Come Christmas Steve

Come Christmas Steve Chapter 16 Shadows Loom

I was awakened by the clatter of the door being opened. Two guys in black approached me, rolled me onto my stomach and handcuffed me. They led me away without explanation to a small room with a table in the center and a chair on either side of it. I was pushed into the chair opposite from Agent Overcoat. He'd lost the overcoat and was wearing a blue t-shirt with FBI stenciled on the back and in small letters over his left breast. He had on jeans and white Nike shoes. He had no weapon that I could see. Regardless of what he wore, he would always be Agent Overcoat to me.

The agent leaned across the table and in his gruff, raspy voice said, "You are in a lot of trouble. Do you understand that?"

I nodded. Of course I understood that. Talk about a stupid question. What moron wouldn't?

"I'm not that interested in you, however. I want your roommate and that flash drive he left behind. Where have you put it? Tell me and I can make things happen in your favor."

"What about my phone call? I want to call my brother."

"Later, perhaps. Right now, we're having a conversation and that involves me asking questions and you answering them."

"But I'm supposed to get a phone call and I want to talk to my brother at law school. I have that right," I demanded. "I'm not saying anything to you until I get my phone call."

"You've watched too much TV," he sneered. He stood up, walked around the table and stood menacingly above me. I cowered. He nonchalantly hooked the toe of his Nike around the rear leg of my chair and in one swift jerk, pulled it out from under me. I dropped to the floor with a solid thud. He reached down, grabbed the chain of the handcuffs and pulled. I cried out in pain as the metal cuffs cut into my wrists, ripping gashes that bled down my arms. He hoisted me to my feet and spun me around. "You have the right to remain silent," he growled. Then he whispered in my ear, "I have the right to kick the shit out of you, if you do." He stepped away and then his size eleven Nike buried itself in the center of my gut and propelled me backwards onto my ass. I slid across the tile floor to the opposite wall.

"You can't get away with this!" I screamed at him.

"Stop resisting! Calm down. If you attack me, I will have to subdue you!" he yelled at me. Then he rushed me and rolled me onto my side, grabbed the cuffs and pulled me roughly back to my feet deepening the bloody gashes. "I think he has a knife. Get help in here now," the agent yelled. That was followed with a strong blow to the side of my face. The impact was substantial. I thought for a brief moment I was going to lose consciousness. Next, he drove a knee to my balls, doubling me over in severe pain. Two guys in black with clubs came rushing in and held them at the ready over me. They were completely unnecessary.

"Uncle! Uncle!" I screamed. That was my codeword from the old days when as a kid, Karl or Tom or even Billy had tortured me enough and I was willing to give in and be let up.

"What?" he growled.

"Uncle! I give! I give!"

The agent pulled me roughly back to the table. One of the guys in black fetched my chair and I was shoved back into it. The guys in black left and I sat in furious humiliation across from that asshole agent. My balls were on fire, my jaw hurt like hell, and I was nauseous. "Now then, where were we? Oh yeah, you were about to tell me where your roommate and the flash drive are at."

"I don't know!" I seethed through clenched teeth. I was mad now. Mad but beaten down as well. "I wouldn't tell you if I did!"

"Are you resisting again? Do I need to subdue you a little more?"

"No." I spoke softly. "I honestly don't know. I'm looking for Steve myself, remember? That's how I got into this whole screwed up mess. And you already have the flash drive. It was at Calvin's apartment when you raided it."

"Well, we know you have it, because some of the files from it were on Calvin's computers, along with his other kiddie porn collection. But the actual drive was not there. I think you still have it. Just turn it over and I might be persuaded to believe that you don't know the whereabouts of Steve."

"I swear to you, I never took it back. Calvin kept it. It has to be there. Ask him."

"Oh, I will. Trust me."

"Why did you make all that up about me and the little boys at school and that kid in Yellowstone?" I bravely asked. "Is that just to get the information you want?"

"We have ample evidence against you to put you away for a long time. And like I already told you, it won't be a pleasant experience in prison for a handsome young child molester like you. So I suggest you tell me the whole truth here."

"It's all lies and you know it."

He smiled and shrugged.

"You know it's made up. Why? I thought you were supposed to protect the innocent, not abuse them. I've done nothing wrong. I'm just trying to find and help Steve."

