GOT THE LAPTOP BACK! THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE, GUYS AND THE FEEDBACK! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. I'VE BEEN WORKING HARD ON THIS ONE
"Sexual assault of a...?" Jonathon almost fell off his chair. He clutched the desk beside him and shut his eyes, waiting for the ride to cease. The room was spinning and Jonathon felt like he might pass out. How could this be? How could Shawn be related to such terrible people and still be okay? Was he okay?
"A minor." Nicky finished his sentence, sitting down on the other side of the desk.
Jonathon took a deep breath, his arms still grasping the table and his feet distanced to balance himself. "Which minor?" He asked, wishing to press pause on this scene until he could catch his breath, get some sleep, or to at least think for a second.
When Nicky didn't respond, Jonathon was sure that he didn't want an answer. He wished it had been him instead. Hell, he felt like it was. Just knowing. Knowing that he had looked at him almost every day and didn't see how he was suffering. He was in agony and yet Shawn never said a word. He was so terrified that he never let anyone in. He never let anyone protect him. He didn't even know what that was. "Please..." He shook. "Just tell me it's not Shawn."
Nicky put his head down on the desk. "This job doesn't get any easier." He was shaking his head 'no', like he was disagreeing with himself. Suddenly, he got to his feet and moved over to the door. "Eddie Richmond..." His voice cracked and he paused, spun around to look at Jonathon face to face, and tried again. "Eddie Richmond raped Shawn on numerous, countless occasions from the time he could walk."
Jonathon jumped up and darted toward the trash can in the opposite corner, his emotions pouring out of him through stomach lurches and wet heaves. He gagged for several minutes, then lifted himself from the can with both hands on either side. He held there, his whole body weak and jittering. "I can't do this."
Nicky was at his side. "You have to."
"I can't. He needs... I can't."
"You have to!" Nicky's voice boomed, as he reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "You're all he's got."
Through the window sat a man in an orange jumpsuit, hair buzzed off, eyes dark and puffy, appearing to be impatient and annoyed. His usual round face looked gaunt and was layered with stubble, giving him a kind of edge which made Shawn's skin crawl. He firmly believed that Chet Hunter was going to kill him.
He betrayed him. He went behind his back and spoke negative things about him. He was a bad son. He had worked so hard to be good, but he kept screwing everything up. He was a screw up. Everything he touched turned to crap. He was truly just waiting for the fall out with Jonathon. He figured that it shouldn't be too much longer before he decided that Shawn was too much for him. That he was cramping his style and kept getting in the way. Or at the very least had far too much baggage for Jonathon to handle and kick him out.
There was no going back. Not after his conversation with Nicky, where he stupidly admitted the existence of his brother. He was overwhelmed with excitement when Nicky promised him that he'd take him to the county jail to visit his father. He said he'd pull some strings and get him in even though it was past visiting hours, so Shawn was feeling a bit of gratitude toward the man. He was in a moment of a good fortune streak where his take on life was much more positive than the moment prior. He thought God was finally on his side and so he broke down and opened his mouth.
"Have I taught ya nothing?" Chet lectured, slamming his beer bottle down on the floor, roughly. He rolled onto his side, it taking him three tries to climb to his feet from the couch.
"I'm sorry, dad. It's just Minkus kept asking for the money. I couldn't keep saying that I forgot." An eleven year old Shawn stuttered, attempting to explain why Stewart Minkus' father had just called to inform him that Shawn's contribution to Mr. Feeny's Christmas present was covered and not to worry about it.
Chet was inches away from him in seconds and with a sharp back hand to the face, he growled through gritted teeth. "My money is my business! What I choose to do with my money and my stuff and my boy is MY business! You got that. Boy?" He added, shaking him roughly.
Chet had made things pretty clear for Shawn. He owned him and there was nothing he could do about it. Shawn didn't mind so much, however, because at least he recognized him as something. He was his. He was his boy. Chet liked the things that he had: his beer, his whiskey, his poker, his prostitutes, his money (though there was little of it). So if Shawn was his then he figured that Chet must like him at least a little bit.
"We're all set, boys." Came Nicky's voice, as he opened up the door, next to the window he had been dreaming into.
"Um, actually…" Shawn cranked his neck to see what lay beyond Nicky, his body just barely poking out over the threshold. "I think I wanna do this alone."
"So what comes next?" Jonathon probed, returning to his chair and resting his head back on the wall.
Nicky having just gotten back from retrieving him a bottle of water, sighed and turned his attention to the opened door as if he could see Shawn through it. "Well, there'll be a trial. Shawn will be needed to testify against him and then I will personally lock him up and throw away the key."
"Are there other victims?" Jonathon couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He felt like he was on an episode of Law and Order, not facing the realities that had just become his life.
"Cases like this there are usually multiple victims, especially since it happened over such a large portion of his life. We'll have to canvas the trailer park. Do you know if Shawn has any other siblings, by chance?"
"I didn't think he had any." Jonathon responded, shaking his head. "I wish he didn't."
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