An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes (25 page)

He tries to cry out but can't.

He gasps for air and sucks in a mouthful of plastic.

His hands fly up to his neck.

As his fingers scramble for purchase to rip the bag away, something slams into his side and pain radiates along his ribs. He tries to ignore it, to focus on tearing off the bag, but he is struck again and again. The blows keep falling. He feels something in his chest snap and a fire spreads along his side.

Something slams into his face and his pain blossoms within his cheek.

He swings out blindly, trying to break the window, block the punches, do some damage of his own.

His fist connects with something hard, and he hears one of his attackers cry out.

Dante thrashes and kicks even harder.

But the bag tightens even more around his neck, cutting off his windpipe.

He is hit over and over again in his ribs, his head, his face.

Jolts of pain. Flashes of red.

Black spots form behind his eyes.

Snot or blood or tears run down his face.

His throat burns.

His head feels both heavy and light.

With each raspy attempt to suck in air, the plastic wrinkles, catching deeper in his nostrils and mouth.

He hears laughter, but it sounds miles away. It's “smear the queer” all over again. He never escaped.

Overcome by a wave of exhaustion, he thinks that maybe this is for the best.

He stops kicking. He stops thrashing.

Like a stretch of midnight road in the rearview mirror, he fades away.

Ever since he heard the heavy door clicked closed, Archie hasn't been able to fall back to sleep.

At first, he did not mind. It was nice.

Lying with Mari. His arm around her. Her head resting on his chest. The credits of some movie scrolling on the TV in the darkness.

He hadn't been able to stop smiling as he thought of the last few days and imagined what the future held for them.

But now something's bugging him. A dark feeling hovering just out of reach.

He knows it was Dante who stepped out because his giant form is missing from his bed. And he knows Dante is alone because Sam's still snoring away.

But Archie has no idea how long he's been gone.

He waits for Dante to return.

He feels the need to pee, so he unravels himself from Mari and makes his way to the bathroom. He urinates, but he does not flush.

He starts to climb back into bed and then hesitates. Changing his mind, he slips on his glasses and heads out the door.

Sam looks around. With Dante nowhere in sight, he randomly selects a direction and starts walking. The cement sidewalk is cold against his bare feet. As he passes the other rooms, he wonders how many people are having sex at that very moment.

He shakes off the distraction and tries to put himself in Dante's shoes, tries to understand why the big guy might sneak away in the middle of the night. Arriving at an answer, he turns around and heads for the vending machines.

But Dante is not there.

He starts to really worry.

He heads back to the room.

“Dante's gone,” he announces, flipping on the lights as the heavy door slams closed behind him.

Sam covers his head with a pillow. Mari shifts and reaches for her glasses.

“What?” she asks. “What's going on? What time is it?”

Archie checks the bathroom but it's still empty. “Dante's missing.”

“I'm sure he just stepped out for a moment.”

“I walked around outside—there's no sign of him anywhere,” Archie says, pacing.

“Did you try the vending machines?” Sam asks from beneath his pillow.

“Try his phone,” Mari suggests.

Archie grabs his cell and dials Dante. It rings several times and then goes to voicemail. He shoots Mari a pleading look.

Mari rises from the bed and slips on her shoes. “Let's look outside again.”

She pokes Sam. He withdraws into the comforter like a hermit crab disappearing into its shell. “He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. Good night.”

“Come on, Sam,” Mari says. “He's your friend.”

When Sam still does not move, Mari and Archie give up on him and head outside.

The building is L-shaped with rooms on either side running along two floors. Their room is in the middle of the first floor, facing the road.

Mari points in one direction. “I'll walk this way.” She points in the other. “Go that way. We'll meet around back.”

Archie nods and takes off in his assigned direction.

The hallway's clear, so Archie surveys the lot as he walks. Not a person in sight. Just a single row of parked cars, windshields reflecting the neon glow of the motel's sign. One of the letters flickers. The road is empty. The evening is quiet except for the buzzing of the motel's lights.

As Archie turns the corner, he starts to wonder if this is his fault. Did Dante leave because of what he said? He apologized back in the diner, and Dante seemed to accept it. But what if he really didn't? He had hid his homosexuality from them for years, so who's to say he could not hide a grudge?

Archie hears something, interrupting his guilty thoughts. Muffled sounds. Dull thuds.

Archie turns toward the noises. They seem to be coming from near the dumpsters. But it's difficult to see. The light from the motel's sign is blocked by the corner of the building, obscuring the area in shadows.

Creeping closer, he makes out a black SUV parked next to the dumpster. It's rocking back and forth.

Archie asks himself if it's possible. Is that Dante in there?
With
someone?

He sneaks closer. There's a flurry of movement behind the tinted windows. Again, Archie can't see through the darkness—and he's not sure he wants to.

If it is Dante, good for him, right? Archie's not supposed to care about who his friend loves, but neither does he have to watch. Archie's muscles relax. He starts back for the room.

But then he hears a shout—a shout of pain, not pleasure.

He turns back toward the SUV. Sneaking behind the dumpster, he peeks around the side of it into the vehicle's interior, now only a few feet away.

His stomach drops. His mouth goes dry. His muscles lock.

This can't be real.

Through the windshield, he sees someone who he's pretty sure is Dante. Only there's a plastic bag smothering his face. A guy sitting in the back seems to be holding the bag over Dante's head, while a guy behind the wheel keeps punching Dante over and over again.

It can't be real. Who in the hell does something like this?

Archie's first instinct is to shout for help. But the cry catches in his throat. He tries to leap from behind the dumpster, but it's like his feet are glued to the cement. He finds himself frozen with fear, with indecision.

He watches as Dante stops struggling. There's something unnatural in the way his limbs suddenly go limp. Something unnerving in the attackers' laughter.

