I hope people are reading and at least somewhat interested in this story - I've gotten no e-mails over the past few sections. Hope I'm not a total flop at this. Please write, tell me what you like, don't like, etc. All the usual disclaimers (you know what they are) apply.
Mike and Jesse rode back to town in complete silence. Neither knew what to say, or do. They pulled into the driveway of Mike's house, and Jesse parked the extra bike they had that he'd used that day. He went inside and called his mother to come pick him up.
They sat on the front stoop next to each other. Neither looked up. Someone had to say something. Jesse felt responsible: he'd met Ernie first, he'd brought them back to the spot where they'd been filmed. "Mike, I - "
"Don't. It's OK. It'll just - it'll just be a coupla weeks, they'll replace it, and we'll be off the hook. Make some money, too. Pretty cool." He spoke in a low monotone that belied his casual words. He ran his fingers through his hair. Jesse, stirred by the gesture, glanced about to see if they were visible to anyone else, then reached to stroke his hair as well. "Don't," Mike said tonelessly, pushing his hand away.
Jesse felt his heart sink. "Mike, please, I - "
"It's OK," Mike said, his voice still dead. "Just don't, OK?"
Jesse's mom pulled up in her red Tioga. She waved, smiling with what seemed to be forced joy. "Well, I'm outta here. I'll call, see what you wanna do tomorrow."
Mike shifted a little. "I, uh, I think I'm busy tomorrow. Let - let me call, OK?"
"Mike?" But he just waved, stood, and retreated into his house, leaving Jesse alone on the sidewalk with his backpack dangling from his hand.
His mother seemed agitated, though she tried to make light conversation. "Well, did you have a nice time, baby? What did you do today?"
The last thing Jesse felt like discussing was today. "Ya, good time. Went, um, went to San O today and hung out." He shrugged. "Nothing much."
"That's wonderful, dear." She paused, as if collecting herself. "Jesse, your father's been laid off from NevaCal. He's very upset."
Jesse felt his face blanch. "Is he - are we - "
"It'll all be fine, Jesse. He knows so many people from the Corps, he just needs to make some contacts and he'll be back to work in no time. In the meantime, I think the brokering business will really take off soon - I mean, there's so much happening down here, and prices are so high! Why, only one or two listings and sales, and - and we'll be just fine." She turned to him, her face shining. "It's just one of those bumps, dear. Don't worry about it."
"How did the deal work out yesterday?"
"Her face darkened a bit, despite her best efforts to conceal it. "Well, you know, someone just starting out in the business like me needs to make a reputation. Build a name, so people know you and - and trust you. It's all about trust, Jesse. And it seems that Marcy Giese's name and - reputation, well, they're better than mine right now. So they decided to go with her instead." She shifted her weight in the driver's seat. "Like I said, one of those bumps. We'll be fine."
Jesse's stomach was knotting. He flashed back to his early childhood, before his dad had left the service. He remembered, dimly, the seemingly constant moves, the never having friends, the boxes always just behind the door. Their settling in San Clemente, when he was not quite seven, had ended that. Was their whole life now in jeopardy?
His dad's car was on the street in front of the house. Unlike him - he usually demanded that the cars be kept in the garage to protect them from the sun. His mother frowned worriedly as she pulled inside to park.
His father was seated in front of the TV, exactly where he had been the night before, when Jesse had left for his sleepover with Mike. The screen still blared Fox News. "Hi, Dad!" Jesse shouted with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. His father didn't turn, just lifted a hand in greeting. It held a highball glass.
Jesse retreated to his room, unpacked, and showered. He slipped the contract, and the folder of pictures, out of his backpack and hid them between his mattress and box spring. He'd figure out a better place later; this would do for now. He logged on to his computer and looked to se if Mike was on AIM. Nothing. He waited for a while, idly surfing while keeping an eye on the friends list to see if anyone appeared. He soon ran out of things to look at, restless. Well, what the hell, he thought. He Googled "Voyeur Video" and in seconds was looking at the intro screen for the site, with its circle of available feeds. He glanced at them, seeing that he and Mike were not among them, and sighed with relief.
