Kept Boy to Made Man - 27. New Foundations

Pain. The sharp, prolonged, and excruciating pain is what brought Joel Mark back into the conscious world. His head pounded in time with his rapid heartrate. The smell of burning flesh made him pitch forward, emptying his stomach as he struggled for breath. Slowly, the world came into focus. The sight of a severed arm laying on the plastic covered floor next to his splattered vomit caused the room to spin.

It took his groggy, pain-overloaded and concussion-swelled brain several moments to recognize the arm as his own. Blackness began to creep across his vision as shock and blood loss threatened to pull his mind back into unconsciousness.

Fingers gripped his hair, roughly pulling Joel’s body back into the metal, folding chair. The twisting world disappeared behind closed eyelids as another wave of nauseating pain and odor burned away all thought.

“Let me see it.” Rocky stepped back, grisly, gore-covered iron in hand, to allow Orlando access to the prisoner’s still smoking shoulder.

The gaping socket of the joint was grotesquely visible, surrounded by ragged and burned meat and tendons. Satisfied that the bleeding was contained, Orlando carefully stepped back, doing his best to avoid the various solids and liquids that had once been a part of Joel Mark.

After gently probing the brothers for information about Queenie and his Dollhouse, Orlando had dropped them a block from the FBI Field Office armed only with the names he had received from Chicago. It seemed a shame to give them up. They both had displayed the fortitude to make decent soldiers, but orders were orders. The man hoped the boys would honor their promise to stay silent until they had spoken to the Family’s lawyer in the Windy City.

The sound of gagging and then a groan brought the large man back to the grim task before him. Orlando had been surprised the man was still alive, if only just, when he had opened the trunk after meeting up with Rocky once more. Joel Mark may have been scum, but he was clearly tough and well built.

“Welcome back, Mr. Marks. I trust you didn’t sleep well.” Orlando liked to imagine he was acting in a movie; thinking of witty one-liners distracted his mind from the more grotesque realities of his work. “The boys send their regrets, but they’ve made other plans for the evening.”

Rocky chuckled as he used a paper towel to remove the blood from his gloved hands. The button man wasn’t squeamish, but the rumors claimed AIDS was a pervert’s disease, and Joel Mark was a pervert of the worst kind. He placed a few firm but gentle slaps on the deathly pale man’s left cheek.

“You’re going to repay us for stopping the bleeding by telling us all about your friends. It’s you who’ll decide how much more of you ends up on the floor.” Orlando held up a brand-new deck of cards, forcing his prisoner to watch as he slowly removed the cellophane wrapper before dropping the pieces onto the protected concrete floor. “I’m going to show you a card and you are going to tell me everything you know about it. If I make it through all the remaining cards without learning anything new, another piece will join your arm. Let’s start small.”

Rocky pulled over another chair, waiting for the inevitable moment his skilled hands and tools, both sharp and hot, would be needed once more. He watched along with Joel Mark as Orlando held up the three of spades.

. . .

Roger Cicero and Sandra Mack were once more sitting across from each other in a basement cafeteria, and again, both had tears in their eyes.

“It wasn’t long ago that I was doubting my ability to be who Thomas needed me to be,” Roger explained. “Now I have well over a dozen boys who are depending on me in some way. I’m finding it very overwhelming.”

Sandra laughed as she thought about her own life. When she had met Roger, accepting her son’s sexuality had felt like a monumental, world-altering decision and Alan Mack had been the most important person in her life after Brendon. It shocked her to realize she hadn’t thought about her husband in more than a fleeting and dismissive way since falling asleep in Roger’s bed the night before.

“I understand a little what Travis and Jen must be going through. Not the kidnapping part but realizing the things you always thought were so important aren’t important at all. Jen and I talked a little. She was surprised to learn that Thomas and Brendon were together, but I could tell it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should.” Sandra sighed, feeling a bit jealous as she imagined the soft and likely intimate conversation the couple would have after turning off the lights. “I can’t see Travis responding like Alan did. I’m happy for Oliver and Jasper, but I feel guilty and sad for Brendon – for me too, if I’m honest.”

Roger reached across the table, palm up. Holding hands with the people he cared about was as new to him as hugging, but he found the physical connection profoundly satisfying. Sandra accepted his offer of support.

“Alan is an idiot, and you both deserve better.” Roger would normally have offered a legal solution to her problem, rather than simply acknowledging her pain and his willingness to sit in it with her. “Neither of you will ever be alone.”

