Shirley, sitting at the bedside of her eldest, sighed heavily. He still hadn't spoken two words since his breakdown earlier. "Keith, honey, talk to me," she begged him. He lay as he had done for the last 15 minutes, left arm slung across his face, his right hand clenched into a fist beside him. That it kept tightening was the only way she could tell that he was still experiencing pain, because she certainly couldn't see any other signs. He seemed to be internalising it all now - almost as though he thought he deserved to suffer, for what he had allowed Joni to do to him. She bit back a sob of anguish. Her son had been through so much, and now his first sexual experience would be forever tainted. She didn't know what this would to him psychologically. She wanted to believe that he would shrug it off, that he would simply put it down to experience and go on. But realistically she knew this was never going to happen. He hadn't been ready. Shirley knew that better than she knew anything else. The thought might have crossed his mind a few times, but he would never have acted upon it. Not yet. Perhaps not for a while. Despite all appearances to the contrary, her son was a 'good' boy, an innocent at heart who still had a lot of growing up to do - and he was sensible enough to understand that. And now his innocence had been taken from him, wrenched away without a thought, and without his permission or even real participation. She reflected once more that if Keith had one big fault it was that he could be too sensitive. He felt things very deeply. This would affect him for a long time. Joni had played a power game and she had certainly proved her power over Keith. Rape. It was all about power. She knew enough about it to recognise that. And she feared for him now as he lay there, hiding away from the world, from her, and quite likely from himself. Gently, Shirley stroked the back of his arm, letting him know that she was there; that, despite what he may think, there was no condemnation of what had happened to him. And she racked her brains trying to think of something to say which would bring him back to her.
At length, her touch and silent reassurance had the desired effect - partially at least as he slowly removed his arm from over his eyes, letting it flop listlessly back to his side. His eyes were still closed, though and his face looked pale and pinched, the dark shadows standing out starkly in the bright sunlight. Shirley bit her lip. She wasn't sure that this acceptance of her presence was a good sign of a bad one. It could mean that he had decided to let her in, to talk to her, try to sort it all out in his own mind. Or it could just be that he had resigned himself to what had occurred, therefore allowing depression to claim him and take him down its dark, uncertain path.
"I'm still here," she said, softly, stating the obvious. "I'm not going to leave you, honey and I'm not going to let you blame yourself for any of this."
"It was my fault." The fatalistic words were the first he had spoken in such a long time that the sound of his voice startled her. The words themselves made her heart sink. It took a moment for her to recover and then she stroked his hair, smoothing it out against the pillow.
"No, Keith, it's not your fault. If you're guilty of anything, then it's bad judgement where Joni's concerned. But you're not the first to show bad judgement and you certainly won't be the last. Lord knows, I've shown enough of it in the past and I'll certainly show it again in the future. But we're only human, honey. We all make mistakes about people. What you have to do is realise that and put it down to experience." He opened his eyes. She was dismayed to see the desolation in those dark hazel depths. "Keith …"
"Mom … " he began, then choked back a sob and tried again. "Mom, I … it's just … I … I can't …"
"Ssshh," she soothed him as his voice tailed away, the unspoken words of culpability and shame hanging in the air between them. "Sweetheart , what Joni did was wrong. Very wrong. All of it. She shouldn't have taken advantage of your trusting nature, but she did. There are people out there who do things like that. But that doesn't make any of this your fault and it doesn't mean you shouldn't still trust people, and despite what you might feel, you shouldn't be ashamed of anything that occurred." She smiled tremulously as she gazed at him. He looked so sad, so stricken and she wanted so desperately to make everything all right for him again. "Honey, I'm not going to tell you that this is going to go away or even that you'll forget about it. It happened. There's no getting away from that. You feel things deeply, I know, and I love you for that. It's what makes you who you are and I wouldn't have you any other way. But don't let Joni make you into a victim. Yes, it happened and you're hurt in a lot of ways and I can't make that go away, even though I want to - so much. But the more you brood about it, the more you blame yourself, the more credence you give to that woman and she doesn't deserve that. I wish you could be angry at her, sweetheart, even hate her, but you don't have it in you right now. I don't expect you to get over this in a few minutes, or even a few days - but I want you to remember what I've said. Don't let Joni make you into a victim, because you're not a victim. You're my sweet, handsome, talented, wonderful son whom I love very much. I want you to remember that."
