Free Reverb by J. Cafesin Page A

sink.
    Martin goes back to the bathroom doorway, leans back against it and looks at James in bed, apparently sleeping. “All that talent and beauty, and he wants to blow it all away.”
    “That’s what used to boggle my mind about you when you were drinking yourself to death.” John looks at Martin’s reflection in the mirrored wall in front of him. Martin doesn’t respond. He stares at James. John sighs, shakes his head and goes back to the guestroom. “James! Wake up. Come on. Open your eyes.” John sits on the bed next to him.
    James lies curled on his side. John pushes his shoulder back and James moves onto his back, gripping his ribs as he opens his eyes and glares at John through narrow slits. “Give me a break. Leave me alone. Go away.” He tries to curl up again but John grips his face in one hand, pulls his penlight from his lab coat pocket with the other and shines it in James’ eyes. James pushes him off, moves to the head of the bed to get away from John. “Get off of me. Leave me alone.”
    John stares at him huddled against the headboard. “Why, James? What the hell were you thinking?”
    James closes his eyes again, but John’s on him.
    “Wake up! Look at me! Pay attention.”
    James opens his eyes to slits again and stares at him.
    “You took three quarters of a bottle of Valium, James.” John gets up, goes to the bathroom and gets the prescription bottle, comes back to the bedside and holds the amber bottle an inch from James’ face. “What the hell were you trying to do?”
    “Ease up, John.” Martin says.
    “Shut up, Martin.”
    James laughs condescendingly. John flushes with anger and before he can stop himself he throws the empty bottle at him. James flinches when it hits his chest, his smirk gone. “I didn’t count ‘em, John. I just wanted to shut down. Turn off. Sleep without dreams. Pills were right there.” He squints at Martin across the bed. “You got it right, Martin. I spent the last thirteen months in hell wanting to be what I was, which turns out to be nothing.”
    Martin’s jaw drops. “I never said that James—”
    He blinks at Martin several times then his eyes drift to John. “Just need to sleep a bit…please...” His eyes roll back in his head a little then he fixes them back on John. “I’m fine. Really. I swear. Just sleep it off for half an hour and I’m outta here.” He blinks a few times then his eyes stay closed. His body goes slack and he slouches back against the pillows, unconscious.
    John stares down at him. He looks Christ-like, his slender, muscular body lay over the pillows, his arms slack at his sides. His huge hands are face down and spread loosely on top of the maroon quilt. He looks perfect. Undamaged— but John knows it’s a lie. Anger wells in the pit of his gut. The man is going to walk out their door, and unless he gets help, in a week, a month, a year down the line, he’ll likely be joining Martin at James’ memorial.
    “I’m calling Shelly. I’m getting him over to Mt. Sinai.” John looks at Martin standing at the foot of the bed. “He needs to be in a hospital, Martin, where someone can watch him around the clock, get him on the right meds to quell his death wish.” John strokes James hair away from his eyes gently and feels his forehead but there’s no fever. “I’m an internist, just a GP. I handle cuts and colds. I’ve done what I can for him. I’m getting him over to Mt. Sinai.” He stares down at James a second more then glances at Martin before leaving the room.
    John takes his cell from his coat pocket as he goes down the hall, searching its database for Dr. Shelly Pasquel’s contact numbers. He finds her listing as he enters the kitchen and calls her. Kate is at the table in the nook, nursing a cup of coffee. She stands when he looks at her.
    “This is Shelly. What can I do for you, John?”
    “Sorry about the hour, Shel, but I have a patient. White male, late twenties, physically and mentally unstable.