Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (73 page)

“Yes, how did
you know?”

“I know the guy,
is all. OK, we’ll figure this out. Don’t say a thing to anyone—I’m not kidding
Alex. Don’t speak until your lawyer gets there. I’ll deal with this.”

Alex exhales a
sound of relief. “OK.”

“Now, tell me
what you’re going to do when you hang up.”

Alex clears his
throat. “I’m not going to say anything. I’m going to wait for my attorney.”

“Good.” I put
extra confidence in my voice.

Renata’s
concerned gaze locks on mine. This week Alex and Sky are supposed to get their
son, Briley, returned to their home with full custody. I hope my brother’s
arrest won’t screw that up. That would practically kill them both.

Sky’s becoming more
and more desperate. It's been way too long for any mother to only be able to
see her son through scheduled, chaperoned visits.

Still meeting her
eyes, I continue, “Listen, Alex. When I get off the phone I’ll call your
lawyer. I’ll ask Maria to take care of Briley and I’ll drop Renata off at your
house to be there to support Sky. Don’t worry about anything. I swear to God,
I’ll fix this.”

Alex laughs,
this time I hear his sincere relief. “Thanks, bro. I knew I could count on you.
You're always coming to my rescue. If this shit works out, I gotta buy you a
white horse.”

I force a chuckle.
“What are big brothers for?”

I end the call
and look at Renata. She regards me with apprehension, but says nothing. The
woman's so sensible. She knows me so well. I need to get my shit together
before I can talk. She'll patiently wait until I initiate a conversation.

Right now I have
to think.

Life sure can
throw some curve balls. Just five minutes ago, I was in a panic at the idea of confiding
my shameful fantasy. Now, I wish that’s all I had to do.

Alex’s been
arrested, but I won’t let him go down for it. I'm going to protect him this
time. Our father will never hurt him ever again, not even from his grave. I'm
no longer a confused and scared kid. I refuse to fail my brother again.

I need to find
another likely suspect,
fast.

“Life is deep
and simple, and what our society gives us is shallow and complicated.”

― Fred
Rogers

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

I make a ton of
phone calls—starting with the family lawyer and my manager at the shooting
range. When Maria arrives, she agrees to care for Briley. I drive Renata over
to comfort Sky, Alex’s wife, ensuring she has money for a taxi if she needs it
before I kiss her goodbye.

I end up
spending the whole day trying to spring my brother from jail.

The news is as
bad as it can be.

I’d no clue what
to expect concerning his arrest. As my father abused several kids outside of
our family, I'd wrongly assumed Alex would be easily cleared for the bastard's
murder. After hearing the strength of the evidence against my baby brother, I
feel an achingly familiar longing.

My hands tremble,
my mouth is dry. For the first time in a very long stretch, a double bourbon
seems more than attractive.

Shit, forget the
glass. I could finish an entire bottle.

I’m an
alcoholic, but thank God, I have the strength to deny myself alcohol. Renata
intoxicates me now. Once I get home and drink
her
in, this rotten day
will become tolerable. But even her near magical healing power over me, can't
erase what's happening.

After an
interminable day, I leave for home, looking forward to jumping into the shower.
Summer in Dallas can be hot as blazes and humid as a jungle. Earlier this week
we’d experienced a heat wave, then a cooling storm. It’s cooled down even more
since then, but it’s still over 75 degrees outside.

When I return
home around 5 p.m., I park my car and look through the house. Where is
everyone? I finally roam out to search the garden.

I feel my blood
pressure lower the moment I step outside. I smile as my eyes take in our double
swing set that stands in the grassy area near the house. Michael’s been in to
mow the lawn, and the sprinklers have been doing their job daily in this heat.

I inhale deep,
healing breaths, loving the warm, rich smell of the earth, cut grass, sweet
honeysuckle and jasmine. Everything looks fresh, well-watered, lavish and
thriving.

My back yard is my
inspiration and my sanctuary. As always, I admire the natural beauty and
perfection of it. Large shady trees, smaller ornamental trees, hidden trails
and summer flowers. I feel alive and at home in my garden.

Beautiful.
Perfect.

At peace in this
place, I smile as I begin to walk. I know exactly where to find them.

Renata, Mitten
and Briley sit in the shade of a tree near the pond. Mitten’s on the bank, his paw
in the water. He looks to be tormenting the Koi. Briley sits on a blanket with
toys, wearing only a diaper in this heat. Renata’s wearing a light, summer
dress, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

A cool breeze
flows across the water, causing her hair to sway slightly. She’s on her knees,
outside of the shadow of the tree, planting the last of a row of ‘Black-eyed
Susans,’ a hearty daisy that likes the sun.