He was still staring at her. She had no idea if what she had just said had made any kind of impact at all - or if it would do so in the near future. She recognised, although didn't want to admit, that he may need professional help to get over this - which he would see as just one more failure on his part. She wanted to scream out her frustration and anguish to the sky, but kept a tight rein on her emotions. Keith was having enough difficulty with his own - he wouldn't be able to handle hers as well. She could tell that he was still fighting back pain, too, for as she watched, his face blanched even whiter - which she hadn't thought possible - and his fists clenched in the sheet. He was biting back a moan, not wishing to upset her further, and his head tilted back as the pain surged through him. Then it was over and he was panting for breath, his breathing erratic and laboured. She put her hand on his cheek as he turned into the pillow and brushed back the stray tendrils of hair which had fallen over his face. It was all she could do. She could give him nothing to ease his physical pain and there was seemingly nothing she could say to alleviate his mental anguish either.
They stayed like that for some time, Keith accepting his mother's touch and taking some small comfort from it and Shirley just feeling relieved that at least this time he hadn't tried to push her away. Eventually, he drifted off into a restless sleep, and she remained seated beside him, gazing at him with such love in her heart that at times it threatened to overwhelm her. When he started to twist and turn, muttering under his breath, she tried to calm him. It was a nightmare - she had been expecting this to happen, although she had been hoping that it wouldn't. He tried to fight her off, but he was too weak and eventually, he subsided, to lay quiescent and shaking with reaction. Shirley didn't need three guesses as to what he had been dreaming about and cursed Joni anew for what she had done to Keith. Very uncharitably, she hoped that the girl would just disappear and never be heard from again - and that she would never be able to do this to anyone else.
*****
Reuben was sickened by what he saw in the pictures as he and Greg sorted through and counted them. By the time they had reached the end of the roll of film, his anger was threatening to flare up and erupt once more. But he had been appalled by what he had actually done to Max earlier - even though he couldn't help feeling that the guy deserved it - and so he fought hard to keep his rage under control. But it was hard. So very hard. As he went through the photographs, which portrayed Keith's ordeal in every repugnant, sordid detail, he felt like killing someone. The picture they had first discovered didn't even begin to depict what Joni had done with the kid, nor how truly out of it he had been. Even from the distance from which the picture had been taken, Reuben could see the glazed eyes, the lax features and the apathy with which his young singer was enduring Joni's assault. It was patently clear to him that although Joni was using and thoroughly enjoying the kid's body, Keith just wasn't there. He was gone. Blanked out. And it grieved Reuben to observe the invasion, to see firsthand the theft of the kid's innocence. He found the whole thing truly abhorrent.
"What are you gonna do with these now we have them all?" Greg enquired quietly as they counted the last one and Reuben dropped it distastefully into the small pile in front of them.
The manager regarded him for a long moment, then, "I'm going to burn them," he said, dourly. "The pictures, the negatives - everything. I'm going to watch them curl up and shrivel and then once they're ground down to ashes, I'm going to scoop each and every grain up into a plastic bag and flush them down the nearest toilet." That would take care of the pictorial evidence, he thought. Would that he could flush away Keith's memories so easily. The young singer was going to have a hard time with this once he remembered and Reuben knew that none of them could do anything to help.
Greg almost smiled at Reuben's words, but the ferocity with which the other man had spoken told him the man was deadly serious. Instead, he nodded approvingly. He hadn't enjoyed looking at those photographs any more than the Partridge Family manager had. The extent of what Joni had done to Keith was evident in each and every one of them. She had thought nothing of using him for her own pleasure - however unresponsive he might have been. It was revolting. He felt disgusted and dirty, just from having handled the evidence of the rape, and he desperately wanted to wash his hands free of the grime that now tainted them. He knew now how Lady Macbeth had felt when she had tried in vain to wash her hands free of the blood. He knew that, likewise, he would never be free of the memory of what had taken place in his van. That it would forever defile this place he used to call 'a home away from home'. What Joni had done had been depraved, inexcusable and completely unforgiveable. He was a great believer in karma, however, and he knew that she would eventually get hers. "I'll get the matches," he said. "And, Reuben?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. About Joni, about Keith - everything that happened here. I'm sorry. I should never have trusted her. Should have known better. The little witch - I … I don't know what to say to convey how I truly feel about all of this."
"I know what you mean," said Reuben, bleakly. "Now that we've seen all the evidence for ourselves I feel - I don't know. Dirty, like I'll never be clean. And we're just witnesses after the fact. What that poor kid must be going through - or will go through once he remembers what she did to him. I … I can't even begin to imagine …"
"Yeah, I know." Greg sounded tired, defeated, and, Reuben, realised, he actually felt that way himself. Now that they had found Max and the pictures, and he had decided what to do with them, it was almost as if he had run out of steam. But as his thoughts returned to the photographs and their repulsive contents, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. Now they had to find the one responsible for all this heartache. The one who had taken such wanton advantage of his young charge. And this time he didn't know if he would be able to hold off from committing murder.