“I know that now. It’s almost funny when I think back to our first conversation. Despite all the chaos, I feel more in control and happier than I have in years. Everything changed for us when you and Thomas stepped into that hospital room.” Roger’s vision clouded as he moved back in time.

“You’re right. So many foundations were laid at the hospital. Thomas and I became a team instead of attorney and client. Brendon and Thomas were able to truly begin an open and honest relationship.” Roger focused on Sandra. “Somehow, as unlikely as it seemed then, we all became a family.”

“I don’t have a place to go home to, and somehow that doesn’t even bother me.” Sandra felt at peace, sitting in the old, tired building full of damaged people committed to do what they could for one another. “We’re setting new foundations here as well. The boys are all much more than your clients, and a lot of new relationships were forged today. Our family is growing, Roger. Maybe I have a home after all.”

. . .

Daniel replaced the phone before leaning back in his chair. Los Angeles was sending one of their Citation III’s to pick up the mystery boys. He would need to warn Roger that they would be receiving two more residents well after dark.

The FBI’s office in LA was much larger than Chicago. He was grateful that the Assistant Director in Charge had taken his call and offered to help. Most surprising, however, was learning of their current investigation into a mysterious ring known to sell and rent young boys. Sharing notes had been enlightening for both men who committed to a formal partnership starting Monday morning.

He had been looking for planes, but he had discovered Diamonds: a shadowy organization facilitating what Assistant Director Price had disgustedly called the Alternative Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

Daniel picked up the phone again before remembering that Roger didn’t have a cellular phone and the school’s phone lines had not yet been restored. Resetting the handset, he pushed back from the desk. He was excited and saddened by their pending new arrivals. The team had hoped to find other boys, but it was still sobering to confirm that they were others out there somewhere, perhaps a lot more, feeling hopeless and alone.

He pushed his worry away, knowing he was doing everything he could. He smiled, suddenly wondering if Roger already knew about the Deck’s presence in the Valley. Maybe, for once, the FBI was ahead of the mafia. He would let the information slip either way. It was a premeditated, professional blunder. The senior agent knew Roger would likely use the information in unsanctioned ways. Their partnership fell in the grey, dark grey even, but Daniel didn’t care. Two boys had been dropped off in Vegas, and Daniel Janick had no doubt Roger Cicero was somehow responsible.

“Ethics be damned,” he thought ruefully, far more concerned with the ends than the means for the first time in his career.

. . .

Santino rubbed his eyes, tired of translating Sly Eddie’s small, handwritten condemnations. Dominic De Luca had insisted that he make it a priority, starting with the most recent records and working backwards from there. The last entry was recorded over six years before. Like Dom, the man didn’t expect to find anything useful, but he had his orders.

Most of the transactions seemed to be local and represent relatively small amounts of money. Knowing he was trying to find exploited kids, Santino made a first pass translating the larger transactions which likely represented children changing hands. He had a list of names, obviously nicknames, for those who had bought from or sold to Eddie Vitale. There were plenty of one-offs, but four names appeared repeatedly over the years.

He then began looking at the remaining majority, likely Eddie’s rent-boy and escort business. He found many more repeat customers tried to smaller dollar transactions, presumably local clients with the occasional well-connected traveler.

The tired man jumped when his phone started ringing. After answering, Santino found himself talking to a man living life two hours behind.

“We’ve got two new names, with more coming soon,” the now familiar voice from Las Vagas said.

The man took notes as his dessert-dwelling cousin relayed what they had learned in the past several hours. Santino’s eyebrows rose. One of the four high-dollar names from Eddie’s book matched a known alias for the man Quinton Klein visited at the Excelsior. Assuming it was more than a coincidence, Santino could now tie several old transactions to the King of Spades.

After hanging up, he quickly sifted through the deck of cards in front of him. He had previously removed the ace, two, and jack of spades. He quickly found the matching king and queen and scribbled what he had been told across the two pensive faces now unmasked.

Suddenly thoughtful, Santino wondered what role, if any, the other names in Eddie’s book might play in the organization Dominic De Luca seemed intent to unearth so he could bury it again, six feet down. Knowing Eddie had been connected to members of the Deck made him wonder if Eddie had been a Card himself at one time.

Eddie brought his booming business with him from New York when things had gotten a little too hot. It would make sense that his earliest transactions would likely be tied to his connections there. Flipping back to the front of Eddie’s book, Santino found only one of the four previously identified names attached to the largest transactions. It was not the name tied to the Vegas-based King of Spades.