"The innocent ones I'm trying to protect here are the children that you and your asshole roommate are abusing. That's who I want to protect. I don't give a fuck about you."

I simply dropped my head on the table and wished I could drop dead right there and just have the nightmare end. How long would these real life apes chase me through this nightmare before I could wake up? "Whittaker thinks you're framing him and Calvin just to get to me. If you are, then you can let them go. They don't know anything. Whittaker was just helping me as a friend. Calvin only got involved to help me decode the files on the drive because he's like a genius at it. I was hoping that would provide a clue to find Steve."

"We have evidence against them as well. Sit up." I sat up and he got a laptop from a counter along the wall. He tapped some keys and slid it around. I watched as grainy, hotel security images showed me hiding behind a plant. I watched as I emerged, stark naked, from my hiding place and approached little Daniel. I took his key and opened the hotel door for him." Next, his parents entered the room and after some time, Daniel and his parents left. Shortly after that, I emerged wearing a t-shirt and shorts of Daniel's father. Following that, the pictures of Dylan, Tanner and Mitch appeared on the screen. They were three boys from the after school program who I had taken a particular interest in. They liked to play four square and we played nearly every day when I worked at the school, once I finished helping them with their homework. The charges were listed under each boy's image: Forced oral sex, inappropriate touching, and coercion to engage in sexual contact by one in a position of authority.

"That's bullshit!"

The agent didn't respond. The show continued. This time it was of Whittaker sucking on the hairless dick and balls of a young boy, probably thirteen or fourteen years old. That was followed by him sticking a dildo up the young boy's ass. Finally, there was a cut of Whittaker shoving his own large dick up the ass of the young boy. I was sick to my stomach watching it. There was no denying that it was Whittaker's dick and it was clearly Whittaker performing the oral sex. I was fuming over the way he accused me when he was blatantly guilty of the very thing he accused me of. Lastly, a sampling of child porn of all sorts and variety was displayed. Some of it was the variety we had seen from the decoded files and some of it was of young girls and completely different boys from the ones that had been on the infamous flash drive.

"How fucking ironic is that?" I asked to no one in particular.

"Ironic? How?" the agent asked.

"I'm the only innocent one of the bunch. I dragged them into this and because of it, they actually got caught in their own perverted, messed up shit. Destiny, I guess. Dance with the devil and eventually you get burnt."

"That is kind of ironic, you're right. Let's say, I believe you about not knowing where Steve is at. Walk me through his disappearance once more. In fact, take me back to what you did after going back to school from Christmas. Don't leave anything out, no matter how small or insignificant it is."

"Can I get these cuffs off? All I can think about is how much they hurt," I pleaded.

He nodded and came around. He took them off and set them on the table. I was so relieved to move my arms back around. I rolled my sore shoulders and rubbed my gashed wrists. The blood was drying. "Thanks."

"All right, tell me everything,"

Before I started, he tapped a few keys on the laptop and then spun it around for me to read: I am the only one you should trust. I can help you. But you need to tell me everything and be honest.

I wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of FBI interrogation psychology. First he beats the shit out of me and then tells me he's the good cop? I thought they were supposed to be different people.

"Okay," I began, "I guess the first odd thing I noticed was when we were traveling back to school on the bus. We sat near a single mom with two young boys. When we stopped for lunch, they sat at our table. The boys needed to go to the bathroom but refused to go with their mom to the women's toilet. I offered to take them and asked Steve to go. He refused, but in a peculiar, exaggerated way. He was a little crazy about it and even made a bit of a scene. It was kind of embarrassing. I thought that was odd, but when I pushed him to explain later on, he just blew me off. That made me mad. It seemed like he was hiding a lot of things from me." I continued to tell my story, trying to remember every detail. I told the complete, true story of the event with little Daniel in Yellowstone. The agent grinned and even laughed at my plight. I was completely honest, even about little Daniel reaching out and touching my penis, but swore I never did anything to him or touched him back at all. "It's not funny," I stated.

He apologized for laughing, not very sincerely, though. I continued on and told about all of us jacking off on the log, including Jensen. I even told him about Whittaker spending the night in our room and witnessing Steve and I making love because Jensen was getting it on with a choir girl in their room. The agent worked really hard to contain himself. "So did Jensen know all along that you were FBI?" I asked.

