They arrived in Briston in the early afternoon. It was hot and humid, and Rory thought it best if they found a motel room before visiting the Edwards family.
“Find one with a swimming pool,” Cary suggested.
“And that takes pets,” Rory laughed. “Morris won’t want to sleep in the car.”
They’d driven through Landale on the way to Briston. Landale was very small, probably under the slightly over 5,000 people it mentioned on the sign they’d passed driving in. The sign welcoming them into the city boasted a population of 5,126 people, but the sign was so old it was streaked with rust, and from the internet, Rory had learned the population of Indiana had recently grown in large cities and shrunk in the small towns. From the empty storefronts on the main street that ran through town, it appeared Landale might well be one of those towns.
Briston didn’t seem much larger. There appeared to be only two motels serving the town. Of the two, the Days and Nights Inn appeared higher quality—at least the outside paint wasn’t peeling—and Rory pulled into the driveway. There were only two cars parked where there was room for twenty.
Rory parked in the shade, and they left the car windows halfway down. Still, leaving Morris there wasn’t something they’d do for more minutes than needed, and certainly fewer than fifteen even though it wasn’t warm enough to be worrisome.
“Good afternoon.” They were greeted by a clerk who stood up from a desk behind the counter where he’d been sitting as Rory and Cary came in. He was young; Rory guessed he was not even out of high school yet. A summer job, Rory thought. He was wearing a collared shirt with buttons and a solid, dark-blue tie, and he sported an ID badge that announced his name was Kenny. He looked at Rory, then Cary, then longer at Cary before asking Rory, “Would you like a room? One night or more?”
“We need to talk first,” Rory said with a smile. “I saw what looked like a fenced area in back. Is that perhaps a swimming pool?”
That produced a broad smile. “Yes, sir. We’re the only motel in town that has one.”
“There are only two motels here, aren’t there?”
The boy nodded, now grinning. “We’re still the only one with a pool.”
Rory returned his grin. “And, what’s your policy on pets?”
The grin disappeared. “Oh, I’m sorry, no pets. We’d have to have the room professionally cleaned after the pet left or we could have allergy complaints and lawsuits, and the closest company that does that is in Indianapolis, so the room would be out of service for some time before they could come down here.”
“I see.” Rory adopted a contemplative pose. He stepped to the window and looked out at the parking lot, then said, “And of course you have all 20 rooms booked every night, so you’d lose money not being able to use the quarantined room. Right, Kenny?”
The boy wasn’t sure what to do with his face. He thought for a moment, then said, “I can only go by our policy, sir. The policy is: no pets.” He looked disappointed, like he wished he could accommodate them.
Rory nodded. “Uh-huh. I see. Now, let me make a guess. There can’t be too many summer jobs available in a town this size, and you’re still in high school; that’s part of my guess. The other part is, your dad owns the motel or at least manages it, and that’s why you were able to land this job. How’s my guessing?”
The boy grinned again. “Yep.”
“So he’s the one who made this policy—or administers it. I need to bring my pet in. It’s too hot for him in that car and he gets lonely. You’re not afraid of dogs, are you, Kenny?”
“No, I love dogs.”
“Great. Cary, can you bring in Morris while I continue to negotiate with, uh, what’s your full name?”
“Kenny. Kenny Masterson.”
“While I negotiate with Mr. M. here.”
Cary left, and Rory turned back to Kenny. “Look, I understand your problem, and it’s legitimate. But a policy is only a policy, and I’d again guess that you’re running a pretty empty motel and can’t really afford to turn paying customers away. So, here’s the deal. Give us a room. We’ll probably be here for two nights, tonight and tomorrow night. I’m not positive of that yet, but it’s likely. So, you give us the room, we’ll pay for our stay, and I’ll also pay for the special cleaning service. You can call Indianapolis and book a time for them to come down, and while you’re talking to them, ask the price of the service if you don’t already know it. I’ll pay for the room and the cleaning and add ten percent for your trouble and for helping us outside of policy. And if after we’re gone, you don’t bother with the industrial-strength cleaning, I’ll never know! You’ll be making your dad a nice chunk of change. With a little wheedling and whining, you might get him to split the cleaning fee for a service which wasn’t used. He might go for that; you never know till you try.”
Rory winked at him. “I think your dad would be happy for your initiative in making this sale, but if you need to, call and ask him.”
Morris came in then with Cary. Kenny’s eyes lit up. “What a great-looking dog,” he said.