Then he looked at the center of the screen,where the pitch to sign up was. The wallpaper for that section was a washed out shot of Mike and him, on their sides, naked, limbs entwined and mouths together. The words "NEW!! Surfer Boiz in Action!! Sign Up NOW and Get These Twink Studs on YOUR Computer!!!" flashed over their image.
Jesse felt sick. He hit "home" on the toolbar and watched as the screen dissolved back to Cox.net. He deleted the site from his history file, from Google, and dumped all his cookies in the internet history file. That'll be good enough; they don't know how to search any better than that, he thought. He stood and walked aimlessly around the room for several minutes, then grabbed his cell and dialed.
It took several rings for Mike to answer. "Ya?"
"Hey yo." It was their usual greeting.
"Hay yo self," Mike answered. His voice was still flat.
Jesse swallowed. "Dude, I just - it's up already. I looked."
"I know."
The silence stretched out for an agonizingly long time. "Dude, I'm sorry. Please don't -"
" S nothin'. S OK. Look ,I gotta go, K?"
Jesse's eyes began watering, despite his best efforts. He forced his voice to be casual. "Ya, sure. Later."
He felt more alone than he had in a long time.
Dinner was a somber affair. His dad said nothing, wolfing down food while staring directly at his plate. He kept the drink with him at dinner, and refilled it at least twice Jesse was so nervous he lost count. His mother, by contrast, sat straight-backed, pale, and completely composed, eating delicately. The silence got spooky. Tina sat trembling slightly in the far corner of the room.
Jesse finally decided to break the mood. "I'm gonna go down to the surfing outlet tomorrow,"" he announced, "and see if I can get hired as a clerk there. I'll get discounts and stuff on things, it'll be cool." He had formulated this plan during the meal.
His father looked up sharply; his eyes seemed a bit bleary. "What, you think we need you to work now?" he snapped.
"No, no," Jesse protested weakly, "I just thought it'd be a good idea. You've been wanting me to get a job all summer, and I just think you're right."
His father looked at him a moment, then snorted quietly and went back to his dinner.
"Jesse," his mother said quietly, "I think it'd be wonderful for you to do that. You'd learn some responsibility, and to manage money for yourself -"
"I earn the money around here," Jesse's father interrupted in a tense voice. "I'm not going to be a Gad damned charity case for anyone."
"Walter, you know that's not what I mean. Or Jesse. This is a good opportunity for him, and if it does help us out, so much the better." She leaned in, her hand now resting on his forearm. "He's a good boy, Walter. He loves you."
His father looked at her for a minute, swallowing hard. Jesse thought he was almost crying, a sight he'd never seen. His father turned and tousled Jesse's hair, a soft, loving touch that was very out of his usual character. "Yes, he is a good boy," he said in a cracking whisper, looking contemplatively at Jesse. Then he came back to himself; the hand dropped to his fork, and he resumed eating. "And weak," he muttered as he filled his mouth again.
Jesse's mom stiffened visibly, her cheeks reddened. "That is not fair, Walter, and it's also untrue. Jesse has different interests, that's all. He's a San Clemente boy you have to expect he'll be interested in surfing and -"
"And in not doing a God damned thing with his miserable second rate excuse of a life!" his father snarled, looking hard at his wife. "I worked two jobs at his age and still pulled down honors grades and did sports -"
"Jesse's grades are fine," his mom interjected, her calm deepening to steel. "And the point of living here was to give the boys a better life than either of us had - the moving and all the uncertainty of the Corps."
"Don't you disrespect the Corps to me, woman!" Walter barked, waving his fork at her.
"Dad, you wanted me to get a job, I thought you'd be happy -"
"Happy?? You call that a job?? Hanging out in a cheap store with a few of your no-account idiot surfing buddies is a job?"
"It's ten dollars an hour to start, Dad," Jesse fired back.
"And that makes it better?? This isn't work, it's a paid vacation. You need something real - loading crates on a dock, digging ditches, something to get your God damned head out of your butt and teach you the value of real work."
"Walter, stop it. One day you pick on him for being lazy, now you pick on him for getting a job -"
"That's not a job, I just told you!! Doesn't anyone God damned listen to me around here? And you need to stop babying him - that's more than half his God damned problem."
