I’m going to do this. I have to do this… It’s the only way. I think I figured that out just now, that I no longer have a choice and I can’t waste one more second…
I, of all people, know that tomorrow isn’t promised…
It’s my dream. GO.GET.IT.
It was hard to watch, and he hated admitting that shit. How much easier it would be to have nothing but contempt for the man, to make him go down in a sizzling haze into the land of retribution, knife deep street justice, and suffer dire consequences. He wasn’t on the goddamn clock, but he was there to get his own fucked up life back on track, to put his world together, make it look like something worth holding onto. He had better things to worry about, like keeping his hand on the pulse of his own sobriety and wishing upon stars late at night like some pathetic lovesick puppy… yeah, he did that.
He’d look out of his little efficiency bedroom window and daydream of things that could only embody the one who claimed his heart. He’d stand there clutching one of her headscarves that smelled of tangerines and something expensive from the perfume department at some fancy boutique. Then, he’d look out and up, and wish on everything in his warped world that he could see her face, hear her voice…something, anything.
She’d refused to endanger him, to break those rules. It was clear… she’d drawn a line in the sand. Former residents were not to contact current residents who were still in treatment and she stated before her departure that they both had already been on paper-thin ice. One more crack in the foundation, and he’d be history, kicked out of Firststone, especially since he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t be a damn look-out for Frieda’s continued internal investigations. He’d look down at his phone, hoping she’d call any ol’ way, but she never did. And…she never gave him her number.
One day, he’d contemplated calling his buddies at the station, having them supply it after he’d looked her up online. He knew it was foolish; why would a super model have her information public? But he’d taken a desperate stab at it anyway. All he ran into were things that made his heart ball up tight and pulse and pump out blood until he was weak at the damn knees.
Google images can go straight to hell!
There she stood in various poses, walking the catwalk, owning that shit. He saw clips of her on YouTube and his dick woke from its slumber and simply said a lazy ‘hello’ from his nether regions. He missed those fucking legs—the way they’d wrap tight around his waist as he bounced her up and down on his hungry cock. That sweet, delicious pussy…tight and all soft ’nd shit… She was perfection in his eyes, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t shake her off the damn pedestal. She’d become his Queen, and though he was her King, he bowed down to her, time and time again. Yeah, that was the shit he was interested in, not the saving grace of a motherfucker named Oliver… or Don… or whatever and whoever the hell he really was…
The despicable tyrant had interrupted his peace, but not of his own accord. It appeared that the mess he’d mentioned was true. The little boy’s father was gunning for him within the facility and now that he’d narrowed down on the target, fear ensued. In a world of eye for an eye, it seemed rather fitting, for justice was about to be served. Another part of him, though, understood that Oliver was mentally ill and a victim of his own tormented mind. He’d sought to inspect the man’s history after he’d confessed the horrid details of his crimes, and found he’d left out some crucial pieces of the puzzle, not uncommon for men such as him.
In the early stages of his sickness, Oliver had rung the alarm, tried to get help before the hot shit hit the fan. His family seemed more concerned about their image, and discouraged the then sixteen year old from going into therapy, believing it would shame the clan. Nick had obtained this information by simply speaking to him, during a visit to his room. But that wasn’t the full story…
Oliver opened the door and exposed a black eye so hideous and menacing, it was surprising he could still see out the damn thing. He was unquestionably terrified to tell anyone how’d he gotten it, for he’d been threatened, and it was the type of threat that tasted quite similar to a promise.
Nick didn’t dare confirm the man’s greatest fears, but he knew it wasn’t over; that assault was only an appetizer to the main course. He’d checked out Trey a bit in more depth. The man was no joke. He’d killed once, and he’d kill again, certainly in the name of his own damn son. What better reason to snuff a life than for the well-being of a child? During his most recent visit with Oliver, he asked him more about his family life, his previous treatment attempts, the works. The man struggled to confess, to admit the whole sordid truth. Instead, he pulled out several tattered journals and handed them to him. He explained he started writing his feelings down at the age of twelve or so, and never stopped. He couldn’t speak the shit, but he could write it, so he did…
Nick took the hand-written leather bound books back to his room and read them, one by one, until the wee hours of the morning. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, drudged through. It was like being held captive within an insane man’s brain, forced to ride shotgun amongst a muck of convoluted craziness. Oliver knew he was insane; he was shockingly self-aware. The man had the brilliant mind of a lunatic, the makings of someone on the brink of doing the unthinkable. The only thing stopping the man was that he did in fact have a conscience. Nick had had countless experiences with the Olivers of the world; thus, based on his observations, he couldn’t classify him as a sociopath. It was evident from the man’s writings and ramblings, he felt terrible remorse, a feeling that manifested way before he was caught. He struggled. He struggled big time. His sexuality was in question, his derelict behavior profuse. It hadn’t been just boys, but little girls, too. The genders, body type, race, and specific age were not important, for he considered it a free for all, and that wasn’t a common sexual predator type of behavior. Oliver was unique.
