Kept Boy to Made Man - 13. Reactions

Never in Daniel’s career had he found himself torn in so many directions. What remained of his small field team was converging on Charles Miller's home following Special Agent Fisher’s update over the radio. It had been only minutes between the arrival of the Buick and the declaration of a capture, a death, and the rescue of two more children. He desperately needed more information.

He looked around Carl Jenkins' living room. Juan had called a lawyer, one man, yet there were now five people he didn’t know in his hastily commandeered command center. They hadn’t even had time for introductions. The Special Agent in Charge didn’t truly feel in charge of anything.

“Detective Ramos, Mr. Cicero, a word?” He needed to reclaim at least a small semblance of control.

“Mr. Cicero,” Daniel started once the two men had joined him in the corner of the room.

“Roger, please,” the attorney interupted.

“I am Daniel Janick, SAC of Chicago FBI Field Office. I believe you know Detective Ramos?” Roger nodded, so Daniel continued. “You have a reputation within the law enforcement community Roger, but I assume you know that. Juan trusts you, and while some will question my sanity, that’s good enough for me. My priority- Our priority is finding and helping the kids victimized by Charles Miller and his benefactors in the Italian Crime Syndicate. We need help, and it seems you’ve brought an entire squad.”

Roger could hear the unasked question. He paused to formulate a response, but Juan stepped in.

“You watched me trying to get through to the boy for almost twenty minutes, Daniel. Thomas Miller accomplished more before he was even through the door.” Juan Ramos had been surprised to see the teenager, but completely shocked to see how confident and independent he had become in the two days since his trial.

“I’m not angry, Juan. I told you we needed help, and I can see you have provided some.” Daniel looked at the small, blond teen and the young boy who appeared glued to his lap. "So that’s Thomas Miller."

“The other teen is Thomas’ boyfriend, Brendon Mack. They have been amost inseparable since being re-united. The blond woman is my assistant Melissa Motts. Honestly, I’m not yet sure who she brought with her. You are not the only person finding it hard to keep up.” Roger returned his focus to Daniel. “Our goals are aligned Special Agent Janick. The kids are our priority as well.”

Daniel spent several seconds holding Roger’s stare. Neither saw it as a challenge. They were weighing the sincerity and resolve of an unexpected ally. They both nodded in acceptance and respect after several seconds.

“The boy you see was a surprise to all of us. We are here to intercept a scheduled delivery which was discovered somewhat serendipitously by a CPD computer technician. Testimony from Juan’s neighborhood canvas uncovered something of an anomaly in this house. Honestly, I expected the man living here to be some sort of mob sentry. As you can see, he was far more involved than we imagined although we are still uncertain exactly how.

“This is an active investigation. I propose bringing you on as an official consultant to avoid any legal or ethical concerns. You and your staff, that is,” Daniel said with a meaningful look over his shoulder.

“We accept.” Roger said simply.

“Before reading the fine print?” He asked somewhat surprised.

“I’m not concerned about the compensation, if that’s what you mean. Now what the hell just happened next door?” The attorney asked.

“I need to go find out. You heard everything I know, and I’m hesitant to ask for details given our current company.” The mention of one deceased hadn’t escaped the notice of any of the three men. “Detective Ramos, I’m leaving you in charge here. We need to figure out what we’re going to do with three boys. Perhaps you can discuss that while I’m gone.”

“Sir,” Juan responded, resisting the urge to salute.

Daniel smirked. He left the Corps many years ago, but remembered how hard it had been to transition back into civilian life. It would be even harder for Juan, now that he was working for a fellow Marine. He headed towards the door.

“No to Social Services. Every one of these kids will need more help and greater protection than they will provide. I’ll get a court order, hell, I’ll open a private facility before I let the system victimize them all over again.” Daniel smiled grimly as he stepped into the late morning sun; Juan had been right to call Roger Cicero.

. . .

Thomas had been acting on instinct since walking into the unfamiliar house with Roger’s words fresh in his mind: the boy is our priority. He hadn’t known what he would find or what he should say. His plan was to stand back and let the adults take charge.

