Kept Boy to Made Man - 22. All Used Up

Saturday June 25th, 1992

“I’ve been hoping for the chance to speak with you,” Robert said as he claimed a sliver of space at the kitchen island.

Roger looked up from the pile of sliced bagels in front of him to find the Bureau-employed psychologist looking at him intently. Robert Fenton made Roger nervous, but he knew it was his own biases towards the man’s profession rather than the man himself.

The last week had opened Roger Cicero up to a world of people and ideas that he previously ignored or despised mainly due to the influence Edward Vitale had on his life. He had become close with many who he would have avoided in the past, and the psychologist’s presence in the crowded condo suggested he was already an ally and potentially a friend.

“Plain or blueberry?” Roger asked pointing to several containers of cream cheese.

Robert smiled as he reached for the light blue-ish spread. Roger slid the pile of unprepared bagels closer to the man before reaching for the remaining tub.

“I have heard a lot about you, Mr. Cicero, and the more I learn the more intriguing I find you.” Robert handed a well-covered bagel to a hungry but shy boy across the island.

“Daniel has told me a bit about you as well.” Roger didn’t elaborate, choosing to remain neutral as he waited for the man to reveal his motives for the conversation.

“May I call you Roger?” Receiving a nod, Dr. Fenton proved his ability to read people. “Is it me or my profession that makes you nervous, Roger?”

His directness made Roger laugh.

“The profession, but then mine often has that same effect on others.” The pile of bagels was quickly disappearing, as was the sliced fruit and juice Sandra and her son were distributing nearby. “I was a kept boy, Dr. Fenton, emotionally controlled by an older man for many years. I am not all that different from these boys, other than being much older. Before meeting Thomas, I would never have entertained this conversation, but Thomas and I are teaching each other to be more open and honest about the things in our heads.”

“I’m not looking to psychoanalyze your past… Well, not just that, anyway.” Roger laughed again, liking the man’s honesty and humor. “I think my goals in this case are more closely aligned with yours than with my employer’s. I am here for them, as I believe you and your crew are.”

Robert waived his cream cheese covered bread knife in a wide arc that encompassed the skittish boys eating quietly throughout the condo. The room was much too quiet for the number of children in the space, which made Robert sad.

“They’re free of the farm, but they have no idea what will happen to them next.” Roger felt the heavily hanging cloud of fear and uncertainty as well as he remembered the first disorienting hours of Thomas’ freedom after leaving Judge O’Malley’s courtroom.

Thin arms wrapped around Roger’s chest. Thomas was becoming more demonstrative as his own fear and uncertainty diminished.

“Bren and I were talking about that last night. We need to help them, dad.” Brendon and Sandra watched with smiles as Roger reached around to draw Thomas into a hug.

Robert had met, and even talked briefly with the abused teen who was confidently initiating physical affection with the adult man beside him. He, more than most in the room, understood the incredible significance of the implicit trust Thomas’ actions demonstrated. The scene taking place next to him told the psychologist more than words could. Roger Cicero was a man he wanted to know and support.

. . .

Thomas and Brendon stood in front of the building, shoulders touching, with Roger and Sandra each standing behind their boy. They watched the bus pull away, saddened by the terror they had seen on the young boys' faces when they learned they would be spending the day at the FBI headquarter building. Oliver had taken charge, assuring his brothers they would be okay, but Thomas especially understood how traumatic an uncertain future surrounded by law enforcement could be.

“It’s like when I was sitting in jail, not knowing what was going to happen and not understanding the things going on around me.” The teenager’s heart was breaking for the boys he had only just met. “They don’t even know where they will sleep tonight. At least I didn’t have to worry about that.”

“You're right, Thomas. Daniel and his team are hunting the animals responsible for the boy’s pain, but like Robert pointed out upstairs, the boys’ welfare is our main concern. Knowing they have a safe place to sleep would be a great place to start, but I don’t think the condo is a good long-term solution to that problem.” Roger thought back to the plans he had been making over the last several days, and the issues he had yet to solve. “I’d like to head to the bank this morning. I’ll explain what I’ve been thinking about on the way.”

