

## LIFE SO PERFECT

A Novel

Nathan Bassett

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Life So Perfect is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously, any resemblance to actual persons, dead or living, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE

"If life's so perfect, why this? Something got you here, led up to this. What is it? And leave the 'I don't knows' the other side of the backdoor."

Joe's finger twisted fraying upholstery on the well-worn gray chair. Shrugging one shoulder, he said, "It was a bad day. Everyone has a bad day. Listen, I don't want to be rude and it's nothing to do with you, but this is crap. I don't need to be here. I'm not like those others out there. Those kids in this place, I'm sorry, but they're ... well, I'm not crazy. I made a stupid mistake. I don't deserve to be here. There's plenty of crazy people that need this sort of thing, but I'm not psycho." _Control. Control. It's about control. Don't be such an idiot._ Joe looked at the therapist and forced a smile – a feeble effort to appease the one who would decide when he would go home. "Sorry. I know they're not crazy. But ... I just don't belong here."

Braxton chuckled. "Hey, there are a few crazy ones here. Those are the ones that _want_ to be here." He leaned forward, pointed to Joe's left arm. "How many staples? Twenty-one? And the pills? How many pills was it? Fifty? Oh yeah, sixty. We have to figure out what got you to the point where death was your only option, the only way out. Something's going on. What's going on up there and in there?" Braxton pointed to Joe's head then chest. He leaned back and tucked his left foot under his right leg. His eyes fixed on the soon to be seventeen year old.

Joe glanced at his therapist; he had to get away from the man's demanding gaze. He stood up and took three steps toward the room's lone window. _Should be out there, in the real world._ His gaze rested on the distant landscape. Picture perfect. An endless canopy bursting with subdued shades of red, yellow, brown and orange. Autumn in the Ozarks. The best time of year: crisp chilly air filling the lungs, football, pumpkins, Halloween parties – and his birthday. _Should be home, not stuck in this godforsaken hellhole_. _Football? Season's over for me, no hope now, no chance of a scholarship now. Probably gonna flunk, have to repeat my junior year. All ruined_. _Screw this_. _Screw this guy_. His eyes shifted down, a half dozen adult patients wandered around the enclosed courtyard, all smoking, all looking drugged up, zoned out – _Pathetic, sad creatures._ _Rather be dead than like that._

"So what is it? What got you here?"

Joe turned and faced his therapist. He filled his lungs and pulled his shoulders back. He knew his beefy six foot three frame could be intimidating, and he worked hard to use that to his full advantage on the football field. The reality was he hated his size; always knew people saw him as fat, not muscular; knew others were laughing behind his back, laughing at his pudgy face that too often was sprinkled with pimples. He brushed his closely cropped brown hair and held his hand on the back of his head. "Screw this. Screw you." The words were about to give birth. _Control. Show him you're in control._ Joe emptied his lungs. He sat down, looked his therapist in the eyes and nodded. Braxton's dull blue eyes seemed so strange; sometimes sad but comforting and sometimes piercing and overpowering. His graying hair, long and always pulled back in a ponytail, made him look old. _Forty-five, maybe fifty. Too old, whatever_. Joe didn't know what to make of this guy. He couldn't decide if the man's low, raspy voice was comforting or irritating. He didn't want to like him; he didn't want to trust him.

He'd had a therapist when he was seven. Only because the school nurse insisted. "Some signs of depression," she'd told his mother. "It could only help him." His mom balked at the idea. The well-meaning nurse insisted all the more, "Certainly won't hurt. Just for a little while, help him adjust to the divorce." Divorce. Big deal. Everyone's parents get divorced. He had coped fine, just like his brother and sister had; they were all just fine. Three months he met with that therapist. She was young, would take him out for ice cream, walks in the park, even to movies. He thought counseling was okay then, but he was not seven anymore, and Braxton was not a twenty-one-year-old fresh out of college.

Joe attempted to smile; he wasn't sure what expression surfaced on his face. _What the hell does he expect? I don't need this. Hell. Just do what you have to. Fake it 'till you make it, that's what the kids here say. Don't have to like him. Just give him what he wants. Not a big deal._ "Okay. So where we supposed to start?"

***

Chuck stared down the hall into the kitchen. His mother's muffled sobs stirred confused emotions; anger, despair, ineptness, dread. He took a step forward. _Wait. Give her some time._

Sarah sat at the kitchen table staring out the French doors, the black of the night seemed to envelop her soul. So old. She seemed so old now. He told her a few months ago she was letting herself go – not exercising as she had religiously done, not watching her diet like she used to. Of course, that was a mistake. She cried, then she got angry, threw a plate that nearly hit his head. He apologized, said he didn't mean it. He had just come home for the summer after his first year at college. He didn't intend to hurt her. He was worried. She'd always been a warrior – never defeated, always proud, always strong. But she had changed and he knew why; but the _why_ was never talked about. And even though the _why_ had been dealt with, mom was no better. She pulled an oversized fluffy pink robe tight around her shoulders: the robe he, his brother and sister gave her four Christmases ago. The Christmas their father went on a Caribbean cruise and came back with his third wife.

Sobs subsided. Chuck searched for the right words to give comfort, bring peace – somehow bring back normality. Normality? An illusion. It was never really there. At least the illusion had carried them through the past few years. _Damn Joe, selfish, thoughtless prick._ "You okay mom? Still can't sleep? You shouldn't worry. At least you know he's safe."

Her gaze remained fixed. Without moving her head, she reached her hand out. Chuck came through to the kitchen. He pulled a chair close to his mother and held her hand. "It will be okay, mom. He'll be fine. The little bastard did something stupid and mean. Just wait till he gets home, I'll twist both his ears off."

Sarah shook her head. "It makes no sense. This just doesn't make any sense."

"When did Joe ever make sense?"

"You know he is a captain for the football team this year. He's so proud of himself. I'm so proud of him."

"I know mom."

"He thinks he can break your record for career tackles at the high school."

Chuck smiled. "Never going happen, mom. I just might have to break both his legs."

Sarah looked at Chuck, then looked away. He felt her fingers press into his palm. "Seeing him in the emergency room, having his stomach pumped while they put staples in his ... hardest thing I've ever done. And leaving him there ... there in that psyche ward. Some of those children ... they're so ... so angry. Some of them seem so lost, so pitiful. He needs to be home."

"He's safe there mom. You know he's safe. I couldn't sleep if he was home. I mean, we don't know what's going on inside that head of his. What if he tried again? What if he actually ..."

"No. You're right. He's okay, he is safe. But the why? Chuck, do you know why? Has he told you anything? Mentioned anything? What about any of his texts? Is there anything? Anything? There must be something, some sign. What'd we miss? He must have said something to you. Think."

The desperate heartache in his mother's voice fueled more uncomfortable feelings – panic, guilt, shame. He looked his mom in the eyes and rubbed her hand. "Nothing Mom. He's not said anything to me. He's just crazy."

"Don't say that."

"You know I don't mean that. God damn him, he scared me." Chuck got up, kissed her cheek. "Get to bed Mom. This won't help."

He went to his bedroom, lay down on his bed and shut his eyes, knowing sleep would refuse to come. He _knew_ more than he could tell his mom – things she did not need to know, did not want to know.
CHAPTER TWO

"Ya' asleep? Joe? You sleeping or not?"

Joe didn't move, keeping his eyes shut. What luck, stuck with this roommate: intrusive, lacking in bare basics of common-sense social norms. Joe just wanted peace, quiet. He needed to piece things together – figure out how he was supposed to live his life. How would he deal with his family? Could he ever go home? Did he want to go home? Would he try it again? Maybe he should. Life. Is it really worth living? Everything imploded. London Bridge crashing into a pile of toxic rubble. Humpty Dumpty, nothing but scrambled egg. No hope of status quo now. No security to rest in, hide in. No future to keep dreams alive. No reason, no reasons; only unrelenting shame, only unforgiving guilt. Maybe should try it again.

"What'd ya think of that new girl? She's fine. Nice tight ass, nice pair of jugalos. Yip, she's a nice piece of work. Maybe a bit overweight, but all the more to get a hold of. Yeah, she's one worth get'n a hold of, don't you think?" Steven's whiney tone grated on any unfortunate being within twenty feet of the sixteen year who looked to be twelve and often acted more like a child of six or seven.

"I'm asleep, alright. Just shut it up." Joe blurted out as curtly as he could.

Steven responded with a growing lilt in his voice, "She was looking at you. Yes she was. She wants you. There for the taking. Yeah, nice bit of ass for the taking. Yum yum yum."

Such a cruel and thoughtless intrusion upon his thoughts. Joe imagined placing a pillow over the kid's face and screaming "Shut the crap up!" _I just need some peace, silence, darkness, nothingness; give me some time to decide if life is worth living, if death is the best alternative. To sleep and never awake. What would be so bad about that?_ "I'm asleep. Shut your mouth already, or I'll shut it for you." Joe's words came out slowly; he was trying hard to calm his agitation; he so wanted to bury his fist in the kid's face.

"Maddie's her name. Get her number. Yip, she wants ya. Can tell by how she looked at ya."

Joe's words now came out quickly. "I don't give a flying flip who she is or what she is. This is not a place to make friends and the worst place in the world to find a flippin' girlfriend. Jesus, these people are crazy here. No telling what's going on with her. She's a nutter like all the rest in here. Company included. Now just shut up. I mean it."

Steven's golden complexion and jet-black shoulder length hair, almost always braided into a ponytail, proudly proclaimed his Native American heritage. Stern and stoic brown eyes gave evidence he came from a clan of warriors. His face often appeared void of any emotion – until rage erupted, too often without warning. Like a hornet buzzing dangerously near, you fear the creature may, at any moment, attack and unleash its venom, but you dare not swat it; that would only provoke the hideous thing.

Joe learned quickly that Steven, on his good days, irritated everyone around him, but on his bad days would instantly become a mighty hellion stirring up peers, infuriating staff, causing security guards to be called to prevent rioting on the adolescent psyche ward of St. James Hospital. Few could tolerate him, all tried to avoid him. But Joe knew just enough about his sad life to feel some pity for the guy. He decided he would at least pretend to be a friend, only in the hospital, of course. But right now no such sympathy existed; his annoying roommate was stirring an uncomfortable rage inside him.

Steven's volume increased. "You're wrong. This _is_ the place to find a girlfriend. She's here because she needs someone to love her, make her feel like a _woman_. Oh yeah, you're just what she needs." Steven sat up in his bed and threw a rolled up pair of dirty socks that hit Joe on the forehead. He laughed like a small child would after burping or farting. "And she's just what you need."

As Joe's body sprang upright, his bubbling rage suddenly faded. A diversion. He didn't have to lie there wallowing in a world of unresolvable and unanswerable questions. He threw the socks back at Steve. "Then you go be her savior. I reckon you're the one that needs a crazy girl's love."

"Sorry, no white chicks for me. Can't abide by that blond hair, and those green and pink streaks. Such a paleface, no thanks. She's a cutter ya know. Emo probably. But that's okay. You just have to make sure you stay away from the bipolar chicks, and never, never go near a borderline. Oh boy, God no, don't even talk to a borderline. I reckon there's two borderlines here at the moment, LaShawna and Amber. Oh yeah, run from those bitches as fast as you can. Now, a major depressive you can deal with. Yeah, two major depressives would make for a positive. You and little Maddie will be _real fine_ together. And the way she was looking at you. Yip, I'm gonna have to get her number for ya. You can save each other." Steven threw the dirty socks back at Joe, hitting his left cheek.

"Damn it. Stop that." Joe threw the socks toward the window at the far side of the ten-by-fifteen-foot room. "The last thing I need is a girl from the lunatic ward. Stay out of my life, please. And you shouldn't go around diagnosing people. Makes you sound like a goddamn shrink, a flipping therapist. Diagnose yourself. Yeah. What's the label you'd slap on your crazy self?"

Steven laughed. He hopped out of his bed, retrieved the socks and threw it back at Joe. "Hey. You come back here six times and you start figuring these things out. Maybe it's my gift. Yeah. I can just look at them and know what's wrong with them. It's my hobby, reading the DSM and put'n labels on people. Me? My diagnosis? Hell, you want the one _they_ give me, or I should say, the one I want them to give me? Or you want my own personal diagnosis?"

Joe chuckled and said, "Both."

"Their label? Schizoaffective. A nice mix of bipolar and schizophrenia."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I have wonderfully uncontrollable moods which run wild and make sure I can't control my anger. It's like ... yeah, a tireless impulse to rule the world. That's the good side to bipolar. Now add to that the cool ability to see and hear things others can't see or hear, and that's the schizo bit. That's why they stick me on that stupid Abilify. Supposed to deal with both the anger and the hallucinations. Hey, better not tell, but I don't take their shitty pills. Don't need them." Steven lifted the corner of his mattress up. "Look." Illuminated by light coming through the frosted window on their door, Joe could see a pile of about 15 small white pills all slightly dissolved. "Remind me to flush these in the morning, before they decide to check our rooms again. I'm not a schizo. Don't need them. They can think what they want. "

"So you don't see stuff, hear stuff?"

"Oh, I can see things you can't see, but they are real and they _are_ there. Your little white mind doesn't understand that, and doesn't need to. Indians, we understand a lot more about this world then you pale-faced pretenders. But _my_ diagnosis? Reactive attachment disorder, and for that there are no meds. There's only a wounded heart that will always beg to be healed, but can't ever be helped. It's a heart that won't ever let love in ... no matter how much it wants to." Steven lay down and pulled the covers up over his chin. "Don't you dare tell anyone this, but I get myself in St. Jimmies only to have a break, have a nice place to stay and some good food. And sometimes I act up just to stay longer, until I'm ready to leave. Don't tell anybody about this stuff. What I do, I do cause I hav'ta."
CHAPTER THREE

"Sorry. Don't buy it. Blaming your dad. Okay, he can be scumbag. He let you down your whole life. I get it, you hate him. But that's been going on since you were a young kid, since you can remember. That doesn't explain October 1. Why that day? That week? That month? You've coped with your dad your whole life and never felt the need to off yourself. No. Don't buy it."

Irritating, not comforting. Braxton's raspy voice made Joe want to scream, _Too many cigarettes, you probably have lung cancer, you deserve it, it's your own fault. What'd you know? Don't buy it? Go to hell._ Three sessions Joe had been saying all the right things, explaining why he took the damn pills, sliced up his wrist. Dad ruined his life. Dad, never there, never understood, never cared, never the father. A few over-the-top presents at birthdays and Christmas does not make the sperm donor a father. What does Braxton know? _I hate my father, I wanted to die. That was it. Let me go home. Why that night? Not any of your goddamn business._ "I was just thinking about it more and more. It was getting me down. I guess I realized what a creep he is, how he ruined my life. Yeah, just overwhelmed me, that's it."

"That's it?"

"Well yeah. That's it. What kind of shrink are you anyway? Aren't you supposed to sympathize, what do you all say, _empathize,_ with me? Help me get over it? You act like it's nothing. What do you know? You no doubt had the perfect father."

"Did I? Here's the thing Joe-boy. Sure, crappy parenting affects the kid, makes their life hell sometimes, leaves scars that are never gonna disappear. I get all that. And you can spend your time in here moaning about the failures of you parental figure, I got plenty of tissues for ya. And yeah, eventually you'll have to work on forgiving your dad. But October 1 was not about your dad. Something else is going on and if we don't delve into that reality ... well next time your mom may be burying you."

Joe stared at Braxton's bookshelf on the far wall, trying to read the titles of bigger books; ' _DSM IV,' wasn't that the one Steven talked about? 'Male Sexual Abuse,' must be a great read at bedtime. 'Treatment Planning for Adolescents,' more ways to put labels on us, 'Solution Focused Therapy,' oh really? 'The Courage to Heal,' Heal? Heal what? "_ I've had enough. Can I go back to the unit now?"

"You know kiddo, I don't think this is about your dad. Maybe it's about your mom. Maybe that's where we need to focus."

"Eff this. Eff you. I'm going back." Joe made sure the door slammed hard and loud; his declaration that Braxton was both cruel and clueless.

***

_Disaster. That's it. The world's caved in. I lost it. Be here forever now. Control. Where's the control? Can't curse the therapist._ Joe sat in the 'Quiet Room.' That's what staff called it. "Now, now, you need to calm down. Why don't you go on to the Quiet Room?" That's what they'd say to kids on the verge of a meltdown, ready to lose it, go off, get ugly, let their anger fly – "Off to the Quiet Room with you." The patients called the ten foot padded cube "The Monster's Hole"; the place to vent, let the monsters out – the anger, the rage, the ugliness – or was it the place to face the monsters? Off to the Quiet Room to wrestle with the freaks and beasts residing in the depth of your inner being – try to console them, try to understand them, or at least try to keep them caged.

He cursed his therapist. First cardinal rule, appease the quacks, the shrinks, the therapists; they decide, they write the discharge orders. _I've given Braxton what he wants. What else does he expect? To destroy me? See me stay here forever?_ Emotions, what are they good for? Control them at all cost or they'll control you; that's obvious, everyone knows that. It's the crazy ones that let their emotions fly, have their way. Joe can't be crazy. Isn't crazy. He grew up in a world where the show of emotions was most impolite. An offense to be too sad, too angry, even too happy. Depression, rage, fear – not permissible.

The day Joe's father and mother announced their separation and impending divorce was carefully etched across the hollows of his mind. "We've decided the best thing is for your father to be on his own." That was it. He left ten minutes later having moved his things out while the children were safe at school. After brief hugs, he opened the front door, looked back, nodded, smiled, and said, "Chins up, chins up. For the best, it's for the best. I'll see you three real soon." He was gone. Three months later ... or was it three years? What does a seven year old know about time? Dad called. Three months after that he dropped by for seventeen minutes, or was it seventeen seconds? It was his sister's second birthday.

Joe was twelve when he learned that, after his parents separated, his father moved in with a high school sweetheart he happened to meet at some convention in Tulsa. Two years later Dad ended up marrying a twenty something who had interned at his law firm. When Joe turned fourteen, for some reason, the sperm donor decided he'd be a father and started giving impressive presents, sending money, calling on special days, coming around now and then. "Father by default." Chuck used to say. "Fathering out of guilt." His mom would whisper under her breath.

Tears surfaced as Joe sat on the rubber-lined floor. He pictured himself punching the padded walls, hard enough to break both hands – that'd feel good. Real good. No, can't do that. That's what the crazies do. Tears? What's that about? Anger? Guilt? Fear? Or the realization he had likely added weeks to his stay in the hospital? _Probably want to put me on Depokote now, or Abilify or Hadol._ _How could I let myself lose it?_ Control. Control. It had never been a problem for Joe. Emotions had never begged to have their way. They stayed deep down, somewhere past the proverbial pit in his stomach. He had no need for emotions; life was good, perfect without them. What he felt now, and for the past few months, was nearly unbearable. There was no taming these crouching, hidden entities demanding life – fear, guilt, shame were trying to destroy his will to live. Braxton wouldn't understand that, believe that. So he just threw out words, words he thought his therapist wanted to hear, words he thought would get him out of this hospital sooner. Tears. Why these tears? Chin up. Chin up.
CHAPTER FOUR

Dinnertime. Thirty fellow patients, between thirteen and seventeen, gathered around several square tables, each with six stools fixed to the floor – no dining room chairs, too easily turned into weapons by some frustrated and hormone-raged teen deciding to give the world what it deserves. Three of the walls in the dining room boasted huge murals; one of hot air balloons floating above some clouds, the other pictured gentle mountains smothered by fir trees; the third was a huge rainbow against a bright blue sky. "Trying to get our minds off the reality of our sad, tragic and miserable lives I guess." Joe muttered to himself when he first saw the obnoxious attempts at art.

Joe hated meal times with a hidden though supreme passion. He always sat next to Steven, partly because he did feel sorry for him. Steven's poor social skills set him apart; he was the outcast among outcast, a social leper among society's rejects – what a sad and fearful place to be in the hallowed scheme of the teenage pecking order. Others only acknowledged the wild Indian to mock him, imitate him, embarrass him and, and most of all, to provoke him – just to see him explode.

Joe had taken on the role to accept and to bless this social leper. But like the lepers of ancient times, it meant _any_ who dare mix with them, be touched by them, must be banned from the community as well. Unclean! But _that_ was the main reason Joe sat with Steven, to keep others from trying to befriend him. He wanted no friends in this place. Sitting with Steven meant being an outcast as well; guilt by association; that was okay, that was exactly what Joe wanted. He was not there to make friends, and had no interest in being friendly with anyone. Being a leper was just fine with him.

"Maddie! Hey sexy! Come over here and sit with us." Steven shouted out across the dining room. His whiny voice and invitation to the new girl ignited laughter from the other tables.

Joe felt his cheeks begin to burn. "God, Steve, shut up. Leave her alone."

Steven shouted out again, "Joe thinks you have a nice tight ass and he loves your hair. Come and sit right here, beautiful." More billows of laughter.

Two staff bellowed out in unison, "Steven! Boundaries!" The female staff added, "Any more talk like that Mr. Littleaxe, and it's early bedtime for you. And that will go for the rest of you lot. If you don't' quiet down and focus on finishing your dinner, every one of you are welcome to enjoy an early bedtime. No more nonsense. Last warning. Less nonsense and more eating." The stern threat was serious and the other _inmates_ , as they liked to call themselves, muffled their laughter and curtailed mocking imitations of Steven's inappropriate comments.

Joe leaned toward Steven and whispered, "Steve. God! Can't you think before you let anything come out of that mouth of yours? Jesus. Girls don't like you talking like that. At least the decent ones. You need to learn to shut your mouth and put your brain in reverse. That's no way to get someone to give you the time of day." Joe knew his cheeks were starting to glow with embarrassment. He held his left hand over the side of his face exposed to the crazies at the table to the left. "She has no interest in sitting here. That's for sure."

"Yes she does." Steven smiled and nodded his head toward Joe's left side.

Maddie placed her tray on the table. "Sure I'll join the two sexiest guys in St. Jimmies loony-bin. And I do like it when someone likes my hair and secretly admires my ass."

"Oh God! I never, never said that. Steve here, loves to make things up. Can't believe a word that comes out that mouth. He was expressing his opinion not mine."

"Hey, I was just saying what your horny eyes are clearly screaming out."

"Geez, Steve, shut up. Joe. I'm Joe. And I know you're Maddie, and you really don't need to be sitting here. It's actually very dangerous to sit here. You'll make your life incredible difficult just being at this table. You'll be considered scum, an outcast by the certified crazies of Fayetteville."

Steven nudged Joe with his forearm and said, "Yip. This table is for very special people. But I reckon you're special enough."

"Rejects sit here. And you're no reject. I'd hate for you to lose your friends on table one over there. I'm sure you've already heard lots of juicy rumors about Steve, and probably me, and some of them are true. Sit here and they'll be spreading rumors about you."

"Who cares? Those girls just look for ways to stir up the drama. Girls in here love drama. It's like they love to multiply the chaos in an already chaotic world. And who needs that? I could tell you lots about those girls over there, but I won't. I thought I had it bad before I came to this place, but being here and you begin to see your life isn't so bad." Maddie leaned forward as she spoke. She spoke with a smooth voice, slightly lyrical, so unlike the slight southern drawl of many of the kids on the adolescent unit. Bangs hung across the left side of her face, hiding her left cheek and eye and just touching the corner of her mouth. Pink and green streaks mingled with her light brown hair, which, on the lower right side of her head, was shaved from the temple back to the nape of her neck. Oversized horned-rimmed glasses oddly complimented a slightly rounded face.

"Being here makes any life look pretty damn good." Joe said. She smiled. Joe wanted to pull her bangs back and get a good at her face. That smile – seemed sweet, innocent. There was something about her, she was not like the hardened girls in this place; their eyes and smiles and entire demeanor always seemed to be hiding forbidden realties full of fear or anger or hurt or who knows what. Damaged goods; they all looked so damaged. Maddie seemed like she might be different. _What's she doing here? A cutter. Why would she do that?_ Not a question he can ask, would ask. He doesn't need to know; he's not here to make friends of any sort. And too, she has to be damaged, otherwise she'd be out in the real world, going to school, doing homework, messing around on Facebook, hanging with friends at the mall, eating dinner with a family that laughs and loves and ...

As if reading his mind, she pulled back her bangs and tucked them behind her ear. "So what got you here Joe? Why are you here?" She glanced at his arm still covered with gauze, and quickly looked away.

No. No. _That_ question was not to be asked in this or any other place; hell, it was obvious enough. _Why are you here?_ Maybe the girls ask such things of one another; maybe they're more open about the whys, the what happened, the secrets– girls can wear their hearts on their bosoms, but not the guys. Privacy. You don't ask and you don't tell. Sure, maybe in the groups you have to say something, but that's minimal, it's not real, you share only enough to keep the therapist thinking you're working on _treatment,_ only tell them what they want to hear, or what _you_ want them to hear.

"Sorry. I shouldn't ask that. It's none of my business. Gee. I'm so ... So do you really like my ass?"

They both laughed. Joe said, "Sure, what's not to like? It is a fine ass indeed."

Steven shook his head as they laughed. He grabbed Joe's hand and hoisted his arm. "He's here for this. Slicing his arm up cause he wanted to die for some reason. I'm here for hearing and seeing things. But I don't have hallucinations. I'm not one of the crazy ones."

Joe and Maddie looked at Steven and laughed more loudly.

"Quiet down you guys. We aren't here to have fun, are we? This is serious stuff. None of this jovial stuff." Miss Linda said sternly but with a smile and a nod. "Keep it down, eh?"

"Sure Miss Linda. Sorry." Joe said and whispered, "I like her, she's alright. She alright." The heavyset Black woman strolled to the other side of the dining hall in a manner declaring she was the one in charge on the this unit.

"She's mean sometimes. I don't think she likes me. But I guess she's bearable. So where do you live? What school you go to?" Maddie asked.

Joe didn't respond. His brain was deciphering what was the right, proper, safe response. _I don't want friends here. She doesn't need to know anything about me. Too much information, means getting to know each other. Don't want to be rude though. She's just being nice, no big deal._ He didn't know what expression his face portrayed. He nodded and smiled; he wasn't sure how that came across. She pulled her head back and shrugged her shoulders. "This food's disgusting here isn't it?"

"Yeah, always is. Always dishing up crap."

Steven said, "Shit. Shitty. Always taste like shit warmed up without any salt or pepper. Plain shitty."

"Steven! Early bedtime for you."

"Oh shit Miss Linda. I'm only speaking the truth."
CHAPTER FIVE

Only three years older than Joe, Chuck was all a father should be. Proud when he made good grades, disappointed when he didn't. His biggest cheerleader at all his ball games and riding him hard when he didn't give his all. He'd taught him how to drive, had once softened mom up when he was suspended in eighth grade after a fight with the school bully. Chuck was his hero.

"How's mom?" Joe asked and waited for a response as Chuck surveyed the dining hall where half a dozen parents sat in twos and threes around the dining tables with their hurt, frightened or, more often, angry child. His brother shook his head, then looked back at Joe and shrugged his shoulders. "What do you think you little piece of crap?" Joe looked away. "Don't play the poor little boy Joe. What you did has nearly done mom in."

Joe's head swung back and he looked Chuck in the eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. What more can I say. I can't change it."

Chuck put his hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezed. Joe winced. "You have to tell her Joe. Tell her why you did such a stupid thing. I can't keep lying. You can't hide it forever. She needs to know. She needs to understand why you did such a god-awful stupid thing."

Joe took Chuck's hand off his shoulder and pushed it away. Leaning toward Chuck, he whispered, "No one needs to know. Can't know. There's no point. It'll ruin your life too you know. Anyway, time heals. I'll move on. I won't let it destroy me anymore. I can handle things now. I'm okay now." Joe showed Chuck his arm, now un-bandaged, the twenty-one staples no longer hidden. "And I sure won't do something stupid like this again. End up in a place like this again."

"I'll kill you if you do." Chuck leaned back. An annoying grin grew on his face, Joe knew Chuck was anticipating his reaction to what was about to be said. Drawing in a quick breath Chuck said, "Dad came over. He wants to come see you. Sad but true."

Joe's eyes bulged. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "Mom had no business telling him I was in this place. How much does he know? Don't tell him anything. Tell him I won't see him if he comes. I hope he thinks it's his fault. No. I wouldn't want him to think I care that much about his utter failure as a father."

