by Robert Rand
He pulled the door open. Lisa rushed into his arms. He picked her up and hugged her to his chest. April was sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. She stared in stunned disbelief at the man before her. He looked like a Holocaust survivor. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Sullivan managed to choke out two words before his own sobs kept him from saying more… “Help me.”
April nodded her head yes. “Of course, Sully,” she cried as she went to him.
Lisa pulled away from her father, “Don’t cry Daddy. Me and Mommy still love you.”
They made their way out to April’s Jeep. She drove around the corner and dropped Lisa off at Granny’s. “I’m taking you to a detox rehab in the San Fernando Valley” she told Sullivan as she entered the southbound 14 Freeway.
“Thank you” he whispered.
They didn’t speak for a long time. Sullivan finally said, “I’m hungry, Baby.”
“I’ll pull through In and Out.” She glanced at her husband and placed a hand on his thigh, “And I’ll always be your Baby.”
“I don’t deserve…” he began.
“Shush” she said, cutting him off.
April exited the 14 Freeway at Soledad Canyon Road. Across the overpass was an In and Out Burger, and that’s where she headed.
Sullivan ordered a Double-Double burger, fries and a vanilla shake, while she selected a regular burger and diet Dr. Pepper. The parking lot was dark where they parked; the sodium vapor light atop the nearby pole was out. Sullivan was chewing slowly. April could see that it was difficult for him to swallow food. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
As tears began to fall down her husbands’ face, April set her dinner on the dashboard, and then reached out to comfort him. He pulled away.
“I have to tell you,” he said while staring through the windshield into the velvety darkness of the night.
April twisted in her seat and leaned back against the door. “Tell me what?” ‘The other women? You got one pregnant? AIDS?’ her thoughts raced with what she considered the worst possibilities as she waited for him to continue.
After wiping away the tears with a greasy napkin, he began to talk. “Remember the Red Dog Saloon? You asked about my darkest moment.” He glanced at his wife. When she nodded, he continued. “You’re going to think I’m some sort of sicko. And if you want me to get out and walk, I won’t blame you.” He was beginning to sob uncontrollably. It was several long moments before he could go on.
April steeled herself. For what, she did not know. However, it wasn’t for what she was to hear. As the story came out, her heart ached with compassion and love for her deeply injured husband. He told her of the memories of the attack that had weakened his soul from the day she had asked him to recall his darkest moments, and his mind flooded with the rest of the horror of that day…
“After I hit the floor it was starting to get dark again…”
A hand grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back to his feet. That was when Sullivan first saw the knife, a flash of light that entered the darkness. His young mind now feared the dark and the light. He wanted to scream! To run! But THE MAN told him not to scream. THE MAN blocked his only exit.
His shirt was suddenly pulled up over his head.
“Hey, lookee there. You got little titties, like a girl” said THE MAN, as he reached out a callused hand and cupped one slightly fleshy breast.
Sullivan was on the chunky side in the chest and waist. Not really obese, but enough to be embarrassing when unclothed.
“Oh, yeah! Like the budding breast on a twelve year old girl!” There was a manic excitement in the harsh whisper. A tone that froze the blood and stole any ability to reply. The voice of the insane.
Sullivan’s eyes were tightly shut. He hadn’t seen the face of his tormenter. He refused to look. Refused to add a face to the voice. He felt something wet on his nipple. His eyes popped open, then shut even more tightly as he realized that THE MAN was licking him! He shivered in revulsion as the tongue left a wet trail up his chest and neck, finally leaving his goose-fleshed skin near his right ear.
“I’m going to do things to you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even like it!” A harsh laughter suddenly exploded from THE MAN’s throat. Hot fetid breath washed over the boys’ face. “But you aren’t going to tell anyone what I do. Know why?” He grabbed a hand full of Sullivan’s hair at the nape of his neck. “Answer me when I ask you a question, girly-boy!” THE MAN hissed.
