Stolen Lives : The Lives Trilogy Book 1 (28 page)

“Tim, I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Brett said tears running down his cheeks.

Tim stared at his friend, not understanding what he was trying to say.

“My parents won’t be here until tomorrow, maybe the day after.  You’re leaving along with some of the other guys tomorrow.  The doctor said I’ll be in the hospital for another day or two.  I don’t want to be by myself,” Brett said.  “And then what?  What happens next?”

Tim got up from the foot of the bed and lay down next to his friend, carefully slipping his arm around his shoulders.  Brett laid his head on Tim’s shoulder.

“You and Johnny are my best friends, and Patrick’s like my little brother,” Brett said absent-mindedly wiping his tears off on Tim’s robe. “Are we ever going to see each other again?”

“God, I hope so,” Tim said. “I don’t know if I would have made it without you, Brett.”

Brett looked up at his friend, shook his head and said, “You were the strong one, Tim.  Everyone looked up to you.”

“I don’t feel very strong, and I didn’t feel like a leader,” Tim said, wiping tears from his face with his free hand.  “Besides, you were always the toughest.”

“Tim, promise me we’ll stay in touch,” Brett pleaded. “Promise?  Really promise?”

Tim turned and kissed the top of Brett’s head and said, “We’ll always be friends, Brett.  I promise.”

They lay there side by side, Brett’s head resting on Tim’s shoulder, Tim with his arm around Brett’s shoulder. 

Brett reached over and took hold of Tim’s hand and said, “I’m so scared, Tim.  I don’t know why, but I’m scared.  Even when I shot those two assholes, I wasn’t afraid.” He paused, looked up at his friend and asked, “What does that mean?”

“Dunno, Brett.” Tim kissed the top of his head again.

“The doctor told me that I probably won’t be able to play football for at least a year.  Maybe not ever again,” Brett said.

Tim nodded and clenched a fist.

“I used to play basketball . . . my favorite sport.  I played baseball and could hit it a ton . . . pitch.”  He paused, shook his head and clenched his fist again.  “I haven’t played in over two years.  I don’t even know if I can play anymore.”

“We’re kind of fucked up, huh?” Brett said with a humorless laugh.

Tim held him tighter.

There was a knock on the door and Ian stuck his head in.

“Can we come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, the door opened, and the boys from Chicago filed in one by one, crowding around Brett’s bed.  Randy entered last and stood against the door.

“Hi guys,” Brett said, straightening up and wiping the tears off his face. “Mike, sit down here,” pointing to a spot on his bed. “You need to get off your feet.”

Stephen and Ian helped Mike up on Brett’s bed.  It was painful to sit, so like Tim, he sort of leaned back, resting on his elbow and his hip.  Patrick ended up next to Brett sitting half on, half off the bed.  Brett took a hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze before letting go.  They were treated as if they were brothers, and both of them still felt and would still feel as if they were.

“You have a hell of a shiner,” Brett said to Mike.

Mike nodded and smiled, pointing at his missing teeth.

“Shit, they really fucked you up!”

The boys laughed, including Mike.

Patrick said for all of them, “We wanted to thank you.”

Brett looked at Patrick, then Tim, and then at each of the boys, who smiled back at him and nodded.  Ian spoke for the group.

“Skip told us that if it weren’t for you, we might not be here.”

“’Course you had to go and get yourself shot all hero-like,” Tim said bumping his head into Brett’s.

The boys laughed and then talked all at once about the phone calls to their parents, when they would arrive and get to go home.  Randy watched them, mostly watching Tim and Brett.  Tim’s eyes locked on Randy’s and he nodded.

“Randy, some of us were talking . . .” Tim said.

Everyone settled down and looked at Randy, who blushed and remained glued to the door.  He felt like an intruder because while he went through much of what they did, he was only held captive for one night before he had escaped and was rescued.

“Some of us are worried about being alone.”

Tim felt Brett elbow him slightly, not unnoticed by Randy.

“You have each other.  You have e-mail, cell phones, landlines, and Facebook,” Randy said as he sat down on the arm of a chair that a smaller boy, Ben sat in. “You can always visit with each other.  And more than anything, you have one thing in common that no one can take away.”