“Come meet him,” Cary said. “He loves making new friends. And up close, you’ll see he doesn’t smell at all and if he stayed here in one of the rooms, that won’t be obvious to anyone.”
They took their things to the room after Rory had paid for two nights. He’d pay for the cleaning once Kenny had learned what the cost of it would be. In the room, he told Cary it would be best if he went to see the Edwardses alone. “I don’t know the lay of the land here, and I’d rather play it solo till I do. You can swim. Ask Kenny if Morris can come sit by the pool while you do. You know, he spent a lot of time looking at you. He might like to come sit and watch you swim, too. Wear your new Speedo.”
Cary frowned at him. Rory laughed.
« »
Rory was nervous. He wasn’t sure what he’d find when he arrived at the Edwards’ house. Mostly, he was concerned about Trace. The boy was gay and had a father who wasn’t involved in his life in any positive way, and he lived in southern Indiana. The comparisons between Rory and Trace were apparent.
Rory had never thought of killing himself when he was young, but he certainly had been unhappy. If there was something he could do to help Trace, well, he needed to talk to him before anything was decided.
He called Mrs. Edwards, and she told him to come right away. It was still afternoon. Mr. Edwards probably wouldn’t be home till six, she told him. He liked to stop at a bar each afternoon after work. There would be plenty of time to talk to Trace before that, and it would be much better if his dad weren’t home when that happened and Rory had left before the man came home.
Rory, leaving Cary and Morris at the motel, followed her directions and found the house without trouble. It was in a poor area in town, though most of the town seemed to be poor. Rory knew coal mining was a major occupation in the area, and that the miners, while unionized, were still not getting rich for the hours they were putting in underground, which were dangerous hours at best.
The Edwards house was typical of the area. It appeared to be small and barely kept up. It needed paint, lawn work, bushes trimmed, windows washed. Rory could imagine Trace’s dad not being happy with Trace not getting these things done when it was summer and he didn’t have a job. Maybe that was a source of friction, though Rory felt it would be best to withhold making judgments till he had a proper foundation for them.
He parked the Mercedes in front of the house. It looked entirely out of place on this street.
Mrs. Edwards answered the door. She was a thin woman probably in her late fifties, early sixties. Her hair was entirely gray, and the thing Rory noticed immediately was a vivid purple-black bruise on her left cheek. He couldn’t help but stare at it as he was introducing himself, telling her he was Roy Thornton. She dropped her eyes and seemed to blush.
“Come on in, Roy.”
She led him into the living room and had him sit. The furniture was old and worn, but the room was tidy. There was a small TV set, a few chairs and a sagging couch. Rory sat on the couch.
“Trace is anxious about meeting you. He’s awfully shy, so I’m not sure how much he’ll say. I could stay and help him, but it would be better if you talked to him alone. Is that all right?”
She didn’t give Rory a chance to answer. “Roy, I’ve prayed for this. For someone to help him. He gets teased and beat up at school—and at home, too. His father—well, his stepfather, actually, though he insisted Trace take his surname—hits him for not fighting back, saying he’s a disgrace and an embarrassment. Let me say right off, anything you can do to help him, you’ll have my full approval. What he needs more than anything is to leave this godforsaken town.”
Rory said, “I’ll talk to him in a moment. First, are you all right? It looks to me like that’s a bruise on your face. Did someone hit you?”
She shook her head. “Forget about me. I was trying to keep him off Trace. You’re not here for me. You’re here to help Trace. I’ve prayed and prayed for someone to help him. My life is my life. But Trace can’t stand up to what he gets at school or at home, and when it’s worse at home, which is often . . .”
She shook her head. “Look, don’t worry about me. But, please, if you can help Trace, do it. He’s a wonderful boy who’s hurting. I’m scared for him. Now, I’ll go in the kitchen and send him out. Please? He needs to be away from here.”
“Wait just a second. Your husband hits both of you?”
She didn’t answer. She looked at him, expressionless, her eyes showing defeat, then turned and left the room. Soon, a young boy entered.
“Hi,” he said, nervously. “I’m Trace.”
Trace was small and skinny—very skinny. He had mousy brown hair and a face that could have been attractive if one wasn’t distracted by his eyes, which never seemed to remain still; they restlessly moved around the room and never met Rory’s.
“Hi, Trace. Come sit down. I’m happy to meet you. We’re cousins, and until I got your letter, I didn’t know you existed. I’m so glad you wrote me. It sounded from your letter and what your mother just said that things have been very hard for you. What can I do to help?”
