William Walter Williams - 5. A Chance for Normalcy - Part 1

About three weeks later, as he did every Saturday, or Sunday if it rained the previous day, Will was out in the Jenkins’ yard mowing and edging the lawn, picking out weeds from the flower beds, and generally trying to be helpful to the couple he hoped to be his adopted parents rather than just foster parents. It was a partly cloudy day as opposed to mostly sunny, but the air was warm enough for him to take off his shirt and work on darkening his normally lily white skin. He had finished the front yard and after having a bit of lunch and water was working in the backyard. Artie was out there running the tiller in the garden spot where Syl said she was going to show Will how to plant various vegetables they would eat through the summer or put up to have in the winter rather than buying too many canned goods at the grocery store.

When Will finished mowing the small square and paths of lawn he put the mower in the shed and took the clippers to edge the lawn. He got down on his hands and knees and began beveling the lawn edge as he moved along. Once finished he would come back and clean up the clippings. It was a tedious task, but one that Syl appreciated.

Quite unexpectedly when Will started down the path between a bed of perennials and the garden plot he got the strangest feeling like someone was watching him. He looked up, but the only other person in the backyard was Artie and he was guiding the tiller to the shed. Will returned to his task, but was interrupted again by that feeling. He sat back on his haunches and shut his eyes. There before him, almost as if in touching distance, was Bobby standing in his faded blue jeans and torn Aerosmith t-shirt.

“You need to talk to Tommy Spence,” Bobby said in Will’s mind. “He’s here in Warnton; he can help you.”

Then the image faded away leaving Will with the strangest feeling he’d had since moving in with the Jenkins. He stood and walked over to the shed. Artie was just coming out when he got there.

“Who’s Tommy Spence?” Will asked.

“Where’d you get that name?” Artie asked sternly.

“Bobby,” Will whispered.

“Uh, huh, figures he’d tell you to contact that asshole.”

“Who is he?”

“He was Bobby’s best friend soon after we first arrived here in Warnton. Then in high school, I don’t know maybe around their junior year, they stopped talking to each other. It was all rather sudden like. I called the Spences because Bobby was really torn up over the breakup, but they told me to keep Bobby away from Tommy. I suppose if I was more aware of current culture back then I might have picked up on the clue that Bobby might be gay, but I just blew it over and told Bobby friends will come and go throughout his life.”

“So, why do you think Bobby wants me to contact Tommy after all these years?”

“Don’t know, he’s your ghost, you figure it out.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention this to Syl; she’ll just make a big deal out of it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

“Down at the hardware store. His old man still owns the place, but Tommy is there most of the time.”

“I guess I’ll check it out; after all the other shit I’ve been through here it certainly couldn’t hurt to at least ask.”

“You just be careful; that’s all I ask.”

Will went back to his edging and in an hour he was done. He cleaned up the clippings and put them in the compost on top of the day’s work, spread a layer of topsoil over the grass, and walked back through the yard looking for any missed piles of clippings or weeds. After making sure he’d done a good job, Will went inside and poured a glassful of Gatorade.

An hour later and after taking a refreshing shower, Will went downstairs and into the parlor where Syl and Artie were talking. He sat in his usual spot and Babs, the orange tabby, came over and crawled into his lap. He casually petted her, scratching her ear now and then, and then looked up at the cuckoo clock on the wall and noticed that it was only a few minutes after four o’clock.

“Can I go out for a little bit?” Will asked.

“Where?” Artie asked.

“Oh, around, nowhere in particular.”

“Be back by six and we’ll go down to Tom Wahl’s,” Artie said.

“Okay, I’ll set the alarm on my cell.”

Will gently pushed Babs off his lap and stood up. He walked out of the room, but as he was turning the handle on the front doorknob he heard Syl say, “Where do you think he’s going?”

“To see if he can find Tom Spence,” Artie said.

“Oh, dear, not him again. What will we do?”

“Nothing, let the boy go and find his own way. We can be here to pick up the pieces. That’s all we can do.”

Will went out the door and stood on the front porch. He really didn’t know what to do, but decided going downtown was probably the best choice at the time. He didn’t know why he was supposed to contact Tommy Spence, but that was the way Bobby was these days. Their sexual contacts had dropped to zero after he stopped seeing Tris so he was basically just a regular kid with unfulfilled sexual desires who probably wouldn’t be able to have a relationship with another boy for quite a while.

