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Chapter 36: Conlict and Ethics
Bobby stood outside the door of the conference room, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of the wood frame, eyes fixed steadily on the handle, listening for any sound of distress emanating from behind the door. He hadn't been sure he could actually walk out of the room, leaving Craig sitting there looking so damn lost, but he'd managed to. Bradford had said they needed to get Craig ready for being separated from his brothers to talk about the whole nightmare he'd been forced to live through, using a fancy word to get his point across, but the meaning was the same.
In reality, Craig wasn't the only one who needed 'acclimated' to the whole fucking idea of being taken to a room without Bobby next to him, to answer questions that were going to dredge up the already festering mixture of anger, pain and fear. This little practice run of Roberts was testing Bobby's ability to allow his little brother to go through this shit, testing it hard. He wanted nothing more than to open the door, walk into the room, grab a hold of Craig and promise him he would put an end to the shit now and he wasn't going to force him to do this.
Jerry was standing with his back to the wall right next to the door, next to him, staring at him as if he were ready to stop him from opening the door if he reached for the chrome handle. He looked as worried as Bobby felt. The man strained his ears to hear anything at all from inside the room. He couldn't hear a sound, and that worried him more than if he would have heard Craig's crying. The silence weighing down the air around him seemed to press against the rest of his senses, tingling right down to his fingers. His ears were ringing, and that didn't help.
He finally forced his body to move, to turn and look at Angel and Jack, who had taken seats on the top of the receptionist desk that was positioned about ten feet to his right. They both wore the same face of concern that he'd seen on Jerry and was sure was etched into his own features. This was, by all rights, the first time Craig had been separated from all of them at once since he'd been rescued from that burned out house and his frozen fate at the pond.
This was the first time he was going to be talking about what had happened to him with any one besides them, and he hadn't reacted well when it had been his brothers listening and dragging him against his will through all of that shit, having to relive it. He'd come through it in the end, but only because they knew how to help him, what was this going to do to him? How was he going to be after Robert, and the District Attorney's office was through with him? Would he be able to recover from this or would he be so far lost in it that he would never be able to get past it?
Bobby had battled with the pros and cons of getting Craig professional help, and now he was kicking himself hard for not giving in and getting him in to see someone who was more qualified to see him through this battle against the torture Adam Macks had inflicted on him. He felt his pulse quicken as his mind wondered about the decisions he'd made in the past few weeks, and more directly in the past few days. If he'd gotten him into a psychologist, maybe they could have gotten him out of this bullshit by submitting a statement saying that due to the psychological trauma inflicted on him he was not capable of talking to them yet. Maybe they would have allowed that doctor to speak for him, maybe….
"Hey, you need to sit down, and calm down. He's gonna need you to have some sense about you when he comes out of that room." Jerry spoke quietly from next to him, looking at him, knowingly. "He's gonna be fine Bobby, you know that, but you need to be ready to help him be fine. He needs you now more than ever." Jerry pointed to a chair closer to the desk where Jack and Angel were seated.
Angel was holding a picture frame in his hand, looking at a photograph that had been resting on the desk. "You know, he ain't screamed out, or yelled for you yet, so maybe this ain't gonna be so bad." He put the picture down and directed his attention to Bobby. "Don't fret over milk that ain't been spilt yet." He shook his head.
Jack nodded his head. "Maybe Bradford's idea is a good one. I mean, he knows him, and if he can say it to him here, then maybe he'll be able to look at him, and concentrate on only him, when they are asking him the same questions later." He kept his voice quiet, but there was a quiver in the words, faltering slightly, as if he didn't really believe what he was saying, but was trying to be supportive, and positive in some way.
Bobby nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come. He turned back to the door and stared again, ignoring the chair that Jerry had pointed out to him. Ignoring the words his brothers were trying to offer. He wanted to be in that room with the kid, wanted to hold his hand, or put his arm around him and let him know that he wasn't going to abandon him to the badgering of complete strangers. But he didn't have a choice, here, and he knew that. He wasn't going to get what he wanted.