As soon as he saw the boy, however, his plan dissolved. He recognized the boy’s pain and his fear, often spending days at a time hiding in his room in a position much like that of the small broken boy before him. Thinking back, Thomas wondered what someone might have done to help him. He was on the floor, with his arms open wide before his mind had formulated a conscious answer.

Other than a few quiet and reassuring words, he had been silent, communicating his feelings through touch. Now he could feel the boy growing restless. Despite his trauma, he was still a young child who would find sitting still difficult.

“My name is Thomas, but my friends call me Tommy. Will you be my friend?” They looked deep into each other’s eyes, much like Roger and Daniel had done moments before on the other side of the room.

Finally, the boy nodded shyly.

“That’s awesome.” Thomas kept his tone soft despite his obvious enthusiasm. “You can call me Tommy then! What do your friends call you?”

“I don’t have friends anymore.” The words were said in a heartbreaking whisper as the boy dropped his eyes in shame.

“Hey buddy. I’m your friend, remember. Can I tell you a secret?” Little boys, even sad little boys love secrets; He nodded, peering sideways at Thomas.

“When I was your age, a bad man hurt me. He touched me and did things to me I didn’t like.” Fresh tears began to run down Thomas' face. “I only had one friend, but he was a really, really good one. He let me cry and yell. Sometimes we would scream naughty words just because it made me feel a little better.”

Brendon had tears in his eyes too as he remembered the many painful moments he shared with Thomas over the years. Without thinking, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Thomas’ head. The boy watched his movements, feeling both jealous and scared.

“This is Brendon, but he lets me call him Bren. He is my best friend. He’s good at keeping secrets and making me feel better. I’ll share him with you if you want.” Brendon and the boy performed their own soul-searching stare.

“Anytime you want to cry or scream or say naughty words, you let me know. I know lots of naughty words I can teach you.” Brendon winked, before slowly leaning around Thomas and placing a gentle kiss on the boy’s head as well.

“Now you have two friends, and I think you’re going to have a lot more friends soon. But we don’t know your name?” Thomas twisted the statement into a question.

“Boy,” the small child automatically.

“Did the bad man who lives here call you that?” Thomas asked in a whisper; it was several seconds before the child nodded.

“Have you always been called Boy?” Thomas asked carefully.

“No,” was the whispered response.

“Can I tell you another secret? One that I’ve only told Bren?” Thomas waited for a nod before continuing. “My name is Tommy, but the man who hurt me always called me Eli when he did bad things to me. I hated it when he called me Eli.”

“I don’t want to call you Boy if you don’t like it,” Bren said. “Do you have a name your best friends can use?”

“He’ll hit me if I say!” The sudden intensity and volume of the boy’s terror-filled words made several people flinch as they strained to hear the trio’s soft conversation.

Thomas pulled the boy into a tighter hug, growing angry as he absorbed the vibrations of terror running the child’s small frame. His eyes met Roger’s, and a wave of calm passed over him. The boy is our priority.

“I know you’re scared. I’m older and bigger, but I almost peed my pants two days ago thinking about the bad man that hurt me.” Thomas hoped the embarrassing admission would pull the boy out of his shell once more. “Do you know what helped me not be so scared anymore?”

The small boy shook his head but didn’t pull back from the security of Thomas’ arms.

“When I was scared like you are now, I thought about Bren and how we used to say naughty words. I said as many as I could think of in my head until I started to feel a little better. Then I decided to be really brave and trust my friends.

“I told them what the bad man did to me even though he said he’d kill me if I ever told. It was so hard, but you know what? I’m not as scared anymore, and the bad man is in jail.” Thomas could feel the boy thinking hard and decided to take a chance. “Would you like to meet my other friends who make me feel safe when I am really scared?”

This time the boy did pull back to look into Thomas’ eyes. He looked frightened, but there was a small flame of hope flickering behind the fear. Thomas pushed a little more.

“My friends are so cool. To me, they are like real life superheroes except they don’t wear their underwear on the outside like superman.” The boy smiled for the first time in a long time.

“Hey Roger and Juan, would you like to meet my new friend? He’s really cool.” Thomas was relieved to see both men drop to their knees before getting too close.

“Juan is a real police detective. He catches bad guys and puts them in jail. He arrested the bad man who hurt me. I thought policemen were scary, but Juan is really nice. He listened to me and didn’t make fun or yell when I told him embarrassing and scary things.” Thomas nodded to Juan.

