Free Henry's End by Julie Richman Page B

that’s a good idea.” Cody stood and took a step toward the door, then turned back to Henry, “You’re throwing me out?” There was disbelief in his tone.
    “You need to leave. Now.”
    He was on Henry like a large cat pouncing on its prey, “You don’t give me orders, you little faggot. I leave when I want to leave.” And in one swift move, he had Henry face down on the floor. With his knee in the middle of Henry’s back and his fingers wrapped tightly through his ginger waves, he slammed Henry’s face repeatedly into the parquet wood tiles.
    The searing pain was immediate. He felt the first slam and heard a deafening cracking sound that he instinctively knew were the bones in his cheek. On the third slam, his nose crushed to the left, cutting off one air supply. By the fifth slam he was unconscious, his struggling body now limp.
    “I’m not a fag and I don’t take orders from them.”
    He never felt the pain of Cody’s rage on his ass as the big Marine violently took what he wanted one last time, nor did he feel the thud of keys being thrown onto his back before Cody calmly walked out of his apartment for the very last time.
    Sometime after 2 A.M. he regained consciousness. Disoriented, it took him a few minutes to recognize his surroundings and remember the details of the assault. Immediately gripped by fear that Cody was still there, waiting to finish what he had started, he lay there very still until he was certain that he was all alone. Staying in one position to mentally gather the strength to bear the pain, he slowly crawled across the apartment.
    When he reached the kitchen, he pulled the phone by its cord until it came crashing down onto the floor next to him. Just the sound of the phone smashing to the floor caused pain in his multiple injuries. Lifting the receiver, he hit the redial button, because it was easier than dialing 911. Listening to the series of rings, Henry prayed the call didn’t go to an answering machine.
    “Hello,” Edwin’s voice was filled with sleep.
    “I need an ambulance,” he thought he said, but wasn’t really sure, as he once again lost consciousness.

Edwin didn’t recognize Henry when he stepped behind the curtain in the Emergency Room. Swollen into a grotesque, bruised mask, it was only the shock of wavy ginger hair that assured him that this was his sweet, beautiful friend. The IV with painkillers had knocked him out and he was resting, although Edwin doubted that it was comfortably.
    Sighing deeply, he took Henry’s hand and held it tightly, “Oh sweet boy, how could that animal have done this to you?”
    A nurse walked in, “Are you Edwin?”
    He nodded.
    “Henry was able to write this down, before they gave him the sedatives and pain medication.”
    She handed him a piece of paper from a pharmaceutical pad. In scratchy, barely legible handwriting, “Call Schooner. 714-555-3012. Bring wedding pictures.”
    Edwin looked up at the nurse, “Was he delirious? It says to bring wedding pictures.”
    The nurse shook her head, “No, he wasn’t delirious. The surgeon is going to need photos to help in the reconstruction of the bones in his face so that he ends up looking somewhat like he did before the attack.”
    Somewhat like he did before the attack? Closing his eyes, Edwin tried to process the information. Facial reconstruction. Surgery. Sweet, sweet Henry, the boy who had paid for a friend’s funeral, when his own family wouldn’t, was the victim of such violent hatred just for being who he was. And his attacker, Edwin was certain without actually knowing, was a man whom he had trusted with his heart and body. And now what had that very same man stolen from his soul. This was too steep a price to pay for loving the wrong person.
    As he headed down the hall in search of a phone, he thought, well, I’m finally going to get to meet Boat Boy, the nickname he had given to Henry’s odd-named friend. Not exactly the way I wanted to meet him.
    Henry had just