by Joseph Lewis
Billy backed up against him, so George draped his arm across Billy’s chest.
It wasn’t too long before Billy whispered, “Love you too.”
With that, Billy fell asleep. Peacefully.
George stayed awake a little longer hoping that he could fulfill his promise and protect Jeremy and the twins. He knew that he would do his best.
He just hoped his best would be enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Fishers, Indiana
Brett couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to be in his old room, now the spare room, so he climbed into bed with Bobby. At some point, he must have dozed off, but that didn’t last long. It never did. An hour here, an hour there was the best he could do. It had been like that for most of his captivity because he never knew when he’d be wakened.
Before climbing into bed, he had wandered around Bobby’s room looking at the collection of stuff accumulated by his brother during his absence. He had never really spent time in Bobby’s room. For that matter, he never really spent a great deal of time with Bobby at all. They didn’t have much in common.
He decided that was going to change.
His fucking uncle. How could he do that to him? To Bobby? To both of them? And who else? He had a cousin one year younger and wondered if Good Ol’ Uncle Tony got to him too.
Brett was surprised to see his autographed poster of Peyton Manning in Bobby’s room hanging on the wall.
When Bobby saw him staring at it, Bobby had said, “I know it’s your favorite thing.” Brett had shrugged but didn’t comment. Then quietly Bobby had added, “When you were gone, I wanted to have it in my room because then I could have a piece of you. It was the only way I could think of . . .”
Bobby never finished the thought, and Brett remained silent. In the end, Brett told Bobby to keep it.
Bobby protested, but Brett had insisted, saying, “We can share it, but I want you to have it in your room.” Bobby hung his head on the verge of tears, so Brett put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and said, “Bobby. It’s okay. Honest.”
As quietly as he could, Brett slipped out of bed. He picked up a blanket that either he or Bobby had kicked off and carried it into the family room. MB was nowhere to be seen, so Brett wondered if she had fallen asleep in his room. Or the spare room as he referred to it.
Quietly, he opened the patio door and curled up on the lounger and wrapped himself in the blanket and stared up at the moon and stars.
He missed Tim and Patrick, Stephen and Mike. He missed Johnny, and thinking about him brought tears to his eyes. He missed Ian who could always crack him up with some wiseass comment. He missed George and Randy and wished he could have spent more time with them.
He was lonely. Alone.
No matter how many times he had called or texted one of them using Bobby’s phone, it wasn’t enough. He still felt far away from them.
He heard the slider open and shut softly.
He knew it was his mother by the smell of her perfume and without turning around and looking at her said, “Sorry if I woke you up.”
Wrapped in a robe and slippers, she sat down on a cushioned chair next to him, wrapped her arms around herself to keep out the chill and said, “You didn’t. I haven’t slept well for a long time.”
There was silence between them as they looked up towards the heavens. The night was calm, still and warm, but cooling off. Not much of a breeze. Brett could smell the flowers his mom had planted just off the patio. Every now and then a dog would bark in the distance, and the bark would echo down empty streets.
“Brett, I’m sorry I slapped you. Honestly, I didn’t mean to,” his mother said quietly.
“Mom, it’s okay. It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me. I hadn’t seen you in months and the first chance I get . . .”
Brett knew from the catch in her voice she was weeping.
“Mom, let’s forget about it. It’s over. It’s okay.”
Again there was silence, but not very comfortable for Brett. Probably not for Victoria either. He didn’t know what else to say and maybe she didn’t either. Besides, he didn’t really want to talk. He wanted to sit quietly letting the night embrace him as tightly as the blanket was wrapped around him.
The slider opened and closed, and MB sat down on the back step. Brett turned around just to make sure, and he was surprised she was still dressed as she was earlier that evening. She didn’t have that I-just-got-out-of-bed-look someone gets when they have been sleeping. She didn’t even look like she had been dozing.
“Guys, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be outside this late.” She let that percolate and then added, “It’s dangerous.” Then to soften it she added, “At least for the time being.”
Brett didn’t say anything. For twenty-two months he’d been shuttered in a room without windows. For twenty-two months he had never ventured off the floor he was held captive on. He wasn’t going to argue, and he wasn’t going to go back inside.
Screw it.
If he was going to come after him, let him. He wasn’t about to exchange one captivity for another.
So the three of them sat there not moving, not talking, and at some point, Brett fell asleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Fishers, Indiana
He had driven around the neighborhood, but not down that particular street. It didn’t look like anything was out of the ordinary. He knew someone had to be watching the house, but he didn’t know from where. A Car? Someone’s house that was commandeered for the time being? He wasn’t sure. If it were him, he’d have them in a box: one or two out front and one or two behind. But that was him. They probably hadn’t thought of that because they were not as smart as he was.
What he was sure about was that at least one agent would be in the house. What he didn’t know was what would happen if one or more family members left. He knew Thomas would eventually go back to the university. He had classes to teach and office hours to keep. As for Vicki, maybe she’d take a leave of absence or eat up some vacation time.
It didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time before he’d get even, before he’d tie up loose ends.