He had no control over what was going to happen, and it was eating him up inside. He hated not having the control. He hated not knowing what was going to happen next because he couldn't plan it out, or make it what he wanted. He'd spent his younger years with no control over his life, and it had filled him with anger. He had been passed from one foster home to another, left to his own resources, to survive on his own most of the time. He had never felt loved, or as if he were a part of a real family until Evelyn Mercer found him, and understood him, and dealt with him only as a true mother could.
That had been the turning point in his life. Evelyn had taught him he could be in control and have some say in how he lived, even if she was his mother, and had the final say in most of his decisions when he was younger. She had taught him to make the right decisions, well, most of the time anyway. Hell, she had made sure he knew right from wrong, and once he was at an age where he had to make those choices himself he knew when he made the wrong choices, and he knew when he went to jail that even though his mother was disappointed she still loved him. She would sigh and tell him she hoped he would keep in mind the bad choices, so as not to repeat them. The whole point was they were his choices, and he had the freedom to fuck them up. Before Evelyn, he hadn't known there were choices that he could make; they had always been made for him with little regard to his well being. That had only pissed him off and drove him to make the bad choices when he was younger. The bad choices being stealing, and lying, and fighting everyone who came near him.
He understood how Craig was feeling, no control, and no say in what was happening to him. At least with Bobby calling the shots he could make sure the kid wasn't being hurt, or he should be able to, under normal circumstances. It wasn't working out the way it was supposed to and it was pissing him off the more he thought about it. He was sure that he could hear his mother's voice somewhere in the corridors of the building they were standing in, "Temper temper."
Bobby looked around him, down the dimly lit halls, looking for the woman that had changed his life, his brother's lives. He knew if she was there that somehow none of this would feel as damn awful as it did. As Craig had said earlier, she seemed to be able to make things okay by saying the simplest of words. Of course he knew that as simple as the words always sounded, they seemed so deep, and held so much more meaning than when you heard them. It wasn't until you thought about them with true desire to understand them that their real meaning seemed to hit you.
"What's taking so long? I mean, how many questions can he have?" Jack asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the door.
"He was going to go through the questions with Craig a couple of times, wanting to get him used to saying the words, and talking about it with him." Jerry looked over at Jack.
"But it's been forever." Jack muttered.
"It ain't been forever; it's only been about twenty minutes." Jerry managed a small smile. "It's pretty quiet in there, that's a good sign, right? No mental meltdown, no hysterical screaming, and that's what we were all ready to face, right?" He diverted his attention to Bobby. "I think he's handling it better than we are at this very minute." He commented.
Bobby looked at Jerry, and thought about his words. He was right. They had been in the hall for a little while now, and there had been no desperate cries from the other side of the door. No little brother crying out for him or for his protection. "Yeah, right," He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of his little brother being able to deal with the questions Bradford was asking him. He wanted Craig to be able to get through the whole thing, but he had come to notice the pattern. The kid would wall up the emotions and hide them. He might be talking, he might be giving the man every detail of the time he'd been held by Adam Macks; and the assault from Jordan, but he was hiding the emotions of it all, locking them inside, deep, somewhere safe, where they couldn't reach him. He knew if Craig was doing that then he was taking a giant step backwards, and that's what he feared most out of all of this.
The door in front of Bobby opened and Robert startled slightly as he found himself staring into Bobby's eyes. "Well, I suppose I should have guessed that you would be very close by." He remarked with a nervous smile. "You didn't trust me?" He asked the question carefully.
Bobby was as surprised to have the door in front of him open so abruptly, and even more surprised by blunt question posed to him. "Well, no, it was that I didn't trust you, I just didn't…." He was at a loss for what to say.
"It's okay Bobby. He did very well in fact." Robert glanced back to Craig who was still sitting in his chair with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. "He's a little shaken I believe. You can have a few minutes with him before we leave." He stepped away from the door, clearing the path for Bobby.
