Chapter 15
Home Visit
Meanwhile, the night before on 69 Yodelina Valley Lane...
The Professor had secretly parked his car in a place where it would not be immediately detected upon entry of this particular house at this address. Ms. Bellum stepped out of her own vehicle first, swiveling her head in each direction to check for secret stragglers before motioning for the Professor to follow, signifying that everything was safe.
The two of them traveled up the twisted brick path to rather sharp and angular designed house, almost in the vein of Frank Lloyd Wright, both of them being cloaked under the shadows of the night. They were both grateful for that. This would've been a lot harder to pull off in the middle of the day.
The Professor took a look at the mailbox just at the bottom of their path with Sarah Bellum's name written on it as well as an address.
"Is that a mailbox?" The man whispered.
"Yes." Ms. Bellum confirmed. "It also serves as an intercom speaker. That way I can confirm who's coming up on my property before I answer the door." That would prove tantamount in their bid to keep the Professor's stay here inconspicuous.
Once again, when the secretary put her keys into the door of her current residence, she made sure she was the first to step inside, bathing herself in darkness before allowing herself to switch on the light, again looking all around for anything amiss before she let the scientist pass with her.
So far, so good. He came in behind her and she shut and locked the door behind her.
"This way." Ms. Bellum whispered, making sure the coast was clear before leading the man she currently had in her charge through the living room. They had made sure they weren't being followed on the way here too and so far, everything was fine.
"This is so wrong. I feel like a man on the run," The Professor lamented, hating how they had to be so secretive over this whole entire mess.
Ms. Bellum let out a dry chuckle, commenting that, "Technically you are. At least until this whole thing winds down." The police wouldn't really be their problem though - at least not right now. It was mainly the public and their overreaction to the sensationalist news regarding his children that the two adults had to worry about.
"Hopefully no one tries to trash my home while I'm not there out of some misguided sense of retribution..." The Professor worried, frowning deeply as he imagined such a devastating scenario occurring from an angry public.
There were all kinds of things he imagined - slashed tires, public harassment, written threats over his property, rocks thrown through his windows. It was all just so depressing to envision.
"They wouldn't dare do such a thing while the cops are around on the scene." Ms. Bellum reminded him. "You said they've got a search warrant to perform a consent search on your house, right? That means that there will be crime scene tape and officers there to make sure nothing is tampered with while they hold their investigation."
"But that's only temporary." The Professor sighed. "What happens when they leave? That's when the true hell will begin..."
Ms. Bellum let out a sigh herself and grasped the tired man's shoulder with sympathy. "Try not to worry too much about that right now, Professor. If it really does come to that, just remember that things can be replaced. People can't."
The Professor gave her a wan smile. It was sweet of her to subtly communicate her care for him and he still couldn't be any more grateful that she was going out of her way to do this for him. She really didn't have to and it wasn't only his own safety on the line here with this stunt but hers as well. A risk she surely must've considered before coming to her decision while being no less hesitant to make it in spite of that.
"God, I wonder how my girls are. If things are bad for me, I can't even imagine how they're holding up right about now." The Girls were always a priority in his mind, no matter where he was or what he was currently doing.
They too had to sleep in a bed without their father. They had to wake up in a setting full of strangers and unfamiliar machines. And they had to interact with people and staff that they barely knew outside of providing medical care to her sister and other patients.
"I'm sure the hospital staff are taking good care of them." Ms. Bellum assured him. "Child Protective Services too. So far they've been treating you fairly, right? No browbeating, hidden agendas, or threats?"
Unfortunately Ms. Bellum knew all about the other side of that coin when it came to Townsville's Department of Children and Family Services. There were some wonderful people in that agency that truly cared about their clients and the children, and there were others who were only in the game for their own personal gain. Those who were bitter, malicious, incompetent, or apathetic.
"Child Protective Services has been wonderful." The Professor said honestly. "I've been treated with respect, dignity, and humanity throughout this entire investigation. It's not them I'm actually having a problem with; it's everybody else!"
And that was so ironic, wasn't it?
"They didn't have to let me have so much contact with the girls with such a serious allegation of... that kind of abuse," He still had trouble saying it. The 'sexual' part of the abuse. "But I was always innocent until proven guilty in their eyes. It's just a shame nobody else sees it that way..."
