Hello! I recently met someone named Conner and giggled a little when he told me his name. He's a really nice guy though. He's funny, too. Anyway . . .
I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.
"You should lie down," Connor told his professor. "There's a 97.34 percent chance that you have a concussion." Collins slowly laid back in down, continuing to look around as he did so. There was a phone next to the lamp on the bedside table, a chair in the far corner of the room, and a pair of crutches propped against the wall behind Connor. It seemed like a pleasant little place to be, but Collins still wanted to know where he was.
"Connor, what is this place?" he asked.
"This is my safe house."
"Why did you bring me here?"
"I have to keep you safe, Professor. Someone tried to kill you. Don't you remember what happened?"
"Not really. And my head hurts way too much to think."
"I saw the whole thing."
"You did?"
"Yes. Someone hit you with their car, got out of it, and hit you over the head with a pipe or a crowbar or something. I ran toward them and they ran off when they saw me coming."
"I thought you were on your way here when you left my classroom."
"I was, but I just had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to you, so I waited for you. I was going to follow you to make sure you got home safely."
"You had a feeling?"
"Well . . . I heard some students planning to hurt you. I went to the dean, but I guess he didn't do anything about it." Collins shifted in the single-sized bed and groaned in pain.
"Connor, why am I not in a hospital?" he asked.
"That's a public place, Professor. I couldn't risk your attacker finding you. I figured this is the only place you would be safe, so I brought you here and made a house call to a local doctor. He gave me medication to give you for pain. I'll go get it."
Collins looked at the one window that was in the room. The curtains were closed. He desperately wished the crutches were closer to the bed so he could get to the curtains, open them, look out the window, and see if recognized what part of Vermont Connor had brought him to. He then noticed a telephone next to the lamp on the bedside table. Stretching his arm as much as he could, he reached for the phone, attempting to pull it closer to him.
"Professor?" Connor said as he reentered the room. Collins turned his attention to his student, his hand still reaching for the phone. The eighteen-year-old was carrying a small medical bag.
"I have to call Angel," he stated as Connor came toward the bed. "She's probably worried about me."
"I'm afraid you can't do that."
"Why not?"
"There was a windstorm while I was bringing you here. It knocked the power out."
"Then how is that lamp on?"
"I have a backup generator, but the phone lines are completely separate from the main power source of this place."
"So Angel's just going to have to worry until the phone lines are repaired?"
"I actually have a cellular phone, but I'll have to charge it." Connor placed the medical bag on the floor beside the bed, walked to the chair on the other side of the room, and pushed it to Collins' bedside. He then picked the medical bag up and sat down. Something suddenly occurred to Collins.
"Did you go to the police?" he asked.
"The police?" Connor replied, unzipping the medical bag.
"Yes. After you saw what happened to me, did you go to the police?" Connor looked down in shame. "You didn't, did you?"
"I'm sorry, Professor. I guess I was so focused on getting you somewhere safe, I completely forgot to do that. I'll do it first thing in the morning, I promise."
Collins' head throbbed and he closed his eyes as if he could mentally block out the pain. He felt Connor roll the sleeve of his shirt up before something was wrapped around his upper arm. His eyes snapped open, landing on a white tourniquet that Connor had tied on him. He stared at the boy as he dug through the medical bag and soon produced a small bottle and an empty syringe from it.
"What is that?" the professor asked, keeping his eyes on Connor as he took the cap off of the needle of the syringe and inserted it into the small hole on top of the bottle.
"Morphine," the student answered. He slowly pulled the plunger of the syringe, filling the barrel to the line with the number three next to it. He then put the bottle back into the medical bag and reached for Collins' arm. The professor pulled his arm away.
"Connor, I'm not letting you give me morphine," he said.
"It helps, Professor. It helps with the pain. Let me help you." Collins kept his arm close to his body. "You're in pain and it'll only get worse as time passes. Trust me, Professor, this won't hurt you. I wouldn't dream of hurting you. Please, let me help."
