"I said, no leeches!"Lamplight tumbled from an open door at the top of the stairs. I wanted to rush in but Benvolio held me back. "Is that your acquaintance?" he whispered, his breath tickling my neck like velvet fingers. I peered around his shoulder. Troy lay on a cot, inside the room. I felt overjoyed at seeing him. Even though I had spent the last few months avoiding him and trying to convince myself that I hated him, I wanted to run up and throw my arms around his tanned neck. I wasn't alone after all, in this strange place and time. But Benvolio wouldn't let me pass. "Wait," he whispered. "We should not interrupt the friar's work."
Friar Laurence stood over Troy, holding a bowl and a pair of tweezers. His silver cross reflected light onto Troy's face. "I must apply these to the wound again," the friar said calmly and steadily, as if speaking to
a child. "They must be applied at regular intervals."
Troy raised his head from a grungy pillow. "No way. You touch me again and I'll sue!"
"My son, there is no reason to be distraught. The leeches will cleanse your wound." The friar scratched one of his enormous ears with the tweezers. I once read that human ears continue to grow throughout life. The friar's were in overdrive.
"Distraught?" Troy's arm lashed out at the bowl. "I'm pissed. You hear me? Totally pissed! Get those leeches away from me."
The friar was not easily bullied. "I have taken an oath to God to heal the sick. God, in His wisdom, has placed you in my care."
"My insurance doesn't cover freaky friars or leeches." Troy sat up and swung his legs over the cot. A strip of cloth was wrapped around his gray tights, just above his left knee. A dark red stain had spread across the strip. "When my agent finds out you've kept me here, instead of taking me to a hospital, he'll cram a lawsuit up your butt so fast you'll be the one who's ... distraught."
The friar shook his head. "My son, your anger blinds you." He placed the bowl of leeches on a bedside table. "But you have the freedom to choose your own method of healing. If you do not want the leeches, then I shall put them aside." He took a long drink from a blue jug.
"Great! Just get them away from me." Troy rubbed the side of his head. "How'd I get here? What idiot brought me here?" I took a step back, hiding in the hallway's darkness. I was the idiot. They had been my ashes, after all.
"He seems dangerous," Romeo whispered.
"I agree," Benvolio whispered back, adjusting his sword. "Remain here, Mimi, while I speak to him." Benvolio and Romeo entered the room. "I see that you have awoken."
Troy struggled to his feet, keeping his weight on his good leg. Seeing them face to face, I realized that Troy and Benvolio were polar opposites. Benvolio, the winter warrior, dark as night, calm as the morning sea. Troy, the summer prince, golden as the sun, temperamental as the California surf. They glared distrustingly at each other.
"Who are you?" Troy asked.
"I am Benvolio Montague. This is Romeo Montague, my young cousin."
Troy grimaced. "Are you guys some kind of Shakespeare fanatics, like those Star Trek freaks who walk around dressed like Klingons? Is this one of those Renaissance fairs?"
"This is the man I told you about," the friar explained, indicating Benvolio. "He found you injured and brought you here."
"Oh yeah? Why didn't you take me to a hospital? What's up with those costumes?"
"I brought you here because you are a fellow Montague," Benvolio explained, placing his hands on his slender hips. "And you had been stabbed by a Capulet guard. Had I left you in the square, he would have returned and made mincemeat of you."
Romeo bowed to Troy then leaned against the wall and sighed. Troy snorted. "Capulet guard? Fellow Montague? What is this, Candid Camera or something? Am I being punk'd?" Then he groaned and fell back onto the cot. "My leg is killing me." He winced as he untied the bandage.
"You were stabbed, my son," Friar Laurence explained.
I leaned forward to see what Troy was gawking at. His wound ran from his knee to his upper thigh. Black stitches crisscrossed it like something from Frankenstein. Locks of blond hair fell over Troy's
burning eyes. "What have you done to me? I'm supposed to be shooting a beach video tomorrow. I can't wear shorts looking like this. And what's with this bandage?" He waved it. "It looks like an old dish towel. I'll probably get gangrene." Then his face went slack. "What do you want with me?"
