Shackled

by Ray Garton

  Ethan's teary eyes widened and he reached over to squeeze Bent's shoulder. "You have nothing to apologize for, Bent. It's because of you that I got my little boy back."

  "But Loraina — "

  "Was not your fault," he interrupted, shaking his head emphatically. "And it wasn't Coll's fault, either. After all, he's gone, too. You've lost your friend." He sniffed loudly, wetly, and tried to compose himself, exhaling as he stood. "I'm sorry if I made you feel guilty, Bent. I came to tell you because — " His voice cracked, but he caught it, gulped, and tried again. " — because I have no one else here. You're the closest I have to a friend. I needed to talk to someone so ... I came to you. Samuel doesn't even know yet. I don't know how to tell him ... after all he's been through. I just ... I just don't know." He stood a little straighter and took a deep.breath, then smiled. This time, it was a genuine smile, although his puffy face glistened with tears. His posture stiffened as he squeezed Bent's shoulder again. "But you sure don't need to hear this now, my friend. After all that's happened to you ... my lord, what's happened to you. I shouldn't come to dump this on your shoulders."

  "I'm glad you did, Ethan. Really. And ... I wish you'd stop it."

  "Stop what?"

  "What you're doing now. I mean, look at you. You're standing straight with a big, confident smile, and ... you've just found out your wife is dead. I don't understand it, Ethan. You did the same thing when Samuel was gone. In fact, so did Loraina. How can you be so, so ... strong? I would've been yelling and cursing and drinking myself silly. Course, I'm an alcoholic, but even if I wasn't, I would've gone nuts if my son had been taken, or if my wife ... if my wife ... had been, um ... had been ...”

  Bent closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, sharp breath. He'd almost forgotten. His wife had been killed.

  "I told you before, Bent. I meant it then and I mean it now. Our faith. That's what got us through Samuel's disappearance. And that's what's going to get me through Loraina's death. Not only me, but Samuel and Anice as well. Our faith."

  "Yeah. Sounds like something Cami would say."

  "Maybe so. I think your Cami was a fine person. She and I would have gotten along well, I'm sure."

  "Oh, yes," Bent said with a weak smile. "She would've loved you."

  "And I think she would have understood what I'm saying now. About my faith."

  "Yes, she probably would've understood. But I'm not sure I do."

  "That doesn't matter. Not at all. You might have been a suspicious stranger not so long ago, Bent, but I consider you a dear friend now. I really do."

  Another smile from Bent, but this one was even weaker than the last. His eyelids closed heavily in spite of his struggle to keep them open. "Me, too," he whispered as he surrendered to the medication and drifted off ...

  2

  Not since the O. J. Simpson murder trial had any story so saturated every arm of the media, not only in America but worldwide. It drove the press wild. They were sharks thrashing blindly in an ocean of blood.

  At first, the facts were scarce. Rex Calisto had been murdered by his own centerfold model in front of the cameras, and shortly thereafter a huge gunfight had broken out between the police answering the call and the mansion's security team. Then, as if the story were not sensational enough, the police officers began to shoot at one another in a bloody battle on the grassy property of the sprawling estate.

  The regular programming of all four networks was preempted by coverage of the bloodshed. Then, other details began to emerge. There was a secret underground complex beneath Calisto's property. Children were involved. Stories of Satanic rituals began to spread like wildfire. A reporter for Hard Copy managed to get into the underground complex with a hidden camera and families across the country hunched over their dinners to watch scenes of blood-spattered walls and profane, blasphemous statues in a dark room that resembled a medieval dungeon from a horror movie.

  Rumors flew like bullets on a battlefield, but the LAPD held everything close to its chest at first, as did the FBI when it came on the scene almost immediately, only adding fuel to the rumors. The airwaves were a din of yammering voices as people called radio talk shows to outline speculative theories and blame liberals, television, rock music, and pornography.

