Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2006 12:31:38 EST
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: the-passion-of-matthew-12

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.


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                            "THE PASSION OF MATTHEW"
                             Copyright Ritchris 2005

                                  A story by

                                Ritch Christopher

                        with special literary enhancement by

                                  Les Martin

                                   * * * * *

                                 Chapter Twelve


<><><><><><><><><><><>

	Matt had called this day just ended, the best day of his young
life, hadn't he? Jim reminded himself. 'Well, Matt wasn't alone there!',
Jim thought, lying in his bed, daydreaming and reliving his day with
Matt. Jim was experiencing feelings that made his spirit soar, almost not
daring to think what his life with Matt could be like, a life with someone
he could love, someone who would return that love in full measure. Then a
sound intruded on his reverie, a scuffling noise from down the hall--from
Matt's room? His first thought was that Matt might have fallen trying to
get into bed. Then Jim heard the sound of someone screaming or
shouting. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The screams were too loud to be coming from
Matt! Jim jumped out of his bed and ran toward Matt's room. As he turned
into the doorway, he was met by Hank, running out of Matt's room and down
toward the bedroom that housed him with Bob and John.

	 Hank's noisy entrance into the bedroom had awakened John and
Bob. He reached for his valise and grabbed the few things in his sight
which belonged to him, then ran back down the hall, across the living room
and out the front door, jumped into his jeep and sped down the narrow
driveway as fast as the jeep would go. When he reached the highway, Hank
turned right and headed north at breakneck speed.

	During Hank's desperate exit, Jim had run into Matt's room and
turned on the wall light-switch. Seeing Matt's lifeless body, he ran toward
it while shouting for Mike at the same time. Matt was on his back, suddenly
gasping for air. Blood was streaming down his face, his nose and chin. Matt
was clutching his chest with his good arm. His eyes rolled backward into
his head. Jim immediately placed his mouth over Matt's and began
administering CPR as Mike came running in the room with Bob, John, and Art
right behind him.

	"What's going on?" Mike yelled.

	Jim couldn't stop doing mouth-to-mouth long enough to offer Mike an
explanation. Mike turned and looked at Art and shouted, "Art, call '911'
immediately!" Art ran to the kitchen. grabbed the phone and punched in the
emergency numbers. He called for an ambulance and a doctor to get to Mike's
house instantly.

	Jim had to stop blowing air into Matt's mouth to catch his own
breath and all he could say was, "HANK! GO STOP HIM!"

	"Did Hank do this to Matt?" Mike asked anxiously.

	"I think so, but run after him and stop him anyway!" Jim repeated.

	"Hank's already gone, Mike!" Art said. "His jeep is gone and I
don't know whether he headed north or south."

	"Then call the Georgia Highway Patrol, Art! Give them a description
of Hank and of Hank's jeep. There can't be that many jeeps in Philemon!"

	Once again, Art ran to the phone to did as Mike asked. Not knowing
what else to do, John had run into the bathroom to get some damp washcloths
and towels to wipe the blood from Matt's face and body. Bob was standing on
the opposite side of Matt's bed from Jim. All Bob could do was watch. Mike
pushed Jim out of the way and told Jim that he would continue with the CPR
while Jim rested and caught his breath.

	Jim looked at Bob and John and asked breathlessly, "Did Hank say
anything to either of you when he ran into your room?"

	"No," Bob said. "He woke us up when he ran into the room and he
grabbed up all his stuff and ran out the front door. Bob and I were both
naked; we stopped to put on our shorts before running down here."

	"Let me feel his pulse!" Jim shouted, as he ran to Matt's good arm
to grab his wrist. Jim watched the digital seconds click on Matt's radio
beside his bed. "Forty beats a minute," Jim added. "That's not good. When
the fuck is that ambulance gonna get here?"

	"It's on the way, Jim," Art replied.

	"Do any of you have any idea why Hank would attack Matt like this?"
Jim asked, suddenly thinking to find an explanation.

	"Hell, no, Jim. I thought Matt and Hank were getting along TOO
well. I never saw any trouble between them," John answered.

	"Neither did I," Bob replied. "I hope Matt'll forgive me for saying
this, but I thought Matt was in love with Hank."

	"We don't need to go into that now, Bob," Jim said. "I just can't
believe Hank would do this. There HAS to be an explanation, although for
the life of me, I can't seem to find one."

	It took nearly ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive at
Mike's. Jim and Mike had continued switching places to administer CPR to
Matt. Dr. Carter had been at the hospital when he heard the call for help
from Art. He'd accompanied the EMS team in the ambulance to Mike's. Quickly
seeing the situation, he intubated Matt and had a direct oxygen line pumped
into Matt's lungs. He telephoned the hospital during the return trip to the
hospital to have a ventilator ready to hook up to Matt so that no time
would be wasted. Mike and Jim followed the ambulance to the Philemon
Hospital. Art, Bob, and John stayed home in case Hank came back or to give
any possible assistance to the GHP who had an all points bulletin out to
look for Hank's jeep.

