The Veteran Read online

  THE VETERAN

  Bobby Michaels

  ®

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (male/male sexual practices).

  The Veteran

  Bobby Michaels

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © May 2007 by Bobby Michaels

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-472-5

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Crystal Esau

  Cover Artist: Anne Cain

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all the Veterans of all the conflicts in which the United States has been involved but especially to the “Devil Dogs” – the men of the United States Marine Corps. Semper Fi!

  Prologue

  I walked slowly up the narrow macadam road, clutching my coat around me from the chilling wind that seemed to want to push me back, stop me from going forward. It was as if the wind were trying to tell me to go back, not to go once again to that lonely grass-covered knoll, not to bring life to this place of the dead.

  Clutched in my hand were a bunch of flowers I had purchased at a florist shop that morning. It was the same florist shop I had visited every week for what was now three years. Once a week, one hundred and fifty-six times, I had come here to bring flowers and more often than not, to cry at the memories that seemed to assault me here, even stronger than they did in the dark of night when I sat in my townhouse alone.

  Reaching the top of the knoll, I stood beneath an old maple tree, its branches just beginning to show green buds in this early spring. There below the spreading arms of the tree was a grave, covered with the remnants of the last snowfall a few days ago. A simple bronze marker lay flat to the ground, partially rimmed with ice. I bent and brushed the ice away and read for yet another time the words made of raised bronze letters.

  Lance Corporal Todd Molloy, USMC

  Beloved Son and Brother

  April 3, 1981 - March 12, 2004

  Todd’s death seemed to permanently change our parents who had fought so hard with him against joining the Marines. The events of September 11, 2001, however, had moved Todd to believe it was his responsibility to go and fight the people who would attack America. Our parents never came to Todd’s grave. They never mentioned his name. It was as if by denying the reality of his death, they could hang onto the belief that he was still alive somewhere and would come home eventually. The day of Todd’s funeral, I had to receive the flag that covered his casket from the young Marine lieutenant because our parents refused to touch it. For the last three years, they had only gone through the motions of life; it was if they, too, had died that day in March. From then to now, there were no family celebrations, no Thanksgivings, no Christmases. Nothing but one day passing to another as they seemed to do nothing but wait to join Todd here on this knoll.

  By the time Todd died, I had already graduated from college with a degree in social work and been hired as a hospital social worker. This had allowed me to move out into my own apartment and I was very glad I had. I could not have lived in the mausoleum my parents’ house had become, complete with a shrine. Todd’s bedroom was still exactly the way he left it when he had gone to boot camp. Nothing was ever touched, only dusted by my mother. Oftentimes when I would visit, I would find her sitting in Todd’s room, staring off into space, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

  I suppose I could have become resentful of the fact that it was as if they had only had one son. They rarely seemed to think about me at all. In fact, for the last three years, there hadn’t even been a birthday card or present on my birthday from them, they were so lost in their grief. But, to be honest, I was actually quite grateful they paid so little attention to my life. It helped me to avoid some potentially embarrassing questions like, “Are you dating anyone?” or “When are you going to get married?” You see, there were no good answers to these questions because, even if I were dating someone, it wouldn’t end in marriage – at least not the way they understood marriage.

  Chapter One

  I discovered when I was about fourteen I had no interest in girls at all. This was a rather stunning revelation, in that I knew all the awful things people, especially people my own age, said about those boys who were only interested in other boys. I went through about six months of deep depression, not knowing what to do. I tried to change, tried to find some interest in girls but it quickly became apparent there was no changing what I was. When I was lost in the very depths of depression, however, a savior materialized that I never expected.

  It happened one night when I didn’t feel like I wanted to live anymore. I was, however, innately a coward and couldn’t figure out how to do away with myself. My family was not the kind to have guns in the house and, since my parents weren’t into the seeming national addiction to prescription medications, there were no sleeping pills or sedatives to overdose on, either. I supposed I could have used a razor blade to slice my wrists but I don’t deal well with pain or blood. I know, it’s rather odd for someone who works in a hospital but I’m not part of the medical staff. By the time I deal with patients, most of them are on the mend and are soon to be released.

