Chapter Four: Patrick’s Abduction

CHAPTER FOUR:

Patrick’s Abduction

The sun had only begun to peek up over the horizon, manifesting as little more than a pink line shading to an arch of deep purple, when Patrick Young stepped out of the back exit of Geer Hall. He did a few hamstring stretches in front of the building before jogging off toward the back end of campus.

He saw no one else as he made his way past the other dorms toward the library, which was precisely why he liked to run so early in the morning, before the campus had truly come to life. He felt that he moved through an empty world, a post-apocalyptic landscape, but instead of leaving him with a sense of loneliness and desolation, there was only tranquility.

Of course, he mused as he ran around the left side of the library, passing the bronze statue of the father with his child propped on his shoulder, there was at least one person Patrick wouldn’t mind surviving and sharing this solitude with him. Adam to his Steve.

Patrick had been trying for the last month to convince his boyfriend to join him on these early morning jogs, but Robert insisted he never got up before the sun. In fact, he always arranged his schedule each semester to ensure he never had a class earlier than 10 a.m. He took great pride in that fact.

A smile curled his lips as he descended the stone steps behind the library that led down into the rose garden. The fountain at the back gurgled softly, the cherub holding the large fish with water shooting out of its mouth. As he wound through the labyrinthine pathways of the garden, a small gazebo at the center, the smile lingered, thoughts of Robert causing a tingling in the pit of his stomach often referred to as butterflies, though Patrick thought they felt more like bees buzzing around in there, the vibration soothing and warming.

Patrick and Robert had a lot of differences. Patrick was an early-bird; Robert was a late riser. Patrick liked ethnic cuisine; Robert subsisted almost exclusively on fast food burgers and fries. Patrick appreciated live theater; Robert watched mostly sitcoms and reality TV. Patrick tended to be a bit reserved and quiet; Robert was a blazing ball of gregarious charm and wit. Physically, Patrick was tall and slender; Robert was shorter with a beefy frame. On paper, they wouldn’t seem a likely match at all.

Yet when they were together, those differences somehow weren’t all that important. What they did share was a wicked, often inappropriate sense of humor, as well as a common core belief in kindness and generosity. Neither of them was particularly religious—though Patrick had an interest in Buddhism and Robert still identified as Christian—but they both strove to lead ethical, moral lives. They agreed on all the things that truly mattered.

Not to mention the fact that the sex was phenomenal.

Patrick ran down the path that led out of the garden, the lake spread out before him like a pool of dark ink. The rising sun glinted across the surface of the water like golden highlights. He turned to the right and jogged down toward the dining hall, the school’s distinctive clock tower looming in the distance like an accusatory finger pointed at God. At this hour, breakfast was not yet being served, but through the glass of the rotunda he could see workers preparing the morning’s meal. He slowed slightly, remembering when he had first met Robert inside.

It had been lunchtime, and Patrick had been having a rare meal on campus as he did a little last-minute cramming for a Physics test the next day. A shadow had fallen across his book, and he’d looked up to find a stranger standing by his table, smiling at him from behind round, wire-frame glasses.

“Can I help you?” Patrick had asked when the man said nothing.

“Didn’t I see you at the production of Hairspray last month?”

Patrick nodded. “I was there. It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

“I guess, if you’re into that sort of thing. My Public Speaking professor made the whole class go. Can you believe that, forcing us to go to a play? Crazy, right?”

“I agree. I can’t imagine why someone would have to be forced to go to a play?”

The man had shrugged and sat down across from Patrick without waiting to be asked. “Let’s just say I’ve known a lot of fat chicks in my life—I mean, I’m gay, they’re just sort of drawn to me—and none of them break into song that much.”

Patrick had found himself laughing despite himself. Normally he hated being interrupted while studying.

“I’m Robert, by the way,” the man said, holding out a hand.

Patrick shook and gave his name.

“You were at the play with Gary Edwards, weren’t you?” Robert had asked.

This unexpected question had caused Patrick to stammer and fidget in his seat as if it were a bed of hot coals. He and Gary had dated for about three months, the relationship imploding in spectacular fashion only the previous week when he’d discovered Gary had been cheating on him with several different guys.

“That’s over,” Patrick said curtly, staring down at the book so he didn’t have to meet the other man’s eyes.

Robert had started laughing, causing Patrick to glance up. “Whew! That’s a relief. I was kind of dreading having to tell you to drop-kick that loser to the curb, because he’ll stick his dick in any warm hole.”

“Yeah, well, I already figured that out for myself. A little later than maybe I should have, but I eventually got the memo.”

“Gary and I dated briefly last semester, until I found out he’d slipped it to my friend Samantha. My ex-friend Samantha, I should say.”

“Samantha?” Patrick had said so loudly several people at nearby tables looked their way. “He never told me he was bi!”

“As I said, any warm hole. He’s not picky.”

“Somehow that doesn’t come as much of a comfort to me.”

“Look at it this way,” Robert said with a wide, bright smile, “at this rate he’ll have worked his way through the entire student population of Furman by midterms and then maybe he’ll transfer to some other school for fresh meat.”

The wounds from the breakup had still been open and raw, but despite this Patrick had found himself returning Robert’s infectious smile. “Maybe he could transfer to Bob Jones University. Those ultra-religious students might give him more of a challenge.”

“Nah, I’ve hooked up with my share of guys from Bob Jones myself. The repressed types are usually the easiest to get out of their pants.”

They had shared a laugh, then settled into a silence that was a bit awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. Finally Patrick said, “Thanks for trying to save me. I appreciate the thought.”

“No problem, and hey, if you aren’t busy tonight maybe we can have dinner and see a movie.”

Patrick had found himself wanting to say yes, which was rare. He usually didn’t like to make decisions impulsively. “Maybe some other time. I have an exam tomorrow, and I really have to get in some more study time.”