After six blocks Will was at the edge of the small downtown area of Warnton. He looked toward the right down Main Street, but didn’t see any sign of a hardware store. When he turned to his left he saw a two-story building with a sign that said “Spence and Son, Hardware” one block to the west. He crossed the street and walked over that way. When he arrived at the main entrance he saw that the store closed at six, so he went in and walked up to the main counter. There was a man, probably in his late forties or early fifties standing behind a counter whose name tag said “Tom Spence, Manager.”

“Mr. Spence, I’m Will Williams,” Will said.

“Oh, you’re Mariah’s friend, she’s mentioned you,” Mr. Spence said. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m Artie and Syl Jenkins’ foster son,” Will said.

“Yes, Mariah mentioned that, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well, sir, this is rather complicated, but I sometimes see the ghost of Bobby Jenkins and he told me that I should come to you because he said you can help me. That’s all I can say.”

“Oh, dear God in heaven, so it’s finally come to that. What do you know about Bobby?”

“He was gay and he died of AIDS.”

“We were boyfriends until my mother caught us making out in my bedroom one day. I was sent to a special school where I was supposedly freed from the sin of homosexuality, but the worst thing was I was never able to see Bobby again. He graduated from Warnton high school and went down to Columbia University, while I stayed here and worked in the hardware store with my father. So, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t really know, sir. Bobby just said I should come and see you because he said you can help me.”

“What help do you need?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but I was raised by a pervert who forced me to have sex with other men. I don’t really know how to be normal. Do you think you can help me?”

“Will, honestly, I don’t know, but I’ll think about it, okay? Give me some time and maybe I’ll be able to come up with some things to help. By the way, are you going goth or not?”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Okay, I understand. Come by next weekend and maybe we can set up some meets. I’d like to help you, if only for all of the torment I caused Bobby.”

Will walked out of the store and stood on the sidewalk not knowing if anything was going to come of this, or not.

* * * *

On Tuesday of the following week Will was walking home from school when another boy came up behind him and said, “Hey, aren’t you Will Williams?”

Will stopped, turned, and said, “Yeah.”

“I’m Brody; some of the guys on the line said that you might want to go out for football in the fall.”

“Yeah; so what do you want.”

“I want to help you get ready.”

“Is that all you want?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“People always want something more than what they say.”

“Hey, look Will; I know you were Jeremy’s boyfriend, but I’m not gay. I’m not even bi. I have a girlfriend. Okay?”

“Well, maybe, so what do we do?”

“Can you catch a football?”

“Don’t know; haven’t ever had the chance.”

“So, you don’t know how to throw one either, right?”

“Nope.”

“Would you be willing to work with me so I can get you up to speed with some basic techniques?”

“Sure; when do you want to start?”

“How about today?”

“Where?”

“Back at the school is best.”

“I’ll have to call my foster mother and let her know I’ll be late.”

“Do it.”

“Okay.”

As they walked back to the football field behind the school, Will called Syl and let her know he’d be late coming home. Brody was maybe a couple inches taller than him, but he wasn’t as bulky. He didn’t know what position the other boy played, but was certain that would come up eventually. The one thing he did know about Brody was that he walked a lot faster and he was having a bit of trouble keeping up.

There weren’t any other students at the field when they arrived so Brody took a football out of his bookbag and handed it to Will who took it, but really didn’t know what to expect.

“Okay, Will, since there are only two of us today, we’ll kind of have to improvise,” Brody said. “Are you right handed or left?”

“Right.”

“Good, that makes this a lot easier. Now watch me. See, you hold the football like this.”

Brody threw the ball a short distance and said, “Well, go get it.”

Will ran down the field and picked up the ball.

“Try and throw it back,” Brody called out.

Will tried to remember each of the steps he’d seen Brody go through and threw it as best he could. Unfortunately, he must have missed something because the ball wobbled end over end and fell to the ground nearly ten yards short of its target.

“Come on over here and watch me, again,” Brody called out.

Will trotted over to the boy and studiously watched Brody go through the motions of throwing a football. He watched it spiral down about thirty yards and bounce onto the turf. Will stood there a moment and then looked at Brody.

“Well?” Brody asked.

“I know, go make like the dog that I am,” Will said. He jogged down to where the football was waiting for him, but as he got there another boy came up to him.

