A gay story: The Way You Say My Name Ch. 19 Despite the fact that he’d only seen Alicia Wilton a few times around town, Jamie found himself trusting the woman. Her manner reminded him of Megan’s, warm and open, not the kind of woman who’d keep secrets or lie to him. Jamie relaxed just a fraction, more than he would have thought possible under the circumstances.
Alicia plopped her briefcase down on the table. “When Brandon called me, he told me that the two of you were in trouble and that Dillon’s father was pressing charges for an alleged assault. Bran was on his way out to look for you, last I heard, and he wanted me to come here and wait until he found you. I’m guessing he did.”
“Actually, these two found me. I was on my way out the door when they showed up here.” Brandon stood up and pulled a chair out for his sister. As soon as she was seated, he walked over to the counter and poured her a mug of coffee. “You still take it black, munchkin?”
Alicia rolled her eyes at her brother, but her comments were for Jamie and Dillon. “I’m almost thirty-years-old, and the big jerk still calls me munchkin.” To Bran, she said, “Unless that’s decaf, you’d better drink it yourself. I’m off caffeine for the next seven-and-a-half months.”
Brandon’s entire face changed. “For the same reason you were off caffeine the last time?”
Alicia nodded. “Yep. Emily’s gonna be a big sister.”
Brandon came back to the table, lifting Alicia out of her chair and into his arms. “Congratulations to all three of you, Miss Emily Jane Big Britches, included.” He stepped back, his expression changing from elation to concern. “Emily’s only eighteen months old. Doesn’t your doctor think it’s a little too soon for you to be getting pregnant, again?”
Alicia laughed as she sat back down. “Some couples don’t wait even that long to start trying. My obstetrician tells me I’m in perfect health, and Garth and I want our kids to be close together. We don’t plan on having a whole brood like Mom and Dad did, either. Two will do rather nicely, I think.”
Bran nodded and sat down beside Alicia. “If the new addition is anything like Emily, two will be a houseful.” He pushed the tape-recorder in Alicia’s direction. “I could talk about my nieces and nephews all night, but Ronald Skinner’s doing me a favor on this one, so we’d better get down to it. Everything the boys told me is on this tape.”
Alicia’s blue eyes widened. “Ronald Skinner, the chief of police?”
“One and the same.”
Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “This I’ve got to hear.”
Jamie reached for Dillon’s hand, worried about how silent he’d been for the last few minutes. Thankfully, Dillon squeezed back, his way of letting Jamie know he was all right.
Alicia started the tape. A couple of times during the re-play, Jamie looked in Dillon’s direction. He looked tired, his beloved face drawn and weary, but he didn’t seem overly upset. Not compared to what they’d been through, anyway. Jamie turned his attention back to Alicia just in time to see her push the stop button on the tape recorder. It wasn’t until he heard the click that Jamie realized Alicia had turned the tape recorder off at the mention of Henderson’s name.
“Henderson? Not Lyle Henderson?”
Dillon shrugged. “I’m not sure. He never gave his first name, and I didn’t want to know, anyway.”
Alicia’s face was sweet sympathy itself. “No, sweetie, I guess you didn’t.”
Brandon said, “Why do you ask?”
“I need to finish listening to the tape before I say anything else, but if this guy is the same Dr. Henderson I think he is, he’s your key to getting Jamie and Dillon off the hook for this so-called assault.” Alicia turned the tape back on, this time taking a steno pad and pen out of her briefcase. Jamie watched as she scribbled notes in a graceful, flowing script that made his own handwriting look like chicken scratches. As soon as the tape finished, Alicia said, “I’ll need confirmation, but I’m almost certain this Henderson is the same guy our office has been investigating for the last two years.” She smiled at Dillon. “You and your little twinkie here may have just given us the evidence we need to make an arrest. At least we can get a warrant to search his office and home.”
Jamie was completely in the dark. “I don’t get it. Am I being arrested for cracking Dillon’s father on the head?”