"No. At first, he believed I was a private investigator. He told me all I needed to know, though. He was very informative. He's convinced that all of you were up to something and leaving him out because he was straight. He'd figured out that Calvin and Whittaker were fucking around together and of course, he knew all about you and Steve."

I told him next about Steve and me falling in love and having sex together after Christmas and New Year's Eve. I shared about my idea for the Valentine's gift and the Facebook page that started the whole mess. I told him about Todd and Simba but he acted like he knew all about that already. Although, I couldn't see how he would know. It seemed odd that the parole officer also seemed to know about Todd.

"Go back," Agent Overcoat said. "Tell me exactly what you saw on the decoded files from the flash drive."

I explained that I only saw a few of them. Only enough to convince me that Steve was definitely involved. I told him about seeing the older guy in the dungeon and how I thought he was the Uncle Arty character that Steve spoke about. I told him about my suspicion of Uncle Arty being Arthur McSomething, a judge of some kind. That caused the agent to raise an eyebrow.

"All right," the agent said, slapping the screen closed. "Done for now."

"What about my phone call?" I asked timidly while the agent cuffed my wrists once again.

He scowled at me. "Don't go starting up with that again. You'll have time to exercise your rights once we're all done here and we've got what we need." He stood upright and left. I stood up and followed, but the guys in black intercepted me. They escorted me back to the cell. When we arrived, they removed the bloodied handcuffs and gave me a little shove inside. Whittaker and Calvin's faces were almost humorous as they gawked at me. My face was swollen and starting to bruise and there was blood all over my wrists and arms. I must have presented quite an image.

Next, they cuffed Whittaker and escorted him out. After the door shut, Calvin rushed over to me and gently touched my sore cheek and jaw. "What happened?" he asked. His voice was trembling. Before I could answer, he asked a follow up, "Are they going to do that to me and King too?"

"No," I said. Then from some dark cruel spot in my soul that I rarely open, I added, "They said they were just going to taser you."

Calvin gasped as if he'd seen Jacob Marley's ghost and dropped to the floor shaking in fear. He balled himself up into a fetal position and started to cry. I felt really bad.

"Calvin! I was kidding. I'm sorry. That wasn't funny. No, they won't hurt you if you cooperate and answer their questions. I tried to get smart with them and demanded a phone call. That's when they beat me up."

"No taser?"

"No, man. No taser. Just cooperate and you'll be fine."

"Asshole!" he barked.

"I know. Sorry. That was mean," I apologized. He stood up and we went to the chairs and sat down. He asked me what they wanted and I told him. "They claim they still don't have that stupid flash drive. They claim it wasn't with the other computers they got from your place. Do you know where it is? They really, really want it." I rubbed my sore and swelling jaw as I said that.

He didn't answer right off. In fact, he didn't answer at all. Not verbally, at least. He just shrugged and shook his head from side to side.

"Look," I said, "I'm sorry I got you into this, but in some way, you kind of deserve what you're getting. They showed me all the sick, pedo-porn on your computers. I can't believe you were giving me shit about Steve being all sick and depraved. The stuff you have is worse. Way worse."

"That's fucking bullshit. I never downloaded anything like that. They're setting me up," Calvin fumed.

"Come on. You admitted you'd downloaded thousands of pics. The FBI isn't going to fabricate that kind of evidence."

"But they can beat the shit out of you and deny you representation and a phone call?" he retorted. I didn't really have a good response to that.

"All I can say is that if you have any idea where the flash drive is, you'd better tell them. They want it bad. In fact, the agent hinted that they may let us all go if we provided it. I think they are after a really big fish and we're just a bunch of guppies. I think the big fish is really that dumb ass judge, Arthur McSomething."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's involved in all of this," Calvin agreed. "I hope he goes down hard, but when my day in court comes, I'll prove I'm innocent."

Sooner than I expected, the door rattled and opened. We looked over as Whittaker was pushed violently through it. He landed face first onto the concrete. He was bloodied and beaten severely. They undid the cuffs and came for Calvin. "No. No. Don't beat me. I'm innocent. I'm innocent," he whimpered.