	Doctors Meade and Carlton, Matt's primary physicians, were in the
Philemon Hospital, working late with a patient who had suffered a CVA from
a coronary thrombosis. A nurse from the ER alerted Dr. Meade that Matt had
been admitted with a life-threatening emergency and he left Dr. Carlton,
rushing down to the ER to see about Matt. Matt's vital statistics were way
below a normal level. His respiratory system was being artificially
supported by the ventilator and, with Dr. Meade's first assessment of
Matt's condition, he feared the worst. Matt could not survive the night.

	Shortly thereafter, Dr. Carlton arrived in the ER and performed his
own assessment on Matt and sadly concurred with his colleague's
prognosis. However, refusing to five up hope, Dr. Carlton went straight
back to his office on the second floor and made a long distance call to the
VA hospital in Atlanta. Dr. Carlton talked with a pulmonary specialist at
the VA and described Matt's condition as best he could. The pulmonologist
advised Dr. Carlton that the only thing which might save Matt would be a
lung transplant, provided a matching donor could be found. If so, the VA
would pay for air transport from Philemon to Atlanta, but without a donor,
such an effort would be futile.

	Dr. Carlton returned to Matt's examining room to see Mike.

	"Does Matt have a brother or a sister?" Dr. Carlton asked.

	"No, Doctor, Matt has no living relatives except me. He has no
siblings and both of Matt's parents are deceased."

	"Mr. Sawyer, I presume that, since you and Matt have the same
surname, you are a blood relative rather than an uncle by marriage?"

	"Yes, Matt's father was my brother."

	"I just talked with the pulmonary specialist at the VA in Atlanta
and he said it's POSSIBLE that Matt could be saved with a lung transplant,
preferably from a donor whose blood type matches Matt's."

	"Doctor, how soon could you check to see if I'm a match?"

	"It'll take only a few minutes."

	"Then let's give it a try."

	"You're willing to donate one of your lungs and give it to Matt?"

	"Doctor Carlton, I'd give every organ in my body to keep my nephew
alive." That phrase seemed to echo in the doctor's head.

	"Before we go any further, I should warn you that you might not be
a match and there's no guarantee that Matt will live through the
operation."

	"We can at least give it a try, can't we?"

	"OK. Mr. Sawyer, are you currently taking medication for any
condition...hypertension, high cholesterol, an STD?"

	"No."

	"Have you ever been treated for a life-threatening condition such
as cancer, TB, or a staph or strep infection?"

	"Not that I know of..."

	"Then, in that case, I'll have your blood tested if you'll come
with me."

	Mike followed Dr. Carlton into the next room where a nurse drew two
large vials of blood from Mike's arm and rushed it to the lab to be tested.

	"Is that it?" Mike asked.

	"Well, that's it for now, but we have to wait now for the result."

	"They WILL hurry, won't they?"

	"As much as it's humanly possible. Tell me, Mr. Sawyer..."

	"Please call me 'Mike'!"

	"All right, Mike, tell me what happened to Matt. He's suffered
bruises and contusions all over his chest and face. Did someone beat him or
did Matt get into a fight?"

	"I don't exactly know what happened, Doctor. A young man who has
been taking care of Matt suddenly rushed out of his room about half an hour
ago and ran out the door and disappeared while driving his jeep."

	"It appears that Matt was badly beaten. Since Matt's lungs aren't
healthy to begin with, it's not possible to see how much damage was done
tonight or if it was lesions from his original accident in the war."

	Dr. Carlton kept asking questions of Mike about Matt until the
phone rang from the lab.

	"Yes?" Dr. Carlton said, answering the phone. "Yes...yes...yes...I
see. All right, thank you very much!"

	"Well?" Mike asked, eagerly.

	"It's a match. There are a few papers of consent you'll have to
sign, Mike, but in the meantime, I'll call the VA and tell them to get
their air transport ready. You'll be flying to Atlanta with Matt. Is there
anyone you need to call to tell them?"

	"No, anyone that needs to know, my friend, Jim, who's in the room
with Matt, will call them for me."

	The doctor made his call and a nurse brought all the consent papers
for Mike to sign while Mike went back into the examining room to tell Jim
what the medical plans were.

	"Mike, could I go with you and Matt?" Jim asked.

	"I don't know," Mike replied, but then turned to
Dr. Carlton. "Doctor, is it all right if my friend accompanies Matt and me
to Atlanta? You see, Matt is very fond of Jim and I think having Jim close
by would help Matt."

	"If Jim is a close friend of Matt's, he might be an added emotional
support for Matt. Sure, I don't see any reason why Jim shouldn't go with
you."

	"Thanks, doctor!" Jim replied. The pressures that tried to
overwhelm Jim gave him the feeling that he might implode at any moment.

	Jim left Matt and Mike long enough for Jim to call Art to let him
know him what was going on. Art left the house immediately to go to the
hospital. When Art arrived, he went into the private room where Mike was
sitting.

	"Hey, buddy..," Art spoke to Mike.

	"Hey, Art. I didn't expect to see you. Thanks for coming," Mike
replied.

	"Jim called me to tell me what you're doing."

	"It's the least I can do, Art. Hell, I don't smoke and I only need
one lung, but if that's all it takes to give Matt a chance, he deserves it,
Art. I told the doctor I'd give every organ in my body to keep him alive
and I think you know I meant it."

	"After Jim called me, I got to thinking that I wish I was blood
kin. I would have given Matt one of my lungs if I thought it was a match. I
mean, I'm old, Mike. You're just entering the prime years of middle age."