He wrote ‘NYC?’ next to the name, deciding it was late to be calling his contacts in the five families who controlled the Big Apple. That inquiry would have to wait until morning. Santino felt unexpectedly energized by what felt like progress as he returned to Eddie’s messy writing.

. . .

“I can’t believe you let Melissa and her little Dyke friend anywhere near my children. And how can you, of all people, be okay with Melissa playing mom to someone else’s kids?” Rebecca was trying not to scream at her father, knowing that his temper had always been just as hot as hers.

Her head was swimming as she realized how much control she had lost in a single afternoon. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t taken pity of Melissa earlier in the week.

That small moment of weakened resolve had allowed her sister back into her life. She shouldn’t have let Melissa give anything to Mary. The ratty old book brought Mary to the ridiculous conclusion that she was unloved. John’s pathetic sense of guilt had brought an unwanted urchin and the housekeeper’s tramp of a son into their home.

Rebecca understood her husband's inability to say ‘no' to a pretty face, but her father had no excuse. He had banished Melissa from his life. For a moment she considered the possibility that her father was ill. She didn’t know much about dementia, but she didn’t have any other explanation for Peter Motts’ inexplicable change of heart.

“I’m going to figure who to call on Monday to get those boys taken out of Melissa’s control.” Rebecca almost believed her threat was noble, but the dangerous glare she received from her father told her that he did not.

“If you do anything to cause trouble for your sister, her girlfriend, or the twins I will bury you in every way I can think of.” Peter’s voice was outwardly calm, but there was high voltage running through his words. “I was wrong to cut Melissa out of my life, and so were you. She has been through hell, and it was us that sent her there. Your sister and her life are off-limits.”

Peter didn’t know much about dementia, but he wondered if there was a medical reason for his daughter's inexplicably cold and neurotic behavior. He found himself feeling sorry for his son-in-law. He had always believed Rebecca could do better than John Renkin, especially after she had told him she would have to straighten him out. As the Motts’ heir, he had been much too focused on propriety and appearances. His wife had always chided him, but it had taken her death to show him some things were more important than public opinion or the expectations of the social elite.

“It isn’t right.” Rebecca was deeply shaken by her father’s warning, her words a weak echo of her deflated confidence.

Peter stood; his disapproving and disappointed eyes locked onto his youngest daughter.

“I’ve made unforgivable mistakes, but as your mother liked to tell me, I’ve been a pompous fool wrapped in gold leaf. I can see now how ridiculous I must have looked. Leave your sister and the boys alone. I will protect Melissa, even from you.” Peter held his fierce glare until Rebecca dropped her eyes in submission. “Also, Rosa Ramos is off limits. That woman should be sainted, and Mary and Joshua adore her. For as long as my grandkids need a nanny, Rosa Ramos has a job in this house.”

“This is my house,” Rebecca said weakly.

“Try and force her out. I will convince John to divorce you, and he will get full custody of the kids. I’ll even pay his legal fees, although he can certainly afford to bury you himself.” Peter Motts was angry at Rebecca, but he was angrier at himself for both causing and allowing things to break down so completely.

Peter’s youngest refused to look him in the eye. He sighed before walking out of the sitting room.

Rebecca didn’t look up even after her father had left the room. Her place in the world suddenly seemed uncertain as she realized her father could do exactly what he had implied. She had allies, but most of them were loyal to the family’s money and power rather the family’s heiress. It would be almost impossible for her seize control while Peter Motts was still alive. For the second time that evening, Rebecca Motts felt the need to think.

Peter lightly knocked on his granddaughter's bedroom door before poking his head in to find Mary reading to her sleeping brother. The man could see tears in the young girl's eyes.

“I’m sorry if we were too loud,” Peter said guiltily as he moved the child-sized desk chair next to the bed.

Mary didn’t know how to express her dark and scary feelings. She had been feeling a lot happier with Micah to play with and her father spending more time with her. The afternoon playing in the old gym with the other kids had been incredibly fun for the little girl who seldom left the large house. For her, the trip had felt like visiting Dickon and Martha’s family in the small hut across the Moor. It had been an adventure full of new and interesting people who were unlike any she knew in her routine and sheltered life.

“Daddy won’t come out of his office.” For the past several days, her father hadn’t stepped foot in the room reserved for isolation under the guise of work; Mary innately recognized that John Renkin was retreating once more.

Peter didn’t know what to say to the sad and scared ten-year-old girl who suddenly looked so much like the broken boys they had eaten dinner with. His heart broke as he saw the irrefutable evidence of neglect in a home with enough money to make every one of the girl’s dreams a reality. He pulled several business cards from his wallet and handed them to his granddaughter.

