Todd stayed at school when classes were over that day. He and Mr. McCluskey talked; they talked for a very long time. Then, Mr. McCluskey drove him home.
When they got there it was dark, and the air was very cold. Todd’s father was just getting home himself. He got out of his Mercedes and watched as Todd and Mr. McCluskey pulled into the driveway. He strode over to their car, to the side where Todd was sitting.
“Who’s this?” he asked Todd through the window, his breath fogging the cold glass. Without waiting for an answer, he walked around to the other side of the car and waited for Mr. McCluskey to roll down his window. Instead of doing that, Mr. McCluskey got out of the car, making the man jump back as the the door was swung open wide. Mr. McCluskey stood and faced the man.
“Are you Todd’s father?”
“Yes, I am Mr. Mortensen. Who are you, and why do you have my son in your car?” Standing as tall as he could, he was still at least three inches shorter than Mr. McCluskey.
“My name is Ian McCluskey. I spoke to you on the phone the other day. I need to talk to you. It would be better to do it inside the house.”
“No. I have nothing to say to you. Please leave. Todd, come with me.”
Todd stood on the other side of the car, watching, and didn’t respond. Mr. McCluskey did. His tone was stony. “We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about. I’ll tell you right now, you’re in trouble. Serious trouble. I’m willing to try to help you, but there are limits to my patience.”
“Help me? Me?” His face slowly began to redden. “What in the world are you talking about? Do you have any idea who I am?”
Mr. McCluskey ignored the outburst and the anger. Instead, his voice still hard and cold, he said, “Would you like to go inside and discuss this, or would you rather I call the police and we talk downtown?”
Mr. Mortensen started to open his mouth, then closed it. Mr. McCluskey was using the tone of voice he usually used with recalcitrant students, a practiced bellicose tone he had developed that stopped even the most rebellious ones in their tracks, and it had the same effect on Mr. Mortensen. Mr. McCluskey had moved closer so he was physically looming over the smaller man. Mr. Mortensen stepped back, almost involuntarily, then turned on his heel and walked to the front door. Mr. McCluskey waved Todd to follow, and they both went to the door and were there by the time Mr. Mortensen had it unlocked.
Mr. Mortensen stepped into the house, disabled the security alarm and turned to face Mr. McCluskey, determined to re–establish his control. “Now, what is all this? We will not involve the neighbors in whatever it is, but you’d better explain yourself fast. You’re damned right we’ll call the police. I’ll call them. Well, speak up!” He was standing in the house, four inches above Mr. McCluskey who was still outside on the narrow stoop.
Todd was partially hidden behind Mr. McCluskey. His entire history with his father had led him to seek protection whenever he was in his presence. At that moment, he felt very comfortable being able to shield himself behind Mr. McCluskey.
Mr. McCluskey appeared not to even notice Mr. Mortensen’s aggressive attempt at bravado. He didn’t answer, but stepped into the house and pushed past Mr. Mortensen, walking farther into the entryway. Todd walked along with him. “Where can we talk?” he asked the boy, ignoring the man.
“My father’s den would be best.”
“Lead the way then.” He turned to Mr. Mortensen and spoke sharply. “Follow us.”
Todd did lead the way. In the den, Mr. McCluskey sat down on one of two armchairs, and pointed to Todd to take the other. That left the desk chair or the couch for Mr. Mortensen. Rather than sitting, he stood in front of Mr. McCluskey and said, “You didn’t answer me at the door, and now you’re presumptuous enough to come into my study and just sit down?”
Mr. McCluskey grimaced. “This would be so much easier if you’d stop your power trip, stop trying to show me how tough and powerful you are, and that you’re in control here. You’re not in control here, you’re not tough, and you’re not talking to a scared 14–year–old boy who’s completely under your thumb.”
He stopped and crossed his legs. It was obvious he was completely comfortable in that room, speaking to Mr. Mortensen. He looked the man in the eye, not speaking for a moment, just staring. Finally, he said, his voice still brittle and not a bit friendly, “I’m here to help you, believe it or not. I’m here to help you because that’s in the best interests of your son, whom I care about. You quite obviously don’t. Without his involvement, this would be a very different conversation with a very different outcome, and there would be a police officer here with me.”