I was going to
plant those today. My girl has done it, hoping to surprise me. My heart swells,
full of love for her.

Intent on
planting and keeping an eye and ear out for Briley, Renata doesn’t notice my
arrival. I'm not being purposely stealthy. I'm simply taking everything in and
enjoying the moment.

“Hey, gorgeous,”
I softly murmur, from about six feet away.

My eyes water, I
blink them rapidly. I never felt so many intense emotions before I met Renata.
After this terrible day I’m suddenly so happy, I feel as if I could cry.

How crazy is
that?

She turns toward
me with a broad smile, a small spade in one hand and an adorable stripe of dirt
across one cheek. “Grant! You’re back.”

I say nothing.

I can’t.

Despite all the
shit that went down today, despite my past and all of the crap in my family and
life—right now, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

We regard each
other silently for a few long moments.

Her blue eyes
darken. Her unblinking stare scorches me with loving, sensual heat. We’re like animals
when it comes to our primal urges. Right after making love, we both immediately
want to do it again.

Insatiable. I
can’t imagine a day when either of us will ever get enough of each other.

Briley makes a
protesting cry, so I pick him up and ask him about his day. He can be a good
distraction sometimes. He babbles sweetly, breaking the magnetic tension
between us, bringing normality back to our world. Without him we'd give in to
the sensual electricity between us. We’d have sex, right here, right now.

“Thanks for
planting the Black-eyed Susans,” I say.

“I wanted to
surprise you.”

I grin. “You did
surprise me.”

“Mitten,” Renata
barks suddenly in a reproving voice. “Leave the fish alone.” She picks up his
ball, shows it to him with raised eyebrows. “Want to play catch and kill?” she
offers enticingly.

Mitten stares at
her with callous disinterest. His disgruntled gaze returns to the Koi, but he
lays down with his paws tucked beneath him. His body language makes it clear he
only wants to look. We both laugh.

“So, how did it
go today?” she asks.

“Alex is in real
trouble.” I sit down next to her on the blanket. “I had a long talk with his
lawyer, and the D.A. reduced his charge to manslaughter, but I wasn’t allowed
to see him. Remember Stan Huber, the guy who told the police I killed our
father?”

“Sure,” she
says. “He threw you under a bus in order to save himself from a drug charge as
I recall.”

I nod as memories
of my conversation with Alex surface from years back. My brother and I had been
at the club, drinking. Alex had been extremely drunk. I was too, yet I clearly
remember our conversation.

“I know
exactly how to do it and get away with it,” Alex slurs.

“Get away
with what?”

Ice clinks as
Alex takes another long drink of his Crown Royal on the rocks. “There’s a drug
called scopolamine, I saw it on CSI. You can get it anywhere.”

“What are you
talking about, Alex?”

“Scopolamine
is used for motion sickness,” he mumbles. “So you don’t chuck your guts up when
you’re on a boat or a plane. It makes people suggestible.” He snickers. “I’ve
got a few things I’d like to suggest to him.”

I blink,
stare and blink again. Is this the start of some silly joke?

“Murderers
usually try to kill without witnesses,” Alex adds. “I think the more witnesses
the merrier!” He snickers suddenly. “I’ll simply tell him to go to the edge and
then I’ll push him off.”

I explain the
gist of that conversation to Renata, as well as how Stan Huber lied to the
police, claiming
I
told
him
that story—my plot to kill my father.
Stan and Alex were old friends from school. Since he barely knew me, apparently
the selfish jerk decided I made a better scapegoat.

For a moment, I
wonder how many people my brother blurted his murderous plans to, when he was
under the influence. I only know of Stan and myself, at this point. The idea came
from a popular TV show any killer could have seen. It wasn't as if Alex cooked
up a creative way to
off
someone.

Clearly this
proves it. Television
can
be educational.

“Detective
Bronowski went back to Huber,” I explain. “This time, he got the truth out of
him by threatening to put the sniveling coward back in jail. Based on his
testimony, they searched Alex’s house.” I shake my head. “You won’t believe it.
Alex had a detailed journal of his plans! He also had a three-year-old bottle
of Scopolamine, missing four tablets! It had clearly been purchased around the
time of our father’s death. In this case, it's a smoking gun. Alex is seriously
screwed.”

Renata’s face falls
with dismay. “Oh no! That’s pretty compelling evidence.”