	"You're not old, Art, and besides, even if you are older than I,
you need both of your lungs to stay around and look after Matt and me. You
and my dad were so close. After he died, I always looked up to you as my
adopted dad."

	"The doctors think that you're strong enough to go ahead with this
transplant operation?"

	"They must or they wouldn't have let me sign the consent papers."

	"You just got to take it easy after the operation is over. Try not
to exert yourself because you'll only be getting half the oxygen your body
is accustomed to receiving."

	"Yeah, that's right...I'm gonna have to depend upon you more than
ever."

	"I just pray to God that everything works out all right with
Matt. I don't suppose I have to tell you about the situation that's
progressed between Matt and Jim."

	"No, I'm well aware of it, Art. I've never seen anything wrong with
two guys being in love. I've always thought it was stupid that men couldn't
live the way they wanted to.  Hell, I've known that John and Bob loved each
other more than they loved their wives for years...but the two fools let
society dictate that they get married to women and have a kid each."

	"You seemed to have kept a lot of thoughts to yourself, Mike. I
only wish we had had this conversation a long time ago."

	"Don't you ever get lonely, Art?"

	"I used to, but not any more. When you get to be my age, you stop
thinking about the future...only what the end might bring. An old person's
body begins to deteriorate piece by piece. When I leave the house to go to
work every morning, I don't know if I'll get back to go to bed and live to
see another day. You see all these ads on TV about drugs that will keep you
alive longer. Yet, in spite of them, a person dies of a heart attack every
thirty seconds. When I go to bed at night, I think a lot about dying and
about which pain or which condition is gonna take me. Babies die in their
cribs from that infant sudden death syndrome. People of all ages die every
day in car accidents. Young people die from drug overdoses without getting
a chance to live out their lives. Oh, I could be a hypochondriac and
convince myself that every stomach pain or every headache was a cancer, a
brain tumor, or a potential stroke or A heart attack. There's no certainty
to life or to the way we're all gonna die. I'm just so proud of you for
being the man you are. Your giving a part of your body to let Matt live is
another star in your crown, Mike. I just wish it could be me, instead of
you."

	"Art, I trust the doctors and I've no reason to doubt that the
operation will be a success, but if anything SHOULD go wrong, I know you'll
be around to look after Matt."

	"You're wasting your breath if you think otherwise, but I'm hoping
that Jim will be the one to take care of Matt. Jim honestly loves Matt and
I think Matt's in love with him. Who knows? In a couple of years, the two
of 'em might adopt a kid or two and you'll be a grand uncle."

	"Matt knows that I love him, doesn't he?"

	"He's never stopped believing that, Mike. Matt loves you too. For
one man to speak the words 'I love you' to another man is pretty
difficult. I guess that's why I've never said it out loud to you, but,
Mike, I DO love you."

	"And I've always loved you, Art."

	"I guess I'd better leave and see if they'll let me in to see Matt
for a minute."

	"I'm sure they will."

	"Well, hang tough, Mike, and I'll see you when you get back!"

	"We have a pipeline to finish before September."

	"It'll get finished! Don't you worry!"

	Art took Mike's hand to hold it for a moment and then leaned
forward to kiss Mike on the forehead. Then Art left Mike's cubicle and
slipped into Matt's cubicle, next to Mike's.  Matt's eyes were closed. Jim
was holding Matt's hand as Art walked up to Matt's bedside and leaned over
to kiss Matt as he had just kissed Mike's forehead. Art didn't say a
word. He looked at Jim and gave him a 'thumbs up' before leaving. Art left
the hospital, wiping tears from his eyes all the way to his car.

	Forty-five minutes later, the air lift to arrive and fifteen
minutes after that, Matt, Mike, and Jim were on their way to Atlanta.

<><><><><><><><><><>

	An hour later, Matt was on a gurney headed up to surgery at the VA
hospital. In another elevator, Mike was on a gurney as well. Both of them
were wheeled into the operating room where Dr. Irving, a staff of surgical
nurses, and an anesthesiologist waited. Jim had ridden the elevator up with
Mike and now waited just outside the operating room in a waiting room. Due
to the time of morning, Jim was alone inside the waiting room. All Jim
could do was sit, wait---and pray. He had called Art before they left
Philemon to tell them what was happening and what was about to take
place. He also asked Art if anyone had found Hank yet and was told that no
sign of Hank had been found yet.

	The operation was long and arduous since both of Matt's lungs were
severely damaged, either from the military accident or from the blows Hank
had delivered to Matt in his nearly insane rage. Mike and Matt were put
under anesthesia at the same time, but immediately before the
anesthesiologist began his work, Mike slipped a note into the surgeon's
pocket.  Dr. Irving was to do the removal of one of Matt's lungs and
replace it with one of Mike's. Another VA surgeon was assigned to remove
Mike's lung at the same time that Matt's was removed. Matt's chances were
much improved by receiving a living organ as opposed to a lung from a donor
who had just deceased. The odds of Matt's body rejecting Mike's lung were
lessened by the fact that their familial blood was an exact match.

