The soda improved Noah’s mood by a fraction. So did the sunshine the next day. The weather went from being unseasonably cold for November to slightly warmer than usual, so Beckett spent as much of the weekend as he could outside with Noah in the park. His father had gladly given Beckett leave to ignore the glassworks. He’d even increased Beckett’s allowance so that he had more to spend on things that might divert Noah. They were able to dine in one of the finer restaurants in Central Park, and Noah was in a good enough mood Sunday night to enthusiastically make love with him.
But after, as they lay in the chilly dark, their overheated bodies plastered together, Noah pressed his forehead to the side of Beckett’s head and whispered, “I’m frightened about tomorrow.”
Beckett rolled from his back to his side so that he could pull Noah into his arms. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he lied, embracing Noah with his whole body. “Just a little electricity. I’d be willing to bet that once they get the current running through you, your eyes will light up like the Times Building.”
Noah laughed, snuggling against Beckett. “If they stay like that, we’ll save a bundle on lighting this winter.”
Beckett laughed along with him. “I can see it now. We’ll host supper parties, but instead of lighting the chandelier in the dining room, I’ll just have you stand on the table with your eyes and mouth open. You’ll light the whole place up.”
Noah laughed even more. It was the most wonderful sound Beckett had heard in weeks, and it filled him with hope and encouragement.
“Or I could drop my trousers and hold my arse open,” Noah went on cheekily. “That ought to shine some light on the festivities.”
Beckett giggled like a fool, then surged into Noah, kissing him as they both laughed. He wished he had enough energy to make love to Noah a second time. His heart throbbed for Noah. It was almost as though his beloved were back to himself. Perhaps electroshock therapy was what they needed after all. Perhaps that would be the thing that worked.
Twelve hours later, as Beckett sat hunched in a chair by himself, listening to Noah screaming in the room next to him, he felt like the worst sort of torturer known to man. He had put Noah up to this. He had marched his lover into the asylum like a lamb to the slaughter.
Another scream sounded, and Beckett clenched his fists in his hair. Noah’s screams were muffled, strangled, even. Dr. Carmichael had explained that they would place something in Noah’s mouth for him to bite on so that he did not injure himself. He’s said the shocks would not cause screaming, only seizures, but to Beckett, that only made things worse. It meant Noah was screaming between shocks, screaming because he wanted it to stop.
When yet another scream echoed through Beckett’s skull, he’d had enough. He leapt up out of his chair and flew to the door to the treatment room. He couldn’t stand to sit by and let his love be harmed for another moment.
The door was not locked and no one was guarding it, so Beckett barged into the room just as something was done that made Noah’s body shudder violently on the table he’d been strapped to. The sight was so disturbing that Beckett nearly stumbled.
“No!” he gasped, barely able to draw breath into his lungs. “No, you will stop this at once!”
He rushed to the table as Noah’s body went still and began to tear at the restraints holding Noah down. Noah groaned and shook his head, as though trying to dislodge the thing in his mouth.
“Mr. Smith, get away from the table at once!” Dr. Carmichael shouted, trying to pull Beckett away from the bed.
“Get off of me!” Beckett shouted, his voice feral. “We’re through with this. I won’t let you hurt him anymore.”
“Mr. Smith, you don’t understand what we are doing here,” Dr. Carmichael said, clearly annoyed. “Mr. Cheevers’ treatment has barely begun. He needs several more rounds of this.”
“Enough is enough,” Beckett growled, moving to take the thing out of Noah’s mouth.
“Beckett,” Noah panted as soon as Beckett freed his mouth and pulled off the strap holding his head in place. “Beckett, I want to go home,” he gasped.
“I know, love,” Beckett said, battling not to weep over the state Noah was in. “We’re going home.”
“I cannot advise this,” Dr. Carmichael shouted as Beckett tore off the last of Noah’s restraints and helped him to sit. “The therapy is not complete. More is needed. And if electroshock fails, we must perform a lobotomy. We have seen great success with this surgery in the last few years, patients have reported—”
“Mr. Cheevers is not your patient anymore, sir,” Beckett said, sweeping Noah into his arms as though he weighed nothing. “Now, get out of my way.”
The two orderlies in the room glanced to Dr. Carmichael to see what he wanted them to do.
Dr. Carmichael glared at Beckett with absolute disgust. “You cannot end the man’s treatment when it has hardly begun, Mr. Smith. And what did I tell you about persisting in the delusion of inappropriate affection?”
“Is Mr. Cheevers a prisoner here?” Beckett snapped. “Or is he free to go if he chooses?”
“Of course he is free to go,” Dr. Carmichael began.
Beckett didn’t wait for the man to finish his sentence. He started forward with Noah, ignoring everyone else in the room in his haste to get him away from the hideous treatments that bore the name of science.
It was frustrating that they could only go as far as the next room. Noah wore nothing but a cotton nightgown, and Beckett had to help him into his clothes, which were stacked behind the screen in the dressing room.
“You cannot simply take a patient out of therapy,” Dr. Carmichael scolded him as Beckett dressed Noah as fast as he could. “You’ll be setting him back, undoing all the treatments we’ve given him so far.”
“You’ve done nothing for Noah but traumatized him,” Beckett insisted as he pulled Noah’s trousers up and fastened them. “He’s been traumatized enough already.”