Shattered Lives (16 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Waukesha, Wisconsin

             
Stephen roamed from room to room as if he hadn’t been there in ages.  He couldn’t sit still.  Every so often he’d flap his arms as if he were trying to take off, then he’d stop and move to a different room, flap them again, and so on until he had managed to do several circuits of the Bailey home.

              “Stephen, what?” his mother asked.

Sarah had been worrying about him ever since Ted’s strange behavior at the hospital.  He shook his head, flapped his arms, and left the kitchen for another room, only to come back a short time later.

              “Tell me,” Sarah said.

              He burst into tears, shook his head and said, “I don’t know!”

              Alexandra,
Alex
for short, came into the kitchen from the family room to see what was happening.  She was three years younger than Stephen and resembled her brother and mother in looks, but had her mother’s easy-going personality.  Like Stephen and her parents, she too was an athlete, though more into dance and softball than soccer.

              Sarah moved to her boy and held him while he sobbed into her shoulder.  She had dark blond hair and blue eyes and stood the same height as her son.  She had been a three sport letter winner in high school and had been married for sixteen years to Ted, her high school sweetheart, who had also been a three sport letter winner during his time in high school.  His physique had sagged to a paunch, and his once powerful pecs sagged and gave him a set of man-boobs. Sarah, however, had barely changed because while in college, she had become a jogger and swimmer and she had stuck with it ever since.  While Ted went for a beer and a brat, she would drink unsweetened iced tea and eat grilled chicken over a salad.

              Stephen and Alex could claim their athleticism from either parent.  In terms of looks, with their blond hair and blue eyes, they looked more like their mother.  In terms of personality however, he tended to be more quiet and intense like his father.  Just like Ted, he would brood and when enough was enough, he’d explode like a volcano.  But unlike his father, once he exploded, he’d soon forget what it was he was angry about and all was forgotten.

              “Please, Stephen, what’s wrong?”

              Stephen’s response was to sob.

              “Oh for Pete’s sake, what the hell is wrong?” Ted barked.

              Startled, Stephen jumped, broke away from his mother and stood at a distance looking from one to the other.

              “Stephen, why don’t you call Mike and ask if you can spend the night there.  I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” Sarah said gently.

              “What the hell, Sarah!  That’s how he ended up in Chicago in the first place!  He’s not going anywhere near there for a helluva long time if I have anything to say about it.”

              “You don’t, so Stephen, go on back to your room, pack up what you need, and I’ll drive you over.  We can call when we’re on the way.”

              “I said, ‘No’!”

              Ignoring Ted, Sarah gave Stephen a gentle push, a weary smile and said, “Go on.”

              “Didn’t you hear me?” Ted barked.

              “Yes I did,” Sarah said facing her husband with her hands on her hips. “I’m sure half of Waukesha heard you too.”

              Before he could respond, she left the kitchen and moved down the hallway following her son.

              Over her shoulder she said, “Alex, would you like to come with us or stay here?”  Then Sarah added, “I won’t be gone for more than forty-five minutes or so.  Up to you.”

              Alex decided she’d go along for the ride, not wanting to risk being near her father in the mood he was in.

CHAPTER FORTY

On I-72 Between Springfield, IL and Hannibal, MO

             
Jeremy followed Jeff, shaking his head at the lead foot Jeff tended to have.  The destination had been planned by the two of them that afternoon, so even if Jeff pulled ahead, he knew where to go.  They had planned on Six Flags near St. Louis, but because of George’s bruised ribs, decided to take it easy the first day.  That way, George would have a chance to heal.

              Billy sat in the backseat behind Jeremy, and George sat next to him.  Every now and then he’d grimace when the Expedition went over a bump.  For the most part, it was a smooth ride, so he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

              “Dad, where are we headed?”

              “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

              “No hints?”

              “Nope,” Jeremy grinned at him using the rearview mirror.

              Turning to George, Jeremy asked, “George, you doing okay?”

              “Yes, sir.”

              Jeremy noticed that ever since that last conversation in the hospital, George had been treating him more formally and ignoring Billy altogether, even though it was Billy who had helped George get into the car.

              “Are you really okay?” Billy asked.