"To be fair, they don't have the full story." Ms. Bellum conceded. "They only have bits and pieces of whatever the newscast has given them and they're only sharing the parts that will give them the most viewings."
"What exactly did that news reports say anyway? I don't even remember being on any cameras!"
Ms. Bellum let out a slightly aggravated sound. "Well, they're not exactly lying but they're not exactly telling the whole truth either. They did say that you're maintaining your innocence about how you say the incident happened, but they put a lot of emphasis on the severity of Bubbles's injuries as well as the involvement of CPS and how the Girls are now in protective custody."
The Professor chortled humorlessly at this and put on a brief, joyless smirk as he plopped himself down heavily onto Sarah Bellum's green couch, burying his face into his hands. The woman joined him soon after, seating herself down beside him as he expressed his anguish.
"So they really are painting things like I'm a criminal, aren't they?"
Not only did that make it seem like he really did assault Bubbles in such a horrific way, but also that he had done it quite brutally too. To the point of her needing an operation... the Professor briefly felt like losing his lunch again.
"If I may ask this question, what kind of operation did Bubbles truly need?"
"Just a few stitches." The Professor said. "Stitches that the doctor said would quickly dissolve in a few days once she was completely healed up."
Ms. Bellum shook her head at this, hating how the news report made it seem like it was a lot more than that. "Going by the news, you'd have thought she had a traumatic fistula!"
"And that is...?"
"Oh!" Ms. Bellum remembered that not all people had the same frame of reference when it came to medical terminology. "Basically, it's a more severe and subsequently rare kind of genital injury that's definitely more associated with sexual abuse in a child. Without getting too graphic, it's essentially what happens when there's a hole torn between a woman's vagina and her bladder or rectum or both, and it results in the leaking of urine or feces. Oftentimes the child requires a colostomy bag after the operation."
Was everyone trying to make him feel ill today? The Professor made a face full of pain. "Jesus Christ..."
Ms. Bellum winced. Perhaps she hadn't been quite discrete enough in her description to spare the Professor from envisioning such an awful thing.
"You know ironically enough, most sexual abuse cases in children don't actually present with any visible genital or anal injuries at all. Most findings in an exam come out normal, even if there's a testimony beforehand of abuse. That's usually for several reasons: an often delayed disclosure by the child, giving the injuries time to heal in the days or even weeks that followed the initial assault, the fact that the form of sexual contact committed may not have done any observable damage to the tissues, and the fact that injuries may resolve quickly and completely within mere days since that part of the body has a remarkable ability to heal."
"Just like how straddle injuries are rarely severe enough to require surgical management, the same is true for sexual assault injuries as well."
"Wow..."
Her knowledge was impressive, but it had the Professor wondering how she was so up-to-date with things like this in the first place. "Ms. Bellum, how exactly do you know all this? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Well..." The woman softly admitted. "I used to be a worker in that same department."
"Really?"
"Yes. I was a social worker, and let me tell you Professor, if you think being an assistant to the Mayor is hard, it's practically a cakewalk compared to being a social worker in the Townsville Department of Children and Family Services. The burnout and turnover rate over there is insane. I was considered tough for sticking it out for five years.
But yes, I was there, reviewing alleged cases, investigating and interviewing, collecting evidence, and setting up helping plans for the families in question. Sometimes I would sit with some of those children in the hospital and I would see... injuries like that, among other things."
Things she really wasn't always comfortable talking about to random strangers or even close friends when it came to the things that she would see. Some of that still managed to keep her up at night, even all these years later.
"Wow... I'm not exactly sure what to say except, thank you for your service, Ms. Bellum."
The woman chuckled. "You say that like I've been to war."
"As far as I'm concerned, you have. It couldn't have been anything less than a battlefield out there at times."
"Well, I suppose you're not wrong about that. And I don't actually regret any of it in the long-run. I just felt that my duties were best suited elsewhere in the long-run. That elsewhere turned out to be within the walls of the City Hall and so, here we are."
