Ties Stronger Than Blood

Warning: Character death

Chapter Nineteen


Marko watched the cars pull away. He could just see Luther's head through the back window, bowed and defeated. Feeling helpless, he paced back and forth for a moment, then stalked over to the room shared by Ruth and John, and started pounding on the door. He didn't really have any hope--he was pretty sure that, as much as she'd have wanted to see the results of her machinations, she wouldn't have dared have a face-to-face confrontation with Marko at this point.

One of the musicians approached carefully. "Mark, what's going on?"

Mark started to reply, then hesitated. *They're not sure, even after all that shouting. I can't tell them. Luther has to live with these people, and their opinions matter to him. It'll kill him if they think he's a molester.* "I dunno. It's some sort of huge mistake. I mean, Luther? Who can you think of who is less likely to be in trouble?" The musician nodded. "Do you know--is Ruth in there?"

"No. I was getting some coffee, and I saw her getting into a car with a couple of the church ladies. Probably going out for some shopping and lunch. I wouldn't expect her back before lunch. Do you think we'll be able to bail Luther out by then? Christ, where's the money going to come from? Somehow for all her talk about Christian charity, I don't see Ruth forking over."

Marko scrubbed his hands roughly through his hair. "I don't know. I have to get in touch with John as fast as I can. Do you have a phone number for our next gig?"

"Not me, but Luther would have it in that notebook of his. Considering how quickly he left, he probably didn't take it with him, so you can ask his roommate."

Luther's notebook was on the bedside table, and it did contain the needed information. Marko called, and got the secretary of the church that was sponsoring them. "Hi, this is Mark Talmadge, of the Glory Singers..." There was an immediate and enthusiastic greeting, and Marko cut off the imminent babble. "Listen, my grandfather, John Talmadge, is on his way up there to check out facilities. There's been an emergency back here." Concerned noises from the secretary. "No, no one's dead, or in the hospital. I can't discuss it, but it's serious. Please tell him that he has to come back immediately. Right. Just turn around and head back." He paused, then said, "Tell him it's about Luther. Thank you. God bless you, too." He hung up, and rubbed his face. *Well, if that bit about Luther doesn't put wings on his heels, nothing will.*

Once he'd done that, though, he was at a loss. He couldn't think of anything else to do that would be the least bit helpful. The frustration was almost killing. He felt like just running out into the street and trying to hunt down Ruth. But if he did that in the state he was in, he might very well just kill her on sight, and he was afraid that they were going to need her to get Luther out of this mess. That really galled--the thought that the author of this pain was probably their best bet at ending it. *Or lessening it. Oh, man. I'm afraid the pain of this is going to go on for a long, long time. Luther might never recover.*

He considered getting a cab and driving out to the cliffs. He didn't have any money, as usual, but that wasn't what stopped him. One of the band members would have made him a loan, but after what he'd learned last night, he figured it wouldn't do him any good to go there. Even if he could find the boys in their underground labyrinth (and it was no means certain that he could do that without breaking his neck in the dark), it was doubtful that they'd be able to do anything till sunset.

Next he thought about going to the video store and looking for Max, since he was involved so closely with the other boys. But then he thought a little more, and was irritated with himself for not realizing sooner what should have been obvious--Max was like the Lost Boys. Must be, from the way they talked about him. And during their first visit to the store, it had been mentioned that he only worked nights. Besides, he'd rather not deal with Max unless he had to.

The man had been nothing to him but genial, but there was just something about him that Marko didn't much like. Marko couldn't say why, but for some reason Max reminded him vaguely of Mother Ruth. He somehow got a sense that every weakness would be noted, stored away for future reference, and used when it could be turned to an advantage. He got the feeling that, like Ruth, the need to control others was very much a part of Max's nature.

Marko also thought about going to the police station, but knew that it would be futile, The worst case scenario would end with Marko in a holding cell after creating a disturbance, and the best he could hope for would be to ignored, or sent away with a metaphoric pat on the head.

He couldn't think of anywhere to go, anything constructive to do, but he couldn't just hang around the motel. He knew that the other members of the group would drive him crazy with questions he couldn't, and wouldn't, answer, so he walked. For the next hour or so he paced the streets of Santa Carla, trying to fade into the background. It wasn't hard. There were a lot of youths in Santa Carla, and apparently many of them were at loose ends. One more didn't merit special attention.

The time didn't ease his stress, but it calmed him a bit, smoothing the ragged edges of his nerves enough to make him feel that he could deal with the authorities in a manner that wouldn't get him arrested, or sedated. He returned to the motel a little before the time he might have expected John back, if he'd started back immediately. He wanted to be there when John got back, so that he could speak to him before he got a garbled account from one of the others.