Mr. McCluskey stopped and took a moment to give Todd a reassuring glance. Seeing the boy was all right, he turned back to Mr. Mortensen who had remained standing. “We’re going to talk, and you’re going to agree to a number of things, and your blustering around is only going to make me madder in the end. I’m already disgusted with you. Making me even more angry won’t help you at all. Now I’d suggest you sit down and shut up, and listen to what we’re going to do here.”
When Mr. Mortensen didn’t move, Mr. McCluskey said, “You have an option, of course. There’s your phone. You’re perfectly free to pick it up and call the police. Go right ahead. If at any time during this conversation you feel like calling them, I won’t stop you.”
He paused and just stared at the man. Mr. Mortensen glared back at him, then walked the three steps it took him to reach his desk where his phone was located. The desk was against one wall of the room. He sat down in his desk chair, then swiveled it so he was facing Mr. McCluskey.
Mr. McCluskey continued to stare at him for a few moments longer. Then he said, “All right, we’ve established you have no desire to call the police until you’ve heard what I have to say. That being the case, please don’t spend a lot of time interrupting. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say at this point. Nothing.”
He then stood up, took his wallet out of his pocket, then sat back down. Opening the wallet, he said, “You might want to look at this.” He handed Mr. Mortensen the wallet, opened to reveal his license as a social worker.
“That tells you I’m a licensed social worker. I no longer work for them, for which you can be eternally grateful, for if I did, I wouldn’t have any choice other than to have you arrested, and your case would become part of the public record, open to anyone wanting to see it. It would be in the newspapers, and everyone in town would soon know everything about it.
“I don’t and never did work for the Child Protective Services division, but I was a liaison between my department and them. I know people there I can call who would be here in minutes. Think about that.”
He paused. Mr. Mortensen looked blank–eyed and hostile but said nothing.
Mr. McCluskey continued. “Todd tells me you report to a board of directors. I took the trouble to look on the Internet, where it’s easy to find the names of people serving on the boards of directors of public companies. As this company is headquartered here, it isn’t surprising that many of the directors live here. Nor is it surprising that I know some of them, both personally and by reputation.”
He paused. His gaze was so intense and his words so disturbing that Mr. Mortensen lowered his eyes. Mr. McCluskey noted that and took a deep breath before continuing.
“I can see why Todd told me you were so reluctant to have anything involving his being gay become known in the community. Two of your directors have very vocally denounced gays. They’re two of the most homophobic men I’ve ever met. Yes, I have met them. If they knew Todd was gay, they’d probably take steps to have you removed from your position. They would assume Todd comes from a degenerate family and his father is unable to control him, or perhaps that you condone his homosexuality. They would view you as not fit to represent the company, and they would dismiss you.
“So I can see the basis of your recent actions involving your son. But understanding the motivation behind it and accepting it are two completely different things. What you’ve done to him is immoral, cruel and, fortunately for me, illegal.”
Mr. Mortensen spoke up sharply in response to that. “I’ve done nothing illegal!”
“Oh, yes, you certainly have, and I asked you not to interrupt. You don’t need to try to defend yourself to me. The only ones you’ll have to do that with are the CPS legal staff and the police, if that’s what this comes to. So I’ll advise you again to keep your mouth shut.”
Mr. McCluskey stopped and looked over at Todd. The boy was clearly upset. Mr. McCluskey smiled at him, then turned back to his father.
“Okay, let’s talk about your incredible behavior. You’ve made a prisoner of your son in this house. He’s only allowed out with your permission, and only to go to school, then has to be home immediately afterwards. He isn’t allowed friends, he isn’t allowed to make his own decisions about even the most basic things, he isn’t allowed to make phone calls, and in fact, he’s basically a prisoner. That might not constitute illegality, although the court would have to decide that, and you don’t want your affairs ever to get a court hearing, do you? But, even if it isn’t illegal, it certainly shows a psychotic need for control on your part, the result of which is your son is being treated abusively. Not being able to have friends, not being able to talk on a phone, not being able to leave the house except for school, not being able to decide anything for himself, not being allowed any of the basic things other teenagers enjoy, all adds up to abuse. He’s not allowed freedom of movement, freedom of choice, freedom to make even the most mundane decisions.