"He'll come. Parenting out of guilt. Got to smooth his conscience, whatever's left of it."

"I won't see him. You can tell him that. I can refuse to see him. Tell mom to come. She should be here, not him."

Chuck gave Joe a look that fueled his already crippling guilt. "I don't think she can handle it, Joe. It's just too hard for her. Maybe in another few days. I'm not going to push her."

"It's been nearly two flippin' weeks. My therapist wants her to come to a session, a counseling session. No way. I don't what her coming here." Joe shook his head. "Tell her not to come, not to worry. I don't want her to see me in this god-awful place. You're right, it'll just freak her out."

Chuck laughed and rubbed Joe's head. "You don't know what you want, do ya?"

"I want out of this hellhole. What about college? You need to get back. What about football? Still on the team? You shouldn't be here. Just makes me feel guilty. I don't want you screwing up your life on account of me."

"Give me a break, blunder butt. This ain't about you. So I'm not on campus. I'm doing some online courses. And the football team could care less about walk-ons. The scout team will survive without me."

Joe leaned toward Chuck and barely whispered. "No cops been around, have they?"

As Chuck shook his head, an eruption of harsh and ugly words seized everyone's attention. "Shut your goddamn face or I'll goddamn shut it for you! You want to laugh at me? Go on then! Laugh at me! Screw you, you fat little fart face!" The dozen visitors sitting in the kitchen area turned their heads and witnessed Steven's right fist slam into the face of a thin Black kid who stood stunned in the day area. Steven cocked his arm for a second blow when two hefty male staff grabbed him from behind and yanked him away from the thirteen year old who remained motionless. Steven's feet barely touched the floor as they ushered him to the 'Monster's Hole.' Several kids laughed; shocked parents gasped and shook their heads.

"Indian on the warpath. He's something, isn't he?" Chuck said.

"He's okay. Pretty crazy though. Yeah, pretty damn crazy."

"Sorry. It's time guys. Visitation needs to finish up." Miss Linda announced as Steven's foulmouthed screams pierced through the padded room's walls.

As Chuck stood up, Joe said, "I've changed my mind. Tell mom to come. Okay?"

"I'm not sure though, Joe. I don't think she's ready."

"Just ask her."

***

Steven sat on the floor, legs crossed, back and head firm against the padded wall. Another attack; familiar arrows shot deep into his core. Disrespect, prejudice, mockery, hatred, indifference – arrows of laughter and disdain meant to destroy, to kill. Steven began banging his head against the cushioned wall. At least the wall was too polite to inflict the pain he wanted to feel, feel on the outside so he wouldn't have to endure the hidden agony of heart and soul on the inside. _Don't belong. No reason to be here, be alive. No reason to care. Why bother? Never wanted. Never ever. Homeless. Just forever homeless._

Questions without words – always there, always haunting. His mother murdered in prison when he was five; the loss of his grandmother to cancer two years later. Then his grandfather, killed in a car accident when he was eight. Killed by a drunk driver. A drunk like his dad – should have killed his father, a grandfather should never have to die like that.

His grandparents raised him from the age of two; they were gone, lost forever. Gone, the evenings at the sweat lodge, trips to Pow Wows and stomp dances. Gone, the bedtimes when the legends of his ancestors came alive, ancestors who had conquered and still watched over the living. No more stories of Mother Earth caring for her charge. No more myths of spirits leading and guiding – myths his grandfather never doubted were the true reality. _Grandfather, I need you. I need your comfort, your touch._ _Don't leave me alone_.

After the death of his grandfather, Steven lived mainly with his father. Life with his father was unpredictable, and often dangerous. When drinking, his dad would beat him for any and all infractions, finding any excuse to exert power and authority over his child, declaring he was in charge and demanding his son's respect. When not drinking, he would disappear into his bedroom, brooding, hiding, refusing to live. Countless times Steven went to bed having had only water to drink for the entire day. He started going in and out of hospitals at the age of ten. The psyche ward of St. Jimmies became a second home – somewhere peaceful, nurturing, safe.

_Grandfather, where are you? I need you, need your touch, to know you're here, know you've not given up on me._ _Always the outcast. Wherever I go, that's what I am, nothin' but a damn outcast. Stop the arrows, stop the pain, the loneliness. Eff it all. Lost. Lost. Lost._

How long had he been in the Monster's Hole? A few minutes or a few hours? Time stopped, a peace and stillness embraced him; he felt weightless, heavy tethers severed. An arm slipped around his shoulders and he felt the hardened skin of a warrior's face on his cheek; the face of one brave and wise, one tested and strengthened by time. Steven whispered, "Grandfather, why did you leave? You shouldn't have died. You should not have left me. I'm lost now. I'm lost." His grandfather stood and reached out his hand. Steven rose and took his grandfather's hand and looked him in the eyes. "Help me. Please."

Grandfather stood silent, but his eyes burned deep into Steven's wounded soul. He knew the words his grandfather wanted him to embrace. "Courage young warrior, strength is yours. The tribe knows no outcast. The Little People, they always find their lost children. They are always there to help you."

A few minutes or a few hours? A dream? Did grandfather come to comfort him? "Courage. Strength. Running Fox. Running Fox. My Indian name, given by my grandfather. Running Fox is who I am." Steven smiled, then laughed. He filled his lungs and let out a high-pitched war cry. He ignored the bellows of laughter as he emerged from the Monster's Hole and joined the others already sitting at the dining tables.

***

"God, I love the fall. Nothing like the autumn trees. Nothing like the crisp cool air biting at your cheeks. And here we are, stuck in here. No Halloween parties this year." Joe said to Maddie as they walked around the perimeter of the courtyard. Both had their hands stuffed in their jackets. This was the first time they'd spent together without Steven running circles around them, blurting out every random thought that entered his brain; he was suffering the consequences of his outburst during last night's visitation. Joe wanted to enjoy these uninterrupted moments he had with Maddie. He nudged her. "Don't you love fall?"

"Sure."

Sure? That response lacked conviction and sincerity. How can any reasonable and thoughtful human not love autumn in the Ozarks? Joe glanced at her; he felt an urge, a need to know more – no, not allowed. To pry into her life would give her permission to ask him personal questions, permission for her to meddle in his life. All their bantering at meal times, at the gym, their walks in the courtyard, had always remained superficial, insincere. The focus was on other kids; sizing them up, creating elaborate stories about how each one had ended up in the psyche ward at St. James, imagining the deep and dark secrets that were destroying these unfortunate kids' lives. More recently, they began enacting imagined scenes from their peers' therapy sessions, taking turns playing the patient and the therapist. Of course, they never dared talk about their secrets, about what went on with their therapist in the sacred office of confidentiality. Perhaps Maddie would have shared about her life; why she cut, why she was depressed, suffering, struggling, damaged. She probably wanted to talk about her life, her family, expose the secrets that flawed and hapless parents desperately seek to hide. At times, Joe sensed she was about to peel back the sacred façade that protects and shields and hides; that's when he would point toward another patient and create another fictitious problem, which would thoroughly divert them from the reality of their own worlds, their own secrets, and would keep him safe.

Dismissing his urge to pry, Joe motioned across the courtyard and said, "Over there. That new kid, Dylan. Bet he's into ICP, a jugalo. Paints a clown face on himself when he goes to bed. I bet ...

"Joe. Why'd you want to ... you know, die? I've thought about it sometimes. But ...but I never tried. Never wanted to try. I've never wanted to die. Did you really want to die?"

Joe felt his stomach tighten. _Screw this_. _Speed up, leave her behind. She can't ask that question._ His words came out with distinct meanness. "Well, why do you cut? Isn't that like kind'a wanting to die? Seems to me you want to die." _No. Don't treat her like that. You idiot_.

"No. It's not like that. It's just not." She paused leaving an awkward moment of nothing. Joe knew his tone had hurt her. He knew he should apologize, say something; nothing would come out of his mouth. She finally spoke, ending that forever moment. "I am sorry. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I shouldn't ask. It was stupid of me."

Tears. Tears wanted to come. Damn tears. Joe wanted to turn and run, run fast and furious, run into oblivion. She wouldn't understand, no one would understand. He didn't _want_ to die – he _had_ to die. Oh, he'd done what he had to do, and was glad he did it – at the time. But choices and actions, even those assumed to be noble and right, inevitably give birth to an altered future. Evil choices and actions demand negative and harsh consequences. What did his English Lit teacher call it? _Karma_. Yes Karma. His life was now a Greek tragedy, where one grave choice gives birth to a course of events that must end in unrelenting sorrow. No one would understand this, no one. He bit his lower lip and pulled his hands out of his pockets, wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed his forearms. "Damn, it's getting cold. You ready to go in?"

She nodded and they turned and walked toward the door. As they neared the building, she grabbed his arm and squeezed, a gentle and caring grasp. "You're afraid aren't you? To get close, to open up. To be real. That's okay, I guess. But you know, it is safe."

Tears welling up again. That can't happen, not allowed. He quickly pulled his sleeve across his face and glanced at her. _What would it be like to hug her? A nice warm embrace that would last for ... for hours. What would it be like to touch her, kiss her? Safe. It's safe. Let her in. No, she's wrong, nothing's safe._ "This just isn't the place to get involved, make friends. You know what I mean? We're friends, but only sort of. Does that make any sense? When we leave this god-awful place, we shouldn't ... we just have to leave our problems here. I don't want to take any of this home. It's like ... we'll leave this place and that's it and I'll never see any of these ... these people again."

Maddie stopped, grabbed Joe's arm and swung him around. "You mean _these_ crazy people? _These_ lunatics?" She put her face close to his. "I guess that's how you see me. Just one of the loonies. Another off her rocker, wacko, crazy, out of her head, lunatic." She turned and started walking off. "Well, how awfully kind of you to be so nice to me. How humble of you to mix with such a crazy psycho like me. Why don't you just ... just go to hell? You'd probably feel nice and safe there."

Joe caught up with her and reached for her shoulder. She pulled away. He said, "No. Don't. It's not like that. I don't mean that you're ... Geez, this just isn't the place to ... to make friends, or anything else. "

Joe could see a lone tear slipping out the corner of her right eye. Maddie quickly wiped the tear away and with seething but controlled anger said, "Why? Anywhere is a good place to find a friend. You just might miss out if you just keep pushing people away ... pushing them away because you decided it's not the right time or place, or the right sort of people. Or that you're just too good for anybody else. Thanks a lot. Thanks a lot. Just get away from me." Miss Linda opened the door and she hurried through, leaving Joe three steps behind.

Joe caught up and jumped in front of her. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just not ready to ... oh hell. I don't know what I mean. Being in here I ... Heck. I am scared. I don't know why, but I'm just scared. I don't even know what I'm scared about."

Maddie leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. "We're all scared Joe. That's why we're here, we're all scared to death. Scared to live, scared to be. We're all scared senseless. Might as well be scared together."

***

"I just don't understand this ... this cutting. I can't believe you've been doing it for more than year and we never knew. Madeline, honey, I feel so bad. You needed help and I didn't know. I should have known. How did I miss it? And why? Why the cutting? How can you do that to yourself?" Maddie's mom, Judith and her father, Howard, sat across from Maddie in her therapist's office. Maddie glanced up and shook her head. Judith held her father's hand. Maddie looked back down at her shoes; still without shoelaces – doctor's order, make sure she's safe, that other kids are safe. _How could you hang yourself with a shoestring anyway? Stupid rules, stupid rules._ She glanced up again, tears filled both her parents' eyes – their eyes, they looked lost and confused; parents should never look lost and should never be confused. Guilt and shame gutted Maddie's soul and twisted her inner being. She looked at her therapist begging for a lifeline, a clue, anything. _Isn't time up yet? I gotta get out of here. Just say something, you're the therapist._

"Maddie?" Her therapist, Angie, said as she leaned forward in her chair. "These are important questions. Help your parents understand ... understand what you're going through and the why."

_The why? That's not fair. I'm not ready to talk about that. Not ready._ Maddie shifted in her chair. Her left leg started to move up and down, faster and faster. She glanced up but quickly looked back down at her lace-less shoes. She knew her therapist was pushing her, giving her the opportunity for the revelation, the declaration of the secret that she had thought was safe and harmless, but a secret that had been cunningly at work undermining her sense of worth, her sense of selfhood. In their last session, Angie brushed Maddie's bangs to the side and tucked them behind her ear. She put her hand on Maddie's shoulder and, in a whisper, said, "It's time to let go of the secrets, Maddie. You have to. And if you don't, I'll have to tell them. I think it's better coming from you. They need to understand why you cut. They have to know what happened. It will have to be dealt with."

Maddie's right leg began to move up and down.

Angie said, "Do you want me to ..."

Maddie's words came out quickly, with a growing quiver. "No. It's hard. I don't' know. I cut because it gets the pain out, the emotions, it just helps. It's like a release, watching the blood come out. It's like my emotions are being let out, escaping. It just makes feel better. But I've realized ... I see that ... well one reason I cut, it's because I feel that's what I deserve."

"What you deserve? How could you possibly think you deserve such a thing?" Her father said as he wiped a tear just beginning to slip down his left cheek.

"You're gonna hate me. I can't talk about it. I thought I was ready. I'm not. I can't. I'm sorry. Miss Angie, I can't. I need to go. Can I go now?"

"It's okay, honey. There is nothing you can say that would alter our love for you. Absolutely nothing could make us hate you, for goodness sake." Judith got up, kneeled on the floor and put her arm around Maddie. She caressed her hair and said, "Nothing can and never will change our love for you and our belief in you."

"Uncle Billy molested me. Raped me. Raped me again and again."

CHAPTER SIX

"This is _your_ time Joe-boy. What do you want to talk about?" Braxton was cleaning his reading glasses, looking straight into Joe's eyes.

"I suppose I should apologize."

"For what?"

"God. You know for what. Cussing you out the other day. Sorry. Sorry I lost it."

"That's okay. I've heard worse. You can be sorry for telling me to screw myself, but don't be sorry for losing it, for having some emotion. Emotion. Good for you. Cursing, you can work on that. I hit a nerve though. Want to talk about it?"

Joe stood up and stared out the window. Those adults, meandering around the court yard, in slow motion; mechanical in the way their feet move, taking half steps, steps that try so hard to show determination, but steps that take them nowhere. "They sure drug those people up don't they?" Joe laughed and pointed "Oh my God! Look at that! A heavyset woman was running in circles repeatedly lifting her shirt up exposing a braless breast.

"Come on Joe, sit down. This isn't about them. It's about you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"My mom?"

"Yeah. How's she doing in all this?"

Joe turned and sat in the nicely cushioned love seat. He felt his body sink and imagined it swallowing him up completely, disappearing into an eternity of comfort. "What do you think? Heck. Look what I put her through. I nearly killed her."

"Guilt?"

"Yeah. Lots of guilt."

"That's okay. That can be dealt with. Tell me about your mom."

Joe stretched his legs out and slid down as far as possible without landing on the floor. He put a cushion behind his head, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "There's stains on your ceiling. You should get that fixed. Needs to be painted over." He took a breath. "She's what a mom's supposed to be. She's there. She cares. Takes good care of us. Strong. She was always strong. Never cried after dad left. Never. Capable. She could do anything. She was always strong."

"Was?"

"Was? Yeah, _was._ Things changed. About two years ago. She met a guy. I thought that might be good. She hadn't had anyone since ... you know, dad left. I wasn't going to like any guy she brought around, but I thought maybe that'd be a good thing for her. You know, make her happy."

"Not gonna have a happy ending, is it?"

"They dated a while before we met him. He was okay. Nice guy. After six months, he kind of moved in. There most of the week. And he was really good to us. Took us lots of places, got stuff for us, like he really cared. He even spent time with us, me and Chuck, helped us with our football, training us up a bit, pushing us hard. Then Chuck went off to college and it was good to have someone like that, being kind'a like dad to me. And ... then they got married. For a while it was cool, good. Nice, a ... a nice sort of guy. Looking back, it was like, _too_ nice."

"A charmer. A real nice charmer. Yeah, those are the ones you have to be wary of."

"You're telling me. After a few months, the fights started. Always in the bedroom, between mom and him. They got louder. Came more often. Then he started drinking, probably already was but hid it. And the drinking got worse ... and worse." Joe chest tightened, he paused and took a few quick breaths.

Braxton leaned forward. "Joe. I'm sorry."

"You know where this going, don't you? He got mean. Got violent. Pushing mom. Then started hitting her. He nearly hit me a few times, but stopped himself. But then ... the bastard hit my sister. Knocked her out. Flippin' knocked her out. Sent her to the goddamn hospital. CPS got called. Some social worker came out and investigated. Of course, he lied about it and ... and mom backed him up. She _backed_ him up." Joe bit his lower lip and shook his head slightly. "And then ... well, he apologizes to us. Oh, he was _so so_ sorry. 'This will never happen again. I've stopped drinking. I don't know what happened to me. I'm really not that kind of person.' All that bullshit. Mom was... she wanted to ... it makes me so angry, she gave him another chance. And then another chance, and another." Joe pulled himself up further onto the loveseat. "It's like she had to have him, I ... I guess because it was the first guy who cared about her, since dad got off his ass and left us."

"Bad love's better than no love. Hard to understand that, but it's too often true."

"I ... we ran him off. Chuck and me. Mom was gone to her sister's one weekend, with Amber. We cornered him. Got into it, telling him what we thought of him. Then ... we beat the crap out of him and chased him off, chased him with baseball bats. And we ... I ... I ..." Joe stopped and closed his eyes. _Careful. Careful. Like we practiced. No more that than that_. "I threatened to kill him if he ever came back. I tell you, that was a promise not a threat. He got into his car and disappeared. We packed all his clothes and other junk and threw everything into the lake. When mom came home, we told her he'd just left her. Went back to Texas, where his family was supposed to be. Well, he's never come back. Never even heard from him. And that's it." Joe got up and walked to the window and stared at the distant landscape. "Mom has never been the same, not since he started abusing her ... us. I blame that goddamn bastard. And ... I blame myself."

"Why? Blame yourself for what? For running the bastard off?"

Joe turned around and glared at Braxton. "You ask flippin' dumb questions, don't ya? Can I go back now?" Emotions rumbled in Joe's gut – feelings that had no business existing. He drew in his breath slowly and held it; _tame them, kill them, ignore them – emotions have no purpose_. He exhaled and took a step toward the door.

"Keep running Joe. Keep running away. Tell me, where's that gonna get you? Maybe slicing up your other arm, and taking another fifty or sixty or a hundred pills. Run away Joe and never wake up."

"Damn you. What'd you want from me? I've told you all my secrets. I've talked about why I did it. I've ruined everything. Can't you see that? What more do you want from me?"

"I don't want a thing from you. I just want you to be honest with yourself. Be honest with yourself, so you can forgive yourself."

"For what? For what?"

"That's what _you_ need to tell me, Joe-boy. You tell me. For what?"

"This is such crap. You're trying to dig things up that aren't there. You think you know me but you don't know anything. I'm done. Okay. I'm done. I need to go." Joe opened the office door and walked slowly to the dayroom. _Deep breaths, deep breaths. A few more. Push the emotions back into the abyss._ _Some things can't, won't be forgiven._ _What does Braxton know anyway_?
CHAPTER SEVEN

"Joseph K! Your parents are here." Miss Linda elongated each syllable as she called from the hallway from the main doors to the locked unit.

"I don't think so." Joe barked back as he put a Jack and Ace down on the table. "Black Jack again. My luck runneth over. You two are very lucky to be learning from the master."

"Oh I think so. Get your butt up. Com'on." Linda retorted, then said, "You're not placing bets on those games are ya? No gambling. No poker."

Steven and Maddie declared their innocence in unison as Joe looked over his shoulder; both parents were walking down the corridor. He closed his eyes – a whirlwind of confusion hit his brain hard. He stood slowly. Motionless, he watched his parents approach. His mom had on a dated pants suit; he and his brother always joked that she was trying to look like Hilary Clinton when she wore it. Her shoulder length blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, used to give her a girlish look, not anymore. Her eyes betrayed any attempt to defy the aging process; so tired and dull now. When had they become so glazed and lifeless? He tried to remember when he first noticed the life fading from her eyes. When was the last time he'd seen that glimmer of zeal and joy, and that endless hope which touched everyone around her? Was it last year? Or the year before? Years, it must have been years. He knew the transformation was partly his fault and partly the short-lived stepdad's, but most of the culpability lay on his father shoulders; he had ruined all their lives. He glared at his dad, proudly declaring his unbounded hatred.

His father, Robert, wore khaki trousers, the kind overloaded with useless pockets. The well-starched maroon polo shirt and sunglasses sitting on top of his head fueled the disdain, which for years, had been churning in Joe's inner core. _Trying to look like a thirty something when he's nearly fifty. So pathetic._ _If I could hate him more, I would._

As his father neared, Joe carefully turned up the side of his mouth, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Robert and Sarah seemed to ignore the nonverbal declaration that he had no interest in seeing his father and was unimpressed by his presence. His parents stood staring for a moment; both their faces conveyed fear, or shock – or was it disappointment? Maybe just pity. Joe wasn't sure; he decided it must be pity. After an abbreviated eternity, his mother embraced him. He could feel her cool tears on his right cheek. He did not want her to let go. How could he have done this to her? How could he have come so close to destroying her? Maybe he had destroyed her. He whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry mom. I'm so sorry."

She whispered back, "No. I'm sorry I let you down. I should have done something. I should have known something was wrong. I should have ..."

"It was nothing to do with you mom. Nothing. Why's he here?"

Sarah pulled back and grabbed Robert's hand. She pulled him toward Joe. "He's your father, Joe. He cares. He needs to see you. And you need to see him. He loves you."

Robert stepped toward Joe, his arms beginning to extend. Joe stepped back. "Goddamn you. This is bullshit. Screw you. Get the hell away from me you freakin' bastard." Those and other words and phrases swirled in Joe's head; things he'd, for years, longed to spew out with the full force of an erupting volcano. Joe folded his arms. "You don't need to be here dad. I'm fine."

Robert's words came out quickly. "You're fine? You nearly ... good-god, nearly killed yourself. You're not fine. What the hell happened for you to do such a thing? How could ..."

Sarah grabbed Roberts's arm and said, "Joe, where can we go to visit? We need some quiet, and some privacy."

The three retreated to Joe's bedroom. Joe plopped on his bed and pushed himself backward until his spine dug into the cold wall. Sarah straightened Steven's bedcover. With a tissue, she carefully picked up a pair of dirty socks and threw them into a corner of the room. "Goodness. How do you put up with this ... mess? What kind of child lives like this?" She and Robert sat carefully on the edge of Steven's bed.

"Crazy ones, mom. Crazy ones." His parents showed no appreciation for the sarcastic remark. "I suppose ones that never lived in a decent home."

"I suppose so." Mom shook her head, then said. 'I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. It's just been ... "

Robert interrupted. "Been too damn hard for your mother. I can see why now. You have no idea what you've put us through." His father's authoritative tone echoed off the bare walls of the small bedroom.

The volcano's core pushed up, threatening to erupt, bringing its inevitable chaos and destruction. Joe bit his lower lip and shook his head. "I feel bad enough, dad. I'm sorry. That's all I can say."

"Why? I don't understand this. How could do such a thing?" Robert drew in a quick breath. "Such a ... a selfish act." His father's eyes oozed with contempt – certainly not pity.

Guilt. Horrible, cruel, unrelenting guilt had pronounced the sentence that he no longer deserved to live. But no one would understand that. No one needed to know anything. "I really don't know why. And please, don't keep asking, 'cause there is no good answer. I just did something stupid. I felt a bit depressed and here I am. I don't want to die. I'm fine now. I just want to go home, back to my own bed. Go back to school. I'm ready to go home. I hate this place."

Sarah said, "I want you home. When can you come home?"

"Maybe a week or two. Or three. I don't know. They don't trust me yet." Joe mimicked his psychiatrist's middle-eastern accent. 'This was a very _serious_ attempt. _You_ very nearly died. _We_ must be sure you are _safe._ ' That's what the shrink keeps saying."

"Well, I know this much, you're coming home with me. Your mom obviously cannot cope with you." His dad stood up as he said this.

Joe looked at his mom, waiting for her to put his dad in his place. She looked down and clasped her hands and squeezed them until her knuckles turned white. In an quiet and, what seemed apologetic voice, she said, "Well ... we have talked about this. It may be ... well, be for the best."

_Eruption!_ "No way. No way. No freakin' way. Mark my words, that is never gonna happen." Joe's finger trembled as he pointed it at his father. Spit spewed from his mouth as he screamed. "You! As far as I am concerned, have no right to be my father. You lost that right when you walked out on us and decided to screw every slut that would look at you. You lost that right when you turned your back on us and treated us like pitiful puppies at the pound, throwing us a goddamn bone now and then, thinking we would just come around and lick your sorry face. As far as I see it, you are not my father and you can go to hell. Go to hell and screw all the sluts down there. I ain't gonna live with you."

Linda came through the door. "Joe, I think it's time you went to the quiet room."

***

"And how'd that feel?"

"What do you think? Bad. Horrible. It was god-awful. And ... I don't know, it kind'a felt good, awesome. Is that possible? That's confusing. How can something feel great and awful at the same time? One second I'm glad I told him off, the next I feel terrible ... embarrassed." Joe lay on the floor in Braxton's office. He held his head up slightly with clasped hands."

Braxton's chair squeaked as he leaned back and tucked his left leg behind his right knee. "Ahh, the wondrous rollercoaster of emotion. Let yourself feel both. Don't be ashamed of either. The important question is which one you're going to settle on."

"Maybe I need both. Balance me out."

"Maybe you're right. Your mom? What'd she say?"

"Nothing. Just cried. Sniffed. That's what she does, sniffle." Joe whined and drew in several short breaths. "Like that. She always sniffles, doesn't really cry."

"Sounds cynical to me. What is it? Don't trust her sniffles?"

"Maybe. It bothers me ... that she doesn't get angry, like she should ... angry at dad. She doesn't hate him like she should. That makes me mad. Yeah, real mad. Shouldn't, but it does."

"There's no right or wrong when it comes to emotions kiddo. They are what they are. Your job is to get them out ... in the right way. Honor them, but never let them lead you around by the nose."

"Lead me to slicing my wrist again? Taking pills again?"

"Indeed. And cussing out your dad, well, not the best approach to problem solving. But sometimes we have to explode, let it all out so we can move on. What about your dad, what did he say? What'd he do? You're in one piece, so I know he didn't slap the hell out of ya."

"He ..." Joe sat up. "He cried." Joe paused and shook his head. "Tears. He just wiped them away, turned and left. That was it. Yeah. That was it."

"Tears of remorse."

"What?"

"Tears saying he's sorry. Or maybe they're tears of grief. Maybe your father's grieving that he missed watching his son grow up, grieving that he wasn't the father he should've, could've been."

"Geez man. I don't care what his sorry tears are about. Dead to me. He's dead to me. When can I go home? Why the hell don't you tell me?"

"Avoiding reality again? What would be different if you did go home? Are you safe?"

"I'm not going to kill myself if that's what you mean. Geez. I'm fine. Staying here is just making me worse."

"Are you safe though?"

Joe got up and took a book off the bookshelf and opened it, not noticing the title. "I'm safe. I'm fine. You trying to piss me off again? Why do you do that?"

"Are you safe ... with your emotions? Can you handle the jumble of emotions still inside there? Can you handle that monster load of guilt? Or anger? Or self-loathing, or self-pity ... or whatever it is you're carrying around."

"I can handle whatever it is you think it is." Joe shut the book and gripped it hard; he felt an intense and irresistible urge to throw the book at Braxton's fathead. Then he noticed the name of it and laughed – 'Tame the Rage: Dealing with male domestic violence.'

"Take that one with you. Have a look at it."

"That's okay. I'm good."

CHAPTER EIGHT

A few days later Joe, Maddie, and Steven wandered around the courtyard on an unusually mild autumn afternoon. As always, just the three of them– other patients carefully avoided the crazed Indian, the 'too good for anybody else' white boy and the shy, pitiful Emo girl who tagged along with them.

