Day 28

When Danny got back to his room, he collapsed into the armchair and just sat there for the longest time, letting the numerous ramifications of what had just happened sink in: he'd lost his beloved horse, and a huge section of his life was suddenly gone, no more evening rides, no more dressage competitions; he'd physically attacked his own father, something he never would have guessed he'd do; and he'd challenged the man with a display of power of which he had no idea he was capable.

He grieved for Tenorino, but through his sorrow he could see that selling the horse was the best thing: he was going away to college in a few months, and wouldn't have been able to take the horse with him; and Danny didn't think he'd have made a good showing on the dressage circuit, with so many other things going on in his life, and a string of third-place ribbons would hurt the horse's career as a champion and as a stud. Though Danny was going to miss the beautiful creature terribly, Tenorino was better off in a nice warm place, with professional riders taking him on the circuit, inspiring new equestrian students.

He was also sorry he'd hit his father: he deplored physical violence, and whatever the provocation, to beat a man savagely in anger was just plain wrong. He hated that he'd lost control of himself like that, and vowed to exercise his temper better in the future so such a thing wouldn't happen again.

Nevertheless, though he had no idea where all that cool, contemptuous back-talk had come from, he was very glad he'd been able to tap into it; he knew that his relationship with his father was forever altered, and altered for the better, due to that scene. He would no longer have to feel ignored and disdained by his parents, he now had the power to ignore and disdain them right back.

"Mijo, what is going on?" Mrs. Espinosa came into the room with his cheese and milk.

"Did you see my father?" Danny wondered, accepting the plate from her and indicating she should sit down in the other armchair.

"He looked like he'd been in a bar-brawl," the housekeeper was wide-eyed with surprise, and just a little bit of pleasure, "He's in there yelling his head off at your mother right now. What happened to him?"

"I beat the crap out of him," Danny hung his head with shame, "He sold my horse to punish me for being gay, and I'm afraid I lost my temper."

"Lost your temper?" Mrs. Espinosa scoffed, "I never thought to hear such a thing from you, mijo."

"I'm deeply ashamed of myself, letting myself be overwhelmed by anger like that," Danny admitted, "But what followed was right and necessary. I told him that I am going to Stanford, and that if he doesn't like it, he can blow it out his ass. Pardon my French."

"What's he going to do to you?" Mrs. Espinosa wondered, knowing that Taylor Vandervere was a vindictive man and would find some way to get back at his son for the humiliation of being beaten.

"He's already done all he could do, by selling Tenorino. He mentioned taking away my car, and I dared him to. I never particularly cared for the great hideous tank, anyway. And he threatened me with the police, but I pointed out that doing so would hurt him more than it would hurt me, so he backed down."

"He may have backed down tonight," the housekeeper frowned with worry, "But he's a snake, he'll find some way of hurting you."

"Do you think I should move out, Tia?" Danny asked her, "Go to the Aunt Ems'?"

"Perhaps, mijo," Mrs. Espinosa considered the idea, pulling herself out of the chair and leaning down to kiss Danny on the forehead, "But not yet. See what happens, and if you find that living under the same roof with him is uncomfortable or unpleasant, then go to your aunts. And in the meantime, be very much on your guard. I've worked for that man twenty years now, and I don't trust him."

"I will," Danny promised, "Good night, Tia, and thank you."

*****

For the rest of the week, Danny and his parents coexisted much as they always had: essentially in silence. But now there was no criticism punctuating the long silences, Danny could tell both his parents were too afraid of him to make a peep. And for the first time, without the criticisms and without Tenorino, without anything in particular to keep him there, Danny felt empty and unconnected. He was resolved, by the end of the week, to move in with the Aunt Ems if they would have him.

The emptiness of his home life made him cling more desperately to his life at school, holding tight to Jeremy and his little clique of friends. But even that felt empty sometimes; he'd be talking with Jeremy about little nothings after sex, or laughing with his friends at lunch, and he'd have this odd sensation of being behind glass, looking at his life from the outside. It frightened him, and made him cling even closer to everything around him.

And so it came as a horrible blow when he got a call from Mrs. Miller on Saturday night to tell him that Jeremy had crashed his car and was in the emergency room. Without even telling Mrs. Espinosa, he tore out of the house and got into his car, driving at breakneck speed to Vandervere Hospital; when he got there, he hugged his boyfriend's parents and asked them what was going on; they didn't know, so Danny armed himself with his Vandervere name and started throwing his weight around.

With a Vandervere breathing down their necks, the hospital staff went into high gear to take the best possible care of Jeremy; within minutes of Danny's arrival, Jeremy was in a private room with a team of specialists fussing over him.

While the doctors worked, Danny questioned the EMTs who'd brought him in; apparently, Jeremy had been driving on the River Road, a winding highway that ran alongside the Augusta river northwest of town; it was dark and raining pretty hard, and Jeremy's little car skidded through a guard-rail and down a fairly steep cliff, only barely avoiding going into the rushing river itself when the car's rear tires caught on some rocks at the river's edge. A logging truck coming down out of the mountains saw Jeremy's headlights below the road and CB'ed for help.