There was no way he could just walk away and start over.
No. Not an option.
They had done this to him and because of that he was going to take care of them. He didn’t know exactly when yet, but he was sure it would happen soon.
That made him smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Waukesha, Wisconsin
Mike and Stephen had been best friends since the second grade. The sleepover routine was always the same: movies, homemade nachos heavy on the cheese or some popcorn drenched with butter. There’d be sodas to drink, and a video game or two to play. It never varied. It was a rhythm as much as breathing and hearts beating. Buddies, together forever.
They attempted to watch a movie, Remember The Titans with popcorn and a Fanta for Mike and a Sprite for Stephen. But the popcorn went mostly uneaten and the drinks barely touched. Neither cared about watching the movie, and neither cared for playing a video game. So earlier than normal, they got ready for bed and lay down on the carpeted basement floor under blankets with heads resting on pillows they had grabbed from the couch.
Stephen lay on his back with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t the least bit tired or ready to sleep. Sensing this, Mike was wide awake too. He lay on his stomach, silently watching his friend.
He concentrated very hard on his words, his pronunciation, determined to not stutter. “What?” Mike asked finally.
Stephen’s only reaction was a slight shake of his head.
Mike reached over and playfully flicked Stephen’s nose. Mike smiled, but there was no reaction from Stephen, so Mike waited. Typically, he was much more patient than Stephen, and he knew that he could, and would, wait him out.
Finally Stephen rolled onto his side, faced Mike and said, “Mike, I’m really sorry all this shit happened to you.”
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Mike frowned, rolled to his side and faced his friend, waiting for an explanation.
“They said I was the one they wanted. You were taken because you were with me.” His eyes were wet with tears and his lips trembled. “All this shit happened because of me.”
Mike frowned and shook his head.
“This happened to both of us. It was them. Not you.”
“Don’t you see?” Stephen reached out and grabbed Mike’s arm. “If you and I hadn’t been together, it would have just been me. Not you.”
“So?”
Exasperated, Stephen rolled onto his back, faced the ceiling and muttered, “Never mind. You don’t get it.”
Mike propped his head up with his hand and reached out and laid a hand on Stephen’s bare chest.
“Stephen, listen to me.” He shook him gently and said, “Listen to me.”
Stephen wiped tears from his eyes but didn’t dare look at his friend.
“In soccer, don’t I always have your back?”
Stephen rolled onto his side and started to say something, but Mike was pissed and didn’t give him a chance.
“Don’t you always have my back?”
Stephen started to talk, but Mike placed his hand gently over Stephen’s mouth, his thumb gently rubbing his cheek.
“Stephen, we’re best friends. Always have been. Always will be.” He repeated, “We’re best friends.”
Stephen shook his head to get Mike’s hand off his mouth, but Mike said, “Just shush a minute.”
He took his hand off Stephen’s mouth, but placed it on Stephen’s shoulder.
“Let’s say I wasn’t with you. Let’s say that for some reason, they took you and not me. How do you think I’d feel?”
Stephen wiped his eyes and stared at this friend.
“How do you think I’d feel?” Mike continued. “We’re best friends. I’d rather be with you than anybody. If you went missing and we couldn’t find you, I’d go frigging nuts. They’d have to lock me up in a padded room and throw away the key.”
Exasperated, almost frantic, Mike said, “Stephen, you’re my best friend. I love my mom and my dad. I think I even love my brother and sister sometimes, but Stephen, I love you. You’re. My. Best. Friend.” He said this last with a finger bouncing lightly on Stephen’s chest to accentuate each word.
“But look at what they did to you, Mike. Look at you!”
“Yeah, so?”
“So? So?” Incredulous, Stephen said, “They were going to kill you! They were going to rape the shit out of you and then kill you!”
“But they didn’t kill me. We’re safe now.”
“But they were going to.”
“But they didn’t.”
“But-“
Softly, patiently, Mike smiled and said, “But. They. Didn’t.”
“But-“
Mike gently placed his hand back over Stephen’s mouth and said, “Shhh.”
Mike shifted his hand to Stephen’s cheek and said, “We’re safe. It’s over.”
Stephen shook his head and said, “No it’s not! It’s not over. Some asshole is out there who wants me. The cops don’t even know who he is. Fuck! I don’t even know who he is.”
Mike smiled, put his hand on Stephen’s shoulder and said, “And tomorrow, we’re going to make a list of anyone and everyone it could be.”
“We tried that,” Stephen said quietly, the fight almost out of him.
“And tomorrow, we’ll do it again. The cops will help us. My mom and dad and your . . . mom, will help too.” Mike paused, smiled and said softly, “It’s okay, Stephen. It’s okay. We’re safe.”
Stephen stared at his friend. Mike smiled at him with his missing teeth and his black and blue swollen eye, his split lip and his bruised face.
“I really am sorry, Mike. I never wanted this to happen to you. Honest.”
Mike rolled closer and wrapped his friend in his arms, his cheek resting gently on the side of Stephen’s head.