“As I said, you’re in trouble.”
He stopped for a moment. A quick glance at Todd, and then he was speaking again.
“But that isn’t all you’re in trouble for. What is even worse is, you hired a pedophile to watch over your son. This man made remarks and took physical actions that constitute sexual abuse, and this was done under your aegis. That, of course, as you are well aware, is illegal. You may claim you were unaware of this, but you had the legal responsibility to provide for the safety of your son. You failed in that responsibility, and that responsibility is a binding one. If you say you were unaware of what was happening under your roof, then instead of being guilty of irresponsibility, you are guilty of negligence. In either case, you are in fact guilty, of one or both. You had a legal responsibility to protect and nurture your child, and you failed.”
Mr. McCluskey’s voice was quivering, his emotions clear. “Again, this is a matter that will be heard in a public hearing. Because of the nature of it, and your position as head of a large and prestigious company headquartered in this city, it will of course be a very public hearing with lots of coverage by the press. Everything you’ve done to this boy will become known. You’ll be reviled in the community. It will be a scandal.”
He paused to let that sink in, then went on. “They’ll enjoy writing about how you extorted the boy. You guaranteed his cooperation with your draconian rules by the use of threats. You threatened him over and over again with being shipped off to a military school that would very likely have permanently damaged him, or, God forbid, done even worse. That’s mental cruelty, mental abuse, and the court will decide if it amounts to criminal extortion by use of threat.
“Possibly the worst thing you did won’t be used in court against you, but it’s what has me wanting to do you physical harm. You robbed this boy of both his childhood and his self–esteem. His confidence. Confidence is one of the most important things you can give to a child so he can grow strong and be successful and happy, so he can interact effectively with society. You not only didn’t help him build a strong sense of self–esteem, you took away any that he had. If he ever tried to stand up against your injustice, your almost diabolical unfairness, you called it insolence and punished him for it. You criticized and derided whatever he did, whatever he tried to do, and by doing that, you destroyed his self–esteem. That is child abuse, and any court in the country will find you guilty for it. I myself would like to see you publicly horsewhipped.”
Mr. McCluskey’s face had been getting redder, his voice louder as he worked through the litany of Mr. Mortensen’s offenses. Now, he was trembling with rage. He stood up, and Mr. Mortensen instinctively moved back, shoving his chair against the desk behind him.
Standing, looking down at the man, Mr. McCluskey said, “And you did all this so you could protect your job. Your fucking job! A job that probably wouldn’t even have been threatened by disclosure of your son’s situation, as at 14 it’s far from certain whether he’ll turn out to be gay. Your son only did what thousands, no, millions of other boys do. He merely experimented with another boy his age. It’s you who decided he is gay, and that he would be an embarrassment to you. Or maybe it’s even worse. Maybe you wanted someone at home to be as under your thumb as your employees at work are, and this gave you a perfect excuse. Maybe you just enjoy having ultimate control over people.”
“No, it was something else.”
Mr. McCluskey turned. Todd had unexpectedly spoken. Now, he also was standing, also looking down at his seated father. The expression on his face was something Mr. McCluskey had never seen before. He didn’t look anything like the scared little boy whose fear could be seen so easily by the world. There was an inner strength in him now, a resolve that he had never seen there before.
Todd looked up at Mr. McCluskey. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. It confused and embarrassed me before, but I understand it now. When I burst into his den that night, when I was running away from Mr. Thomas, my father was watching TV. He turned it off immediately, but I saw what it was. He was watching gay porn. It all makes sense now. While he was frightened about people learning I was gay, it wasn’t about my sexuality being exposed as much as it was about his own. Those company directors may realize genetics play a role in sexual orientation, or they may reject that, but even if they do, others won’t, and they’ll talk about it. About why he never remarried. Maybe even about why my mother left him. About why he hired a male housekeeper. And about my being gay. It will be talked about, and he doesn’t want anyone talking about him. Those who do talk will probably suggest that he is, in fact, gay himself; that he has been trying to hide me away to protect himself.”
Mr. Mortensen’s face went slack, either from shock or defeat, Mr. McCluskey wasn’t sure. He looked down at the slumped shoulders and bowed head for a moment, then slowly returned to his chair and sat back down. Todd did, too. There was silence in the room until Mr. McCluskey cleared his throat.