Alicia tossed her notebook back into the briefcase. “Nope, not if I can help it, and I’m darn sure I can.” She pulled a hot pink cell phone out of the lining of the case, grinning when she saw her brother’s smirk. “What? Even a prosecuting attorney needs to have a little bit of style.” She punched in a series of numbers from memory and then waited. Jamie could hear a click, like someone picking up on the other end. Alicia said, “Bruce? Hi, it’s Al.” Pause. “I’m fine, but I need a favor.” Pause. “Yes, I know I still owe you from the last favor, but this is important. It’s about the Henderson case. I need you to get together everything you’ve got on the guy and meet me at this address.” She rattled off Brandon’s location and then listened again to the man on the other line before saying, “I’m not sure just yet, but I think we may have finally nailed the S.O.B.”
#
Not long after the phone call, Nate left, saying he had errands to run. Dillon was pretty sure Nate was leaving to give them some space, which only added to his nervousness. If Nate was leaving his own home so that Brandon and Alicia could handle his and Jamie’s case, this thing had to go way beyond a simple assault charge. Jamie called Aunt Sadie to let him know what was going on. Her thoughts must have echoed Dillon’s, because she gave Jamie a real earful. Brandon took the phone away from Jamie’s ear, talking to her with that commanding air of his and making Sadie promise to stay put until further notice.
Bruce Seaford, Alicia’s friend and special investigator for the D.A.’s office, showed up at Brandon’s place about an hour later, carrying an overfilled, accordion style file folder. Dillon estimated him to be in his thirties, and though he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, he had a pleasant face and a genuine smile that made Dillon feel comfortable around him. But Seaford wasn’t alone. The man who came into the kitchen behind him was the polar opposite of Seaford. He wasn’t smiling, and no one could ever accuse the guy of being merely pleasant.
It wasn’t that the guy was hard on the eyes. In fact, he was handsome to the extreme. His finely chiseled features and honed body could have easily graced the cover of an art magazine under the heading of “perfect specimen.” His hair was the color of honeyed wheat, tousled slightly, but in no way detracting from the total picture. Seaford was wearing casual clothes–a wrinkled flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans–but his companion was dressed for business, his pants expertly tailored, his shirt crisp and immaculate. Even so, nothing about the second man suggested he was anything other than a regular guy who’d come to help with the investigation. Nothing that is, except his eyes. They were a shade of deep silver that missed nothing, following everyone in the room with eerie perception. Dillon felt chill bumps race along the tops of his arms. Something about the man spoke of a quiet power that even had Jamie fidgeting in his chair.
If Brandon had the same reaction to the guy, he hid it well. He greeted both the new arrivals at the door, calling them by name. He slapped Bruce on the back and shook the other man’s hand with a friendly, though reserved, smile. “Dr. Carson, it’s good to see you again.”
Carson? Wasn’t that the doctor who was helping Ash? The man returned Brandon’s smile. “Please, call me Dex. I’m not here in a professional capacity.” He looked to Dillon and Jamie. “I’m here to help.”
The minute he said it, Dillon started to relax. Maybe it was the confidence in Carson’s voice when he said the word “help.” Or maybe it was the way he looked at them with compassion, but not a trace of pity. Whatever the case, Dillon’s chill bumps faded and the knot in his stomach loosened.
Alicia took over from there, asking the men to take a seat while she filled Dillon and Jamie in. “Let me make formal introductions, and then we’ll get down to business. James Walker and Dillon Carver, I’d like you to meet Bruce Seaford and Dexter Carson. They’re here to help us sort through this mess and get Jamie out of trouble and back home where he belongs.”
“Can I get you guys some coffee?”
Both men nodded a yes to Brandon’s question, declining cream and sugar and thanking him as he placed a mug in front of each of them. He then asked Dillon and Jamie the same question, but neither took him up on it, having barely drunk any of the hot chocolate they’d been given earlier. And besides, he didn’t know about Jamie, but the last thing Dillon needed was to put caffeine on his already raw nerves.