  That night, I was so despondent over my situation that I was lying on my bed, crying my eyes out. I thought I was alone in the house because my parents had gone out for the evening and my brother was out on a date with a new girlfriend. I suppose I should tell you that Todd was a very handsome and popular jock who never wanted for female companionship – nor for male friends, either. There was never a weekend night that Todd didn’t have something to do, someplace to go. It was either a date with a girl or hanging out with his jock buddies doing whatever it was that they did. I had no idea what because Todd and I were complete opposites in that way. I had almost no friends, being what might be termed a quasi-nerd. I was bright, got good grades, but I didn’t wear thick glasses or have a pocket protector full of pens. But I still went nowhere. I couldn’t date because I wasn’t interested in girls and the only guys I knew were not the kind of guys I was the least bit interested in being involved with. They were the real nerds who did wear thick glasses and had pocket protectors. So I was home alone in my misery while everyone else was gone.

  Or at least I thought so. As I was lying there crying, I suddenly felt hands – warm, strong hands – gripping my shoulders and turning me over in bed. I looked up and, through my tears, there was Todd, looking at me in confusion. He put his arms around me and drew me to him so that I ended up crying with my face pressed to his muscular chest. He just held me as I cried, gen
tly stroking my head and not saying anything until I finally stopped crying and just rested against him. Then he finally spoke.

  “Tim, what the fuck is the matter?”

  At sixteen, it had been many years since Todd had last cried and it had been almost as long since he’d seen me do it.

  “Nothing,” I managed to mumble.

  “Bro, don’t lie. You’re no fuckin’ good at it. Now, what the fuck is wrong?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to lie to Todd. I never had before. We didn’t have the kind of relationship I’d heard about with so many brothers. We had always been close. There was no sibling rivalry between us. Even when I was being the typical, pesky little brother, Todd had never gotten angry at me. I think because he knew that, above all, I looked up to him as my own personal hero. I had always loved and admired my brother. There wasn’t a sport he participated in that I wasn’t always on the sidelines or in the stands cheering him on. I was his own personal cheerleader and fan club.

  But how did I tell him this? The very last thing in the world I could take was having Todd hate me. Then I would find a way to kill myself even if I had to step out in front of a bus to do it. And how could he not hate me? I hated myself and I could only imagine how much Todd would hate me for being gay. In some ways, it would be worse for him because my being gay would reflect on him and he would have to deal with people taunting him because his brother was a “faggot.” It could even raise questions about his sexual orientation. After all, if your brother was “queer,” maybe you were, too.

  So I was completely at a loss as to what to do. Did I tell him and risk his hatred or did I try to lie and pray he bought whatever excuse I could possibly come up with for him finding me as he had, crying as if my life were over? I was desperately trying to come up with some kind of plausible lie when Todd totally shocked me.

  “Bro…is it because you’re into guys?”

  I stared at him in horror. How could he possibly know? How had he guessed?

  “I’m sorry. I was out of socks a few weeks ago and I went into your dresser to borrow a pair. I happened to look over at your bed and I saw your ‘stroke books’ sticking out from under your mattress. My curiosity got the better of me and I pulled them out to look at them,” he said, apologetically.

  I was stunned. Todd had found my collection of male porn that I thought I had hidden so well.

  “You…you know?” I said, hesitantly.

  “Well…yeah.”

  “And you don’t…you don’t hate me?”

  “Why would I hate you?”

  “Well…because…well…because I’m…uhm…”

  “Because you’re gay?”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “Tim, why would I hate you? It would be like hating you for having brown hair and blue eyes. You can’t help the way you’re born.”

  “But I don’t want it to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me? How is your being gay going to hurt me?”

  “What if guys start saying you could be, too?”

  Todd looked at me and then started laughing.

  “I don’t think anybody is gonna think I’m gay – not with all the girls I date. Besides, what other people think doesn’t much matter to me. I know who and what I am. I don’t need someone else to tell me.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I cared very much what other people thought. That’s why I was so worried about anyone finding out about me.

  “Tim, you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. You don’t act gay. Fuck, if I hadn’t found those books, I would have never known.”

  “It’s not just people finding out. What’s going to happen to me? What’s my life going to be like? How am I ever going to find a guy to…well…to get together with?”

  That seemed to stump him because Todd didn’t answer for a while. And, when he did, it wasn’t at all what I wanted to hear.

  “Bro…I don’t know how you meet guys. It’s not my thing. I guess you just have to wait until somebody comes along or until you’re old enough to go to gay places.” No matter what he’d said about accepting the fact I was gay, I could tell that this made him uncomfortable.

  “It’s not fair. You can go up to any girl and ask her out. I don’t dare approach any guy for fear that he’ll freak and beat the crap out of me or, worse, tell everybody I’m a faggot.”

  “I know it’s not fair. But I don’t know any way to change it. I’ll tell you what, though, how about this? I’ll be there for you. If you need to talk, I’m here for you. I can’t promise that I’ll necessarily understand, but I’ll listen. How about that?”

