Free Dante's Poison by Lynne Raimondo Page A

orientation, but hadn’t acted on it yet. Over the years he’d seen enough male eye candy in the locker room to know that’s what he was attracted to, but hadn’t yet found the courage to come out. I didn’t encourage him in that direction—I understood his concerns about his parents—but I did suggest he get in touch with a local support group for gay teens. He followed my advice, and before you know it, met someone. If I had to guess, that’s what the song on Facebook— Don’t Fear the Reaper —was about.”
    It made sense. The band had always said it was more about undying love than a suicide pact, and the frequent references to Romeo and Juliet, whose suicides were, if anything, unplanned, backed them up.
    â€œSo you think it was a coded message?” I said.
    â€œYes. I think he must have posted it as a love note to his friend, who hadn’t come out yet, either. They both planned on waiting until they got to college—at least before they were discovered.”
    â€œWhen was that?” Rusty asked.
    â€œIt couldn’t have happened at a worse time. It was toward the end of April, right after dad had suffered a big trading loss—don’t ask me for the specifics, what I understand about options you could fit on a postage stamp—and there was talk of needing to sell the home. Typical McMansion by the way, on a lot barely big enough to hold the ranch they tore down to build it. That was when the other boy’s folks found some pornographic material in his room and badgered him into a confession. They went straight to Danny’s parents to complain that their precious offspring was being ‘turned’ by Danny.”
    â€œHow did Danny handle it?” I asked.
    â€œAs well as can be expected. Frankly, I think he was relieved to finally have it all out in the open.”
    â€œAnd the parents?”
    â€œJust what you’d expect,” Levin said bitterly. “Naturally, Carpenter senior couldn’t believe that a son of his might be a ‘pansy-ass,’ to use his charming term, so he needed to pass the blame, and there I was, with a big bulls-eye on my forehead. He accused me of having tricked Danny into exploring his otherwise-nonexistent homosexual feelings and threatened to report me to the state board. He even had the gall to come to my office and threaten me physically. It’s one of the reasons I have no intention of ever settling this matter. And of course, they pulled Danny from therapy.”
    Danny’s supposed suicide had occurred in August. “So between late April and the accident, Danny wasn’t receiving any psychiatric care,” I said, thinking that this could easily account for his wrapping a car around a tree.
    â€œWrong,” Levin replied. “He was on the road to recovery but still needed my help, and I wasn’t about to cut him loose mid-therapy. He was over eighteen, so I didn’t need parental consent to continue our sessions, which I did free of charge. I also continued to write his prescriptions.”
    â€œAnd this went on right up until he died?” Rusty asked.
    â€œThe last time I saw him was a week before the accident, on August tenth. He had to be at his university early to start swim practice. I’d put him in touch with a Twin City colleague and given him some free drug samples to tide him over until he could begin therapy again. It was an emotional parting, but not a sad one. He seemed so excited about going away and starting a new life, one where he’d finally have the freedom to be himself.” Levin’s voice had grown thick. He stopped and blew loudly into a handkerchief. “Honestly, if I’d had any idea, I would never . . .”
    I realized with a jolt of sympathy that he had begun to weep.

    â€œSo what do you think?” Rusty asked me. It had taken some minutes for Levin to recover, and when another half hour of questioning