	An hour later, both Matt's and Mike's chests had been opened and
Matt's lung had to be removed first before removing Mike's. Matt's vital
signs were stable which relieved Dr. Irving. Carefully, he excised Matt's
left lung. The doctor was amazed at how leathery both Matt's lungs were. He
didn't know how Matt had continued to breathe without the help of a machine
for the past two years as Matt's lungs had deteriorated so badly. Once
Matt's lung was removed, it was placed in a stainless steel catch pan and
Dr. Irving nodded to his opposite to complete the removal of Mike's left
lung.

	As meticulously as Matt's lung had been removed, the surgeon took
the same care and pains in removing Mike's. With precision and skill,
Dr. Herbert handed Mike's lung to Dr. Irving and carefully but swiftly
Mike's lung was placed into Matt's chest cavity. Everything up to this
point was going as planned. It looked as if the transplant would be a
success, at least for this part. It would be several days before anyone
could decide if Matt's body would reject or accept his new lung.

	Dr. Herbert continued the process of closing off Mike's air duct to
the now-gone organ so that Mike would breathe normally from one lung. Once
the clamp was in place, it would be safe to close up Mike's chest, but at
the same moment, Mike's pulse rate and blood pressure began to
fluctuate. It began rising higher and higher and suddenly it dropped until
one of Dr. Herbert's assisting nurses said, "Doctor, I think the patient is
going into cardiac arrest. CODE BLUE!!!"

	"He's crashing! Defib paddles!" Dr. Herbert ordered.

	With Mike's chest still open, Dr. Herbert used side paddles that
went directly on each side of Mike's exposed heart like a long pair of
tongs or forceps and the stimulation would be direct.
	"CHARGING TWO HUNDRED!" the nurse announced.

	"CLEAR!" the doctor yelled as the defibrillator jolted Mike's
heart.

	The first try didn't work and the doctor asked that the intensity
be raised.

	"CHARGING TWO-FIFTY!"

	"CLEAR!" and a second jolt went through Mike.

	Still nothing and so they raised the intensity a third time.

	"CHARGING THREE-HUNDRED!"

	"CLEAR!" came the third jolt with no good result. "SWITCHING TO
HAND MASSAGE!"

	Dr. Herbert inserted his hand, gripping Mike's heart inside it as
he massaged and manually pumped it to start Mike's heart beating again. A
few minutes later, the doctor realized his attempt to revive Mike was
useless. Mike was dead.

	"OH, MY GOD!" Dr. Herbert exclaimed. HE wasn't suppose to die. HE
was a healthy donor!

	Dr. Irving has paused for a few seconds to watch as everyone tried
to revive Mike and then, he spoke up. "Dr. Herbert, I think since your
patient was my patient's only living relative. I might be overstepping my
bounds as a surgeon, but it's my belief that the uncle would want his
nephew to have his other lung!"

	Dr. Herbert took a split second to think and replied, "I'm sure
you're right, Dr. Irving. I'll remove this man's other lung as soon as
you're ready to receive it."

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

	Jim had sat waiting and worrying for over six hours while the
surgery was being performed, knowing nothing, fearing the worst. He had no
way of knowing that Mike had died and that Matt had received both of Mike's
lungs. Jim was tired and scared, he was frustrated and angry with Hank and
his nerves were tied up into knots. While he waited, Jim tried to imagine
any and every conceivable reason Hank might have had to beat up Matt and
try to kill him. Jim had no answer. Probably only Hank and Matt knew the
reason. Hank was gone, God knows where, and Matt could be dying in surgery.

	Jim needed a cup of coffee so badly, but he was afraid to leave the
waiting room. About a dozen times, Jim found himself wishing that he had
offered his blood to see if he could be a donor to Matt. Jim would gladly
have given a lung, a kidney, a large portion of his liver, or any other
organ of his if it would keep Matt alive. Matt just HAD to pull through
because there was no doubt in Jim's mind that he loved Matt and that Matt
loved him. Jim wanted to spend the rest of his life together with
Matt. Surely Mike would like to be given a break from being Matt's
caretaker. Mike was still young, he still had a full life ahead of
him. Mike would probably give his consent for Matt to go live with Jim,
wouldn't he?

	Six hours of waiting...waiting...waiting..."Oh dear God,
please............"

<><><><><><><><><><>

	Hank had no idea why he was headed north in his flight from what
he's done except that going south would take him through Atlanta and then
onward to Florida. By going in the opposite direction from Atlanta, he had
options of going into the remaining forty-six interconnected states. The
first largest city on his route to his eventual but unknown destination was
Chattanooga, Tennessee. This gave Hank two choices, he could travel on
Interstate-75 or go west until he reached highway US 27, going through
Rome, Georgia, a road which was less traveled and therefore less likely to
be covered by the GHP who, he was certain, were looking for him.

	Oh, yes, Hank had no doubt that he was being searched for by the
police. Psychology teaches that when a crime has been committed, the
emotions of the human psyche alternate between anger and fear, going back
and forth. After Hank's uncontrollable rage in Matt's room and the horrible
consequences, he fled the house. By the time he had reached the highway in
his jeep, the rage had quickly transformed itself into fear. For now, Hank
was sure he had killed Matt, perhaps not instantly, but Matt would surely
die from the injuries Hank had inflicted on Matt's body.