“Yeah . . . Butch gave all of us showers . . . and hand-jobs,” Ian said. “Every so often, a blow job.”

The boys laughed, including Randy.

“And about a thousand meals from McDonald’s and Taco Smell,” Patrick said.

The boys laughed some more.

“A fucking million meals!” Charlie said.

“We didn’t watch TV for a year!” Zach said. “Cory and I turned it on, flipped through some channels, and turned it back off.  I guess we didn’t miss much.”

The boys laughed some more and then Tim said, “What?  What do we have in common?”

The boys turned back to Randy who said, “You had the courage to survive.  You didn’t give up.  You guys are tougher than anyone I know.”

“You too,” Brett said.

Randy shook his head.

“Not like you guys.”

“Tell them about George, the Indian dude,” Ian said.

Randy told them about George and how he had witnessed the murder of the boy and how, because he had come forward, had lost his family and home.

“Where’s he now?” Patrick asked.

“For now he’s staying with me, my dad and my brother.  We’ve invited him to stay with us, but we don’t know if he will.”

“It was because of him that we were saved, wasn’t it?” Ian said.

“Well, yeah,” Randy nodded. “He started it all, but there’s another boy, Garrett, that turned in his coach.  That’s who led Jamie and Pete to you.”

“We should thank this Garrett guy too,” Tim said.

The boys agreed, but didn’t know how that might be accomplished.

Stephen waited until the boys were quiet once again and then said, “Um . . . what do we tell our parents?”

“As little or as much as you want.  It’s up to you,” Randy said. 

Randy paused, looked at his hands as if he were ashamed. 

“At first, I didn’t tell my dad anything because I was embarrassed.  I didn’t really know him,” Randy said. 

He explained about his running away, about getting picked up by Mitch and Ernie, about escaping and being in foster care and then getting adopted by Jeremy. 

“I was ashamed.” He looked at each of the boys and said, “I know it’s hard and just like you, I didn’t want to talk about it.  My dad didn’t push me, but over time, I told him everything.”             

“Everything?” Cory asked.

“Yeah, everything,” Randy said nodding.

He looked around the room at each of the boys.

“I think the more you talk about it, it gets less.” He shrugged. “It won’t ever go away, but it gets less.”

“I don’t know if I can tell my dad . . . my mom,” Ian said.

“For me, the worst part wasn’t telling my dad about it.  It was sitting in school and wondering what everyone was thinking.”

The boys lowered their eyes to the floor, sneaking glances at one another.  None of them had known how they would talk with their parents about what they were forced to do or how they would tell their parents what had been done to them.  And not surprisingly, none of the boys discussed this with each other.  Not even Tim and Brett.

“Do me a favor,” Randy said. “I want each of you to think of the worst thing you had to do.”

He paused and saw the boys thinking, disgust registering on their faces.

He leaned forward, looked at the boys and said, “It took me a long time to figure out, but what I learned was that no matter what anyone thought about me, no matter what anyone said about me, no matter what anyone called me, it was nothing like what had already happened to me.”  He paused and said, “Think about that.”

“We survived,” Tim said.

“Yeah, you survived,” Randy said.

The boys reached out and either took each other’s hands or put their arms around shoulders and moved together in a tight circle.

“We have each other,” Tim said. “And we’ll never be alone.” This last, he said to Brett.

“It’s scary,” Randy said.  “It’ll take a long time, but you have to get up every morning, look in the mirror and say, ‘I survived’.”  Then he laughed and added, “Someday, you might actually believe it.”

The boys laughed with him.

“We need to visit Johnny,” Brett said.

“He’s still pretty sick though, and the doctors don’t know if he’s going to make it, but you’re right,” Tim said. “Let’s go see Johnny.”

“There are some other guys we need to thank,” Brett added.  “I heard one guy’s still here in the hospital, and one cop got shot and another died in Kansas City.  We need to thank them.”