What a strange man—nauseating, intriguing and yet, one could feel pity for him as well. For one, he’d never been in a committed relationship. He’d never had sex with a grown woman or man. All of his sexual behaviors were destructive, deviant, and by strict definition, Oliver was still a virgin at the age of forty-one. He’d even tried to kill himself, according to his book-bound confessions. He’d almost overdosed a few years prior, and cursed his Creator when he came to in the hospital, mad as hell that he’d awoken to draw another breath. And now, he felt he was close to death’s door yet once again; only this time, he wanted to live…
During their conversations, the man told him he’d called Nick’s colleague on the card, but the guy had never gotten back in touch with him. This put Nick in an even more precarious situation. He became all Oliver had. Nick resisted the man’s urgings though, and grappled with himself for days on end. He was of the mindset that these people could not be rehabilitated. Adults who preyed on children were beyond help; their fate was sealed and locked shut like a vault with an ever-changing combination. He’d seen it too many times to count. The thought of Oliver roaming around in the free world was darn frightening, so, he’d had a heart to heart with the man, trying his damndest to control the situation, find out the heart of the matter… for it was in him to leave no stone unturned before making a call to action.
That following afternoon after he’d read the disturbing journals, each page sending him into a tetchy world of the inexplicable and grotesque, he approached the man right after lunch. They sat down, shoulder to shoulder, discussing things, all sorts of topics. Nick needed to get his foot in the door, gain the bastard’s trust, for only those trusted gained access to truth. There was no doubt about it; Oliver was too damn smart for his own good. That made him all the more dangerous, and also let Nick know that he wanted to be caught. He didn’t slip up and tell his father that shit in a drunken stupor or while high off his damn rocker. No, he’d blurted the details of his deeds knowing full well what was transpiring. Oliver confessed it for two reasons and two reasons only: To hurt the man he hat
ed for treating him so poorly as a child…and for the man to love him enough to make him stop. He only received one of the two, and that simply wasn’t enough…
“Oliver, I read your journals…” Nick began, slowly moving away from their mundane discussions, getting into the heart of the matter.
“And what is your conclusion?” Oliver delicately opened up his carton of milk and took a hearty gulp. Nick paused before answering as he took in his surroundings. He couldn’t ignore the eyes that were glued to them during their public seating arrangement; after all, they’d had a brawl, and now here they sat as if it were all water under the bridge, as if they were old chums. He ignored the glares and continued on.
“I believe that you are a sexual predator, and it is a compulsion. Your wiring is all fucked up. Nevertheless, I also believe that you want to stop, but will only do so if the object of your desire is not in your reach. You need to be in treatment for the rest of your life, and I’m telling you emphatically to never be around any minors alone, under any circumstances.”
Oliver said nothing; his expression didn’t morph or crack. The man that was previously quick to react to such words in group, to lie and defend a tainted soul, simply continued to sit there, taking it all in as if it were nothing more than a dress rehearsal.
“So what do you advise me to do, Officer Vitale?” he finally asked after another sip of his milk, this one leaving a white, frothy frame around his pale, thin lips.
“I advise you to stay in treatment and to live some place where people will be watching your every move. No one can get you out of this; only you can. As I said, you don’t want to be this way, you don’t want to hurt people, and that is truly your only saving grace.” He glared at the man as his throat tightened with fury. He hated Oliver, yet the ping of sorrow for the guy kept wrapping itself around him. “If I felt you actually enjoyed being this way, there would be no hope for you whatsoever and I’d leave you to the wolves.”
Once again, the man kept quiet, seemingly stewing in his own reflections.
“You may be correct, Nick,” he said, his tone void of connection, as if he spoke from a recording, had left his body to simply go through the motions. He imagined Oliver was accustomed to having to break free from himself during times of tremendous stress—as though he’d sent a representative to take care of the messy details, while the real Oliver/Don stayed in his room, safe and secure under layers of threadbare bed sheets.
“Tell me something.” Nick picked up his turkey sandwich, and skillfully removed the saran wrap, causing a slight crinkling noise. He took a big bite of the thing. His teeth sank into the cold iceberg lettuce, the crunch a relief as he worked it around in his mouth. “This is a bit off topic,” he said around a mouth full of food as he looked about the place, “but why did you call Taryn a ‘rich girl’ if you are actually from a family that is wealthy yourself?” He turned in his direction.
The man’s mouth twisted in a stilted smirk. “Oh, that’s simple. I needed to ensure my secret, hide my identity and…I resented her. Taryn was the normal one of our group. She didn’t have a seedy background. She was no black sheep; she was adored, almost worshiped.” The man’s smile grew disturbingly larger. “She’s pretty. She had it all…the money, the looks, the fame, the adoration…and yet she ended up here in treatment. I hated her for squandering it all away…”
She almost died! She had cancer you piece of shit, you rancid bastard!
But…he maintained his outer calm for a bit longer.
“She didn’t have a hard life as a child.” He rolled his eyes. “Her family loves the hell outta her. You should see how they act on visitation days. The woman is a goddamn model, a famous one, not one of these locals in the blurry newspaper advertisements making thirteen bucks an hour. You can feel her presence as she walks into the room. She has a way about her; she makes friends quickly, everyone likes her… I was… jealous.”