As Brandon reclaimed the place next to his sister, Bruce settled himself into the chair across from Jamie and next to Brandon, leaving Carson to take the seat facing Dillon. “So, what have we got, Al?”
Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “You can hear it for yourselves and then decide.”
For the second time in as many hours, Dillon heard his own words played back to him. The first time he’d listened to the retelling of the story, he’d been scared to death and trying desperately to hide it. Now, though, he was less apprehensive. He was worried about Jamie, sure, and about being locked up in some crazy ward by that wacko, Henderson. But the way Alicia and Brandon had rallied to their defense soothed Dillon. He was starting to feel the first glimmers of hope.
When the tape was done, Bruce reached down beside his chair and grabbed the file folder, placing it on the table. Unclasping the latch, he removed six, eight-by-ten photos from the first compartment and slid them across the table to Dillon. Each one was of a different man, only one of whom Dillon knew. Bruce said, “I need you to look at each picture, Dillon, and tell me if the man who identified himself as Henderson is in there. Take your time.”
Dillon didn’t need to take his time. Just seeing Henderson’s semi-smiling face, even in a photograph, was enough to make his stomach lurch. He slid the pictures–Henderson’s on top–back across the table to Bruce. “That’s him.”
“You sure?”
“Not a doubt in my mind, Mr. Seaford. That’s the guy who tried to give me the shot.”
Jamie seconded Dillon’s vote. “I only saw the guy for a few minutes, but I know it’s him.”
Bruce looked like a kid at Christmas. “What do you think, Al? Is it enough to get a warrant?”
Alicia nodded. “Henderson is a Ph.D., not an M.D., which means he doesn’t have the right to give out meds. We also have Dillon’s statement that Henderson tried to give him an injection. That should at least be enough to get us in the door so we can search his office.”
Jamie said, “I don’t wanna seem dense or anything, but could somebody please tell us what’s going on? What does Henderson have to do with me hitting Dillon’s father over the head with a bat?”
“With the actual assault, nothing. With the case, everything.” Alicia turned her chair enough to clearly see them both down the length of the farmhouse table. “Lyle Henderson is a psychologist from Chicago who prides himself on being able to take gay men and ‘turn’ them straight. That’s what he claims, anyway. Because Henderson is a doctor of theology, and not medicine, he can’t prescribe or administer the type of drugs Dillon heard him tell Douglas Carver were in that syringe. That’s a felony, and should be enough to convince a judge to issue a warrant so we can find what we’re looking for.”
Brandon said, “I get the feeling you aren’t looking to bust this guy just for dispensing without a license. Off the record, what gives?”
Alicia looked to Bruce. “You think it’s okay to give the boys the full story.”
Bruce nodded. “I don’t see why not. They have a right to know, especially since they’re in the middle of all this mess. The way I see it, Dillon’s father involved him the minute he and his wife brought Henderson into their son’s apartment.”
“I agree.” Alicia clasped her hands in front of herself. “Everything I’m about to tell you guys is strictly off the record, meaning basically if you tell anybody I told you, I’ll deny it with my last breath.” She directed her next statement to Dr. Carson. “Can you handle this, Dex?”
“I’m fine, Alicia. I’m here to help any way I can.” Carson seemed calm, but Dillon could see something brewing just below the surface of the man, some inner tension. Whatever it was, it made Dillon shiver.
Alicia didn’t comment. Instead, she went right into the story. “Lyle Henderson subscribes to the old school practice of treating homosexuality as a disease. A mental illness, if you will. He believes that homosexuality can be cured with the right treatments. His treatment of choice is aversion therapy.”
Brandon whistled. “Damn.”
Dillon was lost. “What’s ‘aversion therapy?’”
Carson leaned forward. “Alicia, I’d like to take it from here, if that’s okay.”
“If you’re sure you’re up to it.”
