Following breakfast on Friday, Matthew and his mother rode to the CPS building, Matthew holding his rolled pictures in his lap. His mother asked what he had, but he simply replied they were some pictures he wanted to show to Mr. Johnson.
“May I see them?” she asked.
“Maybe some time. I’m not ready yet.” His mother was a little hurt but she didn’t press the point.
When Matthew and the psychologist were seated in his office, Mr. Johnson asked Matthew how he was doing.
“Terribly!”
“Has anything happened since the last time we met?”
Casting his eyes down, Matthew replied very quietly, “No, but something happened earlier. Stephan thinks I should tell you about it.”
“Who’s Stephan?”
“He’s a friend of mine from scouts and from school. He’s one of the boys who went to the police about Sinclair.”
Mr. Johnson noted the omission of the “Mister,” but said nothing. “OK. So what can you tell me?”
Matthew sat, staring at his lap. Finally, he began. “When I was bicycling home from school on Monday, I was ambushed by Sinclair. He swore at me and accused me of telling the police. When I said I hadn’t, he called me a liar and threatened to beat me up right then. He told me he had been arrested and said that if he went to jail he would do terrible things to me when he got out. I was so scared I couldn’t even ride my bike the rest of the way home; I had to walk.”
Mr. Johnson thought for several moments before saying quietly, “Matthew, I need your permission to tell the police that Mr. Sinclair threatened you twice.”
Matthew paled. “But then he’ll come after me again and I’m terrified of him.”
“No, Matthew, we need to get him off the streets. If I tell the police they can get his bail revoked. That’ll put him back in jail. Then you’ll be safe. If I don’t tell them, you’ll be in danger until the trial.”
“If I’d known you wanted to tell the police, I wouldn’t have told you about it.”
“But I’m glad you did. We need to keep you safe. However, again, I can’t tell them without you’re permission. May I have it?”
The boy sighed heavily and finally nodded. Then he asked, “Mr. Johnson, you said that Sinclair was sick, and you used a word I don’t know. What does it mean?”
“The word was ‘pedophile’,” Mr. Johnson answered. “It means somebody who has sex with children. That’s different from being ‘gay’. Do you know that word?” Matthew nodded. “OK, gays want to have sex with men about their own age, not with kids. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded.
“Good. And Matthew, I want you to remember to tell the prosecutor about Mr. Sinclair’s threats when he interviews you. What Mr. Sinclair did is called ‘intimidating a witness,’ and he could get even more jail time for that.”
“What’s a prosecutor?”
“It’s a lawyer who presents the evidence against the accused.”
“Why would the prosecutor interview me?” asked Matthew.
“He has to hear your story so that he’ll know how to proceed in court.”
“I don’t want to talk to him. Why can’t you tell him?”
“I’ll be there if you want, but you will need to do the talking, because when you get into court, it’s you who’s going to have to tell the story.”
“But why can’t you just tell it in court? I don’t even want to be there.”
“Do you know what hearsay evidence is, Matthew?” Matthew shook his head. Mr. Johnson thought a moment, then asked, “Do you know the little rhyme:
Little Willy full of hell
Pushed his sister down the well?”
Matthew nodded and added,
“Said his mother while drawing water,
‘My it’s hard to raise a daughter’.”
He snickered a little before Mr. Johnson continued. “Well, if you saw Willy shove his sister, you could testify about that in court, but if you heard somebody else say that Willy had shoved his sister, then you couldn’t testify, because you had only heard it; you hadn’t seen it. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so,” Matthew replied, reluctantly. “So you’re saying I have to tell the court because it happened to me and nobody else saw it?”
“Exactly. It won’t be a big court with a jury and a lot of spectators. Mr. Sinclair has waved his right to a jury trial, so there will be a judge, the prosecutor, Mr. Sinclair, a couple of lawyers for Mr. Sinclair, your parents, your friends Billy and Stephan, maybe their parents, and me.”
When the psychologist said that Mr. Sinclair would be there, Matthew paled visibly. “”HE’S going to be there staring at me?”
“He has to be, because he has a legal right to face his accusers, but he can’t do anything at all to you. There’ll be a couple of police officers there as well to be sure that he behaves.”
Matthew thought for a long time before asking, “What would happen if I refused to talk?”
“If you did that, I don’t know whether the testimony from your friends would be strong enough to convict him or not. If he wasn’t convicted, he’d go free.”
“But then he wouldn’t go to jail so he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Matthew, this is very important, and I want you to think hard about this. If you don’t follow through with this and he goes free, then he’ll be able to do to other boys the same things he did to you, maybe even worse. Remember, he’s sick, Matthew, and he won’t stop just because he might get caught. You’re the one who can prevent him from hurting other boys the way he hurt you. I know that’s a huge responsibility, but unfortunately, that’s the way it is.”
“SHIT!...Oh, Sorry Mr. Johnson, it just came out.”
“That’s OK, Matthew, you have every right to be very angry. The question is, are you going to do what has to be done?”
“I feel like I’m trapped. I don’t have any choice, do I? I can’t let him hurt other kids can I? You’re sure you’ll be there?”