Jesse's mom stood up, folding her napkin precisely and placing it on the table. She picked up her plate. Jesse could see her hands shake ever so slightly. "This is not a discussion to continue now," he said curtly. "When you haven't had half a bottle of Scotch we can continue this. Until then," she turned for the kitchen, "I think you need to go wallow some more."
Jesse's dad opened his mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it. Jesse was tingling all over, dreading being alone with his father in this mood. "So, you've got a job."
"Yes, sir. I'll look for another if you want I can quit there any time."
"And what sort of job are you going to get?" his father sneered at him. "You with your God damned hair and your surf talk and your t shirts and flip flops. You don't understand the God damned world." He looked down into his glass and took a long pull. "Not like Ben."
Jesse flushed. "I'm sorry I'm not Ben and I'm not at Berkeley and in Naval ROTC and majoring in shooting people and all the things you like, Dad." This was harsh - he loved his brother dearly, but he'd had Ben's life choices thrown at him one too many times. "I guess I'm your great family fuckup, huh?"
"Don't you swear at me, young man - your mother's just in there!" He passed a hand over his brow slowly. "I know you're not Ben, Jesse," he said quietly. "I'm just - just disappointed."
That was it. Jesse stood, red faced. "Thanks a lot, Dad. I'm your great disappointment. And you're the great role model, right? Lose your fucking job and sit in a pool of Costco booze and piss on the world?"
His father was out of his chair in an instant. "Don't you EVER speak to me that way!" The blow was open handed, but brutally hard. Jesse fell backwards over his chair, landing heavily on the wood floor. His nose was bleeding badly, it felt broken, his head was spinning from hitting the floor. His father had him half hauled up and was ready to hit him again when his mom grabbed the raised arm.
"Stop it, Walter, stop it now!"
His dad shoved him back to the floor and turned. By the time Jesse's head cleared he realized to his horror that his mother was lying on her face on the other side of the dining room table, a small pool of blood forming around her cheek. He tried to get up, wobbling badly, and bounced against the china cabinet. His father's hand grabbed him by the collar, first pushing him back against the cabinet so hard that its glass shattered over his back, then pulling him upwards. "No pity from either of you two God damned leeches!" he snarled into Jesse's face before hitting him again, and everything went very black.
When he awoke it was almost dark. His mother was over him, wiping his face with a cool wet cloth. "It's OK now baby, it's OK," she repeated over and over in a trembling voice. Jesse tried to focus, and knew he wasn't doing it right, because his mother's face above him looked all distorted and puffy. He closed his eyes hard, listening to her uneven breathing, then opened them again. His mother's right eye was swollen shut, her lower lip puffy and bloody. Bruises covered both cheeks and areas of her throat. Jesse started and tried to sit up, but a white pain shot through his head. "It's OK, baby, just lie still. It's all going to be all right, they're coming."
He reached a hand upward to his mother's face. "Mom?" he tried to ask, but the word came out muffled. He felt a slight spray of warm liquid on his face as he spoke. "You're hurt, Mom."
She smiled at him, a beautiful loving smile through the disaster. "No, baby, I'm fine, I'm just a little banged up. You just lie still now, everything's going to be fine. Try not to talk, OK?" She was tearing up, and the sight made Jesse do so as well.
"Mom?" Jesse mumbled. "Did Dad do this?"
Her breath caught as she nodded, the tears running down her cheeks now. "Yes, baby, he did. He was very angry. He did awful things, but it's going to be OK."
Jesse blinked, his eyes starting to water now. "W - why?" he asked, the spray stronger on his face now. Jesse realized it was his blood.
His mother blinked - or tried to, anyway - and wiped his face again. "SSShhh," she soothed him. We'll talk about it when you're better, baby. Just be quiet now." He could hear loud steps in the entry hall now, a jumble of voices and radio static. Faces appeared over his mother's shoulder, looking down, and as he slipped back away he thought he heard, "Son? Can you hear me? What's his name, Ma'am? Jesse??"