The boys nodded, filed out of the room and filled the hallway.  Already gathered in the hallway were the Pruitts, the Ericksons, the Baileys, Pete, Summer, Chet, Jamie, Jack O’Brien and Jeremy.  Several nurses, orderlies and doctors had stepped out of rooms and nurses’ stations to see what was happening.  One by one, the boys shook hands or hugged the adults standing there, saying thank you.

“Where are you guys headed,” Pete asked.

“To see Johnny,” Brett said.

“I don’t think he’s allowed visitors,” Pete said.

“He’ll see us,” Brett said with a smile.  “We need to be together.”

“Ian, why don’t you and Patrick lead,” Tim said.  “But go slow.  If Mike’s butt hurts as much as mine does, this could take us all day.”

The boys laughed and formed up two by two. 

“Randy, can you help Stephen with Mike?” Tim asked.

Randy stepped around Tim and Brett, and Mike reached out and slipped his arm around Randy’s shoulder. At the end just behind Randy, Mike and Stephen were Tim and Brett, holding onto each other.

“Mom and Dad, I’ll be back in a bit,” Tim said.

“Us too,” Stephen said.

Mike smiled and waved at his parents, who waved back.  Under all the bruises and missing teeth and guarded shuffle, the adults saw a glimpse of Mike’s playfulness.

Brett pulled Tim close to him leaning his head on Tim’s.

“Just a minute,” Brett said. 

The group stopped and turned back to see what was up.  Brett stepped away from Tim, came back and shook Skip’s and Jamie’s hand once again.  He then stood in front of Pete, who reached out and held Brett in a long hug, careful of his shoulder.

“Thanks.  Thanks for everything,” Brett said softly.

“No problem, Kiddo.  Anytime.”

As the boys slowly walked down the hallway, the doctors, nurses, all of the adults and even some of the patients cheered and clapped for them.  The boys hugged each other, probably none tighter than Tim and Brett.

“We survived,” Tim said.

“Yeah, we survived,” Brett answered.

Shattered Lives

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.

Nietzsche

PART ONE

A NOT QUITE SAFE HAVEN

CHAPTER ONE

Waukesha, Wisconsin

. . . He faced the man with the gun.  He couldn’t quite make out his features, but he seemed to be medium height, maybe shorter than that, and well-built but not overly so.  At least he didn’t seem to be a bulky, weightlifter kind of man.  His voice was cold and flat, which is what George would remember the most about him.  That and the gun pointed at the boy next to him, a boy George did not know.

Jeremy was George’s bookend on the other side of the boy.  Behind the three of them was a door to a room that George didn’t know.  In fact, he didn’t know the room he stood in, but somehow knew the room and the house they were in.  At least, the house and room seemed familiar to him.  He just couldn’t place it.

But more importantly, Jeremy, the boy and George stood between the man and the door, and George wasn’t sure what or who was on the other side of the door, only that the three of them formed a human shield between it or them and the man with the gun.

As the man took aim, George knew with certainty that Jeremy would step in front of the boy.  George couldn’t let that happen, so he moved in front of Jeremy and the boy as the gun went off . . .

George slammed upright in bed, gasping for breath and pulling the sheet up to his chin, yanking it from Billy who slept soundly next to him facing the wall, mouth slightly open on his left side in a semi-fetal position.  Billy didn’t seem to notice or care that he was no longer covered.  The night was warm and the breeze so light a sheet wasn’t actually needed, even though the windows were open, and the ceiling fan was on.  Jeremy Evans, the father of the twins, Randy and Billy, didn’t like to run the air-conditioner at night, preferring open windows and night breezes.

The room was on the small side and made even smaller now that Billy had the idea to substitute the single bed he had slept in for the past two years for the double bed in the spare room, so that the three of them could sleep in the same room.  He and George shared the double bed.  George looked over at Randy three feet away on the other side of the room, who was sound asleep on his back, one knee up, arms almost spread-eagle, head off his pillow, breathing deeply and slowly just as Billy was.

He covered Billy with the sheet again and slowly, quietly, swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands trying to remember the dream.  His dark, handsome, and almost noble face, along with his chest and back, the color of bronzed copper, were covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair, the color of midnight and hanging down just passed his shoulders, hung over his face.  His dark eyes were squinted shut as he tried to grasp the wisp of the dream that turned to vapor and disappeared as quickly and easily as he tried so determinedly to remember it.

