One Dead Drag Queen by Mark Richard Zubro Page B

rearranged my torso. Nothing caused any particular pain. I figured this was good. I tried to lift my head. For a few seconds it was okay. Then I got dizzy and a little nauseated. I put my head back down. I would try that again later. I didn’t feel tired. I concentrated for a few moments and tried calling for Scott or for my mother. My vocal chords emitted a mild harrumph. I lifted my eyes to look around as well as moving my headwithout lifting it from the pillow. I couldn’t see a call button. I gathered my energy and turned onto my side. The light was coming through the open door to the hallway. A few feet outside the door, Scott and my mother were talking with Ken McCutcheon, Scott’s head of security.
    I don’t like McCutcheon. In my opinion, he is too pretty and way too young to run security for anything except a Little League team. I didn’t like the way Scott had checked out his background. He’d talked to a few friends. Big deal. But that was his decision. He’s the one with the most death threats. I’d wanted Scott to get security far sooner than he did.
    I pulled in a deep breath. I gave a call that came out somewhere between
hey, oops
, and
huh?
The three of them turned around and hurried into the room. McCutcheon stayed near the door. Scott and my mother each sat on the bed, my mother on my right, Scott on my left. Each held a hand.
    My mother said, “Tom, you’re awake.”
    I nodded. She’s good with the obvious.
    “Are you all right?” she asked.
    I gave it another nod. My “Yes” came out as “Yumphs.”
    Scott said, “You’ve been unconscious for two days. The doctor says nothing is broken, and they don’t think anything is damaged permanently.”
    “We should get the doctor in here,” my mother said. “At least the nurse. They’ve got to check him over.” She didn’t wait for agreement or approval. She leaned down and hugged me fiercely, then rushed from the room.
    Scott brushed my hair back from my forehead. He caressed my face with his fingertips. “I love you.”
    I rested my face against the palm of his hand. I croaked, “Love you.”
    “You want some water?”
    I nodded. He raised the bed more upright and held theglass for me. I took it from his hand. I found my muscles worked well enough to hold the glass and drink. The water was smooth and pleasant going down, better than chocolate syrup on a hot-fudge sundae, but not by much.
    I cleared my throat several times. “I’ve been unconscious for two days?” My voice sounded weak and gravelly.
    “Yeah, it’s Monday, early evening.”
    “Have you called school?”
    “They don’t expect you back this week. Your boss and a few friends have been here.”
    “Not quite the way I’d like to get a week off in the middle of the year.”
    “Why don’t you relax while I fill you in on what happened?”
    I nodded. I leaned my head deeper into the pillow. With my fingertips, I caressed the hair on the back of his hand.
    “There was an explosion outside the clinic. That whole block was blown to smithereens. There was a huge fire. You were pulled out of the rubble just in time. A lot of people died.”
    I whispered, “The last thing I remember was talking to Alvana and playing catch with her son. Are they all right?”
    “We found a kid near you in the rubble. He was wearing a yellow and red outfit.”
    “That was Alan.”
    “He was alive when they rescued him. I’ll try to find out how he is.”
    “Alvana?”
    “There was a woman near the child. She was dead. I’m afraid it might have been her.”
    “Jesus. Alvana dead.”
    Alvana was the one who had asked me to come into theclinic the first time. We had known each other since college. Back then Alvana lived in an apartment half a block from mine. She used to bake the most exquisite chocolate cakes for my birthday, and the frosting she made was unbelievably light and sweet. No one else I know has ever been able to replicate it.
    It took me several minutes to digest this