“Hi, I’m Ian,” the boy said. “I’m a defensive back. Is Brody trying to teach you how to throw a football?”

“Yeah,” Will said.

“I’ll help; it’ll save you the trouble of having to run back and forth. Go ahead and pick up the ball. Now, hold the ball just like this. Yeah, that’s it. When you’re ready to throw, step forward with your left foot, allowing your body to generate momentum, and use that energy to throw the ball at Brody. Go on, try it.”

Will tried to concentrate on what to do, but the closeness of Ian’s body to his was making him nervous. He was certain the other boy was probably not gay, but, still, the implied intimacy of the moment was unnerving. Taking a deep breath, Will jerkily went through the motion of throwing the ball, but once again it wobbled end over end toward its intended target, landing a bit closer to Brody.

“Ian, you going to help?” Brody called out.

“Sure thing, Bro.”

Brody threw the ball back and Ian caught it. He said, “See how I did that? You do it next time. Here, take the ball.”

Will took it, but this time Ian came up behind Will and stood so close their bodies were almost touching. Will tensed when he felt the other boy’s breath on his ear.

“My step-dad said we should get together,” Ian whispered. “How about it?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Will whispered, suspecting that the other boy had intentions that he didn’t want.

“Come on, Will, I know you’re gay. I am, too; and, I know your rep for taking it up the ass, but I don’t do stuff like that. Can we be friends?”

“Hey, you two, quit making out and throw the damned ball,” Brody yelled.

“Up yours, breeder,” Ian responded. “Go ahead and throw the ball Will. Just let the ball slip through your fingers.”

Will shut his eyes and saw the movement in his mind. A little jerkily he went through the motions of throwing a football and released the ball into the air.

“You did it!” Ian exclaimed. “That was almost perfect.”

The ball came back and somewhat haphazardly Will caught it without jamming his fingers. He setup to throw it back and trying not to think too much about what he was doing, he sent the ball back, again coming close to Brody. After about ten minutes Ian moved across the field where he would receive balls thrown by Brody, then he would throw them to Will. The boys continued to throw the ball for about ninety minutes. Brody caught the last pass and held it.

“Come on over here, Will,” he called out.

Will trotted over and smiled at Brody. He said, “How’d I do?”

“You keep doing what we did today and you’ll be taking my job next year,” Brody said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was the quarterback for the JV team last year. Normally, I’d be moving up to varsity next year, but that position is already taken, so I’ll have to wait another year. But, you know, if we can get you setup as an offensive back, I could do a lateral to you and you could do the pass. I’ll have to check with Coach to see what he thinks. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

“What’s the deal?” Ian asked when he walked up to the other two boys.

“I guess we’re stopping for the day,” Will said.

“We doing this tomorrow?” Ian asked.

“Yep,” Brody said.

“Good, we need to get Will up to speed,” Ian said. “Where do you think he’ll be useful?”

“I’m thinking offensive back,” Brody said.

“Why not defense?” Ian asked.

“Whatever, it’ll be up to Coach no matter what we think,” Brody said.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Ian said. “Come on, Will, I’ll walk you home.”

“I can walk myself,” Will said.

“Not anymore, we can’t become friends if we walk alone,” Ian said. “See you, Brody.”

“Bye, guys,” Brody said as he turned and walked over toward the student parking lot.

“He has a car?” Will asked.

“Yep, I do to, but I don’t drive unless it’s raining or snowing,” Ian said.

“Who’s your step-dad?” Will asked.

“You met him last Saturday, Tom Spence,” Ian said.

“Oh, then you’re a Spence, too,” Will said.

“No, my last name is MacArthur; I’m the Black Mariah’s older brother.”

“Oh, so that’s why Bobby told me to talk to Tom Spence.”

“Who’s Bobby?”

“A ghost; he’s my foster parents’ gay son. He died of AIDS back in the eighties.”

“What did he have to do with Dad?”

“Ask your step-dad, it’s not really my business saying what their relationship was.”

“So, they did have a relationship.”

“Look, my foster dad said that they were best friends and then at some point in high school they stopped talking to each other.”

“That would probably be because of old man Spence. He’s a real weird religious bastard. I have to stay in my room whenever he comes over to the house because he knows I’m gay. You should hear what he says about Mariah.”