They ignored him and cuffed him roughly. They were in a foul mood from whatever happened with Whittaker. They pulled Calvin away and slammed the door. I rushed over to Whittaker. He made no effort to get up, so I knelt beside him. "You gonna be all right?" I asked.

"Yeah. Fuckers beat the shit out of me though. All the while yelling about how I was attacking them. I did take one of them out, though. He left his leg extended in front of me and I got one foot under his heel while I drove my other leg down hard just above his knee. It snapped his leg backward, blowing out his knee. He started screaming in pain, but then all hell broke loose on me."

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. Obviously," Whittaker answered.

"So did you talk to them at all?"

"Yeah, after they tased my ass."

"Oh shit. They tased you? In the chest, like they did Calvin?"

"NO! I told you. They tased my ass. I meant that literally. Fucking hurts like hell." Whittaker rubbed his ass cheeks over the ill-fitting, orange jump suit.

I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it. Whittaker laughed a bit too but then he groaned. "Stop it. It hurts to laugh." He held his rib cage. Then he reached out and gripped my hand. "Shane, I'm really sorry."

"You're sorry? Sorry for what?"

"For accusing you of all that awful perverted shit. I know now you didn't do what they claim you did. In fact, I think I got this all figured out. It all came clear while they were showing me the evidence video. We're not going to prison."

"We're not?"

"No. I can't believe I accused you of such horrible things earlier. I just couldn't make any sense of it before now," he said.

"What? What did you figure out?" I was dying to know. He smiled in that teasing manner of his without answering me. "Damn you, stop messing with me or I'll kick you in your sore ribs. What did you figure out?"

He slowly, and painfully, lifted himself from the floor. "Follow me." I did. We went to the corner of the room near the toilet. "Look at the room. What do you see?"

"An empty cell."

"Look familiar at all?" he asked.

"No. I kind of had a flash of deja vu when they first put us in here, but ..."

"Look at the metal hooks in the ceiling and on the floor against that wall. Then look at the hooks over the concrete table. Imagine chains hung from them," he prodded.

"Uhhhhhh!" I gasped. "Nooooooo!"

"That's right. Get it now?"

"Yes. Oh my god. We're in trouble. We're in really big trouble. What're we gonna do?"

"I don't know. But we sure as hell aren't going to jail. The morgue maybe, but not jail."

"Did they ask you about the flash drive?" I asked. "They told me that they still don't have it."

"Yeah, of course. They really want that drive. There has to be more on it than just what we saw."

"That's what I'm thinking too," I agreed. "They really want Steve bad. He must know things he shouldn't."

"If they went to such great lengths to try and make us think they were framing us, and that they're actually FBI, then what do you think they might have done to Steve?" Whittaker asked.

"This is a big operation." Then he added almost apologetically, "Steve may be less guilty in all of this than I thought, or he may have just gotten in over his head and wanted out."

"If that's true, and I hope it is, why do you think he left the drive behind? Why wouldn't he take it with him if it had evidence on it that might help his own case or help take the others down?"

"Maybe he just forgot it. Maybe he wanted you to turn it in to the cops instead of him. I'm not sure."

"But why wouldn't he tell me to do that?" I asked, confused.

"Maybe he tried. Maybe he got snatched. Maybe he's dead, bad as I hate to say it. Whatever his story is, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt again," Whittaker reiterated.

Chills ran through me when Whittaker said that. If Whittaker could have hope that Steve was guiltless, then I could too. It wasn't just my love for him blinding my better judgment. "I'm sure that judge, Arthur McAsshole, or Uncle Arty as Steve called him, is behind this," I said.

"Yeah, I agree he's involved. So is that Simba freak," Whittaker stated.

"For sure. But how do we get out of this situation? They have guns."

"Thought a little about that," Whittaker said, sitting carefully down and holding his ribs. "I suggest we tell them we know where the flash drive is, but say it's buried on campus someplace near the dorms. We can't really describe exactly where, because we don't agree on it. That way they will have to take us both there and when we arrive, we just start screaming our lungs out and take off running if we can. They aren't likely to shoot us if we're close to the dorms where people can look out the windows."

"I guess that might work. At least it's worth a try. It at least gives us a shot," I said.

