CHAPTER 1
Dr. David Hartman stood at the nurse's station outside room 613. He had told Dr. Collin Smith, the ER attending the night before, he had wanted Michael to have a private room. He would see that the costs were taken care of. Michael was not only an employee of his medical practice but a close friend. David had already called Michael's brother, Sean, to let him know the situation. David had assured Sean Michael would be okay and there was no need for him to fly in from Seattle to Houston. He had promised once Michael was settled and a few days had passed, David would make sure Michael called and checked in.
He scanned the chart. Whoever had attacked Michael had been angry. The police officers had said they see this kind of violence when it is personal, a crime of passion. Michael's hair had been chopped off with some kind of shears, then later, had been shaved in the ER so the crescent-shaped laceration on the left side of Michael's head could be sutured together.
Some sort of chemical spray had been sprayed into Michael's face, into the eyes. The ophthalmologist on staff didn't think there would be any lasting damage, but those beautiful eyes would have to be irrigated every few hours and kept covered for the next week.
What had shocked David the most was the report of the scars on Michael's back, from shoulders to buttocks. Most were old wounds, Smith had said, most likely from a cane or whip of some type. There were a few newer lacerations, but they were on top of the older ones.
It had occurred to David that even though they lived in the hot humidity of Houston, Texas, he had never once seen Michael without a shirt in the full light of day. Even when they had put each other to bed after a night of heavy college drinking, Michael had seen David naked, but it occurred to him, he had never seen Michael's back when there would have been enough light to have noticed the heavy scarring. He had known Michael for almost twelve years and had no idea Michael had been abused in such a sick manner.
In addition to the lacerations, there was a broken nose, busted lip, and bruises that started at Michael's shins and traveled up to beneath the ears. The broken nose and lacerations had been tended to by the plastic surgeon on staff; everything else would need time to heal.
David took a deep breath and opened the door to the private room. Like most of the private rooms, it was furnished with a sofa bed, table, and chairs arranged in a sitting room. In the center of the room against the wall was a cleverly disguised hospital bed, and on the bed was Michael.
David glanced at his Rolex; it was ten in the morning. Michael had been admitted at eleven the night before, so David was confident that Michael was not asleep. The movement of the gauze-covered head proved David correct.
"You could have asked me for a week off if you needed to have a vacation." The sound of his rich voice was hollow even to his ears. This was why doctors didn't treat family, and Michael was family. There was not a sound from the bed.
"They want to keep you for observation, so you have to stay another night or two," he started. "Shit," he said out loud. This wasn't going to be easy.
David moved to the bed and, after informing Michael he was going to sit down, gently lowered his six-foot-two-inch frame onto the bed next to Michael. He gently took Michael in his arms and softly touched his lips to the bruised cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'm afraid there's more bad news," David began. "The asshole who did this to you also burned