. . .

“Here you are Mr. Cicero.” The man placed a metal, shoebox-sized container on the table in front of Roger. “Simply relock the box and step out of the room when you are finished.”

Roger sighed once he was alone with the things Eddie thought important enough to store in the bank’s vault. He fingered the key he had received as the new owner of the box. He stared at the box for several long seconds before turning the lock and lifting the lid.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to find beyond the keys Walter Penhurst II had mentioned the evening before. Even after opening the box, Roger was hesitant to leaf through the various papers and items haphazardly locked away, much like their owner had been, for the past six years.

Roger swallowed his reticence, knowing there were ten boys across town who needed him. It took only seconds to find the keys he was looking for, the property address they belonged to written on a paper tag in Eddie’s messy scrawl.

His eyes and fingers picked through the remaining contents before landing on a small leather-bound book Roger recognized all too well. He shuddered, knowing the coded writing contained within documented countless ruined and lost lives along with the transactions that funded the still-substantial account balances now belonging to Roger.

Tears fell from his eyes as he gingerly lifted the item he hoped most not to find. He opened the book to a random page knowing the words he read would appear meaningless to him. Closing the book, Roger slipped it into his jacket pocket before unceremoniously dumping the remaining items into the backpack he had brought for that purpose.

Roger returned to the bank lobby to find a small, blond, shell-shocked teen standing next to Sandra and her grinning son.

“Thomas? Is everything okay?” Thomas nodded as he held a small slip of paper towards Roger.

It was a personal check in the amount Roger had loaned Thomas to secure his father’s house.

“Sam’s readers are still showing Thomas their support,” Brendon whispered mischievously. “I never thought I’d be dating a rich kid.”

“Brendon, stop it!” his mother hissed before allowing a small smile to crease her lips.

Roger shook his head. The banter broke his heavy mood, and the check from Thomas gave him something to consider beyond the small book in his breast pocket.

“Consider the loan paid, Thomas. I know you said you were going to look for a cheap car yesterday, but you'll need something your gold-digger boyfriend won’t be embarrassed to be seen in.” Roger handed the check back to the teenager he had grown to love. “The old people in your life will also feel better if you buy something dependable. Now, let’s get out of here. We have a building to explore.”

. . .

“I’m sorry, but I need some air.” Daniel Janick and Caleb Kosiak watched the CPD lead lab technician move quickly towards the door.

“Compile as much information as you can about the boys’ pasts. There are likely worried families out there, and we should make sure they know we have found their boys. I will entertain parents coming here, but the boys are staying together in protective custody until we know they are safe.” Daniel followed the path Rachel Swanson had taken moments earlier, finding her in the hallway weeping silently.

Daniel slid down the wall next to her but waited for the young woman to speak. It was over a minute before she did.

“I’m sorry I lost it in there,” she finally said. “I recognize almost all those boys, Daniel. I thought I’d feel happy when we found them, but I just feel sick and angry. I can’t look at their terrified faces without seeing those awful images in my head.”

There was nothing Daniel could think to say that would ease the woman’s distress. Daniel felt similar, although he hadn’t spent nearly as much time with Charles Miller’s work as Rachel had. Rather than offer platitudes, the man simply sat with her thinking about the high personal cost willingly paid by each member of the joint operation. He suspected more than a few of the men and woman working the case would decide to look for other work once the files for Charles Miller and The Deck were finally closed.

. . .

Jim Thompson sat in his small office staring at the ten-digit number he had looked up thirty minutes before. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he strongly felt it was his duty to make the call. Putting it off wasn’t helping. The agent lifted the handset and keyed in the numbers. It was an hour earlier in Colorado Springs. His anxiety grew which each ring.

“Hello?” said a young voice.