              “Yes.”

              “Are you angry?”

              Of the twins, Billy was the peacemaker, the one who sought to smooth troubled waters and make sure feelings weren’t hurt.  Jeremy knew that Billy couldn’t stand it if someone was angry at him.  Long ago he had labeled Billy as a classic pleaser.

              George opened his eyes, caught Jeremy looking at him through the mirror and turned towards Billy and said, “I’m not angry.  My ribs hurt, I’m frustrated and I’m worried.”

              “Why?”

              George sighed, shook his head and said, “Don’t you understand that there are men who are going to try to kill me?  If you and Mr. Jeremy and Randy are near me . . . even Mr. Jeff and Danny, they’ll try to kill all of you too.  Don’t you understand that?”

              Billy shrank back from him, turned away, and looked out his window at the passing scenery.

              To the back of Billy’s head George said quietly, “I’m not angry.  My ribs hurt and I’m frustrated and worried.”

              Jeremy had been sitting this one out but felt the need to step in.

              “George, Pete told me there is evidence that they’re going to try to kill us too.  It doesn’t matter if you’re with us or not.  It doesn’t matter if we stayed in Waukesha or drove straight through to Arizona.  At some point, they’ll be coming for us.  I’m not trying to alarm you anymore than you are now, but that’s what the evidence points to.”  He let that sink in and then said, “Pete, Jeff and I felt we’d all be safer together rather than trying to fight separate battles with people we don’t know.”

              George frowned upon hearing this new information.  He had considered the fact that he wasn’t the only one these men were trying to kill, so it didn’t totally surprise him.  But Jeremy saying it out loud confirmed it and made it real.

              “George, I love you.  Honestly.  I think I can speak for Billy and Randy when I say they love you too.”  He paused and then added, “Because we do, we can’t let you fight them by yourself.  I’m asking you to trust me . . . us.  We have a plan.”

              George looked out the window, thought for a minute, looked at Billy, then at Jeremy and said, “I meant what I said at the hospital.  I already lost one family.  I do not want to lose another.”  He paused again, struggled in thought, seemed to fight for the right words, but settled on, “I . . .” and never finished.

He had wanted to tell Jeremy and Billy that he loved them.  He didn’t know what had prevented him from doing so, and for that, he was angry with himself.  Somehow, he knew that his grandfather would be disappointed with George for not speaking his heart.

              Jeremy smiled at him and said, “Try to relax as best you can.  We need this time away.  I know it’ll be difficult, if not a bit surreal knowing what’s waiting for us at the end of this trip, but let’s take some time to get to know one another and have some fun.  Let’s not waste a day or a minute any longer.  Please try to believe that we think we have it covered, okay?”

              George stared at him, nodded solemnly and shut his eyes.

              “So, you’re not angry at me?” Billy asked.

              George opened up his eyes and stared at him.

He had wanted to ask Billy if he had been listening to anything that he had said, but instead, shook his head and said, “No, I’m not angry at you.”

              “Honest?”

              Exasperated, George reached out, backhanded him in the chest just hard enough to make a point, and said, “I am not angry at you . . . yet.  Keep it up, and I will be.”

              Billy turned to the window and smiled.

              As did Jeremy.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Fishers, Indiana

             
The hardest part was believing that her brother had anything to do with this.  Yet the proof was on the kitchen table: ten wireless cameras; eleven wireless microphones; one wireless relay that had been attached to their home computer. Throw in the 9-1-1 tape she and Thomas had listened to, there was little doubt. 

How could she have grown up in the same house with him and not know him?  What had happened that turned him into a monster?  She wanted to phone her younger sister and closest confidante, Joan, and ask if she had suspected anything, but at this point, she didn’t know if Joan knew the full extent of their younger brother’s perversion.  She held her head in her hands.

              “Bobby,” Pete began gently, “I have to ask you a couple of questions that might be uncomfortable.”

Skip, Chet and MB left the kitchen and stepped outside on the back patio, shutting the door behind them.  Victoria lifted her head and stared at Pete and then at Bobby, who lowered his head so his chin rested on his chest.  Brett frowned at Pete, stared at this brother and then as the realization hit him, his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in amazement.