“I am.” Carson stretched his tall, lanky frame and sat back in his chair. “Aversion therapy is the process of using negative reinforcement to turn a person away from a certain behavior or thought process. There are different ways it can be done, but in the case of sexual aversion therapy, doctors generally rely on shock treatments. They show gay and lesbian patients a series of nude or even pornographic pictures. When the patient looks at pictures of the opposite sex, nothing happens. But the minute the patient sees a picture of his or her own gender, electrodes secured to the skin deliver a mild electric shock.”
Alicia shuddered. “Is it just me, or does that sound positively barbaric to anyone else?”
Brandon said, “It’s not just you. Hell, I have a degree in forensic psychology, and I still don’t understand it. Not in the case of homosexuality, anyway. I’ve heard of aversion therapy being mildly successful in some other areas, but never that one.”
“Aversion therapy in general has fallen out of favor with a large section of the psychiatric community for that very reason. It’s simply not as effective as other, more humane treatment methods. And thankfully, most therapists and doctors now view homosexuality as a sexual preference one is born with and has no control over, rather than a disease.” Carson sighed. “Unfortunately, there are still a few holdouts–dinosaurs like Henderson–who think being gay is a mental illness. Some of these guys will do anything to ‘cure’ a patient who’s gay. And I do mean anything.”
Alicia picked up the thread. “That’s where my office comes in. For over two years now, the D.A. in Chicago has been investigating Henderson for the abuse of his patients.”
Jamie scrunched his brows. “I don’t get it. If aversion therapy is used by lots of doctors, then why is Henderson in trouble for doing the same thing?”
“Because Henderson doesn’t stop at simple aversion therapy, James.” This coming from Bruce Seaford. “The D.A. brought me in to investigate allegations from more than one of Henderson’s former patients, allegations ranging from the patients being stung repeatedly with high voltage cattle-prods to being starved for days on end, kept in locked cells without food and water. Because most of these patients were teenagers at the time of treatment and only came forward as adults years later, the statute of limitations has expired, and there’s nothing we can do. Not for those patients, anyway. Our hands are further tied by the fact that Henderson isn’t a medical doctor. He doesn’t have hospital privileges–which makes his threat to have Dillon locked up in an institution laughable–nor does he see just any patients. It’s always harder to bust someone who’s in private practice, mainly because his records are harder to access.”
“But not anymore.” Alicia’s expression was pure satisfaction. “The minute Henderson pulled out that syringe, he opened himself up for investigation. All we have to do is secure a warrant and see what we can find.” She smiled at Jamie. “Now, you asked me a question. I believe you wanted to know what Henderson’s past had to do with you.”
“Yeah.”
“Jamie, when Douglas Carver held Dillon so that Henderson could dope him up, Douglas became Henderson’s accomplice. If we can prove that Henderson acted to harm Dillon and that Doug was helping to commit said harm, then yours becomes a case of self-defense, pure and simple.”
“How can it be self-defense if Dillon was the one threatened and not me?”
Brandon said, “I can answer that one. Because, kiddo, every man has a right to defend his spouse or his family. Since you and Dillon are partners, you have the right to defend him as you would yourself.”
“Yep. That about sums it up.” Alicia reached back into her briefcase, retrieving her phone and rising to her feet. “If you’ll please excuse me, I’ll call my boss and let him know what we’ve got so far. Hopefully, we’ll have a warrant before the night is out.”
Bruce stood as well, taking Brandon’s tape recorder with him. “I need to make copies of this. I have another recorder in my car that should do the trick.”
Brandon waited until Seaford was gone, then said, “I might as well call Skinner and let him know the score.” He stood and stretched. “Can I get you guys anything? How about you, Dex?”
Jamie and Dillon declined, as did Carson. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
Brandon grabbed the cordless phone from one of the kitchen’s shining granite counters. “In that case, I’ll be in the living room, making a call.” Brandon walked out, leaving the three of them alone in awkward silence.”
The silence may have been awkward for Dillon–and Jamie too, if the way he was wiggling around in his chair was any indication–but Carson seemed oblivious to it. His silver eyes roamed the confines of the kitchen, taking in the homey atmosphere. Dillon didn’t even realize he was staring at the man until Carson said, “You can ask me about it, if you want to.”