“Okay. Now I understand your fear. It in no way absolves you for your behavior toward your son. What we have to figure out now is where we go from here. And that’s pretty easy, because I’ve already decided that.
“Again, you have the choice to disagree with anything I say here. You simply have to understand that if you do, I will then go to CPS and they’ll open a case file on you. They know me, they trust me, and if I tell them about you, they will act. But I know now you don’t want that. If you think it would look bad to have a gay son, that would be nothing compared to the board of directors finding out you yourself are gay, and what you’ve put your son through trying to hide that fact.
“So, now let’s talk about what happens next. Things are going to be different around here. From this moment on everything pertaining to Todd will change. First, all rules applying to Todd are hereby eliminated. Kaput. In fact, you will no longer even tell him what or what not to do. About anything. That is unconditional. Agreed?”
He stopped and waited for Mr. Mortensen to speak. The man didn’t say a word. After waiting for a full minute, Mr. McCluskey stood up and strode to the desk. “I’m going to use your phone.” He reached for the instrument, and Mr. Mortensen said, “Agreed.” His voice was high and scratchy. All attempts at showing his superiority, all attempts at intimidation, were gone.
“Second, there is going to be a new live–in housekeeper to do the cooking and cleaning and shopping and such. I will supply Todd with a list of candidates who’ll have excellent references vetted by an employment agency, he’ll interview them, he’ll hire the person he likes, and then I’ll check her references myself. You’ll have no input in the selection process at all. What you’ll do is make the person welcome and provide the salary. Agreed?”
The answer was quicker this time. “Agreed.”
“Third. Todd will live the normal life of a teenager, other than he probably won’t receive any parental love. I can’t make you give him that, and in fact I don’t really think you’re capable of it. No one who did what you did would be capable of loving his son. He’ll make friends. He’ll go to their houses, they’ll come to his house. If he wants sleepovers, he’ll have them. If he wants to invite a bunch of kids over, he will. He’ll have unlimited and unsupervised access to his computer, and your network connection with it will be terminated. You will not interfere with any of that, or anything Todd decides to do. He won’t ask your permission, unless for some reason he wants to. You will not enter his bedroom without his permission, nor will you enter it when he’s not at home. His room is his room, his sanctuary. Off limits to anyone else.
“If he feels like it, he’ll be polite to you and tell you his plans, he’ll talk to you, he’ll act like a son. That’s up to him.
“If you have a problem with anything involving him, you will not discuss it with him. You will call me and we will discuss it. If I agree with you, I’ll talk to Todd. As you’ve already agreed you won’t be giving him any orders, also you will not approve or disapprove of anything he does. You gave up that right by abusing it. Agreed? To everything I’ve said?”
“Agreed.” Mr. Mortensen never raised his eyes.
“Fourth. Todd will get an allowance. $100 a week. To make sure this happens, you will write a check to me for $5,200, one year’s allowance. I’ll cash it and give him the money weekly. His age disqualifies him for his own unsupported bank account. It is better for you to do it this way because you don’t have to suffer what for you would probably be the indignity of handing him the money weekly. That will be the first year’s allowance. He can use the money as he likes. Of course you will still be responsible for the expenses a father normally handles, like clothing and electronics for his room and such. He’ll want his own cell phone and a private Internet connection of his own. And any other things that are reasonable for a 14–year–old boy to have. When he gets his driver’s license in a couple of years, you’ll buy him a car. We’ll discuss how much you will spend at that time. When it comes time for college, you’ll pay for his choice. You can easily afford it, and it’s a father’s responsibility. Agreed?”
Mr. Mortensen opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked over at Todd briefly, then said, “Agreed.”
“That about covers it. If I hear complaints from him about noncompliance on your part, we’ll just scratch the deal and start legal proceedings. Everything you’ve done to your son, they way you’ve treated him, what you threatened him with, your choice of housekeepers and what you would have allowed him to do had not Todd been brave and smart enough to stop it, will then be made public. It’s the stuff newspapers will print stories about for weeks. You’ll undoubtedly be fired and possibly go to jail, certainly be heavily fined, and Todd will find somewhere else to live. We’ll get the courts to provide him with all reasonable living expenses from your assets. He can probably make friends and live with one of them as he can afford to pay a lot of subsistence money as an inducement.”