	Hank's hatred toward Matt was redirected into hatred for
himself. Most of all he hated his dad. If Hank had to kill anyone, it
should have been Martin Lazarus. Hank's feeling for his father had
fluctuated from fear to hurt to hatred and finally to indifference mixed
with a combination of the other three emotions since the death of Hank's
mother. If one of his parents had to die, why had it not been his father
instead of his mother? Even though Hank's mother might not have approved of
his being gay, his mother would never have disowned him as Martin had.

	Hank was certain that the police would arrest him for murdering
Matt, so why not go back home and kill his father too. If the courts found
Hank guilty and gave him a death sentence, he could only die once. No one
could put him to death again for a second murder.

	He knew that he'd done the right thing by breaking up with Lance,
but he was still puzzled as to why Matt would 'out' him to his dad...after
all, didn't Matt love him? Jealousy can cause people to do things which
they would regret, either later or almost instantly. But what did Matt have
to gain by calling Martin? Hank knew that Matt had access to Martin's
telephone number because the number was inside Mike's address book beside
the telephone in the kitchen.

	Hank realized that he must carefully obey all the Georgia highway
laws. It was a known fact that many small towns in Georgia had speed traps
set to make it easy for some outsider to commit some traffic
violation. Hank remembered one of the guys at Mike's site saying that he
had been given a ticket in a small Georgia town for going 30 mph in a 15
mph school zone at three o'clock in the morning when the school was closed
and all the students at home sound asleep in their beds. The guy said he
had been fined one-hundred-fifty dollars and he had discovered it was
pointless to try to fight his case in court. The lawyer would have charged
him nearly three-hundred dollars and even famous attorneys such as Johnny
Cochran or Alan Dershowitz didn't stand a chance against a small town
Georgian judge. So Hank decided to drive with special care, not breaking
any laws, not speeding, stopping, or committing any violation which could
provide a reason for the GHP to pull his jeep over to the side of the road.

	Hank was glad that it was early on a Sunday morning since he still
had his dad's credit card and surely Martin couldn't reach Capitol One to
cancel the card at that late hour. Hank was counting on being able to buy
gasoline and charging it to his dad's Visa card. Hank's reckoning had been
accurate on which highway to take. The Georgia Highway Patrol were looking
one hundred miles north and south of Philemon on Interstate 75 while only a
few GHP cars were watching for him to travel on GH-27. Hank saw a road sign
advertising, Chattanooga--45 miles as he traveled through a tiny town, so
tiny that it only had one traffic light and less than twenty stores...maybe
ten on either side of the highway. The traffic signal wasn't working at
1:30 in the morning. Neither side of it was lit red OR green, but Hank
stopped his jeep just the same and looked both ways before traveling across
the town's one and only intersection There were no cars coming in ANY
direction and so Matt proceeded to continue on his northern journey. Just
as he was passing the last building, he saw the lights flashing from a
sheriff's car behind him. There were two officers inside the car and the
one on the passenger side had his flashlight outside the window, waving at
Hank's jeep, signaling for Hank to pull over to the curb on the right.

	Hank was positive he had broken no laws or committed no traffic
violations. The first thought which crossed his mind was that he was being
stopped because the police in Philemon had an APB broadcast to look for a
jeep traveling on a Georgia highway. But this town was so small, Hank
figured there was only one police car in the entire city and he doubted
very seriously if that one car had received a bulletin to search for and
stop him. Hank also surmised that a town this small had closer city limits
on either side and so perhaps, the car pursuing him would be out of the its
jurisdiction in less than a mile from the main drag. And so, instead of
stopping and pulling his jeep over to the side, Hank thought he'd outrace
the sheriff's car because it could be only a short distance until it had to
stop to let the next town's police continue the chase.

	In his rear view mirror, Matt saw that the policeman who had been
waving the flashlight now had his head and upper torso leaning out the
passenger's window and Hank could hear him yelling "STOP" or "HALT". Hank
was sure he could outrun the pursuit and slammed his foot on the
accelerator. His jeep, however, did not have the power to go faster than
the car chasing him and the police car quickly narrowed the gap between
them. Hank continued to plunge straight ahead until he heard the first gun
shot fired at the back of his jeep. His attempt to escape now seemed futile
and so Hank pulled over to the side of the road after he had decreased his
speed.

	When the jeep came to a complete stop, the police car came to a
halt about three feet behind Hank. The sheriff who was driving the police
car had a battery operated megaphone in his hand and used it to order Hank
to step out of the jeep with his hands in the air. Having heard a shot
fired at him, Hank realized he was caught and there was no escape. Perhaps
they weren't looking for him for murdering Matt and so Hank raised his
hands straight up and stepped outside of the jeep. The sheriff and the
policeman got out of their car, both having guns aimed at Hank.

	"Don't MOVE!" the sheriff commanded.

	Hank stood still, facing them, almost afraid to breathe.

	As the two police offers walked toward Hank, Hank's cell phone
which he had put in his pants pocket started ringing. On the second ring,
without thinking, Hank lowered his hand to his pocket to answer his cell
phone.

	At that moment, the deputy yelled, "Look out, Sheriff, he has a
gun!"