“About what?” Even as he said it, Dillon knew what Carson was talking about.
“The reason Bruce called me and asked me to come with him while he and Alicia talked to you. I can tell you’re curious.”
“I just figured it was because you’re a psychiatrist. Maybe Bran and his sister think Jamie and I need a shrink.”
Carson laughed, the sound rich and warm in the quiet kitchen. “I’ll admit, it sounds like the two of you have been through the ringer, but I wasn’t asked here so I could analyze you.” He sobered. “I’m here because I know Henderson, know firsthand what he’s capable of.”
Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “You were his patient?”
“I was his first patient. Well, the first patient he ever tried to convert, anyway.” Carson lowered his eyes, but not before Dillon saw the aching sadness inside. “I’m also his son.”
“Jesus.”
Carson raised his eyes at Dillon’s well-placed curse. “Quite a kicker, isn’t it?” He leaned forward and crossed his arms, elbows bent and propped on the table. “My father used to be a well respected psychologist. Some of his philosophies were outdated, to be sure, but he was highly thought of by most of his colleagues. All that changed when he found out I was gay. He and my mother freaked.”
Like Dillon didn’t know how that felt. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen. My father caught me with my boyfriend. We were just kissing, but it was enough to set my father off. He forbade me to see the guy again, and then he started on his crusade, as I call it. He became convinced that he could cure me. He started studying up on different techniques, all the ways to steer a person’s mind away from the evils of homosexuality.” Carson shook his head. “Needless to say, it didn’t work. My father put me through a full year of electric shocks and ‘dirty’ pictures before he realized it wasn’t working.” Carson’s jaw was set in stone. “That’s when my dad up-ed the stakes.”
Jamie whispered, “God.”
“God is exactly who my father thinks he is. He just couldn’t accept the fact that I was gay and there was nothing he could do about it. Because he’s not an M.D., he has no real pull with any of the local psychiatric hospitals. He threatened me with commitment, anyway, though, just like he did with you, Dillon. My guess is, in both our cases, he thought he could scare us into compliance. And he was right, at least where I was concerned. Whereas you fought back and didn’t listen, my father’s scare tactics worked on me. I would have done anything my father asked to keep myself from being locked up in some nameless mental ward somewhere. I thought that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.” Carson shook his head in amazement. “Isn’t it incredible how wrong a person can be? Anyway, once my father had my cooperation, he went about the task of converting me with a vengeance. He started experimenting with different drugs, begging his colleagues to write prescriptions for him in a bid to find the one medication that would kill all those urges I was having. Never mind that he almost killed me in the process. He tried high doses of sedatives and antidepressants. They killed my sex drive, but the minute my dad pulled me off the meds and the drugs cleared my system, the natural desires and feelings came back. That’s when he got the bright idea to combine aversion therapy with the medications. He’d read somewhere about doctors who were using vomit inducing medicines along with electric shocks.” Dillon could see the strain on Carson’s face–the way he fought off the memories–but none of that stopped him from continuing. “I won’t dredge up the gory details, but you can imagine how terrifying it was for a teenage kid to go through that. And the shock treatments and drugs were some of the nicer things my father did to me. The rest of it, well . . . the rest is best left unsaid.” Carson leaned back with a sigh. “It took me the better part of three years, but I finally got away from him. I changed my last name and moved as far away from Chicago as I could get.”
Dillon didn’t blame him. “Why’d you come back? To stop your father from doing the same thing to someone else? Is that why you became a doctor yourself?”
“Something like that.” Carson might have said more, but Brandon came back in, ending the private conversation between the three of them.
Bran was smiling, a good sign. Dillon could tell how tense Jamie was, just from the way he sat in his chair. Brandon’s next words went a long way towards easing the strain for both of them.
“I just got off the phone with Skinner. Doug is making noise about pressing charges against you, Jamie. Skinner told him the case is on hold until further notice.”
