Come Christmas Steve

Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 33

In the Caspar Federal Court facility, everything was very well run. In fifteen minutes, I'd been checked in, fingerprinted, photographed, assigned a number, strip searched, showered, and dressed in the newest fashion. The jumpsuit for the Federal court was grey instead of orange and had a sewn-on patch with my number on the back. No one called anyone by name, but by the last four digits of our numbers. I was 8623.

I was briefed with the rules and expectations, appeal procedures for any grievances I might have, and then asked if I had any questions. When I didn't, I was escorted to my holding cell. It was a regular cell with seven cell mates. My bunk was on top at the end of the row, near the wall. There was an exposed toilet and wash basin just next to my bunk. I was very excited for that. No need to crap on schedule like at the last place. The fact that it was exposed didn't bother me, I was way over any embrassment in doing my business in front of others by then.

The second day of my incarceration in Caspar was enlightening. I met my cell mates. Michael, the junior attorney, was right about the inmate crowd being different at the Federal facility. There was a very wealthy contractor who was accused of ripping off the government somehow on a construction job. He used some big word for what it was he'd supposedly done, but I didn't understand it and didn't want to ask. There was a tax fraud, embezzler, bank robber getaway man, two multi-state drug dealers and me, the child molester, which I didn't disclose. One Hispanic, two blacks and the rest of us were white. The racial ratio was much different back at the jail. Life here was less depressing. I actually thought to myself that I might survive twenty years in a place like this without losing my mind or my dignity.

The afternoon of the second day, Adam showed up. That was a relief. He was very busy and all business. There was no time for small talk. "I have some difficult things to work out," Adam said. "First of all, a quick schedule of events. You will be arraigned and enter a plea tomorrow. You will be dressed in a suit that will be here for you. Make sure your tie is straight. I will do all the talking. You need to keep your mouth shut unless the judge asks you a direct question. If he does, I'll turn and look at you. Answer whatever he asks honestly, but keep your answer brief. Don't elaborate. Don't smile and for hell's sake don't laugh at anything. Look worried, scared even. Behave like a second grader standing in front of the principal accused of something you didn't do."

"Okay. I will."

"Stand up. Let me see it," Adam said.

"See what?"

"Your courtroom look. We are going to role play a minute."

"Oh. Okay." I stood up and looked somber as Adam pretended to be answering the attorney's questions. Then he stopped and pretending to be the judge, asked, "Do you understand the charges that have been levied against you?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Yes, sir," Adam corrected. "Always respond to the judge with a high degree of respect. Either yes sir or yes, your honor. Got it?"

"Okay. I get it," I responded.

"The look is good. Not overdone. You appear genuinely frightened without looking guilty."

"That doesn't require any acting," I said.

"Sit down now. Here is the list of charges against you. You are charged with indecent exposure with the special circumstance of exposing yourself to a minor in the Daniel case. You are also accused of child sexual assault against Daniel based on the allegations in the video testimony, which so far, I have been unsuccessful in getting tossed out. For the Colt portion of the accusations, you are also charged with sexual assault as well as aggravated assault by penetration with a foreign object, referring to the brush. Additionally, you are charged with sexual abuse of a minor with the special circumstance of interstate publication of child pornography over the internet. For good measure, they tossed in a second count of indecent exposure to a minor for Colt. He claims now that you exposed yourself to him multiple times and encouraged him to expose himself to you when you met up together."

I was sick. "None of this is true, Adam. The Colt thing is just not true. None of it. He just kept coming around and I kept telling him to leave me alone. This last time was all a complete setup. I swear."

"I believe you. There are some very big hurdles, however. First of all, your boxers that were found along with his underwear under your mattress. A large quantity of your semen and his minimal amount of semen was found on them. Some of his semen was also found on his underwear, but thankfully, not yours. Still, how is that explained?"

"I told Michael, I had a wet dream. I'd left my boxers in the dirty clothes pile and Colt must have found them there and jacked off onto them and also onto his own."

"Okay. I guess we go with that, but it won't sell easily. This is a smoking gun," Adam said. "Next concern is the expression you apparently are in the habit of using when you ejaculate. Colt claims that when you ejaculated in his mouth and at other times, you groaned and said, 'Cum Shaney, Cum'." Adam paused and when I didn't say anything, he continued, "I have interviewed Steven Fahrenheit, David Whittaker, and your brother, Billy. All three have confirmed that this is a habit of yours and none of them have any idea how Colt would have known that without having heard it from you."

A wave of nausea overcame me. "I ..." I bit my lip. "I have no idea either. I can promise you that I never said that to him and that I never did anything sexual at all with him. Not ever. I can't explain how he knows that. It's totally true that I like to say that when, when I ..., you know, cum. But I never did anything with him. You have to believe me. Maybe he was hiding in my room sometime and I jacked off without me knowing that he was there. I honestly don't know. I just don't know."

"Is there anyone else who might be aware of this little habit of yours?" Adam asked. "A schoolmate you masturbated with or told that to perhaps?"

"NO! I never told anyone that and I never masturbated with anyone else, not even Billy," I said. "Billy, Steve and Whittaker are the only ones who know it. Possibly, my other brothers heard me say it through the bathroom door when I was growing up and I didn't know about it. Maybe they told."

"I'll check into that. This is not only a smoking gun, it is a smoking gun with your fingerprints on it."

"Will Whittaker or Billy have to testify against me about that?" I asked.