"Want with you?" the friar asked.
Romeo slunk to the windowsill and peered into the darkness. "Woe is me," he moaned.
"My child," Friar called softly. "What ails you?"
"He's lovesick," Benvolio explained, helping himself to the blue jug. "He has given me a headache with all his moaning about Rosaline. I'd wager he has given Mimi a headache as well."
"Mimi?" Troy dropped the bandage. I took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Mimi? What happened to you? What's that white stuff all over your face?" Troy didn't wait for my reply. He turned and pointed a finger at
Benvolio. "What's she doing here? You've got no right bringing her here. Look, my label will pay whatever ransom you want--just let her go."
He thought we had been kidnapped. "Uh, Troy ... ," I said.
He hobbled forward, grimacing with each step, and roughly took my arm. "Don't say a word, Mimi," he whispered. "These guys are nutjobs. Look at them. They're dressed like Renaissance fair nerds and that guy pretending to be the friar says it's 1594. They stabbed me in the leg. There's no telling what else they're capable of, so let me handle this." He was using that parental voice I knew so well. Fine. Go ahead and make a fool of yourself. My feet were killing me anyway. I sat down on a stool and took off the wooden shoes. "How much do you want?" Troy repeated.
"While I do not understand your question, I do understand your tone, sir, and I find it insulting." Benvolio wrapped his fingers, slowly and menacingly, around his sword's hilt. Romeo pressed his face against the window's glass, still staring into the darkness.
Troy raised his hands in a motion of surrender. "Okay, okay, let me try that again. What do you want from me?"
"Gratitude would be appropriate, for saving your life."
"Saving my life? Oh, from the Capulet guard. Right." Sarcasm oozed from Troy's mouth. "Sure, thanks a lot."
"Troy, we need to talk," I said. If I could get him alone for a few minutes, I could explain everything. "I know what's going on."
He waved to me to be quiet, as if I were annoying background noise. "Look, whatever your name is ..."
"Benvolio Montague."
"Right. Look, Benvolio, why don't we go outside and get a taxi? My label has a New York office. We can go there and get you a money order or something." He smiled, thinking himself clever. "Come on, what do you say?"
Benvolio raised an eyebrow. "I am beginning to believe that you are insane." He sat on the windowsill next to Romeo, his long leg swaying like a metronome. Romeo whispered Rosaline's name.
I walked barefoot across the plank floor and stood in front of Troy, my back to the others."Remember how I grabbed my necklace from you and then I opened the door and those ashes flew all over the place?" I spoke as quietly as I could. "Remember when I said I might go somewhere and you said that maybe I should go to Verona?" Troy frowned. "Well, that's exactly what happened. They haven't kidnapped us. My Shakespearean charm brought us here. It's magic."
"Oh, that's very interesting," the friar whispered, having stuck his overgrown ears where they didn't belong. "A charm? Pray tell, did I meet you in the square early this morning?"
"Yes," I told him.
"What are you talking about?" Troy demanded. "What do you mean you met him? I don't remember any ashes."
"You don't remember the ashes? How can you not remember the ashes? We choked on them."
"I am afraid that is a side effect of the herbal tea I fed you," the friar explained, squeezing his rotund self between us. "The tea deadened your pain and put you to sleep so I could perform surgery on your
thigh. Your memory will be foggy for a short while, but it will return."
"You drugged me?" Troy's eyes widened. "DRUGGED ME?"
"Excuse us," I said to the friar, pushing a crazed Troy into the corner. "Listen to me."
He wasn't ready to listen. "That guy's a madman. A sadistic butcher. Did you see my leg? I've got to get to a hospital." He turned and faced our captors. "Look, just name your price and let us go."
"There is no price, my son. Go, if that is your wish." Friar Laurence tilted his head toward the open door, then took another drink from his blue jug.
Troy raised his eyebrows. Then he grabbed my hand and started hobbling as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast.
"Wait," I said. "You don't understand. They're not holding us for ransom."
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