“It sure is,” I
agree with a sigh. “They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I
seriously messed up trying to protect Alex when he was arrested. I thought he
was too stressed out facing rehab, possible jail time and losing custody of
Briley, so I didn't tell him I was arrested for our father's murder. If only I
told him, he would’ve gotten rid of that stuff. I can’t believe I was so
stupid, so short-sighted. But a Wilkinson
never
talks about their
problems—or anything else for that matter. Keeping our mouths shut is an
ingrained way of life for our family. What a legacy.”

“I’m so sorry,”
she says, placing a hand comfortingly on my arm. “This is not your fault.”

She knows me so
well. I already feel guilty about Alex’s abuse by our father. Now I feel
responsible for his arrest. If only I’d told him!

Briley pats my cheek
with one chubby hand. He curls his tiny fingers around my thumb, while I peer
down at his smiling face. “Despite his screw ups, Alex is a good man. He has a family,”
I say quietly, “and his son needs his father.”

She nods, but
says nothing more. I swear I can feel her compassion. She’d do anything to
help. If only there was something she could do.

I force a smile.
“André’s resourceful and he’s coming to visit this week. Maybe he can help us
come up with a plan. We need as many ideas we can get. We’ll figure this out.”
My jaw flexes. “We have to.”

I stare blankly at
the pond, gritting my teeth. Even if I tell the police that
I
did it,
they’d never believe me.

How can I fix
this?

I clear my
throat. My eyes lift to meet her soft, sympathetic gaze. “There’s no way I’ll
let my brother go down for this.”

“…laugh at
the things that hurt you just to keep yourself in balance, just to keep the
world from running you plumb crazy.”

― Ken
Kesey,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

My brother enters
a plea of ‘not guilty’ at his arraignment.

Mother turns up to
support him in a royal blue suit, high heels, strings of pearls, with her
brunette hair perfectly coiffured.

“My son is
innocent,” she proclaims.

With her soft
Southern accent and confident good-looks, (and good breeding) she’s as impressive
as Scarlett in ‘
Gone with the Wind.’

Lee Brewer, the
Dallas D.A., has his hands full with her. Heartbroken widow that she is, Mother
can’t understand how, “Mister Brewster, a good Christian, from a good family,” could
be so obviously mislead.

I almost feel
sorry for the District Attorney. Over six foot tall, with a muscular frame
thickened with age, the big man cowers under her biting scorn and condemnation.
Between our expensive lawyer’s celebrated debating skills and entreaties by our
‘help-others-fulltime-fundraising’ mother, my brother has every advantage.

The fact mother personally
knows the judge doesn’t hurt either.

Eventually, after
long discussions, I manage to strong-arm Brewster into lowering Alex’s charge
to manslaughter, a second degree felony. I exploit the D.A.’s every weakness,
ruthless manipulating him like an unscrupulous politician. I discuss the
Wilkinson family's standing in the community, all the while throwing big names
around like confetti. I even point out my military career, a card I never use.

Yet, what really
clenches the deal for moderation is when my mother leaves and I show the D.A.
photos of my father and me.

It shocks the
hell out of him.

Brewster immediately
sees the necessity of downplaying such a high profile murder. Sexual abuse
makes people squeamish. It evokes sympathy for the victim of abuse and vengeful
thoughts toward the murdered party. The D.A. hopes to avoid shark-like news
coverage as well as a media circus.

Good luck
with that.

Alex’s probation
bond is set at five hundred thousand—surprisingly cheap really, considering the
damning premeditation in evidence. His was no spontaneous, heat of the moment
crime of passion—quite the opposite. Murder had been planned in a cold and
calculated manner.

I expected the
bail to be a few million. For now all he will suffer is home detention, a
confiscated passport and the need to wear an ankle monitor.

As far as I can
see,
legal justice
and
true justice
are NOT related.

Money talks and
so does having numerous high-powered associations. Corruption and ‘gentleman’s
agreements’ are widespread and acceptable. I can’t help but have contempt for
the system. Rich, well-connected white people from
good,
or more
accurately,
reputable
families tend not to go to jail.

There’s a reason
stereotypes hang around—often they’re completely accurate.

It’s a cynical
way for me to look at things, particularly when it's working in Alex's favor.
I'm unfairly playing the system in the precise manner I detest, but my brother
isn’t incarcerated.

Now he’s at home
with his family, awaiting trial.