*****
Once at the hotel door after their encounter with Reuben, Greg and the mystery man their manager had beaten up, Danny had turned back, intent once more upon discovering the reason for Reuben's uncharacteristic behaviour. Laurie had grabbed the back of his t-shirt just in time and literally dragged him, kicking and screaming, through the hotel's doors. Now, he wrenched away from the the grip she had on him and turned to face her, his complexion even ruddier than usual. "Why'd you drag me away?" he demanded angrily. "I still want to know what Mr Kincaid was doing!"
"I know," she replied, calmly. "And obviously Reuben doesn't't want to share his motives with us."
"Well, if it's something involving us - or Keith, " he added, hitting the nail right on the head without realising it, "then we should be told! Besides, I've never seen him act that way before and I want to know what's gotten into him!"
Laurie sighed, heavily. "Danny, if Reuben had wanted us to know what he was doing and why he was doing it, then he would have explained it at the time. It's best if we don't get involved."
"But we probably are!" he insisted, making a move to get past her and head outside again.
She blocked his movement quickly, putting her hand on his shoulder again. "Danny, look, if it's something to do with us or Keith then Reuben will tell us - eventually. And if it isn't then it's really none of our business. I know it's frustrating, but if you go our there and bug him again then he really is going to get mad and maybe he'll beat you up!"
The redhead hesitated a moment, considering this, then he backed off, nodding slightly, and folding his arms. "You're right," he conceded, reluctantly. "He looked pretty mad - and I wouldn't want him to do to me what he was doing to that guy." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then, "Didn't he seem awfully familiar to you, though?"
"Who?" Laurie frowned, puzzled.
"The guy Mr Kincaid was beating up!" Danny snapped, exasperated.
She shrugged. "No, not really … although … come to think of it, yes, you're right, maybe I have seen him before - but where?"
"I don't know - but - hey, let's go have another look and maybe we can find out!"
He was past her in a flash and she barely snagged his arm in time, stopping him in his tracks. "Oh no, you don't!" she snapped. "Danny, leave them alone! Let Reuben deal with whatever it is and let him calm down! Do you really want to get beaten up like that guy?"
"Well, no .. but …"
"No buts!" She held on firmly as she dragged him to the elevator. As the car doors opened, she practically shoved him in and then quickly pressed the button for their floor. The doors closed on his objections and she heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator started to ascend.
"So, where are we goin' now?" he enquired, sweetly. He was leaning against the back of the elevator wall, his arms folded in front of him again and was regarding her with a mocking grin.
"You can take that look off your face for a start," she said, primly. "I thought we'd go back and see if Keith and Mom are - well - you know."
Dropping his cocky facade, Danny shuddered. "Laurie - I - I don't think I want to go back in there right now. Couldn't we just - I don't know - do something else for a while?"
"You don't want to see Keith?" She was staring at him with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Danny …"
"Oh, and I suppose you do want to go back in to see him - well - you know, suffering?" He sounded defensive, but more, she could sense the distress underlying his words and reluctantly, she conceded that she didn't really want to back into Reuben's suite. The image of Keith crying bitterly in their mother's arms, being so distraught that he didn't even seem to recall that they were there still haunted her. She had never ever seen him react that way about anything before. And it had made her own heart ache - she so desperately wanted to comfort him, to let him know that everything was all right. Yet at the same time she wanted to escape the room, not see him that way. She wanted to remember him as her sometimes annoying, sometimes downright devious, but always dearly loved elder brother - her tormentor, her buddy, her co-conspirator and her best friend. She didn't want to have her memories of him tainted by that image of him as a broken, terrified human being - it hurt too much.
"No," she said, at last, in answer to Danny's question. "No, I don't want to see that. But Danny - well - what are we going to do? I mean, I can't just sit in my room, either, and we can't just do nothing."
"How about something to eat?" he suggested. His eyes were alight with hope - and she knew that all he wanted right now was a bit of normality. Being upstairs on the same floor as Reuben's suite would be too close to their brother and the ordeal he was currently experiencing. Going to the restaurant on the other hand would put them far enough away that they could pretend, at least for an hour or so, that nothing was wrong. And right now it sounded really good.
"You're on," she said, feigning noncholance. "Let's see what's on the menu …"
"And let's order the most expensive thing and charge it to Mr Kincaid!" he finished with a grin.
