Abuse

by Nikki Sex

  The moment I arrive on the doorstep before I have a chance to knock, Sky opens it, letting me in. I slam the door shut behind me, rest my back on it, and exhale in relief.

  “Christ on a crutch,” I gasp. “Those reporters.”

  “Hi,” Sky says softly. “Sorry about that, there’s not much we can do about them. Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.” I smile. “The question is, are you guys OK?”

  She shrugs. “What else can we be? At least Alex is home and not in jail.”

  “Yes, there is that.” I give her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, Sky. Are you enjoying having Briley back where he belongs? He's such a great kid.”

  “Oh, yes!” Her face lights up brightly at the mention of her son. She chats away about Briley as I follow her toward the living area.

  Despite all of the legal crap going on, Briley is now officially back under his parents custody. The paperwork went through before Alex was arrested, thank God. This was a tremendous relief, a real shot in the arm for Sky and Alex. If their son's return had been postponed, I don't know how they would have coped.

  My girl is happy for Briley and his parents, yet sad at losing him. I told her as soon as we get through some of our current drama, she should go off birth control so we can start a family of our own. That certainly cheered her up.

  “I’m sorry Renata couldn’t come today,” Sky murmurs.

  I shrug. “She sends her regards. I didn’t want her to walk through that gauntlet of rabid reporters. She’d hate that.”

  Sky compresses her lips as though there’s a bad taste in her mouth. “I understand. I don’t like it much myself. They're like vultures, picking at bones.”

  Alex opted for a contemporary home, decked out with sculptures and modern art. He has every imaginable cutting-edge gadget, appliance and electronics. You could sell tickets to his state-of-the-art theater room, for a start. It's impressive. We find him and Briley in the living room.

  “Bro!” Alex says, handing the baby to Sky and giving me a big ‘man hug.’

  “Alex,” I murmur.

  I briefly and awkwardly return his hug and release him. I’m completely at ease hugging André, but not my brother. We’ve never been close. The Wilkinson’s don’t touch each other. Is Alex’s affectionate behavior some sort of pretense for Sky’s behalf? I can't be certain.

  It’s sad, but the truth is I don't know him well enough.

  Alex has been through the mill recently. He's relieved to be out of jail and appreciates the part I played. Whatever the reason, he looks genuinely happy to see me.

  It's great to see my brother and his wife with their son. Briley’s at his home, where he belongs. I hate the thought of my brother behind bars for years (possibly decades) to come. However, I'm keyed up because of my reason for being here. Today I intend to talk to Alex. I mean, really talk—not our typical lighthearted chitchat or joking around.

  I greet Briley with a warm smile, and I ruffle his hair. Then I dive in and get right down to business. “Look, Alex, we need to talk.”

  “I’ll take Briley upstairs,” Sky offers. “Do you want anything? Maybe a drink before I go?”

  I offer her an appreciative smile. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

  Alex and I watch Sky and the baby leave then sit down in large chairs positioned across from one another. My brother is a slimmer, unscarred version of myself. About the same height, brown hair, blue-gray eyes, he’s a more relaxed, easy going person.

  Alex works in our father’s real estate business with Betty Jo. He's well-suited for the job since he's blessed with our father’s charm.

  Alex is drinking a beer. I lick my lips and wish I could.

  “You’re not trading cocaine for booze, are you?” I have to ask, even though it makes me feel like a nosy, interfering parent.

  He grins. “Hell, no.”

  “I’m only bringing this up because,” I shrug, “you know, alcoholism runs in the family.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Tell me about it. I work with Betty Jo. Don’t worry, bro. I’ll be careful. I’m allowed to leave my home to attend Al-Anon meetings as part of my rehab. Sky attends, too.”

  “Good, that’s good,” I say.

