“Your junk? Are you referring to your genitals?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man walks around the end of his table. A single legal pad rests on the surface. Is that what I’m reduced to, one page on a legal pad? The attorney looks as if he’s debating what to say next. When I make eye contact with him, his gaze swings away, and he asks, “Do you think that might have been accidental?”
“When I was a kid, yes, at first, but it still made me uncomfortable.”
“Understandably so, I agree. And he did this to you a lot?”
“Yes. A lot of what he pretended was accidental touching. Sometimes he’d giggle and say things like, ‘Oh, I accidentally touched your penis.’ He’d laugh and ask, ‘You won’t tell anyone how clumsy I am, will you?’ I always promised to keep his secret.”
“When was the first overt advance made by Mr. Phelps?”
“My mom was working a double, and Paul offered to watch me after an event.”
“So, you spent the night at Mr. Phelps’s house?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“I was going to sleep on the couch, but we had pizza and soda for dinner. Paul was tickling me, and I spilled my soda.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“In Paul’s bed.”
“Mr. Phelps invited you to take his bed? Where did he sleep?”
“In the bed with me.”
“What happened that night, in Mr. Phelps’s bed?”
“He touched me, like…running his hands over me. Started as a massage on my back, and then he…um, turned me over.”
“Where did he touch you when he turned you over?”
“My chest…my n-nipples.” The jurors are waiting for me to continue, and I lick my lips. “He played with them, making them stand up…um, they’d never done that before, and it scared me. Made things happen…down there.” God, I sound like a little kid. I can’t seem to articulate like I’m any older than I was when Paul was touching me.
“You became aroused?” He says this like it was shocking on my part. Like, how could I get aroused?
I swallow and try to clear the lump in my throat. I nod, but that isn’t good enough. I have to say it for the transcriptionist. “Yes, I became aroused.”
“What did Mr. Phelps do when you became aroused?”
Fuck. Does he have to keep saying that fucking word? “He kissed me.”
“Where did he kiss you?”
“On the cheek, and then the lips.”
“How did you react to that, Mr. McCoy?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I kept telling myself to move, but I was paralyzed.”
“What did he do next?”
“He kept kissing me.”
“How did your body react to this display of affection?”
Affection? What is this guy’s issue? “Excuse me?”
“Did you become more aroused?”
“Um…yes? I don’t see what this—”
“Just trying to establish Mr. Phelps’s motives. Do you believe he was trying to arouse you?”
“I never thought about it. He just did things to me, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t there for most of it.”
“Of course, Mr. McCoy. Just a few more questions.”
Thank God. A sick feeling wells up in my belly. Let’s get this done and over with, yeah?
“After you became aroused, what did Mr. Phelps do?”
“I was upset, and he told me it was okay. He showed me his…um, and said it was okay.”
“Showed you his what?”
Fuck. “His penis.”
“What did he do then?”
“He told me to touch it.”
“And did you?”
“No, not on my own. He picked up my hand and placed it on his…uh, genitals.”
“Did at any point in the night Mr. Phelps touch your penis?”
“Yes.”
“Is that how the night was spent? Kissing and fondling?”
“Yes, sir.”
Maddox told me the US attorney only needs to show enough evidence for an indictment, revealing as little as possible of all the evidence collected. I hope this means we’re done talking about this now.
“Mr. McCoy, let’s fast-forward a little, to your college years. Specifically to the time spent at the university playing for Mr. Phelps. Did you have a sexual relationship with Coach Phelps?”
No words can make it around the lump in my throat. What’s this guy doing? If I admit to having consensual sex with Paul, will that exonerate him? “Uh, Paul said I owed him for getting me in the program.”
“Just answer yes or no, Mr. McCoy.”
“Yes.” The hate I’m beginning to feel for this guy sits like a big ball of ugly in my gut.
“Is it true Mr. Phelps wasn’t the only staff member you had sex with at the U?”
Oh God. I’m gonna puke. They’ve talked to someone who told them about me.