“What now?”
“You and Dillon are going to spend the night here, with Nate and me. You’re not to go anywhere until Alicia gets this thing squared with the D.A., hopefully by tomorrow. Until then, you’ll get a break from work, school, everything.” When Dillon tried to protest, Brandon said, “Before you get all up in the air, kid, I’ll talk to your boss and let him know what’s going on. Think of it as a mini-vacation.”
Unless Brandon was sending him and Jamie to a tropical island where homophobic parents were shot on site, Dillon didn’t think a vacation–mini or not–was going to help.
#
The next hour and a half–between the time Alicia and crew left and Nate came back–was organized chaos. Brandon had Dillon and Jamie write out and then sign statements about what had happened, statements which he faxed to Alicia’s boss and Ronald Skinner. Jamie almost breathed a sigh of relief when the hum of the fax machine broke the quiet of the house. He was looking forward to a few quiet minutes with Dillon.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the phone started ringing. Heath, Ash, Megan, and Jim Pembroke all called in, having learned their whereabouts from Aunt Sadie. All had heard about Morgan’s attack. Megan also knew about the visit from Dillon’s parents, but the others–especially Heath–were stunned by the revelation. It took Dillon and Jamie both to explain everything that had happened, and by the time they were finished trading the phone back and forth and giving explanations, both were visibly exhausted.
Nate came in them, carrying a small suitcase, and a bag of take-out from the new Tai place down the road. “I thought you would be hungry by now, so I stopped and got us all some supper. Hope you don’t mind spicy food. Oh, and I went by your place and grabbed you some clothes.” He looked down at their still-bare feet and grinned. “Shoes included. I hope that’s okay. Your aunt let me in.” He laughed. “That’s why it took me so long. She grilled me for over half-an-hour, just making sure the two of you were really okay.”
The grilling he wouldn’t wish on any man, but for the clothes and food, Jamie could have hugged him. “Thanks, Nate. Hey, how much do we owe you for the food?”
Brandon snorted. “You’ve been hanging around your partner too long, kid. Dinner’s on us.”
Dillon protested, but just one look at his bloodshot eyes and sagging shoulders told Jamie he was too tired to put up much of a fight.
Spicy wasn’t the word for the chicken and coconut soup, fried fish with tamarind sauce, and steak salad Nate placed on the table. At least the tapioca and coconut milk pudding they had for desert didn’t burn Jamie’s mouth off. Spicy or not, though, the food was good, and Jamie soon found his belly full and his head nodding. Dillon must have been in much the same condition because Nate took one look at the two of them and said, “I think we’ve done enough talking for one night. Let me show you guys to the guest room.”
Dillon and Jamie followed him without protest, eliciting a chuckle from Brandon as he told them goodnight and watched them stumble up the stairs after Nate.
The guestroom was warm and inviting, decorated in cheerful colors with an old-fashioned style that made Jamie feel instantly at home. The thing that he most looked forward to, though, was trying out the king-sized bed dominating the center of the room. Dillon was way ahead of him. He flopped down on the bed with a mumbled thank-you to Nate and closed his eyes, not even bothering to undress or pull back the covers.
Jamie gave Nate an apologetic smile, but Nate just laughed and waved it away. “The poor kid’s been through hell and back. The least he deserves is a good night’s sleep.” Nate squeezed Jamie’s shoulder. “You haven’t had an easy time of it yourself. How are you handling all this?”
Jamie shrugged. “I’m okay. Talking to Dr. Carson helped.”
Nate nodded. “Brandon told me Dex came with Alicia and the special investigator. He’s a good man. He helped me through a really rough patch in my life.”
“The death of your friend?”
“That and a total betrayal by my parents.” Nate scrubbed his hand over his face. “Let’s just say that Dex and Dillon aren’t the only ones who struck out in the parent department.”
“I know. Every time I think about what Dillon’s parents tried to do to him tonight, I start to wonder if having parents is really all it’s cracked up to me.” Jamie yawned. “I’m lucky as hell to have my aunt, though.”
