Chapter 60 "The Blender On Puree"

A/N: (6 July 2017) The reviews have been amazing, more or less reflecting a lot of thoughts I'm having about the zig the story has taken. You are amazing readers, and you don't miss much! You truly care about these characters, and this isn't just a story to a lot of us! Thank you so very very much! I hope I didn't miss thanking anyone personally. If I did, I apologize! The site here had a hiccup and a few things went awry or were duplicated, and Muse had her skillet to my cranium, making me write chapter. I wish to thank guest reviewers too, and those who have recently followed! Thank you for your kindness and thoughtfulness, and I'm so grateful for how deeply you care!

Ponderable: Is there much difference in effect between Muse and her skillet, and Fate and her lead pipe? One is good (Muse) and one is bad (Fate), but both aim at the noggin.

Another WARNING due to subject matter.

Chapter 60 "The Blender On Puree"

(Friday, 30 December 2016, noon)

Dr. Cornett offered to do blood tests on both Danny and Steve, checking for everything including "strange and unliklies" to be on the safe side.

Danny nodded, petting Angel while his mind was on the nightmare he had had, and the in some ways worse worry that Stan might have done something horrible to Steve, his best friend, his brother in every way that mattered. And now he couldn't look him in the eyes, so deep was his feeling of guilt and regret. "Stan traveled a lot. I'm so sorry. I've had longer to wrap my head around … this. It has to be a shock for you, Steve." Steve couldn't look at him, either. So Danny just looked at Angel.

Therefore, he missed the worry on Dr. Cornett's face, the furrowed brows on Steve's.

H50 H50 H50 H50

.

Steve was tense, sitting in the plastic chair, his thoughts whirring like a blender set on puree. Only minutes before, he and the doc had been earnestly talking over what they both needed to do to see to it Danny was tested for everything, and they gave him their full emotional support, without telling Danny they now knew Stan Edwards had … Steve couldn't even skirt what the man had done to Danny. Mo's phone had shown that Stan had touched him entirely inappropriately. Technically, they could have charged Stan with rape. Steve had been hiding behind the euphemism, molestation, which was plenty bad enough, and his heart went out to Danny, having to deal with that degree of physical violation.

But he couldn't play word games anymore, downplay what had happened with a euphemism. Stan had raped an unconscious, helplessly drugged Danny. He had to use the word, now. He knew. He had seen that wretched video on Stan's phone, hidden so he could watch it in secret, enjoy it in private, delight in reliving what he had done, how he had felt emotionally and physically while he did what he did.

Steve wondered how many times Stan had replayed the video, and how many more times he would have replayed it had they not realized Stan was the one who had tried to murder Danny, himself, and had murdered Neil Lane, Mo Morris, and Jason Black. Three dead, two more supposed to be dead. And a kitten.

Thank God Duke had found that phone, hidden well. Now they knew what Stan had done to Danny. And Steve had been fully prepared to go to any lengths to help his friend, his brother. He had thought he had a good grasp on what Danny was going through.

Now, he knew he didn't. He was wondering how to get his own mind around the possibility the same kind of violation had happened to him. If he had watched the whole video, he might know. But he had turned the phone into bits of scrap before the video had fully played. And Danny, on the basis of a vivid nightmare and his own detective's intuition, and likely knowing his body, and what felt true and what merely felt possible, had realized his dream was his brain's way of telling him that Stan had raped him. And had realized that Stan may very well have done the same thing to Steve.

The thought had never crossed Steve's mind. Had Stan raped him? It was harder to think the word when it applied to him, which brought guilt to Steve, as if he were feeling it was somehow different, somehow worse if it had happened to him than to Danny. Which wasn't true, and Steve knew it, in his head and his heart. But the very thought of Stan doing that to him -! Steve's emotions had nowhere to go with this possibility. He didn't think it had happened, he hoped it hadn't happened. He didn't feel like it had happened. But would he know, drugged like that, unaware, his body relaxed? Would he know? How would he know? How would he know that Stan hadn't? How would he know that Stan had?

It would be so easy to just decide it hadn't happened, even though Stan had the opportunity. But did he hate Steve enough? He hated Danny enough, but the dynamic was different between those two. He was just Danny's friend … Danny's unconscious, drugged friend, who he planned to murder. Who he had carefully positioned so that, had he been conscious, he would have watched Stan. "Watch me hurt your boy."