“Mr. McCoy, is it true you’ve been sexually overactive for a majority of your life?”
“Are you trying to say I wanted him? That I wanted Paul to touch me when I was a kid? What the fuck are you playing at, asshole?” I stand, shaking from head to toe, ready to tackle this guy. The bailiff moves to block my way.
The attorney holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I have to be fair and offer possible evidence of innocence according to state law.”
“I thought this was a federal grand jury?” This guy’s spinning a line of shit. Maddox said no defense material would be presented at the grand jury. One, it’s not a requirement to even notify Paul or his lawyer. Two, they only have to present evidence of guilt. I know this and the attorney knows it too. He smiles, his back to the jurors, who are scribbling on small notepads, and nods to me.
“One more question. Are you gay, Mr. McCoy?”
“What does this have to do with—”
“Just answer the question.”
The jurors stare at me, a long line of barely blinking, hollow orbits whose gazes rip right through me. I nod.
“For the record,” the attorney reminds me.
“Yes. I’m gay.”
“You’re free to go, Mr. McCoy.”
“That’s it?” My anger infuses every word. “I was ten, motherfucker, ten when it first started. It never fucking stopped!” Wetness gathers beneath my eyes, but I can feel the intense heat of anger in my face.
The bailiff escorts me back to the waiting room, his hand a vise on my upper arm, and he doesn’t let go until I’m back in the waiting room. I want to punch his face.
“Goddamn it!” I kick over one of the chairs.
“Mr. McCoy, get yourself under control,” says the bailiff.
Irus grabs me by the elbow. “What’s going on?”
“I told you! I fucking told you. That bastard brought up college.”
The expression on Irus’s face tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about, and so does Maddox. Of course, Maddox would’ve done his homework. Probably how the attorney knows about me.
Maddox doesn’t look happy, though, and the bailiff calls him next. I hope Maddox sets everyone straight, because right now they think I’m a slut. I can tell. Unmasked and raw, the jurors’ disgust was a punch in my gut. The moment I confessed to being gay, the derision was clear, and that hurt more than anything. Like that one moment defines whether I am deserving of justice or not.
Jared sits with Miss Beulah. The boy looks vulnerable. He needs me to keep my shit together. “Hey, kid. How’re you doing?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “All right, I guess.”
“Was the attorney nice to you?”
“He was okay.” Jared licks his lips, and I can tell he wants to say more.
The room echoes with the sound of the chair I drag over to sit in front of Jared. Other than that, no one makes a peep. Jared avoids my gaze, until finally he decides to break his silence.
“He asked me how I liked living with you.
Asked me if you told me about what Paul did to you. Suggested I was coached by you and Maddox.”
So this whole hearing is a waste of time and energy. Is the US attorney a friend of Paul’s? Doesn’t matter. All we need is to present a minimal amount of evidence.
“What’d you say?”
“I told him ‘hell no.’”
I laugh and hug Jared. “Kid, you’re all right.”
Irus catches my gaze and holds it. “I thought the point was to be sure the jurors only hear about the prosecution’s evidence, not the defense.”
“I suppose the attorney felt compelled to provide a modicum of doubt. Won’t work.” I wish I felt as confident as I’m acting. Jared doesn’t need to know the bleak thoughts in my head.
“Excuse me?” A middle-aged woman with dark hair peppered with white strands comes into the room. Jared stands up quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was told Jared has finished his testimony. I’d like to take him home now.”
“No, I mean, can he spend the day with us?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can hear the ridiculousness of my question. I sound like a child asking if Jared can play.
“I wish he could, but we have appointments to keep today. Jared has a dental cleaning, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jared looks at me and whispers, “She’s nice, but she’s not you. Get me back. I don’t care if you have to marry him to make it happen.”
Irus smiles and nods his head. “Thanks, bro.”
“You need all the help you can get if you’re gonna get Jacks to commit.”