Bobby stared at the teen for a moment. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and his eyes looked swollen. Maybe he wasn't holding back the feelings all of this was bringing to the surface. Maybe he wouldn't wall them all up and hide from them until this was over. There seemed to be some hope that he wouldn't hold it all in only to blow up uncontrollably once his ordeal was over.
Craig was staring towards the window, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Robert had left the table. He allowed his right hand to pull away from his stomach long enough to wipe at the tears tracing his cheeks. He sniffed loudly and Bobby couldn't keep himself from moving towards him quickly. "Hey, kid, Mr. Bradford said you did real good." He spoke as he stepped across the floor, closing the gap between him and the teenager.
"It hurts." Craig didn't look up as Bobby reached him.
Bobby was surprised by the statement, but understood it. He grabbed Craig's arms and pulled him from the chair. He allowed his instincts to take over and he pulled Craig to him, wrapping his arms tight around him. "I know it does, and I'm sorry you gotta feel it." He spoke quietly, welcoming the boy's need to hang onto him. He felt Craig's arms entwine around his neck and he gave him a gentle squeeze. "It's half over, right?" He was trying to sound positive, though the words sounded foolish as they escaped him. "I love you Craig, and once you get through this, you won't have to worry about it anymore, I promise."
He was surprised that Craig didn't respond to the words. The boy felt almost limp in his arms, though he was holding onto him, and sobbing. It was as if the strength had been drained out of him, and that thought worried the man. He had felt the strength in his brother before, a strength deep down that Craig wasn't even aware of, but now it seemed as if he had used it up and was about to tap the reserve completely. "You remember one thing Craig, no matter what happens, I'm only a yell away. You can yell for me, and I'll bust down any door separating us. You got that?"
Craig nodded his head, but the effort in it felt weak to Bobby. The kid was giving up something inside in order to survive this, and the man wasn't sure what it was. He could feel it, but he couldn't identify it, and it scared him more than anything else had up to that point. "You're my kid. You're mine, and I'll be damned if anyone is going hurt you. You remember that too." He spoke quickly before Jerry, Angel and Jack made it to their side.
"You ready to head out?" Jerry rested a hand on Craig's back.
Craig didn't respond, but Bobby looked at Jerry and shook his head slowly. "Let's give him just a few minutes Jerr'." He looked back down at the top of Craig's head. "We got time to give him." He spoke quietly, feeling a little better now that he was able to hold his brother, and feel as if he'd regained a small amount of control over what was going on around the kid.
"Yes, there is time." Robert stepped up to the table and started gathering the papers spread out there into neat stacks. He reached under the table for a brief case and started sliding the documents into them. "I am going to take these with me, and perhaps they can allow them to be admissible, I don't know." He held up newly drawn images of shadows with large teeth and claws looming on the page, and the graphic illustrations were quite clearly Craig's work, illustrating the harm that Jordan had inflicted on him while in that cold basement.
There really hadn't been that much time that had passed between the horrible nightmare that all of them had shared and lived through, and where they were now. At the same time it seemed as if it had been a lifetime ago that Bobby had been making the wild dive down the dock, reaching for the boy's arms to catch him before he fell completely into the freezing water below. Even Christmas felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. It seemed so much happened and changed in that short time.
Bobby wondered how anything could ever feel close to normal again, and as he thought about this, he questioned the effects it was having on Craig, deep inside, where the boy seemed to be able to hide everything. If it all seemed so life changing to a full grown man, one who mostly had his head on straight, then how must a fourteen year old view it all, and how could he deal with it? It was if he was able to see that for the first time since all the shit had started breaking loose under their feet a month earlier, when their mother died. He had been thinking that he could get Craig though anything thrown at them, but now he wasn't so sure. He hated that feeling, and didn't want to deal with it at that moment. Hell, he didn't have time to ponder it all right then. He would have to wait, and let his mind return to this new reality later, once the business at hand was in the past.