Laurie even managed to laugh as she pressed the elevator button again just as it reached their floor. The car started to descend and each of them inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that they wouldn't have to face Keith and their mother for a while yet.
*****
Keith had been asleep for a while now. Shirley had moved from the bed to sit in the chair beside it. Her touch had calmed him as he experienced recurrent nightmares, and she felt exhausted. She leaned back in the comfy piece of furniture, determined to stay awake and wait for her son to wake up again, her hand still stroking his arm, making sure that he knew she was there beside him. But she felt so tired, and as she relaxed into the soft cushions she felt her resolve weaken until finally, her eyes fluttered closed and she too fell asleep.
An hour later, Keith woke up again. It seemed he was destined to spend the day wavering between sleep and wakefulness - neither one being the victor yet both fighting for a claim on his body. It was tiring him out. As his eyes became accustomed to the daylight, he glanced around the room and finally his gaze alighted on his mother, fast asleep in the chair beside him. She looked tired, too, he noted. In fact, she looked exhausted. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and tear tracks on her face indicated that she had been crying - probably over him, he guessed. He felt a wave of guilt overcome him at causing his mother so much heartache. As if it wasn't enough that he had allowed Joni to get him drunk then drug him up, he had then allowed her to violate him. He felt cheap and dirty and all he wanted to do was take a shower and scrub until he felt clean again. He also felt very weak, like his whole body had been waging a war against him and it had won. His muscles and joints still ached although the pain had lessened considerably from earlier when he thought he was going to die from it - when he had actually wanted to die. And his lungs felt a little clearer now; he could at least inhale and exhale without that awful burning accompanying every breath although there was some residual pain. Mostly he just felt raw and abused, like someone had been using his body as a punching bag.
However, the physical effects of the alcohol and heroin were nothing compared to the emotional hurts he was suffering. He felt guilty at causing his mom all this grief and worry; for allowing Joni to use him as he had, and for putting everyone through the distress this had obviously caused them. And, more, he felt soiled and used and he wanted to climb into the nearest hole and never come out. Maybe if he did then everyone would be happier - because he was just a big problem to them all now. A problem that would be better gone from their lives. Oh sure, they might miss him to begin with but they would get over it and surely, comparing the short term unhappiness of his departure with what he had caused for them today, it was better for them in the long run. He had really messed up. In every way. And yet his mom said she had forgiven him - had she said that? Or had he dreamt that? His memory was so foggy. He half-remembered some of her words but it was more the intent and meaning behind them that he had recognised. Disappointment, anger, hurt, but even with all that there was still love. How could that be? How could she love him now? He was a failure on every level. And he hated being a burden to his family. They didn't need that. They were a great group of people and he loved them dearly. Better for them then if he not be here. He didn't know exactly where he was going to go or even if he wanted to be around without them - maybe he'd get lucky and a truck would knock him down or he'd just fall into the river and drown. However it happened he had to get out of here. But first of all, he needed a shower - he needed to feel at least partway clean again - although she would forever contaminate him. Her scent, her actions would forever taint him. He would never be truly clean again - just one more reason to leave …
As his thoughts meandered, he tried to suit action to words by slowly pulling back the covers and easing himself out of bed. Sitting up was probably one of the most difficult things he had ever done - and it was something he normally did every day. His muscles screamed as he pulled himself upright, and his heart started to beat frantically as he slowly, agonisingly, forced his body out from under the sheet and stood up. He had to hold on to the headboard with both hands as his legs refused to support him at first and he stifled a groan as his body protested the strain. Then he lifted one foot and planted it firmly on the ground. His legs wobbled, threatening to spill him onto the ground, but he was determined to do this. So he planted another foot on the ground and then repeated the action, eventually having to let go of the headboard and hold onto the furniture instead. He eventually made it all the way across the room, feeling like he had run 20 miles. His vision was blurring, his legs were trembling violently and his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. His lungs were heaving for each and every breath and at one point he missed one, and nearly choked before he managed to get into the bathroom. Then, breathing heavily, he hung on grimly to the towel rail and closed the door behind him before reaching across to turn on the shower. He noticed that the room was wavering in and out and that everything was becoming hazy. Distantly, he wondered where the fog was coming from. He shook his head to clear it, which was a bad idea as the entire room spun crazily before him and nausea welled up. He fought it manfully, still resolute about his intention, but conceded that he didn't have the energy to remove his pajamas - which, he realised, were not his own but didn't have the inclination to try to figure out where they had come from nor how he had gotten into them. So, he climbed into the shower dressed in his nightclothes and allowed the hot water to cascade over him, washing away his crimes, but unable to feel truly clean. Viciously, he rubbed at his skin, trying in vain to scrub away the guilt and shame. Tears leaked from his eyes, mingling with the water spilling down his ashen face, and he sobbed as he realised that he could never be truly clean no matter what he did. When his eyes caught sight of the two holes made by the needles he cried anew. He leaned into the wall, banging his hand against the tiles until it was bloody, then slowly crumpled into a heap in the shower basin, huddling against the wall, allowing the water to flow freely over him, washing away the blood, but unable to do anything to cleanse his soul. And as the water cooled, so the blackness veered in from both sides, until all he saw were little pinpricks of light - and then finally they winked out and he lapsed into oblivion.
