Warning: There's a bit of crude language coming up in this chapter. I thought about editing it, but I want to keep to how I feel the character would actually talk, not sanitize his speech.

Chapter Three

{o}-{o}-{o}

"Well," Charles said, as he and Mox sat down in his office, Mox on the sofa, Charles in a comfortable chair. "You had quite a day yesterday, didn't you?"

Mox stared at the guy. Charles Harvey, still in college, but doing intern work for his degree. And, Mox's talk therapist. Mox hadn't even wanted a talk therapist, but Jen, Sefa, and his social worker had told him he was going to have one whether he wanted it or not. "It wasn't as big a day as I hoped it would be."

"What do you mean?" Charles asked.

That got to Mox. The guy was always asking him to define what he meant. If Mox said he was having an okay day, rather than just accept it, Charles wanted to know why his day was merely okay. Was it on the good side of okay or the bad side of okay? Straight down the middle okay? "Let's expand on that…" Mox hated it. He knew what Charles Harvey was supposed to do, he was supposed to get him to open up about his past, to tell Charles everything. All about being kidnapped, about all the things he'd been forced to do when he was kidnapped, all that he had done because he knew if he didn't do it, life would get very, very bad for him.

Mox didn't want to talk about his past. Especially now, seeing that his kidnapper was in jail, and his kidnapper's partner was dead. It was over now. "The match I was supposed to have with Roman. I was supposed to get the belt last night, but I didn't. I'm really disappointed with that. I worked really hard to get to this point." The look he gave Charles was dead serious, but inwardly he was smirking a bit.

But, if he expected to ruffle Charles's feathers, he failed. Charles merely nodded. Charles was an expert at nodding, Charles could be a model for a bobble head he nodded so well. "When you called me yesterday, you seemed to have other things you were more concerned about."

"That's because I didn't know the match had been cancelled then." Mox studied Charles carefully, thinking maybe, just maybe, he saw a slight flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "If I had known, I would have pissed and moaned about that. I might have even bitched."

"Jon-"

"Mox." That was something he had insisted on day one with Charles he had to call him Mox. As it was, Mox should have ignored him until Charles realized the mistake on his own and corrected himself, but Mox usually gave him one chance at every session.

"All right," Charles said, "Mox, you know you didn't call me yesterday about the match being cancelled."

"Of course I didn't," Mox said. "Because I didn't know then."

"So, what happened that made you call me, earlier."

"Not what, who," Mox said. "Mom, made me call you."

"And why did she want you to talk to me?" Charles asked, then looked at Mox. "Maybe I should remind you, it's Sunday and I have no other patients. I came here just for you, and we can spend all afternoon here. All evening too, if it comes down to it. I have nowhere to go."

"I could just get up and leave," Mox countered. It was always a game between the two of them. Who could one up who? Emotional tug of war.

"And, I would tell your mother that you walked out." Charles looked as bland as a bowl of vanilla pudding. "Do you think that will bother her?"

Damn, he's got me on that one. "Okay, my… Fa- I mean, Dennis's friend Sam, I mean, Simon was killed. By Dennis, who is now in jail. The End."

"Any more than that?"

They had gone over this yesterday, why did they have to rehash it? "Dennis and Simon were the guys that kidnapped me. And Simon handed Dennis the gun, because he wanted Dennis to kill me, but Dennis killed him instead." Mox hoped his voice was a complete monotone. "But he didn't kill me, which is pretty obvious, because I'm talking to you."

"Why do you think Dennis spared your life?"

Mox frowned. "I have no idea," he said. "He claimed it was because he loved me, but that's weird, considering he never told me he loved me when he had me for all those years." All those years, even the times when I did everything he said without argument.

"Did you want him to tell you he loved you?"

He wanted to hit Charles. Punch him so hard in the face that his contact lenses would pop out of his eyes. "No. I didn't," he said, with complete confidence. Timmy had wanted Dennis to love him. But he wasn't Timmy anymore, he was Mox, and Mox didn't need or want Dennis's love. Mox had people who loved him. And he really didn't like Charles suggesting that any part of Mox would want or need such twisted love.

"Mom, Mom! Where are you, Mom? I need to talk to you!"

Donna Miller looked up from the kitchen island where she had her books and her laptop and sighed. "Amber, I'm in the kitchen!" She loved her kids to dearly, but you would think that by now, they would have figured out that Sunday afternoons, she was in the kitchen, trying to study. On Sunday afternoon, Jacob was supposed to watch the kids. She gave him time to work on his book during the week, and Saturdays, if she could get them off, and she was supposed to get her child free Sunday afternoons.