“I’m positive.”
“Well...then I guess I have to.”
“Good.”
“But before I go, I want to show you something.” Matthew handed his pictures to Mr. Johnson, who unrolled them, spreading them out on his desk.
“These are extraordinary, Matthew. First of all, you’re a very talented artist. Second, they show so vividly how you must be feeling. Tell me, did anybody suggest you do them, or did you just decide to do them on your own?”
“Really, they just sort of happened. I don’t remember even consciously thinking about what I was doing in the beginning. I did the first one before I met you and the second one afterwards.” Pointing to the man with the shield and the sword, he continued, “Stephan asked me if that was you, and I suppose it is, although I don’t remember thinking so at the time. This third one I did after Stephan visited me on Saturday. He told me he wanted to be my friend. I don’t have any, you know, and I’m pretty sure that’s him in the picture.”
The psychologist noted the blood on the victim’s groin in the pictures as well as the knife and the blood. “What can you tell me about the knife and the blood?”
“Nothing!”
“Do they have to do with Mr. Sinclair’s threat?” Matthew nodded hesitantly. “I won’t press you to talk about it now, but, for your own sake, at some point you need to.” Then he thanked Matthew for sharing the pictures with him. Matthew rerolled the pictures, putting elastics around them before going into the outer office to meet his mother.
The next morning, fearing that Mr. Sinclair might still be lurking about, Matthew asked his mother to drive him to Stephan’s house. She looked quizzically at him for a moment, but nodded and took him.
Matthew had never been in Stephan’s house. Stephan introduced him to his mother and then took him up to his bedroom. When he went in, Matthew was astonished. The room was painted a light blue with white, fluffy clouds. Even the ceiling was painted that way, and the blue of the carpet as well as the bedspread matched the walls. But what amazed Matthew were the seemingly dozens of model airplanes suspended from the ceiling. They ranged from an open cockpit biplane to the most modern jet fighter. There were English planes, American planes, German planes, Japanese planes, and Russian planes.
“Did you make all these?” he asked in awe.
“Yes,” answered Stephen. “My dad helped me with the first couple but from then on I was on my own. Come over to my worktable.”
Standing at the table, Matthew observed the scattered pieces of balsa wood, small knives, glue, decals, wheels, propellers, and everything imaginable to make the planes. There was a model in progress. “What’s this one going to be?”
“It’s a MIG fighter.” Gazing up, Stephen added, “I think I’m running out of room to hang them.”
“They’re amazing,” said Matthew.
“Thanks. Someday I hope to be a pilot. But I see you brought your pictures with you. Can I look at them again?”
“Sure. I’ve added a third one.” Matthew unrolled them and laid them out on the bed.
Stephen examined them all closely. “You’ve added another person. Who is it?”
“I think it’s you,” said Matthew, quietly. “I told you that you’ve been helping me.”
“I really didn’t realize that was true until now,” said Stephan, thoughtfully. After Matthew rolled up the pictures, they sat side by side on the bed and Stephen asked, “So what happens now?” Matthew told him about not wanting to go to court and Mr. Johnson telling him why he had to. Then he told him about having to talk with the prosecutor.
“I’ve already met with the prosecutor. I think you’ll like her.”
“Oh, God, is it a woman? I don’t think I can talk about all this in front of a woman.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but eventually I found I was able to. After all, when you think about it, adults know all about dicks and balls and jerking off and things like that.”
“So you jerk off?”
“Of course. All boys our age do.”
“Oh…I’ve never talked about it with anybody, but I need to tell you something which I can’t say to anybody else.” Stephan looked at him questioningly, encouraging him to go on. “Ever since Black Weekend, Stephan, I haven’t been able to jerk off. I can’t even get a boner. I’m afraid maybe I’ve lost it forever.”
Stephan looked at him sympathetically for a long time before saying softly, “Shit. You really are being tortured aren’t you? Of course, I’m no doctor, but I would bet my life that eventually you’ll get it all back. You haven’t told your psychologist about this?” Matthew shook his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just so private. I suppose you’re right that the adults do know all that stuff, but I just can’t talk about it with anybody but you.”
Stephan laid his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. Matthew began to pull away, but stopped and allowed the hand to remain. “I think you need to tell him, Matthew. It’s not going to shock him that you jerk off. He knows, but he doesn’t know that right now you can’t. That may be important information for him.”
“Well, maybe I’ll try.”
“Matthew, you mentioned once in school that you’d be fourteen soon. When’s your birthday?”
“It’s on Halloween!”
“Halloween?” Matthew nodded. “Wow, when you were born, what costume were you wearing?”
Both boys laughed, but before they could continue, Matthew’s mother arrived to take him home. That night in bed, Matthew tried and tried to get an erection. He fondled his penis and fantasized about his new friend naked in bed with him, but nothing happened. Realizing he was failing, he wept silently. Finally, exhausted, he gave up, pulled up his pajama bottoms and rolled over. Eventually he slept, but once again it was a troubled sleep, accompanied by terrifying dreams of monsters, knives, and blood.