The next few days passed quietly for Matthew. He was beginning to do a little better in school, and he enjoyed having lunch with Stephan every day. His nights, however, were still torturous. His next appointment with Mr. Johnson was on Wednesday.
Sitting together in his office, Mr. Johnson asked the boy how things were going. “A little better, I guess. There are moments in school where I can forget what happened and just be a kid again, but there are still times when I feel very sad and anxious. And there are still some things I can’t really do.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I can’t ride my bike without being afraid that Sinclair will pop out of the bushes.”
“Matthew, he’s in jail.”
“I know that, but he was once before and then he wasn’t. How do I know they won’t let him out again?”
“Because he threatened you again and the court revoked his bail. He can’t hurt you now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“OK...Then there’s the nights. I still can’t sleep very well and I wake up a lot.”
“That should get better as time goes on. If not, we’ll get somebody to prescribe a mild sleep aid for you.”
Matthew thought a moment then said, “And there’s my art work. Anything I try to do turns out black and ugly. It’s no fun. I used to enjoy drawing and painting.”
“That’s too bad. I know from the pictures you showed me that art is a powerful form of expression for you, and I truly hope the joy you felt in your art before will return soon. Anything else?”
Matthew thought about mentioning masturbating, but then shook his head.
“All right, I’m going to ask you a personal question, Matthew, but you’ve been brave and honest with me so maybe we can talk about this. I assume from the way your body reacted to Mr. Sinclair that you masturbate. Is that right?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you and your friends probably call it ‘jerking off’.”
Matthew grew bright red and stared at the floor, wondering if Mr. Johnson could read his mind. “Finally he said, very quietly, “I used to.”
“Did you stop after your encounter with Mr. Sinclair?”
Again there was a pause, before the boy finally said, “Yes. I can’t do it any more...”
“...And you miss it, of course.”
Matthew nodded. “Somehow after Black Weekend — that’s what I call that weekend — I just couldn’t do it.”
“So you don’t get an erection?” Matthew looked at him questioningly. “A boner?” The boy shook his head. “Well I’m not at all surprised that something which I assume you had been doing and enjoying suddenly became repulsive to you.”
“That’s just what it was, but I couldn’t think of words for it. Part of me really wanted to do it, but another part of me thought it was repulsive and disgusting. Stephan told me I should talk about it with you, but I just couldn’t do it.”
Nodding his head, Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, it’s neither repulsive nor disgusting. It’s something all boys your age as well as older do and enjoy. Of course, if you did it on the corner of Main Street, that would be different, but in the privacy of your room, it’s OK, and I hope you can get past these feelings and begin to enjoy it again. Keep me informed, OK?”
Matthew smiled a little and nodded.
“Now, we have to make a couple of decisions. First we have to decide when you’re going to tell your parents what happened. It’s not fair to keep them in the dark, and we don’t want them hearing it for the first time in the courtroom.”
“I really don’t want to talk with them about it. I don’t suppose you could tell them?”
“No, Matthew, this is something you need to do. You need to trust your parents and their love for you enough to tell them what happened. I can tell you that the police have told your parents that you were abused, but they gave no details and I don’t know whether your friends gave the police any details.”
“My parents know already?”
“Just that you were abused that weekend.”
“But why didn’t they say anything?”
“Because they wanted to give you time to think and get ready to tell them just what happened. I think that time has come. They’re not going to be surprised or unhappy with you. They love you. In addition, it’ll be good practice for you for when you get into court. Do you think you might be able to tell your parents with my help?”
“You’ll be there when I tell them?”
“Certainly.”
“Do you think they’ll be mad at me?” he asked, looking down.
“Absolutely not. In the first place you haven’t done anything wrong. In the second place, I know from talking with your mother that their love for you is unconditional. They will never be mad at you or stop loving you.”
Matthew did not respond for several moments. Then he gave a big sigh. “OK, then” he agreed reluctantly, “if you’ll be there I’ll give it a try.”
Then we’ll set up an appointment today and we can all meet here. We also need to set up an appointment for you to talk with the prosecutor after that, and, yes, I’ll be there too.”
Matthew sighed again. “I guess if I have to do it, we might as well get it over with.”
In the outer office Mr. Johnson made an appointment with Mrs. Long to meet together with Matthew and his father.
That night, Matthew once again tried to work on painting, but again he was totally dissatisfied with the result and destroyed what he had done.
On Saturday, he biked to Stephan’s house, still looking around to be sure that Sinclair was not around. In Stephan’s bedroom, Matthew again admired the models on the ceiling.
“Stephan, could you teach me to make models like that? I think they’re great.”
“Sure, but you have to give me art lessons in return. I’m a dismal failure in art classes. Everybody snickers at my attempts. You wouldn’t do that would you?”
“Of course not! Did you know that I throw away a lot of what I paint or draw? I try something out and, if I don’t like it, I destroy it. That’s how you learn.” So before Matthew left, they agreed to start lessons soon.
