by Jayce, Aven
I met Paul when I was a freshman at Temple University. He was the president of the fraternity I had joined, and I looked up to him as if he were my older brother. He took me under his wing and taught me about leadership, power, and control. I wanted to be just like him... and I loved him. That was my mistake.
After an evening of heavy drinking, I made a pass at Paul. He became enraged, dragged me into the attic of the fraternity house, forced me to take off my clothes, and then tied me to a box spring bed that had been left in the space. For an entire weekend he brought men up to the attic that would pay to rape me. Some were quick, while others took their time and enjoyed playing with me for hours as if I were their little toy. Paul made sure I saw the exchange of money between him and the men, and sometimes he would sit and watch. I detested him after that weekend, but I hated myself even more. Shortly thereafter is when I began cutting my wrists. That pain I felt against my skin eased the pain of the experience in the attic. This is also when I began drinking heavily and experimenting with drugs. My cousin, Cove Everton, came out for a visit one weekend during my sophomore year to try to get me back on my feet, both financially and emotionally, but I was beyond help at that point. Paul knew it, and would forever take advantage of my weakness to drugs and my sexual identity.
My cousin and I were close during our formative years, but he distanced himself once I succumbed to drugs. I don’t blame him, he tried to help, and when he couldn’t, he backed away. I was the black sheep of the family, a secret to some, never mentioned to others, or referred to as dead.
Paul contacted me a few years after graduation, along with other brothers from our fraternity, and asked us to come and work for him. I had no idea what I was getting myself into; I only knew that my addictions needed constant pacification, and my bank account wasn’t allowing me to ease those cravings. The money I earned from Paul was good enough to get me what I needed in terms of drugs and still be able to live, but, at some point, I lost track of who I was and any dreams I once had of making something of myself. I became Paul Jameson’s peon, his go-to boy, porn star, server, follower, and guy Friday, but never his associate, nor his friend.
It was a decade later that I learned my cousin had also become entrapped in the cruel world of Paul Jameson, an unfortunate chance meeting that led to years of threats and abuse for him and his family, especially his young son, Cove Everton the third. My dear cousin kept our family relationship a secret from Paul, unaware of the consequences it might bring to him and his family if Paul were to find out we were related. I fucked up a lot and I agreed that it would be best if we stayed away from one another under Paul’s reign. From the time I was a freshmen in college to present day, I was always Carl Caverns, the name given to me by my fraternity brothers and one that stayed with me my entire life. And to Paul, I was never Patrick Everton. I remained an unidentified person; a number in his company, someone he never truly needed to know much about, and as long as I made him money, I had security in his industry.
The remainder of this letter is a confession. All information contained hereafter is documented and can be found at Sunset Best Storage on Blue Diamond Boulevard. My unit is row one dash five, number twenty-four. It contains hardcopies of emails exchanged within Paul’s company, flash drives with pertinent information to the Everton case, VHS, DVD, and digital recordings of meetings and events in the Jameson house, as well as other valuable documents that will be beneficial in the reopening of my cousin’s case.
“Cove,” I whisper as chills run up my spine and goose bumps appear on my arms.
“What’s that?” the detective asks.
“The number of the storage unit is Cove’s date of birth and his current age.”
“Yes, that makes sense. Most of what we found in there is related to Mr. Everton.”
“My boyfriend, or his father?”
“Both.”
I smile and continue reading Patrick’s words.
Paul left the Vegas office early one morning for a flight to St. Louis. I knew immediately that whenever he traveled to that part of the country it had something to do with the Everton family, my family. He gave me instructions to use remote access to transfer files, including videos, to the Everton’s home computer. This was no easy task, but with the help of our main IT guy, we got it done. At first I didn’t think too much about the files, and since I didn’t open them I was under the impression that they were to enable my cousin, Cove, to prep for a business meeting before Paul’s arrival. It was later the next day when I learned my cousin had been arrested on suspicion of running a child pornography ring, and to my dismay, when I went back and opened the transferred files, it was clear that my actions were part of the reason he was in jail. The files contained images and video of his son, who many of us knew had been bullied by Paul to perform for his business, but no one in the company had the balls to speak up about it. When Paul returned, I confronted him, something I would never do again. I found myself drugged, taken out to Lake Mead in the middle of the night, and a rope tied around my ankles that was then connected to a concrete block. As soon as I was awake enough to process what was happening, Paul picked up the block and threw it into the water. The rope on the stern uncoiled quickly as it sank to the bottom of the lake. Paul laughed as I pissed myself, unable to untie my ankles in enough time to escape. My body jerked off the side of the boat and I was pulled into the darkness of the water, deeper and deeper, in a panic... I knew I was about to die. I felt a tug backward, and after a good two minutes in the water, was pulled back up by the other end of the rope that was still attached to the boat. I’m unable to explain the horrors of that night, but it’s why I’ve never come forward about the Everton case, until now. I figured that once I had enough information and evidence collected, which I knew would take years; it would be time to even the score. Paul wasn’t going to live. I’ve known that all along. Hell, I knew back in college that someday he would fall by my hands. My plan has always been to rid this world of his evils, and of mine. If my mind and soul sees fit to kill a man, then what right do I have to live?