  Alex and Sky are cocaine-free. Using is not an option for either of them as they are tested frequently. As far as I’m concerned, they both have addictive personalities. They need counseling to learn how to cope with stress in ways that don't involve mind-altering substances. If they don’t get support, something else will probably go wrong. They have Briley to think about, so counseling has got to be a priority—with or without any court orders. But now is not the time to get into this issue.

  I have other issues on my agenda.

  I expel a deep breath. “So…”

  Alex sits forward, grinning. “You look good, Bro. Really good, happy even. How's your fiancée? It makes a difference, doesn’t it? Having someone there for you. Sky and I really like Renata. She was wonderful with Briley.”

  I’m glad he’s hit on a topic that helps me break the ice. I talk to him for quite a while, detailing how fantastic Renata is and how happy we are. The subject naturally leads to André, so I explain I’ve had a lot of counseling.

  I sit forward on my chair. “Look, Alex, I owe you an apology.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I know we’ve never talked about it, but I’m sorry I didn't protect you from our father. I should’ve been a better brother to you. I’ve felt guilty about it for years. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

  Alex frowns with a deeply furrowed brow, looking utterly mystified. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Of all the things he could’ve said, this I didn’t expect. Now I'm perplexed. “You know… his uh… abuse.” I want to say more, but the words just won’t come.

  Alex takes a long drink of beer and sits back in his chair. His brow remains furrowed, he’s puzzled or confused. I have no clue what's going on in his mind or what he might say.

  Fuck. Please tell me he’s not in denial. He’s younger than I am, after all. It’s a possibility. Not that age has much to do with blocking out unwanted memories. Please God, let him remember what our father did to us.

  The silence lengthens.

  Alex's gaze shifts to mine. “What are you talking about? Are you kidding? I could never thank you enough for what you did for me.”

  My brows shoot up. “What do you mean?”

  “Dad liked to play his games with you. The most I got was a bit of fondling, some oral and er…dry humping.”

  This truth is a surprise and a relief. That was all?

  “You stopped him before it went any further.”

  “I did?”

  I stare at him, unable to wrap my brain around what he's saying. Alex might as well be speaking a different language, one I don't understand. I never saved Alex from our father. That fact has eaten away at me every day of my life. This is surreal. Am I hallucinating or dreaming? Did I finally lose it completely?

  “You don’t remember?” Alex asks.

  I swallow and look away, astonished at how easily Alex is able to converse on the subject of our father’s sexual abuse. How does he do it? For me, talking about abuse seemed impossible. I’m better now, with practice, but confiding details the first time was slow going torture. I suspect it would've been easier, faster and less painful for André to pull out my back teeth with chopsticks.

  I clear my throat. “What I remember most is when it began for you.” I hesitate, searching for words. “I'm ashamed to admit this, but although I was upset, I remember being glad, too. I didn’t want to be the only one. I was relieved to be off the hook, to have times when he left me alone. But then I felt guilty—real guilty. You were three years younger, so naive and trusting. It was wrong. I should have protected you. I blamed myself for that.”

  “Wow.” Alex puts his beer down. “I remember coming to you the first time and telling you dad touched my dick. I thought it was da
mn weird. Even as a kid, I could tell you weren’t happy about it.”

  “I remember that day,” I tell him, recalling the conversation.

  “Well, you taught me how to lay low—to avoid him.”

  This cheers me up. “Really?”

  “I never got half as much ‘den’ time as you.” Alex shakes his head. “You did protect me. I never thanked you for that. I hated being alone with him. And hey, you don't have to feel bad about being relieved when he left you alone. I was always relieved when I wasn't the one he chose to mess with.”

  My mouth drops open as I gape at him in surprise.

  Alex frowns. “What? Don’t you remember it that way? I sure do. You were stuck being dad’s favorite, a seriously shitty place to be. I was the lucky one, he ignored me. I wanted to be invisible and I was—most of the time.

  “Betty Jo has no idea what you and I went through. Of course, neither does mom. Talk about clueless. It’s like she lives on a different planet or something. And how fucked up a marriage did those two have?”