Amber came running into the kitchen. It had rained the day before and she tracked in little muddy footprints from the hall to the kitchen. "Mom! We ran into Britney in the park!"

Donna tried not to stare at the footprints in dismay, and instead focused her attention on her daughter. "How nice," she remarked. Britney and her family had moved across the street, and in the fashion of little girls, she and Amber had become fast friends in minutes. Fortunately, Donna and Jacob both liked Britney and her parents as well.

"They're going to Twist and Shout, and they invited me along! Dad says it's fine as long as you don't mind!"

Twist and Shout was a giant indoor playground that was once one of those big box hardware places. Now it contained trampolines, older video games, swings, slides, Skee-ball, ball pits, an indoor miniature golf course, a bumper car area, lots of loud pop music feeding in a steady stream through the loudspeakers, and absolutely terrible pizza, hot dogs, and soda. Kids were encouraged to use their outdoor voices and to run and play and have fun, so naturally, most kids adored the place. "Your dad really said it was okay?" she asked.

"Yes!" Amber was jumping up and down in excitement. "Please can I go? Please? Pretty please? I'll never ask you for anything else again, just please let me go!"

If I say yes, in five minutes you're going to ask me for money, Donna thought but didn't say. As she was about to answer, she heard the door open and Jacob coming in, calling out to their daughter, reminding her that she was supposed to have waited for him and Zachary to catch up before going inside, and why, for heaven's sake, hadn't she wiped her feet? Didn't she realize that she was tracking mud all through the house?

He looked contrite when he came into the kitchen with Zach, knowing that the Sunday afternoon agreement had been violated. The hangdog look, made Donna forgive him instantly. It wasn't his fault that Amber went into hyper-drive at the mere mention of Twist and Shout. "If you want to say she can't go, I understand," he said, with a look to the muddy floor. "But, if you want, I'll clean up this mess while she changes into something clean and dry, and then while she goes to Twist and Shout, I'll take Zach out for the afternoon."

She looked at Zach, knowing Britney's parents would not have asked Amber without asking him, too. "Don't you want to go along with your sister?"

Zach shook his head. "Dad said we could go to the Children's museum and then get pizza. I'd rather do that."

Donna wasn't sure if it was more of the Children's Museum, or just getting quality one-on-one time with his dad, probably a combination of both. Zach was the quieter of the two, the one who loved to read and honestly liked school, because he liked learning things. He was smart, and much like his father, he was also calm and steady. His teacher had told them at the last Parent/Teacher night that wished she had a whole classroom like him. Amber was the active one, the one that couldn't sit still, the one who wanted to run and play all day. The one that was always called first to be on a team for kickball. Jacob called her his little humming bird, because she zoomed from one thing to another. "Well, if you willing to clean up the floor, then I'm fine with it."

While Amber jumped up and down cheering, and spattering more mud from her shoes, Jacob leaned over and kissed the top of Donna's head, then looked at Amber. "Take those sneakers off, right now, and put them in the garage. Then, go, wash up and change. Zach, you don't have to change, but you should at least wash your hands."

"I was going to wash my hands," Zach protested. "You don't have to remind me, I'm not a baby."

Oh, yes you are, Donna thought. You're not that much older than he was when Dean disappeared.

Everyone had told her that when she had other children it would "help" her get over it. As if it would be a good thing for her to just stop thinking about it. Well, it didn't work, and she didn't want it to work. She loved Amber and Zach, two miracles that were born out of her body, the living proof of the love she and Jacob shared, but that didn't mean there wasn't a hole in her heart. A hole where Dean was supposed to be. Dean, who hadn't been born of love, but the results of a very high and drunk one night stand. She was using when she got pregnant, but she wasn't at the point where she had to sell her body to get drug money, Dean's father had just been a guy she met in a bar. He was cute enough, with some pretty killer horse on him, and she was young and had an okay sort of office job and was sharing an apartment with a couple other girls. She thought she had a handle on her drug usage, but after that one night stand left her pregnant and she had to get off the drugs, she realized she didn't have as much of a handle as she thought.