"Fucking poor choice of words, dude," Whittaker snorted.

"Whittaker," I asked, "I saw video of you having sex with an underage kid. That's not something you can really fake. When did you do that and more importantly, why did you do that?"

Whittaker laughed out loud, scornfully.

"It's not really funny. It's kind of sick," I spouted.

"You also had sex with that same underage kid," Whittaker snorted out.

"I did not. I've never had sex with anyone besides you and Steve and ...."

"That's right. It never showed his face in the cropped up videos did it? It was Calvin, you dope. How could you not tell that?" he asked disdainfully.

I was embarrassed, really embarrassed. "Oh my god. Those clever assholes."

"Yeah, well, they're pretty good at video manipulation. That's sort of what they do."

"Now it's my turn to apologize to you."

The door clattered and the guys in black uncuffed Calvin. He walked in looking untouched, but emotionally shaken.

When the door was shut, we motioned him over to where we were sitting. He came over and sat down beside us. "I'm so fucked," Calvin said sadly.

My first thought when he said that was that the kiddie porn on the computer really was his doing after all. I didn't verbalize it, though.

"Why?" Whittaker asked.

"They wanted the flash drive," Calvin explained, "but I told them I didn't know where it was."

"Which is true, right?" I asked.

"No. I hid it," Calvin confessed, "I didn't want it hanging around where it could get lost. I didn't really need it to do the decoding work after I copied it onto my computer, and I wanted to make damn sure I'd have it to give over to the police when the time came. Then, when I found out the feds are trying to frame me, I decided not to tell them about it because I need it to prove that the files on the computer aren't mine. I can prove the girl ones weren't downloaded by me, but the ones from the USB drive would be impossible to verify without the actual drive."

"Okay, so go on."

"Well, I guess I don't lie very good. They hooked me up to this lie detector thing and when I failed, they threatened me with the taser. I spilled my guts and now they have the USB drive and I can't prove my innocence in court. I'll go to jail with you two and we'll probably die there bleeding out of our asses after Bubba has his way with us," Calvin was whimpering now.

"You told them where the drive is at?" Whittaker cried out in exasperation.

"I had to. They were going to tase me again. I can't take that. Just the thought of it turns my bowels to mush. I know I shouldn't have told them, but they knew anyway. They knew I was lying." Poor, pathetic Calvin was shaking and on the verge of crying again. He was not holding up well at all.

"Well, so much for our big plan. You got any ideas for a plan B?" Whittaker asked me.

"I didn't have any ideas for a plan A let alone a plan B," I answered.

"Plans for what?" Calvin asked.

"Look at the room," Whittaker urged. "Think about where you've seen it before. Picture chains hanging from the hooks and young naked boys attached to them."

"Oh my god! Oh shit. Oh shit. They're not FBI. They're the fucking bad guys. Holy shit!!"

"Yeah. Holy shit is right. And now they've got what they wanted, they don't need us anymore," Whittaker groaned.

"Well, then, maybe they'll let us go," Calvin said. Whittaker and I scoffed at his naive comment.

"So now what?" I asked.

"I guess we just wait and see what happens next," Whittaker suggested. "You know, if we do get out of this, we know where we're being held. We have to be in the underground parking area of the motel where they molest the kids on the videos. Let's open our wounds and smear some DNA around."

"Good idea," I agreed. Whittaker and I rubbed our wounded wrists. We purposely bled and smeared it under the table, under the toilet seat. Everywhere we could that we thought wouldn't be too obvious. We wanted evidence that we had been there.

Once we were done, we all sat back down and waited and waited and waited. "What if they just leave us here? What if they just let us die here?"

"Calm down, Calvin," Whittaker said. "That wouldn't make any sense for them to do that."

"I'm starving," Calvin announced next. "What if they just let us starve to death? I can't believe this is happening to me. I don't deserve to be here. I need to send reports in to the bank. They're gonna wonder where I am. I'm gonna be fired for sure. Nobody will miss you two, but they should try to contact me. But I wonder how long it will be before they send someone to check on me? Someone will start looking for us, won't they?"