At length, her touch and silent reassurance had the desired effect - partially at least as he slowly removed his arm from over his eyes, letting it flop listlessly back to his side. His eyes were still closed, though and his face looked pale and pinched, the dark shadows standing out starkly in the bright sunlight. Shirley bit her lip. She wasn't sure that this acceptance of her presence was a good sign of a bad one. It could mean that he had decided to let her in, to talk to her, try to sort it all out in his own mind. Or it could just be that he had resigned himself to what had occurred, therefore allowing depression to claim him and take him down its dark, uncertain path.
"I'm still here," she said, softly, stating the obvious. "I'm not going to leave you, honey and I'm not going to let you blame yourself for any of this."
"It was my fault." The fatalistic words were the first he had spoken in such a long time that the sound of his voice startled her. The words themselves made her heart sink. It took a moment for her to recover and then she stroked his hair, smoothing it out against the pillow.
"No, Keith, it's not your fault. If you're guilty of anything, then it's bad judgement where Joni's concerned. But you're not the first to show bad judgement and you certainly won't be the last. Lord knows, I've shown enough of it in the past and I'll certainly show it again in the future. But we're only human, honey. We all make mistakes about people. What you have to do is realise that and put it down to experience." He opened his eyes. She was dismayed to see the desolation in those dark hazel depths. "Keith …"
"Mom … " he began, then choked back a sob and tried again. "Mom, I … it's just … I … I can't …"
"Ssshh," she soothed him as his voice tailed away, the unspoken words of culpability and shame hanging in the air between them. "Sweetheart , what Joni did was wrong. Very wrong. All of it. She shouldn't have taken advantage of your trusting nature, but she did. There are people out there who do things like that. But that doesn't make any of this your fault and it doesn't mean you shouldn't still trust people, and despite what you might feel, you shouldn't be ashamed of anything that occurred." She smiled tremulously as she gazed at him. He looked so sad, so stricken and she wanted so desperately to make everything all right for him again. "Honey, I'm not going to tell you that this is going to go away or even that you'll forget about it. It happened. There's no getting away from that. You feel things deeply, I know, and I love you for that. It's what makes you who you are and I wouldn't have you any other way. But don't let Joni make you into a victim. Yes, it happened and you're hurt in a lot of ways and I can't make that go away, even though I want to - so much. But the more you brood about it, the more you blame yourself, the more credence you give to that woman and she doesn't deserve that. I wish you could be angry at her, sweetheart, even hate her, but you don't have it in you right now. I don't expect you to get over this in a few minutes, or even a few days - but I want you to remember what I've said. Don't let Joni make you into a victim, because you're not a victim. You're my sweet, handsome, talented, wonderful son whom I love very much. I want you to remember that."
He was still staring at her. She had no idea if what she had just said had made any kind of impact at all - or if it would do so in the near future. She recognised, although didn't want to admit, that he may need professional help to get over this - which he would see as just one more failure on his part. She wanted to scream out her frustration and anguish to the sky, but kept a tight rein on her emotions. Keith was having enough difficulty with his own - he wouldn't be able to handle hers as well. She could tell that he was still fighting back pain, too, for as she watched, his face blanched even whiter - which she hadn't thought possible - and his fists clenched in the sheet. He was biting back a moan, not wishing to upset her further, and his head tilted back as the pain surged through him. Then it was over and he was panting for breath, his breathing erratic and laboured. She put her hand on his cheek as he turned into the pillow and brushed back the stray tendrils of hair which had fallen over his face. It was all she could do. She could give him nothing to ease his physical pain and there was seemingly nothing she could say to alleviate his mental anguish either.