“Yes, you are. And not all parents are like mine and Dillon’s. Just look at Dean and Gale? I can’t imagine any parents more loving than they are.” Nate smiled. “But right now, you need sleep more than you need grateful reflection. If you guys need anything during the night, don’t hesitate to holler. Bran and I are just down the hall.”
“I think we’ll be okay, but I’ll remember, just in case. Thanks, Nate. For everything. And tell Brandon we said thanks, too.”
“Anytime, Jamie. Goodnight.”
“Night.” Jamie closed the door behind Nate and headed for the bed. He managed to strip Dillon down to his boxers and wrestle him under the covers before stripping down himself and climbing in on the other side. He closed his eyes and was almost asleep when he felt Dillon roll over and pull him close. Into Jamie’s ear, Dillon said, “You saved me.”
Jamie played it off, the memory of what happened that afternoon too fresh to reexamine yet again. “It was nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. You’ve made a career out of protecting me, in fact.”
Dillon increased his hold, drawing Jamie so tightly against him, Jamie could feel every fiber of Dillon’s being. “Explain it away all you want, but I was terrified tonight, and you were there for me. You saved my sanity, possibly my life. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
Jamie though he knew, but he asked anyway. “How?”
Dillon’s voice was little more than a husky whisper. “Like the luckiest man alive. I can’t live without you, Jamie. I never want to try.”
Jamie could do no more than nod, but he sensed it was okay. Words were unnecessary as he and Dillon rocked each other back and forth in a gentle rhythm to a quiet sleep.
#
Dillon had no doubt that a long, excruciating wait was in front of them as he got out of bed the next morning and started his day. Jamie was already up and going, but Dillon felt lethargic, too tired to move. Worry about what was going to happen to Jamie kept him pinned in place, despite the reassurances he’d received from Alicia the night before. When he finally forced himself out of bed, it was pushing noon. He showered and shaved in mechanical fashion, donning the clothes Nate had brought for them in the same robotic way. He came down the stairs and entered the kitchen to find a smiling Alicia sitting at the table talking to Jamie and Brandon. Dillon’s heart starting thudding against the walls of his chest, whether from hope or dread, he wasn’t sure.
Alicia sent him a thousand watt smile as he took the place next to Jamie. “There you are. I was beginning to think we were gonna have to go up there and drag your lazy butt out of the bed.”
Dillon blushed. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually sleep so late, I swear.”
“I’m just teasing you, honey. It’s not like you don’t have a good reason for sleeping in.” She picked up a sheaf of papers and waved them in front of herself. “I think these babies are gonna go a long way towards making you feel better.”
“What are they?”
Jamie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I can answer the first part of that question. At the top of the stack is a notarized statement from your dad dropping the charges he filed against me.”
Dillon closed his eyes, fearing it was too good to be true. When he opened them again, he turned back to Alicia. “How did you manage that one?”
“Your father made it easy for me by digging his own grave. By hooking up with Henderson, he left himself without a leg to stand on.” She must have seen Dillon’s lack of comprehension, because she said, “Let me explain. You remember I said that Henderson’s dispensing meds without a license was enough to get us a warrant for his office?”
“I remember.”
“Well, as it turns out, Judge Finwell thought it was enough to give us leeway to search his house, too. He issued both warrants just around midnight. The office search yielded nothing more than a couple of vials of Haldol, hardly enough to make an arrest. That’s where the home search comes into play. It was in Henderson’s basement that we hit the jackpot.”
Dillon was almost afraid to ask, but as it turns out, he didn’t have to. Alicia was all too happy to fill in the details. The woman was almost giddy, but Dillon couldn’t blame her. He was feeling a little lightheaded himself.