  I snort. “I wouldn’t call it a relationship, much less a marriage.”

  “I knew that mom and Betty Jo would hate Sky. But I was lucky enough to find her, I wasn't going to let the best thing that ever happened to me go. That’s why I just up and married her without telling anyone.”

  I grin at him. “That was a good move. I may try it with Renata.” A thought strikes me. “Does Sky know about… our father?”

  He nods. “She’s the only person I’ve ever talked to about it. Her dad left when she was a kid—she never saw him again. Then her mom brought home a string of drop-kicks that all tried to molest her when she was a teenager. Sky totally understands what I went through.”

  I’m so confused. My mind is spinning, trying to process information that doesn't match up with what I believed so strongly, for most of my life.

  I protected Alex? He was glad not to be our father's favorite?

  Shit, I’m like a darker, pessimistic version of my mother. I saw only the worst, magnified it and blamed myself for everything. Yet, she and I were alike, both unable to see what was going on around us. I was Atlas, crushed by the weight of my guilt and shame, while she was floating weightlessly with blinders on.

  What the fuck?

  I don’t know what to feel, other than shell-shocked and relieved. These new insights are going to take me a while to grasp.

  All this time, for over a decade, I blamed myself for what happened to my brother. In reality, I managed to do the right thing. How the hell did that happen? Thank God it did. What a huge relief. But why didn't I know any of this?

  Alex smiles at me. “From the time I was a kid, you always came to my rescue, bro.”

  “I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground back then,” I say absently, still attempting to process this.

  Alex bursts out laughing, his eyes dance with humor. “There’s a poor choice of words if I ever heard one. Hey, have you ever tried anal sex? No? It's fucking shit!”

  I smile faintly. Leave it to Alex to come up with an inappropriate joke. “I’m surprised it took you this long to find something amusing to say. I think that's a record for you.” I arch a mocking eyebrow. “I was afraid you might need medical attention.”

  We both grin at each other for an endless moment. It’s a strange sensation, feeling connected to my brother. I don’t think we’ve ever sat down and genuinely talked. Too bad it took his arrest to get to this place.

  Alex has Sky. She is his Renata, someone who listens and understands. I’m sorry for his past, and I regret my part in it, but Alex doesn’t blame me. It’s such a relief. I feel so many things. Yet most of all, the raw emotion I feel for my brother seems like… love.

  Renata taught me how to love. To do that, first I had to accept, forgive and learn to love myself.

  Forgiving myself was the hardest part.

  I swallow hard, preparing to broach yet another uncomfortable topic. “Look Alex, about your arrest—there are plenty of people with motive to kill our father. That means there are more suspects.”

  I explain that Danny Berdeaux, Cody Bentley, Miguel Alvarez and I all have photographic evidence of being molested by our father.

  Shock then horror flares across his features. “No shit? There were more than just you and me? That’s terrible. Man, our father was one fucked up asshole.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I'm glad he's dead. But, although it's awful, this is good news for your case. This will muddy the waters because lots of people had reasons to kill the bastard. About the manslaughter charge…”

  I take another deep breath. I need to ask him if he did it. I want to know the truth. Is my brother a murderer? He must be, and yet…

  Fuck, this is hard.

  I exhale loudly. “Alex—”

  He interrupts me, “Look, Grant, I want to thank you for that.”

  My brows draw down in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  He shrugs. “I’m just glad he’s dead. That sick son of a bitch had to die, you know? I wanted to do it for so long. I fantasized about it, but I never had the guts. You’ve always been so fucking tough, such a hard-ass. All that army training you went through only made you tougher. I should've joined the army, too. I’m just not that guy, you know? I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  I'm totally lost… again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Alex frowns, looking sheepish. “I’m rich, I’m white and I’m from a prominent local family, so how bad can a trial be? Besides, I’m pretty sure our mother knows who to buy off. If we add the abuse angle, especially if we include the other victims, maybe I won't have to go to jail.”

