“What about his school?” Carolyn asked sharply.
“What do you mean?” the man asked, shrinking back just a bit in the face of her unadulterated rage. One thing I had learned about Carolyn was that when she was scared, she got completely and utterly furious.
“One of the teachers from the local high school comes by every other day to help him stay current with the rest of his class. Is he still going to be able to work with him? If not, you and this nonsense will put him behind, and he won’t be able to graduate. If that happens, I will personally call every newspaper in the state of Alabama, the ACLU, and anyone else that will make your life a living hell.” The sharpness in her tone made me grateful for her all over again. She was fighting for me, to give me some sense of routine, of continuity, of hope.
“I think we can work something out. Do you have the teacher’s information?” The weasel almost shrunk in on himself at her threat, and Carolyn wrote down Kyle’s name and number in his little notebook. I wanted so badly to take that notebook and beat him to death with it.
The knock on the door pushed the panic in my chest to the point where I actually tried to scramble back on the bed, my broken leg screaming in protest. I cried out, and Carolyn put her arms around me, making no move to open the door. Mr. Hascomb opened the front door to admit a police officer and an EMT, and I realized I had run out of options. No matter how angry my muffled yells were, they paid no heed and took me on the stretcher to the ambulance for transport to the hospital.
The officer had my suitcase, and he rode with me, because even being unable to talk, I made it clear I wanted them to keep Hascomb away from me. He was taking away the only place that I had ever felt safe, and I hated him for it.
“Brian, my name is Detective Miller, and I need to talk to you for a little while to help child services determine what to do about your situation,” the officer said. I didn’t remember if he was one of the officers who had helped me after Mosely’s attack, but then I didn’t really remember a whole lot from the drugged-up statements I’d given the police. He must have been, however, because the Crayford police department only consisted of about half a dozen people.
I looked around for a minute and didn’t see my board. Goddamn it, I wouldn’t be able to tell him what he needed to know—that Richard didn’t do anything to me. Finally, I sighed and looked up at the officer and mimed writing. It would go a lot easier if he had a little cop notebook and pen. I mean, I could talk, slowly and painfully, but Richard said it was best that I didn’t. It seemed more important than ever to listen to Richard then, because I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. The officer pulled a small pad from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I noticed there was a pen in the attached loop.
I want to go home. Richard and Carolyn are my family, they would never hurt me.
“I know you want to go home, son, but we have to make sure it’s safe for you to be there,” he said, and I saw a deep compassion in his brown eyes. Instinctively, I knew that he was my only shot at getting back home. His brown suit was almost the same color as his eyes, complete with white shirt, brown tie, and nondescript brown shoes; he looked like a typical cop you might see on television.
It’s the ONLY place I’m safe.
“What do you mean?”
Look at me. Three kids from school put me in a coma for a week. Richard and Carolyn love me, they take care of me.
“How do you feel about your foster parents?”
They are the best foster parents I’ve ever had. I love them.
“We got a call, and someone told us that your foster father has been touching you.”
It’s a lie. Richard has never touched me like that. Never.
“Why do you think someone would make such a serious allegation if it wasn’t true?”
They hate me because I’m gay.
“Is that why the kids at school hurt you?”
Yes. That and because my best friend lied to a girl at school and pretended to date her to hide that we were together. It was her brother who did this to me.
He nodded and began to write in another notebook he’d taken out of his jacket pocket. He wrote for a long time, and by the time he looked up again, we were at the hospital. My heart rate accelerated wildly as the back doors of the ambulance opened and one of the orderlies I knew from my stay after the attack rolled me out of the ambulance and got the wheels down.
“Hey, kid, back so soon?” he asked. He and I had always joked when he came in to get my tray or brought me a couple of extra containers of grape juice instead of apple because he knew I liked grape more. I had the suspicion he was gay too, but he’d never said or done anything to confirm it.
I nodded miserably as they wheeled me into the ER. Craning my neck, I looked for Richard but didn’t see him. It would have been incredibly comforting to me for him to be there, but I couldn’t find him.
I was alone.
17
“YOUR foster father was sent home a little while ago so he wouldn’t be here for your exam,” Hascomb said as he appeared again by my side with a clipboard. He looked so self-important, directing traffic, taking charge. Oh God, Richard would lose his job if they thought he was…. He’d said Richard had been asked to leave. I wondered if they’d told the hospital why. I started to feel really sick to my stomach.
“Brian, are you all right?” Officer Miller asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. My face broke out in a cold sweat. “Can you get him some ice water with a straw?” he asked my orderly friend, who ran off at once. He was back almost immediately, popping open the straw and putting it into the cup. Holding it up to my mouth, he waited patiently for me to take a couple of sips, which helped to soothe my stomach a little. I breathed deeply, trying desperately not to throw up into the mouth I couldn’t open. When the room stopped spinning, I handed the cup back to the orderly and opened the notebook again.
They are going to get Richard fired and it will be my fault.