              “Bobby, you too?” Brett asked softly.

              Bobby wiped tears from his eyes, but never raised his head and never said a word.

              Victoria stared intently at her youngest son and then covered her mouth with her hand.  Thomas placed both hands on his head, rocked back in his chair slightly and then got up and leaned against the counter.

              Brett placed his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and said softly, “Bobby, look at me.”  Bobby shook his head and wiped tears from his eyes.  “Please look at me,” Brett said.

              Even though he hadn’t planned it like this, Pete let Brett take the lead.

              Bobby lifted his eyes and glanced at Brett and then lowered them back to his hands in his lap.

              “Bobby, please look at me.”

              Bobby raised his eyes and looked at no one else.  He dared not look at his mother or father.  He didn’t know Pete other than that he was an FBI agent, so he didn’t look at him either.

              Bobby was a thinker.  His personality was fairly the opposite of Brett’s up until Brett was abducted.  Instead of being involved in sports, he had read, tinkered with the computer and like his father, wrote.  Unlike his father, he wrote poems instead of the technical kinds of writing professors do.  He had played the piano since he was seven and had begun playing guitar.

              After Brett’s abduction, he began playing basketball.  He began running and weightlifting.  He still read and wrote poetry and messed around on the computer.  He still played the piano and guitar.  But if it was possible, Bobby spoke even less than he had before his brother’s abduction.  He became silent and brooding.  He seldom smiled and spent much of his time alone, except for a few friends, a couple of cousins and, his uncle.

              “Bobby, whatever happened wasn’t your fault.  You’ve got to believe that.”  Brett paused to see if Bobby was listening.  “I don’t know what you did or didn’t do, but after two years doing what I did, nothing, and I mean
nothing
you did could be any worse.”

              Bobby lowered his eyes, not able to sustain eye contact with his big brother.

              “Did you hear me?”

              Bobby nodded and wiped more tears.

              “Pete has to ask you questions, but I’m right here.  It’s okay.”

             
Bobby shrugged his shoulders and nodded.  

Brett gripped his younger brother’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then reached out and took Bobby’s hand and held it.  Then he turned to Pete and nodded.

“Bobby, we found the most cameras and microphones in your bedroom. Your father mentioned that in the last six months, you’ve spent more time with your uncle.”

Bobby sat motionless.  He didn’t acknowledge Pete’s statement.  He didn’t confirm that he had even heard Pete.  But Brett noticed that Bobby’s grip on his hand had become tighter.

Brett nodded at Pete.

“Bobby, I have to ask if your uncle did anything to you that made you uncomfortable.”

Victoria reached behind her and lifted the tissues from the counter and placed them on the table between Bobby and herself.  She grabbed one and twisted it in her hands.  Thomas leaned against the kitchen sink with his head down and hands in his pockets.  Brett lifted his left arm out of his sling and as best he could, held Bobby’s hand with both of his.  Bobby breathed deeply and sighed.

Keeping his head down and not looking at anyone he said, “Yes.”

The silence in the kitchen was a thick, living thing, ugly and grotesque.  It seemed everyone had held their breath waiting for Bobby to continue.

“Brett, I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry.  You have to believe that.”

“Bobby, it’s okay.  I believe you.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bobby looked up at his older brother, shook his head and said, “No, you don’t understand.  I’m really sorry.”

Puzzled, Victoria said, “Bobby, Brett’s right, it wasn’t your fault.”

“NO!” Bobby shouted.  “You don’t under
stand
! 
None of you
understand
!”

“What don’t we understand, Bobby?” Thomas asked.  “Help us.”

Bobby sobbed.  He took his hands away from Brett and covered his face and sobbed.

He shook his head, took a deep breath, sighed and said, “Brett, I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” Brett asked.

Bobby struggled to find the words, shook his head and said, “Because I knew you were alive.  I knew where you were three months ago.”

It was like a bomb had gone off in the McGovern kitchen.  Pete, Victoria and Brett sat back and away almost as one.  Thomas flinched as if someone had thrown a roundhouse at his face.

“What?” Victoria asked. “What did you say?”