He paused and glared at Mr. Mortensen before continuing, letting his words sink in. “You are to be civil to Todd at all times. You’ll both be living here, together or separately, however Todd wants it. If he doesn’t want anything to do with you because you can’t behave, that’s Todd’s choice.
“He can live here as a normal teenager would. He can have parties, friends over, get a dog, play loud music, whatever he wants. If you don’t like something he’s doing, call me. We’ll figure it out, but you take it up with me. Not him. Oh, and there’s one more thing. But first, are we in agreement on everything up to this point?
“Yes.” Mr. Mortensen’s voice was strangled, but the fight had gone out of him.
“Okay. One last thing and we’re through.” He stood up again, and took a business card out of his pocket. He stepped over to Mr. Mortensen and handed it to him. When Mr. Mortensen didn’t reach for it, he said, “Take it,” in a voice that wasn’t to be denied. When the man had taken it, Mr. McCluskey said, “That’s the card of a psychologist I know. A very good one. You’re to start seeing him. He’ll decide how many sessions a week, and he’ll have the right to say when you’re done. You have a serious mental disturbance. But this isn’t a demand from me; it’s a demand from Todd. It was his idea. He still has hopes that you can change, that you can love him, that you can be a real father. He wants you to be fixed. He wants you to be his father. I’ve told him it’s unlikely, but he’s a boy, and sometimes boys dream. He feels strongly about this, and so, this whole deal depends on your attending those sessions, and working to fix yourself. Not the gay part. That’s fine. It is everything else about you that’s distorted. You put your job ahead of your son. Ahead of your wife. Todd wants you to get help.
“I want your promise you’ll go see that doctor. This week. I’ll call him next week and verify you did.”
Mr. Mortensen looked at the card, studied it, and when Mr. McCluskey said, menacingly, “Well?” he didn’t reply; he simply nodded.
Mr. McCluskey stood up. “Todd, I think this will work. We’ll see. You don’t need to worry. Only your father has to worry. Even he isn’t stupid enough to try to do you any physical harm, because he’d have to run away afterward. He did everything he did to you just to save his job. He won’t jeopardize it by being that stupid now. He still has that, and he knows it. It’s all that matters to him. Anyway, you have my cell phone number, and you can call either it or 911 if there are any problems. OK?”
Todd looked shell–shocked. He stood up, then stepped over and hugged Mr. McCluskey, holding him tightly. Then he stepped back. “We’ll see,” he said. “I can hardly believe this. I thought I was going to that place. I was sure. This is all so sudden. I don’t know what to say, or even feel. We’ll see. If it happens like you said, well…”
Mr. McCluskey put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s smart enough to realize he has something big to gain, keeping his job, and nothing to lose except his control over you, and that was something he was going to lose either way. I’m sure this will work out.”
Mr. McCluskey turned, left the den and walked to the front door, and suddenly Todd was left knowing he was going to be alone with his father in a moment. He ran after the man and shouted, “Don’t go,” his fear evident.
Mr. McCluskey stopped. He turned to the boy. “Todd, it’s all okay. At some point, you have to face him alone, and tonight’s the best time to do it. He’s beaten right now. If you can show the same courage you did when you spoke a few minutes ago, the dynamic between you two will always be different from the way it was before. You have to stand up to him, and this is the best time to do it. Without me here. Just the two of you. He has to know you’ll never let him bully you again. If you don’t let him do that, he can’t. It’s just as straightforward as that.”
Mr. McCluskey could see Todd’s fear. He sighed, then used his most convincing voice. “Remember the conversation we had about you and Geoff? Remember what I said about believing in yourself, and showing it through your body language? How, if you expect someone to dominate you, they will? But if you expect someone to respect you, they usually will do that, too? Well, in that den a few minutes ago, you acted like someone who commands respect. You need to do the same thing now. Speak to him with confidence, and don’t back down. Don’t be intimidated. Stand up straight, and say what you have to say. But don’t be confrontational, don’t make him have to react to save his dignity.
“Talk about factual stuff, don’t say anything about him losing something. Say something that won’t make him bristle. For instance, tell him that you’re going to make some soup, and ask if he’d like some. Or, tell him you’re going to get some dinner with me. We can do that if you’d like.”