"Anyway, I actually think you're in pretty good shape, Professor. You presented your daughter to the emergency department right away without any form of delay, and you were cooperative with all of the officials when they did raise an alarm of possible suspicion of abuse. If you had been deflective, combative, or antagonistic in any way, they could've used that against you as the investigation went on."
The Professor nodded. "I was definitely panicked when they first showed up, but I knew I had to keep a sense of composure if I was going to get through this with as little incident as possible. I knew if I got hysterical or overly defensive that might've just made things even worse on myself and my kids."
"The only thing that I did object to at first was the forensic exam and that was for... obvious reasons."
"Because it was a rape kit?" Sarah Bellum asked gently, knowingly.
"Yes." The man whispered, holding his hands down in his lap. "But when they said that it would be gentle and that they would support Bubbles the whole way through, I eventually agreed to it. As long as my daughter would be made as comfortable as possible."
"Usually those types of exams aren't meant to be invasive, especially for smaller children who haven't quite hit puberty. There's no speculum involved and there's nothing directly inserted into the body. If there was any exception to this, the child would usually be sedated beforehand."
The Professor nodded his head again, remembering similar words of reassurance back at the hospital. "They said that the swabs would be done externally too. I had a cheek swab done on the inside of my own mouth for a DNA test as well. Just in case anything matched while they were examining Bubbles."
"My mother..." He bowed his head with this confession. "Wasn't quite so good at keeping it together. She nearly fell apart right in front of me when CPS first knocked on our door. I'll never forget it. Even 30 years later, I won't forget that fateful day."
"So you had to deal with them too?"
"Yes. When I was just a little boy. It was over some bruises over my back, but they were my own fault. I was making the weirdest noises in the bottom of a bathtub with my back and shoulders and it so amusing that I just kept doing it until my mother yelled at me to stop. The next morning I had the marks and the rest was history..."
Wait, all of this sounded awfully familiar to Ms. Bellum. Wasn't the Professor around ten when he entered his 5th grade science classroom and Ms. Bellum had been around to see him get his shirt lifted up from the back? And then she had said...
I bet he got them being a complete idiot.
Ms. Bellum put on a wry little smile. "Wait, I remember that day now. It looks like you really did get those bruises being a complete idiot."
Her teasing was light and the man smiled at her mockery. "Yeah, I guess I did. I still feel so guilty for what I inadvertently put my parents through with my own foolishness. I feel like if I was just a better kid, I wouldn't have given my parents so much heartache and grief."
"Nonsense John," The red-haired woman consoled. "A child isn't responsible for the actions of an entire agency. You were just a little boy at the time and all little boys have their moments of silliness. It's all a part of growing up. Goodness knows I could be quite the sassy little brat in my childhood days as well."
"Heck, you still are." Professor Utonium teased back, earning him a light punch to his arm.
"Watch it Mr. 'Professor' or I might just reconsider my offer and leave you for the wolves!"
"You'd never do that though."
He knew her like the back of his hand. "No, I won't. But I do want to help you out with other things. Are you hungry at all? I could cut some cheese for a late night snack."
This was a nice offer but he unfortunately had to decline. "No thanks, Sarah. I'm rather too full of... other things to really be thinking about food. I think above anything else I'm just tired."
"Then you better get into one of the guest beds upstairs on the second floor." She pointed to the spiral staircase that led to the second floor of the house. "I've actually got some spare robes that can fit both a man and a woman and there should be some toiletries for you to use in the morning too."
It was safer for him to be upstairs rather than downstairs anyway for obvious reasons, especially with so many large, open windows in her house for others to see through. The man smiled at her gratefully for probably the umpteenth time, wondering if she really was an angel sent down from heaven to protect him.
"You really are something special, aren't you?"
The woman shrugged modestly. "I do my best."
...
The one thing that kept the man up at night even in his comfortable fold-out bed though was what those cops could possibly uncover besides a bloody blue beanbag and an equally soiled carpet from Bubbles's accident. Would he comment on the Girls' shared bedroom and all the sleeping arrangements held within it? Would his kitchen be a tidy place for them to explore, or would they find trash bags lying around, dirty dishes, or rotting food? What about his downstairs lab? Would that be considered a safety hazard for his children because of all the volatile chemicals held inside it which the Girls could easily have access to if they wanted?
