The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3)

by Andrea Randall

  Because they have no idea what’s coming, they all nod enthusiastically.

  “Promise,” they say in unison.

  ***

  “You told?” Caitlin’s mouth hangs open. Her eyes fill with tears.

  “Don’t blame her,” Matt snaps. “She was cornered in her own home. Attacked by the same man who… you know… Courtney.” His jaw works, furious as he looks between me and the table. Like he’s trying to fight coming to my side. And I’m trying to fight wanting him there, too.

  Caitlyn looks down in disbelief. Trapped between allegiance to her sister and the facts that lay before her.

  “Are you okay?” Jonah remains kneeling in front of me gripping both of my hands.

  I give one nod. “But, what he said about Silas…” I trail off.

  Jonah turns slightly, facing Matt as they share a tight glance.

  “You know,” I state. “It’s true. How long have you known?”

  Matt shrugs. “A while. I don’t know. I didn’t really write it down.”

  “Same,” Jonah answers.

  “He’s known for longer,” Matt adds.

  “But why does Dean Baker know?”

  Jonah runs his tongue across his teeth, looking down and shaking his head as if the horrible answer to a riddle just made itself known. “I told him to be careful.”

  “Explain.” I nudge Jonah, encouraging him to retake his seat across from me. He complies, still shaking his head.

  “His family is close with the dean. You saw the day we had that meeting with NBC,” Jonah gestures to me and Matt. “They idolize him. Silas was going on about how great and supportive the dean’s been, and I told him to just be careful but I couldn’t tell him why because I’d promised you guys we wouldn’t go forward until we had something to go on. I just told him that, in general, the less people knew about his sexuality until he knew what he wanted to do about it, the better. He could seek counsel, of course, but I reminded him that we have awesome peer counselors, and there probably wasn’t a reason to get the administration involved. I didn’t realize he told him…”

  “Baker’s gotta be bluffing then, right? If Silas’ family trusts him that much, there’s no way he’d make enemies out of them right?” I scramble, trying to find a way to make sure Dean Baker pays for his sexual crimes without ruining Silas’ life.

  Caitlyn slams her fist on the table. “So what are we supposed to do now, then? Let Silas in on all this? Make him a martyr for our cause? Because Dean Baker will use Silas. Look what he did to Courtney… and you…”

  “I’m so sorry, Caitlyn,” I whisper. “He… “

  “I know,” she cuts in, unconvincingly. “I know. Just… what the hell are we going to do now?”

  The table falls silent. What are we going to do?

  “You’ve got to tell Roland,” Matt says after a long few seconds. “I hate to say it like this, but we’ve got to bring a grownup in.”

  A grownup.

  What college sophomore doesn’t run around their own life masquerading as a grownup only to be brought to their knees by the reality of the dark corners of life? Corners where actual bad guys lurk. And, bad guys of the worst kind—the ones parading as heroes.

  “My mom might be a better choice,” I admit, internally waving a white flag.

  “Or both,” Caitlyn suggests. “I’ve read up on your mom. We need her.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, uncomfortable that my family can be “read up on.” But it’s a truth I’ve got to own, there are too many uncertainties swirling right now. I need truth. I need anchors.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll call my mom tonight.” My throat hurts and my voice is slightly hoarse. I try to clear it, but it doesn’t work. Dean Baker’s handy work has gone deep.

  “And your dad?” Jonah asks, wide, innocent eyes casting nervous pity onto me.

  I shrug. “Over dinner. Before my shift.” My chin quivers and I dispel a few tears. Overwhelmed. Scared. Shock wearing off.

  Asher’s boisterous voice and personality fill the space around us, but do little to revive. “Who died?” he asks jovially. Ignorantly. “It’s an awesome fall day, football team has a heck of a game scheduled for tomorrow, and—” his voice cuts off as he tilts his head, eyeing the computer open between me and Caitlyn. “What…. What are you doing?” He eyes me.

  He’s not the grown up we mean to tell. “Nothing. We’re just… angsty college kids,” I try to reassure. “Nothing to see here.”

