A Simple Suburban Murder by Mark Richard Zubro

A Simple Suburban Murder by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro [Zubro, Mark Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: baseball, Chicago, detective, gay, mystery, sports
ISBN: 9780312302313
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 2003-12-31T05:00:00+00:00


— 6 —

When I woke up I hurt. All over. Everything. I moaned.

"Tom." It was Scott.

I tried opening my eyes. I could tell it was night, but everything else was a blur. The effort to keep my eyes open was too great. I closed them. The gravel of the driveway poked into my back. I felt Scott's hands easing, caressing, his voice trying to soothe. "You're going to be all right. The ambulance is on the way." I felt a pressure on my forehead. I tried to pull away. Pain screamed in my head.

"Easy, I want to clean off some of the blood so I can see how bad it is." He tried to sound calm, but I detected the tremor of scared in his voice.

I groped for his touch. He took my hand. I put both of mine around his. I tried to concentrate on the warmth of his touch and not the pain in my head. I was only partially successful. I flickered in and out of consciousness.

Next I remember lights and movement. "Ambulance," I mumbled.

"I'm here, Tom." Scott's voice seemed to conic from a vast distance. I realized I stillclutched his hand.

The next time I woke up I was in a hospital bed. I felt drugged; probably, it dawned on me, because I was. The pain lived at the dull ebb of consciousness, gone for the moment.

I moved my head a quarter inch. It didn't hurt. Boldly I turned it more. I surveyed the room. The curtains were open. It was night. Scott sat in a chair, his head leaned to one side. He was asleep.

I tried to assess the damage. I flexed each arm. They moved slowly and stiffly. I brought a hand to my face. I touched an enormous bandage around my forehead. There was a small bandage over the bridge of my nose. I tried to look at it, became cross-eyed and then nauseous with the effort. A cluster of smaller bandages covered the right side of my face. Gingerly I continued inventory: ribs, legs, torso, There were sore spots everywhere, each earning a separate wince as I probed. Nothing obvious was broken—except my nose.

I realized I needed to piss. I was awake enough to decide to try the short trip on my own. I started to swing my legs out of the bed and almost passed out—obviously this was a mistake. Half off the bed, I lay back waiting for my equilibrium to return.

Scott rustled in his chair. He woke up and looked at me. He came over slowly and sleepily. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"Practicing for a dance marathon," I grumbled.

He gave me a sour look then reached over and rearranged me in the bed.

"I gotta piss," I muttered.

He held a plastic bottle out to me.

I gave it a bleak stare. "No way. Help me up. I won't use that thing."

Scott sat on the edge of the bed. He yawned. "Don't be stubborn," he said.

"I'm not being stubborn," I said stubbornly.



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