A/N: This chapter is rated M for descriptions of sexual abuse.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Aaron's Testimony

Supreme Court Trial

Part 62

Aaron Sanders was on the stand.

"Aaron, you were sexually abused, correct?" asked Randolph.

"Yes," Aaron replied.

"How old were you when it started?"

"I was nine."

"How long did it last?"

"Almost a year…"

"How did it start?"

Aaron sighed.

"When I was going through alter server training. He would—he would abuse me before mass, sometimes after…He was so discreet…"

"Who was your abuser?"

"Conrad Dennehy."

"What exactly did he do to you?"

Aaron paused for a moment.

Then—

"Horrible shit."

"Watch your language, Mr. Sanders," said the judge. "Continue, Mr. Randolph."

"What kinds of horrible things?" asked Randolph.

"He…sometimes, he would…he would fondle me—grope me. I wouldn't have known what to call it back then…That—that was usually it, but…but not always…"

"What else would he do, Aaron? Take your time."

Aaron hesitated again.

Then—

"Sometimes, he would—he would make me touch him like that…I—I can still picture him getting aroused, and it makes me sick…That—that wasn't even the worst…"

"What did he do that was the worst?" asked Randolph.

Aaron took a deep breath and then wiped his eyes.

"He would…he would make me…He orally raped me…He wore a condom, but it didn't matter. I hated it. I hated all of it. I hate him. It's his fault I'm so screwed up!"

"Why didn't you tell an adult you trusted, like your mother, the first time it happened—the first time he abused you?"

"Because he fed me the same crap he fed Derek Poston: it's private, don't tell anyone, you'll make God sad, don't be a bad Christian, all that crap…It made me afraid to talk."

"When did you finally talk about it?"

"After…after a few months. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't. So I went to my mom. I was hesitant about it because of what Dennehy said but also because I was afraid my mom would think I was a queer, and I'm not. But she was understanding. She said she'd do everything she could to help me."

"Is what your mother recounted true? About you getting sick and so on?"

"Yes," Aaron replied. "After it happened—after each incident…I'd feel so dirty and violated and anxious…panicky…so much so that I felt sick to my stomach, and as a result, I'd…I'd sometimes vomit…I'd have trouble sleeping. Some nights, I'd think and think and think about the next time I'd have to see him, and I'd get so terrified that I wouldn't sleep at all…Sometimes I'd have such horrible nightmares about him abusing me that…that I would wet the bed—even though I was nine…So he had me doing things I was too old to do and too young to do…"

"How would you say your abuse has affected you?"

"It royally screwed me up," Aaron replied bitterly. "I remember a couple years ago. The only relationship I've ever been in was in completely shot to hell, for example."

"What happened there?"

"One night, we were at her place, and she tells me she really, really likes me. We started kissing—passionately. I should've paid attention to the red flag that went up in my head the moment she slid her tongue into my mouth—but I didn't…I was afraid, but I told myself that she wasn't Dennehy and that I wasn't nine years old. This could be all right. Part of me thought it felt good, so I thought I could ignore the part of me that was beginning to panic. So I started to kiss her back the same way…Then…then she started to—to really touch me, and that's when the flashback came, and…I panicked. It all came back to me—him fondling me, groping me—him forcing his penis into my mouth…So I pulled away and told her I had to leave…She thought it was all her fault—but it wasn't…I ended it…See? See how royally screwed up I am because of him? I'm supposed to be like other people—I'm supposed to like the idea of sex! But I don't—because it makes me think of him. I'll probably never get married, let alone have a girlfriend again…I'm just really screwed up, okay? And it's all his fault! All of it is his fault!"

"So you've had trouble making emotional connections with women?"

"Yes."

"Was Dennehy always abusive towards you?"

"No. At first, he was normal. He was friendly. I actually trusted him…But then he betrayed me and screwed me up…"

Randolph paused to let the emotional weight of Aaron's testimony sink in, which caused a horrible silence to fall over the courtroom.

During that terribly tense moment, Connie wrote 'And now I get to look like the bad guy' on her legal pad, which she then slid across the table for Mike to read

Mike read it, wrote 'You're doing your job, at which you're brilliant' and then slid the legal pad back across the table to her.

Connie smiled when she read it.

She then arose to cross-examine Aaron.

"Aaron," she said, approaching the witness stand, "there is not a soul in this courtroom who doesn't sympathize with you for what Dennehy put you through. But, as you know, there are some questions I have to ask you. First of all—how long did you remain in Connecticut after Dennehy left the Archdiocese of Hartford?"

"We were in Connecticut for a while. We just moved to another city. I started going to a different school, and Mom got two new jobs. We moved to Bridgeport. That's pretty far away from Hartford…I lived there until I went to trade school. Then I got a job in Meridon. I worked there until two years ago."

"Did you think about Dennehy at all during that time?"

"Yes. All the time…"

"How did you know Dennehy was here in New York? That information was never made public."

Aaron sighed and hesitated.