Hascomb was looking over the officer’s shoulder and reading what I had written.
“Are you afraid of your foster father?” he asked, almost excited.
SHUT UP! I’m not answering any of your questions. I will only answer Officer Miller’s questions. You want to take me away from the only people who love me.
“Brian, I just want you to be safe, that’s all,” he said, rather unconvincingly.
I don’t believe you. I’m practically an adult.
“I can’t leave you in a home where you’re being abused just because you’ll only be there a few more months,” Hascomb said, obviously affronted. “You could be dead before you turn eighteen if they’re hurting you.”
Let’s just get this over with.
I showed my note to the officer only, and he nodded, drawing the curtain around my bed with Hascomb on the outside of it. Two orderlies transferred me to the ER bed and removed the stretcher, retreating quickly around the closed curtain, leaving behind a hospital gown.
Officer Miller looked at the gown and then at me.
“Do you need help changing?” he asked, and his official tone had become softer. I felt really frustrated that I had to ask for help, that some strangers were going to be undressing me. It made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t have any choice. I gave something between a shrug and a nod, not meeting his eyes, and he stuck his head out of the closed curtain to call the orderlies back.
It took fifteen minutes for the orderlies to help me into the gown. Once I was ready, Officer Miller came back around the curtain, and neither of us spoke as we sat waiting for the doctor. I was nervous and fidgety, but Officer Miller looked relaxed in the molded plastic chair near my bedside. It was another ten minutes before the curtain opened again and Dr. Montague entered, looking rather confused and upset.
“Brian?” he asked, confused, looking at the officer sitting in the chair next to my bed. “What’s going on? First, they practically escort Richard from the building in the middle of a shift, and then they tell me that I’
m supposed to examine you for signs of abuse?” His face flushed as his temper rose. “Richard has been nothing but good to you, boy, and this is how you repay him?”
I didn’t even have the chance to pen a reply, my throat constricting painfully at his allegations, before Officer Miller stood up. He was an impressive presence in the room, and Dr. Montague, whom I’ve always admired, fell silent.
“How dare you browbeat an injured child?” he asked, plainly furious. “He hasn’t made any allegations, and he certainly hasn’t done anything to warrant that kind of spite. Now, if you could please just do your job with some measure of professionalism, or should we get someone else?”
A fleeting look of shock crossed Dr. Montague’s face just before he bowed his head.
“I’m sorry, son. This… this is just so upsetting,” the doctor said, shaking his head.
“If you think it’s upsetting to you, think about how he must feel,” Officer Miller nearly growled at him as he put a hand on my shoulder. “From what I understand, this kid has been through hell in the last few weeks, and being ripped out of his home certainly isn’t helping.”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, snapping on a pair of gloves. Then he laid a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get this unpleasantness over as quickly as possible.” I nodded. He patted my shoulder and went over to get some kind of box from the counter and then a digital camera from a cabinet.
The doctor examined almost every part of me. At first, it wasn’t so bad. Checking my mouth, taking some pictures, and even using some kind of machine that he said would magnify everything. I had no idea what he was looking for in my mouth, of all places, but then he moved down, checking my torso, arms, and legs for bruising, which was ridiculous, of course, because I was still sore and lacerated from the attack, but pictures were taken of everything.
The worst part of the exam he left for last.
As I lay there on the table, naked except for a flimsy gown in front of these two men, he examined me. I closed my eyes, wishing I were anywhere else, but I could still see the flash on the other side of my lids as he took pictures of my most private areas. A humiliated tear slid down my face as I lay on my side, feeling him probing me.
I couldn’t believe it was happening.
Finally, after what felt like hours, they helped me lie on my back. The doctor pulled the officer out of the room. I didn’t have the energy to wonder why. I just lay on the uncomfortable bed and tried not to think about the gross invasion that had just been visited upon me or about what was going to happen from there.
I was unsuccessful.
Once he had helped me dress again, Officer Miller sat down at my bedside. His face was hard, but when my frightened eyes met his, it softened almost immediately. I couldn’t find the strength to ask him the question that burned inside me, but thankfully he didn’t make me ask.
“We’re going to take you to the state home over in Hudson. It’s not permanent, just until we’re able to determine if it’s safe for you to go back to the Schreibers. They tried to find another foster placement for you, but no one was available that could accommodate your injuries.” His voice was soft and consoling, but it didn’t make up for the fact that I was going to a state home.
I took a deep breath and tried not to think about how much I missed Carolyn and Richard.
Richard has never hurt me. Ever. Neither has Carolyn. Just so there is no misunderstanding. I want to go home.
He made one swift, curt nod, acknowledging but not agreeing.
“We can’t do that right now because you have some injuries consistent with sexual abuse. Until we can determine what is happening in that house, we can’t let you go back,” Detective Miller said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes.
What kind of injuries, I don’t understand. If I’ve never been sexually abused, how could I have injuries like that?
“There is some anal scarring,” he said, a little uncomfortable with the subject but not nearly as uncomfortable as I was.