Today, after a
troubled night’s sleep, I drive to my brother’s house, dodge the foot and
street traffic, and barely manage to navigate into his driveway. I expected
reporters, but I certainly didn’t count on the virtual ‘car park’ full of news
vans waiting outside his doorstep.

Is it a slow
news day, or what?

My head begins
to pound. Patricide of our father, a well-respected member of the community, clearly
makes the headlines. Imagine if they knew ‘dear old dad’ had been an active
pedophile?

When I open my
car door, the press surge toward me in a wave. I’m flooded with questions from reporters
looking for the latest angle on this delicious story of fame, wealth, and murder.

“Mr.
Wilkinson, do you think your brother killed your father?” “Mr. Wilkinson, how
do you feel about the death penalty?” “How does it feel to have a murderer in
the family?” “Mr. Wilkinson, were you there for your brother's arrest?"

I hate this infuriating
horseshit.

With
single-minded determination and tunnel vision, I steadily ignore the reporters.
I physically shove my way past a couple who are illegally on Alex’s property,
walk down the driveway, up the steps and through to the front door.

The moment I
arrive on the doorstep before I have a chance to knock, Sky opens it, letting
me in. I slam the door shut behind me, rest my back on it, and exhale in
relief.

“Christ on a
crutch,” I gasp. “Those reporters.”

“Hi,” Sky says
softly. “Sorry about that, there’s not much we can do about them. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I
smile. “The question is, are you guys OK?”

She shrugs. “What
else can we be? At least Alex is home and not in jail.”

“Yes, there is
that.” I give her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, Sky. Are you enjoying
having Briley back where he belongs? He's such a great kid.”

“Oh, yes!” Her
face lights up brightly at the mention of her son. She chats away about Briley
as I follow her toward the living area.

Despite all of
the legal crap going on, Briley is now officially back under his parents
custody. The paperwork went through before Alex was arrested, thank God. This
was a tremendous relief, a real shot in the arm for Sky and Alex. If their
son's return had been postponed, I don't know how they would have coped.

My girl is happy
for Briley and his parents, yet sad at losing him. I told her as soon as we get
through some of our current drama, she should go off birth control so we can
start a family of our own. That certainly cheered her up.

“I’m sorry
Renata couldn’t come today,” Sky murmurs.

I shrug. “She
sends her regards. I didn’t want her to walk through that gauntlet of rabid
reporters. She’d hate that.”

Sky compresses
her lips as though there’s a bad taste in her mouth. “I understand. I don’t
like it much myself. They're like vultures, picking at bones.”

Alex opted for a
contemporary home, decked out with sculptures and modern art. He has every
imaginable cutting-edge gadget, appliance and electronics. You could sell
tickets to his state-of-the-art theater room, for a start. It's impressive. We
find him and Briley in the living room.

“Bro!” Alex
says, handing the baby to Sky and giving me a big ‘man hug.’

“Alex,” I
murmur.

I briefly and
awkwardly return his hug and release him. I’m completely at ease hugging André,
but not my brother. We’ve never been close. The Wilkinson’s don’t touch each
other. Is Alex’s affectionate behavior some sort of pretense for Sky’s behalf?
I can't be certain.

It’s sad, but
the truth is I don't know him well enough.

Alex has been
through the mill recently. He's relieved to be out of jail and appreciates the
part I played. Whatever the reason, he looks genuinely happy to see me.

It's great to
see my brother and his wife with their son. Briley’s at his home, where he
belongs. I hate the thought of my brother behind bars for years (possibly
decades) to come. However, I'm keyed up because of my reason for being here. Today
I intend to talk to Alex. I mean,
really
talk—not our typical
lighthearted chitchat or joking around.

I greet Briley
with a warm smile, and I ruffle his hair. Then I dive in and get right down to
business. “Look, Alex, we need to talk.”

“I’ll take
Briley upstairs,” Sky offers. “Do you want anything? Maybe a drink before I
go?”

I offer her an
appreciative smile. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

Alex and I watch
Sky and the baby leave then sit down in large chairs positioned across from one
another. My brother is a slimmer, unscarred version of myself. About the same
height, brown hair, blue-gray eyes, he’s a more relaxed, easy going person.

Alex works in
our father’s real estate business with Betty Jo. He's well-suited for the job
since he's blessed with our father’s charm.

Alex is drinking
a beer. I lick my lips and wish I could.

“You’re not
trading cocaine for booze, are you?” I have to ask, even though it makes me
feel like a nosy, interfering parent.

He grins. “Hell,
no.”

“I’m only bringing
this up because,” I shrug, “you know, alcoholism runs in the family.”