But, Dean had been worth it. She remembered when he was born, all bloody, red, and screaming, no doubt indignant of being taken out of of her cozy womb and thrust into a world of light. She had burst into tears when she heard that wail, because no matter how much he had kicked and moved inside her, she was convinced he would be stillborn, or strangled by his own umbilical cord, or a million other horrible things, her punishment for having been on drugs when he was conceived. Even after, when the doctors told her he scored a seven on the one minute, and eight on the five minute Apgar test, she'd still been anxious and kept asking the doctors and nurses over and over if Dean was all right. If he truly was healthy. Those three days she spent at the hospital, he stayed in her room with her, and every time he cried, she was scared it was because he was kicking a drug habit he'd gotten in womb. For the first year, every time he cried without a valid reason, she was convinced he was suffering withdrawal. His pediatrician spent most of his time at their appointments, calming her down, explaining that sometimes babies just cried and it was nothing to worry about.

With all that paranoia, you would have thought she would have stayed away from drugs forever, but unfortunately, a friend of hers, Kelly, came back into her life. Kelly had given Donna her first taste of the needle and Kelly gave Donna her second taste too. Not that Donna blamed her, she was a willing participant. Naive and stupid enough to think she could just do it "Once more" and that would be fine. Once more lead to Once in Awhile, lead to Every Weekend, lead to Every Day, lead to Several Times a Day in a short time. She was on public assistance, but that wasn't enough to support a drug habit, so Kelly had shown her how she supported her drug habit and taught Donna the ropes. Donna's life spiraled out of control, and she didn't even realize it was happening until it seemed too late.

She hadn't stopped loving Dean, but she was aware that a drug addict was not a good parent. She nodded off more than once when she should have been watching him, waking up to find him in some sort-of mess, or sitting in a soggy, filthy, diaper, screaming his head off. She knew she had to stop, and every night she had gone to bed thinking how this would be the last night. Tomorrow she would clean up. She would go to the free clinic and see if they could arrange some outpatient rehab. She told herself that every night would be the last, even as she sneaked out the door, to work the streets for more drug money.

Tomorrow never came, and her parenting skills slipped more with every shot she took. Every time she twisted that piece of rubber around her upper arm and clenched her fist, or, later, injected in her leg, and eventually between her toes, her ability to be a good mother took another dive. She grew impatient with Dean, finding herself yelling at him at the slightest infraction, like dropping cups or refusing to eat what she served for dinner. She didn't bathe him enough, and he learned to take a bath by himself, which meant that sometimes the water overflowed the tub and she screamed at him over that. Clothes went unwashed, sheets unchanged, and it was always tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be a better mom. She thought she always had another tomorrow.

Then, he vanished.

Over ten years later, he had not come home. And while her brother-in-law Peter didn't say it, she knew he had pretty much written Dean off as dead. She knew Jacob did too, even though he never said anything to her. Peter still kept Dean's information in the databases, and every year, when new students came to the Springfield School, Donna carefully looked at them to see if any of them were her Dean, just in case.

When time had passed, and Dean was not found, she sometimes found herself wishing they would find a body, so she could bury him and just know. She always felt horrible for having those thoughts. She should be hoping instead, that maybe someone who knew how bad of a mother she was had taken him, and raised him as their own, with a good home and all the love he deserved.

The later was a pipe dream, but it was better than wishing his body would be found. She wanted him to be found. She wanted him to have been put in a stasis field and magically stayed five years old until he could be found and brought back to her, so she could be the mother he deserved, the mother she was to Amber and Zach.

Not a day went by where she didn't remember Dean. Where she didn't pray silently to a God she wasn't sure heard her, that wherever he was, he was safe and cared for. And that if he was gone, that this same God had him in his arms.

She and Jacob could have more children and someday they might. She could have all her kids at the school, the ones that touched her heart, she could have a whole life filled with children, but it wouldn't make her miss Dean any less. If anything, it made her miss him more. As if the more children that filled her heart, the more obvious the Dean shaped hole became.

She didn't talk about it out loud, not even to Jacob anymore, because nobody knew what to say. What could they say? She had gone for counseling, both for her drug addiction and for helping her with Dean's disappearance. She had talked herself blue, and while it might have helped a bit, it never filled that Dean shaped hole. So, she didn't talk about it anymore. She just kept her thinking internal, wondering if he would be more like Amber, always on the run? Or quieter like Zachary? Somewhere in the middle? Did he still have that weird quirk where he drummed his fingers on his collarbone when he was stressed? She had never seen anyone else do that, had he had come up with it on his own? Maybe Mr. Cute Guy with the good heroin did that when he was stressed? She didn't think she had seen him do that, so she liked to think it was something unique to Dean.