Trace sat down on the couch as far from Rory as he could, looked into Rory’s eyes very briefly, then dropped his. He dropped his head, didn’t speak, and then Rory saw his shoulders begin to shake.
Rory quickly moved across the couch and put a gentle arm around Trace. He simply held him till the shaking stopped. Then he handed Trace a clean handkerchief and said, “You’re okay now. Wipe your face and then tell me what you want. I can’t guess. You have to tell me.”
More silence, and then, very softly, “My mom said maybe you could take me away from here. I can’t live here. I’ve already figured out how to stop all the pain. I have it all planned out. I promised you I’d wait to talk to you. But after that, I . . . I can’t take it anymore.”
“Your dad hits you?”
Trace nodded.
“And people at school?”
Another nod.
“Have you told anyone? Adults at your school? People at church? The police?”
“I did at school.” Trace spoke very softly and didn’t look at Rory as he did. “They told me I had to start defending myself. I told the minister at church, too. He said we should pray together and the Lord would help me. I didn’t go to the police. It’s just the chief and one patrol officer. They and my dad all drink together at the same bar. They’re all friends.”
“So, what do you want? You told me what your mom told you. You didn’t tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know what’s possible. Dying is the only sure thing I can think of.”
“Trace, look at me.”
Trace raised his eyes then dropped them again.
“Would you like me to take you away from this town, this state?”
“I don’t know. Where would I live? Would I still go to school and get picked on?”
“No. No picking. No bullying. But there’s another problem. I can help you, but what about your mom? If I take you, won’t your dad still beat up on her?”
Trace nodded.
Rory didn’t speak for a few moments, weighting his options. “Okay.then. Here’s what we’ll do. You go pack a suitcase. Pack everything you want to keep. We’ll take everything with us. You won’t be coming back, so anything you leave you’ll be leaving for good. If you need more suitcases or boxes, we can get them. You go start packing. I’ll talk to your mother.”
Trace looked at him. Rory was thinking he might ask something or balk, but he didn’t. He simply stood and walked away.
Rory went into the kitchen. Mrs. Edwards was standing just inside. She had tears in her
eyes, and when Rory entered, she stepped forward and hugged him. Hard.
“You’re saving him! My God, my prayers were answered. Do it, Roy. Take him. Before Levi gets back. Hurry. Don’t worry about me. Trace is worth four times what I am. He’s the one worth saving.”
“What’s your first name, Mrs. Edwards?”
She looked surprised. “Maud. It’s Maud. When you were young, you called me Aunt Maud.”
“It’s been a long time, Aunt Maud. You need to go pack, too. Everything you want, because you won’t be coming back here, either. Anything you treasure, take it. Everything else, leave it. Things, items, can be replaced. But do it now. No more hitting. I’m not sure how this will work, we’ll talk, but almost anything is better than this. Go. Now.”
At that point, Rory could hear a low-pitched rumble from the street. A frantic Trace showed up along with the noise. “That’s Dad. Go. Run. He’ll kill you if he finds you here. Go out the back.”
“He’s not going to kill me, Trace, or either of you.” Rory’s voice was very calm.
Trace’s was frantic. “You can’t stop him. No one can. He’s too big. He’d kill you. Self-defense, he’ll tell the police, and the cops’ll laugh, and he’ll buy them another beer. You’ve got to run.”
“No, Trace. He hits you and your mom. That isn’t acceptable. He has to be stopped, and you can’t do it. I can. It’s probably good for you to see it done; you need to see the guy isn’t invincible. Seeing him go down, maybe that’ll help you to stop being so scared.”
Then they all heard a truck door slam, and quickly thereafter, the front door crashed open.
“Who’s here? There’s a fancy car with out-of-state plates out front. Nobody better be here. You know the rules.” It was a loud bass voice.
And then, a moment later, the kitchen doorway was filled with a large man. He was large enough to take up most of the doorway and to make the three people already in the kitchen look small.
As they watched, the man’s hands changed into fists. He glared at Rory. “Who’re you? I don’t allow strangers in my house.” Then he looked at Maud and growled, “This is on you. You ’n I’ll have to see about this later. I told you what would happen if you broke the rules again. I told you!”
Maud seemed to shrink, and she paled.
Rory saw her reaction and interrupted. “Levi? I guess that’s your name. Well, listen to this. Listen up, and listen good: fuck you, Levi.” Rory said this in a voice that was much softer than Mr. Edwards’, but just as intense. “You need an ass-kicking, need it badly, and that’s why I’m here. I’m the designated ass-kicker. Your days of bullying these two are over. I only have one question for you: do you want to do this here and bust up your kitchen, or should we take it outside where there’s more room?”