  Then the truth came out, slowly at first, in pieces, quashing some rumors while starting others, until everyone knew what had really been going on at Rex Calisto's estate. From the underground compound in Los Angeles, police had removed three hundred and forty-eight children, one hundred and seventy-three of whom had suffered gunshot wounds; of those, one hundred and four were dead, while the rest were injured, most of them seriously. They'd also retrieved hideous tools of torture, stacks of child pornography videotapes, and boxes of photographs, all of which had been made on the premises and were ready to sell.

  They had found, as well, records. At first, word leaked out that those records included the names of members of law enforcement agencies and politicians on local, state, and federal levels. But although several members of the LAPD were arrested, none of those names were ever released, and beyond that particular police department, no other arrests were made. There was a lot of talk, but everyone knew that action would be difficult, if not impossible. Several police officers and a few higher-ups in the Los Angeles area were identified and arrested, but it did not go much further than that.

  And there were a few names that kept coming up again and again ... Noble, Colloway, Walker. Late-night talk-show hosts made jokes about Rex Calisto, and audiences roared with laughter and applause: he was dead, but he was despised. But the name that drew the most attention was Dr. Deanna Brooks. Because of her books, videos, and radio talk show, all of which dealt with the raising of children and the treatment of their problems, she was even more despised than Calisto. People gathered in cities across America to burn her books and videotapes. The studio from which her radio talk show originated was attacked by a mob that had to be held off by a riot squad. She was buried in secret to avoid the attention of outraged citizens.

  There was another name, too, but it was attached to a face that appeared via satellite on television talk shows all over the country; it was attached, as well, to a drawling voice that was heard across the United States on radio talk shows. The name was Randall Craig, but he went by "Tex." He had a very prominent attorney working for him for nothing, one of the attorneys who had helped make up O. J. Simpson's "dream team." Tex's attorney had arranged his three-million-dollar bail to get him released shortly after his arrest. At about that time, Tex had found Jesus. He claimed to be a born-again Christian. No one believed him, of course, and when he fielded audience questions on the television talk shows and phone calls on the radio talk shows, he was repeatedly attacked with animal like viciousness; members of the studio audiences and callers to the radio talk shows were bleeped again and again, so bitter and angry were their questions and accusations. But Tex always remained calm and pleasant, though somewhat wide-eyed with fright, and he always asked for the forgiveness of each attacker. It did not look like Tex would be leaving the custody of the state anytime soon, but he claimed to be working on a book — not about his crimes, but about his conversion.

  It was more than a story; it became a living organism, which continued, day by day, to grow more complex, more horrifying, and more and more profitable for television, radio, newspapers, and magazines ...

  3

  Garner had followed the story closely in his hospital room, hoping his friends were all right — Coll and Bent and Ethan — and he'd continued to follow it when he got home. He found he couldn't work, and even discovered, while making one of his specialty sandwiches, that he had no appetite. He spent most of his time in front of the television or listening to a news station on the radio.

  That was how he learned of Coll's death ... of Bent's condition ... and of the murder of Ethan's wife. Garner sat in his chair, alone in his apartment, and sobbed like a child for a long time over the loss of his friend ... the second loss
of a friend.

  It was about that time that his phone began to ring constantly and there were endless knocks at his repaired door. He ignored them, knowing he would never be able to talk about any of this in front of a bunch of cameras and microphones. No, he needed a friend to talk to about everything that had happened, a friend like Coll or Rob.

  It wasn't long after that that Ed and Doc arrived. They made their way past the reporters outside dressed as exterminators and carrying tanks of insecticide. Once inside, they stayed until very early the next morning, talking with Garner, telling him everything that had happened, with Ed, of course, doing most of the talking.

  Beginning to cry again, Garner whispered, "I told them. I told them what might happen. I told them."

  "Hey," Ed said, "it's over. Lotta bad stuff happened, but a lotta good stuff, too. Thanks to your friends, those bastards were taken down."

  "Yeah, but thanks to those bastards ... so were two of my best friends ...”