Bobby sobbed and said, “Brett, I’m sorry. He made me promise.  He said he’d have you killed.  He said he would have it filmed and then he’d give the video to mom and dad and me to watch.”

Brett shook his head, eyes wide, mouth open, utterly and totally speechless.

“Start from the beginning,” Pete said softly after clearing his throat.

He took out his little notebook and jotted some notes.

Slowly, painfully, Bobby explained that at first, the visits with his uncle were innocent and fun; a Pacers game, a movie, a stop to grab a burger.  There were hugs and kisses to the top of his head, to his cheek.  At first, it was nothing, but then Dominico became more aggressive.  Embraces became longer.  One time, Dominico kissed him on the lips.

One night on a sleepover after a movie and shortly after the kissing incident, Dominico pulled out a DVD.

Before he turned it on, Dominico said, “Bobby, we’re going to watch this together from beginning to end.  You won’t get up off the couch, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut.” 

The DVD was of Brett and Dominico. 

Bobby sat and watched it in horror, not believing, not understanding, and yet knowing that what he was seeing was real.  It wasn’t made up.  It wasn’t Hollywood.

Bobby wanted to throw up.  He wanted to run from the house.  He wanted to phone his parents, the cops.  Someone.  Anyone.  He wanted the DVD to end, to stop.

“He said you were still alive, and if I ever wanted to see you again, I couldn’t say anything to anyone because all it would take was one phone call, and you’d be dead.”

Brett wept, unable to look at his brother.

“He said he and I were going to do things like in the movie.  He said I had to.  He said I had to because if I didn’t, you’d be killed.”

Brett wept some more and nodded.

Bobby looked from his mother to his father and said, “He told me to grow my hair long so I’d look more like Brett.”

Brett didn’t-
couldn’t
- look at his brother.

“Bobby, why were there so many cameras and microphones in your room?” Pete asked.

“Why do you think?” Bobby sobbed incredulously.  “He couldn’t be with me every night.  He’d text me and tell me to do stuff.”

“You knew he had us bugged?” Thomas asked.

Bobby shook his head sadly.

“Not at first.  The first time he texted me and I texted back after a little while and said I was done.  I pretended to do what he asked.  He texted me right away and
told
me I was lying.  He asked if I wanted to see Brett again and that if I did, I better do what he wanted me to do.”

“Oh God!” Victoria said softly. “Oh my God!”

“He watched me in bed,” Bobby said sobbing.

“Sweet Jesus,” Thomas said.

“Brett, I’m sorry.  I know I should have told somebody, but I was afraid they’d kill you.  Honest!” Bobby sobbed, “I wanted to tell, but I was afraid.”

Brett shook his head and said, “Shhhh, it’s okay . . . it’s okay.”

“I
know
it’s not, but I was
afraid
,” Bobby yelled.

“Bobby, it’s okay.  He was right.  They would have killed me.  It wasn’t your fault.”

“But maybe you could have been home sooner.  You wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Bobby said.

And maybe Johnny would still be alive and Ryan wouldn’t have been taken away.  Maybe Stephen and Mike wouldn’t have been taken,
Brett thought.

But instead of saying any of that, he said, “Listen, Bobby . . . look at me.”

“No,” Bobby said shaking his head, refusing to lift his chin off his chest.

Brett got up out of his chair, went to his little brother and hugged him fiercely. 

“I need you to listen to me,” Brett said.  “Please look at me.”

Bobby lifted his head, and Brett held Bobby’s face with his hands, his face inches from Bobby’s.

“I should have told mom and dad two years ago when that shitbag stuck his hands down my pants.  If I would have, I never would have been kidnapped. You wouldn’t have been . . . whatever.  I should have said something back then.  If I would have, none of this would have happened.”

“But-“

“-But
nothing,
” Brett said.  “But nothing,” he repeated softly.  “
I’m
to blame.  Not you.  Not mom.  Not dad. 
Me
.  Only
me
.”

Bobby tried to shake his head, but Brett held it firmly and said, “Yes,
I’m
to blame.”

“No, Brett,” Victoria said softly. “Neither one of you are to blame.  The only one to blame is my brother.  He’s the only one to blame.”