“Hey Chiquito! I’m glad you are friends with Tommy and Bren. I’d like to be your friend too if you’ll let me.” Juan wanted to wrap the boy in a huge hug but knew it wasn’t time.

“If you ask him, I bet Juan will show you his police badge,” Thomas stage whispered to the boy. “Plus, I bet Juan knows lots of bad words Bren and I don’t.”

“Si! Conozco muchas malas palabras!” Juan said in Spanish while laughing at the teen’s creative approach.

“Roger is super special too. He’s the first person who hugged me like I’m hugging you. He makes me feel safe and helps me be brave. Roger understands.” Thomas’ moist eyes met Roger’s in silent communication.

“A bad man hurt me too,” Roger said softly. “Sometimes, I still get scared when I think about him, but my friends help me feel safe as well. I’d like for us to be friends.”

Thomas glanced meaningfully at Melissa, who took Samantha’s hand before joining Juan and Roger on the floor.

“This is my friend Mel. She’s nice and gives great hugs. She’s really smart too.” Thomas and Melissa had grown close in the time they spent together at the office.

“Hey, little man. I am so happy to meet you. This is my friend Sam. She writes stories for the newspaper. She knows all kinds of words, even the naughty ones.” Melissa looked at her friend, the personification of the passion and thoughts presented in her latest article.

“It looks like you have a lot of friends now.” Samantha said though her tears; she couldn’t believe that she was a part of this beautiful moment.

Thomas looked back to the small boy on his lap and was encouraged to see him looking shy rather than scared.

“You have so many new friends that I bet you already forgot some of our names!” Thomas saw the look of fear that crossed the small face, so he quickly improvised. “And that’s okay, because we’re going to play a game to help you remember. I’ll start by saying my name and then I’ll point at one of our friends. Whoever I point at will say their name and then point at someone else.

“Tommy,” he said before pointing a finger.

“Roger, Bren, Mel, Juan, Sam, Tommy.” This time Thomas’ finger was pointing at the boy who looked at him in panic before looking into the smiling faces that surrounded him; He bravely took a risk.

“Micah,” he whispered.

“Don’t forget to point.” Thomas wanted to shout out in triumph but acted as if the revelation of the boy’s name wasn’t a big deal.

“Juan, Bren, Sam, Roger, Tommy, Mel … Micah.” There wasn’t a dry eye as they moved around the room several more times.

“Great job, Micah! I am so glad we all get to be friends!”

. . .

Daniel knocked before opening the front door and stepping back into Carl Jenkins' house. He was surprised by the soft laughter and small smiles that greeted him. This was a very different environment than it had been only twenty minutes before. It was very different than the environment in Charles Miller’s house as well.

“Is he our friend too?” Daniel’s mouth dropped open as he heard the small boy speak for the first time.

“Yep, his name is Danny,” Juan said, realizing Thomas didn’t know it. “He’s one of the people who helped us find you.”

“I’m Micah.” He looked both shy and proud.

“Hello, Micah.” Daniel said in wonder. “I am so excited to get to know you!”

He walked over to the couch and held out his hand. Micah shied away and looked at Thomas for help. Thomas reached over and shook Daniel’s hand. He then held his hand out to Micah who nervously took it. After an encouraging nod from Thomas, he allowed Daniel to gently shake his small hand.

“Touching will probably stress Micah out for a while, especially with men he doesn’t know.” Daniel felt bad; he should have realized the abused boy would fear physical contact with strangers.

“That’s okay, Micah. You are being so brave.” The man remembered why he was there.

“There are two very scared eight-year old’s that would probably feel better anywhere but here. They need to get cleaned up, and I’m guessing Micah would appreciate some clothes. The best idea I’ve come up with is renting a hotel room or using the locker room at headquarters. Other ideas?” Daniel asked.

“Um, my house isn’t too far from here. I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind,” Brendon felt awkward and intimidated, but he was determined to do anything he could for Micah.

Daniel held out his cellular phone to Brendon. The teen took the device but didn’t know how to operate it. Juan came to his rescue, dialing numbers as Brendon recited them.

. . .