“Sophia,” Cove’s soothing voice enters the room. I stand and rush into his arms. We hold one another tight and kiss deeply and devotedly until my heavy heart relaxes from his touch. “I’ve missed you, Baby. You okay?” I’m too overwrought to answer as I continue holding him. I don’t want to ever let this man go. “I love you, Sophia,” he whispers. “My mother will get us a lawyer. We’ll be okay. Have you told them about...”
“Mr. Everton, you’re being released today. You’re both being released. We just have a few questions for the two of you and then you’ll be free to go. I’ll return in a moment, but for now, I believe you should read a copy of the letter I have from a member of your family. It may shed some light on what happened Friday night.”
Cove and I sit at the interrogation table and I’m glad to see the ecstasy has worn off, and even though he has two days worth of stubble and is wearing a wrinkled shirt, his demeanor is calm and composed. I pass him the first page of Carl’s... Patrick’s letter. His eyes widen as he starts to read and his words are faint as he tries to speak, only to say, “no shit.” I pick up the second page and continue where I had left off.
I’m taking my own life, along with Paul’s, for I am equally wicked and cruel. I’ve sold my body on numerous occasions just to get a fix, I’ve stolen cars for drugs, been with underage men, and above all, I’ve damaged my family and trashed the Everton name. As Paul often said, I’m not a man and I should look in the mirror each morning and say those words to myself. He was right. I’m no man. I’m a coward who would rather be buried six-feet under than locked in a cell for the rest of my life. Paul Jameson is dead, and so am I, and the world is now a better place.
I would like to apologize to my family for not saying goodbye to them, and to my cousin because I never opened my mouth at his trial when I could’ve changed his life. I hope the people who find this letter will show it to my family so they understand the
reasons why I took a man’s life and my own. Mother and father, I love you. Jonathon, you’re forever in my heart, please forgive me. Young Cove Everton, I’m sorry for your time spent in Paul’s business, your loss of innocence, and the absence of your father for all of these years. I’m going to set things right, for you, your mother, and your father.
And sweet princess Sophia, your mistreatment and exploitation by your father was well documented and will be found in the storage unit. My offensive behavior was only an act in your presence to ensure your safety. I want to thank you for reminding me that your father’s heart was dead cold, even to his own flesh and blood. He had no feelings or remorse for anyone. You gave me the strength to do what I needed to do, and seeing your endless courage, drive, and loyalty to the Everton family was a sign that it was time. You’ve brought love and hope into the eyes of people who are accustomed to cruelty. Smile, darling Sophia. Be happy and enjoy your release into this world. Unrestricted by your past, clear and free to live and be whoever you want to be. The time is now. No excuses beautiful one.
~ Patrick
I place my hands over my eyes and cry while Cove continues to read the letter. The detective walks in and places her laptop and an office file storage box on the table then brings us each a bottle of water. She sits and waits for Cove to finish reading, his lips trembling and his hands shaking. When he’s finished he places the letter face down on the wooden table and leans back in his chair.
“Is this real? I can’t believe Carl was related to us and he never told me who he was. Why wouldn’t my father let me know, I mean, what the hell’s going on? Patrick Everton? This is real... I... I can’t believe I didn’t have a chance to speak with him about any of this, about his life, about my family. When can we leave? I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be in this city or this state anymore. I need to be in St. Louis to talk to my father. Will all of this help him? Will this letter help my father get out of prison?” he asks relentlessly, trying to fight back his tears.
“Yes, and no. The letter may not do much, but we believe there may be enough evidence left behind by Patrick to reopen the case. But, we still have a lot to examine, and I’ve heard there are officials in high places who are now involved in this investigation. We are working with the St. Louis police department and passing information along to them. As far as we can tell, Patrick Everton recorded every conversation and event that involved Paul Jameson. He was seeking revenge... planning this for years... just waiting for the right moment. From what we’ve watched on the videos and read up to this point, it looks like Paul Jameson recorded everything himself, and someone beat him at his own game.” She hesitates then changes the subject. “Miss Jameson, let me ask you a few questions about your time in your father’s house. I know the two of you were locked in a bedroom.”
“Aren’t you supposed to question us in private? This whole set up right now is different from what I’ve seen on television shows.”
“Yes, if you’d like to speak with me in private, then Mr. Everton can step outside and wait. Neither of you are under arrest, but I need to gather some information and take a statement from you concerning the events of the past week for our records and the case. I can speak to you now, or you can come back another time, but either way, this conversation is necessary.”
“I can step out if it’ll make you more comfortable, Soph.”
“No, don’t,” I reach for his hand and squeeze it tight. “Of course I want you here, I just thought they were required to speak to us in private.”
“Well, yes. If you were under arrest, Miss Jameson, we would, or you would have your lawyer present. That’s not the case. If you’re uncomfortable, an officer can come to your house and you can answer their questions in the privacy of your own home. You can also request a lawyer at any time, but you’re not actually in any trouble.”