"I don't know. Potentially, but they would not have included that detail if they didn't know about it somehow, so there must be another source for it if the source wasn't you."

"It wasn't. I promise."

"Next item. Why in the hell did you attend the rodeo?"

"I told you about that already. Colt seemed so desperate for some approval from someone. I was depressed and wanted to escape a little. I thought I could just go show him some support and then sneak off undetected by anyone besides him. I was also a little curious to see what his friend looked like that he had a crush on. The one he kept asking my advice about."

"Enlighten me more on that," Adam urged.

"Colt met this kid at school, in gym class. Scott was his name. Colt had a crush on him. They became friends and it turned out that Scott did rodeo also, just not as much as Colt and in different events. Anyway, Colt's dad was dead set against the friendship until he found out that Scott was into rodeo and got the idea that Scott was trying to get Colt a girlfriend, I think. So then his dad was okay with it. Something like that. Anyway, the families started becoming friends, I guess. Then, Colt and Scott got caught showing off their dicks to each other by Colt's mom up in Colt's bedroom. She was going to tell his dad and he came to me again wanting to run away or find some way to help him not get killed by his dad when his mom told on him. Anyway, Billy and I convinced my mom to go talk to his mom when we took Colt back home and somehow, my mom smoothed it over with Colt's mom and Sheriff Withers never knew about it. Anyway, I was a little curious to see this Scott kid that Colt had a crush on."

"So Colt felt he was gay and was afraid of his father because of the father's prejudice against gays. You in particular, right?"

"Yes."

"And Colt kept seeking you out asking you for advice about being gay and what to do about this Scott kid who he had a crush on?"

"That's right."

"And did you ever give him any advice about how to have sex or demonstrate anything to him, real or simulated about having gay sex with his friend? Is that when you said, 'Cum, Shaney, Cum' in front of him?"

"NO! Nothing like that. I swear!" I was very emphatic.

"This rodeo thing is not only a smoking gun, it's a smoking gun registered in your name. It screams pedophile pattern behavior," Adam pined. "Last item for today. The brush. Why did you clean the brush handle and why did you use Clorox to do it with?"

"I found it in my room after Colt left. I was just putting it away and it was all gross. I had to clean it before I put it away. Mom would have freaked out if she saw it like it was."

"Why Clorox? Did you think that Clorox would destroy all traces of DNA on it?"

"DNA never crossed my mind. It was a mess and Clorox is what we use to clean and disinfect stuff at our house. That's all."

"Well, it looks very much like you were intentionally covering up evidence," Adam stated.

"Evidence of what? I didn't do anything. It was all Colt. I was just cleaning up the mess he left."

"STOP THE BULLSHIT!" Adam yelled. This shocked me and I jumped and pulled away. Adam slammed his fist on the table as he yelled at me again, "I can't help you if you keep lying to me! Just tell the damn truth so I know where I stand when I try to plea bargain this case. You're a pedophile, Shane. Just admit it. You fit the pattern. You had a confused childhood, felt inferior, and needed a way to overcome that. You preyed on younger boys as a way to feel some superiority and acceptance. The two boys on the bus that you took to the bathroom at the diner, you offered to do that for a chance to get a peek at their little genitals. You didn't dare do anything more than that with them but I'm sure you wanted to. It got you so excited that you talked Steve into going into the bathroom on the bus afterwards and engaging in sex in there. That's not normal behavior, Shane. Tell me the truth!"

"What? NO! No, that's not true. How did you know ..."

Adam continued his tirade as I sat there shocked and stunned. "The boys at the after school tutoring program is just another example of how you were grooming young boys for sexual gratification. You just never got sufficient time to finish the job. You sought them out and took interest in their hobbies and you told one of them that you wanted to go see him play baseball, didn't you?"

"No. I wasn't. I was just trying to ..."

"DIDN'T YOU?!?" Adam exploded, pounding the table again.

"I did, but it wasn't to ..." Again, he cut me off.

"You only tutored the boys, Shane. No girls. It was a perfect place to scout for boys who you could gain trust with and then make your moves on. How many others have there been, Shane? The prosecution is using the media to call for any others to come forward and I'm guessing there will be a few. You have to tell me the complete truth, Shane. All of it or I can't help you. You'll end up spending the rest of your life in prison, Shane. Do you want that?" he barked.

I was heaving great sobs now. But he just kept piling on me. He went on yelling, "Tell me, Shane. Tell me what else you did to that little Daniel boy you abused in Yellowstone. How far did you go with him before his parents showed up? Did you make him perform oral sex on you? Did you? What else Shane? What else? And what about Colt? What nasty, perverse things did you do to him? You were contacting him through your brother's girlfriend, using her phone as a cover. But the Sheriff found out you were having rendezvous' with his young son at the big oak tree on your property. He found out that you went out running as a way to meet up with Colt at the oak tree. Colt's father learned how you met up with the boy there to entice him to engage in sex play, didn't he? That's why he showed up one day instead of Colt and confronted you about it. He beat you up as a strong message to leave his son alone, but you couldn't, could you? Even after getting your ribs broken over it, you still pursued young Colt. You wanted Colt's little sexy body too much, didn't you? You lured him over when you knew you would be home alone and then you performed perverse sex acts with him. You even posted your conquest on the Internet. You screamed out 'Cum, Shaney, Cum!' when you ejaculated into his young mouth, didn't you?" Adam pounded the table again, "DIDN'T YOU?!?"