Jason Rizzo was deep in thought as he drove. He knew he should cut his losses and focus on the intact schemes still producing cash, but he also knew he couldn’t. The man hadn’t worked his way up from nothing by allowing himself to be disrespected.

Roger Cicero had disrespected him, and probably ratted out Joe and Sal. The lawyer was also helping Detective Ramos steal from him. Charlie’s entire operation belonged to Riz, including the boys. He couldn’t let either offense go unpunished. Killing them didn’t feel like enough. He wanted them to respect and fear him before he eventually took their lives.

With Joe and Sal out of the picture, Riz was going to have to recruit or promote some new muscle. Flipping cops took patience and time, and the man didn't have either in any measurable quantity. Fortunately, Jason Rizzo knew plenty of people who were willing to do just about anything for money and the promise of power. Even the things that were currently running through his mind.

. . .

Brendon and Sandra each carried a small, identical child towards the bathroom and a much-needed bath. Neither boy said anything as they stared blanky over the shoulder of yet another stranger. Despite sleeping in the unfamiliar car much of the morning, they were once more exhausted. Nervous excitement had turned to terror in an instant, and the brothers had experienced one frightening thing after another since.

They knew they would never see Stan again. Evidence of his violent death still covered them, despite the best efforts of several members of the Hostage Rescue Team. The boys were out of tears. Their young muscles were sore, a result of the fight each had put up after their new life crumbled into hellish chaos.

Neither mother nor son said anything as they ran the bath. There was nothing to say. The young lives temporarily in their care had been changed irreparably, and both knew that nothing they could do or say in that moment would make the boys feel okay.

. . .

Neither woman had ever shopped for boys' clothes before. Kmart was not difficult to navigate, however, even in the previously foreign department. Samantha and Melissa found choosing the appropriate sizes and styles much harder.

“Is Micah too old for cartoon panties?” Samantha asked.

“They’re called briefs, Sam,” Melissa laughed.

“How the hell should I know? I literally have never thought about male underwear before this moment.” Melissa almost pointed out the packaging she held which clearly stated it contained five briefs, but she just laughed again instead.

They added several sizes to their cart, some with prints and some without, before moving on to more familiar garments.

“Should we buy the same things for twins? I’m not sure if identical twins like dressing the same or if that is just a mean joke their parents play to keep the rest of the world guessing.” The short glance Melissa caught of the brothers had been haunting her thoughts.

“I don’t think they’ll care as long as the clothes aren’t covered in blood,” Sam said soberly, as she also thought of the gore-covered boys they had yet to officially meet. “What do you think will happen to them?”

“Juan and Daniel will try to figure out who they are and where they came from. Hopefully, there’s someone out there somewhere who loves them and is praying to get them back.” Melissa was hopeful but not at all confident that would be the case.

“What if there isn’t anyone out there, Melissa?” Sam was no longer seeing the clothes as she moved item after item across the rack. “What happens then.”

“Then we fight like hell to make sure they find a new family, Sam. They won’t grow up unwanted. Roger won’t allow it.” Melissa looked at the woman who was quickly becoming a close friend. “Neither will I.”

Samantha recognized the look on Melissa’s face. It was the same look Roger had when he stood up for Thomas in the gallery of courtroom seven two days before. It was a look of determination and resolve on top of righteous fury.

Focusing once more on the shirts before her, Samantha James decided that she would not sit back and observe this time. She had already formed and communicated her opinion to the world. No one should feel unwanted. It was time for her to join her new friends in action.

. . .

Qian Chang was sweating again as he looked nervously around the small sitting area tucked into an almost deserted corner of the sixth floor. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide, even it was only behind the professional armor he had crafted around himself.

It had been years since he had a panic attack like that. He had learned to compartmentalize, keeping his painful past locked away as he went through each day. It was only at night in his dreams where his memories were free to haunt him, and that had been happening less and less. Qian had almost begun to believe that he had overcome the nightmare of his youth, but the dirt covering his suit and the tangy odor of his terror said otherwise.

“Special Agent Chang, please come in.” The rail-thin man who stepped out of the office couldn’t have yet reached his thirties.