“How about we nix the movie and just go out for dinner? An hour or two, tops, then I’ll deliver you to your dorm so you can get right back to the books.”

Intellectually, Patrick knew he should say no. He had even enumerated the reasons in his mind. 1) He really did need to study for this Physics test. 2) He was fresh from a bad breakup and didn’t need to jump into anything new until he had time to heal and process. 3) He didn’t know anything about Robert other than they’d both dated the same man and Robert occasionally hooked up with closet-cases from the Christian college in town. 4) He wasn’t even all that attracted to Robert physically. The man was a bit thicker than Patrick usually went for, his hair unkempt and his clothes wrinkled, giving him an altogether sloppy appearance.

All those reasons had been true and undeniable . . . yet he still found himself saying yes. Even now, months later, he couldn’t explain the pull he felt to Robert. It went beyond words or even reasoning. It was instinctual and primal. While Patrick read a lot of Buddhists texts, he wasn’t sure he believed in the concept of reincarnation, but the strongest proof he knew was that instant sense of kinship with Robert; surely they must have known one another in a past life.

He had gone out to dinner with Robert that evening, but he didn’t return to studying afterwards. They’d spent the night together, and almost every night since then. Patrick had made a C on that Physics exam, beginning the downward slide of his grades. He wasn’t in danger of flunking out or anything, but he hadn’t seen an A or a B since meeting Robert. What may have seemed to the outside observer as a rebound had turned into the most intense relationship of Patrick’s life.

He turned by the fraternity housing and passed the clock tower on his left. He picked up speed as he ran past the amphitheater and the path rose up into a wooded area. Patrick pumped his legs, enjoying the feel of the cool sweat coating his body as well as the burn in his calves as he made his way up the steep incline. When Patrick had started Furman, this particular hill had been nearly impossible for him; halfway up he’d usually have to stop, catch his breath, then walk the rest of the way to the top. He hadn’t given up—“No giving up” was his motto, he’d actually had it printed up on a T-shirt he sometimes wore to the gym—and now he made it up the hill without even getting winded.

The trail curved around and sloped downward on the far side of the lake. As Patrick started the descent, he hinged forward at the hips, resisting the urge to lean back and instead gradually moving his center of gravity forward as he picked up speed. A lot of people thought of uphill running as the most strenuous, but downhill running could be just as strenuous and often left a person even sorer due to the eccentric contraction of the quadriceps and lower leg muscles.

At the bottom of the hill, he began to sprint, pounding over the stone bridge that arched like something from a fairytale. He passed a power-walker going in the opposite direction, a middle-aged woman who smiled and nodded at him. Patrick smiled and nodded back.

When he reached the small brick building that housed restrooms, he stopped to relieve his bladder and hydrate at the water fountain out front. He trotted over to the edge of the lake, staring across the water toward the main campus. The sun had climbed higher over the horizon, reminding Patrick of a baby crowning. The water shimmered as if bejeweled, flocks of ducks and bevies of swans cutting across the surface, the wake of the fowl creating V patterns behind them, their honks sounding almost like laughter.

Patrick laughed along with them, feeling buoyed by a sense of contentment that was almost alien to him. He didn’t think of himself as an overly pessimistic man, but neither was he a wearer of rose-colored glasses. He often called himself a pragmatist; life was neither a pit of despair nor a bowl full of cherries.

Yet, at the moment, he felt as if his bowl were overflowing with maraschinos. He was in the best physical shape of his life; he was in a relationship with someone he was crazy about and who was crazy about him; while his grades had dropped, he was still passing all his courses; even his parents were coming around.

When he came out to them on his seventeenth birthday, in rather dramatic fashion—he blew out the candles on his cake and then told them he’d wished for a boyfriend with a stud in his tongue—they had reacted not with outright disapproval but with guarded reservations. He came from a family of progressive-minded people who supported gay rights but in an abstract sort of way. Discovering they had a gay son put his parents’ convictions on the subject to the test. He’d never introduced them to anyone he was dating . . . until Robert. Last month his parents had come down for a weekend visit, and much to Patrick’s delight, Robert charmed them with an ease that seemed effortless. Before leaving to return home, his mother had pulled Patrick aside and told him, “You’ve got one of the good ones. Don’t mess this up.”

Walking back to the paved path, he resumed his jog, running the rest of the way around the lake. He reached the large parking lot in front of the bookstore, bending first his left leg back, grabbing the foot and pulling it up behind him, then repeating the process with his right leg to stretch out the quads. The lot was nearly deserted this early on a Sunday morning, only four vehicles. Two compact cars, one pickup, and one SUV. The SUV was running, exhaust spilling from the tailpipe like a smoke machine.

Patrick cut across the parking lot, intending to go back through the rose garden and up by the library again. His thoughts turned to Robert again, as they always seemed to these days. He’d finally convinced Robert to go with him to see the Greenville Symphony at the Peace Center. They had tickets for next Saturday, and they were going tomorrow afternoon to be fitted for tux rentals.

Patrick was imagining how dashing Robert would look in a tuxedo as he passed the SUV. Dimly, he heard the driver’s side door open but he didn’t pay it any attention. Only when he heard a voice behind him shout, “Hey, son!” did Patrick pause and turn. He saw the man standing there, holding a baseball bat in his hands, but he felt no immediate sense of danger. This was Furman, not only one of the most beautiful campuses in America but also one of the safest. Besides, the man had a pleasant smile on face, nothing to indicate malice or ill intent.

“Can I help—?” Patrick began, thinking perhaps the man was looking for the baseball field, but then the man swung the bat like he was going for a homer. Patrick had time to muse that the man’s facial expression remained placid and friendly, but then the bat connected with the side of his head and he fell into a yawning, dark abyss.