They stayed like that for some time, Keith accepting his mother's touch and taking some small comfort from it and Shirley just feeling relieved that at least this time he hadn't tried to push her away. Eventually, he drifted off into a restless sleep, and she remained seated beside him, gazing at him with such love in her heart that at times it threatened to overwhelm her. When he started to twist and turn, muttering under his breath, she tried to calm him. It was a nightmare - she had been expecting this to happen, although she had been hoping that it wouldn't. He tried to fight her off, but he was too weak and eventually, he subsided, to lay quiescent and shaking with reaction. Shirley didn't need three guesses as to what he had been dreaming about and cursed Joni anew for what she had done to Keith. Very uncharitably, she hoped that the girl would just disappear and never be heard from again - and that she would never be able to do this to anyone else.
*****
Reuben was sickened by what he saw in the pictures as he and Greg sorted through and counted them. By the time they had reached the end of the roll of film, his anger was threatening to flare up and erupt once more. But he had been appalled by what he had actually done to Max earlier - even though he couldn't help feeling that the guy deserved it - and so he fought hard to keep his rage under control. But it was hard. So very hard. As he went through the photographs, which portrayed Keith's ordeal in every repugnant, sordid detail, he felt like killing someone. The picture they had first discovered didn't even begin to depict what Joni had done with the kid, nor how truly out of it he had been. Even from the distance from which the picture had been taken, Reuben could see the glazed eyes, the lax features and the apathy with which his young singer was enduring Joni's assault. It was patently clear to him that although Joni was using and thoroughly enjoying the kid's body, Keith just wasn't there. He was gone. Blanked out. And it grieved Reuben to observe the invasion, to see firsthand the theft of the kid's innocence. He found the whole thing truly abhorrent.
"What are you gonna do with these now we have them all?" Greg enquired quietly as they counted the last one and Reuben dropped it distastefully into the small pile in front of them.
The manager regarded him for a long moment, then, "I'm going to burn them," he said, dourly. "The pictures, the negatives - everything. I'm going to watch them curl up and shrivel and then once they're ground down to ashes, I'm going to scoop each and every grain up into a plastic bag and flush them down the nearest toilet." That would take care of the pictorial evidence, he thought. Would that he could flush away Keith's memories so easily. The young singer was going to have a hard time with this once he remembered and Reuben knew that none of them could do anything to help.
Greg almost smiled at Reuben's words, but the ferocity with which the other man had spoken told him the man was deadly serious. Instead, he nodded approvingly. He hadn't enjoyed looking at those photographs any more than the Partridge Family manager had. The extent of what Joni had done to Keith was evident in each and every one of them. She had thought nothing of using him for her own pleasure - however unresponsive he might have been. It was revolting. He felt disgusted and dirty, just from having handled the evidence of the rape, and he desperately wanted to wash his hands free of the grime that now tainted them. He knew now how Lady Macbeth had felt when she had tried in vain to wash her hands free of the blood. He knew that, likewise, he would never be free of the memory of what had taken place in his van. That it would forever defile this place he used to call 'a home away from home'. What Joni had done had been depraved, inexcusable and completely unforgiveable. He was a great believer in karma, however, and he knew that she would eventually get hers. "I'll get the matches," he said. "And, Reuben?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. About Joni, about Keith - everything that happened here. I'm sorry. I should never have trusted her. Should have known better. The little witch - I … I don't know what to say to convey how I truly feel about all of this."
"I know what you mean," said Reuben, bleakly. "Now that we've seen all the evidence for ourselves I feel - I don't know. Dirty, like I'll never be clean. And we're just witnesses after the fact. What that poor kid must be going through - or will go through once he remembers what she did to him. I … I can't even begin to imagine …"
"Yeah, I know." Greg sounded tired, defeated, and, Reuben, realised, he actually felt that way himself. Now that they had found Max and the pictures, and he had decided what to do with them, it was almost as if he had run out of steam. But as his thoughts returned to the photographs and their repulsive contents, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. Now they had to find the one responsible for all this heartache. The one who had taken such wanton advantage of his young charge. And this time he didn't know if he would be able to hold off from committing murder.
*****
Once at the hotel door after their encounter with Reuben, Greg and the mystery man their manager had beaten up, Danny had turned back, intent once more upon discovering the reason for Reuben's uncharacteristic behaviour. Laurie had grabbed the back of his t-shirt just in time and literally dragged him, kicking and screaming, through the hotel's doors. Now, he wrenched away from the the grip she had on him and turned to face her, his complexion even ruddier than usual. "Why'd you drag me away?" he demanded angrily. "I still want to know what Mr Kincaid was doing!"