"What the hell was he doing on the River Road?" Danny wondered; there was nothing up there except logging camps and a few vacation cabins.

Nobody knew, and Jeremy had not regained consciousness; when the doctors finished with him, they came and reported directly to Danny, including Jeremy's parents in the conversation but automatically deferring to the Vandervere in their midst. Jeremy had a broken collarbone and two broken ribs, a fairly serious concussion, some bad lacerations to his face and forearms, and a dizzying array of contusions. The little car's airbags hadn't deployed, and though Jeremy had his seatbelt on, the downhill roll and the breaking glass had done a lot of damage.

On the bright side, he did not appear to have sustained any internal damage, no injury to his eyes or hands or mouth, and his face most likely would not scar. He would recover to complete fitness within a few weeks.

Danny broke down and wept when the doctors left, with Jeremy's parents comforting him as well as each-other. But eventually Danny realized he was being selfish and left the Millers to themselves, allowing them to recover from the shock of the accident. He met with the hospital administrators on duty to ensure that the Millers received every kindness and comfort the hospital could offer them, and then went back out to his car, intending to go stay the night at Pine Street and get comfort from his great-aunts.

"Here we are again, Mr. Vandervere," Officer Kelly stepped in front of him as he made his way through the hospital lobby.

"Officer Kelly," Danny greeted him with a handshake, "What do you mean, 'again'?"

"Somebody close to you was nearly killed," Officer Kelly explained, "The same someone as last time, even."

"But Jeremy had an accident," the boy pointed out.

"I don't know," the officer shook his head and opened his notepad, "It looks like his brakes may have been tampered with. And according to the phone company, he received a phone call from a public telephone booth, five minutes before he went out driving on a wet and dangerous road that he had no plausible reason to be driving on. That phone call came from a closed gas-station about two miles from where he went off the road. A phone booth with no fingerprints whatsoever on the telephone or the door."

"Oh, Christ," Danny breathed with horror, sinking down onto the nearest chair.

"This is the second time Jeremy has been attacked. We need to figure out who wants your boyfriend out of the way, before he succeeds in getting your boyfriend out of the way."

"But how?" Danny shook his head in perplexity, "Who in the world could possibly want to hurt Jeremy?"

"Did you see the movie The Fan?" Officer Kelly asked, sitting down in a chair across from Danny.

"Of course," Danny looked at him as if he'd asked whether the sky was blue, "Lauren Bacall singing, for Christ's sake, how could I not see that?"

"You remember that the young man killed people he felt were a threat to the star, and people who stood between him and the star."

"Yes, but..."

"You're a star, Danny Vandervere. People worship you here. You're not just a Vandervere, but you're good at everything you do, incredibly nice, and beautiful. You excite passion and envy. You're as much a celebrity in this town as any movie star or pop singer could be."

"That's ridiculous," Danny looked askance at the man, "I'm just a kid."

"You're just a kid like Prince William is just a kid," Officer Kelly corrected him with a touch of exasperation, "And I believe you have a fan who's obsessed with you. I further believe that this fan is someone you know, probably someone you've had sex with, or who you have turned down for sex."

"Well, that certainly narrows things down," Danny said with some asperity.

"How many people have you had sex with?" Officer Kelly wanted to know.

"Two hundred or so. Maybe a hundred here in town and the rest were visitors or when I was out of town."

"And how many have you turned down?"

"Maybe five who've asked, three or four more who just hinted."

"Jesus," Officer Kelly shook his head, partly in admiration and partly in dismay for how many avenues of investigation that opened up, "How about exes? Who have you dated, or been at all serious with, besides Jeremy?"

"Well, I dated three girls last year," Danny thought about it, "And I had a sort of regular thing with Henry Ahern and Tommy Williams, who were on the list of people who didn't come out that I gave you in November. And I spent a lot of time with Ash Phillips over Winter Break. But those were all just casual sex, not 'dating' per se."

"Henry and Tommy had alibis for Claude Bettancourt's murder, they were both at the dance same as you, same as everyone on your list -- except for the two Christian kids, who were at church that night. I never questioned any of them. I'll have to have a look at Ash. He was the kid who was out in the woods with you when you found Janacek, too."

"Yes," Danny said slowly, wondering if that was significant. But he'd spent so much time with Ash, gotten to know him so well, and he couldn't imagine him hurting anybody.

"In the meantime, I'm putting a guard on Jeremy. He's in serious danger."

"And it's because of me," Danny said sadly.

"No, it's because of this crazy person who's obsessed with you," Officer Kelly leaned over and took Danny's hand, "This is not your fault, OK?"

"Maybe not my fault, but it is because of me," Danny contradicted him, but smiling and clasping his hand to show he appreciated the effort, "I'll do everything I can to help you find out who's doing this."

"I can't ask for more," Officer Kelly smiled and stood up, "You go home and get some sleep, OK? I'll talk to you again on Monday, hopefully I'll have some more information by then.