  “No,” he points to the computer, nearly touching it, “that. What are you doing? How’d you find her? That was private information, Kennedy.” I’m failing to connect the dots, but his tone leaves something to be desired.

  “What’s wrong with you? It’s Caitlyn’s sister. She’s a few years old—”

  “Courtney’s your sister?” He’s breathy as he addresses Caitlyn.

  Dots.

  Connected.

  “No,” I slur, a moan-wail combination working its way through my throat.

  “How do you know her name?” Caitlyn asks. Oblivious.

  Can this be true?

  Is anything true? Any goodness?

  “This has to be a mistake.” I’m panting, a few seconds from passing out.

  “What’s going on?” Matt asks. Jonah stares, valiantly trying to assess the situation in silence.

  It can’t be…

  She killed our baby! We killed it!

  Asher’s story, one I buried deep in my heart the night he told it, comes flooding back. One of a girlfriend he occasionally partied and slept with. One who got pregnant and had an abortion before bailing on school. A story with no happy ending and multiple ruined lives.

  “What’s going on?” Asher growls, eliciting stares from several nearby patrons.

  Could it all have been a lie? One that nearly destroyed Asher?

  Is anything true anymore?

  I stand, swiping Caitlyn’s laptop and addressing the four of them. “The back office. Now.”

  ***

  “I told you that story in confidence, Kennedy,” Asher nearly yells in the confines of his office. Jonah, Matt, and Caitlyn stare slack-jawed at us.

  “Asher,” I say with as much calm as I can muster despite the swirling in my head. “It’s not what you think. Please. Listen.”

  “Do you know my sister?” Caitlyn asks, looking annoyed, confused, and stunned.

  “And you prayed for me!” Asher continues, slamming his fist on the desk. “You prayed for me and then you ran off and told all of your little friends like this is all just some game to you. I knew it…”

  “Hey!” My shout causes everyone but Asher to jump. Matt takes a step toward me, his hand out. A second later, Jonah follows his lead, except he makes contact, touching my shoulder. I shrug him off and walk over to the desk, my voice trembling. “You listen to me. Something has gone very, very wrong here, and if we’re all yelling at and accusing each other of things, we’ll never get the pieces in order.” My voice is raspy and trembling and I’ve had about enough of absolutely everyone.

  I knew it.

  No doubt Asher’s been as suspicious of me as I feared everyone else would be. Only he really stuck his neck out and all but ignored his feelings, allowing me shelter and employment here in the coffee shop. Why do I feel so betrayed by his reaction? I shake my head, taking a deep breath to get the feeling of Dean Baker’s fingers around my neck out of my head.

  “Caitlyn,” I speak slowly, like approaching a wild animal. Because this whole situation is proving to be just as volatile, “please just tell your sister’s story. The basics. What you know. It’s okay,” I reassure her, taking a seat next to her on the tattered leather couch in this metal box of an office.

  She does as I ask. Brave for someone who’s only told the story out loud once before. To me. She tells us all how her sister’s downward spiral seemed to come out of the blue, and it was a year before Courtney was able to tell her what had gone on. What fate befell her at the
hands of someone who was supposed to care. The Dean of Students.

  “Asher,” I say when she’s done, my voice hoarse.

  “That’s your sister?” he points to the computer, though it’s no longer open. Caitlyn nods. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “None of this really does,” Matt interjects, Jonah nodding along.

  “Asher,” I say again. “Can you tell your version of things? Please?”

  “Version?” Caitlyn questions.

  I nod, rising, moving toward Asher. Tired from adrenaline depletion and emotional bludgeoning.

  Asher’s eyes meet mine and, inexplicably, they’re more broken than the day he first told me of Courtney and their hidden physical affair. Of the baby that never was. The guilt that’s eaten him to this day. And, just like Caitlyn, he summons the courage to tell of the dark secrets. Words he swore he’d keep hidden.

  “Jesus,” I hear Matt mumble as Asher talks about his arrest and departure from CU.

