On Friday, school again passed slowly for the miserable boy. He was unable to concentrate on any of his work. His inability to pay attention in addition to his two absences that week made his teachers begin to wonder what was wrong. The only bright spot in the day was when he sat with Stephan at lunch. Unable to get into what had happened to Matthew, they talked about other subjects and began to realize they had quite a bit in common. Stephan asked if he could visit on Saturday, and Matthew agreed.
While Matthew still said next to nothing at dinner, he looked a little less sad. In the evening, back in his room, he began to draw. He drew a grotesque, knife-wielding, hulking monster with slavering lips and blood-stained teeth and claws. Lying on the ground in front of the monster was a naked boy, tears flowing out of his eyes. The boy’s huge penis was pointing accusingly straight up at the monster. Finishing the picture, he studied it, sighed and went to bed, but sleep did not come for several hours. When it finally came, it was fitful and filled with nightmares.
On Saturday, Stephan arrived in mid-morning. The first time Stephan had visited, he was so focused on trying to get Matthew to go to the police he hadn’t even really noticed the boy’s room. This time, when he entered the room, he took a few moments to look around. Being on the third floor, the room had two sloping walls angling down from a peak to about four feet from the floor, where they became vertical. Each had two dormer windows. Except for a small landing at the top of the stairs, with a bathroom to the left and a closet to the right, the room stretched the entire length and width of the house. There was a twin bed, a desk with the usual clutter on it, and most prominently, an easel and a draftsman’s table. Beside them, against the end wall were shelves full of art supplies – paints, including oils and water colors, brushes, markers, charcoal, pastels, all sorts of pencils, three or four kinds of glue, as well as materials for constructions. As he sat on the bed, Stephan looked about in wonder while Matthew again sat in his desk chair.
Finally, Stephan asked, “How are you holding up, Matthew?”
“Not well.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing...Stephan, Ever since Black Weekend — that’s what I call it in my mind — I don’t trust anybody.”
“You can trust me, Matthew.”
“”I guess I know that, but how can I ever figure out who I can trust and who I can’t? I was supposed to be able to trust a Scout Master but look what happened.”
“I honestly don’t know, Matthew. I just know that, if we can’t trust anybody, we’ll be terribly miserable and lonely. So I suppose it comes down to being willing to take chances, knowing that usually you can trust people but that every once in a while you can get hurt.” Stephan continued, “Matthew, have you seen anybody like a psychologist or a psychiatrist?” Matthew said he had seen one twice. “Is that why you were out of school for two days?”
Matthew nodded. “I was so upset each day by the time we finished that I just couldn’t go back to school.”
“Did it help?”
“I don’t know. His name’s Mr. Johnson and he’s a psychologist at CPS. The first time I went I wasn’t able to tell him anything. The second time, I finally told him about my first night. It was really hard, and when he asked me about the second one, I just couldn’t go on. Now he wants to see me on Tuesday and I don’t know whether I can tell him any more or not.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I think maybe a little, but how do I know? He says that according to the law he can’t tell anybody else what I say even if he wanted to, but I still don’t know that he wouldn’t. What if he told my parents? That really scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m ashamed, and I have no idea how they would react. They might get mad at me. They might even stop loving me. I can’t risk that.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Matthew nodded. “First of all, I don’t believe your parents would get mad or stop loving you, because nothing that happened was your fault. There was absolutely nothing you could have done or that you need to be ashamed of. I know. I’ve been there.” Matthew looked at him thoughtfully. “Second, I think he’s right about the law, and I think he would lose his job if he told anybody. So I don’t believe he would tell anybody. Someday soon, Matthew, you have to trust a grownup, and he seems like a good bet to me.”
When Stephan left, Matthew thanked him several times for trying to help him. He knew Stephan was right. He had to trust somebody and he had to talk about what happened if he ever wanted to feel better, but he still didn’t know if he could talk with Mr. Johnson about it.
The weekend passed slowly, with the boy still saying little and his parents worrying.
On Monday Matthew biked to school. The day went a little better, but he was still so distracted that the other boys in his classes began to laugh at him, which made him furious. Again he sat with Stephan at lunch. Although he didn’t say so, he thought that Stephan was the most attractive boy he had ever seen. When he looked at him he immediately sprang an erection, so he had to look away and let it subside before he left the table.
Bicycling home, Matthew thought again about his meeting with Mr. Johnson the next morning. Deep in his thoughts he rounded a corner near his house and nearly ran into Mr. Sinclair, who grabbed the bike, forcing him to stop.
“You little bastard,” snarled the man. “You told the police, didn’t you?”
“No! I didn’t say anything to the police or anybody else! I promise!”
“That’s a lie because I’ve been arrested. I’m tempted to beat the shit out of you right now.” Matthew was terrified. “I’m out on bail until the trial in a few weeks. If you say anything at all at that trial and I go to jail, I swear, when I get out, I’ll do to you exactly what I described the other day. Do you understand?”
The boy, feeling cold from head to toe and silently crying, looked down and nodded.
“Don’t forget or I’ll have your balls!” declared the man, releasing the bike and walking away.