“I want you to hide these, Mary. Put them in different places where your mother won’t find them.” He pointed at the cellular number. “When you can, memorize these numbers. Have Rosa show you how to dial the phone, okay. If you ever feel unsafe, find Rosa. If she’s not here, I want you to call me on the phone using this phone number, okay?”

Peter Motts couldn’t believe he was conspiring with his granddaughter to keep secrets from his daughter. He had never believed Rebecca’s home was unsafe, but now he wasn’t so certain. He looked into Mary’s large eyes, watching fresh tears gather before dripping down her face. It disturbed him that she could simultaneously look significantly younger and older than she was.

“I love you Mare-Bear.” Peter learned the nickname when Rosa Ramos stopped at their table to clean up grease and sauce before either found their way onto Mary’s already filthy blouse. “Don’t ever forget it, sweetheart.”

The tired man looked at the sleeping toddler. He was tempted to charge Mary with looking out for Joshua more than she already did, but decided it was both unnecessary and unfair to saddle a ten-year-old with that kind of expectation. He would try to be around more, and he intended to enlist Rosa’s help as well.

“Should I carry Joshy to his bed?” He had learned the boy’s nickname that evening as well, from Mary herself.

“No. I don’t want him to be scared.” Mary was growing up too fast; There was far too much weight resting on her small shoulders.

“You are an angel, Mary.” Peter leaned in and kissed two small foreheads. “Try to sleep, okay? You had a busy day.”

Mary didn’t see her grandfather often, but the man made her feel safe. She wrestled with the bad thoughts she wasn’t sure she should share with the older man. The girl needed to tell someone.

“Grandpa?” Mary looked painfully sad and vulnerable.

“Yes, Mare-Bear?” Peter’s heart broke again even before hearing what was clearly tearing her up.

“I don’t want Micah to come back.” In that moment, Mary looked just like Melissa had when Peter told her she was no longer welcome in his home; the ten-year-old looked as though all light had been sucked from her future.

“Why?” He choked out the question, suddenly drowning in guilt and remorse once more.

“Daddy won’t come out of his office. He’ll be too scared when mommy and daddy yell.” Mary didn’t cry as she shared the intuitive observation and devastating conclusion her too-mature young mind had made.

Peter had seen how much Mary adored Micah. He could tell that she understood the sacrifice she was making. As with her little brother, keeping Micah safe was more important to the girl than her happiness.

Once again, Mary reminded Peter of his oldest daughter; the daughter he had failed to cherish and protect. The anger he felt towards Rebecca and John further convicted him for his own deficiencies as a father. Peter could protect Rosa’s job with financial and social pressure, but he couldn’t force his youngest daughter to avoid the same mistakes he had made himself.

“You are so kind and so brave, Mary.” Mary’s intuition was likely correct; given the conversation he just had and the threats he had made, this was no place for a boy like Micah to live. “You are going to change the world someday, just like your aunt Mel.”

Peter pulled the young girl into his arms and simply held her as she began to cry. Her tears were matched by his own as they mourned the lost happiness neither of them could reclaim for themselves or each other.

. . .

Juan parked his unmarked car several doors away from the Renkin’s, doing everything he could be remain unintrusive to Micah’s hosts and his mother’s employer. He looked in the back seat to find Micah asleep in Rosa’s arms. She wasn’t a large woman, and the ten-year-old fit snuggly against her.

“I’m proud of you Juanito.” Rosa was exhausted but pleased by all she was able to accomplish at the school her son was such an important part of. “I’m going to miss getting to know the real Micah.”

Juan was startled by his mother’s unexpected words and confused by her peaceful expression.

“What are you talking about, Mami?” Juan asked.

“It’s just a feeling. Micah’s place is with the other boys I think, and my place is here for a while longer.” Rosa smiled at her son. “Those boys need you. Daniel and maybe Roger need you, too, I think.”

There was a twinkle in her eye as she said the last, which confused Juan even more. Juan blushed, remembering the protectiveness and possessiveness he felt with Daniel in his arms when they literally ran into each other earlier. If his mother hadn’t included Roger, her words and expression would have made him wonder how much she had seen. His mother was a good judge of people and situations, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had picked up on the tension between him and his fellow, former Marine.

He didn’t get the chance to dwell on his thoughts, however. Juan’s hand reached for his gun as a man approached the front passenger door and tapped lightly with a knuckle. Peter Motts’ face appeared, and Juan breathed deeply before reaching across the car to let the man in.