  4

  "I'm not a reporter, dammit! I'm his goddamned boss!"

  The loud, familiar voice jerked Bent from his sleep. He turned to Ethan, who was sitting in a chair beside his bed and who was looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

  A moment later the door of Bent's room opened and Fleck walked in.

  "Bent? Kiddo? My god, Bent, what the hell ... jeez, I'm sorry this whole thing ... how ya doin'?"

  Bent shifted in his bed and muttered, "Well, Fleck, I was just taking a nap before typing up the final installment for you."

  Fleck glanced at Bent's hands. "Aw, fuck, I ... I don't know what to say."

  Bent had never seen him look so distraught. "Say you'll pay the hospital bill."

  "What, you kiddin'? Don't worry about a thing. Oh, uh, by the way ... Barbedwire Burgercunt's on her way up here right now."

  "Great. Fleck, meet Pastor Ethan Walker."

  Ethan stood, the two men exchanged pleasantries and shook hands ... and then the door opened and she entered the room.

  She swept in as if it were her property, as if she owned the entire hospital. She ignored both Ethan and Fleck and went straight to the bedside.

  "My god, I can't believe it," she said, looking Bent over from head to toe. "This is ... well, it's awful. It's tragic. But you have no idea what you've done. You have made news all over the world! This is much more than we ever expected!"

  "What is?" Bent asked.

  "Well ... this! Everything! It's just ... incredible!"

  Bent frowned and blinked a few times. "I, um, I have a thumband forefinger on my left hand ... and that's all. What's incredible?"

  "Oh, yes, I know, and that's what I meant, that's tragic, really. It's ... well, it's horrible"

  Both Ethan and Fleck stared at her with slack jaws, stunned by her behavior.

  "But listen to me," she went on. "We are going to devote an entire issue to your story. I mean, a whole issue! Your story, in your words, exactly what happened and how. We've already got photographers at the mansion. They've sneaked past the police line, and we've got others in helicopters. But we want you on the cover."

  Bent sighed. "I don't wanna be on the cover."

  "Well, I realize you don't feel very well right now, but — "

  "I'm not giving you the story."

  "Look, I'll bring in a tape recorder and we can get the whole thing on tape. I'll go through it with you myself, if you want. This is going to be the biggest — "

  "No."

  She flinched. "What?"

  "No. I won't do it. No story, no tape recorder, no cover."

  She stared at him a moment. "I know you're not well, but we can't wait for you to recover completely. This story is hot! Have you watched TV or listened to the radio? Have you — "

  "Have you heard anything I've said?" Bent asked, his voice thick, words slow. "No. Absolutely not. It's my story."

  "But ... I sent you on that assignment, in case you've forgotten."

  "No, I haven't forgotten. But there won't be any more stories for you. I'm writing this one for myself. A book. Not a cover on a slimy rag. I'm no longer your whore. You're no longer my pimp."

  She backed away a step. "Ah, I see. You're going to write a book. Well ...” She stared down at his bandaged hands for a long moment, "you might need that tape recorder after all."

  "Hey!" Fleck barked. "That is uncalled for!"

  She spun around to face him. "So is taking away a story that belongs to our paper."

  Fleck turned slowly to Ethan and said, "I hope you'll forgive me, Pastor."

  "For ... what?" Ethan asked.

  "This." Fleck moved so close to her that their noses were nearly touching. "You are a great, sebaceous, wind-flapping cunt, and you've got no business coming in here and treating this man like a piece of property. I don't give a fuck if we did send him on this assignment, he's been through hell! And if you wanna behave like this after everything that's happened to him, you go through me first! You understand that?"

  Her right arm moved as if she were about to slap him in the face, but stopped and fell at her side, hand doubled into a fist. "I hope you have other work lined up, Mr. Fleck," she breathed.

  "He does," Bent said. "He's cowriting the book with me."

  Fleck jerked his head toward Bent.

  "Oh, is that so?" the woman asked.