Jared gives Irus a bro hug, surprising me, and falls into Miss Beulah’s arms for a suffocating squeeze. “I’m gonna miss you, Beulah.” She pats his back, for once too choked up for words.
When Jared moves from her embrace, he doesn’t look at me but hugs me quickly. As he follows his foster mother out of the room, I can see him wipe the tears from his eyes. God damn Paul Phelps to hell. A heavy arm slides along my shoulders, and I look up into Irus’s sympathetic eyes. I bury my face in his chest so no one can see my tears. I didn’t realize watching that kid walk out of my life would rip my heart up this way. The pain in my chest is almost more than I can bear and feels a lot like when my mother died.
The door slams against the wall, making me jump. Maddox storms into the room like a volcanic eruption of hate and anger. Frank intercepts him, takes the crook of Maddox’s arm, and whips him around.
“Check yourself, Cole! Keep a lid on it. These guys are dealing with some shit.”
Maddox looks around. “Where’s Jared?”
“His foster mother had to take him to the dentist,” Irus says.
“Did you know the US attorney planned on presenting defensive testimony?” I ask.
Maddox snorts. “He’s not required to do anything other than present enough evidence to get a jury to recommend a criminal trial. This is completely unorthodox, not to mention insane. This is probably all my fault,” Maddox says, deflated. “I pushed for this case to move forward for a long time. Once I came across you, I knew I finally had some leverage.”
“Are you saying the attorney didn’t want to go forward with just Jared’s testimony?” Irus asks.
“He didn’t think we had enough evidence.”
“So why the rush now?” This isn’t making any sense to me.
“I don’t know. He changed his mind, and the next thing I know, Phelps is arrested.”
“Maybe it was that e-mail you sent to the governor,” Frank suggests.
“Beulah Beaumont.” I hate the bailiff’s voice.
Irus’s auntie stands tall. The look on her face reveals a force of nature. This attorney is going to meet his match in this woman. I wish I could watch. She places a big hand on my cheek. I can see her nail polish out of the corner of my eye, and it appears flawless. A peach color that matches her blouse and skirt.
“Don’tcha worry ’bout nuthin’, sweetie. Auntie Beulah’ll take care of it all.”
She follows the bailiff through the door. Irus moans next to me. “Oh Lord, that attorney don’t know what he’s in for with Auntie.”
We all sit down to wait it out.
After ten minutes of no one talking, Maddox breaks the silence with a question. “Jackson, do you know someone named Lawrence Agner?”
Frank’s expression perks up and he glances toward Irus and me. The look has a meaning I can’t discern. “Lawrence Agner? Lawrence…you mean Larry Agner. He was one of Paul’s kids,” I say.
“Did you ever meet him?” Maddox asks.
“When Paul first started bringing me around, he had a few of us he liked to take for the night.”
“A sleepover?” Frank questions.
God, I don’t want to talk about this. I spent too much time thinking about Paul today. Maddox waits. Irus rubs my arm in slow, soothing strokes, and I sigh. “Paul liked to make us play together. He’d stage us and take pictures.”
Maddox sits up quickly. “He took pictures?”
“Um…yeah. He’d make Jake and I do the pics. Larry would watch, all bent out of shape.”
“Why was he bent out of shape?” Frank asks. A level of concern infiltrates his words. I can’t quite pin down what it is in his demeanor that makes the hair on my neck tickle.
“It was him and Jake before I came along. It was weird with those two. They were older. Not by much, maybe fourteen or fifteen.”
“Weird how?” Maddox asks.
“They liked the attention from Paul. If Paul was giving me too much love, when he left, Jake and Larry would take it out on me.”
“They liked it?” Irus asks, not comprehending the possibility.
“That’s why it was weird. They were with him longer, though, and I think he kinda brainwashed them, ya know? Eventually, I don’t think Paul had them around anymore. He didn’t like the way they treated me, and we stopped doing things together. Problem was then I had to deal with Paul all alone. When it was the three of us there, I could melt into the woodwork sometimes. Not always, but—” I just can’t bring myself to continue the thought. Luckily, the door to the waiting room opens, and Miss Beulah struts into the room.