They continued to talk as they walked the few blocks to Will’s house. Since it was only a little after four-thirty, Will invited Ian in and he was happy the boy accepted the invitation. He introduced Ian to Syl and Artie, who was home early from work, and then they went out into the kitchen where Will offered Ian a glass of Gatorade. They sat out in the screened back porch and talked about this and that until Ian said it was time for him to go home.

Will followed him to the front door and Ian turned to face him. He said, “How about if I come by in the morning and we can walk to school together?”

“I’d like that,” Will said. “I usually leave about ten to seven.”

Ian leaned his head toward Will’s and held the younger boy’s chin. Their lips softly met for a brief moment and then Ian was out the door, down the front steps, and out on the side walk where he turned and waved. Will waved back and shut the door.

He walked into the parlor and sat in his place on the sofa.

“Well?” Syl asked.

“I think I have a boyfriend,” Will said with a sigh. “Just a regular, run of the mill boyfriend.”

“That’s good, Will,” Artie said. “Now, go up and do your homework.”

“Yes, sir,” Will said. He stood, but paused for a moment. “I learned how to throw and catch a football today. And, I got a boyfriend who doesn’t want to have sex with me. I feel almost normal.”

* * * *

As usual Will lay on the couch in Dr. Finklemann’s office staring at the crack riddled plaster ceiling. It had been an interesting week with all those days practicing throwing and catching a football. Yesterday, Brody had introduced a number of basic plays where Will would run routes downfield, while Ian acted as the defender. The other boys didn’t hold back and many times Will found himself face down in the turf. They said he’d learn to land correctly. Then today he got an appointment with the football coach who told him his PE classes would be spent in the weight room from now on.

Dr. Finklemann brought the side chair over to the couch and he sat down at Will’s head.

“Ah, and how is my dear boy prostitute today?”

“Can we just drop that prostitute shit?”

“But, that is what you are. You like having a big cock in your boy ass. Do you not?”

“No! I haven’t had sex for a month. I’m through with that life.”

“And, you think it is as easy as that?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“But, for nearly six years you lived to have a man’s cock shoved up into your little boy ass. How can you expect this to change so quickly?”

“I don’t know, but I’m no longer a prostitute.”

“So, what happens if you find a boyfriend? What then? Will you ask him to fuck you because you like the feel of a cock in your ass?”

“I’ve met a boy who is becoming my boyfriend.”

“Have you asked him to fuck you?”

“No, he knows my rep and said he doesn’t want to do things like that.”

“Your rep? Do you mean that students at Warnton High School know you like to be fucked?”

“Yes.”

“And, how, pray tell do they know this?

“I have to assume Tris put the word out. It couldn’t have been Jeremy because he’s no longer around.”

“I told you Tristan was dangerous. You’re lucky he didn’t try to blackmail you.”

“I don’t have anything to give him except my ass.”

“But, you have taken that away from him. Plus, his mother has specifically told him to leave you alone.”

“Well, there you go. He’s getting back at me by spreading it around school I like to be fucked.”

“But, you do.”

“Not anymore.”

“Good, you are maturing. Anything else to report?”

“Two football players are helping me learn how to throw and catch a football.”

“Are these good boys.”

“They’re both a year older than me and Brody has a girlfriend, but Ian is the boy who wants to be my boyfriend. We’re going to double-date at the movie theater tonight. Supposedly, according to Brody, they’ll be showing an old John Wayne western. Ian says Brody is a big John Wayne fan.”

“A date! Very good! I am pleased that you are maturing. Any other problems?”

“I’ve been having weird dreams. They’re scary sometimes.”

“Are they all the same?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“What happens?”

“I’m always face down on a bed and my pants and underwear are pulled around my ankles. I can’t see who it is, but he keeps fucking and hitting me until I wake up.”

“Is this something new?”

“No, I was having them back at Green Meadows.”

“Did you mention it to your psychiatrist?”

“I think I did. I think Dr. Fisher said it was post-traumatic stress disorder and that I would grow out of it.”

“Pah! A quack! No my dear victim it isn’t something you’ll grow out of. But, what shall we do with you, now? We have a number of options, some you may like and others I know you won’t. I need to call a psychiatrist friend of mine down in Lyons and see what she says. Please go out in waiting room and I’ll call you back when we come up with a suitable solution for you.”