“It’s okay. I have your back and you have mine. We’re friends.”
Stephen nodded and shut his eyes.
Mike did too. Smiling. And very proud he managed to not stutter at all.
Jennifer and Mark were going to say goodnight to the boys, but stopped when they had heard them talking. They sat down on the steps out of sight and listened. Both wept, and Mark held her tightly and kissed the side of her head.
Without speaking, they got up and went back upstairs.
PART THREE
DANCING WITH THE DEMONS
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
West Bend, Wisconsin
Tim sat at the kitchen table eating his fourth strip of bacon, swishing it around his plate to soak up the syrup that had run off the four pancakes he had eaten. Breakfast had always been his favorite meal. He loved the smell and taste of bacon. He loved French toast and pancakes with butter and syrup dripping off the edges. He was proud of the fact that he could almost eat his weight in anything his mother cooked for breakfast. At least, he could before he was held captive in Chicago.
Since then, it had taken him several days to get his appetite back. He still slept lightly and in patches, waking up several times a night. Noises at night that before went unheard, now sounded like crescendos from timpani. Like the other boys, he’d wake up, wander around the house, only to sit in the silence of the backyard gazing up at the stars, the moon and the clouds and if lucky, doze until the sun had replaced them.
Tim picked up and rolled the Truvada between his thumb and forefinger. His mother must have gotten it from the prescription bottle in the cupboard and set it down next to his plate. The doctor at the hospital explained to him and to the other boys that it was for those at high risk to help avoid infection with the AIDS virus, and because of what the boys had been through over the past year or two or more, they were all at risk. Even Stephen and Mike. Though they had only been held for less than twenty-four hours, they had been forced to do most everything the others had been forced to do. The doctor explained that the precautions were necessary regardless of the length of time they were in captivity.
The boys didn’t talk much about the possibility of getting HIV and AIDS. Actually, they tried not to think about it.
Ian had summed up their feelings when he said, “Fuck it! We either get it or we don’t. Not much we can do about it.”
The doctor had also explained that Truvada was newly approved by the FDA and very expensive. He remembered how his parents stood with arms around each other’s shoulders when the doctor told them about it. It was Stephen’s father who had asked what the cost was. The doctor explained that it was $1100 a month, but that an anonymous donor had paid for each of the boys to have a two-year supply. He watched his parents blink and his father nod and his mother bring her hand up to her mouth as tears sprung to her eyes. The boys didn’t understand the significance until later when Mike had overheard a group of parents discussing what their health insurance would and wouldn’t pay for. This anonymous donor, whoever he or she was, must have known that none of the parents could have afforded it, even with the best of insurance.
He popped the Truvada into his mouth and finished off his cranberry juice. He tipped back on his chair and stretched both arms high above his head.
“Tim, did you get enough to eat?”
Laura Pruett was thirty-four when she had had Tim. Now, her blond hair had a mousy look, and her body had a more rounded shape than before Tim had been taken. During his captivity, she hadn’t taken care of herself as she used to. Her shoulders slumped and instead of walking, she shuffled. Tim felt guilty about that, but didn’t know what he could do to fix it. She had always been soft-spoken and reserved, but was more so since Tim’s abduction. She was a head shorter than her boy and though she’d deny it, Tim had always been her favorite.
Oh, she loved Thad and her daughter, Christi, Tim’s younger sister. She loved them fiercely. But it was Tim she felt the closest to. The two of them had always talked. Whenever
there was a question, a decision, Tim always sought her out. He’d confide in her. Mostly, they just talked about this and that.
Christi, who was three years younger than Tim, gravitated towards Thad. Christi would bake and cook with her, but it was Thad she preferred.
Laura would tease her saying, “You have your dad wrapped around your finger.”
Christi would laugh and blush and Thad would protest, but not too strenuously because they all knew it was true. They were a happy family. There was energy. There was life.
When Tim was taken, the energy and life went with him. Laura had hoped that now that Tim was back, the energy and life would come back.
The thumping of the basketball in the driveway brought Tim out of his reverie.
Déjà vu. It was as if the two plus years in captivity had melted away into never happened.
Laura peered out the window by the sink as she was finishing up the breakfast dishes, watched as she rinsed the plate she had used and then smiled to herself without turning around.
Tim carried his plate and glass to the sink and set them on the counter. He looked out the window to confirm what he already knew, kissed his mom on the cheek, gave her a little hug and then disappeared.
He climbed the stairs two at a time and went into his bedroom to the closet and selected a pair of basketball shoes, hoping they wouldn’t be too small. His toes were cramped, but what the hell, he’d make them work because he had some basketball to play. He stopped in the hallway bathroom outside his bedroom, brushed his teeth and smeared on some deodorant. He decided he’d skip the shower, because if he played two or three games of one on one or two on two, he’d be sweaty and gross and he’d have to shower again before the party. The deodorant was a compromise.
He took the stairs back down two at a time, quick-walked to the kitchen, gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, and walked to the backdoor that led to the driveway, took a deep breath, and then stepped through and stood on the back porch after closing the screen door softly.