“Ms. Conner, these people that live at the warehouse don’t have any family. And from the sound of it, this guy had been on the streets for a long time. Any family he has forgot about him a long time ago. If they ever gave a shit to begin with.”
I bit down on my lip so hard that I tasted blood. “So what happens next?” I asked sharply.
“Well, that’s why we have you, Ms. Conner. Help the guy get some services or something. I don’t know. But I can tell you that the department just doesn’t have the resources to look into another beaten up rent boy.”
“That’s horrible! What about the person who did this to him—”
“I know to you this sounds heartless, but you and I both know that men like this don’t change. He’ll get better, then go back out there, turn tricks, and end up with a shiv in his neck. I’m not being callous. I’m being realistic. So while it’s great that you want to help him, don’t put too much energy into it. We’ll do what we can on this end, but don’t expect miracles. You’ll go home disappointed.”
“Well, thanks for nothing, Detective,” I snarled.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Ms. Conner.”
I hung up the phone and slammed my palms down on my desk. Maybe I should have confirmed that the man up in ICU was indeed Yossarian Frazier. Perhaps I should let the not so kind detective know that Yoss’s family used to live across town in the fancy Heights development. That his dad was an abusive alcoholic who dressed up during the day as an ad executive and that his mother had died when Yoss was just a little boy.
I could have told him that the man with his face smashed in didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but at one time he had a grandmother, but I wasn’t sure she was even still alive. That he loved his grandmother so much that he used to visit her every month, without fail, at the residential home where she lived. He never told her that he lived on the streets or that he had run away after being almost beaten to death by his own father. He had never wanted her to worry about him. Particularly since most of the time she lived in a fantasy world, lost in memories, unable to connect with the present.
But I hadn’t because I knew all of those details that made Yossarian the person that he was, wouldn’t matter to a man like Detective Preston.
I had thought about him every day for the last fifteen years. Yoss had broken off a big part of me that day in the rain. He had been my moon. My stars. My everything when I had had nothing at all.
But that day, with my heart in pieces, I had gone home to my mother and a new life had begun.
I had tried to make a better life. Even if I always felt a bit empty.
I had been so hurt and angry and there was a part of me that still was. But that hurt and anger was all mixed up with the love we had shared all those years ago.
Even when I met Chris and later married him, my soul was somewhere else. I hadn’t realized exactly what I was missing until thirty minutes ago.
Or maybe I did and I hadn’t wanted to face it.
Because Yoss was my past.
And I had made myself believe he was never meant to be my future.
“Hey, you. How’s the new case?” Tess asked, poking her head around the door.
I closed Yoss’s file and forced a smile on my face. “Complicated,” I told her.
“Aren’t they all?” Tess commiserated sympathetically.
“Some more than others,” I said softly. She had no idea how true that statement was.
“Hello, Imogen. Jill mentioned you were assigned this young man’s case,” Dr. Howell said. We were standing at the nurses’ station in ICU. I had been making excuses. Filling out paperwork. Checking facts and talking to hospital staff.
Anything to avoid going into that room again.
I should pass this off to Tess if I can’t even look at him.
But I knew I would never do that.
Yoss was mine.
Mine.
Even after all these years I still thought of him that way.
“Such a sad situation,” Dr. Howell remarked shaking his head. Dr. Howell was an older man with a head full of silver hair and warm eyes behind round frames. I liked him. His bedside manner was competent and compassionate. Frank and to the point, but careful of other’s feelings. I had worked with him many times over the years and he was by far my favorite physician. I was glad he’d be looking after Yoss.
“I spoke with the detective handling the case from the police department,” I swallowed, my mouth dry. I hated referring to Yossarian as a “case.” It didn’t feel right. As though he were less a person.
“His name is Yossarian Frazier,” I said quickly.
Dr. Howell’s eyes widened in amusement. “Yossarian? What an interesting name.”
“It’s from Catch-22. John Yossarian, the fighter pilot,” I filled in.
Dr. Howell gave me a strange look, his eyebrows rising. “Yes, I’ve read the book. How do you know he’s named after the character? Did the detective tell you that?”
I felt my cheeks flame hot and I had to look away from the doctor’s penetrating gaze. “It was just a guess. I’ve never heard of another Yossarian, have you?” I answered lamely.
“No, I suppose I haven’t.”
I kept my mouth closed unless further incriminating myself.