George didn’t know the man with the gun who had faced the three of them.  He couldn’t see him clearly in the dream.  He didn’t know who the boy was, and he wasn’t certain it was the boy the man had come to kill.  Perhaps it was whoever was on the other side of the door that was shut behind the three of them.

Confusing, odd, and disturbing.

George was a traditional Navajo, and he believed as some of the elders of his people believed, that dreams were messages from the spirit world.  The trouble with dreams though is that they almost always needed someone to interpret them.  It had always been his grandfather who had helped him understand what the spirit world was trying to tell him, but his grandfather was no longer there to help him.

His grandfather was dead.

He had been murdered- executed- along with his mother, grandmother, two brothers and sister because George had witnessed the murder of a fourteen year old boy and had come forward to report it.  He was now alone with no one to return home to except for his Navajo people and a cousin.  Jeremy and the twins had asked him to live with them, but he wasn’t certain if he was going to accept their offer, or if he’d return to Arizona and his Navajo Nation.  Waukesha, Wisconsin was a long way from Arizona and all of the trees and city life very different from the Arizona desert and rural life he had grown up in.

Quietly, slowly, so as not to wake up either of the twins, he got out of bed, smoothed the sheet over Billy and picked up his knife.  It sat on the nightstand along with Billy’s iPod dock that served as music for the three boys, as well as the alarm that would get up first George at 5:00 AM and then the twins at 6:00 AM.  The clock face read 1:17 AM, far too early to get up, but George did so anyway.

The knife was a gift from his grandfather for his twelfth birthday two years ago in a coming of age ceremony on top of a plateau near their ranch.  The razor sharp blade was eight inches long, and the handle, made of elk bone, was an additional four inches bound to the blade with leather.  It fit his hand perfectly, and he had practiced each morning since receiving it under the guidance of his grandfather.  To the casual observer, the movements looked oriental, such as with Tai Chi or Karate, and it was defensive in nature.  George could use the knife in either hand effectively, and he had done so earlier that week.

The knife had been returned by Detective Jamie Graff just the morning before, along with a permit to carry it.  It had been taken by the police because George had used it to kill a man sent to kill him, Jeremy and the twins.  It was a dream and vision of his grandfather that led him to the side of the house where he found the man with the gun intent on murdering them.  But the police and the district attorney had judged that George had acted in self-defense since the man had a gun and a rap sheet dating back more than twenty years. 

Self-defense or not, a man was dead, and George had killed him.  He had told the police, the FBI and the Evans family about the dream and the vision of his grandfather, but George was certain none of them had understood the Navajo belief about dreams and visions.  He was sure it had sounded crazy to them, and he couldn’t help but feel that it sounded crazy to him too. 

And now a new dream- the dream he didn’t understand.  He was certain he wouldn’t share it with anyone unless and until he needed to- if he needed to.

George tip-toed down the hall, down the stairs and out the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to the back patio that faced the yard beyond it just as he had the other night when he had spotted the man in the hedge line in the backyard and killed him.  He shivered slightly at the memory and hugged himself.  George turned and looked at the corner of the house, half-expecting to see someone rounding the corner with gun in hand.  Of course, no one was there.

Just before he confronted the man, Jeremy had come out of the house and sat on the step next to him and had asked George to consider living permanently with him and the twins.  But that was before George had killed the man. And even though Jeremy had made that offer again afterward, and even though the twins had told him they wanted him to live with them, George wasn’t sure how he had felt about it.

It had been a very difficult day.

Jeremy and Randy had traveled to a hospital in Chicago, so they could talk to the boys who had been held in captivity as part of a human trafficking ring, so George didn’t have much of an opportunity to talk to either of them.  He and Billy spent much of the day planting flowers for Miss Bert and Mr. Jon, the Lanes who lived next door and who seemed to be unofficial grandparents to the twins.  At least, that was how they treated the twins and how the twins treated them.  George liked them.  While Billy acted as if nothing unusual had happened, and while the Lanes said nothing about what had happened, he knew the Lanes knew about it, and it seemed that at least they had treated him differently.  Maybe it was just his imagination.  Maybe not.