He barely made it. Not more than ten minutes after he arrived the station wagon, wheeled into the parking lot, moving so swiftly that it bounced at the dip separating the lot from the street. If he hadn't been so worried, Marko might have been afraid that John would be unable to stop in time, and would jump the curb and plow into the building. But jerked to a halt, parking crookedly across the painted lines.

Marko had been looking out of John's room's window, and he opened the door as John got out of the car. His grandfather was pale, his expression worried. When he saw Marko he said, "Mark, what is it? What's happened? They said it was something about Luther."

"Not out here," Marko cautioned. He got John into the room and got him to sit on the edge of one of the beds. "I don't have the entire story, but it's bad, John." When John half stood, anxiety flaring in his eyes, Marko said swiftly, "Nothing physical. No, he hasn't been in an accident, and he isn't sick." He grimaced. "Unless you count heartsick. He's with the police."

John frowned. "But you said he wasn't hurt. He wasn't mugged? Was he robbed?"

Marko heaved a sigh. "No. I'm not explaining this well. He's not arrested, but he's there for... They're questioning him to see if they want to arrest him."

John's eyes went round, and a look of profound bewilderment settled on his face. "Luther?"

"That's pretty much my reaction."

"What do they think he did?"

*Damn, I don't want to tell him this.* "They think he molest me--long term."

John's mouth dropped open, and he was silent for a moment. Then all he could manage was a repeat of his first reaction, his voice even weaker, and more astonished. "Luther?"

"I didn't do it, John. I'd never accuse Luther of something like that."

John waved dismissively. His tone and manner conveyed his attitude even more than his words, "Of course you didn't. But why? The whole thing is perfectly bizarre. How could they ever get that idea?"

"How is simple. Who do you know that wouldn't hesitate to lie and destroy someone in the most painful way possible--if she thought it would get her what she wanted?"

"Ruth? But... but why? Yes, she's a hard woman, and spiteful, but Luther hasn't done anything to her."

"John, open your eyes. Luther offends her just by existing. The fact that he loves men doesn't fit into her mindset, and the fact that he loves you, and especially that you love him is like vinegar and salt on raw skin. He's one little piece of your life that she can't have, but she can use him to hurt you."

"But again, why? I don't fight her, Mark. I've never really fought her. I guess I've known for some time that she knew how we felt about each other, but she hasn't bothered to try to keep us apart."

"Because it made you easier to control."

"Then why now? Why is she hurting us now?"

"It isn't you, John--it's me." John stared at him, and Marko nodded. "She's hurting you because she knows it will hurt me. It's revenge for my not signing my life away to her, and an incentive to make me toe the line. I have no doubt that if I do as she asks she'll try to call this off."

"Try?" John's voice was apprehensive.

Marko drew a deep breath. "You can't just make something like this go away, John. I'm not really clear on all the laws and the local statutes, but they've gotten a lot heavier about investigating child molestation and abuse in the last... oh, decade or so. I mean, it's great that people are paying attention and really trying to help kids, believing them more readily, but... but there can be a bad side to it. Sometimes it goes too far and too fast." He looked away, unable to watch the pain and despair growing in his grandfather's expression. "I read a lot of newspapers and magazines on the bus trips. There have been witch-hunts. A lot of children have been saved, a lot of monsters have been put away, but there have been a few innocent people just caught up and swept away, too. It's a touchy thing, John. It raises strong feelings. Some people don't wait for proof, they just leap to judgment. And even when proof is presented, they cling to that first judgment. A label can stick with someone the rest of their lives. What was it I read once? The mistake is printed in screaming headlines, the retraction is printed on page eight, small print."

John put his face in his hands. "This is a nightmare."

Marko sat beside him, putting an arm around him. He could feel John trembling, and he hugged the bigger man, saying softly, "As soon as Ruth gets back I'll sign her damn papers, and we'll see what we can do to fix this."

John looked up quickly "Marko, you can't..."

"Yes, I can," he said firmly. "Don't worry, John. It's just a piece of paper, no matter what Ruth thinks. I'm still underage. A few months, and I can sue her ass off. I shouldn't have any trouble breaking it, but even if I did, it wouldn't matter. We have to do what we can for Luther now."

John embraced him fiercely. "You're a good boy, Mark. I don't know why Ruth has never been able to see that."

Mark patted his back, thinking sadly, *Just because you're a decent human being doesn't mean everyone else will be, John.*


~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


John and Mark discussed it, and they decided that they'd go directly to the police station, rather than wait for Ruth to get back. The went to the front desk and asked after Luther Prince. The officer at the desk flipped through some papers, muttering, "Prince, Prince. What do we have him for?"

