True As It Can Be - 14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

The exhaustion did not set in until an hour into my shift. Having not slept well the previous night, while I and the other residents of Keller Hall, along with Chip, were present around Min to offer support was exhausting. I don’t regret what we did for Min, but I did feel the weariness from that choice as I could barely keep my eyes open during my early morning rounds at 7AM to get the library set for opening. Thankfully Morris was there with me. His work study hours in the library only last from 7 AM to 10 AM, but it was nice to have a friend near me. Like most Tuesday mornings, he grabbed 3 large coffees with extra sugar and cream, 2 for me and 1 for him. He also brought in 2 toasted bagels covered in cream cheese. My former roommate is the most dependable guy ever, just as long as it doesn’t pertain to our room and a pretty girl at night.

During the lull of the first morning class rush, Morris sat me down for a long overdue conversation about everything that has happened over the weekend. I told him what happened at Keller Hall, the Mall, and explained to him the presence of Gary Gaston’s new Student Watch. His anger peaked when I described the ominous pronouncements from Gary, concerning investments in campus housing.

After my retelling of the events, Morris’ face is a wash of emotions, but he settles on anger as he speaks to me, “Gary Gaston is fucked up. Why are super-rich people so fucked up in the head?” he whispers conspiratorially, “You should have taken up my plan with the hookers, drugs, and my cousin’s unlicensed gun.”

Smirking with memories of Morris’ ridiculous idea, I reply, “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing that guy beaten up a little.”

Embolden by my words, Morris continues to fume, “Yeah, I mean what does he think this is, Squid Game or something? If we let that asshole throw his money around like this, next thing you know we’ll end up with numbered green jumpsuits and his gang of triangle-masked thugs will be armed with Uzi submachine guns.”

At the mention of the popular streaming drama, my mind began making the connections. I’ve seen the South Korean drama about 456 destitute indebted people competing over a small fortune through a series of 6 deadly kid’s games. At the same time, the wealthy billionaire elites behind the games are making bets with one another as to who will survive each round as a form of entertainment, similar to fantasy football or NCAA College Basketball “March Madness” tournament brackets. All these events take place in a secret facility located on an island. If you asked me a year ago, I’d probably tell you that billionaires would never get away with something so heinous as having poor people compete and kill each other for sport. However, after witnessing what I have, it’s not so hard to believe that someone could do this stuff. Sadly, I think our society would tolerate it just as we have come to tolerate a lot of other crap, just like people have tolerated Gary Gaston’s actions.

The university has turned a blind eye to Gary’s numerous actions of sexual assault on male and female students, including covering up his actions through bribes and threats, because his money and his family connections gives him unfettered protection. In exchange for protecting him, the university gets new sports facilities, new dorm buildings, and a well-supported campus police force paid for by a person, who would break every rule and law.

Even in everyday life, Gary’s wealth seemed to offer him an ugly advantage. That saleswoman turned a blind eye on Gary Gaston, because he can pay her off, either through a massive purchase with cash or a “gift” that would bring anyone making less than a living wage under his influence. I wonder what the saleswoman was thinking after she turned off the security cameras to the dressing room, other than counting the large stack of hundred-dollar bills. What did she know about this mysterious muscular young man, who threw money at her to look the other way? She did look fearful, when she saw me leaving the dressing room disheveled. The presence of Mrs. Potter and my small body frame implied something about the money she accepted. It’s not conscience, but self-preservation that made her fearful, people can make excuses for sexual assault on others, except children. Sadly, even that level of fear is ebbing to rationalization, people like Jeffrey Epstein have proven how a wealthy billionaire can hide in plain sight, including a private island catered to the illegal taste of wealthy friends.

I shudder at those thoughts, but make myself tell Morris something else, “I doubt we’ll ever get to that point. Gary Gaston isn’t a bored elderly billionaire with a taste for blood. He wants to have sex, consensual or not, for personal gratification. He inflicts pain on others for his personal gratification, too.”