“That’s a good way to make an armed man nervous, Mr. Motts.” Juan tried to sound like he was joking as his heartrate came down.

“Sorry if I startled you. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately a long evening as well. I wasn’t thinking.” Peter closed the door before turning to acknowledge both Juan and his mother with a nod each and the sleeping boy with a soft smile. “And it’s Peter. We’ve sweat and cried together. I rarely do either, so that makes us all best friends forever.”

The phrase made Peter smile sadly. The last time he had heard it was when Rebecca was a happy pre-teen with pig tails.

“First names then. How did things go when you brought the kids back.” What Juan had seen in the Renkin’s home with his own eyes reinforced many of the things he had been told by his mother and John Renkin himself.

“My youngest castrated her husband as soon as he got home. She tried to do the same to me.” Peter glanced apologetically at Rosa and the still-sleeping boy. “Apologies for the crude language.”

“I raised a son and grew up in the Texas cotton fields. I’ve heard worse.” Rosa’s sad and knowing expression didn’t match the levity of her words.

“When Melissa called this morning, it felt like God was giving me a second chance. For years I have believed my oldest daughter was my greatest failure. I was wrong, and my grandchildren are the ones paying for my foolish pride.” Peter smiled grimly.

“Mary is an amazing little girl, and I believe Joshua will follow in her footsteps.” As she had with John days before, Rosa neither condemned nor acquitted the man, choosing to focus instead on his grandchildren’s’ disposition and potential.

“Mary is so much like Melissa was at her age it breaks my heart. I can’t credit my wife, so I will instead credit you.” Peter didn’t want to offend the fiery and proud woman, but he wanted to ensure she would remain in Mary and Joshua’s life. “Rosa, I know you have been raising my grandkids. They resemble you far more than their parents.

“I’ve forbidden Rebecca from firing you. Mary and Joshua need you. I will match whatever John and Rebecca are paying you if you’ll promise not to abandon my grandkids.” Peter’s eyes pleaded with the woman he wouldn’t have even noticed before his wife died, grateful that she at least seemed to be considering his offer.

“I’m not going anywhere. I love Mary and Joshua as if they were my own. I was just saying the same thing to my son.” Rosa looked at her son, her deep love clearly visible in her soft expression. “You do not need to bribe me, Mr. Motts.”

“It’s Peter, please, and I’m not trying to bribe you. I can’t imagine things will be comfortable in that house anytime soon, so think of it as hazard pay or a guilty grandfather’s attempt to finally do something good for his family.” The man’s respect grew impossibly for the small Hispanic woman as her refusal to be bought proved the depth of her character.

Rosa looked lovingly and boy in her arms as her mind considered; Micah had only just begun to come out of his shell, and she regretted that she wouldn’t be the one to show him a mother’s love, perhaps for the first time. As much as she wished he was hers, Rosa knew their time together was coming to an end.

“I will accept your money on one condition,” she finally replied.

“Name it,” Peter was ready to negotiate.

“Put it in an account for Micah. One of those accounts no one can touch or steal from.” Rosa knew very little about finance, but she recognized an opportunity to invest in the broken boy who had been hers only briefly.

“Done.” Peter wiped away an unexpected tear; Rosa Ramos and many others he met that day had much less than he did, but they gladly and freely gave away what they had. “With one stipulation.”

“What stipulation.” Rosa smiled kindly as she read the emotions of the man before her.

“You let me do the same for Oliver and the other rescued boys in your name.” Juan just shook his head, wondering if the world would ever make sense again.

“I don’t think that’s how negotiations are supposed to work, but I’m definitely going to bring mom along next time I need to buy a car.” Peter and Rosa laughed at Juan’s joke before a suddenly serious Peter turned to Juan.

“Mary told me she doesn’t think Micah should come back to the house.” The man’s declaration confused Juan; the kids had been inseparable from the moment Mary had reached into Micah’s mind to draw him back out into the world.

“Did they get into a fight or something?” he asked.

“No, not Mary and Micah. But Mary can feel the tension between her parents. She is worried that Micah will get scared if he stays.” Peter Motts sighed. “I want to smack some sense into both my daughter and my son-in-law, but I have no moral ground to stand on. This mess is largely of my own making. I haven’t been a good father or grandfather.”

It was Juan’s turn to sigh as he recognized the young girl’s bravery and compassion standing in defiance of the example set by the adults in her life.