"A mistake," said John.

The officer gave him a slightly jaundiced look, but kept his tone respectful. "Yes, sir." He searched a little more. "I don't see... Wait a minute." He called back to a small office behind him. "Dewey, what was the name of that guy back in room two? Was it Prince?"

"Yeah," came the answer. "Is that the next of kin?"

The term sent a bolt of cold through Marko. "What happened?"

Another officer, apparently a plain-clothes detective, came out of the office. "Don't be alarmed. There was an incident, but he was breathing on his own when they took him to he hospital."

John swayed. "But I thought he wasn't hurt. Marko said he was all right when he was brought in."

"Sir, stay calm. No one hurt Mister Prince, but we can't release any details except to his next of kin."

"We're the closest thing he's got around here," said Marko. "What family he has is in Minnesota." He patted John's shoulder. "My grandfather is his emergency contact."

Detective Dewey considered this a second, then said, "This is a regrettable incident. I and my partner were trying to question Mister Prince about the alleged..." he eyed Marko, who was staring at him fiercely, "activity. He was very agitated, just wouldn't calm down. He became progressively disturbed, bordering on hysteria, and we decided it would be best to leave him alone to settle down. When we tried to place him in a cell, he lost it. We had to restrain him." John moaned, covering his eyes, and the detective gave him a curious look. He was used to distressed relatives, but this man's reactions seemed a little dramatic to him. "We left him along for just a little while, no more than ten minutes. I went back to see if he'd calmed, or if he needed some water, or something."

His expression was both sheepish, and concerned. "I guess the stress made him kind of sick. He vomited. I don't know why... Yeah, he was on his back, but he could have turned his head to the side. Anyway, he aspirated, and he'd stopped breathing. I yelled for help and started CPR. I don't know how long it took, but I had him breathing again when the medics arrived. They slapped oxygen on him and took him out. They have him at Santa Carla General. That was more than an hour ago. We haven't heard anything yet, but they're supposed to call us with any news."

"Come on," said Marko grimly, taking John's arm. He led the older man out of the station, knowing that there'd be an interested discussion about John's reaction after they left, and not really giving a damn.

They went directly to the emergency room at Santa Carla General, and asked after Luther at the admitting desk. The nurse in charge didn't need to consult any records--she remembered Luther very well. "No, he's not here any more. He..."

"I don't understand," John interrupted, sounding helpless. His tone became hopeful. "Was he well enough for you to release him?"

Marko was chilled by the woman's kind expression. "Sir, Mister Prince is in ICU. I can't tell you any more about his condition, but if you'd like to have a seat, I'll have a doctor speak to you as soon as possible."

They had no choice, so they took seats in a corner of the waiting room. Marko held John's hand, trying to reassure him that Luther would be all right, that they did fantastic things with modern medicine. He offered to pray with John, and his grandfather accepted with plaintive eagerness. So they prayed together for healing, and Marko wished desperately that he put as much faith in that as he did in the chancy efforts of the doctors. He listened to John murmuring, "Please, Lord, help him. Shelter him in your hand; lend your strength to over come the frailty of his earthly body. Return him to me, safe and whole." His voice cracked, "Almighty God, I know what the Bible says about... about what we have together. But you're a loving God, and we've hurt no one. I can't help but believe that you wouldn't condemn Luther for that. He's such a good man. Please, Lord. Thy will be done, but if punishment must fall for this, let it be me. Take me instead. I'm the one who reached out to him in my loneliness, and he was too kind to refuse me..."

Marko wanted to stop him from lacerating himself with this self-condemnation, but he was afraid this would only hurt John more. Taking all the blame (for something that was to Marko blameless) was John's way of protecting his love.

Almost an hour after they'd sat down, Ruth entered the waiting room. John was holding Marko's hand, and he felt the boy tense. He looked up to see what was the matter, and saw the tense, angry look on the boy's face. Ruth walked to them, slowly and calmly, and took a seat opposite. "John, they told me at the police station that you were back in town. I can't believe that you managed to thoroughly inspect the set up."

Before John could speak, Marko said sharply, "Don't start the bullshit, Ruth. What the hell do you think you're doing? You know damn good and well that Luther wouldn't even think about doing what you accused him of. I can't think of names foul enough to call you for this. It isn't just bad--it's evil!"

"This never would have happened if you'd just done your duty, and committed to doing the Lord's work..."

Marko literally hissed at her. "Stop it! Don't try to justify your horrors by saying you're doing God's will. God's will doesn't involve destroying an innocent man--and your own husband."