Morris’ swallows a large gulp of coffee as he considers my comments, he hesitantly offers an observation, “You know, the library isn’t completely secure. There are spots in the building without cameras. Bathrooms and their entrances have no cameras. The side service entrance for wheelchair access has no camera either, so people can come and go without a trace. All that stuff is common knowledge. The only special privilege we have is our ID that few people know. Our special IDs being part of the morning staff allows us to come through the staff entrance and use the staff stairwell, which also have no cameras. Along with the various areas of the library lacking adequate lighting or video coverage, except for the sensitive displays of older manuscripts, someone like Gary Gaston could sneak in here and catch you off guard. Beau, you should really consider quitting?”

I glare at him in disbelief and anger, speaking louder than should be done within a library, “Seriously! Morris, what the fuck? You want me to run away from that bastard, too. I’m scared shitless, but after everything you heard, you think running is the best choice.”

Morris drops his paper coffee cup and raises his hands in surrender, “Woah, Beau, bro, I am watching out for you. Gary is focused on screwing you or screwing with you to get his rocks off. Some of the shit he’s done was probably pre-planned like the student watch and housing crap, but all the stalking shit was aimed at you,” he waves his hands up and down demonstratively, “No offense, you’re small and easy pickings for a guy like Gary. You can’t constantly be watching your own back for the next 3 and a half years. Your boyfriend had the right idea.”

I snort, “Brad is overprotective, he’s too nice to me. He doesn’t really know what is right for me.”

Morris grins, “He loves you, Beau. Being protective and thinking about someone else’s needs first is like the definition of being a good boyfriend. If I find a girl, who will do more than jump my bones, I’d do the same.”

The anger fled from my mind, but I can’t really accept Morris’ points, especially about Brad being in love with me. I accept we like one another and we both think of each other’s as boyfriends. Though, I haven’t told him directly that’s what I think we are. I told Chip that’s what I think we were, but only Brad has used that label to describe us. It’s a bad sign that I am only just realizing a horrible fact. I never accepted his request to formalize our relationship, but he is still confiding in me and being affectionate towards me. What does that say about me? Am I in love with Brad?

He's protected me, I’ve kept him company, he’s got me a lot of new stuff, and I got him to expand his social circle. That’s not what most movies showcase about people who fall in love with one another do. Also, while we can get aroused with each other, based more on emotional compatibility than looks; we haven’t really had sex. Sure, he gave me an amazing hand-job and I was humping him in my sleep along with snuggling several times. However, if we had real sex, it would be limited due to his injuries and the libido issues caused by his drug treatments. While I might like to top sometimes, I’d be happy with Brad’s hand. I’d gladly bottom for him and let him use my ass and mouth, when he’s mentally capable of offering it. Sadly, his mental condition is the reason why I have my fears and doubts about calling what we have love, he can be so aggressive and vulnerable at times.

Morris and I worked through the remainder of his shift, then he headed off for his morning class. The second-shift library work study student was a brown-haired female junior with a major in Actuarial Science, who was usually busy typing another massive essay. She’s probably a few inches taller than me, which still made her quite short. I asked her what she was working on once, it turned out to be a report on the consequences of citrus fruits on family planning. I didn’t know what actuaries were until I entered University. I was surprised to learn that the old stereotypes about accountants and lawyers actually belonged to this profession. Actuaries are the people, who actually analyzed every penny, bean, and speck of dust, before telling their bosses that civilization has a 10% chance of falling apart. You have to know a bit about everything to do that job, because there’s too many factors affecting each action and reaction’s probability. When I learned what she wanted to do as a career, I blinked at the vast scope and walked away. She would do the same things I did by gathering stray books and putting them back in the shelves, we divided our coverage and alternated the area of the library we covered. However today, I asked her for a special favor of handling coverage of the entire library, feigning that I had to finish an essay. I had done similar favors for her in the past and I knew she had no additional work today or tomorrow due to Thanksgiving break. Besides, the library has been quiet today with only a handful of students coming in or borrowing books, since most are preparing to return home for the upcoming holiday.