All through the following nights, Matthew fretted about talking to his parents. He knew it was something he should do and he had to do, but if he could have found any way around telling them, he would have. Their appointment was set for Wednesday, so Tuesday night, knowing that the next day he was going to have to tell them, he slept very little.
In the morning, weary but resigned, Matthew went with his parents to meet with Mr. Johnson, taking his pictures with him. When they were all sitting in the office, Mr. Johnson began by saying, “Matthew, your parents and I know you’re very reluctant to tell them what happened, but remember that you did absolutely nothing wrong and your parents won’t be unhappy with you.”
“That’s right,” put in Matthew’s father. “We already know that you were abused, and we want you to know that we’ll love you just as much after you tell us as before. You can say anything you want to and you can use any words you want to.”
Matthew sighed and said, “Thanks.” It seemed as though several minutes passed before he began to speak, while the adults gave him the time to organize his thoughts. He knew he was so nervous that the only way he could get through it would be to tell the whole story at once, not thinking of what he was saying, just spilling it out as unemotionally as he could. Gazing at the floor he began, the story pouring out of him without a pause. He told them about the first night and the masturbating. He told them about wearing his clothes to bed the second night and how the man removed them, even after Matthew had protested. He told about being sucked and being ordered to suck the man. He told how he tried to scream but couldn’t, and how he tried to refuse the man but the man threatened him, so, in the end, he did what he was told. He told how he spent the rest of the night outside and how the man had intercepted him on his way home from school, threatening him again. Finishing, Matthew finally dared to look up at his parents, who were both in tears.
“Oh, Matthew,” his mother said, “I know that was terribly difficult for you but thank you for confiding in us.” Of course, both his parents were extremely angry at Mr. Sinclair, his father saying that he would like to kill the man and his mother expressing the hope that he would go to jail for the rest of his life.
When Matthew’s mother started to put her arms around him he pulled back. “Please,” he said. “I know you mean well, but right now I don’t want to be touched.” She was surprised but sat back in her chair.
Matthew told them that his friendship with Stephan was helping him some, and then he showed his parents the pictures.
Looking at them, his father said, “Goodness, these are graphic. Is that you lying on the ground?”
Matthew told them how the pictures had “just sort of happened,” but that he thought that was him, the man was Mr. Johnson, and the boy was Stephen. “Of course,” he added, “the monster is Sinclair.”
They wanted to know how Mr. Sinclair had threatened him, commenting on the knife and the blood, but again he said he couldn’t talk about it. Seeing how distressed he was, they didn’t pursue it.
When they were finished, Matthew asked if he could talk with Mr. Johnson alone for a few minutes. His parents agreed, and went into the waiting room.
“What’s up, Matthew?” inquired Mr. Johnson.
“Did I do OK?”
“You did an excellent job. Couldn’t have been better. Are you relieved?”
“Yes, but I still feel rotten. I can’t even let my parents touch me. And you know I can’t jerk off. Do you…do you think I’ll ever be normal again?” Tears ran from Matthew’s eyes.
“I’m not sure ‘normal’ is the right word. You’ve been terribly wounded, and like physical wounds, your wounds will eventually form scars. They’ll always be there, but I believe that with time and help you’ll be able to put them behind you and get back to your life pretty much as it was. As I say, that’ll take time, and you’ll need therapy for awhile, even after the trial.”
“With you?”
“Unfortunately, after the trial, the CPS considers my work done. I can, however, suggest somebody to your parents who will be very good with you. Should I tell them that today?” Matthew agreed and they went into the waiting room where Mr. Johnson talked about ongoing therapy for Matthew and suggested a friend whom he thought could help.
His father, asked, “I’m sure Matthew will need it, but how much will it cost?”
“I have some good news for you on that point,” answered the psychologist. “I have been contacted by a man who is an executive in the state division of The Boy Scouts of America. He is furious about what happened, and being a rather wealthy man he offered to pay for any therapy Matthew needs.”
“My,” said Matthew’s mother. “That’s very generous. How do we contact him?”
“He doesn’t want his name known,” continued Mr. Johnson. “When you have things set up, I’ll call him and give him the name and number of the therapist. He’ll make arrangements for the payments directly.”
“So how do I thank him?” asked Matthew.
“He told me there are two ways. First, by seeing to it that Mr. Sinclair ends up in jail, and second, by getting better. That’s all the thanks he wants.”
Later in the week, Matthew and Mr. Johnson met with the prosecutor in Mr. Johnson’s office, while Mrs. Long waited in the outer office. The prosecutor was indeed a woman, but somebody Matthew felt fairly comfortable with. As he had done when talking with his parents, he told the prosecutor about everything except the threat. Then he showed her his pictures. She asked him about the threat and the knife, but he replied that he simply couldn’t talk about it. Nodding, she said, “That’s fine Matthew but you may well have to talk about it more in court. However, you have told me and Mr. Johnson that after he was arrested Mr. Sinclair threatened to hurt you. You were right to tell Mr. Johnson about that and to give him permission to talk to the police so the danger to you could be removed. It was a good and wise thing to do.” Matthew nodded. “Good. I would also like to ask you to bring your pictures to the trial. Will you do that?”