I wanted to lash out at him, but I held my tongue. Whittaker answered, "Your bank is our best hope, all right. Jensen's the only one who knows about us and whoever was on the sidewalk, but they're not likely to do anything more than gossip about it. They just think we got arrested. They probably suspect we were into drugs. Maybe the campus police might try to find something out, but I doubt it. There's one other possibility and I think it's a good one. Officer Stankowski. He's bound to come looking for us again. When he finds us all missing, he might go talk to Jensen and then get the police involved in looking for us."

"It could be a while before the bank actually starts actively looking for you," I said to Calvin.

"We can't rely on that. As for Stankowski, that's a real possibility, but we still need to start thinking about a way out of here." I walked over to the door and started looking for weaknesses in it.

"By the way," I asked Calvin, "Just out of curiosity, where did you hide the flash drive?"

Calvin snickered and said, "Up your ass."

"What?"

"I hid it in the dildo you used back in my apartment last night. I pulled the battery compartment out and hollowed out a section above it to put it in there. Then I glued the battery compartment back in. So I guess you can say you've been fucked by hundreds of young, naked boys all at once." He started laughing at his stupid joke.

"You're sick," was all I said and went back to figuring out how to get the door off. Whittaker didn't laugh at Calvin's sick joke either. He'd fallen into deep thought once again.

Suddenly, I heard keys clatter in the lock and I swiftly moved away from the door. The guys in black came in again and this time called for Calvin. "Time to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To your apartment. You're going to show us exactly where the drive is. No tricks or you're dead. Cooperate and you're done with this. You pack up and move away and never talk about it again, never ever. Got it?"

"Yes. Hell yes. I got it. I got it."

"Good. C'mon then. Get your ass up." Calvin jumped up and practically sprinted out the door without so much as a goodbye or a good luck wave to Whittaker or me." They left the door open and I looked at Whittaker and he looked at me. Just as I started creeping toward it, Agent Overcoat and the not-so-honorable Judge Arthur McMahon walked in. They'd clearly decided to abandon the whole FBI ruse. Agent Overcoat shoved me toward the chair and ordered me to sit next to Whittaker. I obeyed without any extra persuasion. My heart was pounding so loudly, I could hardly hear what Judge Arthur or Agent Overcoat were saying.

"Well?" asked the sleazy judge. "Last chance."

"I don't know," Whittaker said. He looked at me.

"What? What did you ask?" I inquired apologetically.

"I asked if you were willing to tell me where Steve is hiding. But no bullshit. If you lie to me, I'll kill you. Help me find him and I'll let you two go. He's the one I want."

I thought about lying. Maybe I could get them to take us somewhere public like Whittaker had suggested doing for the flash drive. I thought about the possibility that Officer Stankowski might actually come looking for us and if he did, maybe buying time in the cell while they looked for Steve was a better idea. I settled on that one. Shaking my head, I said honestly, "I have no idea."

"Fuck!" the not so honorable Judge McMahon cursed. "Then you're useless." He pulled a pistol from inside his suit jacket and aimed it directly at me. I almost choked on my tongue.

I've occasionally wondered how I would react in such a situation before, when watching war movies or cop shows or the evening news during the Iraq War. I wondered if I would freak out, plead for mercy, start praying or just bawling like a baby. I did none of that. I calmly turned to Whittaker and said, "Goodbye, dude. Thanks for your friendship." Then I closed my eyes and waited.

I heard the shot. I'd been told that you don't really hear it. I'd been told that the bullet hits you before the sound arrives. I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I was almost disappointed, to be honest. I really expected death to be extraordinary and it was just nothing.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Agent Overcoat screamed. I opened my eyes and saw Arthur scrambling toward his gun. Apparently, the agent had knocked it from his hands. "You can't shoot them here with a gun registered in your name. What are you thinking?"

"Well we have to get rid of them," the fat judge whined.

"Of course. But let me do it. That's what you pay me for. I'll take them up by the river, do it cleanly and dispose of the bodies like the others you've offed."

The judge looked at him for a moment with what seemed to me like a bit of mistrust. Then he said, "Fine. You're right. But I'm sending Stan along with you as your driver. He knows the spot we use."

"I don't need any help!" Agent Overcoat spat out.

"I don't give a fuck. I'm sending Stan or I'm shooting them here," the judge insisted.

"Whatever! Fine. Send Stan."