“O-o-okay” the child stammered through his tears.
“I know where you live, girly-boy.” His whisper grew quieter; “I know how to get into your house. And if you tell anyone about what happens…” THE MAN kissed Sullivan on his trembling lips before continuing, “I’ll go in and kill that pretty blonde mommy of yours. I’ll chop her fucking head off and put it in your bed! How would you like that?”
Sullivan peed his pants. The warm urine spread across the front of his Toughskins jeans.
“I said, ‘How would you like that?!” THE MAN repeated through clenched teeth while pulling the boy’s hair.
“I-I-wo-woou-wouldn’t, s-s-sir” his voice quavered.
“That’s good.” THE MAN kissed Sullivan again. “Take off your pants!”
Sullivan unsnapped his pants, lowered the zipper and pushed them down his legs. He stepped out of his Adidas tennies and then the damp blue jeans.
THE MAN – that was the only name Sullivan could attach to the person who held him prisoner – looked down at the wet briefs and told him to take them off as well. Sullivan hesitated and was punished for it with a sharp, backhanded slap across his face. The stinging pain made him move quickly. He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of the white Fruit-Of-The-Looms and pulled them down. His hands quickly covered his privates. Fear and embarrassment colored his face a deep crimson that nearly obliterated the red mark left by the slap he had received.
“Move your hands!” THE MAN ordered.
Sullivan quickly obeyed. His hands fluttered nervously at his sides with desire to conceal his penis and fear-shriveled scrotum. He continued to squeeze his eyes shut and stood at a rigid attention.
He felt THE MAN flick the tip of his penis several times while laughing. Tears continued to seep out of the boy’s tightly closed lids. Snot ran in rivulets from both nostrils. He wanted to wipe away the snot, but was too afraid to move his hands.
For what seemed like a long time to Sullivan, THE MAN’s hands didn’t touch him, nor did the awful wetness of his tongue. ‘If I don’t look, THE MAN will leave’ became the child’s mantra. Over and over, the words were spoken within his mind, fighting to be louder than the sound of THE MAN’s breathing and the rustling of his clothes that told the boy he was still there.
“Open your eyes, Sully” whispered the voice.
Sullivan shook his head quickly, left, then right. “Please, no. NO!”
The mantra had failed. Silent pleas to God had failed. The punishment began in earnest.
THE MAN slapped the boys’ face several times in quick succession – palm, backhand, palm, backhand – before he would open his eyes.
What Sullivan saw scared him even more – and he didn’t think he could be any more scared than he already was – THE MAN stood before him, naked. He tried to keep his eyes trained at the middle of the thickly matted chest, but he couldn’t help but see the enormous erection that was pointing at him.
THE MAN stepped closer – “Touch it, girly-boy!”
Sullivan reached up slowly with is right hand. His fingers touched the turgid flesh and moved away as if it were a burning log.
THE MAN grabbed the boy by the throat and squeezed. When his mouth opened wide to take in air, THE MAN put his penis inside, causing the boy to choke and gag even more. THE MAN was quickly satisfied and released his grip.
Sullivan fell to his knees, sick. He spit and tried to talk at the same time, asking, “Why did you pee in my mouth?”
“That’s not pee, girly-boy!” laughed THE MAN a mo
ment before he struck out with his huge closed fist.
Sullivan absorbed the blow to his head and slowly curled into a fetal position before finally making friends with the darkness.
When he returned to the light, THE MAN was gone and a new pain assailed him. With a slow, tentative movement, he felt the area of pain. When he put his hand back before his eyes it was coated with drying blood and feces. He didn’t know what had caused it, but it was over. The blood wasn’t pouring out ‘so I’ll be okay’ he reasoned.
Slowly he sat up. It hurt to sit. Sullivan gathered his clothes and used his underwear to clean the filth from his backside as best he could before pulling on his pants and shirt. He didn’t tie the laces of his white striped blue tennies – it hurt too much to bend that far.