“Good morning. You must be Jasper?” Jim asked.

“Uh huh.” Jim smiled.

“Is your mom or dad home, buddy?” Jim laughed as the boy set the phone down and yelled for his mother.

He had almost a minute to think about what he would say to Oliver’s mother before the woman’s voice came over the line.

“Hello? Are you still there?” The exasperated mother’s voice made Jim chuckle despite his nerves.

“Is this Jennifer White?” he asked.

“Yes, who is this?” Oliver’s mother seemed distracted, but the man’s next words captured her full attention.

“Ma’am, my name is Jim Thompson with the FBI.” Jim regretted his approach as he heard the sharp intake of breath eleven hundred miles away.

“Have you found my baby?” Jennifer White cried.

“Mrs. White, your son Oliver is here with me in Chicago.” Jim heard the phone hit the floor as Jennifer White began to sob.

Though muffled, Jim heard a man’s voice followed by a choked, “They found him.”

“Hello, who is this,” a suddenly anxious man asked into the phone.

“Travis White?” Jim wanted to be certain.

“Yes. Who is this, and where is my son!” Jim Thompson was no longer nervous, encouraged by the emotional responses from each of Oliver’s parents.

“Sir, my name is Jim Thompson. I’m an agent with the FBI in Chicago. Is there a second phone your wife can listen in on so I can share some good news with you both?” Jim tried to remember his rehearsed talking points.

“Jasper, go get the phone from our bedroom!” It took almost a minute, but Travis and Jennifer White were soon both on the phone anxiously demanding information about their missing son.

“Oliver is alive, and he is safe, but he is no longer the little boy you remember.” Jim took a deep breath while Jennifer White cried in her husband’s arms as they both gripped separate cordless phones tightly. “Some of the things I need to share are going to be very hard for you to hear. It would be easier if I could speak plainly. Is Jasper listening?”

“I don’t think so but let me make sure.” The worried sounding father was back a minute later. “I told him he could watch Saturday morning cartoons. He shouldn’t hear what you say.”

“Thank you. Mr. and Mrs. White, I have gotten to know your son over the last eighteen hours. Oliver is fierce, loyal, and very brave, but he has experienced things nobody of any age should ever have to experience.

“The man who kidnapped your son physically and sexually assaulted him repeatedly for several months. He then sold Oliver to an organization that used and sold his body here in Chicago. Oliver was forced to train other boys in addition to enduring the things that were done to him. No matter how bad you are imagining his experience to have been, I promise you it’s been much worse.”

Jennifer White was sobbing uncontrollably, but her husband was ominously quiet.

“Your son is in protective custody along with the other boys he was held captive with. He was an active participant in his own escape and instrumental in the rescue of the other boys he calls brothers. The investigation into the ring that last held him is ongoing, and we have no idea who originally kidnapped your son. We are very concerned for Oliver’s safety as well as the safety of almost one hundred other boys we now know were or are in this criminal organization's possession as well.”

The agent’s words stopped. Oliver’s shocked parents tried to digest the horrifying news Jim was forced to deliver. After more than a minute of intense grief and pain, Oliver’s mother asked the question that was most pressing in her mind.

“When can our boy come home?” Jennifer White asked desperately.

“Ma’am, Oliver is in protective custody and is surrounded by people working to help him and keep him safe. The ring that held him for the last eleven months is very large, ruthless, and well hidden. Until we find the other boys and bring down the ring, every one of the boys is in danger. That includes your son, Mrs. White. Also, I mentioned that your son sees the boys he has been living with as his brothers. Separating them too soon would be very traumatic for them all.

“I need to see my boy!” Oliver’s mother was nearly hysterical once more.

“Of course, Mrs. White. I’d like to invite you to Chicago to reconnect with your son, but you should also know he is terrified that you will reject him.”

“We would never reject our boy! How could he even think such a thing?” Jennifer wailed.