"JFK. Eleventh. And yeah I did play football and was pretty damn good at it. And you?" Finally, it happened; Joe reluctantly responded to Maddie's question, one she had asked three times before. And now he had revealed a snippet of his private life – the name of his high school and his grade. For two weeks his guilt had been building; she deserved more – more openness, honesty, and less games. After all, Maddie had gotten him through the living hell of hospital existence. And she had helped him forget, at least for passing moments, his act of cowardice and allowed him to push away the guilt and shame that lead up to it. As well, she helped him pretend that the inevitable tragic consequence of his recent past, would somehow bypass him.

"I go to Jefferson. I'm a junior this year. Just took my SATs. I'm sure I screwed them up. I ..."

Steven raised his hand and waved it and said, "Wait. It's my turn. I'm in eighth grade. I'm supposed to be in tenth. But being in the damn hospitals ruined school for me. I don't care though, school's boring and useless, for jack asses, don't need it, it's a waste of ..."

"Jefferson? That's a rough school, lots of fights, so I hear. Gang stuff" Joe and Maddie had adapted as only human beings can to life's difficult obstacles; ignoring Steven's constant interjections had become effortless.

"Is it? Oh. No, it's not so bad. JFK? Hey, don't lots of preps go there? What music do you like? Don't tell anyone, but I love the classics, Bach, Chopin, Schuman."

"You kidding? I figured you'd be into the screamo rubbish. Me? Give me the classic rock and a little heavy metal, 'Korn,' 'Tool,' 'Smashing Pumpkins.'"

It started – peeling back layers: likes and dislikes, then revelation of family secrets; Joe's useless father, the abusive stepdad; even Maddie's loss of innocence. Two days later the question came again, "You don't have to tell me. But _why_ did you want to die?"

Joe leaned close to Maddie and touched her elbow with his. His voice was unsure and apologetic, "It just seemed easier than living. At that moment anyway. I don't know, it's like I got to the place where everything came crashing down and fell apart. Everyone assumed my life was so perfect. But it was a mess. I was a mess. Just felt it was too hard to go on. Why go on, when it's so god-awful hard? That's what you think, when you get a certain point. You come to the place where you feel you don't want to live, deal with all the garbage life throws at you. And then you start feeling you don't deserve to live. Yeah. That's what I felt, didn't deserve to be here. That everyone would be better off without me. That's a dangerous place to be. That's when you grab the pills, the knife."

"But why? Why'd you feel like that?

"I don't know." Joe looked into Maddie's green eyes. _It's okay, it's safe_. "That's not true. I did something I shouldn't have done. It didn't feel wrong at the time. I thought it was the right thing to do. It doesn't matter. Guilt, I guess. Couldn't deal with the mistake and with the guilt, with the craziness of it all. And before you ask. Don't ask. Don't ask what I did. Okay? That's just something I have to live with, deal with. And don't ask why – it just is." Joe looked at Maddie. Her round, rather girlish face, oversized horn-rimmed glasses, and those pink and green streaks, made her look so innocent, so cute, so desirable; the antithesis of the few girls he had dated – preppy types, all about looks, clothes, status, being with the right people, the right crowd. Joe never felt he was in the right crowd, or was the _right_ people. He knew he could really like her, really care about her – maybe more. _But_ she was a damaged kid, that's why she's in the hospital – everyone in this place was hurt, suffering, struggling; not normal, not able. And she's a cutter. Cutting ... cutting her soft and pure skin, skin too white, too innocent to be mutilated like that. Yes, too damaged to be more than a friend in the hospital.

"I bet he killed someone. What'd you bet?" Steven blurted out loudly.

"Shut up Steve." Joe punched Steven hard on the arm.

Maddie ignored Steven's intrusion. "Okay. I won't ask. And before you ask. I cut because it feels good. It makes me feel ... alive. I don't know why, but it does. It's the blood oozing out. It's like it lets the pain out, the ugliness out. And there's the anticipation. That's a big part of it, the anticipation of the blade caressing my skin, the blood, the relief. God, it sounds so crazy, so crazy when you talk about it."

"Holy crap, that _is_ crazy. Are you crazy Maddie? Joe, don't you have to be crazy to do that sort of thing? Now, you trying to kill yourself, that's just being depressed or whatever. At least that makes sense. _Watching_ your blood come out? Anticipation? That's craaaazzzzie."

"I know it's crazy Steve. I hate that I do it ... that I did it. It's really stupid and embarrassing. I don't like doing it, but it's like I have to do it. Like something inside me wants out. And I hate that. It's like an addiction. That's what my therapist says. It is an addiction. I hate it, hate that I've been doing it, but I ... It's like I had to do it."

Steven screamed out, "Crazy is what crazy does and you Maddie-Maddie, is just plan crazy. Damn! That's ..."

Joe shouted, "Steven, shut up for God's sake! Like Braxton says, there is a reason for every behavior, just got to figure it out."

Maddie laughed and said, "Yes. And you have to replace it with something positive.... positive ..."

In unison all three, imitating Braxton's low raspy voice, said, "Coping skills, positive coping skills."
CHAPTER NINE

"Hey. You awake? Look at this." Steve was standing over Joe's bed. He ruffled Joe's hair. "Lookie."

"Not now. Good God. Leave me alone for once."

He pulled Joe's arm up and put a piece of paper in his hand. _Why do I put up with his games? Like rooming with a ten year old, no, eight year old._ He unfolded the paper and held it up to the light coming through the small window on the door. "Flipping hell. What's this?"

"Has Maddie's number. Even has her address on it. I snuck it off the nurse's table. Today, when everyone ran off to deal with crazy Dylan, when he was hit'n that autistic kid." Steven roughed up Joe's hair again. "You can call her. Go see her, when you get out. I know you love her. Yip, you're gonna go see her and get into her pants. I know that's what she's dying for, just like you are. I see the way you two goggle at each other."

Joe crumbled the paper and put it back in Steven's hand. "Shut it. Shut it up. You're the crazy one Steve. But you know that. And I don't ... _love_ her. It's just not like that. Good God. Anyway, I can't see her again. Just like I can't see you again. That' just the way it has to be. There's no way I'm going to hook up with a girl from ... geez, from this crazy place. We leave here and that's it. I can't ..."

"Hey Joe." Steven tugged Joe's arm. "I saw something tonight. It's not good. It's scary scary. I saw ... it's not good. But you won't understand."

"Seen your ghost again? Seen your grandfather again?"

"Shut up. You're stupid sometimes. I saw an owl, Joe. Sitting on the ledge, there. It was there." He grabbed Joe and yanked him toward the window. "It was a white owl, sitting right there." Steven pointed toward a ledge at the corner of the four-story building.

"Well, that's cool. That's neat. Maybe he's your owl bringing you your mail. You know like in Harry Potter."

"Owls, they ... in Indian beliefs owls bring bad things, bad news. It means someone's gonna die Joe. That's what it means. Someone is going to die. The owl wants to tell me that. Wants to warn me. But I don't know who."

"Steve, it's just a legend. A nice Indian legend, a myth. We don't take things like that serious. Don't worry about it. Geez." _He's worse than a four year old worrying about the boogeyman._ Joe then laughed, he knew he shouldn't, but a memory flashed through his mind, of his brother telling him there was a family of ghost living in the basement. He was four. Chuck got a worthy spanking after he went wailing and crying into his parent's bedroom.

Steven shoved Joe aside and stepped toward his bed. Through gritted teeth, his words came out slowly; Joe knew Steven was working hard to control his anger that could so quickly erupt. "Screw you, screw you, screw you. You white people don't understand how things work. How nature works. We hav'ta honor the earth, the spirits. The earth works against us if ... if we don't honor this stuff. You all can't understand that. You are all idiots. White dumb idiots. Screw you all." Steven climbed back in his bed, fluffed up his pillow and put it behind his head. When he spoke again, his voice echoed with a strange resignation that caused Joe's neck to tingle. "Someone is gonna die and I can't do anything about it. My grandfather, he says the owl warns us so we'll be ready. It's so we know that the Creator's fulfilling his purposes. But how can we ever be ready? I wish I hadn't seen the owl. I don't know how to be ready for another death."

Joe returned to his bed. He knew he wasn't going to convince Steven that he was thinking crazy, that there was nothing to worry about – but he had to try. "Steven, it was an Owl. People see owls all the time and never die. A million people die every day and they never saw an owl. It's a nice story your ancestors told. That's all. Just go to bed and forget it."

Steve pulled the covers tight over his head and said, "I hope it's me. Then I can be with my grandfather and my grandmother and never have to see my dad again. Maybe it will be me." Then he shot up in his bed and confidently declared, "Hey. We'll go see her when we get out of here. Maddie. That'd be fun. Yeah, we'll _both_ go see her."

"No. Ain't gonna happen. Not likely in this lifetime. But probably more likely than someone you know dying anytime soon."

Steven responded as if not hearing Joe. "You know what we should do? The three of us? I'll take ya'll to a Pow Wow. I want to dance, dance for my grandfather. You know he gave me his Fancy Dance outfit, before he died. It was worth a fortune, a big ass fortune. It had beaded armbands and belts and a beaded headband, colors more than you can count. And lots of bells you put around your knees and ankles. And it had a thousand feathers on these bustle things, you wear on you back and on your butt. And ..." Steven hit the wall with his elbow. "And you know what happened? My useless dad took it. Sold it to buy a dumb motorcycle and a week's worth of booze and meth and whatever. I hate him. Hate him! Why do our fathers hurt us Joe? It's not supposed to be like that." Steven hit the wall again and laid back down. "Are you ever afraid you will be like your father? I am. I'm so afraid, so afraid I'll be like him. I want to be like my grandfather, but that's not possible. Who do you want to be like, Joe?"

Steven's questions hit like a fist thrust into his stomach and clinching his insides tight _. Crap. Why can't he ever shut up? Screw this._ "I don't know. I don't know. Just go sleep for God's sake." Joe closed his eyes and tried with all his might to ignore the questions his brain began to throw at him: _Who_ would he want to be like? Who did he want to be? What did he want to be? Who was he? Why was he? What should define his life, his being, his existence? Why _are_ fathers such bastards? Too late. It is too late to be – to become anything? Maybe he should have died. Maybe the owl came for him. Would that be so bad?

***

Braxton leaned against the windowsill and sipped his morning coffee. "How many kids do you think end up coming back ... to a psyche hospital?"

Joe shrugged. "I don't know. Fifty percent? I know I won't be one of them."

"Sixty. Sixty percent end up back in the hospital. You know how many proudly and confidently declare that they won't be one of them? Are so sure they'll never be back in here?" Braxton took another sip from a mug that had a heart on it and read 'Love Me I'm Sexy.' Joe shrugged one shoulder, though he was pretty sure what the answer would be. His therapist nodded and said, "A hundred percent. Every damn one of ya. Now, what do you think the key is ... the key to never coming back?"

"I don't know. You have to want to change, I guess. Is that what you want me to say?"

"Honesty. Brutal, in-your-face honesty. It's the secrets, the lies they keep hidden, that keeps kids coming back. Honesty. That'll keep a kid out of here. That's what gets them healthy, keeps them healthy – honest about themselves and honest with themselves. Gut wrenching, soul exposing openness. When you going start being honest Joe? I know that's hard for a sixteen year old. But living the lies, keeping the secrets, only leads to self-destruction. What is it you need to start being honest about?"

Lack of sleep, weakened defense mechanisms, not caring anymore – something happened inside Joe. Without the usual protective filter in place, he blurted out what was swirling in his brain. "I'm afraid. I feel like I'm full of fear and I ... I don't like that. And I shouldn't be like that."

"Why's that? Oh, I get it. Have to be strong all the time. Emotions are for weaklings. Joe-boy, that's a fantasy. So what're you afraid of?"

"Heck. Everything. I'm afraid to go back home, having to deal with the questions, the looks. Looks of anger and ... God, the looks of pity. 'Ohhh, there goes that poor crazy kid who tried to off himself.' I can't deal with all that. And there's the ... No. I don't want to talk about it." Joe looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't want to, means you ought to and need to. What is it? Go on. There's the _what_?"

Joe's face burned, his fists drew in and became hard and angry and mean. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I'm afraid I hate my dad too much. Afraid of what I could do to him. Will do to him. I'm afraid of ... of this anger. I don't want to be full of this rage inside me."

Braxton pushed himself off the windowsill and sat in his chair. He leaned forward. "Good. Good. That's good. Be angry, be afraid. But take a deep breath now. Relax those fists. Let go of that anger." Joe took several slow breaths. He felt the heat in his face retreat. Braxton's lips pulled in and he nodded. "So? What else? What else you afraid of?"

"Nothing. No. That's not true. I'm afraid I've destroyed my mom, my family. Afraid I can't handle going back to school. I'm afraid of ... hell, it's all these emotions running wild in my gut. At least I guess they're emotions. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate who I am. You know what I'm afraid of the most?"

"What's that kiddo?"

Joe stood up and took a step toward the bookshelf and ran his fingers across each book. _The world is full of books by people pretending to know the answers, pretending they know how to put Humpty Dumpty back together._ "I'm afraid I'll never be the person I was. I can never go back ... back to the life I had. Everything's different now and it can never be like it was. Everything that was safe and good – perfect back then. And now it's gone." Joe sighed and shook his head. His words came out slowly. "What do I have to do ... to get it all back? I don't know what to do ... to be who I used to be. I feel it's gone forever."

Braxton offered a slight and unassuming smile. "You're asking the wrong question kiddo. The question is ... where ya going? It's not about going back to what you _had_ or who you _were._ It's about moving forward. Becoming the person you want to be and can be. How are you gonna do that? That is the question."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Quit looking back, Joe. Decide what you want your future to look like and figure out how you're going to build that future."

"I'm afraid of everything right now. You don't get it."

"Of course I do. It's okay to have some fear. Be afraid. That's okay. Fear is something to feel, to face _and_ to overcome. That's what makes us human. It's what makes us who we are. But ... whatever you do, don't let fear have the last hurrah. And Joe... don't let that anger keep driving your life."

***

Halloween – best holiday of the year; beats the Fourth, Thanksgiving, even Christmas. Joe and his brother, for four straight years, had thrown the scariest Halloween parties the high school had seen in decades. Their home morphed into the bloodiest, most gruesome of all haunted houses. The party always climaxed with the Rocky Horror Picture Show shown in their basement – water pistols and raingear provided. No party this year. Someone else would be taking over the tradition. Joe could never go back to the life that was.

Joe didn't want to be there and was desperate to leave; but he had no choice but to endure the embarrassingly lame excuse of a Halloween party at St Jimmies. He huddled with Maddie and Steven on a bench in the far corner of the gym observing from afar the pathetic party – classic 90's techno music was interspersed with classic 80's music by the likes of Blondie, the Pet Shop Boys, The Spice Girls and Take That.

"Boring. Boring." Joe wanted to say that word a million times, but refrained. _No point overstating the obvious._ He and his two friends began making fun of the patients wearing masks they'd made in the Art Therapy Group. No imagination allowed in these cardboard creations; mainly attempts at clown faces – no blood, no vampires, no frightful mask permitted. The paranoid schizophrenics and autistic kids could not handle such representations. Eventually Joe tired of the game. He sighed and said, "Well? What now?" A moment of silence interrupted their nonsense.

Maddie finally nudged Steven. "So what do you talk about with your therapist, Stevie?"

"Nothing. That's all. Just ... shit. Usually play cards. He always says, 'Steve, you've been in these places a million times, there's nothing I can tell you that you haven't heard a billion times. So we might as well play cards."

Joe laughed and said, "Wish I had your therapist. Braxton's always trying to wind me up. Get me mad or something. It's like he never wants me to go home. Shh. Looks who coming." Joe tilted his head to his left. He slid away from Maddie. Boundaries! Can't be touching the girls, might ignite already simmering hormones. "Hey Miss Linda. It's a great party."

"You two forget the one foot rule?"

"Heck no. See thirteen and half inches. We're good." Joe said with a coy smile.

"How many times have I told you? You three need to be mixing with the others. Get yourselves out of this corner. And quit all this whispering. No doubt planning how to go AWOL. And Joe, don't be rubbing elbows with the females any more. One foot. If I see you sitting closer than that foot, I'll put you two on ten foot."

"You can borrow my ruler, Miss Linda, if you need one. Here, I'll just sit here." Steven elbowed his way between Joe and Maddie.

"Boundaries, Mr. Littleaxe. Boundaries. No touching. The rules are so simple. Keep them. One foot or ten foot, your choice. Now, get out there and have some fun."

As Miss Linda turned and walked away, Steven shouted, "Hey Miss Linda, thanks for the idea. About going AWOL. I haven't done that in a long time. That's a good idea. About time I tried again."

Linda looked over her shoulder. "Ought to put you fifty feet from everyone, Littleaxe." Miss Linda waved her hand in dismissal as she continued to amble toward the other side of the gym.

Steven said, "I love her. I'd marry her if she weren't so fat and so old and so Black. But you know what my therapist does? He'll throw out these questions, out of nowhere, 'When you gonna start working on forgiving your dad, Steven?' 'What would you tell your dad if he was sitting right here, right now? You must be angry, about what happened to your mom. That' must be hard.' Or worst of all, he'll say, 'Hey, tell me more about your grandfather.' Funny thing is, sometimes I fall for it. End up talking. He gets real proud of himself when he makes me cry. The dirty bastard."

"What about you Maddie? What's it like with your shrink?" Joe said then pushed Steven out of his perch and slid closer to her.

Maddie pulled her lips together and shrugged. "I don't know, she's okay. She always wants to talk about family stuff. Like she wants me to blame my parents or something. I tell her it's not them, it's me. I mean my parents are great. You know, being here make me really appreciate them. I have a pretty good life. I don't need to be cutting or smoking weed anymore. Or lying through my teeth about everything. I'm gonna go home and it'll be good now. Things will be great again."

Steven poked Maddie on the arm. "So what _are_ your parents like? I bet they're rich. They look _real_ rich. Yeah, and you're like those girls in here that go off when their mom takes their cell phone or their laptop, or bans them from Facebook. And they throw huge, ugly fits and end up in here. You're like that I bet. A spoiled little girl brat." Steven laughed. He took the rubber band out of his hair, shook his head hard until his black mane covered most of his face and said, "Hey, I'm a werewolf, like that guy in 'Twilight.'"

"Never had a cell phone or laptop. My parents are ... a ... they're teachers, at a middle school. And we're not rich and I'm not spoiled. Grow up Steven."

"I bet you're the only child."

"What if I am? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on. You're spoiled as hell. You know what I think? I think you're a spoiled rotten bitch. And I bet you got in trouble for dyeing your hair and getting your ears pierced. Then they took away your cell phone and ya started cutting just to show them you were soooo mad at them that you couldn't stand it. Little Miss Perfect throwing a fit, 'Oh noooo! They took my phone away. My life's over. Let me go cut my arms up and let the sadness ooze out.' Spoiled is what you are."

Maddie looked at Steven with a puzzled gaze. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

Joe's fists drew in. He took two quick breaths, then said, "Stop it Steve. You need to shut it up now. Leave it alone. If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say you'd been drinking and don't know what you're saying. Don't worry about it Maddie." Pointing a finger at Steve's face, he said, "Quit acting like you're drunk."

"I'm not a drunk like my father you son of Satan! Eff you! Eff you both!" Steven screamed out. Each word reverberated against the cold brick walls of the gym. "Eff you all!"

Steven's outburst stunned Joe. He should have felt anger, even rage. He should have struck back with words, if not fists – but a wave of sorrow swept over him as he looked at Steven's eyes; his jet-black eyes seemed to fill the entirety of his eyeballs. Joe hardly remembered the next few seconds.

Before staff arrived at the corner of the gym, Steven had pushed Joe off the bench and buried both fists into his face three times. It took four male staff to pull Steven off Joe. As they whisked him across the gym and through a side door, he shouted out three times, "Sorry. Sorry Joe. You're the best friend I ever had. You're my homie."

Maddie helped Joe up, gently touched his right cheek. "You okay?"

"God! He's crazy. He is crazy."

"He's not crazy Joe. He's damaged." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "He's hurt and broken, like every one of us in this place. Broken, scared, scarred but ... but never ever ruined. Our destinies are still waiting to be written."
CHAPTER TEN

"In a minute, mom. I need a few minutes." Joe sat in his mom's SUV. Sarah got out and with a hesitant gait walked toward the front door of their home. She looked back several times with a smile and nod; Joe knew it was her attempt to assure him that everything would be okay, but her gestures clearly declared she was still worried sick. Joe knew she would be treating him with kid gloves, for a long time, maybe forever. He'd talked about it with Braxton several times; going home, what to expect, how to react, how to deal with the adjustment. He wasn't ready.

Joe watched his mom go through the front door; she peeked around it just before she closed it. He smiled and nodded; a declaration that he was fine and that everything would be okay. His eyes scanned the house from left to right – so many memories. They'd lived there since the day he was born. Built at least forty years ago, it was the only brick home in the neighborhood, and the only two-story house. With its colonial style and oversized French windows on the ground floor, it stood out in an estate populated by more modern houses. On countless summer evenings, he and his family huddled together on the large veranda that spanned the front of the house. There they would play cards, talk, joke, tease, all the while greeting neighbors as they came and went. Life was sweet then, even if dad wasn't there; maybe it was sweet because he wasn't there. Those nights stopped. Why? They all got older. No. It was when mom's boyfriend moved in. That's when everything changed, when life lost all its sweetness. His home used to be such a special place – so inviting, so comforting, so safe. But now? Now this house looked old and out of place; even forbidding, angry, haunted. Not the same house he'd left ... left in an ambulance two months ago – or was it two years? He felt so naked, so very naked as he finally walked through the front door.

His sister stood slightly behind his mother. His grandparents approached with smiles; huge artificial smiles which tried hard to smother a torrent of uncomfortable and unwanted emotions. Sure, there may have been a morsel of relief and perhaps a hint of joy in those smiles. But those smiles were hiding something more; their lingering embarrassment, disappointment, fear, and anger – yeah, anger that he had put their daughter through an entirely unnecessary hell. Joe tried not to stiffen as they embraced him. They could try to hide it, but he knew it was there – there had to be lots of anger. He wanted to turn, run through the door and never come back. Braxton warned him about this, feeling guilty, unworthy. _It's okay. Relax. They do love me. Of course, they care._

"Give your brother a hug. Go on then." Mom gave the gentle command. She pulled Amber from behind her and nudged her toward Joe.

Amber stepped forward. Joe reached out and hugged his sister and kissed her on the forehead. Joe whispered in her ear. "Sorry Amber. I'm Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Amber said loudly.

Joe stepped back. "I'm just sorry for everything. For everything."

"It's okay." Amber grabbed him and embraced him again.

It's okay? It can never be okay. She found him – unconscious, covered in blood and vomit. Pure horror. _She_ was not supposed to be the one. He didn't know who was supposed to find his dead body. He hadn't thought about that. It should have been his father who found him, in the back shed, where he had left boxes of his things, his rubbish, fragments of his sorry life. His sister found him. She saved his life. He traumatized hers. It could never be okay.

***

Chuck came home later that night. More guilt. Another declaration that he had disrupted everyone's universe. Chuck had moved back home and was working at the nearby AutoZone. Chuck felt responsible to help mom. "This hospital bill is going be a fortune. The insurance doesn't pay for all it you know." He had told Joe at the hospital. Chuck later apologized, told him he shouldn't have said that, then said, "Don't worry about the money. You're getting help, and that's all that matters." But the truth was always there. The truth refuses to lie.

Joe and Chuck sat wrapped up in blankets on the front porch; everyone else was asleep. "The police were here yesterday. Mom was at work. I haven't told her. Suppose I should. They'll probably be back with more questions. Two of them came," Chuck said as he sipped the last dregs of his coffee. He set his cup on a wobbly outdoor table and leaned back in the rocking chair.

Joe looked at Chuck, mouth agape. He shook his head then said, "Flippin' hell."

"It was going happen sooner or later. You knew that."

"Screw this man! That's all I need. All we need. What'd the hell you tell them?"

"The truth. Told them the truth. Just like we talked about."

"What? What did you tell them?"

"Cool it. Geez. I told them he abused mom, that he hit Amber, that we beat him up a bit and told him to never come back here and we hadn't seen him since. That's it. That's as much of the truth as they need to know."

Joe clasped his hands on top of his head. His words came out in a whisper. "They found him. Good God, they found him."

"I don't think so. They said some family had reported him missing. Cell phone didn't work, hadn't heard from him and all that. Listen. We're gonna have to tell mom. Tell her everything. They'll be back asking her questions."

"Mom knows enough. He went back to Texas. He was a creep and decided to move on. That's all she needs to know. That's what she thinks."

"We tell her the truth. We scared him off. Beat him up. Threatened him. That's it. No big deal. Whatever happened after that is not our problem. If the cops talk to you, that's what you tell them. That's it." Chuck paused, put his arm around Joe's shoulder. "You alright? It's fine, really. You don't need to worry about it. Okay? And ... well you know what not to tell them."

"Yeah. I know. It's okay. I'm fine. No, I'm not fine. I'm on edge. Nervous as hell. Chuck. I don't know. I can't deal with it anymore." Joe felt his legs shaking, moving faster and faster. He put his hands under his thighs trying to slow them down.

"Deal with what? What do you mean?"

"I don't even know. With this police nonsense. With Mom. Amber. School. With being home. It's like I can't deal with life."

Chuck stood up and picked up their coffee cups. He kicked Joe's ankle. "Come on. Get on to bed. You're just tired." He chuckled, then said, "God, I think that psycho place has _made_ ya crazy. Listen. Don't worry about things. Just get back to normal. Live your life, Joe. Just live your life."

_Live your life. How? How?_ Since he and his mom pulled into their driveway, Joe's gut had been churning with a jumble of horrible sensations that wouldn't slow down. _Control. He's right. Just take a day at a time. Live my life. Control. No. Control's_ _an illusion that disappeared long before I went into the hospital. The hospital. It was safe there. Steven was crazy but he was safe. Maddie, she knew me, it was safe with her. Can't go back there. Can't go back. Just live your life? Just live? Get through tomorrow. Day at a time, like Braxton said. Just get through tomorrow, get through Sunday. Oh my God. Monday! School! School on Monday. Oh my God._ "Tell me Chuck, because I don't know. How am I supposed to live my life?"

"Geez Joe. Be who you are, who you've always been. Don't make it so hard. Just live your life, Joe. It's fine. Everything's fine. Go to bed." Chuck turned and walked through the front door.

_Trazodone. I need my damn Trazodone._ Joe went to his room and found his medication meant to bring sleep, escape, peace – meant to make everything better. _Day at a time_. _Day at a time_.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Four hours. His father had not showed up; had not answered his phone. The charge nurse put her hand on Steven's shoulder; she sighed and quietly said, "I'll need to go call the police now, Steven. Maybe something's happened to your dad."

Steven knew what the nurse meant. His dad failing to pick him up at discharge – he would now be considered abandoned; that's why she had to call the police. Off to another shelter, then a foster home or group home; that would be fine, preferable. Steven sometimes prayed his dad would not pick him up. But as always, he felt relieved when his dad showed up thirty minutes later.

Henry, his dad, arrived at the hospital sober, but still the stench of sweaty clothes and neglected hygiene accompanied him. He'd brought a duffel bag for Steve to pack his clothes in. When they opened it, a roach bolted down the side onto the bed. Steve thought nothing of it – every home has roaches. He was amused when Miss Linda gasped and shook her head. She said, "Hate those critters. Don't need them running around here." She smashed the bug and sent him to fry in roach hell.

***

The rattle of the twenty-year-old cranky and angry pickup truck went unnoticed as they drove away from the hospital. Steven stared passed the barren trees of late autumn, refusing to be reminded that winter would soon envelop his world. Desperately he tried to free his mind of any thought, his heart free of any emotion. He knew what was coming and prepared himself for battle. Ten minutes later Henry sighed, then grunted, then shouted, "It's high time you stopped going to these eff'n places. They ain't gonna help ya. Never had and never will. I don't have the gas money to be driving across town, picking you up. Damn hospitals. Next time I ain't picking you up. Why is it you love these white men and their white ways? Good God almighty, you might as well stay in 'em 'till you're eighteen. Yip that would keep ya out of my goddamn hair. Do you hear me? I've had enough of this."

Steven's head remained motionless as he stared out of the passenger window. He spoke softly, "It's grandfather's birthday. Take me to his grave. We have to go to his grave. Take me."