True…very true…
Nick gritted his teeth, swallowing down his dismay at the words.
“She is the type of woman I could never have, the kind that never paid attention to me… She also is quite cunning, and I resented that, too. I saw her dodging cameras one evening, so I learned to do it, too. No one else seemed to see what she was doing, but I finally figured it out. And worst of all… she was on to me.”
“What do you mean?” He swallowed down a bite of food.
“No one knew why I was here, my past. My father donated a lot of money to Firststone, so, I got left alone.”
Nick shook his head in disgust.
“Anyway, one day in group, I guess I had pissed her off, and she came after me.” The man smirked, dropped his head. “It was before you’d arrived. She got real close to me, leaned over and said, ‘You like to fuck kids, don’t you?’ It sent chills up my spine. I became paranoid, worried. I didn’t know how she knew, but she knew, and if my cover was blown, I’d be in big trouble. To this day, I don’t know if it was a lucky guess or if she was just screwing with me. But ever since then, I’ve hated her.”
Nick gripped his can of soda and suddenly had an untimely, ultimate urge to take it hard and fast and brutally bash Oliver’s fucking face in with the damn thing. He hated when those vicious impulses would come through him, make him roll in a bevy of evil thoughts and wish to do treacherous things. The grizzly monster inside of him was trying to grow again, take him over, make him do unscrupulous things. He knew better, so he controlled himself. But something inside of him couldn’t stand it when anyone said something about Taryn that made him pause—some mean spirited shit, regardless of the context that it was stated in.
“Okay, well.” He took a hearty sip of his cola and set the can back down on his tray. “As we were saying before, you’ve got some serious problems but based on what I know about people like you, watching you and taking everything in, you are in fact in trouble.” He shot him a look, taking note of that damn black eye again. “And I believe he will kill you, just like you said. So, I’m gonna help you.”
The man started to tremble, threw his fork down, and covered his face, no doubt hiding tears of relief. “Thank you so much… thank you, Nick!”
“Yeah…don’t touch me…don’t even think about it,” he cautioned Oliver when he caught him reaching out. He didn’t want that fucker around him and it sickened him to be sitting so close to him in the first damn place. But this was important; the guy was going to end up six foot under if he didn’t intervene. “I need you to promise you will never stop treatment.”
“I promise.”
“This has to be settled right here, right now. Trey will follow you wherever you go at this point, so leaving, even if it didn’t violate the court deal worked out on your behalf, is not an option. He isn’t going to let this go. If you try to wave your dad in, all of that shit, I have some consequences that you won’t want to deal with. I work around and live in the same area as the boy you hurt. All I have to do is make a phone call… just one, if you go against this agreement I’m about to lay down. Do you understand me?”
“…Yes.”
“First things first. I need you to promise me you will stay completely away from children. You will never be alone with them, at any time.”
“I promise.”
“Yeah, you promise, you promise,” Nick sneered. “Like I’d trust your word. You’re what is called a fixated child offender. In most cases, you can’t stop the behavior. You’re hard wired to be attracted to children, Oliver, particularly little boys. What is strange about you, however, is that you’re not a sociopath. That means you may respond to some therapies, but you have to be open to it and you have to stick by it. You know it, and I know it, too. To ensure that, I want you to enroll into a program I know about but before I continue, I want to know what you think about what I’m saying to you.”
“I agree with you, and I’m not just saying that to save my own ass.” He took a final gulp of his milk, sucking the straw dry. “I know exactly what I’ve done, how I
feel when I’m doing it, and I am able to tell you almost everything about it, except why I do it and why I can’t seem to stop. I truly can’t answer that… I wish I could.”
“Have you ever been on any hormonal therapy for these urges?” He picked up his soda and took another sip.
“No, but I’m open to it.”
“Look, there is a program in Long Island. The residents live there. I’ve had some guys that I arrested that had to go. You live there, you’re safe; no one is trying to kill you because you are all the same. You get treatment. It’s an expensive place, but it looks like you could swing it.”
The man picked up a bag of Cheetos, tore it open, popped one of the bright orange, crinkly things in his mouth, and crunched down loudly.
“They do hormonal therapy, Oliver. It would basically be a regimen of anti-androgen drugs and—”
“I know what it is, Nick. I’ve had psychotherapy, electric shock even, which is illegal, but I allowed it.” He turned towards him forcefully, his brows bunched in anger. “I want to stop this!”
He knew the man was telling the truth—he was a truth finder, and it was written all over the sick fucker’s face.
“Okay, well, I want you to get into this program. I’ll make some calls on your behalf. They have a long waiting list. Their treatment is more effective than any other program that I know of. Some of the fellas get out in like a year or two. Some stay there for the rest of their life. It all depends. I’m going to be honest with you… I’m no shrink, but I think you’ll be in there a long ass time.”
The man nodded in understanding.
“If you agree to go, I will make sure Trey doesn’t snuff you out…I’ll have a talk with him. I don’t know him personally, but I’m familiar with his affiliations, even though I don’t work gang intelligence and control. I know who does, and they will assist me.”
In the Nick of Time Page 39