Sleeping was very peaceful. It lasted a long time, it seemed, and was without the pain he had felt while awake. When he finally did have the urge to open his eyes again, he instantly regretted it. He was beneath a harsh overhead light that dazzled his eyes. He raised a hand to shield his face, and saw a tube running into a vein on its back. He flexed his hand slowly, examining this new phenomenon with curiosity. "Get his hand down before he pulls out the hep lock!" someone shouted, and a gloved hand gently pulled it back to his side. A woman's face appeared over him, the features hard to distinguish between the mask she wore and the bright light her head barely blocked. "You rest now, Jesse, you're going to be fine. It's not that bad, really."
"Wh - whrth ma MMmm," he tried to say - something was in his mouth.
"She's being patched up too. You're both going to be fine. I'm going to put you to sleep for a little while, OK? You relax."
Jesse nodded. Sleep was a lot better than whatever was happening. He slept.
The light when he awoke again was much dimmer, more soothing. He was grateful. He tried to move his head, but it hurt horribly to do so. He satisfied himself with looking around the room with is eyes. He was behind a partition, people were talking on the other side. He heard his mother's voice.
". . . over the poor dog. I think that was the last straw for Walter, when Tina went after him after he had hit Jesse so hard. I always worried he had a gun from the service, but he always denied it." She sniffed. I wish I hadn't been so angry with him over that."
"You've got nothing to apologize for, ma'am," a voice answered her. It seemd canned, emotionless, however comforting the words it said were. "We'll find him, and he'll have a lot to account for. You do want to press charges here?"
There was a pause, and he could hear his mother crying. "I have to," she finally snuffled. "Look what he did to poor Jesse.
"He'll be fine, Ma'am," another, kinder voice interjected. "He has a concussion, and his tongue got cut open some, but he'll be fine, and sooner than you think. Please," he said quickly, "I'm not trying to minimize this - I just want to be sure you don't have any long term worries about him."
He'd heard enough. He made the loudest noise he could, which was roughly "MMMMMfffffff," and the curtain he was behind opened.
His mother was bruised, her eye covered by a patch, and her cheeks streaked from her tears. She fairly pounced on Jesse, her hands caressing his face and chest. "Baby, oh my baby," she whispered over and over again, and she cried into the sheets covering his belly.
Jesse put his right arm around her shoulder as best he could. "Kuh mmm," he grunted. " 'm kuh." He smield at her - he thought- as she looked up at him. He winked.
His mother smiled weakly, wiped her face, and stood over him. "Now you just be quiet - you cut your tongue, and they had to stitch it up. You'll have a restrainer in your mouth until tomorrow morning at least, so don't try to talk." She handed him a pad and pencil. "If you really need anything, write it out, all right?"
Jesse took the pencil in his left hand, pausing a second to look again at the hep lock, through which some clear liquid seemed to be flowing. He wrote, "Where's Dad?" and showed the pad to his mother.
His mother blanched and turned away. A man in a suit stepped forward - it was the first time he had noticed him, or the other man, obviously a doctor, on his mother's other side. "We're looking for him now, son," he said evenly. "Do you have any idea where he may have gone in these sort of circumstances?"
The question seemed so stupid he wanted to laugh. Based on what would he answer that - his experience with getting the shit knocked out of him by his own father? All sorts of sarcastic comments played in his mind to use on this snotnose, but he couldn't say any of them, so he satisfied himself with rolling his eyes a his mother and shaking his head no. It hurt to move his head, and he winced. His mother put her hands on his temples. "Don't, baby, I know it hurts."
Jesse blinked at his mother and tried again to smile. The doctor stepped forward now. "Jesse, I need you to follow my finger with your eyes, all right?" he moved his finger slowly back and forth before his face. The finger seemed to waver and vanish at times, and the concentration hurt. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes.
He could sense his mother's tension. "It's OK, ma'am," the doctor said calmly. "He did better than I thought he'd do. You OK there, Jesse?" He nodded. "Good." His hand tousled Jesse's hair. "Mrs. Sullivan, why don't you go rest in your room now. I'm going to do some simple tests on Jesse, and then we'll let him rest. He's doing fine, aren't you Jesse?" He nodded back to the doctor, looked at his mother and nodded again.
His mother, again loking teary, petted his face one more time, bent down to kiss his forehead, and allowed a nurse to lead her away. "Sleep tight, baby," she said in a forcedly cheerful voice. "I'll be here when you wake up in the morning."