Qian looked toward the elevator as he considered fleeing once more. He knew Daniel Janick was going to pull him from the case. The boss’ concern would require it even if it weren’t proper procedure. The man cared too much. There were over eighty boys out there somewhere, boys like him, with more disappearing every day. The young, black-haired shrink was the only chance he had of remaining engaged in the hunt for the animals working with Carl Jenkins and Charles Miller.

“Thank you for making time for me, Doctor,” Qian said once he was seated.

“It’s why I’m here, although I don’t get a lot of voluntary recruits for my services,” the FBI-employed psychologist observed in good humor.

Robert Fenton was young in his career, which made many question his credibility and skill. He believed his youth and recent studies to be a positive thing, however. Science’s understanding of the human brain and psyche was constantly evolving. Too many men and women in his field operated with outdated information and techniques. It hadn’t been very long in the past that lobotomies, electro-shock and even toxic substances like mercury were administered by the field’s brightest minds.

“What would you like to talk about Mr. Chang?” He asked in his most disarming tone.

Qian watched the young doctor watch him. Years with the Bureau, after years as a victim of the sex trade had taught him how to read people. He had talked to several shrinks over the years, but never one he felt he could be honest with. Dr. Fenton seemed smart and confident, but he clearly cared as well. The man decided he had nothing left to lose.

“I was taken from my parents in China when I was five years old and brought to the United States,” Qian began.

Robert Fenton said very little as he was introduced to a world he knew only through rumor. The rumors paled in comparison to the truth. He was overwhelmed by the massive childhood trauma Qian described, experienced at a point in life critical to emotional, mental, and social development.

He didn’t wonder why the man had broken in Carl Jenkins' basement earlier in the day. Instead, he wondered how the man had survived so many years despite his painful past.

The psychologist wouldn’t be recommending Qian Chang for active field work anytime soon. The fact that he was in Robert’s office voluntarily exploring the hellscape of his past, however, was evidence of the profound healing potential that existed in helping others who had suffered in similar ways. The man needed these boys as much as they needed him.

Dr. Fenton’s personal and professional passions flared as he listened. Not one of his scheduled sessions were likely to offer the impact or challenge he found in Qian Chang. He thought then about the boy the agent had found. His trauma was likely much like that of the man who found him. It was something he could use to reach through the conscious walls Qian Chang had erected.

“If you could go back right now, what would you say to that little boy in the basement?” The psychologist asked.

“I don’t know. What is there to say? I’d cry for the pain and confusion he must be feeling. The world has fucked him over. It’s taken everything from him in ways he can even understand yet. Words won’t make anything better.” Qian knew he hadn’t answered the doctor’s question.

“What would make things better for the boy?” He waited for the man to speak, hoping the wounded boy in his sub-conscious was listening as well.

“Somethings can’t ever be taken away. His memories, his scars, his anger. But things can be added, like protection, laughter, love.” Qian’s voice trailed off into a whisper.

“What are you feeling right now, Qian?” Dr. Fenton asked after several seconds of silence.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of my memories, to forget the pain and remove the scars. It doesn’t work like that does it?” Despite his personal distress, Qian Chang had a quick mind and recognized how the young psychologist had used his compassion for the boy in the basement to help him see a profound truth about his own past.

“No, it doesn’t. Somethings can’t ever be taken away.” Robert recycled the man’s own powerful words.

“I’m not ready to go back in the field.” Qian wasn’t asking; He had been hoping his initiative would convince Daniel that he was still fit for field work, but he knew now that he wasn’t.

“No, not yet. I understand wanting revenge or retribution, but neither will take away your pain. I think you have correctly prescribed your own need, Qian. Like the boy in the basement, you need to feel safe. You need to add laughter and love to your life, so that you have something more than your painful memories and scars.” Robert Fenton had never cried in front of a client, but his eyes grew moist as he watched Qian Chang embrace hope for perhaps the first time since his abduction so many years before.

. . .

“I already have Thompson coordinating with the local sheriff to find the twins' mother. We’re not sure what happened other than they left with their neighbor Stan and another man early this morning. From the little we got from the twins, we believe Stan has been the primary care giver for most of their lives. The driver appears to be a serial kidnapper. He murdered Stan as soon as they were inside Charles Miller’s house, so we are assuming Stan wasn’t a knowing or willing accomplice in the kidnapping. It seems likely that Stan was fooled, possibly through seduction.” Daniel finished telling Roger, Juan, and Melissa what little he knew so far as they sat in the living room of the Mack home.