"How many times you been in a goddamn hospital? What good's it done ya? Hell, boy. You ain't crazy and you better stop making them think you are. I've really had enough of you. Hey, let's stop at MacDonald's, get us a Big Mack."

"Take me to my grandfather's grave." Steve enunciated each word with increasing force.

"Don't have time for that. Don't ask me again or you can goddamn walk home."

With lungs exploding, he shouted, "Take me to grandfather's grave and do it now!" Steven grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it down. The truck swerved up a curb and Steven's chest slammed into the dashboard. Henry jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, barely missing oncoming traffic before the truck returned to its lane. Immediately the back of Henry's hand struck Steven hard on the forehead. He then grabbed his collar and threw him against the door.

"You are crazy as hell. You want to kill of both us or just me? Try that again and it'll be the end of you. You hear me boy? You're going home and gonna rake leaves until your prissy little hands blister up and explode with blood soaked puss."

Twenty minutes later the truck pulled in front of their doublewide trailer. Steven said, "You got more junk than ever. I thought they told ya to get rid of all that damn junk."

"It ain't junk. It's money to be made. Now you're here you can help me get it to the goddamn scrap yard. All that metal there is money in our pockets little one."

Steven shook his head as he looked across the large front yard cluttered with rusted bicycles, old stoves, washing machines and no end of dangerous shards of iron and metal. He said, "It's all junk. Been there for years and you ain't ever gonna do noth'n with it."

"Shut your mouth, boy. Get out and go rake those damn leaves in the back." Henry got out of the truck and pounded the hood, yelling, "Come on! Get out here! Now!"

Steven remained in the truck. Henry yelled out three more times, each time more emphatic and with more vivid language. Steven put his head back and closed his eyes. Memories. Sweet memories. He wanted the past to come back, live again – his grandparents holding his hands as they walked along the lakeshore; grandfather dancing at a Pow Wow in North Dakota; the sweat lodge ceremonies; the stories; the legends. The reality. The truck's door creaked. Henry's hand gripped Steven's right arm. Before Steven could react, he hit the ground with his left shoulder and rolled face down. His father's words were distant, mumbled, not real. "The rake's over there. I mean it. You rake those leaves till I tell ya to stop, you little runt-face." Henry yanked Steven up by one arm, brushed him off and said, "Good as new. Off you go then. Rake, till I tell ya to come in. I'll get some supper ready."

Steven walked to the side of the trailer, grabbed the rake and went to the back yard. He looked back and forth at the lawn smothered knee high with leaves. When the front door of the trailer slammed shut, Steven tossed the rake across the yard and walked back across the front yard. He went down a slight incline and climbed over a wobbly chain-link fence and disappeared into a thick forest; old Indian land waiting to be developed into a housing estate. After a fifteen-minute hike, he came to a large open area – his safe place, where his friends lived. Maybe tonight, they would visit him; maybe even allow him to see them.

He and his grandfather had cleared this portion of the woods not long before his grandfather died. Steven smiled as he noticed a large circle of withered mushrooms in the middle of the clearing. Surrounding the strange circle were rocks and stones they had placed there years ago. "Yes. Their village is still here." Steven laughed, then cried.

This forest, this spot, was his refuge. Here the world treated him right. Crazy was an unknown concept; there was only the acceptance of nature enfolding him. Nature understood his hurts, his pain – and the confusion in his brain that, more and more, he feared was robbing him of sanity. Here there was peace. He could live in this place. Mother Nature caring for him. And too, his friends were there, the Little People – always accepting him, loving him. The Little People, they would be very worried about him and they would help him. That's the way they are. They help the lost children. But make sure you're good to them – one does not want to get on their bad side. He lay down on the fallen tree trunk he and his grandfather had chiseled out to make a bench. Finally, peace.

A hard thump on his head. Light blinding his eyes. Steven's deep sleep shattered. He pushed the flashlight away. "Leave me alone."

"You'll die of frost out here you idiot! Maybe that's what you want. Come on, get home. I've got some supper waiting." Henry's head shook as he shone the flashlight in Steven's face. "You and your grandfather. Both ya'r crazy. Waiting for Little People. Ain't no such thing." His father went to the circle and began kicking dried up mushrooms and rocks away from the circle.

Steven jumped on his father back and wrapped his right arm around his father's neck and punched his head with his left fist. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Henry whipped Steven off. As he fell to the ground, his head snapped back and hit the cold leafy ground. His father kicked the last decaying mushroom into the darkened woods, then grabbed Steven by the wrist and jerked him up. "Alright. Let's go eat. No more damn nonsense tonight."

Steven walked behind his father. They climbed the chain-link fence and went through the backdoor of the double-wide trailer. The two sat in front of the TV with plates of pasta on their laps; plain pasta – no sauce, no meat, no conversation. Steven knew his father was in for trouble; the destruction of the Little People's village would bring retaliation, sooner or later, one way or another.

Steven went to bed and remembered the white owl he'd seen some weeks ago. Tears welled up and slid down his temples. _Maybe it means dad. I hope it's him. No. It can't be him. I need him. I love him. Why does he have to be like that?_
CHAPTER TWELVE

'Delete My Account.' Maddie clicked 'submit.' The message popped up _, '_ You are about to permanently delete your account. Are you sure?' She typed in her password. The cursor moved back and forth. 'Okay' and 'Cancel.'

Facebook had become a seductive savior that welcomed, embraced, then consumed. Maddie would disappear into this virtual world, resting in its unquestionable assurance that she was not alone. In this world, she shared her darkness with invisible beings who most surely understood the raw reality of her own pain, anger, fear, hatred, loneliness; her ugliness. _Friends_ on Facebook introduced her to the necessity of cutting; encouraged her to get her eyebrows and tongue pierced and taught her how to do it at home. They had introduced her to screamo bands like _Loma Prieta, Danse Macabre, Ampere_. The chaotic and frenzied nature of this music and the pure emotion of the lyrics assured her that depression and self-loathing was okay – it was okay to hate the world; and it was okay to hate herself.

Facebook – also the place where rumors, lies, and unbridled malice spread like vicious and unrelenting tumors. _Cyber bullying_ , her therapist called it. "You've been pulled into a world you really don't want to be in." Maddie laughed and rolled her eyes when Angie made that statement. The next day Angie told Maddie's parents they needed to monitor her Facebook activity and all her computer use; even told them to check her texting. Maddie, at first, thought her counselor was kidding; then she realized she wasn't. Too much; too unthinkable, too unreasonable –utterly and insanely too cruel. Too many secrets would be exposed, too much ugliness would be discovered. Maddie exploded in rage that afternoon; she cursed Angie and her parents with the fury of hell unleashed. She stomped out of the office and had hurled two chairs and a table across the dayroom before two gorilla-sized staff placed her in a _therapeutic_ hold. What else was she supposed to do? They wanted to destroy her world.

After dinner that evening, she cut her forearm up and down with a broken plastic spoon. "The doctor's ordered Zyprexa to help you calm down." The nurse told her in an irritatingly tranquil tone. "Go to hell you ugly bitch!" Was her reply. The nurse, with an even more aggravating calmness said, "Now Maddie. You can take it by mouth or we can give you a shot. You can decide." She took it by mouth and was zombiefied for twelve straight hours.

Maddie clicked 'Okay _.'_ Her world on Facebook vanished. The panic and dread she feared would drown her didn't surface. Strangely, she felt free.

This sense of liberation emboldened her. She went to the back of her oversized walk-in closet, past clothes she hadn't dare touch in three years – clothes too clean, too bright, too rich, too sexy, too preppy. Behind a chest full of winter boots, she pulled out a shoebox. She went and sat on the floor at the far side of her bed; there she couldn't be seen should mom or dad come in without knocking. They never had, but she always feared such an intrusion. This was where she sat on so many late nights, with towels underneath her, cutting on her arms, her thighs, her stomach.

She opened the shoebox and stared at its content. Angie had asked twice if she had such a box, a place to store her sharp instruments: knives, pushpins, shards of glass, blades she'd carefully extracted from old safety razors. She vehemently declared that would be a stupid thing to do; she was not that crazy. She was not so addicted to cutting to be hoarding cutting tools.

Looking in the box stirred memories, hated memories. Anger and embarrassment grew as skeletons of the past shook their fingers at her. Like a movie played out in her mind, she could see herself cutting with this and that object, at this and that place on her body. The events, the emotions that lead her to cut on that particular day, that particular moment, flashed across her mind. She shook her head wildly and said, "No! Stop! Can't dwell on the past."

She carefully placed the lid back on the box and hid it under her hoodie. She went down the back stairs and slipped out a side door. She threw the box into the trash bin. _Lies. Lies. My life has been nothing but lies. I can throw this stuff away, but can I stop the lying? Can I really stop the cutting? Yes. Yes, I can. I will._

Her parents sat at the kitchen when she came in from that final act of defiance and liberation; now she would be the _old_ Maddie. "We just want the old Maddie back." That's what her parents had said repeatedly when she was in the hospital.

"It's good to see you smiling again." Judith said. She pulled out a chair and motioned for Maddie to sit. "We've made some hot chocolate. Just like things used to be. Here together, drinking our hot chocolate."

She sat down and cupped her hands around the warm mug and inhaled its sweet smelling vapor. _Like things used to be_. The old Maddie _is_ back. That felt good. But it didn't feel right, still didn't feel real yet. She wanted it so much – but something deep inside her kept telling her she didn't deserve it. No. No. Of course she did, everyone says she deserved it.

Her father rested his chin on his clasped hands. There was a cautious smile when he said, "We've been talking ... about Christmas. We thought we might go away this year. How does Acapulco sound? Wouldn't it be fun to be somewhere warm for Christmas? How about that for a change?"

Maddie felt every bodily organ inside her twisting. Instinctively that urge to slice her skin demanded homage. _This_ was her fault. Go _away_ for Christmas? Family was everything and Christmas was the ultimate definition of family – aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents came from two states away to celebrate, not just a holiday, but a family being a family. And their Christmas Eve party was the highlight of everyone's year. Her mom would spend a month preparing the front room, turning it into a winter wonderland of miniature houses, churches, town halls, ice rinks and even a 19th century train set. Each miniature figurine of snuggly dressed men, women and children would be carefully and lovingly placed to depict the perfect Christmas. Go away? Maddie had ruined Christmas. She had destroyed the family, wrecked everyone's life. There would never be forgiveness. A tear slipped from the corner of Maddie's eye. She felt it slip down her cheek; she resisted the urge to wipe it away. "I've ruined everything. It's not right. It's like you have to choose between your brother and me. That's not fair."

Howard shook his head and said, "There's no choice about it, puppet. No choice at all."

"They don't believe me, do they? Nan, even she doesn't believe it. They'd just let him come around like it's okay, like nothing happened."

"Your uncle will never come around here again." Judith said with a flash of rage she quickly reined in with a slow and deliberate breath.

Maddie felt another tear giving birth. She looked at her dad. "

Howard said, "I won't be able to face Billy ever again. If I did, I might kill him." He stopped and looked out the kitchen window. He bit his lower lip and shook his head, then looked back at Maddie. "Listen. The family doesn't _want_ to believe it. They don't want to believe such a thing could happen in ... in this family. That it could have happened to ... to you. It's not that they don't believe you, Maddie. Right now ...well, they just _can't_ believe _it_."

All the right words; but his voice seemed hesitant. His tone seemed to be that of one hiding fear or maybe hiding doubt, or of one trying to convince himself. "Do you? Do you believe me Dad?"

Howard drew in a quick breathe and held it in for what Maddie thought was a moment too long. "Well, of course I do."

Maddie head slowly tilted down. _He doesn't believe me._ _No one believes me._

Judith got up and stood behind her. She pulled her bangs away from her left eye, bent down and kissed her cheek. "We're not worried about the rest of the family. We're only worried about you. I hate it; that you carried that secret so long. You were brave, Maddie, to tell ... what happened."

"I don't believe that. No. I should never have told. It was a long time ago. What does it matter now anyway? It's ruined the family. No one believes me. The police don't even believe it. They're gonna let him walk around and he'll just end up doing it to someone else. What was the point of telling? None of its right. Nothing's right anymore. I'm sorry. I've ruined Christmas. Ruined everything."

Her mother put her head against Maddie's. "Don't say that. You did the right thing, honey. I wish ... I just wish you had told us sooner. But that doesn't matter now. No, you did the right thing. Absolutely you did the right thing." Judith began to cry.

Shame, guilt – still there, seeking to destroy her. The family torn apart, destroyed. Exposing the dirty secret did nothing to expunge the toxin from her soul – like her therapist said it would. Now the poison had spread to everyone around her, the ones she loved the most. The secret would destroy them all. Maddie dared not be alone that night; she knew what would happen. She slept on the sofa bed in her parents' bedroom. She prayed the nightmare would stop – to wake up and be the old Maddie, and her family being all that it should be, used to be; before her uncle ...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Joe lay motionless staring at clumps of dust matted on the edges of the ceiling fan blades. His pillow was moist with sweat, again. The nightmares; they were determined to ruin his sleep, his life. Since he'd left the hospital, cruel and ugly dreams attacked him at will; dark shadows chasing him, slashing him with knives, beating him with bats, evil creatures mocking, laughing. Twice he had been jarred out of slumber, thick in sweat; twice he was sure he saw a shadow in his window – hooded, just like the grim reaper. Joe sat up in his bed. _No more flippin' Trazodone_. _Someone said it could give you nightmares. Better to stay awake than to keep suffering this sort of thing._

A soft knock on Joe's bedroom door felt like a cruel and thoughtless blow to the head. Sarah's muffled voice came through the door. Her voice still oozed with anxiety, or was it guilt? He'd be coddled forever. "You awake Jo-Jo? Need to be getting up and around. You don't want to be late for school."

Jo-Jo. That's what his mom called him when he was a kid, a world ago. When he turned thirteen, he begged, then ordered her to stop using that ridiculous and childish nickname. She tried hard to break the habit, but the affectionate term slipped out now and then, mainly when his mother was excited, or very stressed. "I'm up mom. I'll be ready."

"It'll be hard for a while kiddo. But you'll get back into things, into the routine of life. Things will settle. Just don't be too hard on yourself." Braxton's words were meant to comfort and assure him as he left the hospital. _The routine of life_. Is that what he needed, wanted? Routine. As much as he hated the hospital, it was hard to leave. There he could live in a carefully crafted cardboard reality; never having to plan a day out – wake up, eat breakfast, go to the hospital's alternative school, eat lunch, go to groups, therapy sessions, an hour at gym, eat dinner, shower, another group, off to bed. Now that's routine. And what did he mean? "Don't be too hard on yourself."

School? It's Monday! Hell's bells! School! No. It will be alright. Day at a time. The old routine. It'll be okay Things will settle.

***

"There he is, back from the dead. Thought we'd lost you man." Skyler Evans shouted as Joe walked through the door of first period, Algebra Two. Greetings and laughter, high fives, hugs from both males and females, wisecracks, lame jokes, crude innuendos – all of it hazy, moving toward the surreal. Joe had to find a desk, get seated quickly, get it over with. The bell rang as he sat next to the window toward the back of the classroom. Old faces, old friends, should bring comfort, security; it should be safe. But it felt like a world he no longer belonged in. _No. I do belong here. Back with friends. Real friends. This is my real life._ _Relax. Just relax_.

"Look who's back, Coach." Skyler yelled as the teacher walked through door.

Coach Tyler took his place behind his desk and glanced at Joe. "Good to you see Kline. All right people. Get your butts down, shut the pie holes and open your books to page one fifty-five. You all have a hell of a lot of work to do to get ready for the final."

Joe opened his book. _Finals. Can't do this. End of semester test? Life just keeps heaping up the bull._ Joe stared at a jumble of equations and formulas floating across the page. He closed his eyes. Books opening, pages turning, feet shuffling, chairs creaking – everything screeching like intrusive high-pitched sirens. "Everybody needs to freakin' be quiet!" That's what his lungs begged to let loose _._ He took a breath and forced his eyes to focus on equation 1.a. _Can't do this goddamn stuff! How can I be ready for a semester test?_

"You Okay Joe? Don't sweat it. I can help ya if you need it." Skyler whispered as Coach Tyler wrote the first equation on the board.

Joe shook his head. "Hey I'm fine. I'm alright." He stared out the window and took several deep breaths, filling his lungs to capacity before he emptied them slowly, peacefully. _Relax. Relax_. _Just like they taught at the hospital. A day at a time._

After a never-ending hour, the bell rang. Joe had endured and survived. _Six more classes to deal with._ _Can only get easier. I'll make it._

Skyler slapped Joe's desk and said, "Com'n Joe? Hurry your ass up."

"Go on. I'll catch up." Joe replied as he fiddled with loose papers in his spiral notebook. Joe waited until the class nearly emptied before he got up from his desk.

"Kline. Hold on a sec." Just as Joe reached the door, Coach Tyler's words seemed to grab him by the throat. "Come here."

"Yeah Coach?" Joe stood in front of the teacher's desk looking down at his football coach. With arms crossed, he held his textbooks close to his chest, as if ready to shield off any fiery darts that his coach would hurl at him.

"You look good. You doing okay?"

Joe nodded.

"They put you on a lot of meds there? At that hospital? That's what they do, ya know. I had a nephew there, a few years ago. Drugged him good. But you look good. Don't worry about the test. Do what you can. Just see how it goes."

"Yes sir."

"Can't promise you'll pass. You can always take Algebra Two next year. Or you can get caught up in summer school ... maybe."

Joe stood motionless. _What a nice way to tell me I'm going to flunk the semester_. "I'll be okay. Should be able to pull off a C, I think."

"You think? Well good. Just do your best. No pressure."

"Yeah. Coach. Uh. You know, I ... well, sorry I let you down. Missing the last few games."

"Six games." Coach Tyler looked down at his lesson plans. "Team sport you know. It goes on with or without you. You did what you did, you pay the price." Darts flung hitting their mark.

"Coach, I know it's late and you've had try-outs already, but I'd like chance to make the basketball team."

Coach looked up. Arrows readied. Joe clutched his textbooks tighter. Coach Tyler's words came out slowly. "Yeah? Well, it is a bit too late."

"I started for you last year. You know I could make the team."

"I know you could, Kline. Here's the thing. Everyone knows what you did. Get on the court and everyone in that gym is going to see your ... well your scars. Which arm was it? You wouldn't want that. It's to protect you. Give sports a rest this year."

"I think I really need to play. It would help me ... to get back at things."

"Second bell's about to ring, Joe. Get on to second hour." Joe turned to leave. "Kline. Did they? Put you on a lot of drugs?"

_Asshole. Screw you, none of your goddamn business_. Joe looked back and shook his head. "No sir. They didn't."

"Well that's good. That's good." Coach looked back down at the papers covering his desk.

After that encounter, Joe went straight home and retreated to his room. He waited for the walls to implode; crush him, bury him. _Why bother? Why the hell bother? I'll just do the online high school. Screw Tyler. Screw JFK._ _A social_ _leper. A reject. Of course, I'm a reject. Everyone knows what I did. Everyone knows. Damaged, ruined._

The next day Joe forced himself to get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, and go back to school. "Sometimes you have to pretend." Something else Braxton told him, more than a half-dozen times – "Why do therapists have a terrible habit of repeating themselves?" Joe and Maddie often complained to each other. "Pretend to be confident. Sometimes we just have to _act_ like we've got it together and then, the reality will follow." He decided to test Braxton's theory – pretend and it will follow. It must have worked. He survived the next day and the next week. He pretended to be strong, normal. But still, sick feelings would come, like waves edging up further and further; everyone knew – knew he was pretending. The scar on his left arm, though covered by long sleeve shirts, sweaters and hoodies, would always be there, declaring he belonged with the crazy kids on the adolescent psyche ward at St. Jimmies. The scar proved he was weak, vulnerable, needy, proved he would never be the person he used to be. He could only pretend to be strong.

Christmas break finally arrived, a reprieve, a breather. He barely passed his classes; that was good enough. Joe survived. Now, a few weeks without having to pretend. But the Christmas break gave him time to worry about others things.

Chuck shook Joe out of sleep, late Christmas Eve morning. "Wake up. Now. Police are here. They want to talk to us."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Steven sat on a wooden stool staring out his bedroom window. His chin nestled on his crossed arms, which rested on the windowsill. Wide-eyed he intently watched snowflakes floating downward; peacefully descending and fulfilling their destiny to blanket the earth. He felt the blood trickle down his forehead, down his cheeks and drip onto his arms. Proud – proud of his blood flowing, proud to be a warrior who would never give up. His father had struck him three times with a belt. The third time, the buckle landed square on his temple. When the blood started to ooze out, Henry shouted, "There you little shit. That's what you deserve. Time you learned respect for your father. Do the damn dishes when I tell you. Not when you want to." Steven had just finished drying the last dish, when his drunken father stumbled into the kitchen. "Didn't I tell you to do that an hour ago?"

When Henry raised the belt for the fourth time, Steven grabbed it and yanked it out of his father's hand and threw it across the room. He kicked his father in the groin causing the drunk to double up and collapse. Henry groaned and cursed Steven as he slowly pulled himself up. His father then chuckled and with slurring words said, "Christmas Eve tomorrow. We'll go into the woods and find ourselves a big-ole Christmas tree to put up." After his dad said that, he passed out.

Steven dragged Henry to the bedroom. Somehow, he hoisted him onto the bed and covered him with a blanket. "I don't want to hate you. Why do you make me hate you?" Steven said as he wiped his father's forehead with a damp cloth.

The rocking of Steven's stool stirred him out of his thoughts of that evening; he grabbed the windowsill to steady himself. He heard something – snickering, as young children would. He looked around and saw no one. Then his stool teetered again. Jumping up he went and sat on the edge of his bed. More giggles. He looked down. Two miniature beings, ankle high, looked at him and laughed, in a low, gruff manner. Their hair nearly reached the floor. One had rich grey hair, making him look quite old. Both held tiny bows, with tiny arrows in tiny quivers. The younger one spoke. "Running Fox. You surely have had too much to drink, nearly falling over like that. Are you drunk? Shame on you." Both Little People laughed.

The older one looked into Steven's eyes; his expression became sullen. He elbowed his companion and spoke with concern. "Burning Bear has been at it again. I am afraid your father has not learned his lesson after all these years. I do fear it is getting too late for him. But you, my child, have time to learn. And indeed, we've been watching. We have not forgotten you. Your grandfather, oh, he speaks fondly of you every day. He surely will not let us forget you." The pair grunted as they climbed up the bedspread and sat on either side of Steven.

"I feel forgotten. I have so much fear and hatred ... it's like it wants to take over. And I have this anger that scares me. I have ..."

"Running Fox, shh. It is not time for you to speak, only to listen. And you must learn to listen carefully." The grey haired creature said, then put his tiny hand on Steven's leg and patted it. "The Great Spirit had made all the animals, just as He intended. The wasp with its stinger, the lion with its strength, the beaver with its sharp teeth and flattened tail. Now, the Great Spirit was working hard to finish creating the rabbit. The Creator of All asked the rabbit what he wished to be. The not yet finished rabbit proudly told Great Spirit what he wanted. First, he wanted long ears, and so it was granted. Then rabbit told the Great Spirit he wanted long and strong legs as the deer, and he wanted powerful and sharp claws and fangs as the panther, and too he wanted the strength of the bear. Great Spirit took note and was about to continue his work, when an owl swooped down and frightened the rabbit. The frightened rabbit ran off before the gifts of the Creator were bestowed. Only his back legs had strength, so he had to hop instead of run. And rabbit never received its fangs or claws, and was never given the strength he desired. So the rabbit became a creature preyed upon, a creature weak and timid. You see, the rabbit failed to let Great Spirit do his work, and so failed to become what he wanted and what the Creator intended. Understand this Running Fox, running in fear, running to flee from that which we do not understand, only assures our lives will be so much less than the Creator intends. Running Fox, find the gift the Great Spirit has for you. Remember this, you will please Great Spirit by being his gift to those he brings into your life. And Running Fox, this I must tell you, your destiny is great, but your destiny is short. Run toward life and you will bestow life. And young warrior, you must stop letting anger control you."

Steven woke up in a cold, cold house. He was snug in his bed. They had not forgotten him. He shook his head and then his whole body. He said to himself, "Not a dream. That was not a dream." Then he touched his forehead. The dried blood reminded him that his father's beating was not a nightmare.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"A car registered to a Todd Lawson was found at the bottom of a ravine near an abandoned quarry some thirty miles north of Little Rock. Evidently, it careened off the back road. Back roads in that area are treacherous. Obviously, he had been drinking. Twenty empty beers cans and an empty bottle of Lortabs were found at the scene." The too tall, smartly dressed detective stood as he spoke, his piercing gaze went from one family member to the next.

With mouth slightly agape, Joe gazed at the man. The detective's tone and entire demeanor did not seem natural. _How can a man, a voice, be so dead? A heartless robot shows more emotion; Steven Hawkins shows more emotion with his computerized voice box than this guy._ Joe had dreaded this moment, when the Law would come knocking, wanting answers – the secret exposed and his life destroyed. "We are arresting you for the murder for Todd Lawson. You have the right to remain silent." It was inevitable; you can't kill someone and get away with it. But the more this detective said the more Joe felt his shoulders and stomach uncoil. Yes. Finally, the gorilla would get off his back.

"He was a drunk." Chuck said mirroring the detective's emotionless tone.

"I just don't understand. That can't be true. I really won't believe it." Sarah buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God. No. He had his problems, but not ..."

"Honestly mam, not our concern. His car was registered at this address. I assume he was living here. You may have been the last ones to see Mr. Lawson."

"He's my husband."

"Was." Chuck and Joe said in tandem

"I have filed for a divorce. Papers are ready to be served, but we don't know where he is. All I know is that he told the boys he was going back to Texas. He grew up there ... in El Paso. He just left us. But ... the poor man. What would he have been doing there? Up in that area?"

"My guess mam ... maybe a drug deal gone bad. I can tell you this, there is more to that man than you are aware of Mrs. Lawson"

"It's Kline. Mrs. Kline." Chuck said.

Sarah said, "I don't know what you mean." Joe noticed his mother's hands trembling as she nervously rubbed them together. She looked at Joe, then Chuck. Joe got up, stood behind her and patted her shoulders. His gesture was an attempt not so much to comfort his mom as to dismiss the anger churning in his gut. He didn't want to be angry with his mom, but he was. Angry that she remained naïve, angry that she still seemed to care about the bastard.

"I'm not here to get into domestic concerns. We have a missing person and we are trying to find any leads that may help us. Mr. Lawson is missing, but he is also a wanted man."

"I thought you said ...meant he was dead. He's not dead? You think he's alive?" Joe felt a bolt of electricity rush through his body.

"No body was found. It's difficult to know what went on. The vehicle had been abandoned for several weeks, perhaps a few months. Has he had any contact with you Mrs. Lawson? It is imperative we find this individual. He is very dangerous man."

Sarah shook her head. Chuck said, "What? No. Wow. We never heard anything from him. Never called, texted, wrote. Nothing. And it's Kline, not Lawson. We just thought he was back in Texas ... until the police officer came by a few weeks ago. Said he was missing. And I told him what happened. It was nothing serious. Like you said, it was just domestic problems. That was all." Chuck stood up and stood by the window.

"I'm in the dark here. What's this about? I don't understand any of this." Sarah said shaking her head.

"I'm sure your boys will tell you, mam. You have my card. Should you hear or learn anything more, call me."

"Wanted? What's he wanted for?" Joe asked.

"Don't concern yourselves. Certainly he was not the man you thought him to be."

***

"Is mom gonna be okay? This is crazy. You're right, we should have told her everything a long time ago." Joe said as he stood staring out Chuck's bedroom window. Both talked softly. Their mom had finally gone to bed, only after Chuck found some of her old valiums and convinced her to take two; hopefully she would have a good night's rest.

Chuck's loud response slapped Joe in the face. "Yeah, right. You should have told her you killed a man. Killed her husband. I don't think so."

Joe turned around and pointed at Chuck. "That was a goddamn accident. I didn't mean it to go that far, I just got ... Chrisssake, he's not dead. All this time and .... Jesus, Chuck I didn't kill the man. He's alive. And you know what? Mom _will_ be all right. Everything _will_ be all right. I didn't kill him. My God, I didn't kill him. All of sudden it feels like I can live again."