“Ma’am, Oliver told me you are both very religious. He is certain he is unredeemable because of the things that have been done to him and the things he has been forced to do. Your son's road is going to be difficult, and likely includes behavioral, physical, psychological, and emotional challenges that will be hard to understand and even more difficult to deal with. If you cannot love your traumatized son or accept that he is not the same boy you remember, I beg you not to come to Chicago right now.” Jim’s voice was pleading as he repeated the words Robert Fenton had given him.

“He’s our son,” Travis said flatly, finally breaking his silence.

“Can I go off script for a second?” Jim asked but received only silence in response. “I met two amazing seventeen-year-old boys recently. One of the boy’s fathers tried to kill them both when he found out they were in love with each other. The other father tried to beat the gay out of his son in the name of Jesus. I’m not saying Oliver is gay, but I am telling you that parents do not have the right, even in the name of religion, to harm their children physically or emotionally, no matter what they say or do.”

“I would never hit Oliver!” Travis’ was immediately furious and offended by the stranger’s insinuation.

“I am not trying to make you mad, Mr. White. I am trying to protect your son, who I have come to care for a great deal. I spent last night chaperoning and protecting ten boys who have lived through hell. I saw things that would make most people uncomfortable, but I was reminded by a man I greatly respect that due to the things done to them, we cannot expect Oliver or the others to behave like normal boys their age.” Jim paused to let his tough words settle.

“We love both of our sons, Agent Thompson... without conditions.” Travis White’s mind was reeling with everything he had been told, but the devastating emotions and imagined images only made his need to protect and support his oldest son stronger. “We will be on the next flight to Chicago. Just tell me where we need to go and what we need to do to see Oli.”

. . .

The two adults and two teenagers were standing in front of a building once more. Rather than a modern residential high-rise in the Gold Coast neighborhood, they stood six miles south in Kenwood looking at a reasonably maintained but old two-story, Art Deco era school building.

Concrete accents contrasted the largely unadorned brick work of the long, low structure. The school was one of four buildings listed on the title Roger had inherited from Edward Vitale. The empty, unused building was situated on the Eastern third of the block, closest to the lake, with its main entrance facing North towards the city skyline.

“I’ve prepared the paperwork for the non-profit entity already. All I need is a name for the foundation as well as some officers, and it will be ready to file with the state. I realized in Carl Jenkins’ home that the best way to help the boys Daniel and Juan find is to provide a safe, understanding, and stable place outside of the state system for them to heal. A home for abused boys makes the most sense, but one of the largest remaining hurdles is where to house them.” Before falling asleep the night before, Roger was struck by the possibility that his unexpected and unwanted inheritance might be the solution to that large, outstanding problem.

“Why would Eddie own an old school?” Thomas asked distractedly as he imagined the vile man he had never met prowling like a wolf through halls crowded with unsuspecting children.

“Actually, he owned this whole block. According to Mr. Penhurst, there are two income-producing apartment buildings and a small multi-use office and retail space behind this building.” Roger pointed to two of the three mentioned buildings, both visible across the empty parking lot to the South and West. “According to Walter, Eddie purchased the buildings as a legitimate investment in the early 80’s, and it has been a significant source of income since.

“You own an entire city block in Kenwood?” Sandra was having a difficult time imagining such a thing, only guessing at what real estate was worth in the upscale neighborhood so close to her own home.

“Apparently, whether I like it or not.” Roger fingered the keys he had retrieved from the bank box. “Eddie’s lawyer mentioned a firm that maintains and manages the rental spaces, but the school has been empty for years. While a property like this never would have occurred to me, I am interested to see if the place can be salvaged and repurposed as a group home.”

Roger’s hopes began to fade as soon as they entered the extremely outdated and long unused school building. The long hallway that stretched out before them was drab, lined with short cubbies and hooks for jackets and boots. They walked past a stairway leading both up and down on the right and what was obviously an administrative space on the left.