  Exactly.

  Where was Jesus when all of this was going down? Where was the hand of all creation when these lives were inextricably linked and simultaneously torn apart?

  “So what’s true?” Caitlyn asks, sounding as small as a six-year-old.

  “If I had to wager a guess,” I start, then hesitate, wondering if anyone even wants to hear.

  “Go,” Jonah encourages. “Even with all you know, you’re the furthest outside the situation. No history with the school or administration until last year.”

  I sigh, the weight of my words pushing me into the seat across from Asher. “I think the dean did rape Courtney. I think that before he did, he knew about her… interactions… with Asher. I think that when she got pregnant, Baker not only coerced Courtney to get an abortion, but then forced her to use Asher to take the fall.”

  “But why?” Asher cuts in. “What did I do to him? What could I have possibly done?”

  “Collateral damage,” Matt offers. “It was convenient that he knew you and Courtney had slept together. Then he could make her tell you she’d been pregnant with your baby, and… you know… and it covered his tracks.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I don’t think he gave you much thought at all, Asher. It was never about you. It was about him.”

  He shakes his head, staring vacantly into a past I know he wishes didn’t exist. “How do we know the baby wasn’t mine?”

  My gaze falls on Matt, who’s already looking at me through heartbroken eyes. It’s clear he knows what I’m about to say. But I don’t want to, even if I have to.

  “We don’t,” I force myself to say. “We can’t.”

  It finally catches up with me. The realization of what happened in my dad’s house, with no witnesses, the pain of Asher’s story and how it is also the pain of Courtney’s. I sink to the floor and bunch my knees close to my chest, letting out deep sob after full, deep sob.

  These are all good people, damn You, why are they hurting like this? Why? Why did you do this?

  Only, I’m not saying it in my head, I’m screaming it into my knees.

  “Kennedy,” Matt’s voice pleads, but it’s Jonah’s hands that wrap around my shoulders. It’s Jonah’s lips that find my forehead.

  “It’s okay,” Jonah says, like he’s trying to mean it.

  “You don’t have to tell her that,” Matt talks over him, sounding concerned and annoyed. “Not after all that’s happened today.”

  Between my cries, my arguing with God without regard to my audience, I hear Matt tell Asher about what happened at Roland’s. About the dean’s hands on me. Choking me.

  He tried to choke me.

  I can still feel his hot, thick hands. I still can’t breathe. In a moment, Asher’s kneeling next to me. I dry my tears, looking up into his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t tell anyone. You put it together at the same moment I did at the table. I never told.”

  “Shh.” He pulls me into a hug, Jonah graciously backs away. “I know. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t think you’d tell anyone. I trust you, that’s why I told you in the first place. I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry he touched you. I’m just sorry.”

  Caitlyn’s empty voice centers us. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “You need to call your sister,” I answer plainly. “I have to call my mom.”

  “And you need to talk to your dad,” Jonah says.

  I stand, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. I do. Look, my mom will be here like three seconds after I tell her. Matt, I know you have a huge game tomorrow and NBC’s crew is covering it. Let’s… let’s try to keep our acts together until at least Monday. We’ve got to at the very least let Courtney know what’s happening, okay?”

  “What about what your mom told you?” Matt interrupts. “You told me a long time ago. That we have to know the size of the giants on Baker’s side before we go after him?”

  I sniff, rubbing my shirtsleeve under my nose. “Yeah,” I huff. “But his skeletons are much, much bigger.”

  “Don’t we need more information? More victims before we take this public, or whatever it is we’re doing?” Jonah looks frustrated, defeated.

  I shake my head. “Between Courtney’s story, if she agrees to it, and mine from this afternoon, that oughtta be enough to get the ball rolling.”

  “What ball?” Caitlyn asks.

  “There are more victims, Caitlyn. I know there are. There has to be. As long as one or two people say ‘this happened’, we just need one or two more to say ‘me too’ and… you’ll see. People just need to feel safe in their pain. Safe from it happening again.”

