“Sart,” Michael said, following the boy’s line of sight. “Why don’t you hang around? Richard wants to apologize for scaring you when he leaped off the bed.”
Sart looked at Mura. Mura shrugged. “It’s up to you, my friend.”
Sart looked back at Michael, who smiled and winked at him.
“If the guests wish me to stay, I will stay,” Sart said. He stepped back to the bed with a bit of swagger and sat down.
“That’s wonderful,” Michael said.
Mura finished dressing and went first to Michael and then to Richard to press her palm against each of theirs one last time. She told them both that they had given her great pleasure to be with them, and said she was eager to see them the following day. Before closing the door behind herself she bid them good night.
After the sound of the door closing drifted away, there was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Richard and Michael eyed Sart while Sart looked back and forth between the two men. Sart began to fidget. He stood up.
“Perhaps I should call for more drink,” Sart said, to make conversation.
Richard forced a smile and shook his head. Then he approached Sart with a gait that suggested he didn’t quite know where his feet were.
“How about more food?” Sart said.
Richard shook his head again. He was within an arm’s distance of the boy. Sart took a step back.
“Me and my buddy here have something important we want to say to you,” Richard told him.
“This is true,” Michael said. He walked equally as unsteadily around the end of the bed to join Richard, effectively boxing Sart in a corner between the bed and the wall.
“To put it bluntly, so there is no misunderstanding,” Richard continued, “we can’t stand queers like you.”
“In fact they make us a little crazy,” Michael said.
Sart’s eyes darted from one drunken, sneering face to the other.
“Perhaps it would be best if I go,” Sart said nervously.
“Not before we’re absolutely certain you know what we’re talking about,” Richard said.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘queer,’ ” Sart admitted.
“Homo, gay, fag, fairy,” Richard said derisively. “The term doesn’t matter. The point is we don’t like guys who like men. And we have a sneaking suspicion you fall into that category.”
“Of course I like men,” Sart said. “I like all people.”
Richard looked at Michael then back at Sart. “We don’t like bisexuals either.”
Sart made a dash for the door, but he didn’t make it. Richard grabbed one arm while Michael grabbed a handful of hair.
Richard quickly got Sart’s other arm as well and with a triumphant laugh pinned both behind the boy. Sart struggled, but it was no use, especially with Michael still clutching a shock of his hair. Once the boy was immobilized, Michael punched him in the stomach, doubling him over.
Both divers let go of the boy and then laughed while they watched him take a few staggering steps. Sart was desperately trying to catch his breath. His face was purple.
“Okay, pansy,” Richard slurred. “Here’s one for putting your filthy paws on me.”
Richard lifted Sart’s face with his left hand and hit him with his right. It was not a jab but rather a wild, roundhouse uppercut behind which he put his entire weight. This second blow caught the boy full in the face, crushing his nose, sending him hurling backward off his feet, and inadvertently smashing his head against the sharp corner of the marble nightstand. Unfortunately the cold stone penetrated several inches into the back of the youngster’s skull.
Richard was initially unaware of the fatal consequences of his powerful punch. He was too preoccupied by the intense pain of his bruised knuckles. Wincing, he cradled his throbbing hand with his other and cursed loudly.
Michael watched in horror as Sart’s flaccid body came to a rest. Bits of brain tissue oozed from the ugly wound. Suddenly sober, Michael bent down over the stricken boy, who was making gurgling sounds.
“Richard!” Michael called out in a loud whisper. “We got a problem!”
Richard refused to respond. He was still in pain, pacing the room and shaking his hand in the air with his fingers widely spread.
Michael stood up. “Richard! Christ! The guy’s dead.”
“Dead?” Richard echoed. The finality of the word shattered Richard’s self-absorption.
“Well, almost. His head’s caved in. He hit the goddamned table.”
Richard staggered back to where Michael was standing and looked down at Sart’s motionless form. “Holy shit!” he said.
“What the hell are we going to do?” Michael demanded. “Why’d you hit him so freakin’ hard?”
“I didn’t mean to, okay!” Richard shouted.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Michael repeated.
“I don’t know,” Richard said.
At that moment Sart’s battered body let out a final sigh and the gurgling stopped.
“That’s it,” Michael said with a shudder. “He’s dead! We got to do something and fast.”
“Maybe we should get outta here,” Richard said.
“We can’t get out of here,” Michael complained. “Where are we going to go? Hell, we don’t even know where we are.”
“All right, let me think,” Richard said. “Shit, I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“Oh, sure,” Michael said sarcastically.
“Well, not that much,” Richard said.
“What if someone comes in here?” Michael questioned.
“You’re right,” Richard said. “We’ve got to hide the body.”
“Where?” Michael demanded urgently.
“I don’t know!” Richard yelled. He looked around the room frantically. Then he looked back at Michael. “I just got an idea that might work.”
“Good,” Michael said. “Where?”
“First help me pick him up,” Richard said. He stepped over the body, rolled it over, and then got his hands under Sart’s arms.
Michael got Sart’s feet, and together they hoisted the boy off the floor.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The new day arrived gradually just as it would on the earth’s surface. The light slowly increased in intensity, causing the darkened, vaulted ceiling to lose its stars. Its color went in stages from deep indigo to a rosy pink and finally to a pure sky blue. Saranta began to stir.
Suzanne was the first of the earth surface visitors to awaken with the arrival of the artificial dawn. As she scanned her room, taking in the white marble, the mirrors, and the pool, she realized with a start that the surreal Interterran experience had not been a dream.
Slowly she turned her head to the side and gazed at Garona’s sleeping form. He was on his side, facing her. She was amazed at herself for having allowed the man to stay the night. This was not her norm. The only way she’d shown some restraint had been by staunchly refusing to remove her silken tunic and shorts. She had spent the night with her clothes on, such as they were.
Suzanne wasn’t sure she could blame her decision to allow him to stay on the small amount of crystal she’d drunk or whether it was simply Garona’s handsome looks and winning flattery. As much as she hated to admit it, when it came to men, physical attractiveness was important to her. In fact, it had been part of the reason she’d remained mired in a volatile relationship with an actor back in L.A. long after it had ceased to be healthy.
As if sensing her gaze, Garona opened his dark, liquid eyes and smiled dreamily. It was difficult for Suzanne to feel much regret.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Suzanne managed. He was as handsome in the first light of day as he’d been the night before.
“Please, don’t be sorry,” Garona said. “I appreciate being awakened to see that I am still with you.”
“How is it you always say the right thing?” Suzanne said. She was being sincere, not sarcastic.