He arches an
eyebrow. “Tell me about it. I work with Betty Jo. Don’t worry, bro. I’ll be
careful. I’m allowed to leave my home to attend Al-Anon meetings as part of my
rehab. Sky attends, too.”

“Good, that’s
good,” I say.

Alex and Sky are
cocaine-free. Using is not an option for either of them as they are tested
frequently. As far as I’m concerned, they both have addictive personalities. They
need counseling to learn how to cope with stress in ways that don't involve
mind-altering substances. If they don’t get support, something else will
probably go wrong. They have Briley to think about, so counseling has got to be
a priority—with or without any court orders. But now is not the time to get
into this issue.

I have other
issues on my agenda.

I expel a deep
breath. “So…”

Alex sits
forward, grinning. “You look good, Bro. Really good, happy even. How's your
fiancée? It makes a difference, doesn’t it? Having someone
there
for
you. Sky and I really like Renata. She was wonderful with Briley.”

I’m glad he’s
hit on a topic that helps me break the ice. I talk to him for quite a while,
detailing how fantastic Renata is and how happy we are. The subject naturally
leads to André, so I explain I’ve had a lot of counseling.

I sit forward on
my chair. “Look, Alex, I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I know
we’ve never talked about it, but I’m sorry I didn't protect you from our
father. I should’ve been a better brother to you. I’ve felt guilty about it for
years. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

Alex frowns with
a deeply furrowed brow, looking utterly mystified. “What the hell are you
talking about?”

Of all the
things he could’ve said,
this
I didn’t expect. Now
I'm
perplexed.
“You know… his uh… abuse.” I want to say more, but the words just won’t come.

Alex takes a
long drink of beer and sits back in his chair. His brow remains furrowed, he’s puzzled
or confused. I have no clue what's going on in his mind or what he might say.

Fuck.
Please tell me he’s not in denial. He’s younger than I am, after all. It’s a
possibility. Not that age has much to do with blocking out unwanted memories.
Please God, let him remember what our father did to us.

The silence
lengthens.

Alex's gaze
shifts to mine. “What are you talking about? Are you kidding? I could never
thank you enough for what you did for me.”

My brows shoot
up. “What do you mean?”

“Dad liked to
play his games with
you.
The most I got was a bit of fondling, some oral
and er…dry humping.”

This truth is a
surprise and a relief.
That was all?

“You stopped him
before it went any further.”

“I did?”

I stare at him,
unable to wrap my brain around what he's saying. Alex might as well be speaking
a different language, one I don't understand. I never saved Alex from our
father. That fact has eaten away at me every day of my life. This is surreal.
Am I hallucinating or dreaming? Did I finally lose it completely?

“You don’t
remember?” Alex asks.

I swallow and
look away, astonished at how easily Alex is able to converse on the subject of
our father’s sexual abuse. How does he do it? For me, talking about abuse seemed
impossible. I’m better now, with practice, but confiding details the first time
was slow going torture. I suspect it would've been easier, faster and less
painful for André to pull out my back teeth with chopsticks.

I clear my
throat. “What I remember most is when it began for you.” I hesitate, searching
for words. “I'm ashamed to admit this, but although I was upset, I remember
being glad, too. I didn’t want to be the only one. I was relieved to be off the
hook, to have times when he left me alone. But then I felt guilty—
real
guilty. You were three years younger, so naive and trusting. It was wrong. I
should have protected you. I blamed myself for that.”

“Wow.” Alex puts
his beer down. “I remember coming to you the first time and telling you dad
touched my dick. I thought it was damn weird. Even as a kid, I could tell you
weren’t happy about it.”

“I remember that
day,” I tell him, recalling the conversation.

“Well, you
taught me how to lay low—to avoid him.”

This cheers me
up. “Really?”

“I never got
half as much ‘den’ time as you.” Alex shakes his head. “You did protect me. I
never thanked you for that. I hated being alone with him. And hey, you don't
have to feel bad about being relieved when he left you alone. I was
always
relieved when I wasn't the one he chose to mess with.”

My mouth drops
open as I gape at him in surprise.

Alex frowns.
“What? Don’t you remember it that way? I sure do. You were stuck being dad’s
favorite, a seriously shitty place to be. I was the lucky one, he ignored me. I
wanted to be invisible and I was—most of the time.

“Betty Jo has no
idea what you and I went through. Of course, neither does mom. Talk about
clueless. It’s like she lives on a different planet or something. And how
fucked up a marriage did those two have?”