"NO!" I screamed back. "NO! Adam, it's not true. None of that is true! Please, please," I pled.

I was shaking and sobbing. I pressed my palms to my temples and sobbed out, "God, dear God, please. I didn't do anything to these boys. I would never do anything like that to any child. God knows I didn't. Please Adam, you have to believe me, there isn't anything else to tell. I didn't do any of it! I just wanted to help little Daniel get in his room and then find a way back into my room. Honest. I never pursued Colt. He pursued me even though I told him not to."

Adam stood up and gripped my shoulders. He gave a firm squeeze. "I believe you. I know you didn't do it. I'm sure of it. Now. I had to be absolutely certain. I had to subject you to that because I had to know where I stood."

I pressed my palms harder against my temples and fought to control my sobbing.

"I also need you to know that all of what I just subjected you to will come out in one form or another in the trial. You can't freak out when it does. You have to maintain your composure. You have to continue to look worried, but not appear repentant. This will be hell for you, Shane. I'm not yet planning to plea your case. I would never get anything acceptable. I'm holding out for a trial. If we win, you go free. If we lose, you will spend the majority of your life in prison. At least the best part of it. If you think of anything, anything at all, that might help me with the smoking guns, tell me."

"Okay," I eked out while trying desperately to regain my composure. "I'm scared."

"Stay that way," Adam said. "You need to be scared."

I returned to my cell and went straight to my bunk. My cellmates stared at me but didn't speak. They could see I was a wrangled mess. I'm sure they'd had their own turns with bad legal news. Adam's words about a smoking gun with my fingerprints on it kept ringing through my head. He'd also said I would spend the best years of my life, if not the rest of my life in prison if I lost this case. When it came time for dinner, I asked if I could just stay in my cell. I knew I couldn't eat. The answer was no, I had to go but I didn't have to eat. I didn't eat, I couldn't eat.

The next day, they delivered a new grey suit, white shirt, and blue tie. It felt good to be dressed in normal clothes. A suit wasn't exactly normal clothes for me, but compared to a two tone grey jumpsuit with a number on the back, it was.

I traveled on a short bus with a group of equally well dressed inmates and two who hadn't bothered dressing for their appearances. I supposed they were just pleading guilty and didn't see the point. Those two were shackled, both hands and feet while the rest of us were only cuffed. We were all placed in a holding cell until it was our turn to see the judge.

When my turn came, I took a deep breath and followed the bailiff. It was a very governmental looking building. Older, but clean and polished. The courtroom itself was not particularly large. The judge sat in front on an elevated platform desk. A witness stand was next to it. All of that was separated from the spectator seats by a wooden railing with a swinging gate in it just like on TV. I was uncuffed and directed to sit next to Adam. He surveyed me and nodded an approval, then turned his attention back to the papers on his lap.

When my name was called, Adam and I stood and entered the front section and stood at the table on the left. The judge surveyed some papers, peered at me and waved toward us. "Sit down." We obeyed. He continued reading for five or six minutes. He called my name and told me to stand up. Adam and I obeyed. "Shane Steele, you are charged with the following," he began. He listed off the same charges that Adam had shared with me the day before. Then he asked, "Do you wish to enter a plea on all counts or one at a time?"

"All of them together, your honor," Adam said.

"Very well, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty on all counts, your honor," Adam said.

"Thank you, but I'd like to hear it from your client. Mr. Steele, how do you plead?" Adam looked at me so I knew I was supposed to answer.

I swallowed and said, "Not guilty on all counts, your honor." He studied me for a bit and I held my gaze on his. I didn't have to act worried or afraid, it came quite naturally. I felt drips of sweat running from my underarms. He gave a slight shake of his head as if he'd come to some sort of conclusion and resettled his wire frame glasses on his nose. He marked some check boxes and took a calendar in hand.

"Counselor," the judge began, "this is not your regular venue. I have penciled in forty-five days for discovery, is that sufficient?"

"Yes, your honor. Thank you." Adam made a note on a pad.

"I have set the pre-trial hearing for September 18th," the judge stated. "I'd highly encourage you and the prosecutor to speak about resolving this case outside of a trial."

"Thank you, your honor. I'm sure we will be speaking," Adam responded.

"That's all for now," the judge said and the next case was called. We exited to the side of the courtroom where a bailiff was waiting for me.

"I'll be in touch," Adam said. "Have you thought of anything else you think might help?"

"Just that I could tell Colt was not doing what he did willingly. He was being forced into it somehow. I think his father threatened him. I think his own father must have been abusing him and then probably threatening him not to tell."

"Why do you think that?" Adam asked.

"Things he's said about his father. He told me several times that his father had threatened to cut his dick off if he was going to act like a little girl instead of a man. Then, there's the brush. I think his father must have done that to him. How else would he have learned to do that? Why would he say I'd tried to fuck him if someone else hadn't already done that to him?"

"Hmm. All right. Why do you think his father did all of that? Why wouldn't you think he learned it from his friend that he was at the rodeo with?"

"Nah. They were both still too innocent. It sounded like that Scott boy was very fascinated with sex stuff but as naive as Colt about most of it. I just can't imagine them doing that together from what Colt told me about him," I explained. I reminded Adam of what I'd told his associate, Michael, about us catching the Sheriff and the Reverend meeting up for sex at the motel. Adam nodded acknowledgement.