It was possible. And if he hadn't reacted with such horror and revulsion to what Stan had done to Danny, if he had seen the whole tape, he would probably know and not be sitting here, with his thoughts on puree, trying to figure out how to get a grasp on whether or not there was a way to know!

Wait. Wait! Duke! He needed to call Duke, ask him what he had seen. He hadn't been able to look him in the eyes. Was that the clue? Had Duke seen …? He would call Duke. And then he would know! It was so simple! The only difficulty was that Duke's body language indicated that Danny's caring suspicions might be right. Danny would worry about him more deeply than he would worry about himself. It was how he coped with … Danny worried about himself, but he worried about others more.

Besides, as sure as Danny was, he had to have that tiny little room for doubt. He might be 99% sure, but that 1% of doubt would become more and more important as he went on the journey of coping. When it came to this, there was a huge difference between 99% and 100%. Danny didn't know absolutely. He could doubt. Steve knew Danny had been raped, and he intended to keep that from Danny, to allow him that doubt. He did not want Danny to have to deal with 100% certainty.

But now Steve was in that same boat. He was … he didn't know what percentages he had between doubt and certainty. He couldn't say he was certain at all. But he'd only had minutes to think about it.

He was a little afraid to call Duke. Steve swallowed, and his mouth and throat were dry. If Duke said, "Yes, you were," how would he feel?

Steve's brows were furrowed so much, his forehead was starting to hurt. He didn't think that bode well for bad news from Duke. He was suddenly very nervous, a feeling he had long ago learned to disown. The problem was, no matter how much training he had been given by the Navy SEALS, to withstand torture and this and that, it was simulated as much as possible. He had been taught how to withstand rape, but he had never been raped.

That he knew of for sure.

He shut his thoughts down. He could think in circles about this, but the only way out was to know, and help Danny maintain that percentage of doubt. He would take a page out of Danny's book: he would help Danny maintain some doubt. It would help him. And the part that wasn't doubt, he would help him cope. He wouldn't think about his own … uncertainty.

Steve patted Danny's arm, and muttered that he needed the bathroom. He didn't see the crushed look on Danny's face, Angel's flattened ears, Dr. Cornett seeing everything. Steve had to call Duke right now, this instant. So he locked himself in, ran the fan, ran the water, and called Duke. And instead of, "Hi," he said, "How much of that video did you see?"

Duke said, "I knew you would watch it. I hoped you wouldn't, but I knew you would. I only made it to when Stan, you know, Danny, and then I couldn't watch another second and was sick for awhile. Didn't sleep a wink, brought you the phone early so I wouldn't have to try not to destroy it, since it's a lot more serious if I destroyed it than if you did."

"So you didn't watch through to the end." Steve managed to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"No. I'd seen enough. Too much. How's Danny?"

"He's coping. We're not telling him about that phone."

"Okay, Steve. I wouldn't be able to, anyway. I'm praying for selective amnesia."

"Me too," Steve said, heartily. "Danny had a nightmare about Stan last night. I hope he gets selective amnesia, too."

"I heard about you and Danny's psychic connection when he was in the box," spoke Duke, as if it were common knowledge, and for the first time, Steve realized it probably was. "Maybe he had the nightmare because you looked at the phone."

Steve almost dropped his phone. Had he caused Danny's nightmare, and resulting certainty that Stan had … because Steve had seen the video on Stan's phone?

They talked briefly for another couple minutes, and then Steve stared at the door, his face, his phone, and finally the door again. He may have caused Danny to dream about the … mess … and Steve still didn't know, and likely wouldn't until and unless tests showed yes (which was bad) that he and Danny had both been ….

He was back to not being able to think the word. Steve had no idea how to cope with this. This was one of the few times in his life that he just wanted to run somewhere and hide. He wished he could turn the page, and it would say, "And then he woke up, and lived happily ever after."

But he could not do that, because this was real, the blender was still set on puree, and he felt guilty and afraid. He had to help Danny navigate this rutty road, with no map, no clue how to do it, while he himself needed help.

"Dear God, help," he prayed in a whisper, unaware that he had.