The kitchen door opened and was shut quietly, but instead of Jeremy, it was Billy.  He was barefoot and dressed just as George was; in boxers and wrapped in a light blanket.  He sat down next to George and gave half of the blanket to him, who wrapped himself in it, and the two boys huddled together.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” George offered after a bit.

Billy yawned, shrugged and said, “I couldn’t sleep either.”

George knew he was just being polite, but he accepted his statement.

“How come you’re up?” Billy asked.

George didn’t say anything, and he stared out at the backyard not focusing on anything.

“When I was little and had a bad dream, my dad would sit up with me while I told him about it.  It made it go away.  Now, Jeremy does, but I don’t have bad dreams that much anymore.”

George looked at him curiously.

Billy shrugged and said, “I was adopted twice.  My first dad died of a heart attack.”

George nodded.

“So?” Billy said.

George shook his head.

“So, have you decided whether or not you’re going to live with us?”

George shrugged noncommittally.  As many reasons as he had for staying, he had an equal number of reasons for not.  Well, not really as many reasons for not.  Actually, not that many at all.  Truth was he was scared: scared of staying, scared of leaving, just plain scared.

Billy had come to know George well enough in the last two days to understand that George was quiet and only spoke when he wanted to, so he gave up trying. 

Billy and Randy were identical twins and only those who spent time around them knew how to tell the difference.  Both had brown hair cut short in the same style.  Both had large brown eyes, though Randy’s seemed sad even when he smiled.  Billy had a bit of a crooked smile and had a habit of cocking his head when he listened.  He was older by eight minutes, born four minutes before midnight, while Randy was born four minutes after midnight.  The twins were fourteen years old, a month or so older than George, and all three boys were headed for eighth grade in the fall, one and a half months away.

George liked them both and felt he could easily become friends with them.  Randy was gentle and a listener.  Billy was a joker and a talker.  Even though Billy was older, it was Randy who made the decisions.  Most of all, George liked watching Jeremy interact with them.  He saw the love they had for each other and envied them, and it reminded him of just how lonely and alone he was.

Billy sighed and not really understanding why, said, “I think I killed my first dad.”

George turned to look at Billy who quickly wiped away some tears on the blanket wrapped around them.

“Why do you think that?”

Billy looked down at his bare feet and then out at the yard.

“I was pissed at my mom for not telling me I was adopted.  My parents got divorced, and I lived with my dad but spent a lot of time with Jeremy and Randy.”  He wiped more tears off his face with the blanket and said, “My dad missed my mom, and he was lonely.  He died of a heart attack.”

George nodded, letting the silence envelope them like the blanket wrapped around them.

Billy shrugged.

“Are you happy living with Mr. Jeremy and Randy?”

Without any hesitation, Billy said, “Oh yeah.  I love them.  Jeremy’s my dad now, and Randy’s my brother.  They’re my best friends.”  Then he was quiet for a moment and said, “I just miss my first dad every now and then.”

George nodded.

“When my dad died, I was hoping Jeremy would let me live with him and Randy.  He adopted me like he did Randy, but I kept my dad’s name . . . you know . . . out of respect, kind of.”  Billy shrugged and said, “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

George nodded.  That seemed right to him too.  He thought that if Mr. Jeremy would adopt him, he’d keep his last name, Tokay, out of respect for his family, his grandfather in particular.

That thought startled him.

No one had asked him if he had wanted to be adopted.  There was the offer to have him live with them, but he didn’t know if he was going to accept it, and didn’t know if that meant Jeremy would adopt him.

“You and I are sort of alike,” Billy said, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“How?” George asked.

“I didn’t have anyone after my dad died, and there was no way I was going to live with my mom.  Jeremy offered to have me live with him, and now he’s my dad and Randy’s my brother.  He’s always been my brother, but you know what I mean.  You don’t have anyone, and dad asked you to live with us.”  He shrugged and said, “We’re kind of alike.”

Not wanting to get into it, he said, “It’s late.  We should probably get back to bed.”

He got up, and Billy followed him back into the kitchen and up the stairs to bed.