Ruth tossed a disdainful look at John, but she didn't consider him important enough to address. "He works in strange ways."

"He's going to spit in your face when you stand before the throne of judgment."

"Stop being so dramatic. In any case, who said anyone was ruined? No charges have been filed. If you'll just be reasonable, they won't be, and we can put all this behind us." She frowned. "Of course we won't be able to have him on stage with us any more. I suppose I could keep him on to do general work--at a smaller salary, naturally."

"We can talk about that later. But Ruth, I think you may have underestimated the authorities. If they decide that there's cause, you're dropping charges won't make any difference. They'll go ahead."

"They can't do anything without testimony."

"You may be cunning, but you're stupid. Ever heard of a subpoena? If they want you to testify, and you refuse, then they can put you in jail? Won't that be a kick in the head?"

Ruth finally looked uncertain, but she continued, "We can worry about that later." She pulled the legal papers out of her purse. "Sign this, and I'll go back to the police and tell them what a terrible mistake this has all been."

Marko grabbed the papers and the pen she offered, slashing his name angrily on the line, then throwing them back at her. Ruth ducked, glaring at him angrily in a manner that told Marko she intended to make him pay for that defiance later.

But as she folded them and tucked them back in her purse, a tired looking man in a doctor's smock came out and talked to the nurse. She pointed toward the trio sitting in the corner, and he went over. "You're Mister Prince's family?"

Ruth straightened. "No."

Marko glared at her. "Yes. How is he?"

The doctor sat near them. His eyes were compassionate. From the moment Marko heard his soft tones, his heart fell. "I'm sorry. Mister Prince passed away about twenty minutes ago. He never regained consciousness."

John made a small, hurt sound, falling back against the cushions. "I don't understand. The police said he was breathing. It... he was just sick. That's not so bad."

"Sir, Mister Prince aspirated vomit. We can't be sure how long he was initially without oxygen. Yes, the police managed to get him breathing again with artificial respiration, but he stopped again in the ambulance, and his heart stopped. The MEs shocked him back on the way in, and we put him right into Intensive Care. He was on a respirator, though. A short while ago... We believe it was a stroke, but we won't know till we have an autopsy. It might have been a heart attack. We did everything we could, but we just couldn't save him."

There was silence. Mark put his arm around John. His grandfather had always been a large, powerful man--physically. Now he felt almost shrunken, and he was trembling. He looked at Marko, dazed, and whispered, "Gone?"

Marko nodded, feeling tears start down his own cheeks. "Yes, John."

"God has seen fit to take him home," said Ruth stiffly.

Marko looked at her blankly, then said, "If you say something like that again, I'll kill you."

Ruth actually flinched, and the doctor winced, but he'd seen many emotional reactions to grief, and this one wasn't all that unique. "We'll need some information--who to contact, what to do with the body, permission for the autopsy."

"No," said John abruptly. "No autopsy."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but he was in police custody, and there may be a question..."

"No!" John looked at Marko. "They want to cut him, Marko. He... he has such beautiful skin--so smooth. I can't let them. He wouldn't want it."

"John," Marko said, pained. "Please. You know that isn't Luther any more. They have to do it." He squeezed John's hand gently. "It won't hurt him. He's past hurting now."

John nodded. "And no notifying his family. They can't know how this happened. He was so afraid that they'd... that they'd hate him. There wasn't that much love to start with, and if they knew..."

"You don't have to worry about that right now," said the doctor kindly. "Why don't you all go home and get some rest? Tomorrow will be soon enough." He stood up.

Marko stood also, shaking hands with him. "Thank you. Thank you for trying. He was a good man."

The doctor left, and Ruth stood. She looked from John to Marko, then said grudgingly, "Well, I suppose we'll have to cancel the concert tonight."

"Big of you, Ruth," said Marko flatly.

"I saw the station wagon in the parking lot. I'll be driving it back to the motel. I'm not wasting any more money on taxis today, so if you two want a ride, you'd better come along."

"You're some piece of work, Ruth." John was standing. "John, you don't have to go with her if you don't want to. I have a little money left over. We can go somewhere--coffee shop, or something."

"No, it's okay, Mark," said John vaguely. "I'm tired. I think I need to lay down for a little while and... and think."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything." He looked lost. "I don't know if I've EVER been sure of anything."

Marko hugged him again, whispering in his ear. "You can be sure that you loved Luther, and that he loved you back. You can be sure of that, John."

John nodded, and shuffled after Ruth. At the door Ruth stopped and looked back. "Where are you going, if you're not coming?"


Marko fought down the urge to curse her. Instead he said flatly, "The concert if off tonight. I'm going to the boardwalk--and tell some people why."