“You’re going to fight me? You?” The man sounded shocked, like it had been a long time since anyone had willingly taken him on, and it was incredible that this guy wanted to.
“Well, you can call it a fight if you want. What’s going to happen is, I’m going to hurt you. Badly enough so you’ll remember it. Do you want it to happen inside or out?”
The man grinned. “This is going to be fun. But outside’s better. Cleaning blood off the walls and ceiling is a pain in the ass. Not that I’ll be the one doing it. But it won’t have to be done at all if it’s on the lawn. Let’s go.”
The man turned and walked to the front door. Rory followed him. Walking out of the house, he couldn’t help but think of the training he’d done in the past. Quick flashes of moments in his earlier life flickered through his mind. He didn’t have time to remember much. But the training he’d had for physical combat, he remembered that in great detail. Once learned, it never left you.
« »
Rory had worked out with Bobby. He’d sparred and worked on self-defense with Bobby’s dad. While on the football field, he’d learned it wasn’t the end of the world to be knocked into and down while playing football. All those lessons, all that work, had toughened him up, as much mentally as physically.
It had surprised Rory when his father’s attitude toward him hadn’t changed when he’d started playing football. Rory had thought one of the reasons why his father hated him was because he was weak and timid. One doesn’t play football in high school if he’s weak and timid. But being on the football team hadn’t softened his father’s attitude toward him at all.
What it did, however, was firm up Rory’s opinion that the problem his dad had with him wasn’t his fault. He felt he knew why his father loathed him, but it bothered him less and less now. He no longer believed there was anything wrong with being who he was. And what he was, he knew by then, was gay.
He hadn’t had any sexual encounters with anyone since Aaron, and there’d been very few of those. The only way he could assuage his urges was with the internet and porn. He didn’t find this terribly satisfying, but he wasn’t able to stay away from some of the sites he’d come across.
They kept him sane. They also led to the complete end of his relationship with his father.
He’d never understood how his mother survived with his father; the man was almost as caustic with her as he was with him. She’d stopped protecting Rory from his father years earlier, so his relationship with her was pretty much nonexistent, too. They more or less simply cohabited in the same house, speaking together only when it was necessary. Rory was still a middle teenager, an age when teens need the support of a family; Rory was now getting that from the Tates.
What eventually finished things with his own parents was when his mother caught him on a pornographic website. He was doing homework and had quickly toggled off the porn site onto an innocuous one when she entered his room to pick up his hamper of dirty clothes. His computer was set so his back was to her when she entered. This meant she could see the screen, which immediately showed a news site, and she couldn’t see his aroused state. When she left, he toggled back to watch more of the video showing two teens doing what they did together in front of the cameras. He rejoined them, and then his mother came back, having realized she’d left a shirt in his hamper. This time, otherwise occupied, he wasn’t quick enough with the toggle keys.
She wasn’t bothered by knowing what he was doing with his hand in his lap. It was seeing the site he was watching. She’d become much more of a church advocate, possibly, Rory thought, as an escape from dealing with his father. But she’d taken the teachings of the church to heart. Homosexuality was to her an unforgiveable sin.
It wasn’t her intention for his father to find out. But she did yell at him for his perversion and told him he had to change. And, unfortunately, his father had come home in the middle of her tirade. He heard Rory yelling back at her, heard him tell her he couldn’t change even if he’d wanted to; he was gay. And that was all it took.
“Get out of my house. I knew there was something about you that was wrong way back when. I will not have my reputation in this town dirtied by you. Get out! Get out now!”
Rory could withstand his dad’s yelling now, and he didn’t bother to respond. He was actually happy to leave. Even having nowhere to go, he felt he’d be better not living under that roof any longer.
His father told him to take nothing. Everything he had belonged not to Rory but to him. Rory simply nodded and walked out of the house.
The only thing he knew to do was to talk to Bobby, and that ended with his invitation to live with the Tates and with Mr. Tate going with him back to his house to collect the things he’d left there. With his reputation in mind and a lawyer telling him what the law demanded and that he’d be pulled into court and a spectacle made of him if he didn’t give Rory what the law entitled him to have, Mr. Thornton backed down.
It rankled however, having to put up with a black man speaking to him that way. He’d find a way to get even.