Home was nearly half a mile away. It took four times as long as usual to make the trek through the culvert and up the steep hillside of avocado trees that had previously provided him sanctuary.
The orchard bordered his parents’ property. It had been his world of dreams. In it, he could be a pirate on the high seas, searching for bounty and treasure. It was where he could be Tarzan, the well-muscled King of the Apes, instead of the flabby 10-year-old boy he really was. When the weeds grew tall in the spring and summer, he cut trails, made forts and teepees, fought Indians and been a determined brave. There were no intruders he couldn’t defeat.
As Sullivan Rourk climbed the cinderblock wall that encircled the back yard of his house, the sanctuary lost it’s magic. It became a path to horror. The childhood land of dreams and make-believe became a living nightmare. The trees took on an evil, menacing appearance, the ground held dips and valleys for monsters to hide in, the sun even seemed to lose some of its brilliance and warmth.
He would play in the orchard again – but never alone.
“Oh, sweetheart, how horrible for you!” April cried as she held him.
It was an awkward position, leaning sideways across the console so his head rested in her lap. He didn’t even recall moving, but it was comforting to be there, none the less.
“You didn’t tell your folks.”
It had been more statement than question, but he answered anyway. “I never told anyone…until now.” He suddenly sat up and turned to look at his wife. “You think I’m some kind of sicko pervert, don’t you?!” he stated accusingly.
“No, no! Shush! How could you think such a thing?” April’s heart cried out, sharing his pain. “Sullivan, baby, it wasn’t your fault! You didn’t do anything wrong!” her words were gentle.
“You don’t think…” he began. Emotion choked back the rest.
“Of course not! You were the victim. You still are.” She reached out and placed her small soft hands on either side of his face, brushing away his tears with her thumbs. “Oh, sweetheart, I love you, and nothing will change that” she assured him.
“Promise?” he asked; his need for reassurance was child-like in its appeal.
“I promise.” Her arms slid around his neck as she pulled him into a comforting embrace.
It took another hour and a half to reach “First Steps” in a quiet area of Glendale. April walked in with Sullivan. The receptionist wasn’t the least bit shocked by Sullivan’s appearance.
“My name is Taiee,” she said in a soothing compassionate voice, “and we can help you.” She offered a bright, reassuring smile to Sullivan, then turned to April, “I’ve got some forms that need to be filled out if you want to get him admitted, but they can wait if you’d like to talk with our director about First Steps first.”
“I’ve already talked to someone on the phone several times. My husband had to make the choice himself to come.”
“Here I am,” Sullivan offered.
Taiee handed April a clipboard filled with admitting forms, and a pen. “You sure do look familiar,” she told April.
“I get that a lot,” she answered, before taking a seat in the reception lounge.
Once the papers were all filled out, she returned them to the receptionist. Taiee glanced at the name and looked back up with a startled expression. “Oh, my!” she whispered.
“Is something wrong?” April asked, confused.
“I’ll be right back,” Taiee answered, and she disappeared through a set of double doors.
Several minutes later, she returned with a tall black man who looked very familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Sullivan knew right away. “Special Agent Michaels” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Not anymore, Mr. Rourk.”
“You’re one of the …”April left the rest unsaid.
“I’m the director her, Mrs. Rourk.” Turning to Sullivan, he said, “I nearly took your life once, now, let me help you save it.”
“I need help. Please.” Sullivan got shakily to his feet, walked over to the former FBI agent and embraced him.
The healing began.
Epilog
Rehab was a lot more than learning the 12 steps developed by Alcoholics Anonymous and subsequently adopted by recovery groups ranging from drug users to sex addicts. Sullivan’s problems were more deeply rooted than the 12 steps could dig into. He was fortunate that the place he had gone to offered a 13th step. He spent many hours with both the staff psychologist and psychiatrist, piecing together past pains and learning how to accept having been a victim of a molester.