What does that mean?
“Most commonly it’s caused by anal sex.” Anal sex, what the hell is he…. Oh God.
No! Jamie and I made love on my birthday. I wasn’t abused.
Officer Miller looked into my eyes for a long moment, and it felt like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I nodded, hoping it would help to drive my point home.
The orderlies who’d helped me from the ambulance to the ER came back through the curtain again. They were both somber, and I wondered what the hell I’d missed. Without a word, even from my friendly orderly friend, they transferred me back onto the stretcher. Officer Miller disappeared at some point while they were loading me into the ambulance but came back before the doors closed.
“Brian, I’m going to go and talk to your foster parents. I’ll come by Hudson House later and see how you’re doing, and I may have a few more questions,” he told me with one hand on the end of the stretcher. Then something occurred to me, and I waved my hands to get his attention.
“What is it, Brian?” he asked.
Could you give a note to Richard and Carolyn?
“That isn’t a good idea, Brian.” His sigh didn’t deter me, and I looked at him imploringly. “You know I’ll have to read it?” I nodded, guessing he’d have to read it either in front of me or on the way to their house.
I’m okay. I love you both so much. I’m so sorry this is happening to you because of me.
I handed the note to Officer Miller, and he looked it over for a long time, much longer than he needed in order to read the few words I had written.
“This isn’t your fault, Brian. None of it is your fault, please remember that,” he said earnestly, his hand moving from the frame of the stretcher to my leg. I didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. He backed up and swung the doors of the ambulance closed, and I lay there, waiting for my fate.
An EMT hopped in the back with me, making sure the brakes on the stretcher were locked before calling for the driver to start up the rig. He didn’t say anything during the nearly half-hour ride to Hudson House. I was glad because the last thing I wanted to do right then was make small talk with a stranger. Instead, I used the ride to allow myself a full-blown self-pity party, telling myself I would allow it only until I reached my temporary home. After that, I was going to put my big-boy pants on and stick it out until I could either get back to Richard and Carolyn’s or I could go it on my own.
Across the miles from the hospital to Hudson House, I tried to figure out what I had done to God to deserve the last seventeen years. Losing my parents, losing Jamie, losing Richard and Carolyn, losing my home—why give it all to me just to strip it away bit by bit until there was nothing left? It was just cruel. Is that what they taught in church? God’s wrath? Was I a mass murderer in a previous life or something? Jesus. I hadn’t done anything to deserve that kind of devastation.
Kyle was supposed to have come that day. I wondered briefly if he was at the house, if Carolyn was telling him what had happened. Would he come to Hudson House to help me? I had to believe that Carolyn had forced the issue of Kyle and my education with Hascomb so I could have someone visit me and check on me while I was in here. I didn’t believe for a minute that she was concerned about my education while they were dragging me out of her door, banking on the fact that they probably didn’t have anyone with the time to sit with me like Kyle had. God, I hoped they’d let him see me. It would be at least one little sliver of normalcy in the whole nightmare.
Before I knew it, before really any time had passed at all, the ambulance stopped and the EMT was opening the doors. They pulled the stretcher out and lowered the wheels. Hearing the wheels hit the ground, knowing my fate had arrived, increased my fear. Even though I was practically an adult, I was scared. I was afraid that I’d never see my family again, that I’d be injured at the home because I couldn’t defend myself, or that maybe I’d just disappear altogether.
The EMTs elevated the top of the stretcher so I w
as sitting up as they pushed me through the open double doors of the state institution known as Hudson House. As I looked around, seeing tiny faces peering out of cracks in the doors, I had vague memories of the time I’d been there. In the time between the pervert who used to make me jack off while she watched, and the Schreibers who loved me, I’d spent nearly two months in this prison, just waiting. I was thankful that I’d been patient; my placement with Richard and Carolyn would turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had saved my life.
The beige, nondescript cinderblock walls passed with surprising slowness. Identical doors, usually in twos, lined each side of the corridor until the stretcher was turned sharply and I was rolled through an open one. I saw the second bed in the room first, stripped bare and looking rather forlorn as it was pushed rudely into the corner to accommodate the stretcher. The first bed had been made with the drab, scratchy-looking sheets and a worn-out gray blanket. I remembered everything then, from the flat, lumpy pillows to the crying coming from the other rooms.
It was an absolute nightmare.
The EMTs helped to transfer me into the bed, the mattress not giving a bit under my weight. It was like lying on a board. One of the social workers stepped forward, past Hascomb, who had slithered in while they were getting me into bed. She looked somewhat familiar, and her touch was gentle, almost soothing—like Carolyn’s.
“Brian, I’m Mrs. Dillon, and I’m one of the people who are going to be caring for you. Is there anything you need?” she asked softly, pulling the blanket up over my cast and then over my chest. It was scratchy, but it made me feel slightly more secure. I grabbed the officer’s notebook and wrote in it, handing it to her when I was done.
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