The bailiff had reached his limit of patience and grasped my arm. Adam consented and I was led through the door, cuffed and taken back to the holding cell. I spent four more hours in the cell until all the other prisoners had finished with their court appointments. When we arrived back to the holding facility, I undressed and returned the clothing to a guard. Once dressed back in my grey jumpsuit, I was led to the dining area with the rest of the court group, except for the two angry ones. We were fed separately since we'd missed our normal dinner time. It was cold and stale, but we were much too hungry to care much.

I spent the next forty-five days, waiting and wondering what was going on. Each Friday, Michael would show up and fill me in on any progress and ask me questions. Unfortunately, there were many more questions than progress reports. Questions that had no good answers. I struggled to keep up hope.

On Michael's second visit, he asked me if Colt had ever seen my penis. I answered that he had only seen it in the roadside bathroom where we first met. Michael clarified that Colt had never seen my erect penis, and I confirmed he had not. Michael had me rehearse every conversation I'd had with Colt and I did my best to recall all the things we'd talked about.

On the fourth Friday, Adam showed up instead of Michael.

"Why are you here this time?" I asked.

"I have to present a plea bargain for you to consider," Adam responded.

"Really? A good one?" I asked.

"I'll let you decide. First of all, let me fill you in on some progress we've made. Fortunately, there have been no other kids come forward to accuse you of anything else, in spite of the State Prosecutor advertising for them."

"That's because there aren't any out there," I said, indignantly. The idea that the jackass was out soliciting others to come forward infuriated me. I felt bad for my family, who were most likely getting a fresh dose of being shunned and harassed.

Adam ignored my tone and went on, "Mrs. Whittaker's investigator ran down evidence that little Daniel had been coached prior to his video testimony. They obtained security camera footage showing the prosecutor's psychiatrist meeting with Daniel and his mother at a conference room in the public library multiple times before the deposition. The rental fee for the conference room was paid on the psychiatrist's credit card and was included in his reimbursements from the prosecutor's office. The State Prosecutor has been dropped from the federal prosecution team over it. They are not happy with him. His career is pretty much over."

"That's great! That means only the Colt thing remains," I said. "Freaking prosecutor deserves it!"

"Not so fast," Adam corrected. "The federal prosecutor wants to do another video deposition by a mutually agreed upon psychiatrist. The parents will be allowed to observe, but only by video from a neighboring room. No telling how that will go and no telling what the judge will want to do about that."

"Well, when the jurors hear about the coaching from the first video, they'll be able to figure out that our story is true," I said.

"The court probably isn't going to allow any mention of the first deposition or of the coaching. So all the jurors will see is Daniel's story of what happened when he talks to the court appointed expert."

"That's not fair. They cheated and put ideas in his head. Why can't the jury know about that?"

"Because the judge will almost certainly rule that it is not to be allowed. End of discussion," Adam said.

"I might try to sneak it in and take the objection and endure the judge's lecture over it. He'll tell the jury to disregard it, but that's pointless. You can't un-hear something."

I laughed.

"As for the Colt situation, there isn't much change. One thing I want to clarify: when you were in your room with Colt, when he was naked, did you notice any evidence of physical abuse? Any bruises, red marks, welts or cuts?"

I tried to think back. "No. No, I don't recall anything like that? I wasn't really looking for something like that. I believe he did have some bruises on him. I'm not real sure. Why?" I asked.

"Never mind," Adam said. "Just checking. Do you recognize this notepad?" Adam showed me a picture of a promotional notepad with a green tractor on it.

"Yes," I replied. It's from the farm show my parent's went to. They got a bunch of them from the trade show. It's from John Deere. Why?"

"There is a note, written on this paper in what appears to be your handwriting. All block print. It tells Colt to come to your house the next morning in code - something like "Come play in my crib. Ten tomorrow." Colt claims he found it tacked to the telephone pole just down the street from his house. He further claims that was the way you contacted him when you wanted to meet up, once you couldn't use Jaime's phone any longer. The prosecutor has a handwriting expert claiming it is your handwriting. We have an expert claiming it is not. To the untrained eye, ninety percent would conclude that it is your writing. So the jury will believe it is."

"Oh my god. Is there anything else?" I muttered.

"Oh yeah. There is something else. Something very disturbing," Adam answered. "This." He showed me another picture on his phone. This one was of notes jotted on the same notepad paper. "The police found it in your nightstand drawer. Both handwriting experts confirm that it is your handwriting. Care to explain?"

I stared at it in complete despair. I knew immediately what it was. I had written it. The notes I'd jotted to help me remember my bizarre wet dream glared back at me from the picture in Adam's hand. It read:

I Go to prison but I don't care I want to be with my lover Others watch us but I don't care

I want to get fucked by Steve. Hard! Todd complains. Ignore Todd Colt comes in naked with a boner We let him watch Colt climbs in bed I make him get out. I wake up.

"I, I, I ..." I stammered.

"Oh no. You really did write this? Why?" Adam asked, pocketing his phone.

"I told you I had a wet dream. It felt disturbingly real. That's why my boxers had my, uhh, semen in them. I'd learned in psychology class that most dreams have deep seated meanings. I wanted to remember the details of my dream so I could look up that section in my textbook and see if I could figure out if I could learn something from it. I dreamt I'd chosen to be sentenced to three years in Yankton with Steve and Todd. I dreamt that we were in the same cell and we could have sex together. The other cellmates watched us and near the end, Colt's father pushed him into our cell and Colt joined in watching us. Afterwards, he climbed into bed with us and begged me to protect him from his father but I made him get out of bed. That's why those notes are there. That's the absolute truth. I swear it," I explained.