During the 12 months Sullivan stayed at the center, he had accomplished a great deal. His demons had been exorcised and the relationship with his wife and daughter were stronger than ever. He had even contacted his parole agent, who had reinstated his parole on the condition he complete the program at First Steps.
April came faithfully to the Thursday night family group meetings, the Friday evening open N.A. meeting and every Saturday, Sunday and holiday brought Lisa down to see her Daddy.
His departure had been an emotion-choked event. He and L.A. Michaels never became friends, but they developed a deep respect for one another that allowed them to transcend the barriers that separated them socially, economically and racially. “You’ll do just fine,” L.A. said as he took Sullivan’s hand. “Just keep to your plans.”
“Slow and steady” Sullivan smiled. “Thanks, L.A.”
Lisa was getting ready to start kindergarten by the time her father came back home to stay. She was excited by the fact that he would be able to walk her to class on her first day – but nowhere near as excited as he was.
The first week home was a period of getting reacquainted – with April, Lisa, Granny and, of course, Spanky. Granny seemed to never age, but Spanky’s red hair and beard were now being overrun by gray. The burly biker had taken a similar course by giving up using dope. He still made and sold the stuff, but he no longer partook of his own product. It was a start.
However, Sullivan had still to complete one important step in his recovery. He had yet to make amends to several people.
His first and most difficult contact in this step was Mr. and Mrs. Koeller. He had gotten their address from his old attorney, ‘Esquire’, then made the solitary trip to Escondido.
Mrs. Koeller had opened the door and invited him in. the old couple lived on a modest income, as evidenced by the sparse furnishings of their doublewide mobile home. He sat and came right to the point, once the old man had come into the living room to join his wife.
“Mr. and Mrs. Koeller, I’ve come to apologize for my actions when we first met. I was the one who robbed that bank and caused your heart attack.”
The old man’s eyes widened in disbelief, but his wife chimed in, “ I told you, Bill, didn’t I tell you?”
“I am terribly sorry, and I will do whatever I can to help make amends” Sullivan stammered as tears welled up in his eyes.
“Young man,” Bill said slowly, “My heart woulda given me that kick sooner or later. The fact is, I’m in better health today than I was then. If not for the bypass after that heart attack, I wouldn’t be here now. Your confession and apology are enough.”
“I, I don’t…” Sullivan began.
“We’re God-fearing folks, Mr. Rourk. You’ve asked for our forgiveness and we’ve given it. It seems you’re out to make your peace with the Lord. Who am I to interfere with that?” stated Mr. Koeller.
Sullivan got up and shook hands with the old man, grateful to be absolved of his sin against him. He wanted to do something, but he knew anything other than the heartfelt apology would only diminish that apology.
His spirits were high as he once again drove north. His next stop was the Desert Pueblo Casino. He hadn’t had any contact with anyone associated with that enterprise since his arrest on the state charges. He had no idea what kind of welcome he might receive – or even if he would be welcomed at all. It was with great apprehension that he pulled his once again restored Corvette into the ever-so-familiar parking lot.
Sullivan’s heart was heavy with sorrow as he sat in his car staring at the building that he had put so much of his soul into. It was quite a while before he was able to finally turn off the motor and exit the car.
As he walked toward the front entrance, he was a little surprised by the shortage of cars and busses in the parking lot. However, once across the threshold, he was even more surprised by the greetings he received.
Employees and customers alike were quick to offer their hand and a good word. It was like the events of the past 5-plus years were a nightmare from which he had finally awoke. His last step had brought him back to this place to see Chief De la Cruz.
The big Indian had seen Rourk’s Corvette enter the parking lot while watching the security monitors. He had come downstairs to greet his old friend. “It’s about time you come back, Sully,” the Chief offered in way of a greeting, along with his customary bear hug.
Rourk went up to the Chiefs office, where he laid out his entire story. De la Cruz sat quietly through the confession.