“Mom was the first and only person I thought of when we found him naked and taped to post earlier in the week. Roger started working on a plan that same day, and you got to see what he came up with. Roger and Thomas will welcome Micah with open arms now that they have a safe place for him to stay.” Juan paused as he thought again about the young girl who had done what none of the adults could. “Is Mary going to be alright?”

“Yes.” It was Rosa who answered, her voice strong and confident. “Joshua and I will smother her in love, and my son will be visiting often with his badge and gun.”

Juan smiled at his mother’s back-handed request to see him more often.

“Okay, Mami, but maybe after Rebecca stops castrating every man that enters the house.” The gleam was back in Rosa’s eyes as Peter tried to stifle a laugh.

“I’m sure Daniel would be very upset if you were attacked in such a vile way.” Juan’s eye’s squinted as he tried to read his mother’s meaning in the fading summer twilight.

. . .

“Are you sure Jasper is going to be okay?” Jennifer asked as she placed the groceries they had picked up on the small counter.

Travis dropped the suitcases he was carrying before opening his arms to his wife. She fell gratefully into his embrace, feeling more comfortable and relaxed in her husband’s arms than she had in a long time.

“All of our boys are safe.” Travis couldn’t help but smile as he realized he too was in the process of adopting each of Oliver’s brothers. “Roger and Sandra will take good care of Jasper. They assured me he wouldn’t be sleeping with the other boys no matter how big a fit he throws.”

“I wish we could have stayed too. I never want to let Oli out of my sight again.” In many ways, everyone had been right about her son being a different boy than she remembered, but in the ways that really mattered, Oliver hadn’t changed at all. “I’m proud of him, but I want to rip the heart out of every man and woman that hurt him… that hurt any of them.”

“I love you, mama bear, sharp claws and all.” Travis gently kissed Jennifer’s head, causing her to sigh deeply. “What do you think about Roger’s offer?”

“To stay through the summer and tutor the boys?” Jennifer felt Travis nod his head. “I’m not going anywhere without Oliver, and it’s pretty clear that he’s not going anywhere without at least Mark.”

“Jasper told me a little about Mark, but he made me promise never to tell, so…” Jennifer swatted playfully at her husband, before wrapping her pinky awkwardly around the small digit he moved in front of her face. “Pinky-swear you won’t tell?”

“I swear.” Jennifer marveled at the funny and playful man she barely remembered. “I’ve missed you, Travis.”

“I’ve missed you as well.” Travis’ voice caught as he realized how much he meant those words. “Mark’s mom is apparently out of the picture, and it sounds like his father either sold or abandoned him into slavery.”

Jennifer gasped as she dug her fingernails into Travis’ back.

“Easy, mama. They won’t let us adopt him if they find claw wounds on your husband.” Jennifer relaxed her grip before looking up into Travis eyes.

“You’re serious?” She asked in surprise.

“About adopting Mark, yes, but not about your nail marks. We can always blame those on our wild sex life.” Travis tightened his hold. “Jasper and Oliver already consider him a brother.”

“You didn’t want any more kids.” Jennifer wanted to try for a third child before Oliver had been taken, but Travis insisted he was done.

“I don’t want another baby.” Travis was about to joke about Mark’s lack of diapers and ability to sleep through the night when he remembered the harsh and unfair potential realities of the boys' trauma. “He needs to be loved. They all do.”

“I don’t think we’ll be allowed to adopt them all.” Her words were meant to be lighthearted, but they were full of sorrow instead.

“No. Not officially. But we can be tutors this summer and see what happens. I don’t see us going back to Colorado Springs if we spend the summer falling in love with boys we won’t be able to take back with us.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to move, and I was afraid to ask,” Jennifer said. “I realized earlier that Colorado hasn’t felt like home for a long time.”

“Thomas said we could use his house for as long as we want. I get the feeling he’d be happy if he never had to see this place again.” Travis and his wife took in the world Thomas had been violently pulled away from. “Maybe we can remodel the place while we're here. We’re not the only ones who would benefit from a fresh start.”

“What do you think about Thomas?” Jennifer wasn’t sure how to ask the question that was really on her mind.

“And Brendon, you mean?” He felt her body tense just as it had when Brendon’s mom had shared her story with them over pizza. “Alan Mack is a fool, but I’m not sure how much differently I would have responded before Oliver disappeared. I’d never hit either of the boys, but you know how I’ve always been with rules.”

“What about after Oliver was taken?” The question was asked in almost a whisper, Jennifer’s body suddenly coiled with anxiety.