Would his home be considered a safe and stable place to raise children or would it be deemed unfit, giving the caseworkers even more reason to believe that the Girls should remain in their custody? God if that happened, the Professor wouldn't know what he would do. But again, this was just him allowing paranoid thoughts to run through his head with nothing else to distract him.
He certainly remembered when that social worker and officer had come in to do a home visit, the same day as when they got the referral...
"Okay. Please come inside. We'll cooperate with the investigation." His mother had said, right before inviting these two official-looking strangers into her home.
"My name's Rita by the way," the blonde officer with the brown, chocolate eyes said, introducing herself. She gestured with her head to the man right in front of her, older looking but just as smartly-dressed and professional. "This here is my partner, Mustang."
The ten-year-old boy almost found himself standing up a little straighter in their presence. He couldn't help it. They simply carried that kind of energy. Authority oozing out of their every pore.
"We've got a warrant too if you want to look at it." The officer continued, producing the paperwork in front of his mother now, mostly for her benefit since Utonium didn't even know what a 'warrant' was even supposed to be. Nonetheless, Rita showed the spot where the judge had signed off on it.
For whatever reason, this seemed to give his mother some peace of mind and she nodded her head at the signed document with a noticeable sense of relief. That didn't erase all of her tension but it did erase some of it.
She had actually forgotten to ask for it - simply inviting them in out of good faith when they said that they wouldn't take her son without good probable cause and that this really was only an investigation into the possibility of abuse due to a referral.
The man who had been introduced as Roy looked down at the tiny boy and his eyes softened at him. "Hey buddy."
"Um..." John Utonium didn't know how to respond to that. He didn't know this man and this man didn't really know him, so it was weird having a stranger act so 'friendly' with him.
"Were you playing before just now?"
"Um, kind of." John replied, avoiding eye contact with agent and looking down at the carpet, playing with his fingers in a nervous manner. Was this the kind of awkward small talk they would be making throughout this entire visit?
His mother had great sympathy for him and put her hands on her son's shoulders, telling the CPS agents, "With all due respect, can we just stick to the investigation? I'm not sure my son is really in the mood for making small talk with strangers."
"Okay, we can definitely do that then." Roy replied, taking it all in stride. "Why don't we start by having your son remove his shirt so that we can take a look at those bruises over his back?"
This certainly wasn't a comfortable request - an adult asking a child to take off their shirt in front of them, but at least his mother was around to watch it happen, making sure it was nothing improper.
"It's okay, John. Just go ahead and do what he says."
He did so reluctantly, and only at the behest of his mother, otherwise feeling greatly uncomfortable about undressing in front of strangers. It was different with the nurse. At least with a nurse, he knew it was for health reasons.
The boy obediently took off his school shirt and the two agents took turns taking pictures of the bruises and writing down notes on a clipboard, same as the nurse at his school was doing before - minus the photos. Who exactly were those photos going to? Little Utonium wondered.
He was allowed to put his shirt back on after they were through and he crossed his arms defensively after they did so, feeling awfully exposed after being doing something so... revealing. His mother continued to comfort him as he stood there feeling uneasy, squeezing his shoulders in a reassuring manner.
"Alright, do you think it would be okay if we went on to take a look at the state of your house?"
"Sure." His mother granted, sure that they wouldn't find anything too unacceptable. She had been at home all day maintaining a clean and suitable environment for her family so she didn't really worry about an inspection of her living quarters.
"Do you think it would be okay if we took pictures of the environment too?"
"Yes." She consented as well. She had nothing to hide after all.
Little Utonium watched them walk into the kitchen, looking inside their cabinets and pantries, and rummaging through the freezer and refrigerator, commenting on the abundance of food and he wondered if this was truly okay for them to do. He had never seen a group of strangers be so intrusive into somebody else's home.
"Mom, can they really do that?"
"Yes, dear. They're just making sure we have a stable and tidy home."
"Well, of course we do!" The boy stated, not really being able to imagine a scenario where that would not be the case. "Well except maybe... the spots where I didn't quite pick up my toys."
"That's fine, John." His mother reassured him. "Those things don't matter, okay?"