"He was naked in your dream?" Adam asked.

"Yes. He was. You know how weird dreams can be."

Adam blew out a huge sigh. I don't think he had words to express his exasperation. "Okay," he finally said. "I guess I don't have to tell you how awful that is."

"No. I guess you don't," I agreed.

"There is another new problem for us. Colt was interviewed by a trained psychologist who took his statement detailing the abuse. It was remarkably consistent with his earlier reports given to the police investigators, the parents and the doctors who examined him. The psychologist asked Colt to describe your penis to him. Colt gave a very accurate and fairly detailed description to the psychologits - not only of your flaccid penis, which we know he saw in the bathroom, but of your erect penis and your testicles. That was to be one of my aces, Shane. You told Michael that he never saw your erect penis. I was hopeful I could get him to describe it incorrectly in court and I was going to have a medical expert testify about the incongruities. Now, that is gone. How did he know this Shane? If he never saw it, how did he know?"

"Adam," I sputtered, "I don't know. I swear to you, he never saw my penis except for that one time in the bathroom. I just don't know. Is there anything else?"

"Just the plea offer," Adam said. "I'm sure the federal prosecutor is being pressured into offering it by the judge, who wants to avoid going to trial. He has shockingly offered eight years in a federal penitentiary. Nothing like Yankton where Steven and Todd are at. But I did at least negotiate you into a Low Security Sex Offender Prison in Littleton, Colorado, or one like it. There are ten such federal facilities. Your chances there will be much better than if you go to a regular prison. Sex offenders are shunned, harassed and brutalized, and occasionally murdered in the general population of a standard prison. You will be twenty-six years old when you get out. There's really no chance of a shortened sentence. You will be on the sex offender's list after you get out for another ten years, which is a very difficult thing to live with. It's the absolute best I can get out of him. He is very confident in getting a conviction but federal judges always pressure the prosecutors to settle out without a trial. If you turn down this offer, and they win at trial, you will spend many more years than eight in prison. You may spend a significant portion of your life behind bars. I cannot control where you get sent to in that case, but wherever it is, it will most likely not be pleasant for a convicted sex abuser of children. Especially a young handsome one. You will be beaten, stabbed, repeatedly raped and possibly murdered. That's not an exaggeration."

I was stunned into silence. I stared at my hands mulling over what I'd just been told. Adam was patient and let me take my time. "What do you think I should do?" I asked finally.

"I don't think it's my decision to make. It's your life," Adam said. "But, I think it's quite obvious what I think you should do. Take it!"

"What are my chances of winning?" I asked.

Now it was Adam's turn to pause. After a long reflection, he sighed. "I believe, at this point, the prosecutor's case is stronger than ours. If Colt testifies in any sort of believable manner, I think we lose."

I fell back into silence. My head was spinning. "I, I ... don't know what to do."

"I understand. Think about it. I'll be back in two days. I need your answer by then," Adam said. He stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder. "I wish I had more hope to give you. I know the offer sounds ominous, but eight years is survivable and you will still have a large part of your life ahead of you when you get out. The alternative is almost certainly much worse. Think carefully about what you want to do," Adam advised.

"Okay." That was all I could muster.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more. Your parents have asked me to tell you that they love you. They want you to only think about yourself in making your decision. They believe in you and in your innocence and nothing you choose here will change that. Same goes for me." He choked back his emotions.

"Thanks, Adam. Tell my parents that I love them. And Billy. And Whittaker. And try to let Steve know. Thank them for all they've done to try and help me. And I want you to know I think you're amazing and I know you've done all you possibly could for me." I started to cry. Adam collected me into his arms and held me. Then, he wept with me. He held me until I regained some measure of control. He didn't speak. What could he have said? His eyes were still moist. That said enough.

After I was back in my cell, I crawled up onto my bunk. I pulled my pillow over my head and pressed it tightly to block out all light and sound. That was as close to being alone as you could get in jail. I mulled over the prosecution's offer and reviewed every detail of the case against me. I thought about every time I had interacted with Colt. I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe it. I realized that if I took the deal, I'd be in jail five years longer than Steve and Todd. I worried that Steve wouldn't wait for me and maybe no longer want me. He might believe I was guilty. He'd warned me against being alone with those boys in the diner. He'd scolded me about the Daniel incident. He may suspect my behavior just because of what he'd been subjected to. I supposed that he would hook up with Todd and they would move on with their lives. I stressed over the idea of that happening anyway. I had never been able to completely get the images I'd seen of Steve and Todd fucking each other on the thumb drive out of my mind.

I had to consider the risk of losing and what that really meant. Taking the deal allowed me to get into some kind of a safer environment, if I understood Adam. I was pretty sure he'd said I could go to a prison just made up of sex offenders so I wouldn't be a target like I would be in a regular prison.

I thought over all the things Colt had ever said to me. I thought about how afraid he was of his father. I understood why he was doing all of this to me. I knew he was a confused and scared child. I was pretty sure he had no idea how severe my punishment would be and hoped that someday, he'd mature enough to realize what he'd done and confess. Perhaps, that way, I could get whatever sentence I was given overturned. But, more likely, he'd just go on with his life and forget about me rotting away in prison. I wondered if he would be gay or straight, or if he'd live out a lie for fear of his father, who was ironically living out his own lie. I couldn't understand how he knew some of the things he knew.