“Did you know that Liberty Academy was Thomas’ and Brendon’s idea? Thomas and Brendon stood with Oliver when he helped rescue his brothers.” Travis wiped away a tear, still not sure whether to be angry with the FBI for allowing three kids to confront an armed man or not. “Those teenagers are closer to saints than most of the Christians I’ve met.”

“You sound like Sandra. She and I talked while you toured the school.” Brendon’s mom had been very convincing when she told Jennifer the church could go straight to hell if they didn’t like her son. “I like her. I like Roger too. I liked all the people we met.”

“Me too,” Travis said softly thinking of the frank conversation he had with Robert Fenton, reiterating a lot of what Jim Thompson had said over the phone. “I feel like I have so much to learn.”

“We both do.” Jennifer reached up to kiss her husband. “Let put these away. According to Thomas, all the mattresses and bedding are brand new. I’m not sure why he felt the need to wink when he told me that, but maybe it will make more sense once we lie down.”

“Jennifer White, have you already been corrupted by that teenage deviant?” Travis kissed his wife deeply until his burning lungs forced him to pull back. “I’m liking that young man more and more.”

. . .

Juan helped Micah unpack his clothes into the footlocker at the end of the bed Oliver had nervously assigned him. Thomas had insisted, saying Oliver had picked pods for all his other brothers. That simple act clearly communicated to all the boys that Micah was one of them, even if he was currently the only boy assigned to his room.

“I’ll be sleeping right next door, bud, and you already know where Thomas and Brendon will be.” The boy nodded as he concentrated on staying calm and present.

It had been Peter who explained the move after accidentally waking Micah when he returned from Rosa’s top floor apartment with the small bag containing all of Micah’s worldly possessions.

The man pulled Mary’s book out of the bag, handing it to him as he openly and honestly explained that Mary was worried about how he would feel when her parents began to argue. Micah knew how important the small book was to his friend. That she had chosen to give it to him said more than any words could.

Micah was sad and scared, but Mary had told him several times about how awful it was when her parents argued. Juan reminded him how scared he had been when he heard Brendon and his father yell. Peter’s promise that he and Juan would make sure he saw Mary frequently had been enough to stay the panic that was always threatening to overwhelm the young boy.

. . .

Roland winced as his younger brother smashed the teenager’s fingers together. The small jet bounced off the tarmac before settling firmly back on solid ground. The plane decelerated quickly, the engine noise climbing to an almost alarming decibel. Miles opened his eyes once he was certain the danger of crashing had passed.

The young boy had only flown once before, and he had been too young then to remember the experience now. The agent from Los Angeles smiled, but didn’t say anything to the boys who had only whispered to each other since boarding in Las Vegas.

“Welcome to Chicago, bro,” Roland leaned down to whisper.

“I’m scared.” The young boy closed his eyes as the terrifying and painful events of the past few days rolled through his thoughts.

“I’m scared too, Miles.” They were now halfway across the country, following the instructions of a man who hadn’t seemed the least bit sorry for stuffing a man they watched get shot into the trunk of his own car before beating him with a gun. “One thing at a time, right?”

Miles nodded automatically at the familiar phrase their dad had used whenever things felt overwhelming. The boy missed his parents. He squeezed his big brother’s hand, more gently than he had during the rough landing.

“Remember, we only talk to Roger the lawyer or the FBI guy named Daniel.” It was dark and two hours later than it should have been due to the time zones they had crossed. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Miles. Not ever again.”

The plane’s movement ceased. The boys’ escort unfastened his lap belt and stood to stretch his tall, thin frame. The boys had no luggage. The agent motioned them to follow him towards the door once it was lowered. He nodded to the two men standing in front of the Bureau SUV thirty yards away.

“Special Agent Joe Watkins,” he said holding out a hand to the taller of the two men as he approached.

“Welcome to Chicago Agent Watkins.” Joe blushed as he turned his attention to the smaller man, feeling foolish. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Daniel Janick. This is the boys’ attorney, Roger Cicero.”

The agents shook hands while the boys measured the men who had come to collect them. Roland thought about the priest who was not a priest and frowned.

“Prove it,” he said with all the bluster the thin, scared fourteen-year-old could marshal.

Moving slowly, Roger pulled his wallet from his back pocket and extracted his Illinois driver’s license. He held it out to the young teenager who was attempting to look menacing. Daniel almost laughed before realizing the boy likely had good reason to distrust them. He pulled his badge and FBI identification from his jacket and held them out as well.