I knew it was a stopgap, but Morris’ warnings about the lousy surveillance video and lighting in the library had inspired some fear in me, despite it being the middle of the day. After about an hour had passed and she hadn’t returned to the front desk, I grew worried. I notified my supervisor, the University’s librarian. The librarian did a cursory search of the library through our various surveillance cameras, but my junior work study colleague was nowhere to be found. The librarian called her, but she left her smartphone at the front desk where we were stationed. He told me to canvas the library for her, including knocking on the bathroom in case she had taken ill.

The library was very eerie with so few students around. As I rounded one of the darker corners of the book shelves, I could have sworn that someone was watching me. I know horror movies usually take place in the middle of the night at some creepy house, asylum, or a graveyard, but a quiet library, filled with darkly lit shelves of books, should be considered by an enterprising filmmaker. Your view is obscured at every corner, shadows blur in with background, and the air vents of the building could be Michael Myers’ creepy breathing. Seriously, I am half expecting a knife wielding serial killer to jump out from a book shelf as I look for my fellow student staff member.

Using the usually locked staff stairwell, I progressed up the 4 floors of the library. There was no sign of her presence on the 2^nd floor, where we had the majority of our actual printed book collections, which luckily was limited with the advent of e-books, so only one floor would give most of the creepy vibes. I knocked on the woman’s bathroom and startled a brunette sophomore, who rushed out holding several blood-stained paper towels. It took me a moment to process what I saw, then a blush of embarrassment colored my cheeks.

The 3^rd floor was where we held our reference books and several copies of our course books for student readers. There was more activity here due to the reference books as other students with limited means like myself were frantically printing out chapters for reading materials in their next class. She wasn’t visible among the small group and no one answered my knock on the girl’s bathroom.

On the 4^th floor was where we held miscellaneous items that belong in a library, but had no special section dedicated to it. This is probably the weirdest section of the library, we had periodicals and journals lining one side from up to 2 years ago, so they don’t belong in the archives. There was a collection of braille books, which I knew Francis had borrowed a few for reading, he was the first student I knew who actually took interest in this collection. The 6-dot patterns were a written language few students understood. We had shelves filled with Blu-rays, DVD, CD’s, and black cassettes. I was told by the librarian, the black cassettes were for video playback with a video home system, known as VHS. I don’t understand why we kept such antiquated records, but according to the librarian those videos are still used in certain classes around campus and video players were still being lent out by the library to students. Blu-Ray and DVDs were a dying concept even in Minnesota with Netflix and Hulu, CDs couldn’t compete with Pandora or Spotify.

I rounded a corner and heard a scream coming in the direction of the girl’s bathroom. I crept around a corner, trying to hide myself in the dimly lit shadow created from a shelf full of the old VHS Cassettes, which were as thick as books luckily. I saw 2 muscular guys, who I recognized guarding the door to the girl’s bathroom. They were friends of Gary Gaston. His poker buddies from my old freshman dorm. Realizing what was probably happening in the girl’s bathroom I wanted to scream without even thinking about the danger, because I wanted them to stop. I prepared to run in and scream at the guys.

However, before I could utter a sound, someone placed a hand over my mouth and an arm around my torso. I was pinned to a solid body with a noticeable erection pressing against my back. Scenarios flashed through my head as a cold sweat began to grow.

A low familiar voice grumbles at me, “Do not be a hero on this, Beau. Get downstairs and find your boss, have him come up here.”

Brad is here and holding me back, I am shocked. As he releases me, I take only a fleeting glance of him moving swiftly and silently to the staff stairwell. I follow his lead, but he would not follow me to the front desk to meet my boss. He stands frozen at the exit adjacent the staff stairwell with a red administrator access card in his hand.

Knowing his reasons, I tell him, “Go Brad, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Brad shakes his head, “I don’t want to leave you if he’s in the building. I won’t let him touch you like that.”

I run right up to Brad and hug him, telling him, “I don’t want you to get hurt either. Please go.”