"It's Whittaker's fault," I mumbled. "If he hadn't saved Agent Overcoat, he couldn't have ratted me out. He'd only found out about the Daniel incident because he was undercover in Uncle Arty's sex ring. If he'd been killed, the whole Daniel incident would have died with him. Without the Daniel case, there would be no Colt in my life. We would have simply been two guys who happened to go into the same truck stop bathroom. "Dear God, why?" I asked. "Why?"

Agent Overcoat or Caprino, which was his real name, had been on our side. He'd given Steve and Billy good advice when he arrested all of us. He just had to fulfill his duty and that included sharing the Yellowstone incident with the Montana authorities, even though he should have given it to the Wyoming Federal Courts. I guessed most law enforcement people were like him - bound by their sense of duty. I supposed they didn't always like what they had to do. Except for Sheriff Withers. He was an exception. I was sure he loved ruining people's lives. Especially mine and in the process, his own son's. I marveled at how he could be so callous.

When dinnertime came, I climbed down and marched along with the others, head down and despondent. I picked at my dinner and shared much of it with one of my cell mates, the drug dealer on the bunk below mine. Other than short responses to his inquiries as to what I was and was not going to eat, we didn't converse. I shuffled back to the cell and climbed back up onto my bunk. I started pondering all that had happened and reviewed the times I'd met with Colt for the hundredth time. I was desperate to find some magical thing that would make everyone go 'aha!' and realize I had been set up. I thought of Adam's question whether there was some sign of injury on Colt and I suddenly remembered that Colt was fingering a small scab just at the base of his penis. I had to get that tidbit of information to Adam somehow.

In the middle of that, my bunkmate climbed up on the ladder and nudged me. "What up, celly? Bad news from the hack?" he asked.

I slid the pillow off my head and looked at him. He was thirty-something, sort of short, and slightly overweight. He waited for me to answer.

"Yeah," was all I said.

"Case not going so good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I responded again. "Wanna talk about it? I might render some assistance. This here ain't my first rodeo," he said.

I snorted a sardonic chuckle at the rodeo reference. "Thanks, but ..." I trailed off.

"I'm guessing you got tagged for KP or something like that. Right?"

"KP?" I asked.

"C'mon, don't play that shit with me. Like I said, it ain't my first rodeo, bumpkin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I answered. I was annoyed. He whistled through his big teeth. "You really do not comprehend me. Damn! KP, my cute ass little bumpkin, is kiddie porn. I'm surmising you're in here for messin with that there."

I stared at him somewhat shocked. "How ...? I mean, why? Why do you think I'm in here for that?" I asked.

"Hah, Lawd-a-mighty, I'm correct. I knew I was right. You just lookin' the type, bumpkin. You way too soft for any hard-ass crimes and you're green as hell with all that choir boy talk of yours. I'm guessing you couldn't say shit if you had a mouthful of it and prolly ain't never said fuck in your whole life. Just dreamed about it while puttin' hair on your palms. You're probably still a fucking virgin. So it had to be either kiddie porn or computer hacking you was in here for. Can't be nothing else."

"That obvious?" I asked. I was stunned.

"Hell yeah. Me and the other cellies been speculating. I was powerful sure of it. So lissen up, bumpkin. When you get played out to the big house as a fresh fish, you needs to quickly find a wolf you can ride with. Look for the white boss and let him know you're for sale as a personal bitch. Get yourself a Bruder if you can. Otherwise, your creampuff ass gonna get turned out at will. So you just a KP junkie or you a full-fledged chomo?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're asking me," I stammered.

"Chomo, child molester. Did you actually fuck with the kiddies or just trade the porn?" he clarified.

"Neither. It's all a big setup," I responded.

The man laughed so hard, he fell off the ladder. The others all peered over at him. "He's in on a bum beef. He's all innocent and shit. Anyone heard that pile of shit before?" he asked. They all laughed.

"I am, an innocent man," another cellmate started singing. He had a pretty good voice. "Oh yes I am, an innocent ma-an." He got up and walked over still singing. "Some people run from a possible fight, some people figure they can never win. And although this is a fight I can lose, the accused is an innocent man." He belted out the next line, "Oh yes I am. An innocent man!" Everyone laughed. I clenched my teeth. I was innocent. But no one, except maybe Adam and my family believed it. I wondered if they were losing faith in me as well, the longer this went on and the more shit that kept piling up.

"I am innocent!" I insisted.

"Okay, sure. You're innocent. So's you being accused of being a chomo?" he rephrased.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That be a full fledge guarantee you gonna get fucked up if it be gettin' put out there. Don't let nobody, and I mean nobody know that. Don't trust no one to keep a damn secret neither. Eat your fucking docket sheet, and I'm not shitting you here. Chew that fucker, swallow it and shit it to hell. You'll be a fucking rapo if that gets out. Lissen here, bumpkin, you's needin' to learn some shit before you get sent down to the house. I'll educate you, if you want."

"I guess maybe I better get educated. I'm pretty scared. My lawyer also warned me a bunch of times that I'd have it bad in prison. I really don't belong here. I'm just a young, stupid kid. I really didn't do anything to deserve all of this," I choked out. "I'm not a pedo. I'm not!"