Hearing the sincerity in the boy's voice, Collins slowly held his arm out to him. He looked away as Connor pushed the needle into his arm and pressed down on the plunger. He didn't look back at Connor until he felt the needle and tourniquet being removed from his arm. Within two minutes he felt the pain in his head become dull.
"Now, you just rest, Professor," Connor told him, putting the cap back on the needle and placing the syringe back in the medical bag.
"I still want to talk to Angel," Collins replied. He felt the morphine flowing through his veins and slowly relieving his pain.
"And you will, but you have to rest for now." The professor nodded and made himself comfortable on the bed. Connor smiled at him before turning the lamp off and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Angel sat on the couch in her apartment next to Mimi, who was holding her hand. It had been six and a half hours since Collins had called to say he was on his way home and he hadn't shown up yet. Since Collins had said his arrival time depended on how the subways were running, she didn't think anything of it when an hour went by and he still wasn't home. She began to worry when two hours passed, but convinced herself that he could be buying a gift for her. He loved to buy things for her just to see her smile. When three hours had passed, she was panicking. She immediately called the loft and after she quickly explained to Mark that she believed Collins was missing, she decided to call Joanne and Maureen as well. All of her friends were in the apartment within an hour and fifteen minutes.
"Did you try calling the university again?" Joanne asked. Angel nodded.
"They told me he'd already left," she replied. She was extremely close to tears.
"I still don't understand why the police won't do anything," Maureen commented.
"The police don't consider a person missing until they've been gone for at least twenty-four hours," Mark said.
"Don't they realize that something bad could happen to a person in twenty-four hours?"
"I'm sure they do, but that's always been the rule," Joanne answered.
"But what if he was kidnapped and is inches away from death right now?"
"Maureen, don't say things like that."
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not going to sit here until twenty-four hours have passed," Roger declared. "I'm going out to look for him. Who's with me?"
"I am!" Maureen exclaimed.
"Same here," Mark added.
"I'll stay here with Angel," Mimi said, giving her best friend's hand a gentle squeeze.
"I will, too," Joanne stated. "If Collins was kidnapped, there's a good chance his captor will call soon." As if on cue, the phone rang. The bohemians all looked at it at the same time. Very slowly, Angel let go of Mimi's hand, stood up, and walked toward the phone. She looked back at Joanne, who nodded, before picking the receiver up.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hello, Angel," Connor's voice came. Angel gave a sigh of relief that this wasn't some sort of ransom call.
"Oh, hi, Connor."
"Is Professor Collins there?" Hearing her lover's name brought tears to Angel's eyes.
"No, he . . . he never came home."
"He never came home? Has something happened to him?"
"God, I hope not." The boy was silent for a moment. "Connor, are you still there?"
"Maybe I should have gone to the police . . ." Angel gasped softly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Last week I . . . I heard some students talking about how much they hate Professor Collins and they were making plans to . . . hurt him . . . I should have gone to the police . . . I'm so sorry, Angel . . ."
"Sweetie, it's okay. You didn't know . . . do you happen to know who these students are?"
"Michael Brown and . . . Lionel Morris. I don't know much about them except they sit directly behind me in Professor Collins' class and talk badly about him."
"The names are just fine, Connor, thank you." Angel was beginning to smile.
"I wish I could tell you more, but I can't really think right now. I'm just in shock that he's missing."
"Well, if you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call."
"I won't. I hope you find him. Goodbye."
"Goodbye and thanks again." Angel hung up the phone and looked to her friends. "Connor said he heard two of Collins' students talking about hurting him last week. He said their names are Michael Brown and Lionel Morris."
"That's perfect!" Maureen exclaimed. "We can take the names to the police and find out if these two have a record!" Joanne smiled at her girlfriend.
"So you do learn things from visiting me at work," she said. She then stood up and looked around at her friends. "We've got leads, so let's follow them."
So . . . who hates Connor?
Review please.