"I know," she replied, calmly. "And obviously Reuben doesn't't want to share his motives with us."
"Well, if it's something involving us - or Keith, " he added, hitting the nail right on the head without realising it, "then we should be told! Besides, I've never seen him act that way before and I want to know what's gotten into him!"
Laurie sighed, heavily. "Danny, if Reuben had wanted us to know what he was doing and why he was doing it, then he would have explained it at the time. It's best if we don't get involved."
"But we probably are!" he insisted, making a move to get past her and head outside again.
She blocked his movement quickly, putting her hand on his shoulder again. "Danny, look, if it's something to do with us or Keith then Reuben will tell us - eventually. And if it isn't then it's really none of our business. I know it's frustrating, but if you go our there and bug him again then he really is going to get mad and maybe he'll beat you up!"
The redhead hesitated a moment, considering this, then he backed off, nodding slightly, and folding his arms. "You're right," he conceded, reluctantly. "He looked pretty mad - and I wouldn't want him to do to me what he was doing to that guy." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then, "Didn't he seem awfully familiar to you, though?"
"Who?" Laurie frowned, puzzled.
"The guy Mr Kincaid was beating up!" Danny snapped, exasperated.
She shrugged. "No, not really … although … come to think of it, yes, you're right, maybe I have seen him before - but where?"
"I don't know - but - hey, let's go have another look and maybe we can find out!"
He was past her in a flash and she barely snagged his arm in time, stopping him in his tracks. "Oh no, you don't!" she snapped. "Danny, leave them alone! Let Reuben deal with whatever it is and let him calm down! Do you really want to get beaten up like that guy?"
"Well, no .. but …"
"No buts!" She held on firmly as she dragged him to the elevator. As the car doors opened, she practically shoved him in and then quickly pressed the button for their floor. The doors closed on his objections and she heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator started to ascend.
"So, where are we goin' now?" he enquired, sweetly. He was leaning against the back of the elevator wall, his arms folded in front of him again and was regarding her with a mocking grin.
"You can take that look off your face for a start," she said, primly. "I thought we'd go back and see if Keith and Mom are - well - you know."
Dropping his cocky facade, Danny shuddered. "Laurie - I - I don't think I want to go back in there right now. Couldn't we just - I don't know - do something else for a while?"
"You don't want to see Keith?" She was staring at him with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Danny …"
"Oh, and I suppose you do want to go back in to see him - well - you know, suffering?" He sounded defensive, but more, she could sense the distress underlying his words and reluctantly, she conceded that she didn't really want to back into Reuben's suite. The image of Keith crying bitterly in their mother's arms, being so distraught that he didn't even seem to recall that they were there still haunted her. She had never ever seen him react that way about anything before. And it had made her own heart ache - she so desperately wanted to comfort him, to let him know that everything was all right. Yet at the same time she wanted to escape the room, not see him that way. She wanted to remember him as her sometimes annoying, sometimes downright devious, but always dearly loved elder brother - her tormentor, her buddy, her co-conspirator and her best friend. She didn't want to have her memories of him tainted by that image of him as a broken, terrified human being - it hurt too much.
"No," she said, at last, in answer to Danny's question. "No, I don't want to see that. But Danny - well - what are we going to do? I mean, I can't just sit in my room, either, and we can't just do nothing."
"How about something to eat?" he suggested. His eyes were alight with hope - and she knew that all he wanted right now was a bit of normality. Being upstairs on the same floor as Reuben's suite would be too close to their brother and the ordeal he was currently experiencing. Going to the restaurant on the other hand would put them far enough away that they could pretend, at least for an hour or so, that nothing was wrong. And right now it sounded really good.
"You're on," she said, feigning noncholance. "Let's see what's on the menu …"
"And let's order the most expensive thing and charge it to Mr Kincaid!" he finished with a grin.
Laurie even managed to laugh as she pressed the elevator button again just as it reached their floor. The car started to descend and each of them inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that they wouldn't have to face Keith and their mother for a while yet.
*****
Keith had been asleep for a while now. Shirley had moved from the bed to sit in the chair beside it. Her touch had calmed him as he experienced recurrent nightmares, and she felt exhausted. She leaned back in the comfy piece of furniture, determined to stay awake and wait for her son to wake up again, her hand still stroking his arm, making sure that he knew she was there beside him. But she felt so tired, and as she relaxed into the soft cushions she felt her resolve weaken until finally, her eyes fluttered closed and she too fell asleep.