	Both officers fired at Hank. The first hit Hank in the shoulder
while the second blasted a hole in Hank's abdomen. Hank began slumping to
the ground while still trying to retrieve his cell phone. Seeing Hank
attempting again to get into his pocket, the two policemen fired one more
shot each. One impacted Hank in the left side of his chest and the other
went directly into Hank's liver and Hank fell flat on his back on the
concrete highway. The officer, meanwhile, looked at the scribbled piece of
paper carefully folded in his left shirt pocket to check the license number
and the color and make of the jeep. It was a perfect match! The two small
town officers were heroes! They'd captured the suspect wanted by the GHP.

	Hank, by now had managed to pull the phone from his pocket and the
sheriff hollered "NOW, DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

	Matt dropped the cell phone from his hand while it continued to
ring.

	"Sheriff! He didn't have a gun! It was one of those goddamned
wireless phones!"

	"Well, how the fuck was I to know?" the sheriff yelled at his
fellow officer.

	Hank was lying on his back looking at the night sky. It was a clear
summer night and every star in the heaven was looking down at the wounded
young Hank.

	"Do you think we should answer it?" the officer asked.

	"Yeah, maybe whoever it is will give us some idea who this feller
is."

	The officer picked up the phone as his and Hank's eyes met. At
least Hank got a look at his executioner.

	"How do you answer this fucking thing?" the officer shouted at the
sheriff.

	"Just keep pushing them buttons until it stops ringing, I guess!"

	Finally the officer clicked the 'talk' button and the ringing
stopped.

	"Hello?"

	"Hank?" the voice asked.

	"Who are you calling?"

	"I'm calling Hank Lazarus. Is this his cell phone?"

	"I don't know..."

	"Well, IS HE THERE?"

	"I suppose so."

	"Then let me talk to him!"

	The officer looked at the sheriff. "It's some guy who wants to
speak with...with this...you know..."

	"Well, hold the damned phone down to his ear. It looks as if this
is going to be the last call he'll ever receive. Might as well let him die
listening to a friendly voice!"

	The officer knelt down beside Hank's wounded body and placed the
phone next to Hank's face. Hank was barely strong enough to say, 'Hello'.

	"Hank?"

	"Yes?" Hank uttered, breathlessly.

	"What's wrong, you sound like you're outside, far away from a
satellite! This is Lance, Hank!"

	"Hi, Lance!"

	"I'm sorry you left the motel without leaving a note, but I can
understand why you did it. I know it's late to call you, but I have to warn
you. Lois knows all about us. I think she or some guy she knows, a guy
named Marcel, has called your dad to tell him everything. So if your dad
calls, don't answer him. Tell your friends at the house to tell your dad
that you're not there if he should call you. Do you understand?"

	"Yeah..." Hank said, as he began to get weaker. Hank took one last
look at the stars, he tried his best to smile before he dropped his head to
one side and Hank died.

	The officer saw that Hank was gone and raised the phone back to his
own ear.

	"Hank?" Lance cried out.

	"No, sir, this isn't Hank. Can I ask who you are?"

	"Not until I know who YOU are!" Lance replied. "Please put Hank
back on the phone."

	"Sir, I'm afraid that's impossible."

	"Who the fuck are you and why do you say that it's impossible for
me to speak with Hank?"

	"Sir, I'm Officer Campbell of the Georgia police, now who are you?"

	"I'm...I'm Lance Langley! Officer, has something happened to Hank?"

	"Yes sir. It seems that 'Hank', as you call him, was involved in a
serious traffic accident. The sheriff and I found him on the side of the
highway...and I'm sorry to tell you that Hank has just passed away."

	"OH MY GOD! NO! NO! NO! HOW DID IT HAPPEN, OFFICER?"

	"I'm sorry I can't reveal any details since the sheriff has the
accident scene under strict investigation. Are you a member of Hank's
family?"

	"No, I am...or was his...his best friend."

	"Does he have any kin?"

	"His father lives here in my town."

	"Maybe you can notify his father of Hank's accident and have him
give the sheriff a call at area code 706, then dial SHERIFF."

	"I'll DO that!" Lance said, disconnecting the cell connection.

	The sheriff walked closer to Hank's body and he nudged Hank's leg
by his shoe to see if Hank was dead.

	"Well, the GHP alert didn't say whether they wanted him dead or
alive, but we caught him just the same," the sheriff said. "Burt, you and
me just might get a bonus for capturing this felon. I just wonder what the
hell he was wanted for."

	"Sheriff, I was just wondering where he was headed and where or
what he was running from!"

	"Well, it don't seem to matter because he sure as fuck ain't gonna
git there now!"

<><><><><><><><><><>

	A week later, Matt was still in the VA hospital recuperating from
the double lung transplant. The work at the site had been suspended for
Mike's funeral or until a new foreman was named to replace Mike before they
proceeded with the project.

	Except for taking time to attend Mike's service, Jim had remained
at Matt's bedside day and night. On the fifth day, Matt had recovered
enough for Jim to tell him about Mike's death and Matt felt more guilty
than ever before. Mike had died while saving his life. Art, Bob, and John
had left to return to their homes until work on the pipeline was to
commence once again. They all had learned of Hank's tragedy on the
following day after Hank was shot and killed. Jim kept this tragic news
from Matt.

	On the eighth morning after Matt's operation, Doctors Meade and
Carlton came into Matt's room to talk with Matt and Jim.