"Breathe easy, eh? I guess we can all breathe easy. But wow, mom married to a wanted man. What do you think? Drugs? A pimp trafficking underage prostitutes? Into kiddie porn? Murder? Yeah, probably a murderer. My God, a murderer living here. Our mother, married to a murderer, imagine that. Whatever he is, we did the right thing all right. No mistaken that. And we must have done a pretty good job, them thinking it was a drug deal gone bad. Those Lortabs were a good touch too, if I say so myself."

"Yeah. But ... But he's alive. To tell what happened. Think he will? Show up and ..."

"He's wanted. He ain't gonna show up. You're safe Joe. We're safe."

"Yeah. But, geez how's mom gonna deal with all this?"

"She will. Everything's out now. She'll get through it. And ..." Chuck paused and laughed. "and dad is going be around more."

Joe's eyes flashed. He stepped forward and glared at Chuck. "What's that mean? What the hell does that mean?"

"Joe, calm down. You need to know this. Mom's been putting off telling you. It's likely dad's gonna move back home."

"You better be joking. You trying to screw up Christmas?"

Chuck jumped off his bed and put his hands on Joe's shoulders. "Unbelievable, but true. I don't like it either, but we have to deal with it. It may be just what mom needs right now. So don't go sabotaging things. You don't have to like him or respect, or love him. Just put up with him, for mom's sake. You do it for mom. Joe, just put up with the bastard."

Joe shook his shoulders and pushed Chuck's arms away. He instinctively swung his right fist and just missed Chuck's chin. "Shut up. Go to hell. This is not gonna happen. I hate him. I can't deal with him being back here. It ain't gonna happen."

Chuck pushed Joe hard, and he fell onto the bed. "Joe cool it. It is gonna happen. Deal with it. And you remember this. What we do, we do for mom."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Eight ball. Corner pocket."

"Can't be done Dad. Six and two-ball are sitting right there. No way. You must be going blind or crazy." Maddie tilted her head at her father, put on a sly grin. She said, "Want'a bet on it?"

"Oh dear. I could never take candy from such a beautiful baby. Now, you watch and learn, young one. Watch and learn from the big boys." Howard methodically pulled his ivory handled cue stick back and breathed in slowly. The cue struck the pearl-white ball, which leapt over the two balls, bounced once and tapped the eight ball, sending it slowly and confidently to the corner pocket. The black ball politely dropped into its resting place. "Not bad for a blind old man."

Maddie laughed. "I so preferred the days when you used to let me win."

"Oh dear child, you were young and vulnerable then. It is a necessary ploy parents lovingly use to assist their children in building self-esteem."

"And how is it now you've taken on the role to destroy it?" Judith said as she set her eggnog on an end table and picked up a crossword book.

Howard laughed. "Well, you see the role of a parent evolves. Now she is a young woman and my job is to prepare her ready for the real world where nothing comes easy. Another game puppet?"

"Enough already, dad. You know what time it is? Time to watch ... _The Christmas Story_."

Howard threw his hands up. "No! No! Not again. Worst Christmas tradition of all time."

"Oh, you know you love it, dad. Don't pretend otherwise. Best Christmas movie ever. Let's go."

Howard pointed his cue stick at Maddie, "No, no. _I think_ this year I shall have the deciding vote, and my vote is cast for ... _A Wonderful Life_. Now, that my lovely child is the best Christmas movie hands down. The only one endorsed by Santa himself."

Maddie rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever."

Howard took Maddie's cue and placed both cue sticks in the rack. "Let's go. Movie time."

Maddie took her father's arm. She said, "We'll do both. Christmas story first." She motioned to her mom. "Let's go."

The three climbed the staircase leading to the multi-media room, her dad's most beloved and cherished room in his humble mansion. He had designed it and then, by himself, remolded the entire third story of their home into the most envied home theater in the country, or so he insisted.

Maddie sat between her parents and held their hands. "I'm glad we didn't go away for Christmas."

Howard said. "Me too puppet."

"This is the best Christmas Eve ever. Who needs a fancy party that stresses everyone out? This shall be the best Christmas ever." Maddie felt tears welling up; tears she welcomed.

"You're right. Who needs a Christmas Eve party; worrying about sixty relatives and friends driving us batty and draining us from every ounce of energy and sanity?" Judith said and rested her head on Maddie's shoulder. "I'm so glad you insisted we stay here. I've never enjoyed Christmas Eve, or the week leading up to it, as I have this one. I do believe that we have begun a new Holiday tradition."

***

"I can never watch this bit." Maddie covered her eyes. Flick was just about to put his tongue on the frozen flagpole after being double-dog-dared. The phone rang.

"Saved by the bell." Howard hit pause and added, "Don't worry. I won't let you miss this bit."

As Judith reached for the phone, she said, "Now, who the heck could this be? Caller ID says 'unknown number.'"

Maddie moaned and said, "Probably some family member wanting to call a truce and wish us Merry Christmas. Don't answer it."

"This better not be that brother of yours, Howard." Judith took a deep breath and answered. "Hello ... Yes it is ... Please slow down ... Yesss?" Judith shrugged and shook her head. "She's busy. May I ask who's calling?" Judith covered the receiver and whispered. "Very strange." She put the phone on her other ear. "I'm sorry, say again ... Steven? Now are you from Maddie's school?" Mom looked at Maddie, who shook her head and motioned _no_ with her hands.

"Couldn't be anyone I know. They'd call my cell." Maddie whispered to her dad.

"Are you sure you have the correct number? ... Well, she's not available. I'll tell her you called. What was your last name, Steven? ... Sorry, did you say Littleaxe? Steven Littleaxe?"

Maddie grabbed the phone and bolted off the couch. "Steven? What are you doing? How'd you get my number? No. Sorry. Just surprised to hear from you. Are you alright?" She flew down the stairs and went to her bedroom.

Steven's words came out rushed, nearly inaudible. Maddie shouted, "Slow down! For God's sake, slow down Steven!"

Maddie felt her body shiver as Steven spoke, "My dad, he's going crazy. He's shooting everything up. He's ..." The phone went dead. Maddie pushed redial several times but there was no answer.

***

"Now tell us. Who was that?" Howard asked as Maddie returned. She sat on the floor in front of the couch and shook her head.

Judith reached over and stroked her hair. "My God. You're white as a sheet. What just happened? Who was that?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do. It's Steven. That guy from the hospital. The Indian. The kind of crazy one."

Howard's voice was stern, but full of disappointment. "Oh no Maddie. We warned you about getting involved in any way with those people there, and certainly you have better sense than to give someone there your personal information."

"Dad stop. I didn't. I don't know how he got this number. But ... No. Something's terribly wrong. I don't know what to do. It's like his phone got disconnected. It went dead. I have no idea where he lives. He sounded scared to death. He said ... he said his dad was shooting a gun. Shooting up everything."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The obnoxious, angry rumble of a motorcycle jarred Joe just as he had welcomed the slumber of sleep. A foreign sound on his street. The intrusive roar of a motorcycle had not been heard in his neighborhood since his father sold his beloved Harley, that was shortly before he divorced his mother. The thunder of the engine stirred unwanted emotions and carefully ignored memories – riding around the countryside with his dad, the wind fingering his hair and caressing his face; dad laughing as their speed increased; Joe's screams of joy and fear reaching a crescendo; the smell of the oily exhaust and of his dad's Old Spice. Memories of when his father was still his hero.

The rumble stopped. "Dad's home. Dad's home." He used to shout to his brother when the Harley pulled into the driveway and the engine silenced. Joe closed his eyes and tried to shake off those memories, those emotions of a childhood stolen from him. He heard footsteps on the front porch and then saw a hooded shadow etched against the curtain. The shadow then peered through a crack in the curtain; the ghostly figure seemed to be willing its way into Joe's bedroom. Joe's heart speed up to an unbearable rate. _It's Todd, back from the dead, come to bring revenge._ Joe grabbed a baseball and began to inch his way toward the window.

Tap tap tap. A muted voice called out, "Joe? Does Joe live here? I think Joe is supposed to live here. Is anyone in there? I'm looking for Joe."

Joe opened the curtain. Steven's nose and cheek pressed against the glass; his matted and wild hair formed a chaotic mane. "What the heck are you doing here? Good God. It's Christmas Eve. No, hell, it's Christmas now. What are you doing? You know what time it is?"

"No. Let me in."

Joe opened his window and pushed Steven away from the window. "Go home Steve. Some other time. How'd you find me anyway? Jesus, just get the hell home."

"I can't go home. I need to come live with you."

"You've gone really crazy this time. Go home or I'll call the police."

"My dad's dead. He killed himself."

"What? What'd you say?"

"My dad's dead. He killed himself. And I said I need to live with you."

"Get in here." Joe pulled Steven through the window. "What's happened?"

"I told you. He shot himself. He was going crazy. I think he was tweaking, I think he did some ice or some'n really bad. PCP maybe. He found some kind of bad stuff somewhere. He went crazy berserk, took his gun and went outside and started shooting, said he was shooting the Little People. He came in and told me to go get him some more beer. I told him no, that he could get it himself if he wants to screw up his life. 'I ain't playing games boy' he said, 'Go get me the goddamn beer.' I told him to go to hell. He says, 'you want to play games? How 'bout a little Russian roulette.' He points his gun at my head and he says 'Bang, you're dead,' and laughed. He points it at himself and says, 'Bang, I'm dead,' and laughs. He kept doing it. Then he says, 'Why you crying boy? Afraid? Afraid I'll pull the trigger? Maybe I will.' Then he laughs hard and says 'the gun ain't loaded boy. I wouldn't hurt ya. See.' He put the gun to his head. Blew a hole in his head. He's dead. I started to call 911. But then, they told me to run. 'You must run, but carefully choose where you run to." That's what they said. They said, "Your father had a great destiny, he ran the wrong way. You have a great destiny but you must run to that destiny.' That's what they told me. So I ran here. I stole his ... no I took it, it's mine now. Took his motorcycle and here I am. Now, I need to live with you."

Joe rubbed his face with his hands. His nose and mouth remained hidden behind his cupped hands as he spoke. "My God Steve. This is insane. I'm sorry, that's horrible. I don't know what to say. You _have_ to call the police. You can't just leave your dad like that. And, who told you to run? You can't run off like that. Who would tell you to run?"

"No one. You wouldn't understand. No one told me nuth'n."

"God, you on about those Little People again? Steve that's crazy talk. I'm sorry it is. Little People didn't tell you anything. You can't run from this. You can't live here. Little People are in your head, nowhere else. We have to call the police now. You can't leave him there. You can't run away. You can't listen to voices in your head. You been taking your meds?"

Steven opened the window. "You're right. It's in my head. My brain's playing tricks on me. I'm crazy. Sometimes I forget just how crazy I am." He looked back at Joe. A single tear rolled down his right cheek. "I need a friend, I need a family. My father's dead. My mother's dead. Child Welfare is gonna put me in a group home or send me to rot in an Indian boarding school in Oklahoma." Steven turned around and stumbled out of the window. His voice trailed off. "No it's fine. I'll go be with my grandparents. I'll be fine. I'll be just fine. I know where to run.'

Joe leaned out the window. "Wait. Steve. Wait! I'm sorry."

The roar of Motorcycle drowned out Joe's apology. He sat on the edge of his bed, unable to move. The draft from the open window went unnoticed. _What was I supposed to do? How am I supposed to help him? He'll have to take care of himself. What's wrong with living in a group home anyway? Heck. What kind of friend am I? No, I don't have to be his friend. He'll find his grandparents. He should have done that in the first place. He'll be fine. I'm not gonna worry about him._ Joe shut the window and climbed into bed. _Crazy Indian. No._ _He'll be fine._

At six A.M. Joe sprung upright in his bed. "Find his grandparents? Be with his grandparents? Be with them?

***

"Puppet, did you sleep at all? Judith put her hand on Maddie's head

"A bit."

"I know this is hard, but you mustn't keep worrying about this friend of yours. You've called the police. That's all that can be done. You have to let them handle the matter."

Maddie sat crossed legged by their 12-foot Christmas tree; her eyes fixed on the countless oversized red and white balls catching the rising sun's rays. She looked down and shook her head. "Mom, the police just laughed, like I was playing a joke on them. 'Well there's nothing we are able to do with no more information than this, sweetie.' Great load of help they were. Mom he could be dead. And that's all they could say."

"I know. Why don't you go on back to bed and try to get some sleep? You need some more sleep."

"I guess. I will. I should." Maddie got up and kissed her mom on the cheek. "I'll be okay mom. And Steven, I'm sure he will be okay." Maddie went to her bedroom, sat on her bed and opened her laptop.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Another call for you on the landline. ID says Kline. These people shouldn't be intruding on our Holidays." Howard sighed and tossed the phone onto Maddie's bed. "Another boy from that hospital? I don't know what's going on, but make it snappy. And I want you to set some boundaries with these people."

"I will dad. But maybe he knows something. I'll be down in a minute. Just go. Go!" Maddie waved her hand toward the door. Howard backed away and slowly shut the bedroom door. Maddie took a deep breath. "Joe? ... Yes, he called me last night ... Oh my God ... My God no. I don't believe it. I was so afraid he was dead. ... No, now listen I've found six trailer parks on the north side of Fayetteville. Four of those seem to back up to wooded areas. And three of those are on Indian land. And two of those are zoned for development. He said they were planning to bulldoze his forest. It has to be in one of those two trailer parks. ... County assessor records and Google, how else? I'm going call the police again ... What? He said what? ... I know they're dead ... He wouldn't do that, no way ... You're right, we don't know ... Yeah, yeah, we have to find him ... No. Let me come to your house, it's closer to northwest side ... No, I'm sure. I'll come there."

Maddie tapped on her parents' bedroom door. She opened and peeked into the room. "That was another boy from the hospital. Steven's with him. He's fine. Guess his dad was drunk. Things are okay though."

"Well good. You can relax now." Judith said.

"Yeah, and you're right mom, I need some sleep. I just took a Trazodone. I'll try to sleep some more now I know he's okay."

"Madeline! You shouldn't have done such a thing. We're to have our Christmas breakfast soon, open presents, then we'll get dinner ready. Our sacred traditions. And now? Trazadone? Why would you do that puppet? You'll be out for ages now."

"Sorry. But if I don't get some more sleep I'll be knackered and irritable and just stress you all out. I'll set the alarm and be up in time to help with dinner. We'll do pressies after that. It will be good. The perfect Christmas."

"You sure you're alright? Any urges ... to ... to cut? I know that Steven stressed you out. Are you okay?"

"Really mom, no urges. Just need to catch up on sleep. I won't say goodnight, cause it's not night. So ... see you later. And ... yeah, Merry Christmas." She started to close the door and peeked back in. "Honest, I am good. It's going to be a great Christmas."

Maddie went to her room pulled on a pair of jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a thick black wooly pullover sweater. She grabbed a pair of Sorel snow boots and her blue North Face Amore Ski Jacket. She tipped-toed down the back stairs and out the back door, then slipped on her coat and boots. She got into her Jeep and offered a quick prayer of thanks that her parents' bedroom was on the other side of the house. _Lies. More Lies. God, I shouldn't do that. But some lies are okay. It's not for me, it's for someone else. Some lies are necessary._

***

"God. This is weird. So weird." Maddie said as Joe closed the car door.

Joe looked at her face and forced a smile; surreal memories swirled in his mind and secret feelings stirred in his belly. "Yeah, it is. Weird. Wow. It's really you. I ... It's ... yeah, weird." _Dumb, don't be so dumb. God she's so ... goddamn beautiful. Geez. I can't do this. No, it's okay. It's okay._ "Nice Jeep. I always wanted a Wrangler. But I wouldn't choose yellow."

"What's wrong with yellow? I love my yellow Wrangler. Here, take my I-phone. We'll try that one first. Make sure I go the right way. Not sure I trust these GPS things, but I couldn't find a map." Maddie backed out of the driveway and pulled away. She slammed on the brakes.

"Damn! What'a doing?"

Maddie undid her seat belt and grabbed Joe's coat and pulled him toward her. "Give me a hug you big jerk. It _is_ good to see you." She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. "How are you Joe? Really, how are you?"

The warmth of her body filled his soul and made him realize how alone he had felt since leaving the hospital. He'd forgotten how much he needed her, wanted her. His hand stroked her hair. She stiffened and pulled away. He said, "How am I? I'm ... alive. Alive and well. Actually, I'm great. Well, great till last night when I got spooked by a wild Indian. Hey, you look good ... different. Yeah, your hair's growing out on the side. And purple and blue streaks now. I like it. And glasses. No glasses."

"Contacts."

"I liked you in your glasses. You look so different. Older. Geez, I mean in a good way. You look great. Really great." Joe paused. Her expression seemed odd; maybe confused, maybe hurt; was it angry? He felt his face heating up. "And, your ass, it still looks real good." Finally, she laughed. "But how are _you_? Really."

"I'm okay. No, I'm good. Can't show you to prove it, but no cutting. Sober from cutting for two months."

"Good for you. You think we can find him?"

"Oh yeah. We'll find him. We will." She put the car in gear and accelerated quickly.

After a few seconds of silence, Joe said, "It's so creepy he called you, and then comes to my house. 'I'm gonna live with you. I'm gonna live with you.' He kept saying that. I don't ..." Joe stopped. He tried to identify the feeling that made his heart speed up. "I don't know how to help him. I don't know what I should have done last night. I should have done something more. If he's dead, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let him go. He still thinks I'm his best friend."

Maddie glanced at Joe. "Aren't you? Hey, he won't be dead. I don't think he has the courage to kill himself."

"You think? I do. If he listens to those voices, I think he would."

"Well, we'll just have to save his life. We'll put those voices in their place, Joe." Maddie reached over and patted his knee. "How'd he get my number? And you? How'd you get my house number? You wouldn't even take my cell number, and wouldn't give me yours, you arrogant bastard. Too good for us crazy people."

"I was a bit of a jerk."

"A bit?"

"Would it help to say sorry?"

"Not particularly.

"I'll say it anyway. Sorry. Sorry I was a jerk. And I don't know why. No. That's a lie. I just thought it was better to leave the hospital and ... well, everything about it behind. It was a nightmare I wanted to escape from. Never wanted to think about it again. But I was a jerk, you're right. Anyway, Steven stole some stuff, from the nurse's clipboard. I don't how he gets away with stuff like that. Some sort of information sheet, had your number and address on it. He must have stolen mine too. He tried to give me yours, but I gave it back to him. The bastard must have stuffed it in my backpack. Here's what's weird. I had this feeling last night, to look in that backpack. And there it was, stuffed in a side pocket. I figured he might have called you or gone over to your house."

"Funny how we can get those feelings, intuitions, whatever. You think God speaks to us? Like that? Maybe he's sending us to save a life." Maddie glanced at Joe.

Joe shrugged his shoulders. God. Faith. He wanted to believe in God or something; but the faith thing just didn't add up. The older he got, the less sense it made. There were days, now and then, when he would decide there was no God and the most logical thing is to be an atheist. But most days he felt a niggling fear that told him he should believe, just in case there was something out there. "Maybe. I don't know what I believe. Hold on ... you'll turn up there, at the next light. That should take us north to the bypass, if this thing's right. I guess I don't know what to believe anymore. It's too confusing. And in the end, does it make any difference?"

"Yeah, it does. Gee, if there's no God, well, we humans and all this, is just a freaky cosmic accident. There must be more to life than what we see. Otherwise what's the point?"

"Does it matter what the point is? Steven, he thinks he sees more than we can see. I really don't want to be like that." Joe knew his uneasiness surfaced in his curt response.

Maddie snapped, "It's not crazy to have faith you know. Faith in something." Maddie paused, took a deep breath and spoke slowly, "I sometimes wonder if the crazy ones aren't so crazy, and the _sane_ ones are the crazy ones. Sometimes I think I'm crazy, too crazy. And sometimes I ... I wish I was real crazy; like crazy crazy. And sometimes I think I'm the only sane one alive." She stopped and bit her upper lip, then laughed and said, "God, I need to shut up."

Joe grabbed her elbow and held it. He said, "You better, before you drive me crazy. Anyway, aren't we all supposed to be crazy? I always remember what my grandmother used to say, 'everyone's crazy except you and me and sometimes I wonder about you.'" Maddie laughed. Joe rubbed her arm. "It's good to ... to be with you. It is. Okay. Wait. Slow down. Next left I think. Should be a road a few up miles up. You'll take that. The trailer park shouldn't be far from there."

***

"My God, what now?" Maddie stopped the Jeep. Fifty yards ahead, surrounded by large oak trees, was a doublewide trailer. Four police cars sat in front of it.

"Well. We just go up and ask them what's going on. That has to be Steven's trailer. We have to find out what's happened."

They walked slowly down the narrow gravel driveway lined by an abundance of trees and overgrown bushes. A light dusting of snow did little to lighten up the bleak and forbidding scene unfolding before them. As they neared a large clearing where the trailer set, Joe nudged Maddie's shoulder and said, "Good God. Look at that." Rusted appliances, dilapidated cars, and piles of scrap metal covered the front yard and side of the home.

"You talk." Maddie said as a female police officer approached them.

"Merry Christmas." Joe said in a less than cheery manner. He glanced at Maddie and tilted his head, knowing she was thinking that was an idiotic thing to say.

"You two from this trailer park."

"No mam."

"What's your business here at seven AM on a Christmas morning?"

"Worried about a friend. He said he was coming to visit his father, but he's not been answering his cell."

"No one should be answering their phone this early on Christmas. What are you doing here?"

Joe put his hands in his coat pockets. His words came out quickly. "Look, he called last night. Said his dad was drinking and maybe using drugs. He sounded scared. We wanted to check on him. He wasn't answering the phone."

"Your friend lives here? Who else lives here?"

_Why can't the police ask a question without it sounding like they're making accusations? I hate cops_. Joe took a slow breath as he tried to decide what he should and shouldn't say. "We're not even sure. We think his dad lives here ... by himself. Our friend, Steve, he just came to visit ... you know, for Christmas. Steve, he lives with us. Has for a long time. He's like our brother. And before you ask, his mom's dead. Is he here? What's going on?"

"Not at liberty to say. What's your friend's full name? And age."

"Steven. Littleaxe. He's sixteen."

"What's his cell number?"

"I don't remember."

"234 8792. My brother has a terrible memory."

She wrote the name down. "Your names? Address."

Maddie put her arm through Joe's and said, "Jenifer Jones. And this is my brother Tom. We live at 2113 Northwest Randolph Boulevard. Our parents are Patty and Brent Jones. 353 7351 that's the home phone. We need to know if Steven's here. If he's okay. We know his dad's ..."

"His dad used to beat him. Could beat him bad when he got drunk. We need to know he's all right. You see he called us late last night and said his dad was drunk. And now his cell phone's dead." Joe interrupted Maddie. "Who called the police? Do you know? And why?"

The officer looked at Joe and shook her head slightly. She turned and started walking back to the trailer. She turned her head back and said, "I don't know what you two are up to, but there is nothing more I can tell you. Go home, it's Christmas. You should be with your parents."

"They're worried about him too. They sent us to find him." Maddie enunciated each word carefully.

With her backed turned as she was walking toward the trailer, the officer said, "I suggest you two move on."

" _Jones_? Couldn't you do better than _Jones_? But that was pretty damn good. You must have professional training to lie like that."

"I'm a natural. What can I say? It's a gift. Let's get back to the car and wait, and see what's gonna happen."

Perched on the warm hood of the Jeep, an eerie silence encompassed the pair as they watched police officers going in and out of the trailer. They huddled around in groups of twos and threes, then one or two of them would go back to deal with the unimaginable scene inside the trailer. A long ten minutes passed before an ambulance slipped past the Jeep and slowly made its way down the driveway. "Let's leave. I can't watch this." Maddie whispered. She hopped off the hood and got into the Jeep. She started the car and called out. "Get in here! Let's just leave."

Joe got into the jeep, rubbed his hands briskly and put them against the air vent. "We have to watch. Make sure. One or two bodies. One or two."

"He would never kill himself. And I sure can't see him coming back here to kill himself in front of his ... his dad."

Joe shrugged. "Why not? You know, he still loved his dad. And that makes no sense to me."

Maddie nodded. She turned on the radio, Michael Buble's version of _I'll be Home for Christmas_ started playing. Joe began to sing along. Maddie moaned, "Oh stop. It doesn't feel like Christmas, not anymore. It's just not real, sitting here waiting to see ... Golly, look at that mess out there. It looks like a ... what do they call them? A rubbish tip, where they go and dump everyone's garbage. Geez, how could Steven live there? How could any human being live like that? You know the inside has to be as bad or worse than the outside."

"Yeah. God. What'd Steven used to say? 'Nature's my home.' I can see why. He had to escape that shithole. He said that an old Indian saying, 'nature is my home.' He's a long way from home living in that garbage dump."

"No he's not." Maddie pointed to the forest to the south of the house. She gasped and shouted, "My God! That's where he is! In the woods. Probably froze to death. We have to find him."

***

Maddie put her hand on Joe's shoulder. "Maybe this _is_ stupid. We'll never find him in these woods. We'll just get lost. And I really have to get back home, like soon."

With exaggerated panic Joe said, "Oh my God! We'll be lost in this forest forever, and we'll freeze to death. Oh my God! Our parents will never find us. Frozen corpses buried under the winter's snow never to be ..."

"Shut up!" Maddie hit his arm with her gloved fist.

Joe laughed, then shook his head, "Can't stop now. Just look for something that may be a path of some sort. He said he came out here all the time. If he came out of his front yard, it'd be more over that way. There's got to be something like a trail." Joe grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him as they stepped over a fallen tree.

"Do you think Steven's really crazy? I'm mean like, really seeing things? He sure acts crazy sometimes." Maddie asked as she steadied herself holding Joe's arm.

"Crazy is what crazy does. If that's true, he's as crazy as they come. He sure should be taking his meds. But I think ... well, _acting_ crazy is how he survives. He smarter than he acts, you know."

"He sure is scary sometimes. That anger, it scares me. Someone's going to really hurt him someday, someone who doesn't understand he has problems, who doesn't care what he's had to deal with. Joe, do you ever wonder what your life would be like, I mean, if you'd grown up as he did? Sometimes I wonder what I'd be like if I had grown up with really bad parents. My life has been so easy. Too easy. Nearly perfect."

Joe shook his head, "I know this, I would have killed myself a long time ago. Or, more likely, killed my parents. But ... being raped by your uncle for two years, that would make one's life pretty shitty."

Maddie let go of Joe's arm and pushed him away from her. "Shut up Joe. Shut up."

"Sorry. No. Damn it. That didn't come out right. Sorry, but I mean I know it's made your life hard. Someone you trust doing that. It must be hard to trust anybody. I can't imagine what you went through. What it's done to you."

Maddie stopped; her eyes focused on her boots caked with mud. She shook her head, her voice was soft, apologetic. "It makes you hate yourself. It destroys you inside. Deep, deep inside, bit by bit. Your soul, eaten away. Self-worth shatters into a million little pieces. And you have to pretend, to yourself and everyone else, that everything's all right. Keep telling yourself that it wasn't a big deal. But all the time you're thinking, 'What's wrong with me? Why can't I get over it?'" Maddie grabbed Joe's arm and tugged it hard. "I'm sorry. Let's go. We have to find hm."

"Yeah. Sure." Joe stood and looked at Maddie. He brushed her bangs aside so he could see the left side of her face. He rubbed her nose with his glove. "Your nose's so red. Needs warming up." She laughed. Joe leaned down and kissed her lips. He wanted that touch to linger, to feel the warmth of her sweet flesh on his lips. She pushed him away.

Maddie turned around and started walking in front of him. "It's the shame and guilt that eats away at you, that destroys everything, tells you you're a piece of crap, not worthy to live. So you have to hurt yourself, cut yourself up. Because that's what you deserve. You have to hate yourself and ... and everyone else should hate you. That's what you deserve."

"Maddie. Don't say that. That's so untrue. It wasn't' your fault. You shouldn't feel guilty about what a grown man did to you when you were thirteen."

"Yes I should." Maddie stopped, turned around and looked Joe in the eyes, then looked away. "Joe. I liked it. I liked what he did to me. It was like someone loved me. I wanted it. I hate myself because he did it and I hate myself because I liked what he did and I wanted it and missed it when it stopped. Why shouldn't everyone hate me?"