Robert finished filling the case and fastened it closed carefully. "I need to pick some more papers up from my office. I will be back shortly. I think we should probably be leaving then." He looked at Bobby questioningly, apparently waiting for a response.
"Yeah, we should be ready then." Bobby nodded his head.
Robert Bradford carried his case with him as he left the brothers alone in the room.
"Hey, you ready to stop crying yet?" Bobby looked down at Craig, who was still sniffling.
Craig didn't respond to the question, but he let his hold on his brother loosen and pulled back enough that Bobby could let his left arm down. He gently cupped the boy's chin with his left hand to lift his face upward so that he could see it. He wasn't expecting the absolute devastation written there, in the young eyes. "You're okay?" He asked quietly, not sure he would believe the boy if he said yes.
Craig just sniffed again and tried to turn his face away from him, as if he didn't want his brother to look at him.
"Hey, you can talk to us, remember. You can tell us how bad it hurts, and we'll do what we can to help." Bobby glanced up at Jerry who was pulling a small pack of tissues out of his coat pocket. God only knew how Jerry had even thought to carry tissues in his pocket, hell that was just wrong. But he reached for the pack that Jerry was offering. "We'll have to put you up for mother of the year award Jerr'." He tried to joke.
"Yeah, you laugh, but when you have little ones, you learn to be prepared." Jerry laughed along with him and let him take the tissues.
Bobby managed to pull a few of the thin sheets from the pack and wiped at Craig's cheeks for a moment before giving them to him to finish the task himself. He knew, no matter what he said to the boy, that the worst of it was about to come. Yeah, he'd managed to get through talking to Bradford, but he knew this man, and it wasn't as if it felt as intrusive as it was going to feel when he was being questioned by total strangers who were digging for the truth. They might just dig a little deeper than he was comfortable with. Bobby prayed hard at that moment that someone from above would be watching over him when they got to the courthouse and they were again separated. It was going to be more official there, and more intimidating. Bobby just hoped someone in that room with Craig would have the sense God gave them not to push the kid past a point of no return.
Timothy Dearth walked slowly to his car. His boss had dropped him off with the intentions of going home to shower, grab a quick nap, and then coming right back in within a few hours. He wanted the story ready for print for the evening edition. He was happy with what they had gotten out of Jones. The kid's name, his father's name, and the recent history of what had happened with his adoptive family; it was all there, on the tape recorder. Hell, he remembered the story about Evelyn Mercer, and how her death had eventually tied into gangster activity connected to her son's business dealings just a few short weeks ago, but it hadn't been big news, nothing really new. Victor Sweet's death had made better news than the death of an old woman. Now though, the whole story seemed to take on new meaning, after what Jones had emptied out onto the recorder.
Dearth reached his car and unlocked the door easily before climbing inside. Hell, he felt wrong. He felt so damn wrong inside. He looked up at the ceiling of his car and sighed. "God, help me figure out what to do with this." He spoke quietly. "I can't print this; I can't put this out there for the world to see, not without hurting people." He closed his eyes and lowered his head, thinking about the ethics of his job that he'd learned in his college days. He knew he needed to confirm the facts of this story with other sources, though his boss seemed to feel that what they had was plenty. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the recorder. He hit the play button and listened to Jones' calm, precise words. He needed to confirm them. He needed to question police, and make contact with the Mercer family, no matter what his editor said. He needed to be certain that he wrote this story the right way. If what Jones had told them was true, there was a human interest story here. There was more to it than a man kidnapping and raping a kid from his school, there was so much more to it, and Dearth wanted to know what it was.
His job was on the line; his family's own well being was on the line. He started the engine of the car and put it in gear to back out of his parking space. He needed to talk to his wife, that's what he needed to do. She was his rock, his anchor. She would help him see the right path to follow, she always did. Besides, she was sitting at home, waiting for her sardines and chocolate.