	"Well, Matt, how are you feeling?"

	"I can breathe much better, but...well, I'm still depressed about
what my uncle did for me."

	Dr. Carlton replied, "Then what Dr. Meade and I have to say to you
will cheer you up a bit."

	"What is it?" Jim asked, eagerly.

	"Your uncle slipped a note into my pocket before the surgery.  It
looks like he knew what would happen and he asked that anything else that
COULD be done, be done to help you. I guess he was right, because it looks
as if your body has accepted your new lungs without any complications. It
will be months before you're strong enough to assume your daily activities,
but the important thing is, you're alive and you're gonna get better and
stronger each day from now on."

	"That's wonderful!" Jim exclaimed. "Don't you think so, Matt?"

	"I could if only my getting better didn't come at the cost of Mike
losing his life...just for me."

	"Matt, that's what your uncle wanted or he would have never
consented to give you his lungs. He understood that there was a risk---a
BIG one---before we decided to operate," Dr. Meade explained.

	"Matt," Dr. Carlton interrupted, "there's someone else I want you
to meet."

	Matt hadn't noticed that a third physician had entered his room
behind Doctors Meade and Carlton. "His name is Dr. Sommers. We'll leave now
and let him talk with you."

	The two surgeons left Matt's room while Dr. Sommers came closer to
Matt's bedside. Jim was still standing on the opposite side, holding Matt's
good hand.

	"You're Mr. Cummings, aren't you?" the doctor asked Jim.

	"Yes, I am."

	"Then you're the one who brought in the picture and gave it to my
assistant?"

	"Yeah, I suppose so."

	From behind his back, the doctor pulled an 8 x 10 black and white
photograph of Matt's high school graduation picture.

	"Take a look at this, Matt, and tell me what you see!" the doctor
said.

	Matt took a quick glance at the photo and quickly turned his head
away to face the wall.

	"Who is this, Matt?" the doctor asked again.

	"It's me, goddammit! The way I USED to look!"

	"Matt, I'm asking you PLEASE to turn your head and look at the
photo more closely!"

	"Why, for God's sake?"

	"I need to ask you a few questions about what you see..."

	"It's too painful for me to look!"

	"LOOK ANYWAY, MATT. I'm a doctor and I'm the one who gives orders,
just like you took them in the Marines."

	Slowly Matt turned his head to once again stare at his photo.

	"OK, I'm looking! Now what?"

	"I want you to examine each part of your face...your forehead, your
eyes, your cheeks, your mouth, your jawline, and your chin."

	Hank looked at each part of his face in the photo and carefully
examined each of his features as the doctor had ordered.

	"All right, I took a look. So what?"

	"I've been told, Matt, that you are a movie fanatic and I heard
about the movie stars you liked best."

	"So?"

	"So what do you see in your photo that keeps you from looking like
Brad Pitt or Colin Farrell, or what's-his-name...Josh Duhamel?"

	"First of all, Brad Pitt has perfect lips, mine are thinner. Josh
has this terrific straight nose. Colin Farrell has a nearly perfect
forehead and eyebrows..."

	"And which of those three has the best chin?"

	"None of those. I think Matt Damon has the nicest chin."

	"And how about...who has the best-looking cheekbones?"

	"Ah, that's easy, Dean Cain, by far!"

	"That would make quite a handsome composite if I could take those
features and put them together into one face."

	"But why are you asking this?"

	"Because, Matt, I'm a plastic surgeon and your being a veteran
allows you to receive free plastic surgery. You know we can even give
female soldiers breast implants so why can't I rebuild your face to make it
look the way you want to look!"

	"But that's impossible, Doctor. I was told by the doctors in
Germany that with my bad lungs, I couldn't live through plastic surgery..."

	"But you have PERFECT lungs now, Matt, and I see no reason at all
why we can't rebuild your face, given two or three months for you to
recover from your pulmonary operation."

	"You mean I can look normal again?"

	"Better than normal. If I build a new face copying the features of
Brad Pitt, Colin Farrell, Matt Damon, Dean Cain, and...the other star you
named?"

	"Josh Duhamel."

	"Yes, Josh Duhamel, I wouldn't be surprised if you got some calls
from Hollywood to become the next movie star yourself."

	"Ha! That'll be the day! What about the rest of my body...my arms?
my legs."

	"We can graft new skin to cover those areas, provide you with a
more efficient prosthesis and even attach a real looking arm to your
amputated one."

	Matt looked at Jim, who was doing the best he could to hold back
his tears.

	"Jim, do you believe this load of bullshit?"

	"What have you got to lose, Matt?" Jim answered. "If Doctor Sommers
can do half of what he says he can, it would still be wonderful for you."

	"Yeah, but everybody in Philemon would still look at me like an
overhauled freak."

	"Maybe, but not in Boston..." Jim replied.

	"Why Boston?"

	"Because that's going to be your new home...in Boston...living with
me. If you decide to go to college or get a job, I'll help you in whatever
way I can."

	"You want--you want ME to live with you in Boston?"

	"Yes. You see, in Boston, when two guys love one another, they're
allowed to get married legally---to each other."

	"You want US to get married?"

	"Only if you're agreeable."

	"That's sounds like an excellent offer, Matt," Dr. Sommers said to
Matt. "One that most guys couldn't refuse in their right minds."