Will went out of the office and found an empty seat on a plastic chair in the far corner of the waiting room. Venetian blinds covered the window behind him and the other patients seemed to be doing everything they could to avoid others paying attention to them. He picked up a copy of Field and Stream and thumbed through the pages not paying the least bit of attention to the words or pictures on the pages. He didn’t know what Dr. Finklemann was doing in his office, yet he wondered what could be happening. He couldn’t imagine that Dr. Fisher had screwed up with his treatment at Green Meadows, but maybe that was how he did his job.

Finally, he found an article on fly fishing on the Madison River in Montana. The pictures were interesting until he remembered being there sometime in the past with Lew. There was a weigh station that they were signaled to enter. Lew told him to go back into the sleeper, get up on the upper bunk, and be quiet. He didn’t know what would happen if he had let the state trooper know he was in the truck and from what Lew had told him over the years, he suspected he would be arrested for being a prostitute. That was what Lew held over him all the years he lived with him. Now, he knew he should have made some show of being there.

He wondered who Dr. Finklemann was calling and what they were discussing. He turned a page in the magazine and stared at the picture of a man standing in the front of a boat casting a line into a pool in the river. The man appeared to have enough money so that he could do this on his vacation. He looked at the words on the page and saw the fly had a barbless hook so that the trout could be released after being caught. Will wondered what was the sport in that. Were the fish so stupid that they could be lured into repeatedly going after a lure that might be a fly they usually went after for a meal? That reminded him of his own life, his never ending seeking of someone to fuck his ass. He closed the magazine and put it back on the table beside him.

After a while Dr. Finklemann’s door opened and the old man came out. He said, “Will? Please come in.”

Will got up and went into the office and sat in the chair beside the desk. Dr. Finklemann sat down and said, “I spoke with a number of my colleagues here in Wayne County and down near New York City. We decided that the best course of action for you is to enter an adolescent psychiatric treatment facility down near Binghamton. It has a treatment staff that is experienced with treating youth who have a history of extreme sexual abuse. I don’t know why you weren’t sent there to begin with, but we’ll try to make up for lost time.”

“But, what happens to my foster placement with Syl and Artie?” Will asked.

“That will continue. I spoke with Sylvia Jenkins and explained the issue at hand. She agrees it would be best if you follow this course of treatment.”

“When does this start?

“Sylvia and Arthur will drive you down to the facility tomorrow.”

“There’s no other option?”

“Nothing that will give you an equivalent chance for recovery. Don’t worry so much; I’ve heard it is a good facility for youth.”

Will sat there and looked at the floor not knowing what to say. Suddenly, everything had changed and he didn’t know what to do.

“You’re sure there’s no other option?” Will asked.

“Sorry, no,” Dr. Finklemann said.

* * * *

The Volvo pulled up to a stop at the entrance to Centerhaven Adolescent Home and the guard came out of his little shack and walked around to the driver’s side. Artie lowered his window and the guard asked, “May I help you?”

“We’re delivering Will here,” Artie said as he pointed toward the backseat with his thumb.

“Just a minute,” the guard said. He walked back to the shack and came back with a clipboard in his hand. “Would that be William Walter Williams?”

“Yes,” Artie said.

“And, you are?” the guard asked.

“We’re his foster parents.”

“I see; I’ll have to check with the office.” With that the guard went back to the shack and spoke on a telephone for a little bit. He raised the barrier and came over to the driver’s side of the car; and then said, “Follow the green line, it’ll lead you directly to the administration building. Go in the main entrance and the receptionist will arrange for an escort for the boy.”

Artie closed his window and put the car in gear. The green line went right at the first intersection and wound up a light incline through an open forest of old conifers and deciduous trees. Then they came to a broad field that had a huge dawn redwood in the middle. The lane went around the field and came to a parking area in front of a two story red brick building. Artie parked in a visitor’s spot and they all got out. Will went to the trunk and took out his two bags. He followed Syl and Artie up the stairs to the door and followed them through. They stopped at a counter where a young woman, probably in her late twenties to early thirties, was waiting for them.

“Are you William Walter Williams?” she asked.

“Yes,” Will said.

“And, you are Arthur and Sylvia Jenkins?”

“Yes,” Artie said.

“I’ll need you to sign the boy over to our custody,” the receptionist said. She handed a clipboard to Artie. He perused the document, signed at the bottom, and handed the clipboard to Syl.