. . .

Sandra and Samantha sat at the kitchen table uncertainly, having excused themselves from the conversation knowing they weren’t officially a part of Special Agent Janick’s growing team.

“So how do you know my boys?” Sandra asked, more out of a need to break the silence than curiosity; it startled her to realize she now also included Roger Cicero as one of her own.

Sam looked for an answer that wouldn’t make her cry in front of yet another stranger. After a few seconds thought, she pulled a worn copy of The Windy City Pages from her shoulder bag and handed it to Brendon’s mother.

It was Sandra who found herself crying as she read Sam’s reaction to Thomas’ trial. It hurt her to know that she had played an active role in his pain. Reading about the hopeless isolation and cruel treatment he endured was almost too much for her, especially after the one-sided interaction she had with the traumatized and displaced twins.

. . .

“I love you, Thomas. You were amazing with Micah today.” Brendon and Thomas were snuggled together in a beanbag designed for much smaller bodies.

Thomas looked at the two blanket covered lumps on Brendon’s full-size bed. Micah and the twins had all but ignored each other as each tried to process the day’s events in their minds. The three boys, now clad in newly purchased clothes, had all fallen asleep quickly. The twins were intertwined at the head of the bed while Micah slept at the foot.

“I feel so guilty, Bren.” Thomas whispered as he squeezed fresh tears from his moistening eyes.

The unexpected admission surprised Brendon, who felt sorrow for the boys but also immense pride for his life-long friend.

“Why?” He finally asked Thomas.

“I should have told someone what Uncle Charlie was doing to me years ago. If I had, none of this would have happened.” Several staccato sobs escaped the small teen as he realized the perceived price of his silence.

“That’s bullshit, Tommy.” Brendon’s heart broke again as he realized his own guilt. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I was supposed to be your best friend. I should have told somebody what that fuckwad was doing to you. I should have protected you.”

The teen’s clung to each other on the small beanbag like they had done so many times over the years. They were both lost in guilt and the questions of ‘what if’ and ‘why didn’t I?’ Their self-destructive thoughts were interrupted by Micah’s whimpers as his subconscious tried to process his trauma.

“I have to help him, help them,” Thomas almost croaked.

“Me too,” Brendon realized out loud. “But I don’t know how.”

The two exhausted and distraught teens watched Micah’s nightmare play out as their own demons frolicked through their conscious thoughts. It was Thomas that first found his resolve.

“Together. That’s how.” Thomas pulled Brendon tighter to himself, knowing that he couldn’t find the path forward alone. "We’ll help them together."

. . .

“The twins can stay with me while we wait to learn more,” Melissa offered.

“I’ll call my mother and see if she can take Micah for a few days. She’s about as far from Carl Jenkins as I can imagine.” Juan wanted to take the boy himself, but knew we couldn’t care for him properly.

“There may be an element of danger remaining for the boys. That’s a part of why we aren’t turning them over to the state. I’m planning to assign agents to the boys full time until we confirm no one is going to try to silence or reclaim them.” Daniel didn’t think that was likely, but the case had been constantly catching him off-guard.

“Mami’s not going to like that!” Juan laughed.

“That’s why I’m going to ask you to take the overnight shift Juan. I’m sure Cook County will be happy to approve the overtime,” Daniel said sarcastically.

"We’ll figure out a team and a schedule in the next few days. Melissa, I’m not sure who it will be yet, but can you accept someone staying with the twins? I’m making it a condition of their placement for now.” Melissa nodded, hoping whoever the man assigned didn’t object to sleeping on the sofa bed.

“Rachel and her team have already identified well over eighty victims in Charlie’s tapes and photos. We are going to find and hopefully rescue more boys. Roger, we need a plan to protect them while we try to get them home. I’m going to assign that problem to you, since it sounds like you’ve already been thinking about solutions.” Daniel allowed himself a small smile as the lawyer’s façade flickered for a moment.

"I see you, Roger Cicero; Mob lawyer indeed," he thought.