She watched as patient, loving, Jacob cleaned up the floor and hallway of Amber's muddy footprints, even pulling out the Swiffer to wash it all again when he was done. As he was finishing, Amber came dancing into the kitchen. She had changed into a pair of jeans with rainbows and gold stars on the back pockets and a yellow shirt with a unicorn on it. Least you think she was a little too girly, with the unicorn shirt, the unicorn had wisps of fire from its nostrils. A rainbow colored mane, sure, but it was a badass unicorn who breathed fire, too.

With a flurry of hugs, and money given so she could play games and buy herself food, Amber bounded out of the house and across the street. Zach and Jacob left last, more kisses, more hugs, declarations of love and promises to see her later. It seemed that for twenty minutes the house had been humming with life and now it was quiet.

She heard Britney's family, drive off in their minivan that made a weird sort-of misfire noise. Then, she heard the Corolla Jacob used, the one that had been an older car when they met, but still going. They had a more gently used Minivan, but the Corolla was good when it was just two of them.

She had just heard the Corolla drive out of hearing range when the house phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was Peter. Thinking he was calling to talk to his brother, she picked up the phone and spoke first. "Hey Pete, you just missed Jacob. He and Zach were headed to the Children's Museum, but he's got his cell phone on him so-"

"-It's okay, I didn't call to talk to him," Peter interrupted. His voice sounded all business. "I called to talk to you."

"Is everything all right?" Donna asked, "Is Molly all right?" Molly was Peter's wife.

"Molly is great, and she was asking how you were doing."

"I'll email her," Donna said, relieved to hear a little bit of the "business only" tone drain from Peter. She had been rather busy lately, and hadn't had a chance to have one of those long conversations she and Molly usually had about once a week. Summer was coming soon, and since Donna usually took Summers off for the kids she usually had more time to rekindled things with the woman she saw as a sister.

"Good, she's been hoping you're all right." Peter paused and then said, "Are you alone, Donna?"

"Yes," Donna said, "It's Sunday afternoon, you know the deal Jacob and I have."

"Would you mind some company for part of the afternoon? I'd like to drop by."

"Sure," Donna said, getting more and more puzzled by the minute. "What going on, Peter?"

"It's something I'd much rather discuss in person. I'll be by in a bit."

Before Donna could question him further, Pete hung up. Donna wasn't upset by this. Both Peter and Molly were the only family she had outside of Jacob and the kids, but Pete could be business like at times. Donna put it down to being in Law Enforcement.

A tiny part of her wondered if this might have anything to do with Dean. But, every time Peter called, unless he asked for Jacob, Donna found herself both hoping and dreading it would be about Dean. It never was. You'll know soon enough, she told herself.

Mox was pacing the office. Before every session, he told himself this would be the time he didn't screw up, he wouldn't get upset, he would be calm and he would just sit on the sofa, not having to pace the floor. This would be the time he never showed any signs of stress.

And every session, he ended up pacing the floor of the office, drumming his fingers on his collarbone.

"Mox, are you okay?" Charles asked him.

"Yeah, I'm swell," he said, forcing his voice to stay in control.

"You don't look 'swell' from where I'm sitting," Charles pointed out. "I was asking you how you felt about Simon being killed by Dennis. From everything you've told me, Simon and Dennis were close."

"I never said anything about their relationship," Mox said, pausing for a moment from his pacing and his finger drumming, looking at Charles.

"Well, maybe you haven't specifically said it, but from what you have said, it is obvious the two of them were close. And you did tell me that Dennis said he had killed his best friend for you. That has to make you feel something."

Mox resumed his pacing. "I feel awesome that some pervert is off the streets forever and I hope we can say the same thing about Dennis. I don't know if he'll fry for killing Simon, but hopefully, he'll at least never take another kid."

"That sounds like the answer you'd give a reporter or the cops," Charles said. "An answer everyone expects. I think you're feeling more than that."

"Nope."

It was a standoff. Mox paced again and Charles just sat there in his polo shirt, legs crossed, his notepad resting on his jeans. That was different, Mox realized. Usually Charles wore dress slacks, with a heavy crease running down them. He was also wearing sneakers too, instead of dress shoes.

"You're looking all casual today," Mox said. "Am I keeping you from hanging out with your buddies? Or your partner? Interrupting your weekly game of touch football in the park?"

"Nope," Charles said, with a faint smile. "I'm clear for the day."

"But it's Sunday afternoon," Mox said. "What, don't you have any friends or a partner to hang with?"