I climbed down and we sat on his bunk. He filled me in, translating the prison slang into normal language so I could understand it. He explained that I needed to find the white gang boss and let him know I wanted to offer myself up in exchange for protection. He suggested one of the Aryan brotherhood, also called a 'bruder', since they were usually not messed with. That way, if I got lucky, I'd only have to get turned out by one guy and maybe a few others he'd occasionally sell me to for favors he might want done. So there'd be less possibility of me getting AIDS, or the monster as he called it. We talked for about three hours, even past the last bed check. All the other cellies had fallen asleep when I suggested we should go to bed ourselves and maybe talk more in the morning.

"Yeah. That be cool. I'm fucking ready to collect, anyway. I'm in an exceptional state of erection," he said. He gripped a large hardon through his jumpsuit. "Strip yer ass down."

"What?" I stammered. "Strip yer creampuff ass down. Time to pay up. Fucking education ain't free, goddammit." He started to unbutton his grey jumpsuit and motioned for me to follow suit.

"I, I don't know what you mean ..." He cut me off.

"I fucking mean, I'm gonna fuck your candy ass in exchange for all that good educating I gave you. While I'm doing it, I'll give you tips on how to make it hurt less. Strip! Now! And keep your fucking mouth shut while I do yer ass and after the deed is done. You snitch me out and you won't fucking make it to court. Only thing more hated in the house than a chomo is a snitch." He pulled down his grey boxers and exposed a rather impressive erection. It bent awkwardly downward and was dripping precum.

"Hey! No! You never said anything about this," I complained. I was on the verge of a panic.

"Should have read the fine print, fish." He stepped up and pressed me to the wall with an unexpected strong grip to my throat, leaving me struggling to breathe. His large hand wrapped three fourths the way around it. He unbuttoned my suit with his free hand and pulled it down off my shoulders. It fell to my feet. Then he forced my boxers down and wrestled me to his bed.

"Please don't," I gasped. Fighting him off was useless. "Please, please." I started to cry.

He snickered wickedly and forced himself between my legs. He pressed his slippery dick against my asshole. I braced for his entry and clutched the blanket in my grip and gritted my teeth. I tried to push my sphincter outward so it wouldn't hurt as bad when he forced himself in, dry and unprotected. I expected no gentleness from him.

Then, he pulled away. He slapped my bare ass and said, "Roll over, fish."

I just laid there, ignoring his demand. He slapped my ass again and said, "Roll the fuck over!"

I slowly did so. He took my limp dick and balls in his hand and then let them drop free. "I ain't no wolf. I ain't gonna tap your ass. But I wanted you's to see what the fuck you be in for. It ain't no fucking joke, bumpkin. You gotta gets yourself a white wolf as soon as fucking possible when you gets to your new neighborhood. That be the only damn way you don't end up dancing on the blacktop or doing the dutch."

"Okay! Okay. You definitely made your point," I stammered. Relief washed over me.

"Did I?" he asked.

"Yeah, I got it. I do." I reached down and started to pull my boxers up, but he stopped me.

"I ain't gonna fuck you, but I am gonna get paid," he said. "Jack me off, and stay naked so's I can play with your junk whiles you do me. Been too fucking long since I been properly manipulated."

I thought about objecting, but that seemed like a bad idea. So I took his crooked boner in my hand and stroked him off. He fiddled with my dick and balls while I did it and it didn't take long for him to cum. He wanted to shoot on me, and I let him. We went to the small basin and washed up and I thought for a minute he was going to kiss me, but thankfully he didn't.

That night, I dreamed bad dreams. The gorilla came back into my nightmares and I was running from him all night long. I was stark naked but my prisoner number, 8623, was tattooed on my back. The gorilla had a curved, yellow boner in the shape of a large banana. I woke up just as he caught me and pushed me to the ground, pressing his banana to my bare ass. I sat up, my heart was racing and I was sweating like a quarter horse in heat. I peered down at my celly who'd given me the education and he was sleeping soundly. A smile creased his lips. I laid back down and pulled the pillow over my head, pressing it to my temples. "Why God? Why?"

After the education, I was sure I had to take the plea deal. Eight long years, but at least they would be spent in a place where I was less likely to encounter serious abuse. Colt surely had no idea what he was condemning me to. How could he? How could this innocent kid be so mean? He couldn't. I just knew he couldn't be that mean. But that did me no good. His father had gotten to him and probably threatened him. He'd done a thorough job of framing me and I hadn't done myself any favors, innocent as it was.

I felt better after coming to a decision. I kept thinking about all the evidence against me looking for some glimmer of a miracle, but nothing came. After lunch and exercise period, I was back in my cell. I recounted every time I had been with Colt. I reviewed everything I could think of that he had said to me or that I had said to him. I couldn't remember everything, of course, but what I did remember didn't trigger any ideas for a miracle. The only possible bit of useful information was the scab I'd remembered. My celly came and stood next to me. "Want some further education?"

"I don't know. What's the tuition fee?" I asked.

He smiled. "Nah bumpkin, I'm good. No charge this time. Complimentary."

"Then sure."

I spent the next couple of hours with him filling me in on the do's and don'ts of prison life. I realized quickly that it was an entirely unique culture that was completely foreign to me. I grew more and more anxious with each new story and potential risk. I asked him if he knew anything about the special prisons that were for sex offenders only. He didn't. He'd obviously never been to one and didn't even know they existed.