"No matter how you felt then, no matter how much you may have ... liked it, even wanted it, you're not guilty. He was the evil mother-effing bastard. Not you. No one is going to hate you because of what some perverted, wicked human being chose to do to you. Please don't hate yourself. Maddie you're so damn lovable it's ... unbelievable."

Tears slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away. "I know I should believe that. I know that. But I'm afraid I never will. That's what I'm afraid of most of all. That I will never, ever believe I'm worth anything."

Joe searched for the right words; words to convince, to prove – words to set her free. A wave of hopelessness engulfed his heart. He slowly lifted her chin and shook his head. "Wounded, not ruined. Damaged, never ever broken."

"Cracked, never shattered. Geez. We need to get going. I'm going be in so such trouble. We better hurry up and find him."

Joe pointed as he spoke. "Come on then. The house is up that way. If go straight down over there, we're bound to find him."

"Or we'll freeze to death, never to be found."
CHAPTER NINETEEN

"There! Down there!" Maddie pointed toward a slight incline leading to a clearing. "He's got to be there!"

As they reached the bottom of the slope, Joe shouted, "Steven! What the hell ya doing? Steven!" Steven lay motionless on the snow-dusted ground, wearing only boxer shorts. "He's gone and froze himself to death. Find his grandparents! He is flippin' crazy."

The two knelt down. Maddie's voice trembled, "He's so blue. Is he breathing? God help us." Joe frantically took his jacket off and nestled it around Steven's freezing torso. Maddie covered his legs with her coat and rubbed hard and fast. She whispered, "We're too late, aren't we?"

Steven moaned then murmured, "Crap. Didn't know it'd take so damn long to freeze to death. Tired of this. Got to be a better a way. Give me some lessons, Joe."

Joe lay on top of Steve and rubbed his shoulders. "Screw you Steven. Just when I think you're as crazy as crazy can be, you prove you're even crazier. Come one. Get the heck up, start moving around. Where're your damn clothes?"

Maddie said. "They're here, but they're frozen, stiff as a board. He's better off just wearing your coat right now. We need to get him to the Jeep."

Joe shook Steven. He winced and groaned. His words didn't want to come out. "Is still Christmas? Did police come? I called 'em, after said goodbye to dad. From store at bottom of hill. Bet didn't come. They need to take care of father."

"They came and they took your father away. They're taking care of him."

"Don't let'em take me. Joe. Can't do it again. State custody. Ward of the state. Rather die."

"No you wouldn't." Joe helped Steve to his feet.

"Would. Would too." Steven's teeth chattered.

"Don't worry. It won't happen. You're coming home with me."

"He told me you'd come, that ... that you both come. Didn't believe him. He said, 'Good friends always going to come.' Said, 'Good friends always care. Good friends not gonna let you die.' Didn't believe him. Should always believe grandfather."

"Yeah. He was right Steven. He was right. We weren't going to let you die. Come on get up, get moving. The police should be gone. We'll get your stuff and you're going home with me."

Steven rubbed his arms, and started jumping up and down. "Can't feel anything yet. He knew you'd come. He knew you were good friends."

***

'Stop. Stop here." The Jeep stopped four houses down from Joe's home. His father, in short sleeves, was carrying a large box. His sister followed carrying a laundry basket filled with clothes.

Steven's motorcycle screeched to a halt just before the front wheel hit the Jeep's bumper. The horn blew letting out a feeble high-pitched hoot, which caused Joe to cringe. He looked back and saw Steven throw up his arms and shout out some indistinguishable obscenities. He motioned Steve to calm down and muttered, "Idiot." Then threw his head hard against the headrest. "I don't believe this. My dad's moving his crap in. He's really coming back. And does it on Christmas day. Christmas day for Christ sake. I think I'm sick. It's like he's thinks he's giving us the greatest of all Christmas presents. I'm not going in there. Never. This is a disaster of catastrophic life altering proportions. I don't believe this." Steven beeped his horn again and shouted more choice words. Joe waved at him to be quiet.

Maddie put her hand on Joe's shoulder and rubbed it. "It's Christmas. You have to be with your family. It'll be okay." She chuckled. "I'm beginning to think you have a rather disconcerting habit of exaggeration."

Joe shot a mean glare, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't appreciate the teasing. You really don't understand. You don't get it. I ... I flippin' hate him. I do."

Maddie said. "Don't say that. You don't hate him."

"I do, with every bit of my ... soul and my ... Whatever, I can't go in there." Joe tried to hide emotions that were scaring him. He spoke slowly, "I don't know what I'll do Maddie. I really don't."

Maddie rubbed his hair, then stroked his cheek. Joe's rage receded slightly. She said, "You won't do anything. Go, be with your family. Be thankful, just be thankful. Joe, maybe it's time to start forgiving. Maybe it's a chance ... to get things right."

Joe glanced at her and a faint smile emerged. Naïve. She was so naïve. And so beautiful. He leaned his head back. "Maddie?"

"What?"

"About ... what happened ... back there." Joe wanted to look at her, but couldn't seem to turn his head. "Sorry for that thing I did. That was stupid. Really stupid."

"I assume you mean that most inappropriate and ill-timed kiss." Maddie said, then smiled.

_What kind of smile was that? God, what's going on inside her head, her heart?_ "Well, yeah. I shouldn't have ... you know, done that." Joe knew his words came out awkwardly. He could feel his face getting flushed.

Maddie laughed. Joe couldn't decipher its source; embarrassment, irritation, indignation, indifference? "It's okay." She said in a tone just as vague as her laugh.

_It's okay? Okay that I kissed her – or okay, it's not a big deal but never ever do it again._ Joe looked at her and forced a feeble grin; he knew it must have come across as a sheepish grin that reeked of embarrassment.

Maddie looked away and motioned toward Joe's home. "Forget it. Okay? Who else is there? For your Christmas?"

Forget it? He could never forget it. So maybe it wasn't the _right_ time; but it _was_ right. Something that feels so good has to be right. Every morsel of his being wanted to feel her lips against his again. Joe took a slow breath before he answered. He tried not to, but he sighed before his words came out. "Grandparents, my aunt and uncle, two pain-in-the-ass cousins." An image flashed through Joe's head, of walking through the door with a wild Indian beside him. A rush of sheer panic caused his body to shudder. "My God Maddie. What am I doing, bringing a crazy Indian here? This is all cracked up, a disaster. You know what it's like? It's like I'm bringing a puppy dog home, expecting everyone to thinks it's so cute that they won't dare say I can't have it. 'Can I keep him mom? Can I keep him? It's Christmas mom, can I keep him?' This is insane. I can't do this. This is all too much."

Maddie laughed; a real laugh, a belly laugh that led to a snort. "I'm sorry, but that's funny. It'll be fine. It will be. Don't worry. If he keeps his mouth shut for a while, they'll think he's an adorable little wild Indian needing some love and some warm milk and cookies. And I'm sure you can get him house trained, fairly quickly." She chuckled again but quickly caught herself. "Sorry. No. Really, it will be okay. It will."

Steven pounded twice on the car window and pushed his face against the glass. "What's going on? Let's go. You trying to freeze me to death? Hell's bell's. Let's go."

Joe groaned and shook his head. "Just a sec. Just a sec." He looked at Maddie, "Maybe Steven should go with you. Really, it'd be okay. You know, just for a while. Just tonight maybe. I just can't take him in there today. Not with all that's going on."

Steven hit the window again. "A sec's up. What'a ya waiting for? What'a ya'll talking about? Let me in."

Maddie whispered, "My God, you're not serious? What do you _think_ my parents would say? Sorry, no. Mom will be knocking on my door any minute. I'll be grounded forever if they find out I sneaked out again. And what'd you think they'd say if some guy is sitting in my bedroom? I'd be dead and he'd be dead. Joe, I really have to go. It's nearly 10:30. I'm sure he'll be fine with you all. It will work out. And Joe, you're doing the right thing. You're doing a good thing. But I have to go. Geez, I really have to go."

Steven beat on the window. "Come on!"

"Yeah. I'm sure. Everything's gonna be _just_ wonderful. Yeah the perfect Christmas." Joe opened the door and slowly got out.

"Hey. What's your cell number?" Maddie asked.

"203-7684."

Maddie put the number into her phone. As the Jeep began to move, she shouted, "See you. See you both ... soon."

Joe's eyes stayed fixed on Maddie's Jeep as it sped down the street. He pointed toward the motorcycle and muttered, "Roll your bike down the side of the house." After the Jeep turned the corner, he looked at Steven and curtly said, "And for God's sake, don't start the damn thing. We don't need to announce our arrival."

"Why not? That'd be ... be a cool introduction. Don't you think so?" Steven said and started the engine and revved it. Joe quickly shut it off and took the key.

"No it wouldn't." Joe's cell phone began playing AC DC's 'Hell's Bells.'

Maddie spoke. "You will see me. Won't you."

"Yeah."

"You have my number now. Call me."

"Sure."

"Promise?"

"Sure, yeah, soon." Joe slipped his phone in his jacket pocket and threw his hands into the air and shouted, "Yes! Yes!"

"She loves you." Steven said with an obnoxious and childish smirk.

"Shut up Steve. It's not like that. Now, listen. You're a friend whose parents are away for Christmas. Away because ... because someone in your family died, yeah, a great aunt. And I felt sorry for you, so I asked you to come over for Christmas day. Got it?"

"So you have to lie about me."

"Yeah, I do. Today anyway. You don't want all my relatives knowing what's going on. They'd have CPS out here in a quick minute. I'll have to ease my mom into this. And I have no idea what my dad will say. Just please act sane for once. Show some manners and say as little as possible." Joe took a deep breath and shook his head. "This is going be ..."

"Freakin' great. Come on let's go."

***

Joe and Steven climbed over the rail to the front porch. Joe opened the window to his bedroom and slipped Steven's duffle bag and backpack onto the floor and shut the window. Joe grabbed Steven by his collar and swung him around before his friend was about to open the front door. "Just don't say much of anything. Alright?"

Steven pushed Joe away and said, "What's your problem? Let's go." Steven opened the door and started to walk inside when Joe caught his collar again, "Damn it. Wait. Let me go in first."

Steven followed Joe through the front door into the entranceway. Joe peered around the archway opening to the living room. His grandparents sat on the green leather sofa with Chuck nestled in-between them. Uncle Hank was in a recliner with his aunt Charlotte sitting on the floor, her right arm rested on her husband's knee. Sarah stood poking fading embers in the fireplace. His sister and two cousins sat by the Christmas tree prodding presents that were begging to be set free. Just the scene he'd imaged as Christmas neared; the proud Christmas tree, the glowing fire, a pile of presents ready to be unveiled and the succulent aroma of a turkey cooking. And the family gathered together; his family being a family. Finally, Christmas had arrived – but so had his father. _Spoiled. Spoiled. Why would mom let him come here today? And this flippin' mess with Steven. Oh God why? Worst Christmas ever._

Steven pushed Joe through the archway. His grandfather pointed and said, "My goodness, look who has graced us with his presence." He hoisted himself up from the sofa, took two wobbly steps and shook Joe's hand.

His grandmother hugged him and rubbed his hair. "Looking good. Joseph. Merry, Merry Christmas." She paused and shook her head. "Not very good of you to go missing like that, and on Christmas morning. Worrying us like that." She embraced him again and said, "But here you are. Merry Christmas." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, well, Little Joe. Not trying to ignore us are you?" Hank said as he reached out to shake Joe's hand. He quickly returned to his seat as if worried someone would take his place.

Charlotte gave Joe a warm embrace, then stood him at arm's length and said, "You're looking very well. Very well indeed. You gave us all such a ... Well, yes. Merry Christmas Joe. And this must be the friend you said you had to see so early on Christmas morning."

"Yeah. Sorry. This is Steven. A friend from school. He didn't have anywhere to go. His parents had to go out of town. A death. His mom's sister. I couldn't leave him home alone today."

"Geez. Why couldn't he go with them? It's Christmas. He should be with them. Shouldn't he?" Amber blurted.

Steven shook his head, then said, "I get really carsick. They don't dare take me anywhere. It's not safe. Once it starts coming, well it comes and comes. It's a horrible, smelly mess."

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want you to be alone on Christmas. You poor thing." Sarah paused and shook her head. "Steven it is good to have you here. And how sad for your mother to lose a sister at Christmas. Terrible. I am sorry." Joe's mother then gave Steve a quick and hesitant embrace.

"Oh don't worry. She was just an old worn out bitch anyway. Nah, never liked her. It's kind'a good she's dead. Thanks for having me. I feel like I'm with family already. I really ..."

"So Steven. This is my Aunt Charlotte and uncle Hank. They've come from Oklahoma City. That's Cat and Tracy, the two most obnoxious cousins in the state. And Amber, the most annoying sister in the country. My grandparents and mom of course. Then Chuck, the most arrogant and know-it-all brother in the world."

Chuck stood and nodded and reached out for Steven's hand. He glanced at Joe and said, "Joe, what'a ya doing? This is that kid from..."

"From Roosevelt, he played football there last year. You wouldn't have met him. He just transferred to JFK this year." Joe's eyes pleaded for Chuck to shut up and play along.

"No. I've seen him before. Yeah, it was at your last football game last year. It's the wild Indian that ran for a sixty-yard touchdown. I remember."

Steven had a sly smile. "A thing of beauty wun'it. Unforgettable it was." Steven's smile grew. "I got the ball. Closed my eyes and ..."

Joe blurted out. "Steven's hungry mom. He's famished. What'd we got?"

"Oh dear. We'll fix that." Sarah took Steven's arm and said, "Now, come sit here, young man. Amber, run and get a hot chocolate for Steve and some cookies. Christmas dinner won't be long, if you can hold on."

"Oh boy. You bet. Smells like heaven." Steven inhaled. "Yeah buddy, I must be dead and in heaven."

Sarah laughed, then looked at Joe and said, "We have a surprise for you Joe."

Joe's lungs quickly filled to capacity, his chest puffed up. His words shot out, "It's not a surprise mom. It's just the only thing that could ruin Christmas. Where is _he_?"

"Joe. Just don't start." Chuck said under his breath.

"Your father is upstairs, sorting out a few things. He'll be down shortly."

Joe felt his throat tighten and his face heat up. His stomach churned – the volcano's insidious pressure mounting. _Control it. Control it ._ He took several slow breaths. But he felt his soul and heart begin to shake.

"Joe, your father is trying to set things right. He's trying hard to say he's sorry. This is going to be a fresh start for all of us. What better time to start than Christmas." His mom's voice quivered. Joe couldn't be sure if she was desperately trying to convince herself that this nonsense was true, or just trying too hard to convince him.

Joe shook his head and glanced around the perfectly decorated living room, a room ready to celebrate the perfect Christmas. He looked at all the faces; each forced smile betrayed the deception of the day. He knew – knew that they all held the same conviction as he did. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "Anybody in this room, in this family, think it's a good idea to welcome the slut-loving excuse for a father and husband back into this house? Hands anyone?" Joe looked around the room; all eyes fixed on his mother. "Oh I know. We have to support my mom. Have to pretend that we think she's doing the right thing. I'm sorry mom, but we all know it's bullshit. We ..."

"Joseph stop. Please. That's enough. You don't mean those things." Sarah's eyes clouded with tears.

Chuck grabbed Joe by the arm before his mouth could spew out any more venom. "Joe. Shut it up. This isn't the time or place. Leave it alone."

Chuck tried to escort his brother from the living room but Joe jerked his arm free. Then the volcano erupted. "Screw this! Leave it alone? Leave it alone? He wants to waltz his way back into this house and pretend everything's sweet and rosy and perfect. What's he want? What's he goddamn want? He must want something coming back here like this. Screw him! Screw him to hell!"

"He just wants to be a father to you Joe." Mom's tears slipped down her cheeks.

"He can just go to hell. He is not my father. Not since he walked out that door ten years ago. He can go burn in hell." _Yes, that's right. It's what they freakin' need to hear, the freakin' truth._ He held no doubt whatsoever that everyone in that room agreed with his decree. They were all just too afraid to say what needed to be said. He looked around the room; every mouth agape with shock, embarrassment and what seemed to be anger – not toward his father but aimed at him. Joe was stunned, then disillusioned – and then fury returned. A primeval shriek begged for life; a cry that would pierce their deluded souls and declare the depth of his rage. Joe bit his lower lip and clasped his hands on his head. His mind searched for words powerful enough to honor his rage.

Steven bolted toward Joe and shoved him with force enough to send him stumbling to the floor. He screamed, "At least your father's here. He's not dead. Your dad is _here_. He can still be a father, he can still try. He's ... he's still here to love you. Your father didn't blow his brains out in a drunken rage last night. You have a chance to let him be a father. My father's gone forever. Yours is trying to come back. Why don't you let him? I wish my dad could just be here to try."

Joe jumped up and darted through the front door. Dazed family members hurriedly stumbled toward the door. "No. Don't. Let him go. He'll come to his senses. I know him. Give him time. The idiot." Chuck said as he went and embraced his mother. Amber came and nestled between them.

His mother whispered in his ear, "I'm afraid he might do something, to himself. He's not safe like this."

"Mom, he sure ain't safe if he stays here. He'll be okay." Chuck said.

"Hey. Hear that? Damn it. He stole my motorcycle. Hell's bell's. Oh well. Where's those cookies? And hot chocolate?"

***

The sun was now bright, offering at least a fleeting hint of warmth. But Joe's cheeks and forehead grew numb and his eyes watered as he raced down the highway into what remained a cruel and frigid wind. He could barely see the empty road ahead of him. _I'll never stop. Go on forever. Forever. God, why? Nothing works anymore. Nothing will ever be okay ever again._

Emotions. Who needs them? Too many. Too intense. And the anger – always there, always in control; anger always wins. _But what'd Braxton keep saying? 'Underneath that anger hides the real emotions. Get in touch with the real emotions, and never believe the lie that anger has the power.' Fear. It was fear, always fear. Why fear? Fear of what?_

Minutes later, the thought came; the dark deception reborn – death is the only safe place. Death. No more dread there, nothing to run from, nothing to terrorize. At death, fear loses its power; guilt erased forever. Death, The Right Answer. Why bother to face any ugly and unwanted emotions when you can leave them _all_ behind? So sensible, so right. This cruel and demanding deception teased him. _Just do it right this time. It's the only thing that makes sense. Finish the job. Be done with it. Be done with it all._ _Just_ _do it right this time._ The motorcycle accelerated carrying Joe swift and furious into a dark abyss; down one hill and up another, faster and faster. _Do it. Just do it. The Right Answer_ – _No. No, it's not._ _Shut up._ _No. Can't. Don't_. The bike slowed. The next several minutes became a haze Joe would never be able to piece together. But he did clearly remember the moment the motorcycle came to a halt. Joe's heart thumped hard and fast when he realized where he was. _How'd the hell did I get here? Why would I end up in this place?_ In front of him was Steven's doublewide, surrounded by its private junk yard. The unforgiving hellhole Steven endured since his grandfather died. The battlefield where a tragic and meaningless war had raged, where merciless and merciful warriors had been mortally wounded. _Your father didn't blow his brains out last night. My father's gone forever. Yours is trying to come back ... But I don't want him back_. Emotions enveloped Joe, determined to suffocate, destroy: Abandonment. Betrayal. Hurt. Disappointment. Disillusionment. Fear. Hate. Anger – Too much anger. Damaged and ruined. Joe screamed out at the top of his lungs, "I don't want him back!"

As he sat on the motorcycle staring at Steven's home, ugly and unbearable images raced across Joe's mind's eye – name-calling, beatings with extension cords and two-by-fours and who knows what. The taunting and humiliation. The drunken and senseless rages. All the ugliness that sapped his friend of life and soul and sanity. _You have a chance to let him be a father. My father's gone forever. Yours is trying to come back. Why don't you let him?_ _Why don't you let him? – Maybe it's time to start forgiving_. "But I don't want him back. I don't want to forgive him!"

Joe dismounted the bike and noticed the faint path leading to the rickety chain-link fence. He climbed over the fence and followed the secret trail to Steven's hidden refuge; his sanctuary offering hope and peace, the promise of salvation. When he found the clearing, he laughed as he remembered the sight of Steven stripped down to his shorts, lying on the snow-dusted ground. _Steven. You're crazy as hell, trying to be with your grandparents._ _And, you're so_ ... Joe then felt a tinge of sadness. Or was it pity? _You're so deluded,_ _trying to find comfort from dead ancestors. Trying to make myths and legends real. Just silly stories. How can he believe in that stuff? But maybe it's nice to believe in ... in something._

Joe sat on the ground and rested his back on the large tree stump. He drew in a long slow breath. The faint touch of warmth from the Christmas Day's sun soothed his rage. "Relax. Relax." Those words seemed to drift from the surrounding trees. The jumble of confused emotions began to calm.

"Forgiveness, fool. Yes, forgiveness." These words and strange images flashing before his eyes caused him to jerk his head up. How long had he slept? The sun now hovered just above the horizon; the air had gone from cool to cold. _Damn dreams, I hate dreams. Oh crap. It's late. Do I have to go back? How can I? God, I've wrecked everyone's Christmas. I can't face them. Can't face him. Just stay here. Let nature be my home. Home! Oh my God! I left Steven alone with my family. Hell_. _What have I done?_

***

Joe mounted Steven's motorcycle. As he drove toward home, he rehearsed what he should say and how he would say it. But, how could he even face his family? He'd ruined his and everyone's Christmas. _No. It's dad who ruined everything. It's him. He had no right to come home, home on Christmas day._ He slowed down and pulled to the side of an empty road. He turned the engine off and sat down on the cold, damp tarmac. _Forgiveness fool_. Some sins remain forever unforgivable. He knew both his and his father's sins were just that – unforgivable. Anyway, only fools forgive.
CHAPTER TWENTY

_Oh my God. It's 11:05. Geez. I'm dead._ Maddie's Jeep eased up the driveway. She knew her parents had probably already checked on her; she hoped the carefully placed pillows under her duvet would fool them again, and she prayed they hadn't noticed that her Jeep was missing. _They haven't called; no angry or worried texts – probably safe._ Maddie left her coat in the car and crept to the side of her house. She shimmed up a rope hanging from a huge oak tree; her dad had fixed a tire swing on a large limb that nearly reached the balcony just above the kitchen. Endless hours had been spent on that swing when she was young, her dad pushing her. "Higher. Higher." She would call out. But her life had changed. In the past two years she had climbed that rope countless times to sneak in and out her second story bedroom – rendezvous with boys, meeting friends to get high, roaming the streets and vandalizing empty houses just for the hell of it.

Reaching the first limb, she pulled herself up to a higher branch a little nearer the house. Then she took a giant step up to reach another limb slightly higher and a bit closer to the balcony. She pulled out a six-foot long two-by-four she kept wedged between three large limbs, laying it on a sturdy branch, she eased it toward the balcony. Once it rested firm on the balcony's ledge, she set the other end securely between some nails, which assured the plank wouldn't wobble. After carefully walking across her portable bridge, she pulled the two-by-four to the balcony and laid it under her window. Maddie climbed through her bedroom window and quickly removed the pillows from under the duvet. _Safe at last._ _Last time I do that. Last time. No more deceit._ She quickly disrobed and put her pajamas back on. Staring at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser, she took several deep breaths. "Relaxation is an important key to mental health," her therapist had declared – too many times. She was ready to face the day, Christmas Day. "Let's make it a good Christmas." She told herself three times as she brushed her hair.

"You up Maddie? Lots to do." Mom called through the bedroom door.

"Yeah mom. I'm up. Be down in just a bit."

The door opened and Judith said, "Very good. Your grandparents are here. They decided to come after all. See, things are going to get better."

Maddie nodded. Judith smiled and seemed to glide back through the bedroom door. _My grandparents decided to come?_ She looked into the mirror. Ugly. It was all ugly; nose too big, lips too thin, eyebrows too bushy, hairline too high, skin too white. So ugly – so unlovable. ' _Your grandparents decided to come. The decided to come after all.' Why? Why? To ruin Christmas?_ They never had believed her. They had refused to talk to her since the revelation –the hideous family secret that was too awful for words, too horrible to be true. Oh, they would never believe their youngest son, their little boy, had raped a twelve year old, raped her until she was fourteen. _Why are they here?_ She yanked the brush through her hair, faster and faster. Disgusting. The mirror doesn't lie, the mirror knows the truth and it always dares to declare the ugly truth. _You're disgusting. So disgusting_.

Maddie looked around her room; anything would do. She spotted a paper clip just under her dresser. Bending it straight, she pushed it against the flesh on her left forearm; the arm covered with countless well-healed scares, scares finally fading. Each cut had given relief; each scar had filled her with shame. But each and every cut gave her what she deserved – she liked it. She shouldn't have liked it; only a horrible person would like such a thing. He had told her a thousand times it was their very special secret, a secret to be cherished; to tell would ruin their special moments, their love. She should have told. Maddie dug the tip of the paperclip deep into her flesh, dragging it down her forearm. Blood slowly, politely, lovingly oozed down her arm – atonement for her sin, her ugliness. A moment of relief. A moment where everything blurred and became strangely bearable. A rush of satisfaction and comfort soothed the jumble of contorted and cruel emotions. Maddie went to her bathroom and let the blood trickle into the sink – washed away forever. She looked into the mirror. She smiled, then laughed. Then tears flowed. The inevitable shame raised its unforgiving finger and jammed it in her face. "I knew you couldn't stop. I knew you'd do it again. Pathetic. Look at those scares. Proud of them aren't you? Weak and pathetic. Still ugly. Ugly as hell."

A knock on the door and her head jerked up. Her dad's voice called through it, "Maddie? Puppet. Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

"I'm coming. I'll be down in a minute." She'd done it before: Faced her parents, her family, pretending to be okay, hiding her sliced up flesh, her blood, her lies. She could do it again – especially on Christmas Day.

***

Normality – shattered into a billion tiny pieces. The pretense of normality – demanded each and every day. Maddie kissed her grandfather's left cheek, and then she curtsied and kissed her grandmother's right hand. Nana had taught her to do this when she was four years old. "Someday you will meet the Queen of England, and this is how you must greet her. Someday you will mix with Kings and Queens like your grandparents and you must be prepared my dear child." In the sixties and early seventies, her grandfather served as ambassador in what was then Rhodesia and later on was posted in South Africa "You must be prepared for a wonderful and exciting life my dear." Words which were so exciting to a seven year old, but now were just naïve statements made by an old woman. Since she was little, Maddie had curtsied to her grandmother to the delight and laughter of a family praising the sublime innocence of children being children. As a teenager, she still bowed to her Nana, but this was done to mock an old woman who lived in the past. The grandmother never suspected this, but all the cousins knew and laughed with Maddie, and at their grandmother.

Why did they come? To condemn? To probe? To look for the truth? The stiff, if not muted, greeting from both grandparents answered Maddie's questions. She spoke slowly, with a slight hint of depression, hoping her hurt and anger would subliminally slap them in their pompous faces. "Merry Christmas you two. I thought we might get more snow today. But it doesn't look like it will be enough to grant us that white Christmas those weathermen promised. You can't trust a weatherman. They always let you down." Maddie could feel a bead of blood trickle down her arm. She rubbed her forearm and hoped it wouldn't soak through her white sweater; a sweater she'd put on because Nana gave it to her last Christmas. It was the first time she'd worn that sweater; anything white on her body felt awkward, uncomfortable. She preferred black; always black, black was comforting, accepting.

"Oh, who wants snow any day of the year? No thank you." Her grandfather said and took a seat close to the fireplace.

"What would you like to drink, Nana? I know Papa wants a sherry."

"Nothing for me, Madeline," Her grandmother said as she walked across the room and looked out the large bay window.

"Are you sure? I think mom has just made some eggnog."

"No thank you dear."

Maddie's stomach churned and her lungs tightened. It was obvious why they came; not to bring peace and joy to mankind, but to condemn, to declare their son's innocence, and to urge her parents to choose between him and their daughter. Maddie felt tension grow in that festive room with each syllable uttered and each breath taken. "I'll get your sherry Papa."

"Madeline, let's stop the pretense, shall we? I think we need to get your parents in here and have a talk," her grandmother said, still staring out the window.

"Nana, what are you on about? This is Christmas, not a time to worry about family problems. God."