  “How can you be sure?” Jonah asks. “How can we be sure that the two of you won’t look like you’re making it up? What if no one else comes out?”

  Oh no…

  “Oh God,” I say, panting. “Silas.”

  “We’re back to where we were out there.” Caitlyn points to the door.

  “What about Silas?” Asher asks, folding his arms across his chest.

  How many good people are going to have to hurt to get this one guy to fall?

  ***

  Silas is pale as death when I finish, telling him the tales of Asher’s Courtney, Caitlyn’s Courtney, and how they weren’t separate at all. We’re alone in Roland’s house, and I keep looking over my shoulder. To the door, the banister, and the sweaty ghost of Dean Baker connecting it all.

  “Is that why you asked to do it here?” he asks, reaching for his glass, slouching in his stool at the island. “So no one would hear this story?”

  I’ll never be able to thank Roland enough for negotiating no cameras or microphones at his house.

  “Sort of. Si… there’s more.”

  He lowers his head, as if praying, though I don’t know what good prayer would do now. Or what good it’s ever done anyone in this story.

  “Dean Baker was here earlier today, after my dad left for meetings. He started out with vague threats about my character and how I was fooling people on TV… and then I blurted out that I knew how awful he was. He put his hands on me. He grabbed my throat and told me if I dare told—”

  “He what?” Silas jumps from his seat and walks to where I stand, against the counter. His hand caresses my shoulder in the most tender way. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes brim with tears, and I ignore his question. “He told me if I told anyone,” I whisper, “that he would make sure everyone found out about your sexuality.”

  Silas’ hand falls to his side. He takes one step back as his face takes on the same dazed look I’ve seen in too many of my friends’ faces over the last twenty-four hours.

  Inexplicably, he laughs, his eyes doing their best to cover up their betrayal. “What is he even talking about? That’s stupid.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Si…”

  “You believe him?” He laughs nervously. “You believe him.”

  “I… it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “You think I’m gay?” His neck turn
s red. Soon the rest of him will.

  I want to run to him, to tell him it’s okay, that no one is judging him. At least not in this house. But he’s not even operating in reality right now. Just his own.

  “Silas, at the coffee shop earlier, from the story I told you… I talked to Matt and Jonah. They—”

  “They think I’m gay, too?! They told you that?” His yell bounces off the cold, black granite of the countertops.

  I shake my head. “No. They didn’t. Dean Baker told me.”

  He drives his fist down onto the counter.

  I yelp, startled, which seems to startle him. His eyes dart to me. Through me.

  “Did you not just hear everything that Dean Baker has done?” I ask. “And that’s only the stuff we know. He will tell, Silas. He will out you.”

  “No!” He growls through clenched teeth. “No.” His eyes fill with rage as he paces the floor. “Do you know what that would do to me? To my family? There’s nothing to even tell!”

  “Silas,” I whisper. “I’m telling you this because I want you to know we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that none of this gets out. About you. He’s playing a game of chicken with me.” It’s not lost on me that Silas still hasn’t confirmed the giant elephant in the room. I need to defuse this situation. “I keep secrets, Silas. And I’ll keep this one as long as you need me to.”

  “I’m not gay, Kennedy, so keep whatever secrets you want.” He grips the edge of the island and hangs his head.

  I nod. “Okay. Noted. Nothing to worry about then.”

  “You’re going to tell? About Courtney and you?” he asks with his head down.

  “We have to,” I whisper. “He’s a dangerous man.”

  With renewed resolve, Silas raises his head and stands tall. “Okay, then. Good luck.” He heads for the door.

  “Si?” I follow after him, catching up as he puts his hand on the knob. “Look at me.”

  He does. Barely. All clenched jaw and wild, roaming eyes.

  “I’ll see you at the game tomorrow,” I confirm. “We’re not doing anything until after then.”

  Silas nods, and just when I think I see tears forming at the base of his eyes, he smiles, erasing them. “See you,” he says softly. Disappearing through the door, leaving more confusion, anger, and hurt in his wake.