oh and I have Tourette's which means I twitch and jerk like a crazy person, called tics, and occasionally just blurt out words and obscenities, particularly when stressed."
"Ah," she says.
"So that's why I'm being left here as you can see I'm not meant to be out."
"That one doesn't think you're so bad."
"Give him time—yeah speaking of—Harry? Harry, you didn't eat diner you want to come have a bite of this?" I ask.
"What is it?" He asks, suspicious.
"It's called Lox, it's cream cheese and smoked salmon on a bagel but if you don't want the salmon how about a bagel and some cheese?" I ask, then to her, "Sorry, he will not eat if I don't tempt him he just forgets."
"You're fine," she says, smiling as Harry pads over to join us.
"Can I try what you have?" Harry asks.
"Sure," I say, handing him half of mine "If you don't like it that's fine it's kind of different. Not all adults like it."
He bites into it carefully, then more eagerly after a taste.
Kitty laughs, "Wait until your mother finds out we fed you this."
"I'll tell her," Harry says, looking hungrily at another piece.
"Here, take as much as you like—can he eat in the living room?" I ask. I know some people (my uncle) didn't let us eat in any room of the house but the kitchen. My dad on the other hand used to let me drag a box of cereal into his bed to come and talk to him in the mornings.
"He's absolutely fine—here, take some water," she gives him a bottle.
"I only like SmartWater," he says.
"Course you do," she says, getting him the proper brand, "Gonna tell your grandfather you drank his expensive water."
"Okay," Harry says, going back to sit with his books.
"He's silly," I say, shaking my head.
"He's fine. You're good with him," she says.
"I try," someone has to be.
"You ever want kids of your own?"
"Ah, don't think that's likely to happen. See above," I scoff.
"You never know. Just because something isn't likely, or you think shouldn't be true, doesn't mean it won't be. Like I said, people are tougher than you think. And we're often worth it. I don't think your boyfriend would have wanted to miss knowing you."
"You never know. Robert. His name was Robert," I say.
"Was he killed in like—a hit and run?" She asks.
"Traffic stop, they shot him, um yeah—this was on the news if that's what you're thinking. Robert Deveres, they had a funeral for him, public, there were pictures on the news for a while of an unhinged gay lunatic who opened his casket to talk to him again and kiss his forehead was me, yes," I say, flatly.
"I do remember that, yeah," she winces.
"The red-haired angry mosquito looking person who pulled me out of the casket and dragged me away? That's this one's dad," I say, nodding to little Harry.
"Ah," she says, still wincing.
"Robert would have found that whole situation and the fact that his damn funeral wound up on the evening news largely due to his unbalanced millionaire criminal boyfriend, highly, highly funny," I say.
"See? There you go, he was glad to have you. Someone else will be too someday," she says.
"Maybe."
"Hey, you're never gonna know if you don't give people a chance," she says.
"True," I say, looking out the kitchen window at the rain splattering it, in the glow of the street lights, "Are you um—doing anything, tomorrow, at two?"
"Not unless Jon drops off more nephews and grandkids no, but if you want you can take a car—?" She frowns.
"Oh, I don't drive places. No, could you ah, drive me—us back to the hospital? There's someone I think I should see," I say, twisting my hands.
"Sure. Glad to," she shrugs.
Two pm is visiting hours. Much to the horror of the nurses I'm back, they are not satiated by the fact that I assure them I'm there to visit someone and not to check myself back in to injure half their staff again. They are shocked I have a woman and a child with me.
"We'll wait out here. Come on, Harry, why don't you explain the stock market to me again? Make me not miss your grandad at all?" Kitty asks, tugging his backpack.
"I'll be back in a minute," I say, high-fiving him, and okay yes I taught him a secret handshake I was trying to get him to sleep once and now he really likes it. Anyway, after they depart for the waiting room, I go back to sit at those horribly demeaning plastic chairs, and tables, wondering if she'll come.
"What are you doing here?" Anne almost smiles, "You didn't have enough of this place?"
"Brought you lunch, the other day you said you missed that Italian place on main," I say, pushing a bag over to her.
"They don't let us have food, you know that," she laughs.
"I bribed a few nurses, you're gonna get to have food now, also there's cigarettes in there to trade, as well as decent hand cream I didn't know what you liked so I got what I liked and sandpaper is better than what they provide," I scoff.
"What are you doing here?" She laughs again, "Seriously. You didn't have to do this."
"I just left you with my number. Wanted to make sure you'd call me sometime. I'm not saying I'm a good time. But at least we know what brand of crazy I am," I say.
"You're not crazy," she says, folding her little hands over my much larger ones. And at that moment, with those words, reader, I fall in love with her.
I know damn well it'll take her longer than that to fall in love with me. And it'll be a few weeks before she's even out. But I have to prepare everyone in my life that yes I'm going to be bringing back someone from time to time, no I do not want her to be immediately questioned by scary people with guns, yes I'm sure I can be alone with a five foot two female I think it'll be fine. I mean, I'm not bringing her back persay, but I do plan on dating her and I'm doing that by myself alone with her and not with any of them, no, I don't care if they think it's a good idea.