"Call them now. Or shall I?"

"Whatever." Maddie went to the kitchen and returned with her parents. The three of them sat on the sofa across from the fireplace. Maddie felt another trickle of blood seeping down her forearm. She crossed her arms quickly and set her gaze on the fireplace. The flames danced so carelessly, so freely; they were dancing for her; dancing hard to please her, trying to bring back the joy that should highlight the perfect Christmas. The words the adults spoke were distant, almost foreign.

"What's this about, Mother? We're here to enjoy the holiday and a nice meal and that's what we will do." Howard said as he offered his mother a glass of eggnog that she dismissed with a slight flick of the wrist.

"I know you were willing to give our Maddie another chance. I understand how much you want to see her change. But the lies, the deceit just go on and on. She has not changed one iota. Your daughter continues to play you for the fool."

"Mother! Good God. What are you on about? You haven't been around here for two months. You have no idea how well Maddie is doing. She is doing great. We have our Maddie back."

"Do you? Why don't you tell them Madeline? You've changed so much, indeed. Well tell them. Maddie!"

Maddie's gaze remained fixed on the fire. She shrugged her shoulders. "What? Tell them what? I don't know what she's talking about."

"Oh you most certainly do. Tell us all just what you've been up to."

Maddie shrugged again and sighed. She looked at her father; emotions swirled uncontrollably throughout her heart and soul. Slowly, but curtly she said, "God, dad. Why are they here? They shouldn't have come." She looked away and stared out the window. The sun seemed to have willed the clouds away. Its rays reflected harshly off the still damp pavement of the driveway causing Maddie to squint. Words came out in a near mumble. "They don't believe me and never will. It doesn't matter. Don't believe me!" Maddie buried her head in her hands.

Judith wrapped both arms around Maddie. "This is not the time or place, Nan. Perhaps you should go."

"Why don't you tell us where you were this morning? Or is it, where were you all night?"

Maddie glanced at her grandmother and muttered, "Home. I was home."

"Oh, and the lies continue." Nan said then clicked her tongue.

"Mother, what are you talking about?" Howard said, then walked to the fireplace, took the poker and prodded the burning logs. "We don't need this today."

"No we don't. But ask her. Where has she been? She knows. She should tell you."

Maddie's fists drew in tight; her cheeks and jaw hardened. She looked up and cast a hard glare at her grandmother. Attack. It was time to attack. That's the instinct that kicks in when any teenager is caught in a lie. Maddie was happy to let her impulse take the reins. "I was here you stupid cow! I don't know what she's on about. She's probably on her pills again. Pills and drinking, not a good combination Nana. Makes you loopy you know. She is just crazy!"

"Maddie! You are not to disrespect your grandmother." Judith said and then stood up and gave the grandmother a look of disdain. A look that made Maddie smile. She said, "Nan, say what you have to say. Then kindly leave."

"Very well. As we pulled into the drive, your daughter was making her way back into the house from the tree on the south side of the house. There she was, walking across a plank of wood cleverly placed between that large Oak tree and the balcony above the kitchen. That certainly explains how she was sneaking in and out; no one knows how many times. She is not to be trusted. I am sorry I have to say that about my granddaughter I love so much. But she cannot be trusted. Always, full of lies."

"God whatever. She's lying. I was in bed all morning. She doesn't know what she saw."

"Oh? Perhaps it was a well-trained monkey escaped from the circus, one wearing a red woolen sweater and the boots I gave you on your last birthday."

"Must have been. I was in bed. Tell them mom. Your valiums and Xanax and whatever the hell else you take are making you hallucinate."

"Yes indeed. And your grandfather is sharing in my hallucinations. Fetch our coats Howard. We will be on our way and let you deal with this. I am afraid it just confirms what we all know. For whatever reason, that daughter of yours is a chronic, pathological liar. Not a word that issues forth from that girl's mouth can be believed."

Maddie stomped up the stairs as her grandparents exited through the front door. Her father followed them out.

As she reached the top of the stairs, Judith called out. "Maddie stop. Come down. We need to talk. Come down now."

Maddie bolted into her bedroom, slamming the door hard; hoping the pictures of the perfect family lining the stairwell would shake, better yet, all fall and shatter. She buried her face deep into the pile of pillows wondering if would be possible to suffocate herself, or at least to disappear forever. She heard her bedroom door open slowly. Clasping her hands behind her head, she pushed her head further into the pillows. She barely heard her mom's words. "Maddie. I am so sorry for what just happened. That should never have happened. Your father ... no, we, it's my fault too, we should have never let them come over. They are looking for reasons not to believe you, reasons not to accept what happened. This is so unfair for you. I am sorry."

Maddie rolled over, sat up and embraced her mother. "I can't stand this. I don't know what to do. Everyone hates me. I'm sorry. Should have never told."

"I won't have you saying such things. Now look at me." Judith pulled Maddie's face close to her. Maddie could see tears welling up in her mom's soft brown eyes. Her mother shook her head and said, "None of this is your fault. Unfortunately, you are left to deal with something that should never, never have happened. And ... we should have never let it happen. If there is anyone to blame besides your uncle, it is me, and you father, for ... for not knowing, for not doing something. I'm so sorry. So sorry you've had to deal with the miserable and horrible failures of others."

"It has nothing to do with you mom. You and dad did all the right things. And it's you and dad that are left to deal with all this." Maddie nestled her head between Judith's neck and shoulder. She knew her mom loved her, loved without any conditions – that's what mothers do, they have to, they have no choice. She wanted that love, needed it; she was desperate to be embraced by such love. But the shame – shame demanded that love be forfeited. 'It's as if you're trying to prove they shouldn't love you.' Angie once told her. Maddie snapped back at her therapist, 'No one does that.' Maddie felt her mom's soft hand slip through her hair, then cup her neck. "Mommy, everything's so unfair. So unfair."

"It is. It is."

"I'm sorry I was so ugly to Nana. I shouldn't be that way."

"She deserved it. But you do need to be careful what comes out that mouth of yours."

"I know."

"Now, Maddie. We ..."

"Yes mom. I know we have to talk about it ... with dad. And I know he's going to kill me."

"Your father is going to be disappointed. And you will have to deal with the consequences. Did it have to do with that boy?"

Maddie sat upright and held both her mom's hands. Her sentences ran together. "Yeah. I was so scared, afraid of what he might do to himself. And mom he might have done it, he might have killed himself if we hadn't found him. No. He _would_ have died, he's one crazy guy mom, after he called last night, his dad ..."She stopped. Her head shook slowly. Her words echoed with the disbelief of a child desperately clinging to innocence. "He ... he shot himself. He was drunk and being awful to Steven. Then he shot himself ... it was an accident. The police think it's suicide. And then ... then Steven wanted to kill himself. Everything happened so fast. So fast. I knew you wouldn't let me go, but we had to find him. Me and this friend from the hospital, we had to find him and we did. We saved him mom."

"You don't need to be coddling her, Judith. Just when we were beginning to trust you, young lady." Maddie cringed. Her Father's voice thundered with unforgiving disgust. "You're back to your old ways. And don't think those tears will have any effect on me. Young lady, I ... I don't care what you think about my mother. You are not to talk to her in a such a manner. That kind of disrespect, I never ..." Howard shook a fist at Maddie. "I should knock your head off. That's what my father would have done. And the lies, still the lies." Tears ran down Maddie's cheeks. "How can you expect us to ...?"

"Howard. Stop. Let's calm down. You know your mother was completely out of line. She approached things in entirely the wrong manner. You know she is just looking for reasons not to ..."

"I know she has all the more reason not to trust her, believe her. And I'm not sure how much I can trust her. And I suppose she's been giving you some fine and dandy explanation, which justifies the deceit. Maddie, the stories you spin, I used to believe them, even the wild ones. But don't even bother to justify your actions, your defiance. I won't believe whatever fancy tale you come up with. Your car is gone. You cell will be cut off tomorrow and the computer is to be used for schoolwork only. No internet, whatsoever. We're back to where we started. I think your mother and I need to talk again about you going to Colorado. Time at that wilderness ranch may be our last hope." Howard turned and walked toward the bedroom door. He glanced back at Maddie and said, "And you will write a letter of apology to you grandmother."

"That'll never happen." Maddie said under her breath.

"Maddie?" Mom said.

Howard quickly turned around. "What did you say young lady?"

"I said, I won't do it. Ever." Maddie said slowly.

"You will." Howard took two steps toward the bed.

Her father clenched his fists. His flushed face and slurred words created a strange sensation inside Maddie. A sensation she knew she shouldn't accept or acknowledge – but it was a wonderful sense of power and of control. "I tell you what dad. I'll write her a letter of apology after she writes me one. After she apologizes for how she treated me today. Apologizes for not believing me. Apologizes for having a son that's a rapist. Apologizes for not doing anything about it. She knew. She knew what went on. Half the time it happened at her house. She knew. Ask her. She knew."

"Maddie, don't."

Maddie leaned toward her dad and said, "It's true. It's the goddamn ugly truth. Dad wants to believe her. Not me."

Howard took another step forward. Maddie recoiled. His fist trembled as he shook it at Maddie. She pulled back further into her bed. Her father then put his hand behind his neck; tears welled up in his eyes. "Maddie. I want to believe you. I want to. But I can't. And whose fault is that? Whose fault?"

"Mine! It's all my fault. I lied. I storied. I'm a horrible person. Go ahead send me to goddamn Colorado, send me away forever. I'm sorry, I eff'd up everyone's life. Please, just send me away."

Howard's strained and tight face accentuated his unshaven jawline. He pointed his finger near to Maddie's face. "You do not speak like that in this house. Is that what you learned in that hospital? You had better ..."

Judith stood and positioned herself between the two. "Okay. Howard, stop now. Go and cool down. Let me talk to her. Things need to settle down."

"Oh, you do that. Talk to her. Coddle her like you always do." Howard slammed the bedroom door on his way out.

"I hate him!"

"Maddie. Please don't be that way."

Maddie drew in a deep breath. "Mom. I miss the hospital. I was safe there. It was safe."

Judith sat back on the bed and held her daughter. "Yes. But you can't run, can't run away. Give dad some time. He'll calm down."

"When's he leaving again?"

"After New Year. He'll be in London and Berlin for three weeks."

Maddie said, "Good. I'm glad." Then tears forced themselves to the surface and flowed freely. She put her head on her mother's shoulder. Words came out between sobs. "No, it's not good. Mom I ... I want dad here. I want my dad. I ... I've ruined everything. God, I'm ... sorry. He hates me now."

"Certainly not. And in no way have you ruined anything. Absolutely not. Give him time, puppet. We will all get through this, and life will be good as life should be."

Maddie threw herself across her pillows, "Send me away mom. Just send me away."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Finally, a text. He says, 'Don't worry.' I'll throttle him when he gets back." Chuck's thumbs slid over his phone. He hit send. He and his mother sat in the kitchen. Bursts of laughter echoing from the living room helped calm Chuck's nerves; at least their surprise guest and Amber were enjoying this Christmas Day.

"Ask him where he is and when he'll be home." Sarah said. Her voice quivered slightly.

"Just did." His phone vibrated. "Says it doesn't matter and he'll be back when he's back." Chuck sent a text _Bstrd get ass home._ He muttered, "What a Christmas. What a ..." An eruption of laughter from the living room interrupted Chuck. "That boy. What are we gonna do with that kid? Geez. I feel bad for him. Poor guy. You know, we can't let him end up in some shelter. I can't imagine what's it like ... to be homeless. His dad dead, mom dead. Mom, we'll have to let him stay here for a while."

"Oh Chuck. No. It would be another burden. I don't think we could handle that right now. And ... well, there are legal issues. We just can't assume responsibility for some child. He _is_ a runaway. And you know, he's the one that caused such havoc in the hospital." Sarah stopped and shook her head and spoke softly. "We have no idea what such a child is capable of. He is a very damaged young man." She paused and whispered, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't sleep at night with him here."

Chuck laughed. "Oh, Mom, come on. We had guys wilder and crazier than this one staying here when I was a kid. You just didn't know it."

Sarah shook her head. "Not like this one Chuck. Not like this one."

Chuck leaned toward his mom and winked. "He's a kid that needs help. We can help him. We have to."

"He needs a lot of help Chuck, more that we can give."

Chuck leaned back. Trying to control growing frustration, he made sure his words came out slowly. "Let's at least get him through the Holidays and see how it goes. That kid needs ..." His phone vibrated. "Joe asked if dad's still here" Chuck glanced down at his cell, shook his head and hit send. "I lied, told him _no_."

"We don't need to lie, Chuck." Sarah went to the counter and poured two cups of coffee and returned to the table.

"I think we do mom." Vibration. "Says I'm lying, and that he's gonna turn his phone off again."

"How'd it come to this? What's gone wrong? I can't make sense of anything anymore. Joe was so predictable, so normal. You were the wild one Chuck. I worried so much about you. It was a relief to have Joe come behind you." She chuckled, a rather nervous and tempered laugh. Then she sighed and said, "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I focused so much on you during those years that Joe was overlooked. I always assumed he'd be fine, was fine. I missed something. And now I've lost him. We've lost him. "

"What is lost can be found. Prodigals come home. Like to think I'm proof of that." Robert said as he came into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

"You have a hell of a lot to prove dad. A hell of a lot." Chuck said. As his father sat down, he got up and hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter and sat with his legs dangling.

"Give me the chance Chuck, and I will prove it. Let's be a family again."

Chuck rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Eight years and a couple of short-lived disastrous marriages too late. All of a sudden, you want to be the father you never were. Too late dad, too late. Mom knows what I think of you coming back. We've done fine without you, just fine."

"Maybe it's too late for you. I understand that. And maybe it's too late for Joe. But it's not too late for your sister. And whatever you think, it is not too late for your mom. I only hope that you and Joe give him half a chance."

"Don't hold your breath, Robert." Chuck hopped off the counter and walked toward the living room.

Robert leaned toward Sarah, in a quiet voice he said, "I've called the police on that boy. We can't harbor a runaway."

Chuck turned around and walked over to his father. "You did what? Such compassion Dad. Such compassion. Geez."

"It's the right thing to do, the only thing we _can_ do. CPS will make sure he's okay. He'll be fine. We certainly don't need to make him our problem. That kid will be fine."

"I'm sure he will, dad. I'm sure he will." Chuck left the kitchen and peered into the living room. Steven and his sister were playing cards; Amber insisting he was cheating, Steven grinning, then laughing. Dad was wrong. It _was_ right having him here. It was the only right thing. Chuck stepped into the living room and said, "Com'n Steven, quick. We're going for a drive."

Steven played his last card and looked up. "You want to get rid of me?"

"No. I'm gonna save you. Let's go. And listen up, Amber. Tell mom and dad that ... that Steven ran off and I've gone to look for him. You got that?" She nodded. "And tell them ... that I know where Joe is and I'm gonna go get him. Tell them that as well."

"Do you? Do you know where he is?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Just tell them that." Chuck motioned to Steven to hurry.

"You're telling me to lie. We're not supposed to lie."

"Sometimes Amber, it's okay to lie, but only when we have to save someone."

***

A police car passed Joe as he neared home; he thanked God that Steven wasn't a passenger in it. Another wave of rage rolled through his stomach and his chest tightened – he knew his dad would've been the one who called the police. His father knew nothing about caring for other human beings. _I hate him_. _Screw him_. He fought the urge to speed past his home. After several deep breaths he somehow willed his rage away. _For mom. I'll do it for mom_.

"Where's everyone?" Joe asked as he slid quietly through the front door and into the living room.

Amber lay on the floor watching _Christmas Vacation_. Without looking up, she muttered, "Too much drama. Everyone left. Mom and dad, upstairs. Chuck took Steven somewhere and told me to lie about it. He took Steven so the police wouldn't take him to someplace awful." She paused and looked up at Joe. "Thanks for ruining Christmas, Joe. Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome." Joe sat next to her and messed her hair. Amber pushed his hand away. He said, "Is it safe? You think they'll kill me. Should I just leave again?"

"Probably. Why don't you. You're a jerk you know. I had to open all my pressies on my own. I got a black I-Touch. I wanted pink. They knew I wanted pink."

"You can't have everything you want. You're twelve. You shouldn't get everything you want."

"Why shouldn't I? It's Christmas. Open your present."

"Don't want to."

"It's an I-Pad. You get an I-Pad. You don't even care."

"I know. I don't want it, you can have it. Amber, I'm sorry I ruined Christmas. I wish I could take it all back, change everything. I am sorry."

"You shouldn't hate dad. Mom doesn't hate him. I don't hate him. He's home. You shouldn't hate him. You should be glad."

"You're too young Amber. You don't understand. There are lots of things you don't remember. Things you don't know and don't need to know."

"I know Dad's here. I want him here. That's all that matters. We're a family again. And you want to ruin it. You're the one that doesn't understand."

Joe shook his head. He ran his hand through her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail and twirled it around his hand. "I don't want to ruin things. But I'm afraid he'll just hurt us all again."

Amber reached back and grabbed Joe's hand and held it against her face. "Maybe he will. But maybe he won't. Why not just wait and see?"

"See what sweet cheeks?" Robert said standing under the archway leading from the entryway into the living room. He called up the stairwell. "Sarah! He's back. Joe's home."

"See if you really love us." Amber said. "Joe doesn't think you really love us."

"I don't' blame him sweetie. I don't blame him at all." Robert reached down and picked Amber up, hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. He then looked at Joe. "Let's just give it some time, Joe. That's all I ask."

Joe studied his dad's eyes – too green; he always thought those eyes were too green. Eyes that could look so innocent and loving; but early in life, Joe learned that his dad used these eyes to hide an unworthy and deceitful soul. _Forgiveness. Is it earned or given? Is it an act of faith and hope? Or declaration of weakness and gullibility? Whatever. I ain't forgiving him._ "Your time ran out about four years ago. Listen Dad, you want to come in here and play the perfect father ... well whatever, I can't stop you. But if you dare hurt mom or Amber again, so help me God ... I don't know what I'll do."

"Son, you can be angry, you can hate me. But don't you dare threaten me." Robert lifted Amber off the floor with a bear hug. "We are going to make this work, with or without you."

Joe went to the window. The Christmas lights in the neighborhood were just beginning to glimmer. Joe shut his eyes and shook his head. "You do that. When I'm 18, I'm gone." He swung round and glared at his dad. "Why'd you call the police on Steven? Why would you do that?"

"He needs help Joe. Help we can't give him. The authorities need to take care of him."

"He needs some hope in his life right now. He needs someone to care." Joe turned around and looked out the window. The Christmas lights blurred into fuzzy balls lining the streets. He tried to stop them, but he felt more useless tears welling up. "Please dad, don't take that from him. He could have killed himself this morning. He could be dead. Let him stay here, at least a while."

"We'll see. Go see your mother. You scared her to death again. You owe her an apology."

"Whatever." Joe muttered as he darted up the stairs, hoping his father wouldn't see his red eyes. _Control. Control. Suppress these monsters that demand to be free. Dad coming in and giving directions, orders, making decisions. Trying to destroy his friend. Who is that man? What right does he have to come here and act like a parent? Give him time? No more time left. Drive the man away, beat him with a baseball bat, run him off, leave him for dead. Why shouldn't the monsters have their way? Give him time? No chances left. No time left._
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"I'm sorry I didn't know what to do. I just ... Hell. Everything. It's like everything's crashing down. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry. Sorry to bother you like this."

"Leave it out Joe-boy. You're desperate. No need for sorry. I'm glad you called. It's not a problem. So? What's up?"

Joe sat in the gray, fraying chair in Braxton's office, not sure where to put his hands. Braxton smiled. That all-knowing, rather arrogant grin used to irritate him so much. Joe nodded and drew in a slow breath. The smell of Braxton's office was strangely comforting. He felt reassured, safe – someone to listen, care, understand.

Joe's tried hard to speak slowly but his words came out rushed, in spurts. "Yeah. Well ... thanks. ... for seeing me. Day after Christmas and all. It's like, all of sudden, everything, fell apart. I thought things were okay. It was ... it was going pretty good. School was good, stopped being so much on edge. Then Christmas. My God, Christmas. Everything exploded, imploded. I just don't know what's going on inside me. Too much. Yesterday. Christmas. First time that ... that the thought hit me since ... you know. I wanted to grab a razor, a gun, a rope, pills, anything. I can't handle these emotions anymore. I don't want to feel this way. That it's ... better to be dead."

"All right. Slow down. It's overwhelming. I got it, Joe-boy. But what happened? What triggered this?" Joe took several breaths, trying to muffle the cacophony of sensations clanging everywhere – though his head, his gut, through his whole being. "Take your time." Braxton said as he leaned back in his chair.

Joe told him about the events of the past few days; Steven's strange appearance, the images, now etched in his brain, of his friend's father blowing a hole in his brain; Maddie and his desperate search for their friend. His unnerving fear he'd driven Steven to suicide, because he had treated him like a problem, a nuisance the night before. Then, there were the unsettling emotions for Maddie, feelings he didn't want to have. And, the horrific and cruel climax of it all; his dad returning home and stirring a rage, a hatred, he feared would destroy him. "Overloaded. I've had enough of it all. Everything's coming, crashing down around me."

"Sure. Sure it feels that way. Listen, you have to step back. Put things in order."

"What do you mean?"

"Deal with one thing at a time kiddo. Otherwise, it will kill you. Focus. Where should your focus be, right now?"

"I don't know what you're on about." Joe stood up and went to the loveseat near Braxton's overcrowded bookshelf. He slouched back on the cushions and stretched his long legs across the floor. He sighed, rolled his eyes and said, "I really don't know what you're on about."

Braxton laughed. He got up and poured a cup of coffee and offered it to Joe. Joe shook his head. His therapist stepped back and sat on the windowsill. He sipped from the mug, then motioned toward Joe and said. "Back burner therapy. It works like this. Pick one problem at a time. Set the others aside for the time being. They'll be dealt with in good time. First, ask yourself, what's the biggest problem right now? And you know which one it is."

"I don't know. It's all too much. Geez. I suppose ... Oh God, you know. My dad. My sorry ass dad."

"Bingo. What can you do about it?"

"Stupid questions again. Noth'n. Geez. I can't do anything about it."

"Powerless are you?" Braxton said imitating Yoda from _Star Wars_. He went on, waving his mug at Joe. "Come on. What _can_ you do about your dad coming back into your home, trying to come back into your life? Give me a list." He sipped his coffee and set his gaze on Joe.

Joe shifted legs and slipped further down the loveseat. He shrugged. "I don't know. This is stupid. Hell. I can ... I can hate him, I can ... make his life miserable, drive him away. I can ... I don't know."

"You're doing great. Keep going. I can ...?"

Joe suddenly pulled himself up in the loveseat. "I can murder him."

"Yeah right. Next."

He shook his head again. "I can ignore him. I can ... I can pretend. Pretend to be nice, put up with him. I can ... can ..."

"Yeah. Go on say it."

"I can give him a chance. I can try to ... forgive." Joe threw his head back and closed his eyes. He hated that word. It is a demanding word. An unforgiving word. Forgiveness always demands the impossible. Forgiveness? Forgiveness lives in a false reality, believes in illusions that sane and strong men reject as foolish. Forgiveness. It would dare to offer mercy when hell and damnation are the only just reward. _No. Can never forgive_.

"All right. Pretty good list there. Now follow your heart and your soul and decide which one's the right response. Which one gives you the most hope, gives you and everyone around you the best potential for a favorable outcome?"

"That's not fair. It's not so easy."

Braxton finished his coffee and returned to his chair. "Let me tell you something, kiddo. _Not fair_ is what life is about. How we respond to what is, _or_ what seems so unfair, well that's what living is about. And _easy_ never got a person anywhere in this life. You know Joe-boy, you can wallow in your hate, your anger. You can live your whole life hell bent on revenge, and all you'll do is destroy your own life. Hate, anger, revenge – that's the easy road, but an ever so deadly journey. It's doing what's right that's always the hard way. But doing what's right ... well, that's what makes life worth living. And doing what's right takes strength that way too many human beings never find."

"Forgive? So I'm just supposed to _forgive_." Joe cringed as that word came out of his mouth.

"I didn't say that. Start somewhere else."

"Like what? Give him a chance?"

Braxton pointed his finger ever so gently. He spoke slowly. "Yeah. Maybe so. Can you do that?"

Joe sat up. He pulled his lower lip, then spoke loudly. "Honestly. No. I don't want to."

"Fair enough. I tell you what, I liked what you said. Pretend. Pretend to be nice. Make the effort, go through the motions. Sometimes that's where we have to start. Often the heart isn't there yet. But here's the thing, if we wait for the heart to get there, chances are it never will and we'll just keep wallowing in the poison of hate and rage. So why not, go through the motions. Pretend to be nice. And from there see what happens.

Joe mouth curled and he shook his head. "Really? That simple, eh?"

"Simple. Yeah it is. But it's also damn hard. You know, doing what's hard, that's what keeps the world going round. And Joe, the decision to start ... that's toughest thing of all. Go home, worry about one thing ... just worry about today. Today, give your dad a chance, even though your heart ain't there yet. And if that's what it takes, pretend, pretend to be nice. It's worth a try. And all that other stuff that seems so overwhelming, leave it on the back burner."

"What?"

"That other stuff, it'll wait. Focus on today, on the dad issue. Okay? Go home and do what's hard. And Joe, don't let hate destroy you. It isn't worth it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sarah opened the front door, then turned around and looked up and down at Joe as he stood in the archway leading from the living room. "Are you certain you two will be okay, here on your own?"

Joe nodded. "We're fine and dandy, mom. Go. Have a good time." Joe glanced back at Steven and rolled his eyes; Steven laughed. Joe's mom had been hovering over him all week, wouldn't let him out of her sight. 'Don't you run off again. You scared me to death.' She had said that several times every day since Christmas. He'd felt smothered. She was killing him. 'Trust me mom, I'm fine.' He'd told her endless times. He begged and pleaded all week that she and dad go out as planned. Finally, they were leaving for their New Year's Eve Party. As Sarah followed Robert through the front door, Joe said, "And don't let dad drive home whatever he says."

"Oh, he won't be driving home. Bye then." The door began to close, then opened quickly. "Are you sure ... "

"We are fine. Just go to your silly party. Steven promises to keep me from killing myself. Go. And Happy New Year." Joe smiled. His mom did look better: eyes brighter, more confident in her dress, her walk. She seemed happier. As the door closed, another thought shot through his brain. _How long will this last? How long will he stick around?_ He worked hard to push that intrusive thought out of his mind, a thought that came every time he caught a glimpse of his father.

He turned around. Steven sat cross-legged, nestled close to the fireplace with an arm wrapped round a very large bowl of popcorn. Joe said, "Thank God. Finally. Peace at last. Peace at last." He smiled as a strange feeling of relief embraced him. Things were better. The week had been manageable, almost decent. Of course, he'd only spoken sparingly to his father – anything more could light a fuse; a short fuse not easily extinguished before reaching its destination, where dangerous and deadly explosives guaranteed destruction. The fuse had not been lit since Christmas Day. _No drama for a whole week._ _Braxton will be proud of me,_ Joe thought, as he heard his dad's car pull out of the drive.

Joe stepped into the living room and swiftly kicked Steven's bare foot. "Game time."

"Nooooo. Partieee time." Steven said, and let out a war cry that would cause any white man within a mile to run for cover.

Joe kicked Steven again, this time hard. He yelled, "Stop that!" Steven then laughed heartedly and let out another war cry.

Joe pounced on Steven and wrestled him to the ground and put his hand over his mouth. Steven bit his hand causing Joe to scream, "Holy crap man!" Both laid flat on the living room floor and laughed. Joe laughed hard, laughter of relief – Steven was safe, life was good. Earlier that day Child Protective Services had approved their home to serve as a temporary kinship foster placement; Steven had a home. The world had not ended, as hideous as Christmas Day had been, as horrific as the past few months had been, Joe's world somehow ticked on. Death was not the answer after all. Depression lies, desperation lies. Joe sat up and said, "No partying. It's time for the game." Joe grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

A few minutes later, Steven disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with two two-liter bottles of Coke, a huge bowl of chips and four kinds of dip. "A bottle for you, one for me, should last all night. And the house to ourselves. Let the party begin. Who can we call? Come on, you know some girls we can call and get over here? I know you do."