“Really? Yes. Can we?”
Mr. McCluskey laughed. “I think that would be great. Uh, don’t invite your father.”
Todd laughed, surprising himself. “I wasn’t about to.” But then, quickly, the laughter was gone, replaced by the doubt he’d had before.
Mr. McCluskey could see the uncertainty in Todd’s face. “Look, I know this all is a huge change, something you’re going to have to get used to. And it’s all happened way too fast. This morning you thought your life was over, and now look where you are.”
Mr. McCluskey stepped to the door, then turned back. “Todd, you have to go talk to him now all by yourself, but you don’t have to feel quite so alone when you do it. I won’t abandon you. I’ll tell you what. I’ll leave, but I’ll just take my car down the street a short ways and stop there. If there’s any problem, run away, come outside and find me. But if you do this with courage, face him, talk to him, let him see you’re still you but you’re no longer someone he’s going to boss around, and then you walk away, from then on, things will be better. It is worth doing this, Todd, even though it’s hard and scary.”
Todd looked up at him, and tried to smile. “I’ll try. I’ll come out in a few minutes and tell you how it went.”
»»»» 0 ««««
Geoff Harper was surprised. He was suddenly feeling things he hadn’t felt before. Some of them were good, some weren’t, but the fact he was experiencing new feelings was the surprise. He’d been in a rut and hadn’t known it was possible to get out of it, but he’d been yanked out by Mr. McCluskey, with a little help from Todd Mortensen, and now he was seeing things differently. His perspective had changed.
He was doing his schoolwork. Actually doing it, every day. He hadn’t ever done that before. By doing it, he got the first two surprised feelings. One was that he didn’t hate the work, and the other was that he could understand it if he applied himself. He was smarter than he realized. He hadn’t known that. He knew he’d never be a scholar, he simply didn’t comprehend things as quickly as some kids, like Todd for example, but he wasn’t as dumb as he’d thought he was either.
Another feeling that was new to him was regret. The way he’d lived his life, he had always been trying to survive, and feeling regret about anything that he did had never entered into it. He did what he had to do, and if he got through to the next day still in one piece and not hurting too badly, well, what was there to regret? He’d never felt sorry for anyone else, either. He had been brought up seeing his father and brothers take advantage of whatever they could, they were especially eager to take advantage of people weaker than they were, and if people got run over or hurt in the process, that was their problem.
About the only thing that had made him feel good was bullying younger, smaller kids. It made him feel superior, it made him feel in control of something in his life, and he didn’t get that sense in anything else he did, or in what was done to him.
Then, when he started looking out for Todd, protecting him, he felt both these new feelings. He saw how boys picked on Todd, and he saw what it did to Todd, saw the look in his eyes, saw the fear and defeat. Now that he knew him a little, he felt sorry for him, and regretted he’d been one of the worst bullies Todd had had to deal with. Those new feelings weren’t good feelings, but he accepted them. He deserved them.
He also saw how Todd was acting now that he wasn’t being picked on anymore. And that caused another new feeling for him to experience. Because, for the first time in his life, he was proud of himself. He’d never been proud of his ability to dominate smaller kids. There’d been no pride, just satisfaction.
He had to be careful, however. His brother Allen made a comment at dinner one night. He snickered, slapped Geoff on the back of his head, and asked, “What are you feeling so cocky about these days? You getting some? Who is she? Or, in your case, he? Maybe I can get some of whoever it is. We share in this family, you know.” And then he’d laughed, thinking how silly that was.
Geoff had mumbled some non–aggressive answer and shut up again. Allen started in on his mother, then, and Geoff finished as quickly as he could and left the table. But he had something to think about. He knew he felt better about himself. He hadn’t realized he might be acting differently. He had to avoid doing that, at least when he was at home. Anything that would draw attention to him would be bad. Especially if his father noticed. His father had been leaving him alone lately, and he wanted that to continue.
At school he was going to Mr. McCluskey’s office after classes every day, starting his homework while waiting for Todd to get home, then getting together with him on the computer. He always had questions, and Todd always was able to help. When they’d started, Geoff had been embarrassed, asking what he thought were stupid questions. Todd had never reacted that way. He’d thought about each question, then figured out a way to explain the answer so Geoff really got it. And never once did Todd act snobby about it, or exasperated if Geoff didn’t understand at once.