I wish I could have kept the hug going longer, but I had to report what was happening. In no time, my supervisor heard of my discovery on the 4^th floor, he notified campus security and we both ran upstairs using the main stairwell as I took the lead and didn’t want to risk my boss running into Brad, if he lingered in the stairwell. However, as we neared our goal on the 4^th floor, we were intercepted by a student, another one of Gary’s friends at an intersection on the 4^th floor leading to the girl’s bathroom. I noticed that I was lucky not to have been spotted, because this vantage point had perfect sight of the approaches from every row of book shelf heading to the girl’s bathroom.

He gazes at us mockingly, before speaking, “Oh good, glad to see someone is working around here. Listen I am trying to find a copy of…” he elevates his tone and volume, “Catcher in the Rye movie for American Literature.”

Seeing pass the obvious ruse for what it was, we left him without answering the question, but we were too late. When we reached up the stairs and approached the girl’s bathroom, there was no one around. They might have been hiding in the shadows as I had earlier, but our focus was on trying to help my colleague. The librarian and I entered the girl’s bathroom and found our missing friend lying naked and unconscious on the floor. There was no denying what happened to her or what those boys were a party to.

Campus police came about 10 minutes later, we gave descriptions of what we saw and how we found her. I identified the 2 boys guarding the bathroom and the boy, who intercepted us on the staircase. However, at the mention of Gary Gaston’s name, I noticed their pens stopped jotting notes on their notepads. A horrible sick feeling came over me as I realized what would happen and I also realized what could have happened to me today. At 12:30 PM after several rounds of questions from the police trying to get me to change my story, I left the library for my classes.

I tried to focus on the class material as if nothing had happened, trying to avoid the obvious facts in front of me. Introductory Psychology covered several concepts on developmental attachments. Developing connections, identifying family and friends were easy concepts to comprehend. Psychology was a good distraction as it did not touch on any topics related to what I just witnessed.

Economics focused on self-interest versus public good. The discussion with Morris from earlier came into focus, but it did not touch on anything relating to what I witnessed. It’s all theoretical like the cost of building a highway with taxpayer money, while taxpayers gain use of the road. Corporations like Virgin Galactic developing space tourism, but people must be willing to buy inflated share prices in order for them to support their R&D and employee stock-based compensation packages. Self-interest and public goods exist to benefit others, basically another good distraction.

At the end of Economics class, my smartphone notification buzzed with a text message from Paki.

Paki: I heard what happened, just finished my class too, want to walk back together.

Me: Yes

Paki met me at the entrance to the Business School building, where economics classes were held. Paki was wearing no makeup, instead his face is covered in what appears to be clay and he was dressed in black.

Surprised by his appearance, I ask him, “Why are you covering your face in clay?”

Paki points to his face, “It’s ifutha. A white clay meant to be worn during a time of mourning, what we call ukuzila. I wanted to show Min that I wish to share his pain. I wanted to forgo my usual clothing to honor Min’s own culture by wearing black for mourning as well, but he told us it was bad luck to do so, unless we knew the deceased or were family. Thus, I kept to my clothing with black tones and offered my own tradition as a compromise.”

The weight of loss and fear is overwhelming me as we walk, but I hold my tears and speed back home. I want nothing right now except to get back into Brad’s arms.

However, instead of seeing the welcoming vision of Keller Hall greet us as we approach the path home, Gary Gaston was there with all 3 of his friends from before, along with a well-dressed man. I knew this man was Dean of Student Affairs, who had been vocally defensive of Gary Gaston.

Gary smirks as he eyes my approach, he greets me, “Hello Beau, I heard you had an eventful day in the library.”

I could not speak, but Paki speaks for me, “What do you want?”

Gary turns to the vision of the white clay covered Paki, he offers a false laugh “I didn’t know we offered pottery classes; perhaps you can make some new things for your new dorm,” Gary turns his attention back to me, “The Dean and I are here to tell you that the university will be seizing Lot 24601, effectively midnight tonight. We’ll relocate all the residents of the building to appropriate dorms around campus. I have personally volunteered to share my room with you Beau.”

My heart sank as tears begin to stream down my face.