Alicia placed the papers back on the table and folded her hands over them. “Apparently fearing that his office would someday be raided, Henderson confined the majority of his work to the basement of his Chicago home.” She shivered. “Bruce Seaford went with the police who executed the search. He said the place is like some kind of mad-scientist torture chamber. They found restraints, shock mechanisms, drugs, whips and paddles–the whole works. They also found detailed records of the abuse some of those poor people suffered at Henderson’s hands. My boss believes we have enough evidence against him to put Henderson away for at least ten years, if not longer.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Alicia, especially if it means that no one else will have to go through the things Dr. Carson went through. But I still don’t see what made my dad drop the charges.”
Brandon spoke for the first time since Dillon had come downstairs. His voice was thick with compassion, and that’s when Dillon knew the answer to his question was going to be hard to hear.
Brandon said, “Dillon, when the cops raided Henderson’s home-office, they found not only records of treatments the good doctor had already administered, they found treatment plans for his future patients as well. One of those treatment plans had your name on it.” Bran sighed. “You don’t want the details of Henderson’s ‘sexual re-orientation plan’, and I don’t want to give them to you, so I’ll just say it wasn’t pretty and leave it at that.”
“Not only were these so-called treatments Henderson proposed for you horrifying, Dillon, but almost every one of them was illegal.” Alicia pulled a piece of paper free from the others and held it up. “This is a copy of the release form Henderson had your parents sign so he could begin your treatments. It shows without a doubt that Douglas and Angela both knew and approved of all the things Henderson wanted to do to you.”
Jamie scooted his chair closer to Dillon and brushed his leg against Dillon’s thigh. Though Dillon appreciated the gesture of comfort, it wasn’t necessary. He’d long ago reconciled the fact that his parents held no real love for him. Not the unconditional kind, anyway. And after having received exactly that from so many people he wasn’t even related to, unconditional love was the only kind Dillon was interested in.
Alicia put the form back with the others. “The minute Bruce found that paper, he knew we had Douglas dead to rights. Bruce called me, and I called my boss. Together we put together a little deal for your dear old pops, Dillon.”
Brandon’s smile was pure mischief. “That’s not the best part of the story, though. Since Douglas and Angela are residents of Reed, I, as sheriff, was allowed to deliver the paperwork to them, and to present the deal.”
Brandon’s excitement was contagious. Dillon felt the corners of his mouth begin to lift. “What kind of deal?”
Alicia went back through the stack of papers, pulling out two official looking carbon copies and sliding them across the table to Dillon. “Since Douglas signed off on a therapy that he, as a lawyer, knew to be illegal and a violation of your civil rights, the D.A. could have moved to have him not only disbarred and banned from practicing law in the state of Illinois, he could have also had Doug locked up as Henderson’s accomplice. Our office agreed not to seek any action against Douglas as long as he dropped all charges against Jamie.” She pointed to the documents she’d given to Dillon, papers he had yet to look at. “He and your mother are also banned from having any further contact with either you or Jamie for the next two years. I filed a restraining order in your name against each of them, an order which you can renew when the two years are up, if you’d like. All you have to do is sign off on it. Then, if they do approach either of you, no matter what the reason, we can lock them up for violation of the order.”
Dillon was stunned. “You mean it’s over? There’s nothing more they can do to me.” He looked over at Jamie, who was grinning from ear to ear. “To either of us?”
“Nope. I swear, kid, you should have seen the look on old Dougie’s face when I slapped him with that order.” Brandon was on an adrenaline high Dillon felt sure would last him all day. “The bastard had no choice but to go along with it, and he knew it. I don’t think you have to worry about him, anymore, Dillon.”
Dillon started to speak, but Jamie beat him to it. “That’s not the best part, though. Brandon just got through telling us that Morgan’s awake. They got all the pellets out of him, and he’s ready to talk.”
Brandon said, “We’ll have to check out his story to see if it rings true before I can give out all the details, but the long and short of it is this, Dillon: Morgan made a full confession in the death of Burke Carpenter. He also admitted to the attempted murder of you, Jamie, and Mitch. Thanks to you guys–and Miss Sadie’s shotgun–we’re gonna nail him to the wall.”
{TO BE CONTINUED}