Even though she was reassuring him, the strain in her voice was audible even to him, and she was still hugging him like she was afraid of losing him at any moment.
"You have a good amount of food here," Rita commented positively. "And a nice selection of it too. Meats, fruits, vegetables, and eggs."
"Don't forget bread." His mother said helpfully, smiling encouragingly at the worker. "Whenever we don't have anything else, we usually settle for bread."
The kitchen wasn't the only room they walked into either. They also came into John's bedroom, expressing their approval over his sleeping arrangements as well. They had the same glowing praise for all the clean and folded clothes he had fresh out of the laundry room and they liked how there was a safety gate around the swimming pool out back.
"Does your son John know how to swim?"
"Yes he does." His mother told them. "I taught him when he was very little so he wouldn't have to worry about drowning in some freak accident. The water isn't deep enough for him to drown either."
They asked lots of other personal questions about their household too, things that John found rather intrusive for people who hadn't spent a day before now living under their roof or even exchanging phone numbers. They asked about pets, about firearms, about chemicals, drugs, alcohol, fire hazards, electrical hazards, safety hazards, and preventive measures. All to find out whether the boy was living in what they deemed a "safe" house.
Well, it seemed plenty safe to John! He wasn't exactly living in a world covered by bubble wrap but his home wasn't full of death traps either. It wasn't like if he stepped on the wrong thing, he would end up with one of his toes caught in a mouse trap!
Whatever this inspection happened to be, his mom seemed to pass it with flying colors, Rita saying in finality that, "You have a very lovely home."
"Thank you."
She had been checking off quite a lot of boxes that Utonium wasn't quite tall enough or nosy enough to see for himself. He didn't know that there could be so many things to look for in a house. Just four walls with some brick on the outside and a fence keeping it all in.
The woman looked down at a still apprehensive John and said, "Now, do you think you can step outside on your porch for a moment while we have a little talk with your son?"
She requested this nicely, but John gulped with dread. He had no idea what was in store for him as soon as his mother left the premises. Were these people here to finally take him to jail after he had acted so silly so many times? Had he committed some kind of crime he didn't even know about? How would he even survive in a place like juvie? The bigger kids might try to beat him up while he was in his cell with one of them, or steal his shoes and lunch money!
"I... yes, I think that's fine." Even his mother hesitated, but she ultimately thought it was best to leave him here with these people so maybe it really was okay? "John, just tell them the truth, alright? Please no games, John."
She was practically pleading for him not to be silly but she didn't have to worry about that. The boy was far too nervous to get up to any of his usual funny shenanigans. This was no laughing matter at all.
"Um, okay mom..." The boy answered weakly, really not wanting her to go.
"I love you, John." She said just before leaving, giving him a look that almost appeared tearful. It took a lot for his mother to cry. She was one of the strongest people he ever knew, even stronger than his dad at times, at least mentally.
"I love you too, mom." He said back, truly meaning his words. The last thing he wanted was for anything bad to happen to her...
You could pretty much hear a pin drop once the three parties, including a very young and frightened child were left alone to their own devices without the accompaniment of a familiar adult.
"You wanna sit on this couch over here, buddy?" Roy requested.
"Um, okay." Utonium replied uncertainly before doing as the male CPS agent said and seating himself on the living room couch, letting his legs dangle off of the furniture a bit.
"How are you doing today?"
"Good I guess." The boy answered. A lot better before you guys showed up, was something he thought silently in his own head. But he knew better than to say this out loud.
"Am I in trouble?" The boy asked nervously, an audible quiver in his voice.
"No buddy, you're not in trouble."
"Is my mom in trouble?" He asked with even more of a tremor.
"No, your mom's not in trouble either. Nobody's in trouble. We just want to have a little talk with you about how you feel when you're at home with her, okay?"
"Okay..."
"So John, what do you know about keeping safe?"
"Keeping safe?"
"Yes. What do you think it means to be 'safe'?"
"It means... to be where nobody can hurt me?"
"Yes, that's right. Where you're not exposed to danger or risks. Where you're not likely to get hurt or lost. That's what safety mainly means."
"How safe would you say you feel with your mother?" Rita asked.