  Alex gives a what-the-hell shrug. “Court will be a pain in the butt.” He snickers and waggles his eyebrows, a teasing recall of his anal sex joke. “You know, fucking shit. But hey, I’ve been through worse, and I owe you so much. You're always there for me, coming to my rescue. I don’t even mind going down for it. I was just saying thank you for finally doing it—for killing our father.”

  “What?” I gasp. “Are you telling me you didn’t kill our father?”

  “No,” he says vehemently. “I mean, yes.” His brows draw together in a bewildered moment of confusion. “I mean no, I didn’t kill him. I thought you did!”

  I can’t stop shaking my head.

  Agitated, astonished or maybe just plain shocked, Alex jumps to his feet. “Wait a minute,” he says, throwing up his hands excitedly. “If I didn’t kill him, and you didn’t kill him—then who killed our father?”

  Chapter 40.

  “Unrestricted competition… does not leave us the survival of the fittest. The unscrupulous succeed best in accumulating wealth.”

  — Rutherford B. Hayes

  ~~~

  Senator Robert Whitfield

  “Well now, Mr. Speaker,” Senator Robert Whitfield said, talking on the phone. “This liberal legalizin’ of marijuana is a sin, yes sir. It’s a sin, I say, and it’s got to stop! What message are we sending the youth of today? What about our children? Does anyone think of that?”

  “Senator, I hoped to speak to you about—”

  “No, you just go ahead and let people know right where I stand. First, you till the soil, then you plant the seed, then you water and you weed! Yes sir, you must weed! We are not weeding away evil, Mr. Speaker—we’re allowing it to grow! As politicians, we are the gardeners of this great society of ours! We must stand up for what's right, for our children!”

  “The constituents…”

  "Our constituents want family values! The Bible is clear on the sin of overindulgence. There’s a reason we wage war on drugs!”

  “Yes, I understand but—”

  “My brother Isiah, the well-known evangelical minister with his own TV show, preaches that scripture stresses abstinence. Ask my beautiful, loyal wife and my three perfect children. Do they need marijuana? No, hell no! If you'd like to see your allocations bill sail through my committee this term,
you know what you’ll have to do.”

  This was a subtle threat. Senator Whitfield often found those worked best to achieve his goals. That and donating huge funds toward the right people.

  “Uh-huh,” the Speaker replied. “Well, you know you’ll have my support.”

  Pleased with his efforts, Robert Whitfield smiled as he hung up the phone. He enjoyed being a United States Senator. He liked power, prestige and obsequious attention from all the little people who sought his approval. From his position at the top of the political mountain, he was most capable of protecting his life of privilege and wealth.

  Damn this liberal trend in drug legislation right to hell.

  Robert had to wonder, what next? Unfortunately, he could see the writing on the wall. First they legalize marijuana and before you know it, they’ll do the same with cocaine.

  As his agents ran his multi-million dollar business selling cocaine. Legalizing his product would be financially devastating.

  Cocaine was an excellent way to unlimited quick money. It's cheap to buy and easy to sell. Packaging, marketing and moving cocaine—mostly through the darknet, generated well over 250% profit. That amount included the high cost of buying hundreds of people in high places.

  Whitfield maintained an army of informants and employees on his payroll to protect himself and his thriving business. These influential people included judges, legislators, FBI, DEA, D.A.’s, police, as well as an extremely costly contract killer, who Robert preferred to refer to as his ‘fixer.’

  Every drug bust of his competitors (orchestrated by his own informants) kept the police busy, and they sent his cocaine prices skyrocketing, which was exactly as it should be.

  Whitfield recently paid a number of researchers a fortune to alter their results. He needed ‘evidence’ to prove marijuana was hazardous. The faux studies determined legalizing marijuana increased crime rates, addiction and the chance of overdose, as well as creating havoc on the roads through car accidents. Other related disadvantages included production deficits in the workplace.