Then—

"I looked everywhere for him. I must've looked into every single Catholic church in the state. It took me months—and I had no luck…Christ, I looked everywhere…I told myself that I'd get myself established—you know, living on my own, a job, all that—and then I'd begin looking for him. Then I'd confront the man who'd degraded and humiliated me. I'd make him face me…I was about to give up hope of ever finding him. But then I saw the paper."

"Meaning?"

"I like to read the New York Times. I've had a subscription to it for a few years now. One day I saw quite an interesting article in it. It talked about two lawsuits that had been filed against the Archdiocese of New York—one by a priest named Richard Crane for defamation and one by a family I now know is the Postons for the abuse of the minor son by a priest. No one was mentioned by name except Crane and the other person besides Dennehy I will never forget: Clyde Dugan—Archbishop Clyde Dugan—who'd listened to my mother talk about what Dennehy did to me and did nothing. That's when I knew I had to get to New York. I figured if I could just get to Dugan, he could help me find Dennehy…It took a few interviews, but I got a job in the Bronx. Simple research told me where the Archdiocese of New York is."

"How long had you been living in New York by the time you went to visit Dugan?"

"A couple years. I kept a close watch on the Times because I was curious about the outcomes of the lawsuits. Plus I wanted to lay low. I felt like timing was everything—I figured while all that was going on, Dugan wouldn't want to talk."

"So you waited until it looked like things had settled down, am I understanding you?"

"Yes. But maybe that was a stupid idea after all. I don't know why I ever thought he'd be straightforward with me. He only cares about himself."

"So when you didn't get the information you wanted from Dugan, what did you do?"

"For a while, I thought I'd just have to do what I did back in Connecticut…But then an idea came to me. I looked up Dennehy and New York City real estate holdings to see if he had an apartment anywhere in the city…You can find anything online if you know where to look…It just seems so obvious now…I should've known that I wouldn't get any answers out of Dugan…"

"So you found out where Dennehy lived by combing through the internet?"

"Yes."

"Not counting your mother's answer to this question, did you know about Connecticut's statute of limitations on child sexual abuse? Did you know that you had thirty years from the time you turned eighteen to report your abuse to the police or the D.A.'s office? Obviously, you turned eighteen while in Connecticut, right?"

"I didn't know about the statute, no. And yeah, I turned eighteen then."

"Meaning legally, you became an adult, right? You were responsible for yourself?"

"Yes."

"Aaron, you just said you thought about Dennehy all the time."

"Yeah."

"So once you became an adult, once you became responsible for yourself, why didn't you report your abuse to the police? Your fate was completely in your hands, and the police would've told you that legally, there was enough time to investigate and prosecute. So why didn't you do that? Did you think they wouldn't care?"

Aaron hesitated.

"It's not that," he finally said. "Miss Rubirosa, you're a very smart woman, I can tell. And you're a prosecutor. So you know how it works…Dennehy was smart. He covered his tracks. Whenever he—whenever he touched me or—or made me touch him…Whenever—whenever he orally raped me…He was discreet. He made sure no one saw us. He—he used a condom…He left no traces! There was nothing! He left zero evidence! It was his word against mine! How is that even a case? He got away with it once! Who's to say he wouldn't have gotten away with it again?"

"How do you know he would've gotten away with it again, Aaron?" Connie asked patiently. "How could you possibly know that? With plenty of time to build a case, can you honestly sit here and tell this court that it would've been impossible to get Dennehy convicted?"

"I don't know…"

"Did you ever actually seek any legal advice, and that's what you were told, or is all that just your own assumptions?"

"It's all my own assumptions."

"I can truthfully tell you, Aaron, that had you gone to the police, they would have taken you seriously and done everything in their power to make sure Dennehy went to prison for what he did to you and Derek. Allegations of abuse are taken very seriously. Like you said, I'm a prosecutor. I know how it works. Does it surprise you to hear that the police have numerous resources at their disposal?"

"I…I guess not."

"Don't you think that they would've been able to locate Dugan, Dennehy, Crane, and the Postons?"

"I suppose they could've…"

"So don't you think now that if given the chance, the Hartford police and D.A.'s office would've been able to get justice for you? Aaron—you're harboring a lot of anger. We get that. We do. Who on earth wouldn't be after being forced to go through what you went through? When you were old enough to decide for yourself, why didn't you seek help? Did your job give you insurance?"

"Yes. I had insurance."

"So why not see a psychologist or psychiatrist? Were you too embarrassed to talk about your abuse?"

"I already relived what happened to me enough!" Aaron replied forcefully. "What was talking to a shrink going to do? Huh? What would that have done for me? It couldn't change the past! It couldn't erase what that perverted prick did to me! Nothing can do that! I wanted him to pay for the hell he put me through!"

"You could've testified against him in court. You could've helped put him in prison. What about that?" Connie asked sternly. "Why not let the law punish him? Aaron, you are here on trial for first degree manslaughter. Hasn't it occurred to you that what you did could completely backfire on you?"

"He ruined my childhood! He humiliated me!" Aaron countered. "He gave me no choice."

"No, Aaron," Connie said. "You did have a choice."

She then turned to the judge.

"Nothing further."

***DOINK!DOINK!***