Forcing himself to move, Archie glances around for something he can use as a weapon. He spots a pothole nearby, its edges ringed with loose pieces of pavement. He runs over and grabs a heavy chunk the size of a football. He hefts it over his shoulder, takes a couple steps, and lobs it into the air.

The chunk of cement hits the windshield and the glass bursts. It does not shatter completely, but instead sags under the weight of the rock, a web of cracks radiating outward.

The guy behind the wheel looks up and spots Archie. He says something Archie cannot hear. The guy in the backseat releases the bag. The rear door, behind Dante, opens.

Archie rushes at the guy as he emerges, throwing a wild punch. The guy easily dodges it and then grips Archie by the collar. He slams Archie into the side of the SUV and buries a fist into his stomach. The air rushes from Archie's lungs. He crumples to the ground.

The guy spits on him. “Fucking faggots.” He rears his leg back to deliver a kick to Archie's head.

“Stop!”

The guy actually stops and turns to look just as Sam dives at him. In some poor attempt at a tackle, Sam wraps his arms around the guy's legs.

“The fuck is this?” The guy twists away, freeing himself from Sam's awkward, feeble grip. “How many of you fuckers are there?”

The other guy starts to climb out from behind the wheel to join the fight, but Mari slams his door shut.

“Four,” she says. Holding her phone to her ear with her other hand, she adds, “A few more might be joining us. They'll probably bring handcuffs.”

“Forget them. Let's get out of here,” the driver calls to his friend. And then to Mari. “God. We were just fucking with him. Can't you take a joke?”

The other guy yanks open the front door on the passenger's side. He pulls out Dante, letting his body collapse onto the pavement, and then takes his place in the front seat. The SUV reverses and then peels out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

As Mari explains what is happening to the 911 dispatcher, Archie rushes over to Dante's side. He yanks the plastic bag off Dante's head and rolls him onto his back.

“Dante?” Archie asks, laying his hands on his large friend. Sam peers over his shoulder.

Dante's face is bruised and bloody. His eyes are closed, his lips blue. He is motionless.

“No, no, no,” Archie says. He does not know what to do.

Sam says, “Check his pulse.”

Archie presses his fingers to the side of Dante's neck. He tries to calm himself enough so he can feel for a heartbeat.

But there's nothing.

“Dante. Please, Dante,” Archie cries over the body of his friend. “I'm sorry.”

“You know CPR?” Mari asks.

Archie does. He took a class once. He regains his composure, tries to remember everything. He sits up. Sets his hands over the center of Dante's chest. He starts pressing down in time with “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” just like he was taught. He counts to thirty. Stops. Pinching the bridge of Dante's nose, Archie tilts his friend's head back and blows into his mouth.

Dante's massive chest rises.

And then falls.

It does not rise again.

Archie looks up at Mari, lost.

“Do it again,” she says.

Archie repeats. Presses his chest thirty times. Gives Dante his breath.

Watches his chest rise . . . and fall . . .

Dante sputters and coughs.

Archie smiles, leans back. He looks from Sam to Mari and then back to Dante. “It's me. It's us. We're here. You're safe now. You okay, buddy?”

Dante coughs a few more times. His eyes flutter open. Bloodshot. Unfocused. “Am I dead?” His voice is faint and hoarse.

Archie laughs. “No, big guy. I cast a resurrection spell.”

“Help me up,” Dante says.

“Maybe you should—”

But Dante is already pushing himself up. His movements are slow and stiff, so Sam and Archie help him into a sitting position on a curb.

“We should get you to the hospital,” Archie says.

Dante breathes in and out slowly, testing his lungs. He touches his hands to his mouth, it comes away bloody. He spits. A sharp pain burns in his side. Probably a broken rib or two. “No—I'm all right. Let's just go back to the room.”

“We have to wait for the police,” Mari says, still on the line. “By the way, anyone happen to get the plate number on that SUV?”

“Of course,” Archie says and rattles off the numbers and letters from memory.

Down the hallway, the ice machine rumbles. A door opens and then closes.

“You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?” Sam asks.

Dante rubs his throat and nods.

“So you want to tell us what happened?” Archie asks.

Dante shrugs. “I'm gay. Some people don't seem to like that.”

Dante's words hang in the air. Archie looks down at his feet.

“I'm not like them,” Archie finally says.

“But you don't like it, do you? That I'm gay.”

“It's not that.”

“Then what?”

“This. Look at you. Look at what they did to you.”

Dante nods.

Archie starts to say something else, but an old woman in a bathrobe suddenly appears from around the corner. She stops short upon seeing the three boys sitting there, one of them beaten bloody.

“Jesus H. Christ! You boys been fighting?” She's holding a bucket in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's with her other.

“Something like that,” Dante says.

She looks at Archie and Sam, puzzled that they appear uninjured, then turns to Dante.

“Here. Looks like you need it more than I do.” He shakes his head. “Let me fetch you some ice, then. Just sit tight.” The old woman trots away.

They wait for her in silence. They hear the ice machine rumble, and a few moments later the woman reappears. She hands the bucket to Dante. “Here, take this.” She hands him a towel that had been draped over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Dante says. “Thank you.”

The woman nods and then returns to her room.

“Here.” Archie takes the towel from Dante and spreads it out on the ground. He pours some ice onto it, and then ties it up. He hands it back to Dante.

Dante presses it against his side. “Thanks.”

“I just don't understand,” Archie says, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Why didn't you just wait?”

“For what?”

“To, you know . . . come out.”

“Why should I have waited?”

“People can be pretty horrible.”

“So what, Arch?”

Archie looks down at his feet. “Why not wait? Until you're somewhere safe where nobody is going to do something like this to you.”

“Like where?”

“Geez, I don't know. San Francisco.”