“Do I need to sign, too?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am, we need the signatures of both parents,” the receptionist said. “I wasn’t given any information on his biological parents. Unless we receive a court document stating he is a ward of the state, we will release him if they show up and request his release.”

“That’s highly unlikely because no one has any idea who Will’s real parents are,” Artie said.

“Oh, that’s strange; then he’s an orphan?” the receptionist surmised.

“That is his legal status, yes,” Artie said.

“Okay, go over and wait in the waiting area and I’ll have an escort come down from the boy’s residence where William will live while he is with us.”

They walked over to an area that had institutional sofas and plastic chairs and sat down. Will looked around the room and tried to compare it to Green Meadows, but this place seemed to be less institutional. There were potted plants and paintings on the colorful walls. It was almost as if they were trying to make visitors feel comfortable about being here. He wondered what the psychiatrist was going to say when he told him he had been a boy prostitute; maybe they didn’t care about that stuff here.

“Will, you’ve been awfully quiet today,” Syl said.

“What can I say; in all likelihood I’ll never see either of you for the rest of my life,” he said. A lone tear trickled down his right cheek.

“Will, it’ll be alright,” Artie said. “You have to focus on getting better. We’ll always welcome you into our home no matter how old you get.”

“Son, we’ll never abandon you,” Syl said. “You’re as much a part of our family as our own flesh and blood. You have to believe that.”

“William, are you ready to move in?” a voice asked.

All three looked up and saw a young man probably no more than twenty-five. He was about six feet tall and had a slender build. He was wearing a green Binghamton University sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, and black Converse high tops.

“Yeah, I guess,” Will said. He and the two adults stood up. Artie and Syl hugged the boy in turn.

“I’m Roger and I work in your residence building,” the man said. “Let me have one of those bags.”

“Goodbye Artie, Syl,” Will said.

“No Will; we’ll see you later,” Syl said.

“And, you will,” Roger said. “You get out of here for holidays and weekend visits. This isn’t a prison.”

“Oh, okay, I guess,” Will said. Will picked up his bag and followed Roger down a hall that went back into the building. He stopped momentarily and looked back. Artie and Syl were still there and they waved a final parting.

Will turned back and hurried a little to catch back up to Roger. Soon they came to a double glass door. Roger went out and held it for Will who went outside and waited for the man to take him to his residence. They walked along an asphalt path through the open woodland for what must have been a half mile until they came to a two story dark green wooden structure that had a single glass door. Roger held it for Will, who went inside and waited.

“Are you the new boy?” a woman of middle age asked. She was sitting on the other side of a low counter.

“Yes,” Will said.

“This is Lion Cottage; it will be your residence for as long as you are with us,” she said. “Roger, do you want to do the intake interview?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Roger said. “But, where’s Dr. Strickland?”

“He had to leave; something about his oldest daughter’s recital over in Sanitaria Springs; here are the forms,” she said as she handed a clipboard to Roger.

“I’ve heard she’s a pretty good violinist. Okay, where are we putting Billy?”

“No, it’s Will,” he said.

“Oh, okay, no problem; you got that Sharon?” Roger said.

“I’ll put it on his short form,” Sharon said. “Will, here’s your room key. Try not to lose it, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Will said as he took the electronic keycard.

“Where we going, Will?” Roger asked.

“Uh, oh, 207,” Will said as he looked at the number printed on the card.

“Ah, Bradley’s old room,” Roger said. “Come on, Will, I know the way. When we finish getting you moved in and through with the interview, we’ll go down to the athletic field and see how the Lions are doing against the Tigers.”

Will followed Roger down the hall to a stairway where they went up. There was a sign on the wall with a list—Dining, Recreation, Computer Room, and Counseling—of facilities downstairs. On the second floor, they turned right and after a couple of doors, Roger stopped and waited for Will. Will inserted his card in the slot and when the green light bar brightened he turned the knob and opened the door. Inside the room there was a single bed, a small dresser, a wardrobe, a desk and chair, and a small sink with a medicine cabinet and mirror above it.

“Let’s put the bags on the bed and I’ll help you put your things away,” Roger said as he hefted his bag onto the bed.

Will followed suit and before he knew it all his clothes were in the dresser or wardrobe. Then he was struck by the sight of the rod in the wardrobe. It wasn’t wood nor metal, but of some substance that resembled cardboard. He noticed that Roger had spread the hangers across its length.