An hour later, Keith woke up again. It seemed he was destined to spend the day wavering between sleep and wakefulness - neither one being the victor yet both fighting for a claim on his body. It was tiring him out. As his eyes became accustomed to the daylight, he glanced around the room and finally his gaze alighted on his mother, fast asleep in the chair beside him. She looked tired, too, he noted. In fact, she looked exhausted. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and tear tracks on her face indicated that she had been crying - probably over him, he guessed. He felt a wave of guilt overcome him at causing his mother so much heartache. As if it wasn't enough that he had allowed Joni to get him drunk then drug him up, he had then allowed her to violate him. He felt cheap and dirty and all he wanted to do was take a shower and scrub until he felt clean again. He also felt very weak, like his whole body had been waging a war against him and it had won. His muscles and joints still ached although the pain had lessened considerably from earlier when he thought he was going to die from it - when he had actually wanted to die. And his lungs felt a little clearer now; he could at least inhale and exhale without that awful burning accompanying every breath although there was some residual pain. Mostly he just felt raw and abused, like someone had been using his body as a punching bag.
However, the physical effects of the alcohol and heroin were nothing compared to the emotional hurts he was suffering. He felt guilty at causing his mom all this grief and worry; for allowing Joni to use him as he had, and for putting everyone through the distress this had obviously caused them. And, more, he felt soiled and used and he wanted to climb into the nearest hole and never come out. Maybe if he did then everyone would be happier - because he was just a big problem to them all now. A problem that would be better gone from their lives. Oh sure, they might miss him to begin with but they would get over it and surely, comparing the short term unhappiness of his departure with what he had caused for them today, it was better for them in the long run. He had really messed up. In every way. And yet his mom said she had forgiven him - had she said that? Or had he dreamt that? His memory was so foggy. He half-remembered some of her words but it was more the intent and meaning behind them that he had recognised. Disappointment, anger, hurt, but even with all that there was still love. How could that be? How could she love him now? He was a failure on every level. And he hated being a burden to his family. They didn't need that. They were a great group of people and he loved them dearly. Better for them then if he not be here. He didn't know exactly where he was going to go or even if he wanted to be around without them - maybe he'd get lucky and a truck would knock him down or he'd just fall into the river and drown. However it happened he had to get out of here. But first of all, he needed a shower - he needed to feel at least partway clean again - although she would forever contaminate him. Her scent, her actions would forever taint him. He would never be truly clean again - just one more reason to leave …
As his thoughts meandered, he tried to suit action to words by slowly pulling back the covers and easing himself out of bed. Sitting up was probably one of the most difficult things he had ever done - and it was something he normally did every day. His muscles screamed as he pulled himself upright, and his heart started to beat frantically as he slowly, agonisingly, forced his body out from under the sheet and stood up. He had to hold on to the headboard with both hands as his legs refused to support him at first and he stifled a groan as his body protested the strain. Then he lifted one foot and planted it firmly on the ground. His legs wobbled, threatening to spill him onto the ground, but he was determined to do this. So he planted another foot on the ground and then repeated the action, eventually having to let go of the headboard and hold onto the furniture instead. He eventually made it all the way across the room, feeling like he had run 20 miles. His vision was blurring, his legs were trembling violently and his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. His lungs were heaving for each and every breath and at one point he missed one, and nearly choked before he managed to get into the bathroom. Then, breathing heavily, he hung on grimly to the towel rail and closed the door behind him before reaching across to turn on the shower. He noticed that the room was wavering in and out and that everything was becoming hazy. Distantly, he wondered where the fog was coming from. He shook his head to clear it, which was a bad idea as the entire room spun crazily before him and nausea welled up. He fought it manfully, still resolute about his intention, but conceded that he didn't have the energy to remove his pajamas - which, he realised, were not his own but didn't have the inclination to try to figure out where they had come from nor how he had gotten into them. So, he climbed into the shower dressed in his nightclothes and allowed the hot water to cascade over him, washing away his crimes, but unable to feel truly clean. Viciously, he rubbed at his skin, trying in vain to scrub away the guilt and shame. Tears leaked from his eyes, mingling with the water spilling down his ashen face, and he sobbed as he realised that he could never be truly clean no matter what he did. When his eyes caught sight of the two holes made by the needles he cried anew. He leaned into the wall, banging his hand against the tiles until it was bloody, then slowly crumpled into a heap in the shower basin, huddling against the wall, allowing the water to flow freely over him, washing away the blood, but unable to do anything to cleanse his soul. And as the water cooled, so the blackness veered in from both sides, until all he saw were little pinpricks of light - and then finally they winked out and he lapsed into oblivion.