Rory lived with the Tates for the first semester of his senior year. Both he and Bobby became well-known in the town; they were football heroes. Rory made friends and lost some of his shyness; he’d gained quite a bit of confidence as well. He came out, and because of how popular he now was, it only made a difference at school with a few of the more religious students. Most of the kids didn’t care.
No one was now telling him he was pathetic and a disgrace. His days living with the Tates were the happiest of Rory’s life in Landale.
Mr. Thornton grew more and more aggravated as time passed. The boy he’d had under his thumb, the boy he’d spent time putting down, whose spirit he’d quashed? He’d kicked the boy out, attempted to humiliate him, but he was now thriving? He hadn’t wanted the boy to thrive; Mr. Thornton felt Rory should have been diminished by his rejection by his father. He felt his own reputation was hurt by how well his son was doing.
He couldn’t allow the situation to continue. Every day that the boy pranced around town, Mr. Thornton felt his control at home, his power as a community and church leader, was being lessened. He was being made to look impotent, flouted in public by his gay son. Living with a black family—a black family, for God’s sake—just made it worse.
And so, Mr. Thornton did what he could to remove this blot on his reputation and image. He spoke to his brother and got him to accept guardianship of Rory till he was eighteen. Legally, Mr. Thornton still had responsibility for Rory, and so it was within his legal power to send him to New York to live with his uncle. His ostensible reason: the school he’d attend there was better than the local one and that Roy’d receive a better education with the move.
Rory hated leaving but had no say in the matter. In New York, he found his uncle much easier to live with than his father. He turned eighteen in March, and his father wanted his brother to throw him out on the streets at that time. Instead, Rory stayed with his uncle until he graduated with a high school diploma in June that year. Then, with no money to go to college, he immediately joined the Army.
Rory shot through basic training with outstanding marks. He was easily the best in his group. The first two weeks were in a classroom, and he was surprised to find he was at the top of his basic-training group there as well. He’d done well scholastically in high school but never considered himself much of a scholar. He liked to be active, not at a desk doing paperwork or reading.
He shone again at the physical training requirements. The workouts with Bobby and his high school football had him in top physical condition. He’d grown to just over six feet tall and gained enough weight to no longer look skinny. He was now supremely fit, and the physical requirements of basic training were child’s play to him. He did so well, in fact, that he received a visit from a staff sergeant.
The man complimented him, asked him some questions, and then told him the Army was always looking for Ranger recruits. He told him how difficult the training was and that how somewhat more than half the people in the program, good people, people who’d been at the top of their group in basic, ended up failing. Ranger training was for the best of the best. Ranger recruits were people like Rory for whom the Army had the highest expectations.
Rory was excited. He had been testing himself since he was fourteen with Bobby. His attitude now wasn’t that he was worthless; now it was ‘let’s see if there’s anything I can’t do when I put my mind to it.’
The Ranger training was brutally hard. No other way to say it. It was demanding physically, mentally and emotionally. He was mixed in with people as fit and smart as he was, and some of them fell by the wayside every day.
The purpose of Ranger training is to prepare soldiers for combat missions, both armed and unarmed. They are trained to be leaders, to fight and lead men into battle. The training is designed to be sixty-one days of hell broken into three phases.
Training starts with two weeks primarily in the classroom. Then comes the physical work. The first phase is at Fort Benning and is meant to separate the soldiers capable of being Rangers from regular soldiers. Recruits know going in it’ll be a physical and mental trial like nothing they’ve faced before, and it’s expected that many volunteers will give up. Fifty percent is the average number that quit in the twenty-one days they’re in Georgia at Benning. Fifty percent of Rory’s fellow trainees did.
Ranger training includes instruction in mountain, desert and swamp warfare. Airborne training is part of it as well. Those who survive and graduate are given a patch to wear on the uniform shoulder, and they are awarded a coveted tan beret.
Rory could meet the physical challenges. They included timed runs. He’d been running five miles a day since he was fourteen. Doing so at eighteen, while fit and carrying a weighted pack and needing to meet the challenge time, wasn’t difficult for him.
His greatest challenge was with hand-to-hand combat. His old fears came back, but he had much greater resolve now and far less fear. Hand-to-hand fighting was simply something else to learn, to endure, and he did both. His instructors were hard men, but they knew how to teach. They wanted their charges to learn and learn well. This was survival training. They were teaching life-saving techniques. Learn-or-die was their thought process, and they transferred it to the men they were teaching. Those passing the course learned not only how to survive a fight, but to win it.
Rory never came to like fighting. He did lose his fear of it, however, and he did become very, very good.