"I'm not sure I'd be trusting that. Seems like 'too good to be true' bullshit to me. Who told you that?" he asked.

"My attorney. It's part of a plea bargain deal. Eight years, but in one of those places. That's such a long time," I said.

"Yeah, I pulled a dime my first time in. Not sure what I'm lookin' at this time. You just can't let yourself think about it. Day at a time; that's all you can fucking do or you be making yourself bat-shit crazy in a hurry up."

"You already did ten years?" I asked. "How young were you when you went in?"

"Twenty-two," he answered.

"How old are you now?" I asked.

"Thirty-seven," he answered.

"So you've only been out for five years? Why would you ever do anything to risk going back?" I asked.

He laughed. "Gotta fucking eat. When you got no skills and a criminal rap, crime is like the one boss what don't run no background check. My first trip in, I did as the lamb. So I was owed by the boss I took the rap for and it was a fucking good five years out. I got the Cadillac jobs, until I fucked one up. I knew it too. I fucking knew he was a narc. But I got to feeling all invincible and greedy. Fucking greed, man. It'll get ya, every goddamn time."

"You were in a gang?" I asked.

"Yeah. I was in the distribution department," he joked.

"Drugs?"

"Of course," he responded.

"If you were only twenty-two when you went in the first time, did you get, umm, you know, raped?" I asked.

He laughed. "Fuck no. I went straight to grandmother's house and got in the circle. I had to participate in a few rumbles but that's all. I did pretty easy time. I was in with a powerful prison gang." Then he added, "So I'm consulting with my hack today. I'll tap him on what up with these special chomo houses you heard about. I'll let you know if they be lit or shit," he offered.

"Sure. Umm, is there a fee for that?"

He laughed. "You gettin' smarter already, bumpkin. You gettin' it, man. You really gettin' it."

"Well?" I asked again. "Is there?"

"Nah, man. I told you, I'm good now. If you be feelin' like you wanna tip me, however, that'd be cool. Up to you," He answered.

"In that case, yes. Please ask him. I'll think about the tip."

I was anxious for my new friend, 20765443, 5443 to the guards, or D.D. as he called himself, to come back from talking with his hack. I figured it meant his attorney. I was pretty sure. When he finally returned, he was in an upbeat mood. "Things go well?" I asked.

"Oh, hell yeah!" he said. "Fucking hack swung for the fences and knocked it clean out of the fucking park! Fiver with time off for playing nice with others. Piece of fucking cake."

"That's great. I'm glad for you," I said. "What did he say about the special prisons?" I asked.

"Yeah, they got these places but they're really not SO only places like you heard. They gots these special programs for SO's to help rehab your kind. If you join in those rehab programs, you can get some time off. So the houses what have these SOMP programs, I forgot what the fucking letters stand for ..." he said pausing to think about it. "Sex Offender Management Program, that's it. Anyhow, these houses gots way more SO's in the population than a high risk offender house gots, so the clientele is less dangerous. You hear me?" Then he added, "If you can for certainty get into that hood, you fucking better sign the deed."

"Great! Then I'm definitely gonna take it. Sweet!" I thanked D.D. over and over. I was relieved.

"Yeah, it's cool. Good luck to you, bumpkin," he said.

"When do you start your time?" I asked.

"Couple days. Paperwork and house hunting," he responded.

"House hunting?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know, finding a bed in a place that ain't too overcrowded."

"Oh," I said.

I thought I would sleep better that night since I had a decision. Eight years in prison was not fair and it was definitely not deserved, but it was better than the possible death sentence if I lost at trial. I remembered D.D.'s tip and climbed down. I pulled his sheet off and started to unbutton his jumpsuit.

"What you up to?" he asked.

"Your tip. You want it?"

He smiled. "Hell yeah, if you offerin'." I pulled his suit and boxers down to his broad thighs and easily coaxed his willing penis into an erection. I fondled his balls for him while I stroked his dick. He put his hands behind his neck and let a contented smile spread over his wide lips. He started oozing loads of precum which I spread in little circles over his frenulum, causing him to moan softly.

"Finish me, bumpkin," he whispered. I took him in both hands and pumped ferociously until he stiffened, arched and exploded. "Thanks for the tip, bumpkin," he muttered sleepily after he was spent.

"Welcome," I answered. "Thanks for the education." I washed my hands and crawled into my bunk. He was still lying how I'd left him, relishing his orgasm.

I couldn't sleep. I struggled with the decision I'd made. "God," I prayed silently as I lay in my bunk, "I'm taking the prosecutor's deal. Thanks for providing it. I don't want to, but I know it's the practical thing to do. I think it's time for me to start thinking practical. Let me know what I need to learn from all of this. I don't understand why I'm going through it, but there must be some reason you want me to spend some time in prison. Please bless Steve and Whittaker and all my family, especially my good parents. Give me strength to get through all this. Amen."

After my prayer, I didn't feel any better like I hoped I would. I'd been praying more than I had in my whole life and yet, I hadn't gotten much of what I'd asked for. I wanted God to give me that peace in my heart that Pastor Nichols had spoken about in one of his better sermons. But, there was no peace in my heart. I only felt uneasy and anxious.

###

Shane is forced into a terrible decision. They say it is always darkest before the dawn, but you can't always count on a brighter dawn. I hope you will keep checking back to find out how this all ends. The end is in sight.

Sincerely, Hans

h.schreiber@hushmail.com

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