Anyway, I'd like to say Harry takes the news well.
"You WHAT?"
"I met someone, when I was hospitalized, in the psychiatric unit. I really like her."
"Why don't you write down that sentence for me, and read it over a few times, then you try to tell me everything that's wrong with it?" He asks, folding his arms and looking around the airport like a dog that's been tossed out the back of a car, "When the hell are they going to let us board?"
"When they call for boarding," I sigh. I waited to tell him till now, we're traveling home together and he's a captive audience, "Look, Harry, she's nice, I think she could be good for me. What, don't you want me to have someone?"
"Yeah, someone who you didn't find in a mental asylum. Literally, anyone who is not a cop and not in a mental asylum those are low fucking bars, Richard, fucking hell—wait this is a she isn't it? You said she this time? If you met a fucking guy in a fucking psych ward I swear to god, Richard—,"
"No, this is a she," I sigh, "And what's wrong with meeting her there?"
"You deserve better! We can find you someone that isn't a cop and isn't in a mental institution between me, Mary, and my dad, we can locate someone, preferably a woman, who is not either of those things if that's what you want—,"
"I like Anne, I want her. I like her. What's wrong with that?" I ask, also folding my arms.
"You tell me— why was she locked up in a psych ward?"
"I was also in that psych ward, Harry!" I cry, now we're shouting in the middle of an airport.
"Yeah, well, you're different!"
"No I'm not! I'm crazy just like you think she is —I'm fucking crazy," I say, angrily, "That's what you think, right? I'm on meds— I'm psycho I need fucking help I'm not safe to be fucking out so give me a fucking break you fucking cunt because she's not half as crazy as I am."
"You're not crazy," he says, sighing, "Don't say that. It's different we know what's wrong with you we don't know what's wrong with her—she's not a cop is she? You're not saving that are you?"
"No," she works for Homeland Security but I figure that is not technically a cop. Also, I don't want him having an aneurysm in the middle of an airport. That would be mean. "And she has depression. She takes her meds. She was only in to get balanced out, just like me. And I like her and I make her laugh and more than that she makes me happy."
"Can't we try to find you someone who isn't in a psych ward? I hear strippers aren't bad they even have male ones you like guys—,"
"Okay, that was weirdly supportive, but no. Can't you accept I belong in that psych ward too?"
"No, because you fuckin' don't—-when is this goddamn plane gonna be here?" He sighs.
"In a minute," I forget sometimes, he acts like such a street rat, that he's actually a spoilt rich brat whose daddy flies him everywhere in private jets and he's flown commercial maybe once in his whole life. My dad made me fly commercial and take buses and the like when he was alive, he wanted me to know what it was like to be normal. Harry's dad makes him be normal too, but in a trust fund kind of way. It's weird.
"Okay, fine, if Mary likes her you can date her—no fuck that, Mary liked the cop—,"
"How about if Little Harry likes her?" I suggest, innocently.
"So no, but do I thank you often enough for not supporting my dad in calling him Mini-Jon or whatever the fuck he calls him?"
"You do thank me often, yes."
"Probably not enough: thank you for calling the kid his proper name, and no, also no the kid is six he is not involved in this discussion," he says.
"Okay," I already asked Little Harry if it was okay if I married her and he said yes. Yes, it's taken me a while to tell Original Harry. As in like a year. It's taken a year.
"I don't think you're crazy," he says, quietly.
"Maybe you should," I say, I'm still annoyed.
Finally, we're called for boarding, first class of course. I give Harry the aisle seat because I like to look out the window we will be going over water. I crawl in, and press against the window. I don't like flying so it makes my Tourrette's act up which means I know I'm twitching all sorts of ways.
Harry almost immediately presses the flight attendant button.
"Ma'am? The person sitting next to me is bothering me," Harry says.
"Cunt," I poke him in the arm, naturally still twitching.
"Sir—-isn't that your—traveling companion?" The flight attendant asks. To remind you, reader, I look and act very very gay at all times. I'm draped across the seat with my long legs crossed, I'm wearing a pink and purple silk shirt, diamond stud earrings, and various bracelets. Harry looks like he just got out of a gang war. I also just got out of a gang war, but I was born neat and cleaned myself up since then and am back to looking very gay. Anyway, all that is to say, we definitely look like we are married.
"He's still bothering me, so don't you have to move me?" Harry, who has probably flown commercial once before and used the same tactic to get away from whatever sibling he was traveling with at the time.
"Um—he put down that he's needing special assistance and that you are his medical aid."
"Ha, fuck you," he says, as I drape an arm around his neck.
"I am, I'm very, very mad," I say, lying my head on his shoulder.
"You're very very annoying is what you are—I demand to be moved this man is sexually harassing me."
"Sir—isn't that your—partner?"
I have to crawl on top of Harry to stop him from leaping out of his seat to deny it.
"We're brothers, we're brothers, sorry, I'm messing with him I'll stop, fuck," I laugh, basically sitting in Harry's lap to keep him down while he tries to stab me and I try to hide that he has an actual stiletto knife on a plane. I realize we often try to stab each other, but the thing about it is, we both know we're not going to succeed.