Roland took first the lawyer’s license and then the smaller man’s badge. He inspected them thoroughly even though he knew he wouldn’t recognize a fake. The names matched the ones Orlando had given him. He felt relieved as he handed the ID’s back.

“Okay. We’ll go with you. But if either of you try to hurt my brother, I’ll kill you.” Roger kneeled, ignoring the moisture from the recent rain that was seeping into his slacks.

“I don’t expect you to simply take my word for it, but you are both safe. My job is to secure you a future and to make sure the people who hurt you and your brother can’t hurt anyone else, ever again,” Roger said softly.

Daniel laughed. The sound was both unexpected and provocative, shattering the tense moment.

“Boys, Roger is being way too modest. Once he finds out who hurt you, those fools better hope I get to them first. I may carry a gun, but Roger is far scarier to people who hurt kids.” Daniel moved to open the door for the boys. “He also gives great hugs when you are feeling sacred.”

Roland looked back and forth between the two men who were a lot less scary than he had expected. Neither had even asked for their names or what had happened to them. The older boy was surprised by the smile that crept across his face; the first smile in days. Orlando told them they would be safe in Chicago, and he thought for the first time that the man’s words might actually be true.

. . .

Sandra sighed as she kissed Jasper White’s forehead. He had woken her up after the sounds of night terrors startled him awake almost twenty minutes earlier. He was concerned for his older brother and the other boys. It had taken awhile to coax the young boy back into his bed.

“You are so precious, little man.” It was what she had called Brendon when he was little. “A light in the darkness.”

Sandra had heard that term in a sermon years before. The guest pastor had urged the congregation to let their light shine brightly, like a city on a hill. Jasper glowed in his love and concern for Oli; feelings that he was quickly extending to the boys that had been held captive with his brother.

She stood, stepping out of the small boy’s temporary pod. The sad and terrified sounds that had woken him up still wavered and wobbled up and down the hall. Her feet moved on their own accord, leading her to the neighboring classroom-turned-sleeping-chamber.

Micah was the first rescued boy she met moments before the blood-soaked twins now living with Melissa Motts. He was also the boy she knew the least. His small body had contorted itself into an almost grotesque position. Terrified whimpers escaped his lips, breaking the woman’s heart. Unlike Jasper, Micah’s mother, if he even had one, had no idea where the boy was. Sandra felt a maternal need to comfort him.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” It was a song her mother had sung to her and something she sang to her son. “If that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

Micah seemed to calm some. Sandra sat lightly on the edge of his bed and stroked his hair as she sang. Her sweet voice melted into the boy’s dreams, pushing away the dark shadows attempting to overwhelm him. The words came automatically as she poured her love into the unloved boy. Her heart broke as she thought about how close her own son had come to feeling abandoned and alone as Micah truly was.

“Mommy used to sing that song.” The voice trembled, coming from the door.

Sandra looked up to find Roger standing in the doorway with two boys, one older and one younger. The light from the hallway silhouetted them, making it impossible to see any of their expressions clearly.

“Miles and Roland will be staying in here with Micah,” Roger said softly. “Go ahead and pick a pod guys.”

Neither boy moved as they stood nervously at the threshold of their unknown future.

“Come on in and find a bed. I’m not your mom, but I’d like to sing to you if you’d let me.” Roger gently guided the boys he was just getting to know into the darkened room.

“Our mommy died in an accident,” Miles said as his thoughts were divided between the past and the present.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Sandra stood and approached Roger and the newest arrivals. “It’s not fair that you have to live your life without your mother."

Sandra’s words matched the screams Roland often directed at a God he refused to believe in anymore. To him, in his exhausted and overwhelmed state, it felt as though his innermost thoughts were being validated in an echo of the love he had lost. He began to cry as he allowed a little of the responsibility he had claimed for his brother to slip away.

Roger Cicero had told them about the other boys and about the school. The man told Roland and Miles that they were no longer unwanted or alone. In a daze, the boys allowed the adults to direct them to separate beds. Minutes later, their sore bodies and damaged souls had been tucked into clean and soft sheets. Roland had expected to find himself in another foster home, a throwaway surviving on begrudging charity. Instead, he felt safe, which was something he hadn’t felt since the day of the crash.

“Hush little buddy, don’t say a word. Sandra’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” These boys weren't babies, and they weren’t hers no matter how much she wished she could be what they had lost. “If that mockingbird don't sing, Sandra’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

Roger listened to the words of Sandra’s lullaby along with the slowing cadence of the boys’ breathing. His broken heart was full as he witnessed the power of a surrogate mother’s love.