Again Matthew nodded.
After she thanked him and left, Mr. Johnson again told the boy and his mother that Matthew had been brave and he should be proud of himself.
In his bedroom that afternoon, Matthew took out a canvas and some oil paints and began to sketch out a new painting. He still hadn’t decided what to do with the ones of the monster, but he knew he had to keep them at least until after the trial. After dinner, he continued to work. The painting was very dark, using almost entirely black, indigo, and shades of grey. He worked more on it over the weekend and after school the first part of the week, finishing it on Wednesday.
On Thursday, Stephan arrived at Matthew’s home after school and the two boys went to the bedroom, where Stephan spied the painting on the easel, walked to it, and examined it closely. At first it looked to him like nothing more than nondescript black, dark blue and gray blobs, although there was a small ivory crescent moon near the top of the painting and another below the middle. Upon closer inspection he began to make out shapes and understood that the moon was giving barely enough light to bring out the rest of the picture. Beneath the moon and against the indigo and grey sky were black rolling hills. He realized that, at the base of the hills was water, perhaps a lake, and reflected in the water was the moon. In the foreground, there appeared to be dark land, but the most striking features were the sinuous, contorted, naked trees silhouetted against the sky, sinister and malignant.
“Good God, Matthew, this is another really scary picture! If I didn’t know better, I’d think scary was all you did. Do you know this place?”
“Yes,” Matthew replied, “but I’ve never seen it like this. It’s near where we lived in Vermont.”
“If you’ve never seen it like this, why did you paint it like this?”
“I don’t know. It’s the way I felt, I suppose. Most nights I’m still having terrible dreams, you know. Not usually of Sinclair, just threatening, frightening dreams and I wake up sweating and trembling. At first I didn’t tell my parents about them, but Mom figured out something was wrong because I was changing my pajamas and sheets so often.”
“Geez. Did you tell Mr. Johnson about them?”
“Not yet.”
They talked some about art and models before Stephan had to leave. As he stood to go he asked, “Matthew, can I give you a little hug?” Matthew thought and then nodded. When Stephan hugged him gently he could feel him quivering a little. He held on gently until the shaking stopped. Then he gave Matthew another little hug and they both smiled as he left.
Although Matthew’s birthday was on Halloween, which was Saturday, he told his parents that he would rather celebrate on Sunday so there would be no interruptions. Saturday evening he spent two hours answering the doorbell and giving out candy to little witches, ghosts, princesses, fairies, and devils.
Finally, thinking he was finished for the night, he was on his way upstairs when the doorbell rang again. He opened the door to see a teen-sized ghost before him, standing silently. Matthew stood, puzzled as to who it could be. At last the ghost asked, “Do you want a trick or a treat?”
The voice was immediately recognizable. Matthew burst out, “Stephan, you idiot!”
Removing his mask, Stephan asked ruefully, “Didn’t I fool you even a little?”
“Well, you did until you spoke. I’d know your voice anywhere.”
Stephan held out a small package. “I just wanted to give you a little birthday gift. Don’t tell me I didn’t need to because I know that, but I wanted to give you something that I treasure.”
Inviting Stephan into the living room where his parents were sitting, Matthew sat and began to unwrap the package. Tearing the birthday paper away he found a plain brown box which he opened, gently pulling back the tissue paper to reveal a model of an open cockpit biplane. “My gosh, Stephan, I love it, but you couldn’t have made it just in the last few days.”
“I didn’t. It’s the one from my ceiling. It’s my favorite, and I wanted you to have it from me.”
Matthew’s mother said, “Stephan, that’s very kind of you.” Growing a little pink, Stephan smiled shyly at her.
“But won’t you miss it?” Matthew asked.
“Sure. But every time I see the place on my ceiling where it hung, I’ll think of you. Can we hang it in your room?” Matthew nodded and they went upstairs. Matthew got some fish line and a small hook, and Stephan showed him how to hang it right over his pillow where he would see it every morning and evening.
“Thank you, Stephan, this was my favorite too and I love it.”
Stephan reached up and put his arm around Matthew’s shoulder, giving him a little hug. Matthew started to pull away but then relaxed. Looking at Stephan he asked, “Do you think I’ll ever get back to normal?”
“I’m sure you will. It probably just takes time.” With that, he gave Matthew another little squeeze, and for the first time, Matthew hugged him in return. Again they smiled and Stephan departed.
Matthew’s birthday passed quietly with the mandatory gifts, cake, and ice cream. He thanked his parents for the new art supplies and a lovely cardigan sweater which set off his blue-green eyes.