Jesse nodded. "Mmm?" She turned. He worked hard to form the words. "Uh lvv yuh." His mother's face cracked for a second before she beamed at him, waved, and vanished through the door.
The doctor spent several minutes poking and prodding him, testing reflexes, responsiveness, vitals. He smiled at Jesse throughout, offering words of encouragement and explaining the reason for everything he did. When he was done, he spoke with the nurse at his side for a moment, then sat on the edge of Jesse's bed. "Well, Jesse, I think you're pretty lucky. Everything looks like pretty superficial injuries in the big picture. You're going to have a hell of a headache for a few days, but you'll be fine. Now, I need to look at the tongue sutures, so please open your mouth real wide, OK?"
Jesse complied, feeling an odd plastic contraption come loose from his teeth as he did so. he flashed on Hannibal Lecter's mouth thing for an instant and chuckled to himself. "I know, it's weird feeling," the doctor said soothingl;y as he lifted whatever it was from his mouth. Jesse breathed in sharply; it seemed like the first breath he'd taken in years. "Thittt," he muttered, sighing.
The doctor laughed. "I understand that. I'm Dr. Stassi, by the way. Sorry, I should have told you that right off." He smiled at Jesse; Jesse decided he liked him a lot.
"Is he able to talk a little now, doctor?" the other man asked in an official voice. "i'd liek to take advantage of this if I can."
Dr. Stassi looked at Jesse inquiringly. "What do you think?" Jesse nodded. "OK than, he said to the other man. "Just a little."
"Thank you, doctor, the man said, though he didn't sound grateful at all. "Jesse, I'm Tony Manuel of the Orange County Sheriff's Department." He smoothed his small moustache before continuing. "I need to know what happened."
"Dad got angry," Jesse managed to say. His tongue hurt. Hit muh."
"What did he get angry about, son?"
Jesse shrugged. "Juth thorta went off," he said. "Lotht hss job, wath drnkn."
"Jesse," Manuel said softly, leaning closer, "did you tell him anything that might have gotten him angry? Not," he added quickly, palms outward, "that anything justifies what he did, but was there something you told him that maybe set him off?"
Jesse was puzzled. "He wuth mad at muh," he answered, "becuth I wuthnt like muh brthr Bnnn."
"In what way, son?" Manuel's eyes had an odd glitter.
"I think that's about enough for now, detective," Dr. Stassi said in his kindest voice, stepping betwen them. "Those sutures need a little more time before he talks more. I think late tomorrow things will be better, all right?" He placed the plastic thing back into Jesse's mouth. "Just close over that, Jesse, and it'll protect your tongue, all right?" jesse nodded, happy somehow to be rendered mute again.
Manuel looked disappointed for a moment, then looked at Dr. Stassi. "I'll need to continue this tomorrow."
"I know."
Manuel looked a moment at Jesse, then turned quickly and left. Dr. Stassi waited until the door had closed behind him. than pulleed the curtain closed around Jesse and sat on his bed. "We need to talk, too," he said to Jesse. He looked back at the doctor, puzzled. "We did a thorough exam when you came in, Jesse," he said calmly, but with grvity in his voice. "We discovered a couple of disturbing things.
Jesse had no idea what he was talking about. He looked questioningly at Dr. Stassi, who continued while handing the pad back to Jesse. "We discovered evidence of recent trauma, Jesse. Some teeth marks on odd areas of your body." Jesse felt his face redden. "And evidence of very recent rectal trauma." He leaned closer to Jesse. "We know what happened, son. It's all right. He'll be held responsible for everything. You don't have to be afraid, all right?"
Jesse wanted to vomit. he shook his head as hard as he could, the effort making his eyes tear up. "It's all right, son, everyone understands. It's not your fault, you don't have to feel ashamed or guilty. Calm down, now." Jesse couldn't - he starteed thrashing about angrily, making inarticulate noises of protest. He tried to tear the plastic thing out of his mouth, to complain, to protest. Dr. Stassi grabbed his wrists. "Nurse!!" he shouted, andin an instant several people were holding him down, a needle was injecting something into the catheter running into his wrist, and his eyes suddenly felt very heavy. As he slipped off, he heard, "It's an undersandable reaction, it's such an awful thing -"