The bailiff stands in the doorway. “The US attorney says you are all free to leave.” He closes the door on us without another word.
“Didn’t Auntie say she’d set them jurors straight? Them people were in tears, youngen, and now they be knowin’ the monster fer who he is,” she says proudly. Her big hand palms my head. “Let’s get outta here, baby-child.”
Maddox stands and shakes Beulah’s hand. “You know I love you, Miss Beulah.”
She smacks his chest. “Shoot, y’all a playa, ya got yer boy over there. Quit yer flirtin’.” Miss Beulah plays it loud and over the top. God, I love this woman.
Maddox laughs. “You got me. Let’s go.”
We make our way through the building to the elevators, taking them down to the parking garage. As soon as we emerge, we’re bombarded by a stampeding mass of media folk. Cameramen shove their equipment into my face as reporters shout incoherent questions at me in unison.
Big, dark lenses loom in front of the cameramen’s faces. Remote eyes of a great, slithering beast made up of the millions of viewers who want to poke through my skin and dig at my meaty bits. Irus has my back. He’s half carrying, half pushing me through the throng, while Maddox tries to get the media under control. His phone is stuck to his ear. I think he’s calling security.
Just on my periphery, I see a man skulking along the bank of vehicles. I follow the man’s gaze and it leads me to Frank, who’s bringing up the rear with Miss Beulah. I look back as the man slips inside a dingy two-door. The headlights flare to life. The pinging of a bad engine signals a warning in my head as the car rolls a few feet. This guy’s familiar. A primal impulse of fear overtakes me and I holler to Frank. He can’t hear me over the barrage of questions. Microphones are stuffed in his face. Frank’s attention is being consumed by the media.
The car is still
some distance away. Waiting. The driver is obscured by a thin layer of mud on the windshield, like he’s been playing rally car at the mountain, and all I can make out at this distance is dark silhouette. He’s a white guy. That much I know. His jacket looked like something from an army surplus store. The glimpse I got of him before he slid into the car was brief, yet— I don’t know.
There’s something about this guy. He gets my hackles up, and instinctively I try to turn against the tide. I’m held fast by Irus and the crowd, moving toward our SUV. We’re almost there when I hear the squeal of tires. Maddox turns, still yelling into his phone, his voice swallowed by the noise. Everything seems surreal. Motion slows, but speeds up at the same time. Like I’m stuck in a quagmire. The vehicle careens toward us. I can almost make out dark hair and a hard, set face.
“Frank!” I holler, but my voice is caught up in the screaming as people realize the car is moving toward us at rapid speed. Frank twists toward the sound of the car. Like a deer caught in the headlights, he’s frozen, and with his limp, I don’t think he can move fast enough to get out of the way.
Maddox plows through the crowd of media who are trying to simultaneously film and run from the danger. He looks like a man swimming upstream through a river of elbows and bobbing heads. Words are lost to my ears as they leave his mouth, crying out for Frank, but somehow Frank hears him.
Frank looks to Maddox only seconds before imminent impact. I’m choking on my heart, struggling against Irus, who’s holding me back, and it seems to take forever for the car to get to Frank. In reality, it only takes seconds for the car to reach him, and for Miss Beulah to grab Frank up like a scruffed kitten, tossing him aside like he weighs nothing. The car passes them, leaving them unhurt, barreling out into traffic. The sounds of horns and pedestrians cursing filters into the garage as we all stare at each other, stunned.
Maddox collapses onto the concrete next to Frank, making sure he’s whole, kissing him almost violently. In Maddox’s hand is a gun. I hadn’t even noticed him draw his weapon, much less fire off a shot, until police flood the room with their guns drawn and I hear one of them ask about shots fired. Maddox informs them he was the one shooting. Quickly they secure the area and corral the frenzied media.
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