"Goodnight, Officer," Danny stood and watched the man leave the lobby, then sat back down and had a good long cry.

*****

The following morning, after a good night's sleep in his Pine Street room and a huge breakfast served him in bed by Oscar, Danny went out to find Ash. The things Officer Kelly had said about him having a fan disturbed him, and Ash's name coming up in that context had worried him more, so he wanted to talk to the boy and reassure himself that Ash couldn't be responsible for these atrocities. Surely Ash had alibis for all of the dates in question.

"Oh, hi, Danny!" Mrs. Phillips answered the door when he knocked, dressed in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, her usual Sunday attire.

"Good morning, Mrs. Phillips. Is Ash at home?" Danny asked in his usual courtly manner that made the older woman smile indulgently at him.

"No, he's out at his studio," she answered.

"He has a studio?" Danny was taken aback.

"You didn't know? I would have thought he'd taken you up there already. I guess he thought it wasn't good enough for you. It's just a shack."

"I'm not sure if I should ask you where it is, if he didn't tell me himself; but it's important that I talk to him this morning, and I can't get him on his cell."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind you going to his studio," Mrs. Phillips smiled, knowing how much her son loved this beautiful boy, "It's up on the River Road, about a mile and a half from the gas station."

"The River Road," Danny didn't like the sound of that.

"Yeah, you'll see his car, if he's up there," she chattered blithely on, "It's on the right hand side, between the road and the river."

"Thank you, Mrs. Phillips," Danny reached out and shook her hand, "Is there any message I can give him if I find him?"

"No, I'm sure he'll be along eventually."

Danny went back to his car and sat there for a moment, trying to decide if he should call Officer Kelly and tell him about this, or if he should go and talk to Ash first and find out what was going on. He didn't want to have the police question his friend if he wasn't involved, it would hurt Ash's feelings to think that Danny didn't trust him. And he just couldn't believe Ash would have hurt Jeremy, or anyone else for that matter: he was such a gentle boy, so quiet and always calm.

As Mrs. Phillips had promised, Danny saw Ash's car off the side of the road behind a thin screen of saplings; it was an old gray Ford Fiesta with rust stains around the bottom, recognizeable by its Colorado plates and the bright patterns Ash had painted around the outside in latex paints that he could peel off and repaint whenever the mood took him.

Leaving his car behind Ash's, Danny climbed down and followed the narrow foot track that snaked through the trees, and in less than a hundred yards came out into a clearing with a small cabin sitting in the middle; it looked like a wooden box with a pitched metal roof, about fifteen feet long and perhaps ten deep, with four windows and a metal chimney, sitting up on stilts with three feet of bare space underneath. He could hear the river in the background, and the rain was still dripping in the trees, the muddy ground showing tracks going back and forth around the front of the cabin.

"Ash? Are you here?" Danny called as he stepped up on the little stoop, knocking on the thin wooden door, which opened at his touch, "Hello?"

Danny stepped into the cabin, which was very dim but apparently completely lined with photographs, sketches, and paintings. Danny couldn't see them very well, and wondered how Ash could work with so little light; but he found a half-dozen kerosene lamps scattered around the small single room, and lit the one next to the door with the book of paper matches that was lying beside it. In its light, he could see an iron bed up against the wall, a wood-burning stove on the right, some cupboards for food and water storage beside it, and a half-dozen easels and portable supply stands scattered around. Stepping further into the room, he raised the lamp to look at the pictures on the wall.

All of the pictures were of Danny: some photographs and sketches for which he'd posed, but dozens more that he didn't know had been taken. There were pictures of him running in the woods in his skimpy little shorts, and pictures of him riding Tenorino in those same woods; pictures of him at school, talking to people, rehearsing the play, kissing Jeremy in the halls; and even pictures taken with a telephoto lens through his bedroom window, apparently from up in a tree.

Some of the drawings were of Danny alone, but many more were of Danny and Ash together, some sexual but others more along the lines of comic-book drawings, showing them engaged in various fantasy adventures: cowboys shooting at rustlers, spacemen defending themselves against aliens, pirates swinging their cutlasses at white-wigged officers.

And then there were the paintings, dozens of them, mostly taken from the photographs but a few from the artist's imagination. The most beautiful and disturbing one was of Danny on his morning run through the woods, with Mr. Janacek's dead hand lying in the foreground. Below that painting were dozens of photographs from that morning, including distance and closeup shots of the dead body -- apparently all that time Ash had his camera out, he'd been surreptitiously taking pictures.

"Danny!" Ash said in surprise, stepping into the cabin.

"Ash?" Danny turned to look at the boy, who was holding a huge Army-green pistol in his hand. He raised the gun and aimed it at Danny, who didn't even have time to react before he heard a soft zing and felt a stinging sensation in his arm. Looking down at the source of the pain, he saw a large tranquilizer dart sticking out of his deltoid. He reached to pull it out, but his hand missed. He gaped incredulously at Ash, who stared back at him with his usual gentle calm; but within seconds, Danny's vision fragmented into little dots that drifted apart from each other, and then dissipated altogether. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor.
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