  "Yeah, it's so," Bent replied. "My story. My book. You don't get shit from me. Now, if you don't mind, I don't feel so well. So why don't you just get the fuck outta here. Now."

  It took her a long moment, but she finally spun around and stalked out of the room.

  There was only silence for a moment, then Fleck looked down at Bent and chuckled ...

  5

  Ethan's first sermon since Samuel's disappearance drew a standing-room-only crowd in the small, mostly black church. This week, however, there were faces of all colors, as well as reporters with cameras whirring and snapping as Ethan spoke.

  He thanked everyone in the congregation for their support and their prayers, and thanked the assistant pastor who had stood in for him during his absence, then went on to speak of the importance of faith in god during the worst, as well as the best, of times.

  There were so many people there — some even cupping their ears to hear him from the foyer outside the small sanctuary — that Ethan did not see Bent, whose hands were still bandaged, and Fleck, both of them standing together just outside the sanctuary's open doors. They had flown up the day before and had come to hear Ethan speak. In front of them, Garner sat in his chair, unable to see beyond the backs in front of him, but listening nonetheless.

  There was a potluck after the service and as Ethan was filling Anice's plate, Bent came to his side and said, "Hello, Ethan."

  When he turned to Bent, Ethan said nothing, just put down his plate and embraced Bent, who lifted his own arms slightly, not quite sure what to do with them, still clumsy and uncomfortable with what remained of his hands.

  "I can't tell you how good it is to see you, my friend," Ethan said. When he saw Garner, he stooped down to embrace him, too, and when he pulled away, moisture glinted in his eyes.

  As they got their food, Ethan introduced the three men to members of the congregation. When the reporters present realized who they had in the room with them, they converged, babbling questions. Ethan simply smiled at them and said, "Please excuse us," then hurried Samuel, Anice, Bent, Garner, and Fleck into his office.

  Their food was ignored at first as they spoke, exchanging small talk. But their conversation soon grew more serious as Samuel and Anice ate their food at their father's desk.

  "People are angry," Garner said. "Very angry. In fact, there've been riots over this."

  "Yeah, but what are they angry about?" Bent asked. "That their favorite pop child psychiatrist was sicko? That Visions has shut down?"

  "I think they should be angry," Ethan said quietly. "I hope this has made them scared, too." He glanced at his children, who were chattering to each other at his desk. "
Maybe it will make them afraid for their children, make them more careful." He sighed, then smiled at the other three men. "I heard from Lacey."

  "Oh, really?" Bent said.

  "Well, actually it was Samuel who heard from her. She writes to him every week. Sometimes even calls. She's in a juvenile detention center in Los Angeles, receiving counseling. There was a plea bargain, of course, I mean ... after all the horrible facts that came out of this, and considering the fact that she had no prior record, well ... there would have been a tremendous public outcry if she'd been punished harshly. So, she's on probation. She still hasn't told them who her parents are, or where they are. It looks like she might end up in a foster home. Or maybe she'll just stay where she is. The press is dying to get their claws into her. That wouldn't be good and I hope it doesn't happen. She seems to be holding up well. She'll be eighteen in a little over a year. I'm trying to arrange to have her put in my custody. I don't know if it will ever happen. I can't afford the kind of legal representation needed to make that happen. But I'm going to keep trying. She and Samuel ... they really care about each other. Whatever they went through ... well, they went through it together, so that would naturally draw them closer together and ... and ... and ..."

  Silence fell over the room, Then Ethan said, "Listen. I'm not a wealthy man. My means are quite limited, in fact. But if there is ever anything I can do for any of you, ever ... anything at all ...”

  He didn't finish. Didn't need to.

  Bent's bandages were thinner by this time and his remaining thumb and forefinger poked from the gauze wrapping. He used them to pick up his plastic fork, a bit clumsily, then smiled and said, "Whatta you say we eat, huh?"

  "Would you mind," Ethan said, putting his hand on Bent's shoulder, "if we gave a word of thanks first?"