Small classrooms, several missing doors, were spaced out along the corridor. Thomas stepped into one, followed by Brendon and the adults. It was empty of furniture, but an ancient blackboard hung in the front of the room, covered with the chalk dust of erased lessons from the past. The tiled floor was cracked and chipped, and several of the old windows looking out towards Lake Michigan were cracked.

Silence followed them as they moved further down the hallway. There was an almost reverent stillness to the old, empty school, reminding Roger of a cemetery. The solemnity was broken by Brendon who laughed before stepping through a solid wooden door labelled “Boys.”

“The urinals could come in handy,” Brendon said as he stepped out several seconds later. “But the water doesn’t work. I’m glad I checked before I went!”

About two-thirds of the way down the long central hallway, they found a set of double doors that opened into a small gymnasium. The thin-planked wood floor needed to be repaired in places where water had at one time dripped and pooled from the roof two stories above. A small set of collapsed wooden bleachers sat flush along the South wall. The single, full-sized basketball court featured netless rims mounted to almost modern glass backboards suspended from the rafters.

Roger and Sandra stopped just inside the doors, while the teenagers continued out onto the gym floor holding hands and talking quietly. Roger’s eyes followed the young couple as they explored the large, open space.

“Thank you, Roger.” The man was startled by the unexpected sound and emotion of Sandra Mack’s words.

“What for?” he asked after a second, turning to look at Brendon’s mom.

“For saving Thomas. For bringing my boy back to me. For giving the boys a chance to be happy. For turning your life upside down for all the boys that need your help.” Sandra turned her tear-filled eyes towards the unlikely angel who had appeared out of nowhere several days before.

“You make it sound like I had a choice. I haven’t. From the moment I saw Thomas at the jail, I have simply been reacting and responding. It’s like he pulled something out of me I didn’t know was there. His pain is my pain, but I can deal with his far easier than my own.” The man was having a hard time following his own scattered thoughts as Sandra’s heartfelt words broke through another wall of his subconscious defenses.

“Look at our boys, Roger. I never thought I would find two men in love with each other so beautiful, but just look. They are a light, even in this old, sad place.” The teens seemed to have forgotten they weren’t alone.

Roger and Sandra watched them come together under the far basket. Thomas reached up and Brendon bent down. Their lips met sweetly as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Eddie and Charlie epitomize how I've always viewed homosexuality, but I was wrong. They are the exception, aren’t they?” Sandra realized Thomas and her son could never be anything like the predators she had believed all gay men to be; Roger was another example of how wrong she had been.

Roger wasn’t offended by Sandra’s honesty. He had viewed homosexuality much like she had, and he found the relationship between Thomas and Brendon as enlightening as Sandra did. With Eddie as his example, Roger had seen being gay as a curse. He had avoided his own sexuality, even after his controlling lover was sent away, because he was afraid of the monster he believed himself to be.

The love on display before him was pure and enviable. Sandra’s words forced Roger to likewise accept that the men who had reaped so much destruction in their lust represented an evil extreme rather than the norm.

Roger had assumed that he, like Eddie, would become a ravenous and destructive beast in the presence of sexual temptation, but the past week had shown him his fears were unfounded. Two extremely handsome young men were living with Roger in his condo, and he felt nothing beyond a deep platonic love for either of them.

For the first time since his seventeenth birthday, Roger Cicero consciously acknowledged and accepted his aching desire to be loved by another man. He longed for the closeness, the completeness, he saw between the teens who were walking towards them once more.

Roger pulled his thoughts back to the abused boys who had no place to call home, even temporarily. His late-night curiosity sated, the man started to explore other possible solutions in his mind. His aging inheritance was not the warm and inviting home he had been searching for.

Thomas’ peaceful expression turned sad as he stared at the wall behind the adults who waited for them.

“It’s old,” Roger said sadly, believing Thomas had come to the same conclusion.

“Yep, old and used up,” a sad smile creased Thomas’ lips as he used the words he had heard Oliver utter several times in the hours the teen had known the boy. “Which is what makes this place so perfect.”