Some of Geoff’s teachers had made comments to him as he was leaving their classes, saying that they were impressed with how he was doing now. He’d thought they were all assholes before. Now that he was listening to them, and even daring to raise his hand now and then, he was realizing they weren’t so bad.
The biggest surprise was Mr. McCluskey. He was being very supportive. He’d always treated Geoff a little different than he treated the other kids, and Geoff had seen that, but there had still been tension between them, mostly because Geoff had continued to smart off. Now he wasn’t doing that, and Mr. McCluskey was being even nicer. He was talking to him, asking if he could help in any way, maybe even about stuff outside school, like maybe helping him find a job. Geoff was impressed by that. He hadn’t volunteered anything, and he doubted he ever would, but he felt if he ever really needed an adult to talk to, maybe Mr. McCluskey would be the one he could go to.
So he was feeling pretty good about himself, and lying in bed that night, thinking about how his life was changing, he actually smiled.
Then his room door opened and shut, and he wasn’t alone any more. By the light that came in from the hall outside his room before the door closed, he’d been able to see and recognize a silhouette.
“Allen?”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
“Hey, don’t get all excited. I just wanna talk a little.” Allen’s words were a little too loud, and there was a smell that came into the room with him. A chemical smell, something like acetone but different. Geoff knew what it was. And he’d been around Ray enough to remember the signs and know what it meant. Allen had just come from making meth. Maybe he’d even taken a hit of it.
“Well, I’m sleeping. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He was wide awake now, and his heart had sped up. Memories of Ray, memories of him visiting his room at night, just like this, flashed through his mind.
Allen walked over and sat on the bed. “No, we’ll do it now. I’m feeling like more than just talking, too.” He reached his hand out and placed it on Geoff’s leg.
Geoff slapped at it and said, “Allen, get the fuck out of here.” He started to wriggle up so he would be sitting, but Allen put his hand on his chest and easily held him flat on his back.
“No, I don’t think so. I think I want a little of what Ray used to get. I’m feeling really horny tonight, and my hand just isn’t going to be enough. Look, you did it lots of times with him. I even watched once or twice. It’s not like you’re a virgin or anything.”
“No. I’m not doing that any more. I couldn’t stop him. I was just a kid. I’m not little any more, and there’s no way we’re doing this. I’ll stop you, fight you if I have to. I’ll yell my head off, too.”
Allen laughed. “You think that’ll make any difference? Dad’s passed out from too much booze, and Mom’s not going to do shit. You can’t fight me. This shit makes me strong as hell, and makes me like hitting people, too, so if that’s what you want, come and get it. Either way you’re getting it up the ass tonight. You might as well just take it like a man. It’ll be over before you know it. You might even like it.”
Allen stood up and slipped his pants down to his ankles. While he was doing that, Geoff managed to push himself up so he was sitting against his headboard, his lower body still under the covers.
Allen walked back to the bed and jerked the covers off. Geoff always slept naked. Allen looked down on him, said, “Well, you sure ain’t pretty, but if Ray could do it, so can I,” and got on his knees on the bed, yanked Geoff back down on his back again, forcing his legs apart.
Geoff reached over to his bedside table. The only things on it were a small lamp and the clock radio he used to wake up in the morning. Neither one was very heavy, but the radio did have sharp corners. Allen began trying to roll Geoff over on his stomach, and while he was doing that, Geoff reached for the radio, picked it up, positioned it in his hand, and swung it as hard as he could; its corner hit Allen in the side of the head.
Allen didn’t make a sound, simply fell flat on his face on top of Geoff. Geoff squirmed out from under him. Allen lay still. Geoff turned on the light, then started dressing as quickly as he could. He couldn’t tell if Allen was breathing, and at that point he didn’t really care. When he was dressed, he put a change of clothes and all the money he had in his backpack, then left the room. The only light on in the house was the naked bulb in the hallway. He grabbed his worn leather jacket, then left through the front door, not bothering to close it behind him. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he had already decided that he wasn’t coming back to this house again. Ever.