“No, I’m fine... just a little paranoid at the moment.”
“That’s understandable, you’ve been through a lot. Now, can you tell me what day it was that you were taken to your father’s house?”
“How do you know she was taken there?”
The detective turns to Cove and smiles. “I’m very serious about Patrick Everton documenting and recording everything about Paul Jameson. Patrick was able to split the cables in the Jameson house to obtain all of the footage from Paul’s security cameras. He also has recordings from the casino office. We have a good idea of what happened to the two of you, but would like to hear it in your own words. There are still a few unknowns... there’s no footage of Paul’s home office, so we’re assuming he didn’t have security cameras in that room. Also, the security cameras in the home were on, but no longer recording. Someone turned the recording equipment off Thursday evening, so we have no account of what happened from that night until the police arrived on Friday. We’re assuming that was Patrick’s doing as well.”
“Last Sunday,” I say. “Almost a week ago. That’s when I was taken to his house.”
“Did anyone in the house harm you in any way?”
I exhale, not sure how to proceed with information about the Rosen twins. Cove looks at me and whispers in my ear. “I don’t think you can save anyone. They’ll eventually see what happened as they watch the footage from the cameras.”
“Miss Jameson?”
“I was held with my hands behind my back by Doron Rosen, but he didn’t hurt me. I had kicked my father’s glass door and he tried to put an end to my outburst.”
“Did he leave any marks on you?”
“No.”
“And Dayne Rosen?”
“He never touched me.”
“Soph?” Cove questions.
“I was drugged by someone, but I can’t say it was him. Someone tattooed my shoulder, and Dayne admitted to doing so, but I have no proof because I had blacked out. I have no recollection of Dayne harming me in any way.”
“We have him on video doing so. He’s currently under arrest for intent to commit a crime and assault in the second degree. Giving someone any sedative type drug without their knowledge is a class B felony. He may be looking at up to ten years in prison.”
“Oh,” I whisper, a little saddened that a person could spend close to ten years in prison for this. I’m only looking to move on, not destroy anyone’s life.
“Good,” Cove mumbles. “Soph, I can tell by your face that you feel bad for him. Don’t. Trust me, I could tell you stories that would haunt you for weeks. Don’t feel bad for that fucker, he did a lot of bad things to a great number of people, including you.”
There’s silence in the room as I take a sip of water and wipe the tears from my face. Cove wanted me to drug Trey when I was trapped in Mera’s apartment back in St. Louis. He slipped that miniscule pill inside the balloon and if I had used it... if I had gone that route... I too could be in Dayne’s situation. Ten years. Jesus. I look up at the fluorescent lights and close my eyes. I can’t wait to see the light of day, to breathe fresh air. I’ve been imprisoned for what seems like weeks. First trapped at Mera’s apartment, then hiding out at the hotel in St. Louis, then locked in my father’s house, and now for two days at this police station. I’d give anything to hold Lewis, give him a kiss and place him next to me in my soft bed as I crawl under the comforter and sleep.
“Miss Jameson, we found a contract in your father’s office for Jameson Industries. It has your signature on it. Did you really sign it, and if so, why?”
“Oh, Jesus,” I whisper and exhale. “Yes, I signed it, only because I didn’t believe my father would’ve let me out of his office until he had my signature. I had been locked in the bedroom suite for two days, and he said I had his word that after I was in a few more videos for his company, and made him some money, I would be free to leave. All I needed to do was to sign the contract. I’m not sure if I believed him, but I knew I wanted out, and I knew that whether he had my signature or not, I’d be in the videos. I wanted out of his office and needed to talk to Cove who I hadn�
�t seen in days, so I signed it. The only thing signing the contract meant to me was the possibility of freedom. I guess that sounds contradictory, I mean, I was signing something that said I was bound to Jameson Industries, but signed it because I was told by doing so I’d be able to leave.”
The detective takes notes and nods, not showing any reaction to my explanation. “You may be relieved to hear that your story is similar to four other women and two men we’ve already interviewed today who were part of your father’s company. I believe this pattern will be consistent as we continue to speak with your father’s employees.”
“So, he wasn’t going to let me leave?”
“Oh no, he would’ve eventually let you leave his home, but from the way the other women and men have described their time in Paul’s company, you’d never really be free.” She turns and looks at Cove who’s picking at the edge of the table with his fingernail. He looks away from us and distances himself from the conversation. I can imagine he agrees with her statement and is in too much pain to speak out about what he’s been through. “The information we obtained and the videos we’ve seen point clearly to mental and verbal abuse... some physical abuse as well,” she continues, still looking his way. “Mr. Everton, I do have some questions for you. Miss Jameson, would you mind stepping out to give us some privacy? I can have an officer take you to the cafeteria if you’re hungry.”
“No,” Cove says, gripping my hand. “I’m going to marry this woman someday, she knows about my past and it’s fine if she’s here. I’d prefer not to let her out of my sight for a while. The past day without her felt like an entire year.”