“Self-defense of what?” he asks.
I nod, visualizing an alternate scenario in my mind. It isn’t ideal by any means, but it’s all I’ve got to work with. “We know Elliot was obsessed with you. His photographs and paintings will support that. His fixation became unhealthy. He invited you into the pool house under the guise of showing you his newest painting. I came out here looking for you and found Elliot defacing you. Panicked and distraught, I grabbed the nearest object and used it to defend your life. Yours and mine, presumably.”
“What do you mean by defacing me?” Adam asks shakily.
“I’m going to have to cut you, Adam. On your face. It has to look convincing enough to sway a jury should it come to that.”
“My face?” He grabs hold of it in both hands. “Fuck, Cassius, not my face.”
“I’ll be as delicate as I can. Dr. Flemons will stitch you up no problem. It’ll hardly even leave a scar.”
“But my face is my money-maker,” he laments.
“I know it is, darling, but it has to be dramatic. There must be blood and gore. The injury has to invoke pity and outrage. A tiny scratch simply will not do. That’s the only solution I can come up with where you or I don’t end up in prison. Unless you have any other suggestions?”
He’s silent, working through the logic puzzle in his mind. He’s never been the idea factory in this relationship. “Is it going to hurt?” he asks pitifully.
“I’ll give you some drugs to numb the pain. You won’t feel a thing.” I stroke his cheek softly, then slowly lead him over to the chaise, careful to go around the swamp of blood. I’m never going to get the stain out of that grout.
“Will I be awake for it?” he asks.
“Yes, but you won’t remember a thing, I promise. Now, it’s very important that we get our stories straight. So, when you come back to yourself, you’re going to say the last thing you remember was looking at this painting when you felt a pinch in the side of your neck. That’s where I’ll inject you. After that, you don’t remember a thing. Understand?” He nods with a beautiful kind of terror in his eyes. “Repeat it back to me,” I say.
“I came out here to look at the painting. Elliot came up to me—"
“From behind,” I coach.
“He came up to me from behind and stuck me with a needle.”
“You felt a pinch. You don’t know what it was.”
“I felt a pinch,” he says while nodding, committing it to memory. “I don’t know what it was. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“Very good. You don’t know Elliot is dead either. And as far as that leaked video goes, you have no feelings about it one way or the other. It’s no longer relevant.”
“No longer relevant,” he repeats dully.
“Wonderful. Now lie here for a moment and count your breaths while I go get some medicine.”
“Wait.” He grabs my bicep with desperation.
“What is it, love?”
“I need a hug.”
I sigh because time’s a wastin’ but I embrace him nonetheless. He clings to me like a child, trembling and breathless. “Don’t leave me,” he begs.
“It’ll only be for a minute. You’re going to be fine. I’m going to fix this for you, Adam. All I need is for you to do exactly as I say.”
“I will, Cassius, I promise. Thank you for not abandoning me.”
As if I could. My life would be exponentially easier without him. A lot less stress and hassle in my day-to-day, but the truth is, I’d miss having him around, and visiting him in lockup would be a real vibe-killer, even with the promise of same-sex conjugal visits.
It takes me only a few minutes to retrieve a syringe and fill it with a few cc’s of ketamine. I’m going to need a large dose so that the drug acts quickly. Without a continuous IV, I’ve only got about ten minutes to complete the job, and every minute we delay, our story becomes more suspect.
“Are you sure this is the only way?” Adam asks when I have the needle poised at his jugular.
“It’s the only way I can think of. Are you ready?”