"Stan. Stan, get in here," Judge Arthur ordered.

To Whittaker's and my dismay, in walked Officer Stankowski. He sneered at us and grinned with a little satisfaction at our obvious disappointment. "There goes plan B," Whittaker mumbled. At gunpoint, we were both handcuffed again and led back to the van. They pushed us into the back of it and slammed the doors. Off we went. Shortly, we were obviously on a mountain road. When we finally stopped and the doors opened, we were in a mountain meadow area on a pullout from the main dirt road. The afternoon sun was just casting shadows from the surrounding trees and thick brush.

"Stay here and keep an eye out for jeeps and dirt bikes," the agent instructed Stankowski.

"Sure," he grumbled. "Hurry up. I wanna stop at that little diner back down the road. They got the best chicken fried steak you ever had. Murder makes me hungry."

Agent Overcoat shook his head and grabbed a blue tarp, walked over a few yards and spread it out next to the water. Then he grabbed a couple of cinder blocks with ropes attached and carried them over. He set them next to the tarp. Then with his gun drawn, he ordered us out of the van and over to the tarp. "Kneel, facing away from the van," he ordered in his raspy voice.

We obeyed. What choice was there?

"This is it, Whittaker. We're going to die," I said. My voice was shaking, but I was so worn down from the events in the last 24 hours, I had little emotion left in me. I was just empty. I'd been replaying my life in my head during the ride in the van and thinking of all the regrets I had. The greatest of which was losing Steve. I began to wonder what death would be like. I guess I'd soon have the answer to my question whether or not there was life after death. I was at least at peace with the knowledge that Steve was still alive and had evaded them. I hoped he'd find someone else to love and be happy. I felt a wave of nausea overtake me as I thought about how sad my parents and family would be. I wished I'd been more honest with my parents about my feelings growing up and hadn't bottled all my frustrations up for so long. I was grateful to have had Christmas and that I was able to unload so much of it and that my dad had finally understood me. I wondered if I should have come out to my family about my sexuality. I saw no reason for it, though, since I was about to die. God, it was hard to know you were about to die.

The FBI agent tied the rope to our legs. The intent was obvious: shoot us and tie us up in the tarp and then sink us in the river. I wondered whether it would be worse for my family to just have me be missing rather than certain of my murder.

"I wish," Whittaker said. "I wish I'd tried harder."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I wish I'd tried harder to have a better relationship with my parents."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say to that. I wasn't at my best at the moment. Apparently, Whittaker had been doing his own soul searching in the van as well.

When we were securely fastened to the cinder blocks, the agent walked around and held his phone up for us to see. While we read what was on the screen, he said, loudly enough for that dumbass, fake parole officer to hear, "You boys should have left well enough alone. You had to go snooping around. Well this is it. Sorry, but you know too much and have to die. I'll make it quick and painless for you though by shooting you in the back of the head. Hold still so I don't miss. It will only make it worse if you try to avoid it." On the phone it read: I really am FBI. I'm undercover. My bullets are fake. When it hits you, fall straight down and lie still. The cinder blocks are tied so that they will come off in the water.

A wave of relief rushed through me and against any capacity I had to stop it, I started to sob in relief. All the tension and emotion and fear and panic just spilled out. That didn't seem to bother Agent Overcoat and I suppose it only made it look more realistic for Stankowski over by the van. Agent Overcoat walked around behind us and raised his pistol, I peeked over my shoulder to see who was getting it first. It was Whittaker. I was strangely relieved at not being first. I wanted to see how Whittaker faked it and try to copy him.

"Hold it!" We all turned to the left to see who the booming voice belonged to. It was the sleazy judge, Judge Arthur, aka Uncle Arty. He was followed by one of his goons in black wearing body armor and wielding a high powered rifle, trained on Agent Overcoat. "Drop the gun, Caprino, or whatever the fuck your name is," Uncle Arty barked. I was devastated. Whittaker cursed and dropped his head in an expression of the same intense frustration I was feeling.

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I appreciate beyond my ability to describe the hard work and great help my editors have put into this story. I appreciate as well all the reader emails. You guys keep me motivated to keep writing. Thanks.

Hans Schreiber, h.schreiber@hushmail.com