	"God damn! I don't know what to say?"

	"How about, 'yes'?" Jim said softly.

	"I would if I were in your place, Matt," the doctor added.

	"In that case...HELL, YES! I'll marry you."

	"We'll have a June wedding in Boston, just like the uppercrust
does."

	"I think I'll leave you two alone to let you have some privacy,"
Dr. Sommers said, going out the door.

	"Dear God, Jim! Can this be real? Can this really be happening to
me?"

	"Yes and good things are going to continue to happen to us for
years and years to come."

	"Would you kiss me?"

	"I told you once, you never have to ask me that."

	"I know, but I can't REACH you!"

	"I'm sorry." Jim came closer to Matt's bedside and the two kissed,
long and passionately.

	"I love you, Jim."

	"And I love you too, my little soldier!"

	They kissed again.

	The world would go on turning, the living would continue their
lives.  Bob, Art, and the others would always remember Matt...and
Mike. They'd go on as before, making some mistakes, finding an occasional
happiness that they could tuck in their mental back pockets to relive
during the bad times.  But outside the hospital window, the sun broke
through the clouds. A new day was starting there too.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                                        fin.


<><><><><><><><>


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

	I seldom end my stories with a note of explanation, but due to the
controversy this story has caused, I feel obligated to write one.

	The version of "The Passion of Matthew" is not the one I wrote
originally for Nifty. After the first chapter was posted, I received email
from guys who knew more about Matthew's passion than I. They had been to
Iraq. They had fought the fight and some returned in conditions similar to
Matt's. I was surprised to learn that they had read my first chapter and
was even more surprised to see that they were reading gay fiction. Perhaps,
'surprised' is the incorrect word to use, but you get my meaning, I
hope. It did take courage for them to imply that they are gay, or even
gay-friendly, especially in today's military service.
	After receiving their letters, I deleted the original story and
began writing "Passion of Matthew" anew...WITH a lot of input from the
GI's. I was asked to go into the psychological aspect of their return...how
they felt about the war before going overseas, how they felt during the
war, and what they faced when they returned home. NONE asked for pity, but
rather for understanding and tolerance while they tried to readjust to home
life.
	My regular Nifty readers are a very caring, intellectual group and
many of you recognized that "Passion" was not my similar style of
writing. Some even saw through the story and wrote to me saying, that there
must be more truth in this tale than I was revealing. They were dead-on
accurate, as usual. There is a LOT of truth in "Passion",
	At the conclusion of chapter eleven when Hank beats Matt savagely
with his fists, I received tons of letters complaining why I should be so
cruel? Let me take a moment to explain that, too.
	Hank represented the other victims of the war...the ones who didn't
go, but watched their brothers, sons, lovers, and husbands go instead. When
these loved ones returned home after the conflict, these were not the same
brothers, sons, lovers, and husbands who had left. These loved ones were
not the same. They had changed physically, emotionally, and
mentally. Stress victimized the families. The families were not trained to
be nurses, therapists, or counselors as seemed to be required upon the
reunions. Hank's patience wore thin as did that of wives, mothers, and
lovers. Divorce papers have been filed. Wedges of distance and despair were
driven hopelessly between the families and their beloved warriors. Many
family members reached a breaking point, as did Hank. So I learned that not
all war casualties are suffered by the ones who went to war, but also by
the ones who waited for their soldiers to return...back to normal, whatever
that means.
	The story ends with two deaths...Hank's and Mike's. Both loved Hank
in different ways, but stories of war usually don't end happily. I chose
the happy ending for Matt and Jim to let my GI readers know that there is
hope and that happiness of some kind CAN be found. I'm sorry if this story
upset you, my readers, but it upset me as well, as I wrote it.
	I am deeply indebted for those who wrote and fed me their unbiased
input. I hope I did justice to your descriptions.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

	(If you're pro-war, read no further, even IF you've read the entire
story. Below is a list of facts which might anger, alarm, and/or educate.)

* * * * * * * * * * * *

	As this story comes to a close, the war in Iraq is still raging
with no sign of victory or peace. At the end of 2005, it was reported that
2,390 U.S. servicemen have lost their lives in Iraq and
Afghanistan. Sixteen thousand have been critically wounded. Thirty-seven
thousand have mental disorders, including 16,000 who have been diagnosed
with post-traumatic stress disorders; 46.000 veterans of the war are
receiving V.A. benefits due to musculoskeletal problems. An October 2005
V.A. report shows that 119,247 servicemen who fought in Iraq and
Afghanistan are now off-duty and receiving health care from the V.A. It is
unknown how many Iraqi civilians have been killed. The British Medical
Journal "Lancet" estimates the Iraqi body count is over
100,000...one-hundred thousand who were promised democracy and freedom from
Saddam Hussein. The projected US cost of the war is now estimated at $2
Trillion dollars.

	No two people can agree as to why the US invaded Iraq and perhaps
the real answer is only known by a privileged few who sit around the
cabinet room in the White House.

	Matt, and countless others like him, didn't know why he'd been sent
to war. After he returned. he, and the rest of the world, sit back and
voice an unanswered, "WHY?". It appears that the perpetual inmates have
taken over the proverbial asylum.

             R.C. 03-12-06


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