"Very safe!" Utonium answered. "She's always teaching me how to be safe. Like how I have to wait before crossing the street and look for oncoming cars and also how I'm never supposed to accept anything from strangers, especially candy, and I'm not supposed to talk to any of them either. Oh and also... never let anybody touch me between my legs, because it's naughty. I'm not supposed to touch girls between their legs either... or pull up any of their skirts. Mom would give me a right smack if I ever did that!"
And that was the truth. She was meaner than a junkyard dog when it came to that kind of stuff, but if that was what it took to keep her son alive and out of trouble, so be it as far as she was concerned.
"That's all good, John. That all sounds very thoughtful of her."
"Oh yeah," The boy said, now getting a little more comfortable as he was allowed to talk positively of his mother and bringing up another example. "She put me over her knee and spanked me until my bottom was red raw after I messed around with some dangerous chemicals and nearly blew up the science lab in school! I felt like I couldn't sit without bringing a pillow with me for a week. She said she did that because I could've been hurt or killed doing something like that and that she would die of the heartbreak if that ever happened to me."
"Did she?" The workers sounded understanding of this. "Well that sounds very good too. Are you happy with your mother?"
"Yeah, I'm happy with her. I'm plenty happy with her!" Was there ever a reason for him to be unhappy? "My mom and I have lots of fun..." He wasn't lying. She tended to spoil him when he wasn't being disobedient or causing trouble at school.
"She takes me to church and the grocery store, and sometimes even to drive-in movies to watch my favorite picture shows. We go to the park too sometimes. She used to give me piggyback rides until I got a lot older."
"That's good. Is your mother nice to you?"
"Yeah, she is! She's nice when I'm not being bad... and I'm not bad a lot of the time so she's plenty nice!"
"Do you know how she tends to discipline you when you're being bad?"
"She spanks me." Utonium answered honestly, still not finding this a huge deal.
Every kid he knew on his block got spanked for one thing or another. Teachers could spank students, neighbors could spank other people's kids if they thought they were cutting up, and parents certainly weren't shy about spanking their own kids at home either. Utonium was actually lucky that his parents were always soft enough to never hit him with leather. In a traditional household, that job would've gone to his father, but he just never had the heart to do it or even to use his hand to punish his son. Oftentimes he simply made him do chores or exercises to make up for it, like mowing the lawn or 50 sit-ups.
"She spanks you? How does she usually spanks you, bud? Can you show us?"
"Well she..." The boy raised his hand in the air. "She usually puts me face down over her lap and then she takes her hand and swats me on my bottom a few times."
"How does it feel when she spanks you?"
He shrugged. "It hurts, but it's usually not too bad. I'm usually just sore and... and I have trouble sitting for a while." Was that okay? Was that not okay? The boy honestly didn't even know anymore.
"It's sore? Okay. John, do you know what a bruise is?"
"Yes."
"When you fall down on a bike, and you might get a little mark on your skin?"
"Yes sir."
"When your mother spanks you, does she ever leave marks like that anywhere on your body?"
"No sir."
She NEVER spanked him THAT hard. Hell, she had been ready to gut his teacher just a few hours earlier when she thought that his educator had been the one to inflict those bruises on his back.
"Does she ever leave any marks like that on your bottom?"
"No sir." Not that he would really be able to see them if she did but he highly doubted it even without him ever being able to take a proper look.
"And other than her hand, has your mother ever used any other kind of object to try to spank you? Something like a belt or a shoe or anything else?"
"No."
"Would you say that your mother spanks you a lot or only a few times?"
"She only spanks me when I need it." Utonium supplied as an answer. He honestly didn't know what was too many spankings or too little. This whole thing was just so confusing to him.
"Alright, that all sounds like good information. Now why don't we talk a little bit about those bruises you have on you today. Can you tell me where those came from?"
"Um... I was making rude noises in the bathtub..." The boy admitted shamefully with a blush.
"What do you mean by that, buddy?"
"I mean... I was kinda..." It was hard for him to explain so he made a rather forward request. "Um, can I go ahead and show you?"
"Sure! How do you wanna show me?"
His eyes darted to the lavatory. "Can I go into the bathroom?"
"Okay."
To Be Continued...