  I nodded in agreement. Todd was offering the only thing he had to give, his ears and his caring. Something was bothering me though.

  “What are you doing home anyway? I thought you had a date?”

  “I did but she got sick so I took her home.”

  “Oh…could I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Could you…uhh…would you…stay with me tonight?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  With that he stood up and began undressing. I was only in my jeans and briefs so I just slipped my jeans off. Todd also was in briefs as he pulled back the covers and we both climbed into bed. It was just like when we were little kids. We’d lived in another, smaller house then and Todd and I had shared a room. I would oftentimes end up sleeping with him when I had a bad dream or a storm scared me. But there was one thing very different about this time. Rather than just sharing my full-sized bed, Todd reached over and put his arms around me and pulled me to him. I went to sleep with my head on his muscular chest and his arms around me.

  That never happened again, nor did I ever go to Todd to talk about my despair over being gay. I knew he would keep his promise and listen but I just couldn’t bring myself to overcome my own embarrassment enough to go to him. After all, what was I going to do? Talk to him about the hot guy with the big cock I saw in the showers after PE that day? He kept my secret, however. As far as I knew, he never told anyone. But our talk that night and Todd’s easy acceptance of me changed everything for me. The depression was gone and, even if I couldn’t find a guy to fall in love with, I knew I had one guy who truly loved me – my brother, Todd.

  These memories came rushing back to me as I stood on that cold, windy knoll, looking down at Todd’s headstone. I bent down to put the bouquet of flowers I had brought for his grave when I noticed the glint of sunlight off of something metallic. I looked more closely and noticed there was another bouquet lying on Todd’s grave. A very small bouquet of maybe four or five flowers wrapped in a piece of aluminum foil. For the last six months or so, every so often, a small bouquet like this showed up on Todd’s grave. I didn’t know who was leaving them. I knew it wasn’t our parents. They never came here and, if they did, they would bring a large bouquet. I speculated it might be one of Todd’s old girlfriends but it didn’t seem like something a girl would leave, and besides, why hadn’t it started after Todd’s burial three years ago? Why only in the last six months?

  It didn’t make sense to me but it was a mystery I didn’t have the time or inclination to pursue. I had to get to work. I had a number of patients being released over the next few days. Some would go home. Others would be sent to rehab facilities while others would be sent to Adult Living Facilities or shelters because they were homeless. No matter where they were released to, I had to make sure that arrangements were made for further care for those who needed it.

  Chapter Two

  When I got to the hospital, however, my boss was waiting for me. Kathleen Cannon is an institution unto herself. There are those who think that Central General had been literally built around her. She has been the head of the hospital’s social work section for over thirty years and has no plans to retire anytime soon. She is a small, slender, silver-haired woman with piercing, ice-blue eyes who many hospital administrators had, to their own misfortune, underestimated in countless bureauc
ratic skirmishes. When Kathleen wanted something, whether better pay for her staff or better treatment for a patient, she got it. And woe betides anyone who got in the way of her getting it.

  What few people knew was that Kathleen has a heart of pure, solid gold. She truly cares about every patient in Central General as well as every staff member. It was rumored that twenty years before, she had single-handedly convinced the Board of Directors to settle a long-standing grievance with the Maintenance and Housekeeping staff of the hospital, making them the highest paid of their professions in the state. Kathleen had argued that most of them were eligible for welfare and food stamps because their wages were so low and that positions were impossible to fill when they frequently opened for the same reason. Since that time, a position in Housekeeping or Maintenance at Central General opened rarely and, when it did, the Human Resources department could expect several hundred highly qualified applicants.

  “Good morning, Tim. Could I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Sure. Your office or mine?”

  “Why don’t we go to my office?”

  I wondered what was up since Kathleen usually came to see us in our offices when she needed to. I was even more intrigued when we got to her office and there were coffee and rolls set out on her conference table. After offering me coffee (which I accepted) and a sweet roll (which I declined), Kathleen, never one to beat around the bush, came right to the point.

  “Tim, I hate to do this to you, but I know you’re working this weekend. I need you to handle a rather difficult case.” Kathleen handed me a file.

  I opened the file and noted the patient’s name, Ty Gunther, and his age, which was twenty-eight – just four years older than I. He was in the indigent ward on the third floor with multiple fractures of his left leg along with several broken ribs and other minor contusions, which according to the file, were caused when he was hit by a car. The patient claimed to be without funds and homeless when he was brought to the ER and, hence, the placement in the indigent ward.