“Perfect?” Roger was confused. “This place needs to be torn down.”

Thomas frowned.

“How much will it cost to fix it up?” Thomas reached into his pocket and extracted a small piece of paper, which he handed to Roger. “I’ll buy it from you or pay for the stuff that needs to be fixed, but you can't give up on this worn out place.”

Roger looked at the personal check that had already been passed back and forth once that morning. He smiled, despite his confusion.

“Tell us what you see, Thomas.” Roger prompted when he realized Thomas was serious.

“This building is like us. It’s been used, abused, and discarded.” Thomas paused to find words to communicate his emotional thoughts. “Oliver keeps saying he’s used up, like he has nothing more to offer the cruel world that has chewed him up and spit him out. That’s how I felt before you showed up at the jail, Roger.”

“It’s how I felt lying in the hospital,” Brendon added.

“You didn’t give up on us, and I’m not going to give up on Oliver and his brothers. I’m sure we could find a new, expensive place to start a home, but it would take time and probably end up feeling just like your condo.” Thomas looked apologetic.

“It’s okay, Thomas. The condo does feel like a fancy hotel more than a home, like you said before.” Thomas’ words were helping Roger see the school with new vision.

“Here, we can both be and see ourselves. We can transform this used and tired space into something special together.” Thomas looked back at the wall behind Roger and Sandra causing them to follow his eyes.

“With liberty and justice for all.” Thomas read the last line of the Pledge of Allegiance quietly as the words summed up the thoughts and emotions that had been stirring in his mind from the moment he stepped into the old school building.

Roger stared at the faded and chipped American flag painted on the wall, the Pledge printed in large letters beneath it.

Liberty. Justice. The legal education Roger had received gave him a deeper understanding of those words than most modern Americans had. They described the drive he had felt when he first learned of Thomas from the District Attorney. The words agitated his anger and pain, but they also motivated him. He had fought his entire career for the liberty of others. Most of his clients were criminals who didn’t deserve the freedom he often secured for them. Justice was something the defense attorney had only recently begun to believe in and fight for, largely in response to Thomas’ unjust situation.

“Liberty House.” Roger said thoughtfully.

“Not just a house, Roger. Brendon and I talked. We want to open a school too.”

“School sucks!” Brendon sounded more his age every day. “But what if it didn’t have to? Being gay in public school isn’t fun. How are Oliver and the others going to fit in, even if they decide they like girls?”

“They aren’t going to fit in.” Thomas seamlessly took over. “At first, other kids might feel sorry for them, but eventually they will just be the weird, broken kids everyone whispers about. If they get split up, they won’t even have each other for support.”

“Liberty Academy.” Uncharacteristically, Sandra didn’t even blink at Brendon’s crass choice of words as she too caught onto the teenagers’ vision.

Smiles were counted and Sandra’s proposed name passed as the fledgling school board made their first collective decision.

“Back to the most immediate problem. Where are the boys going to sleep tonight?” Smiles faded as they pondered.

“We could use my old house, but there is only one bathroom.” Thomas shuddered as he thought about the nearby house that was full of so many bad memories. “Melissa found people to take care of the cleaning and yard yesterday. Too bad Melissa’s not here. She’s good with these sorts of problems.”

“Actually, talking to Melissa is a great idea. Her father literally own’s a good percentage of the city. He might know of a place we can rent nearby and may even be able to give us some ideas about what to do with Eddie’s properties.” His assistant seldom talked about her family, and what little Roger knew made him wonder if she would even consider asking her estranged father for his help.

“Not Eddie’s,” Sandra corrected quietly. “Let’s not talk about that man in relation to the school or the boys.”

"You’re right. This place should never be seen as his legacy.” Roger looked at the Rolex that was no longer Eddie’s. “It’s almost ten. Let’s head back to the office and make some phone calls. I have a feeling we have some friends who would like to help make your vision a reality.”