Struggling for control, Matthew wiped his eyes and walked his bike to his house, where he went upstairs and closed the door. Soon there came a knock on the door and his mother walked in. “Matthew, did something happen today?”
Matthew nodded.
“Can you tell me about it?”
He shook his head, hard.
“Can you talk with Mr. Johnson about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I know you’re suffering terribly, Matthew. I know you’re very afraid. That’s not going to stop until you tell somebody about it. Please think about telling Mr. Johnson. OK?” Matthew agreed that he would think about it.
He again had frightening dreams that night, waking up several times in a sweat. Three times he had to change his pajamas and sheets before he was finally able to get a few hours of sleep.
In the morning, he and his mother drove to CPS. Mr. Johnson greeted them and took Matthew into his office, where they sat as they had before. The doll was on the sofa beside Matthew.
“Matthew, how are you today? Do you feel any better for having told me about the first night?”
“Not really...Well, maybe a little.”
“Then that’s why it’s important to tell me about the second one. You need to unload the whole story. So let’s talk about that second night. Did something wake you up?”
“Yes,” the boy answered reluctantly.
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“Can you show me?” Matthew had known that this moment was coming and he had tried to figure out what to do, so after gazing at the floor for several minutes, he sighed and went to the shelf and returned with a doll-sized shirt and trousers which he carefully put on the doll. Looking up to be sure that Mr. Johnson was watching, he proceeded to unbutton the shirt and pull down the pants. He looked up again.
“Good, Matthew. What happened next?”
“I can’t. It’s just too hard.”
“You can, Matthew. You were brave on Thursday and you can do it again. Just take your time and show me.”
Again, Matthew thought for several minutes before tearfully, hesitantly, he took hold of the doll’s penis, put his head down to it and made sucking sounds. He stopped and looked up, reaching for the tissues again.
“Thank you Matthew. That was very hard, wasn’t it?” Matthew nodded. “You should be proud of yourself for getting through it. Did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same thing to him?”
“Y...Y...Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Mr. Johnson, this is torture!”
“No it’s not, Matthew, even if it feels that way. What is torture is all the feelings you have inside which need to come out. Please trust me.”
Again there was a long silence. Finally the boy said, “I didn’t do it at first. I told him I didn’t want to, but then he made me.”
“What did he do?”
At that Matthew began to sob aloud, huge, convulsive sobs. He fell sideways on the sofa, covering his head. Mr. Johnson waited patiently. Finally he asked, “Did Mr. Sinclair threaten you?”
From the sofa came a muffled, “Y...Y...Yes.”
“How did he threaten you?’
“I-I just can’t say it.”
“OK, Matthew, I’m impressed with how much progress we’ve made so far. Let me see if I have the second night straight. Nothing happened when you went to bed, but during the night you felt Mr. Sinclair unbuttoning your shirt and pulling down your trousers. Then he sucked on your penis. Is that right?” Matthew nodded. “And you reached a climax again.” Another nod. “In his mouth?” A nod. Then he told you to do it to him, and when you refused, he threatened you. Then you did it. Another nod. Did he climax in your mouth?” A sobbing nod.
“All right, Matthew, I think we’ve done enough for today.” Matthew looked up, relieved. “I want to reassure you that you did nothing to be ashamed of. You had no choice but to do what Mr. Sinclair told you to do. And again, you did very well and I do know how difficult it was. For now I think you need to go home and rest. Try to live in the days ahead as normally as you can, because that will help you. I’ll see you again soon. Before we go, may I have your permission to tell your parents what happened?”
“NO! NO! NO!” Horror flooded his face.
“Are you afraid they won’t love you or are you embarrassed?”
“Both.”
OK. At some point soon they’ll need to know, but we can figure out together how that will be done. For now, as I promised, I won’t say a word without your permission.”
With that, they went out of the office. Mr. Johnson told Matthew’s mother that they had made good progress but that he needed to see Matthew again, perhaps several times.
“How much does this cost?” she asked a bit fearfully.
“Nothing. This is a service we provide. Please don’t ask Matthew about any of this unless he volunteers information. It’ll all come out eventually, but first Matthew and I need to agree about how that will happen. Could I see him on Friday at the same time?”
Mrs. Long agreed, and together she and Matthew left. Arriving home, Matthew went straight to his room, closing the door. Later, his mother brought him some lunch. By the time they sat down to dinner, she thought he looked a little better, but he still said nothing.
After he left the table and went to his bedroom, Mr. Long told Matthew’s mother that he had visited the police, who had told him they believed that Matthew had been sexually abused by Mr. Sinclair. They didn’t yet know the details, but that was undoubtedly what was upsetting Matthew. They agreed not to bring it up at present in order to give Mr. Johnson a chance to help him work through his feelings.
In his bedroom, Matthew took out a piece of paper and began, once again, to draw. Again he drew the monster, larger this time and more frightening. While the drawing was in black, he used red to show blood dripping from the monster’s fangs, claws and knife. In the monster’s other paw were two small, round, bloody objects. Then he drew the crying boy lying down with his huge erect penis pointing upward. He added blood where the testicles would be. Thinking for a minute he drew a man standing over and protecting the boy, with a sword raised in his right hand and a shield in his left. He gazed at it thoughtfully before putting it with his first drawing.