“What’s with the wardrobe rod?” Will asked.

“Too much weight will bend it,” Roger said. “We don’t want you trying to commit suicide by hanging yourself.”

“Oh, yeah, I can see that. Do you have very many suicides here?”

“No, we work very hard at identifying those who might be considering such a drastic action. Have you ever tried?”

“Yeah; a few times when I was up at Green Meadows, but my psychiatrist put me on a mood stabilizer. I’m better now.”

“Did you hear about Green Meadows?” Roger said as he closed the suitcase he had emptied. “The state is launching an investigation into their treatment methods and procedures. It seems the number of youth who come out of there with any semblance of sanity is not quite what the bureaucrats believe it should be.”

“Like my psychiatrist saying I would grow out of having PTSD?” Will asked as he closed his suitcase. He set it on the floor by the wardrobe and Roger did the same.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get your interview taken care of. You can have the bed and I’ll use the chair.”

They arranged themselves in the room and Will began to have a strange feeling. He’d been having it since getting up that morning, but it seemed to be a little worse now. He looked at Roger taking the image of the older man into context of his bedroom. Then he knew what was wrong. Bobby wasn’t here, but Roger could very well be a physical impersonation of the deceased gay man, except he wasn’t. He didn’t at all look like Bobby.

“Will, how old are you?” Roger asked.

“Fifteen.”

“What is your grade level in school.”

“I’m a freshman in high school.”

“Most of our Level One residents attend school at Columbia Middle and High Schools in Sanitaria Springs, which is a few miles south of here. We have our own school buses. All the other residents are educated here as you will be until you’re promoted to Level One. At the present time you are Level Five, Step C.”

Will smiled, not knowing what to say to that, but figured he would be told when it was appropriate. He wondered when he would be able to go to that regular school. He remembered being taught at Green Meadows and assumed it would be the same sort of arrangement here. Maybe that was the purpose of the computer room downstairs.

“Will? I asked you a question.”

“Huh, oh, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I do that sometimes.”

“Other than the sex you had when you were forced to prostitute yourself, when was the last time you had any form of sexual contact with another person?”

“Oh, let’s see, that would be about a month ago.”

“What did that entail?”

“I playacted at being raped in a prison, but the other guy did give me a reach around to get me off.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No, but that was how he wanted it to be. He couldn’t get off unless he was imagining himself raping another boy. He had just gotten out of a juvenile prison and had been raped a few times there; so I could see where he was coming from. Other than that he was an okay kind of guy and his cock wasn’t that hard to handle. But, I didn’t enjoy the experience, even though I do tend to prefer bottoming.”

“When did you first have sex in any form with another person?”

“I was six; it was at night on the same day that the trucker bought me from my parents. He injected some heroin in my thigh, stuffed a big sock in my mouth, lubed me, and then he raped me. I tried to scream, honest I did, but nothing would come out of my mouth. I could hear myself screaming in my ears, but it wouldn’t come out my mouth. I know the heroin was supposed to deaden my feelings, but it hurt. Don’t you see. I tried to scream. I did. Don’t you see. I tried. I did. I did. It wasn’t my fault. He made me. I tried to scream. I did. I …”

Will slowly slumped over onto his right side on the bed. Roger got up and went over to the door. There was a red button over the light switch and he pressed it. He went over to the boy and pulled him up onto the bed, rested his head on the pillow, and arranged his body in a comfortable position. He saw a growing circle of moisture in the crotch of Will’s pants. He went to the wardrobe and in the top drawer below the cabinet he took out a bath towel and a wash cloth. The door opened and a man and a woman came in.

“Roger what happened?” the man asked.

“I asked him about his first sexual experience and he described being raped at age six. Then he couldn’t stop talking about it and passed out. He wet himself. I was going to clean him up and put some clean clothes on him.”

“We’ll take care of it,” the woman said. “Go on down to the office and call Dr. Strickland. He needs to know about this boy. We may need to move him to intensive care over in Jaguar Cottage.”

“That would be my recommendation,” Roger said. “I guess this boy has been through a lot we don’t know about.”

“Did he say where he’s received treatment besides with that psychologist up in Warnton?” the man asked.

“Green Meadows,” Roger said. “He said his psychiatrist told him he’d grow out of PTSD.”

“Damnable fucker, excuse the French,” the woman said. “Okay Roger, you know what you need to do.”