"We're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about you," Charles reminded him, as if he needed to be reminded. "How do you feel about the fact that Dennis killed his best friend instead of killing you?"

Time for evasive action, Mox thought. Mention something else, a tidbit from Timmy's life that would be interesting enough to get Charles to change directions. Sometimes it worked, but most times it didn't. If he had a chance today, it had better be one juicy tidbit. "Did you know that a hummer and a blowjob are not the same thing?" he said, trying to make it seem as if he blurted this out, not meaning to.

"Mox," Charles said, looking at him.

"They're similar but they aren't the same," Mox continued as if Charles hadn't said anything. "Both of them are sucking dick, but a blowjob is just sucking dick. A hummer is when you suck dick, but you hum. If you're good, you learn to just do one long, low, steady hum by breathing through your nose. Do it right, and your whole throat will vibrate. That will get most guys to blow their load quickly. Since you are sucking on their dick too, you might say that all hummers are blowjobs, but not all blowjobs are hummers. A hummer is a specialized type of blowjob."

"Mox," Charles tried again. But Mox noted that he made a brief notation in his notebook, so Mox knew he'd scored something with the man.

"It's a good thing to know. Because if someone offers you a hummer, you might want to make sure they'll give you a hummer, not just a straight blowjob. Unless you prefer straight blowjobs. Some guys do, they like a little time to fuck your mouth. Those guys are usually hair grabbers, which can really suck, because when they shoot off, they can make it hard to swallow it."

"Mox."

"Did you know that salt water can make you puke?" Mox continued. "It's true. Put enough salt in water and drink it down, and you'll barf it right back up, along with the rest of what's in your stomach."

"Mox!"

Mox paused and stared at Charles for just a second. "This is what you really want, right? You want the real details from my life with them. You want the gory stuff, the gross stuff. Do you read the notes you wrote on me late at night and stroke yourself?"

"Mox," Charles's voice had gone back to being calm.

"Don't worry about it." Mox refused to let Charles get a foothold. "Were all wired to want to fuck. Keep the species going and all. But some folks wiring is all messed up and what gets them off are little boys and girls . You know, kids too young to fight back."

"Mox," Charles raised his voice, trying to talk over him, "how do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon to save you?"

"Some guys want you to fight it, they love overpowering you," Mox found himself talking faster in an effort to drown Charles out, "But some guys wanted me to like it. Really, they want to convince themselves that it's okay to fuck kids, because deep down, the kids like it. And if they do it right, the kid will learn to want it. They really believe this shit."

"How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?"

Mox was over by the window now, looking outside. The office building had a daycare on the first floor, and even though there was no daycare on Sunday, there was an empty playground of bright colored, tiny child sized swing sets, slides, and other things. A giant statue of a very friendly looking Giraffe stood guard over the playground, as if just waiting for the children to show up tomorrow. "A lot of guys that like to fuck kids are good at hiding it. You'd never know it, they've got wives, girlfriends, kids of their own. Some of them might touch their own kids, but I think a lot of them, maybe most of them don't. They keep that one life separate from their other life, their normal life. They've probably even convince themselves that they aren't pedophiles, or gay or bisexual, even all they go after are little boys. As far as they're concerned, they're straight and not pedophiles. Even when some boy is on his knees, or even if he's so young, he doesn't need to be on his knees."

"How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?"

God, he's being a persistent fucker today, Mox thought. I'm giving him gold, and he's just asking that same question over and over again. "There are other types of blowjobs too," he said. His fingers, drumming along his collarbone were trembling slightly. There's even-"

"How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?" Charles wasn't yelling, but his voice penetrated everything, even the barrier of words Mox was trying to erect as fast as he could.

Mox spun around and looked at Charles. "How am I supposed to feel?" He was screaming at him now, and it felt good. He'd lost the game to Charles, but he didn't care, it just felt so good to scream at him. "Part of me is grateful that I wasn't killed and I hate that! Part of me is angry! Part of me wishes Dennis had shot me, because then his whole 'I love you' bullshit would be just that, bullshit!"

Charles didn't smile, or give any indication that he'd won a victory, that he'd taken something from Mox. He only gave a slight nod of his head and said, "Now we're getting somewhere."

Author's Notes: Sorry but not sorry for Mox's crude language. I just figured he would think that trying to freak out Charles would be a good way to have him stop questioning him. But, his talk therapist was smarter than Mox gave him credit for.

I know people want to know what is going to happen with Mox, and we're getting there. But, I thought it was important to check in and see how Mox was doing.