Tuesday night was another struggle for him, with bad dreams, cold sweats, and waking to change pajamas and linen. Wednesday passed slowly and miserably and the night was just as bad.
After school on Thursday Stephan came to visit. He asked Matthew again how he was doing. Matthew said he was still feeling terrible, although he had moments when he felt a little better. Then he asked, “Did you know that Sinclair was arrested?” Stephan shook his head. “When I was coming home on Monday he was waiting for me at the corner. Stephan, he said that he’d been arrested but was out on bail and if he went to jail, when he got out he would find me and do terrible things to me. Now I’m more scared than ever.”
“Damn. I wonder why they let him out on bail. I guess it was because he’s an ‘upstanding citizen’ and not a flight risk, but the cops need to know that he could really hurt you. They don’t, do they?”
Matthew shook his head.
Stephan asked if he had made any progress with his psychologist and Matthew talked about telling Mr. Johnson about the second night. “But I didn’t tell him how Sinclair threatened me,” he continued.
“Can you tell me?”
Matthew sighed. He was feeling an urgent need to tell somebody, but was afraid to trust anybody, even Stephan, to keep silent. Finally he asked, “Can I trust you, Stephan? Can I really trust you not to not talk about it with anybody?”
“Absolutely. Anything you say to me won’t be repeated to anybody else, I promise.”
Matthew went to his bed and lay face down, thinking. After a long silence, he began quietly, “When Sinclair told me to suck his dick and I refused, he took out a knife and held it first in front of my face and then down pricking my balls. Then he said that if I didn’t do what he wanted he would cut off one of my balls, and if I still didn’t do it, he would cut off the other one. He asked me if I knew what happened to boys who didn’t have any balls, and when I said no, he told me my voice would never finish changing and I would never be able to have sex.”
By this time, he was sobbing, tears pouring into his pillow. Stephan instinctively reached over to touch him and then, remembering what Matthew had said a few days ago, pulled his hand back. Instead, he gave forth with the longest string of swear words Matthew had ever heard. There was silence for a moment, and then Stephan heard giggling muffled by a pillow. “You liked that, did you?”
Matthew looked up and, for the first time since before the camping trip, smiled. “Jesus, Stephan, where did you learn all those words?”
“Well, I have an older brother and I listen carefully. To be honest, I think that’s the first time I’ve said some of them and I’m not even sure what they mean, but somehow, they seemed to be called for. Matthew, you have to tell your psychologist about this.”
“I don’t think I can, not yet anyway.”
“Well, you at least have to tell him that Mr. Sinclair threatened you again.”
“I’ll try.”
Finally sighing, Matthew sat up on the bed beside Stephan. Stephan looked at him, saying, “Matthew, I get the feeling from seeing you around school that you don’t have many friends. Is that so?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is, probably because I’m so shy.”
“Well, I want to be your friend if you’ll let me. I think you’re a cool kid, and I want to get to know you better. What kind of things do you like to do?”
A cool kid!? Never in my life have I been called cool, Matthew thought before answering, “Art is my passion, but I love to read, too.”
“Do you have any pictures you’ve done that I can see?”
Matthew brought out a few that he’d done at school, and Stephan admired them. “Anything else?” he asked.
Hesitating, Matthew then pulled out his two monster pictures and showed them to Stephen. “My God, Matthew. These are wonderful, but they’re really scary. When did you do them?” Matthew told him. “Is this how you’re feeling inside?”
“I suppose it is. I didn’t even really think when I drew the first one. It just came out. The second one I thought about when I added the knife, the blood, and the balls.”
“Who’s the man standing over you with the sword looking like he’s protecting you?”
“I guess it’s Mr. Johnson, my psychologist. I know he’s trying his best to help me, and I’m beginning to trust him.”
“Matthew, I really think you should show him these. They may tell him a lot that can help you. Maybe then you won’t have to actually say anything scary.” Matthew nodded.
“I have to get home. Would you come to my house on Saturday so we can talk?” Matthew nodded. Stephan turned to him. “Matthew, I really want to give you a little hug, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I just don’t think I can do that, but thanks for the thought. You may not know it, but you’re helping me a lot.”
Stephan gave Matthew a little wave and left, reminding him that they were going to meet on Saturday.
That evening at dinner, Matthew was a little more talkative than he had been, and he ate enough for three boys as his parents sent silent signals to each other across the table.
When he went back to his bedroom, Matthew took out another piece of paper, again beginning by drawing the drooling monster with the bloody fangs and claws. He drew the prone boy with the penis and the bloody crotch. He drew the bloody knife and the testicles. Then he drew the man with the sword and the shield. Pausing a moment, he drew another figure also standing over the boy. This figure was a little smaller than the man and had black curly hair. It too had a sword and shield, threatening the monster. He took out the other two pictures and put them side by side, gazing down at them. A little smile of satisfaction came over his face. Rolling the three of them up he put them where he could retrieve them the next morning to take to Mr. Johnson.