"I know I do. But I ain't calling 'em. Peace, quiet, and Razorback football. This is the perfect New Year's Eve, if you shut the frick up."

"Don't like football. Never have. Never will. We need to have a real party. Yip, a real ass-grabbing party." Steven reached for the cell phone in the front pocket Joe's jeans.

Joe swatted his hand away. "I blew off three parties so I can watch this game in peace. When my Razorbacks play, there are to be no distractions. That includes your loud mouth."

"Whatever." Steven put the bottle of Coke in Joe's hand and said, "Drink up and enjoy. Enjoy. And happy flippin' New Year. Hey, let me call Maddie. We need to try again." Steven reached again for Steven's cell. Joe slapped his arm away.

"Leave it out. No party. No Maddie. Just football."

Steven laughed, then sighed. "So sad Maddie's been blowing you off. She should be here. You know that. Come on. Call. Try again."

"No. And no means nooooo. It's a word you never learned. It means stop and desist and leave it out." Joe said. He sipped his Coke and gagged "Crap, what'd you do to this Coke?"

Steven laughed, one of those 'I know better than you' laughs. "Noth'n wrong with it. Drink up. Noth'n wrong with it at all."

"Yeah, right." Joe knew Steven had spiked the Coke, probably with dad's expensive Vodka. _So what? New Year's Eve. Why not enjoy a bit of a buzz? I deserve it, earned it. The annus_ _horribilis_ _is_ _over. A new year's dawning, a new life can begin._

Not until half time did Joe begin to realize how much Vodka must have poured into the innocent bottle of Coke. He knew it'd be plenty enough to get him grounded for life. But by then he certainly didn't care. He continued to finish his two-liter bottle of pop.

"No more! No more. I can't deal with this!" Joe turned the TV off. "Screw this! You know what? I think I'll Maddie ... I mean call her. Wish her hippy New Year and all that. A new year with no more garbage. Enough of this stupid game. My God! Forty-two to ... to ... to ten goddamn it. Screw it. Screw the hogs. I can't stand to see anymore of this slaught ... slaughter of the Razorbacks."

"Yeah, do it. Let's call her. Here." Steven snatched Joe's cell out of Joe's trouser pocket before he had time to react.

Joe reached over to grab it, but fell off the couch. Joe laughed as he laid face up on the floor. "Whatever. Go head. Try, try again. No, don't bother, her phone's off. And you know why? Do ya? Cause _we_ had to go and save you and ruin everyone's Christmas and everyone's goddamn life. She's grounded forever and ever and ever."

"If it wasn't for me, you never would have seen her again. So there." Steven unlocked Joe's phone, found Maddie's name and hit _call_. The phone rang one time. The irritating and robotic female voice declared, _The wireless customer is not available. Please try again later._ "Oh well." Steven said as he pulled Joe off the floor and messed his hair up. "Don't ever forget. If it hadn't been for me, you never would have seen her. And you know you love her to death." Steven tried to get Joe back in his seat, but Joe fell to the floor again. "Yip, you are truly well plastered up. Hey, we can try her home phone. I have the number. Maybe her parents are out at some party. Her grounded little self, home alone, all by herself, just waiting for us to call." Steven snickered, then laughed loudly. "No. You know what we should do? We ought'a ... just go over there. Why not? I got the address." Steven said pulling out an information sheet from his back pocket.

"Hell, yeah. Let's go, little Indian Littleaxe. Why the hell not? Yeah, why not? Get me a New ear's smooch ... what did I say? Year's. New Year's. Who knows maybe even a New ear's rump. No, romp. No, we can't do that. No way. Yeah, let's go. Why not? "

Steven shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; his words came out in a strangely apologetic tone. "Maybe not such a good idea after all Joe. You're right. Better just stay here."

"No. Even-Steven. You know, that was your first ever freaky ... no, freakin' great, wonderful idear. You drive your little motorbike. You sober enough? Cause I ain't. How much stuff did you put in those drinks anyway."

"Nut'n in mine. Only yours. Two bottles of vodka and half of fifth of gin."

"Holy, holy shitt'n crap. Dad's gonna go crazy wild when he sees that hard stuff gone. Grounded for eternity I'll be. Damn you, Steven. Where's my coat?" Joe stood up. His legs wobbled and he landed on the floor and chuckled. "Whoa. Yeah, gonna be grounded for life and then another life. And you ... you be grounded forever too."

"If they care about you drinking, they should've locked it up or something. But we had better stay here. You're jacked up ever so good." Steven said as he tried to hoist Joe back on the chair.

"Yeah. We should. We'd better stay here. But what the hell, my little Indian friend, let's go. Get your coat and mine. We'll take your motor ... motor ... your bike. We'll freeze our lovin' nuts off in this weather. But yeah, we will go and wish to Maddie-Maddie a happy-happy New Ear. Year. I think I love her. Did you know that? I lover her. Warm up your fragging motor- sickle. She'll be waiting for us. Yeah, that's right. Wondering why we ain't there yet. Let's goooo."

***

Steven's motorcycle idled with great impatience as it sat in front of a large and forbidding iron gate. Joe tapped his friend's head and said, "This ain't right. She doesn't live here. Couldn't. She said she lived on the west side. Told ya you were going the wrong way. This's where the big fat farting millionaires live. And this a fortress meant to keep the likes of you and me out. You put the flippin' wrong address in the Google-find-it thingy?"

Steven grabbed Joe's smart phone from his hand, studied it, and then showed it to Joe. "Yeah. This is it. Look. It's a couple of houses down to the left. Hey, I've never seen such big houses. I knew she was rich bitch. Must be nice. Someday I'll be rich and I'll live here."

"Yeah right. Not to be rude but how many rich Indians do you know?"

Steven stuck his elbow hard in Joe's ribcage. "That is the White man's doing. Oppressors, murderers, treaty breakers, liars cheaters ... '

"Get over it. You got your casinos anyhoo. Getting back at Whites by getting us addicted to gambling and taking ... oh geez, my head. Crap!" Joe slid off the bike. He reached some bushes just as he threw up. "I'm not feeling too good. Damn it. You were right Steve, should've stayed home. Bad bad idea. Let's go back. Oh ... oh man." He threw up again.

"Too late to turn back now. Passed the point of no going back." Steven rolled his bike behind thick bushes to the left of the gate. "Come on. We'll wait, get you sobered up a bit, then when someone drives up, we'll sneak in behind them. Walk right in after they turn the corner."

"Terrible plan. Probably be shot. Probably cameras all over the place. Dumb idea. Go home is what we should ... I better sit down." Joe sat down and leaned against the cold brick wall and buried his head in his knees; he had no energy to tell Steven to shut up and endured Steven's pitiful rendition of Jingle Bells.

Twenty minutes later Steven kicked Joe's foot and said, in what felt to be a head splitting scream, "Hey! Quick! Here comes a car." Steven knelt beside Joe as a BMW pulled up to the entrance and waited as the mighty iron gate creaked and groaned as it slowly, if not reluctantly, swayed open. Steven whispered, "Perfect. Go when I go. And move your drunk ass quick or the gate will squash you to death." Steven laughed. "And that would make an ugly bloody mess. And then I'll be in trouble for bringing ya here and getting you killed. Get up. Get up. Let's go. Now!"

***

"My God! It's a ... a castle." Steven glanced back at Joe who stood three steps behind him. He looked again at the huge house and whistled. He had to go in this home, had to see it. See how rich people live. _I knew she was a rich little bitch, but look at this_.

Steven heard Joe whining, "Come on, this is crazy. And I'm too sober to do this now. It's been fun but we need to go home. God, how we supposed to get out of here? Let's go. Steve! We got to get ..."

Steven tuned Joe moans out and walked toward the driveway of Maddie's home. His head shook and he let out a prolonged whistle as he pointed toward the three-story, Tudor-style home encased by two gargantuan oak trees on either side. "Wow. Look at this house. And, oh my God! Look at all those cars. Come on Joe! What are ya waiting for? Yip! They're having a real party. This is so cool. Come on, we can join it. We'll tell 'em Maddie invited us."

Joe shouted, "Nooo! God, no way! We're not crashing their party."

Steven motioned Joe to come as he walked further down the long U-shaped driveway. He pointed to a different car with each step and called out the make of every car he passed. His screeching declarations drowned out Joe's continued demands for him to come back down the drive and leave the estate. "Lexus, Merc, Beamer, Lexus, Hummer, Hummer. Merc. Beamer, Merc. Hey! Look at this, a Porsche." Steven looked back and waved Joe to come. Joe shook his head. "Whatever!" He shouted. Joe was not going to spoil things now. Here he is, surrounded by success, by happiness, by dreams that he'd ever only seen on television. He had to soak in the feel, the smell, the touch of things he'd never been close to, things that never seemed real, seemed too good to be real. He had to get in that house. Why shouldn't he? Why not? Steven reached the end of the drive walked up the steps leading to an oversized stained-glass door. He pushed his ear against the cold glass of the door and listened. The sound of people talking and laughing made his smile. Suddenly the chatter and laughter stopped, and notes from a piano began to create sounds he never heard before – seductive and sad and haunting. This sort of music belonged in symphony halls or in churches – or in mansions like this; music too beautiful, too dignified for anywhere else. He deserved to be inside. He rang the doorbell three times, then knocked hard on the door that should've been hanging in a church, not in someone's house.

A minute later, the door slowly opened. Steven stared at a woman in a full-length silky cream dress, which touched the floor. Its thin straps accentuated pale and soft shoulders. The woman stood speechless, looking intently at Steven. He couldn't quite read her expression, but in his stomach stirred some odd and undefined emotion – guilt or embarrassment, or was it sadness? Suddenly he was aware of who he was: dark skinned, Native American, hair tangled and matted by the thirty-minute motorcycle ride. A poor, homeless, fatherless, crazy kid. Everyone knew – he was crazy, poor, ugly, brown kid.

The woman took in a slow breath before she spoke; words came out in a kind and caring manner. "Hmm. Are you that friend of Maddie? The one who called last week?" Steven nodded. "The one she went to help on Christmas day?"

Steven nodded again and his mouth gaped as he looked up and down at this almost heavenly figure; he had never seen anyone adorned in such a radiant and elegant fashion. He pointed to the woman and said. "You Maddie's mom? She invited us to the party." He pointed back to Joe standing at the end of the driveway.

"Did she now?" Judith stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door behind her. "I tell you what young man. Go around to the side of the house, follow the walkway until you see a white door. You may wait there. Quietly wait. Maddie will be finished in a little bit. Now, I'll let her say hello, but then you must be off." Steven nodded and motioned Joe to come forward. "And son, if her father sees you ... if he discovers you're here, well, do not tell him it was I who told you to wait or indeed that you have spoken with me. Do you understand?"

"Yes indeed. No problem. Secrets are safe with me. Never saw that most beautiful woman in the world with perfect blue eyes, and silky brown hair I want to run my hand through. Never saw her."

She smiled and carefully slipped back through the door.

***

Joe stopped as they walked down the dark walkway by the side of the house and listened. He recognized the piano piece from somewhere – haunting, emotional, beautiful. He remembered; his music teacher played this piece in his music appreciation class during freshman year – an elective he took because it was an easy 'A.' He'd pretended to be bored and later complained with his football buddies about having to listen to such boring garbage. He'd put his head on his desk – to hide tears that started to fill his eyes; how shameful that any music would grab his soul and stir emotions he wasn't supposed to have. Debussy. It was Debussy's Clair De Lune. Through the window and drapes loosely drawn, he could see Maddie perched at a shiny grand piano; her black dress, snug and skimpy, highlighted her pleasing full-figured frame. Bangs, now pink and blue, hung defiantly across half her face. With her back poised straight and tall and arms confidently stretched out, her hands and fingers glided effortlessly across the piano. She invited, no, commanded Debussy to live again. Tears slid down Joe's cheeks; music so delicate and yet so full of life; a soft breeze warming his hardened soul and heart. Life can be and should be beautiful. This was not the girl in horn-rimmed glasses, whose scars declared self-hatred and a fear to be. Why had this girl pretended to be less than she was? Lies; she believed the lies that self-loathing thrives on. At that moment, he knew that he could love her – no, he did love her. When the last notes of Debussy's heart and soul faded, cruel reality stuck with a heartless declaration _; she could never love me._ "Let's just go. Home. Right now. This is crazy. I'm going home." Joe turned to leave.

Steven grabbed Joe's coat. "Hell no. Come on. I haven't come all this way for noth'n. Risk my life, and get noth'n out of it. No way."

Joe shook his shoulders viciously; but Steven held tight until Joe stopped flaying. Steven then jerked hard causing them both to stumble backwards. Joe felt Steven wrap his arms around him. His friend's words pierced his left ear. "We're staying! We're waiting!"

"Screw you Steve. Let me go. Damn it. I don't want to hurt you." Joe threw his shoulder up and both rolled over and landed in the holly bushes next to the house. "Oh man! I've had enough of this."

"I've certainly had enough. You two better shut up. They'll be calling the police if anyone hears this commotion. My God, what are you two doing? And what are you doing here?" Maddie stood with her hands on her hips. "Get up. Quick. I can't believe you two."

Joe rolled off Steven. He looked up. _Hell. What am I doing here? God she'll see I've been blubbering._ He wanted to bury his face into the ground and never look up. He wiped his face twice with his forearm.

"Well? Get up." Maddie wrapped her arms around her coatless torso. Joe could see the goose bumps on her exposed legs. The short, satiny black dress and silky bangs hiding her left eye made her look like a devil and an angel somehow entwined into a mystic and wondrous creature. She shook her head. "I ought to kill the both of you." She reached out and helped Steven up. She looked him up and down. "Are you okay?" She hugged him.

Joe forced his large frame up slowly, hoping to avoid her scorn, her laughter, her rage, whatever would be hurled at him. She punched him in the chest once he got to his feet. "That's for treating Steven like that. What'a ya doing trying to beat him up?"

"Me? He ... he started it." Joe's head began to swirl. He swayed and worked to steady himself. He pointed at Steven and snickered, "Him. All this is his idea."

"My God. You're drunk. You come to my house uninvited and drunk. Well, how 'bout that." Maddie hit him again. "You're something else."

"I'm not drunk. Well, not as drunk as I was. See." Joe touched his nose with his right hand, then his left.

"I'm sure." She leaned over and kissed Joe on the cheek. She whispered in his ear. "It's good to see you."

"Hey. I get one too."

Maddie pecked Steven on the lips. "How's that?"

"Wonderful. I want more. Can I get more? Kiss me again. Kiss me like you mean it."

Maddie kissed him again with a prolonged kiss. She then shook her finger at them. "If my dad finds you two, we'll all be dead. Okay, listen up. They want me to play Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu, same thing every year. I have to finish my little concert. I'll be done in about twenty minutes. Go up to my room now. It's there." She pointed to the second story of the corner of the house. "You'll have to sneak in. The window's not locked." She motioned to the large oak tree, then pointed. "Go over there. Climb up the rope to that limb, then climb over to that limb branch, then you can get to that one." She motioned toward two large limbs. "I'll go up now and put a board across there, from that landing. And you climb across. Hell, you're too drunk to do all that. Likely to kill yourself."

"I'm okay. No problem. I can do that."

"I hope so. I've done it plenty times when I've been high. Just be careful. This is crazy. You shouldn't be here. You should go home." She nodded her head toward the Oak tree. "Go on. Hurry up. Get in my room and for God's sake don't turn on any lights and don't make any noise. No talking. Steve you have to get your mouth under control." She pushed Joe forward pointing to the rope, her words nearly running together, "Okay. Go. Before one of the caterers comes out to have a smoke." She hurried down the walkway along the side of the house.

Adrenaline rushed through Joe's limbs, his heart raced – confidence boosted his drained spirit. _Maybe she can. Maybe she will._

***

Chopin's brilliance echoed through the stairwell, reaching past Maddie's bedroom door. The music seemed to strengthen weary sinews that precariously and desperately had been straining to hold Joe's soul together. He sat by a barely cracked bedroom door. "Shh!" He uttered countless times in an attempt to keep Steven's jabbering to a whisper, jabbering he tuned out as he allowed the piano's haunting melodies to embrace him. Then the music stopped. A breath of silence was followed by enthusiastic applause. He could hear muffled and inaudible words of praise being heaped on the damaged sixteen-year-old girl. He prayed, he hoped such words would bring healing, confidence, life.

"You are awesome. You know that?" Joe said when she had finally escaped the parade of adoration by dignitaries from across western Arkansas.

"Yip. That was some wicked-bad piano play'n. Didn't know ya could do that kind'a stuff. You make that junk sound pretty good."

"Chopin. Chopin Steven. Not stuff. And it was pretty crappy. I was messing up all over the place. The royal farts down there have to gush over my playing. It's just a show for dad, for job. I feel like a trained monkey, playing at his party every New Year's Eve. He has to keep back-slapping whoever the hell he thinks need it."

"You all are just rich. Millionaires. We're unworthy to be in your presence." Steven dropped to his knees and bowed at Maddie's feet. "Unworthy."

"Shut up Steven. Go ahead and kick him in the face Maddie, while you have the chance."

Maddie placed her foot on Steven's shoulder and pushed him backwards. "We're not rich. Dad does okay, that's all. Just shut up Steven. And keep it down."

"So your dad's a drug dealer. Yeah, heads some South American cartel, sending Cocaine all over the world." Steven got up and pointed around her bedroom and said with exaggerated awe, "Yeah, this is all drug money, ain't it? Wow. Drug dealers are running the whole damn world."

"Shut your mouth Steven. God. But what the heck _does_ your dad do?"

She laughed. "Steven's not far off actually. He's a CEO of a Pharmaceutical company. Like the president of the company or something, I don't know." Maddie said stepping into her oversized walk-in closet; with the door open and oblivious to the wide eyes of her friends, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the ground. Joe quickly turned his torso the other way when she glanced up at him. She laughed and continued. "Their wonderful party is full of doctors, big-ass lawyers, a few Washington lobbyists, a couple of state senators and a congresswoman. I hate it. Hate New Year's Eve. Full of pretense and show. Self-proclaimed perfection is what it is. And Dad puts me on his pretend stage every year." She pulled on a pair of black, skinny jeans, a white tee shirt and then a thick purple wool polo neck sweater. "Yeah, nothing but a trained monkey. That's what I am." She said as she came back into the room mimicking a chimpanzee.

"Very well trained to play like that. And in front of all those rich and important bitches." Steven snickered.

"Damn it Steven. Grow up." Joe rubbed Maddie's arm, feeling an urge to embrace her, kiss her. "You are so ..." He pulled his arm away and shoved both hands in his jean pockets. "You know, you have amazing talent. You're incredible."

"Save it. I was rubbish. But what the hell are you two doing here anyway?"

Joe and Steven looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. Joe said, "Beats me. Steven got me drunk. That's why."

"Drunk as a skunk. He's a pitiful drunk. A sad and pitiful, stinky drunk."

Maddie sighed and fell on her king-sized bed. "That's great. Com'n over when you're drunk and have nothing better to do than crash my parents VIP party."

"I called you all week. I thought you might call back. All week I ..." Joe said. He sat next to her with his back on the headboard. "All damn week."

Maddie snapped back. "I'm grounded for the rest of my life. Turned my phone off, took my computer, Stripped of any reason to live, to be. Dad's hell bent on destroying the life I could've, should've had."

Joe snickered when Maddie said this. She glared at him with eyes that were about to pop out of their sockets. He said, "Sorry. I didn't ..."

"Why? How come?" Steven interrupted and kneeled by the side of the bed.

Maddie sat up and looked at him and snapped. "Oh, sure. Christmas? You remember Christmas? Sneaking out to save someone's life." She tilted her head toward Steven.

"Sorry. Sorry." He buried his head deep into the duvet on her bed; the thick comforter muffled his exaggerated wailing.

"Oh stop. It's my own fault. For not being honest for once." She rubbed her hand through Steven's jet-black hair and pulled it back holding it in a ponytail. She reached toward her bedside table and grabbed a hair tie and pulled it around his hair. "I don't regret it, finding you. Helping you. I just can't imagine what you've been through Steven. And you're okay, that's all that matters. But ... now dad wants to send me away."

"What do you mean? Send you away?" Steven asked.

Maddie shrugged. "Off, away. Somewhere far, far away."

Joe chest's tightened. His words barely came out, "How far away? Where?"

"Another world. A world far removed from this my only home; a home meant to be my refuge, my joy, the place of comfort and ..."

"Maddie? Who are you talking to?" Judith's voice came through the door.

"Crap." Maddie muttered under her breath.

The door handle jiggled. "Now why's this door locked honey? You know the rules. Those boys aren't in there are they?

"God! No mom. Didn't even know I locked the door. Just talking to myself." Maddie jumped up, motioned to her friends to hide on the other side of the bed. She slowly opened the door, then quickly jumped back on her bed. "I'm tired mom. I told you I wanted to go on to bed."

"Nearly twelve. I am certainly not going to let you usher in the New Year on your own." Judith walked into the room and sat on the bed. "What's going on?"

"Just ... just talking to myself. Thinking about having to ... to go to Colorado next week."

"Colorado? Next week?" Steven's head popped up. Maddie shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"Maddie. You said you sent him away. Why do you have to keep lying, Maddie? Why?"

"What was I supposed to do mom? Drag them through the party, humiliate dad and you? Supposed to tell dad I'm taking a couple of boys to my room for a while?"

"A couple?"

Joe sat up and nodded, "Well, I'm Joe." His face burned and his heart galloped. Maddie's mother smiled, then shook her head. She looked at her daughter. Her thin lips pressed in and her eyes turned stern – or were they desperate and worried? Joe wasn't sure. Suddenly he felt he was watching a private encounter; a scene meant to be hidden, played out only within the secret fortress families must construct to conceal the reality of a their embarrassing and sometimes dangerous imperfections.

Judith took Maddie's hand. "Well. Maybe you need to give your dad a chance."

"A chance? I'm grounded for life. I can't do anything, talk to anyone. He's taken my life away. What's the point? He's just getting rid of me forever." She paused and looked down. "He's given up. So why should I care? Mom, can't you change his mind? No. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters."

"He's ... we're trying to help you Maddie."

Maddie shook her head. Joe could see tears welling up in her eyes. Waves of jumbled emotions now swirled in his gut – desperation to run or better, just disappear; a longing to comfort, to save her, to love her; and a horrible fear he'd never be good enough for her, good enough for anybody. As Maddie spoke, her voice vacillated between defiance and hopelessness. "Oh I know. It's for the best. It's to save me. It's to beat sense into my hopeless head. It's to get me out of this house, this State, out of his life ... because I ruined everything. I ruined everything by being honest, by finally telling the truth. Pack me up and send me away. Whatever mom. Whatever." The clock struck twelve, excited shouts of joy echoed up the stairs. "Screw it all, I don't' care. I don't care. I'm not going anywhere. And you can't make me." Maddie bolted up, grabbed a pair of boots and her coat and ran through the bedroom door, down the stairs. She was out of the front door before Judith reached the landing overlooking two dozen stunned merrymakers.

Judith ran after her calling out her name.

Steven and Joe sat silent for a moment. Then Steven jumped up and said, "Wow. We have to save her."

Joe patted Steven's shoulder. "Not our job, Littleaxe. Come on, we need to get the hell out of here. Better go the way we came. Her dad will probably call the police on us if he finds us."

***

_Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go._ Maddie stood holding the icy cold iron bars of the gate protecting the exclusive and prestigious housing edition. Her tears felt frigid as a gusty north wind bit hard at her face. _Why can't I_ _stop hating myself? Hating my life?_

Secrets are secrets for a reason; they hide the unacceptable, unspeakable; they protect, they deny – they keep you safe. She told. Why did she tell? Her world shattered. Everyone knew, and everyone blamed her – no one believed her. Even at her illustrious private school, they seemed to know, to judge, to shun. _She's been in the hospital you know, the psyche ward, suicide attempt no doubt. Her poor parents, having to deal with such a disgraceful act of selfishness_. Words never spoken by her teachers, but the looks, the tone, the disdain was there. Mr. Kingsbury pointed to Maddie in first hour English Lit. "Miss Bannister. Hester? Is her refusal to reveal the name of Pearl's father an act of strength, or rather an act of cowardice?" Kingsbury smiled as he waited for her response. "Neither really. She really didn't have a choice. She had to protect her daughter. She had to lie; she had to keep the secret." "Yes indeed, Miss Bannister." Indeed. Keep the secret to save the family. Bear the shame and guilt all alone for the sake of the family. Hester Prynne. A character Maddie didn't know if she should love or hate. A sinner. An adulterer in a pure and intolerant world, pretending to be strong, invincible. How did Kingsbury describe her? "Miss Hester envelops a natural dignity, with a strong force of character; always determined to cast a proud smile toward her persecutors. But underneath, her fears and agony are there, always haunting her." Hawthorne revealed her true heart and soul, the damaged and broken heart and soul, when he wrote, _She felt_ _her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and trample upon._ Put an 'A' on me. 'A' for abused. Abused and said nothing. Abused and liked it, wanted it. Abused. Flung into the street for all to spurn and trample on. At least Hester found the strength to pretend to be strong.

"Maddie? It'll be okay. It will. Why don't you just go home?" Joe put his arm around her shoulder.

"Why should I? Why should I?" Maddie said then turned and wrapped her arms around him and buried her face between his neck and shoulder.

"There you are!" Steve ran and jumped on Joe's back. "Happy New Year. Happy freakin' New Year."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Everything seems to be fine here." The social worker said as she sat down and scribbled notes on a clipboard. She looked up and offered a feeble smile that seemed to declare she was not quite sure of herself. "Once the background check is completed we can make you Steven's official foster parents. This has been a unique situation. Poor child. So good of you to take him in like this." The too young twenty-something African American caseworker stood up and shook Sarah's hand. "We appreciate what you're doing here."

"This mean I can call you mom now?" Steven said as he watched Sarah and the caseworker walk toward the front door.

Sarah laughed, a hesitant and rather worried laugh. "You can call me Sarah, Steven, that's fine." She opened the front door and stepped onto the front porch with the caseworker. In a hushed voice she asked, "How long do these things tend to be for? What kind of time frame are we looking at here? This is just so new to us. You will get him somewhere permanent soon, I assume?"

"We're attempting to locate a great aunt in Texas, and there seems to be an uncle in Arizona. We always prefer a child to be with family. If no family members step up ... well it becomes very difficult. The reality is, it's almost impossible to find placement for a sixteen-year-old. And with his background ... well, we'd be looking at level D group homes. There may be a chance that he could be placed in an Indian boarding school in Oklahoma. Unfortunately, finding a permanent placement is very difficult. And it's impossible to know how long it might take." She turned, took a step forward then looked back. "I will let you know when the coroner releases the father's body. Their tribe will arrange for the burial on Indian land. He'll need to say goodbye, I guess. If he wants to."

Steven stood near the front door. He wasn't supposed to hear Sarah's question, _You will get him somewhere soon?_ He knew it wasn't really a question; it was a plea, a demand – 'get him out of here as soon as possible; we're only doing this for Joe's sake. This needs to be temporary. I can't bear having that Indian here too much longer.' He knew exactly what that question meant. He ran up the stairs and slammed the door to Joe's bedroom and fell onto the mattress lying on the floor, which was meant to be his 'temporary' bed. _I don't give a flying crap. Just send me someplace else. Whatever. Whatever. I could tear the house up. Tell them I'm hearing voices, voices telling me to kill them. Just get sent back to the hospital. I don't need these white people._ Tears burst through; he wiped them away quickly with the corner of his sleeve and reminded himself he was a warrior.

"Everything all right? Did we pass? Are we good enough for you?" Joe asked as he came into the room ten minutes later.

Steven rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and slowly pulled his fingers down his cheeks.

"You okay?"

"Yip. I'm great. And you'll never be good enough, but I guess I can make do for a bit longer." He shot up and lurched toward Joe. With his arms wrapped around him, he dug his head in Joe's stomach, both fell to floor with a thud that shook the window. "And you call yourself a football player. What a wuss. What a pussy you are." He licked his right index finger and put it into Joe's ear.

Joe quickly threw Steven off him. "You are so gross. Grow up."

"You two take it outside! Goodness gracious!" Sarah said as she walked past the open door.

Steven sat up. "You'll go with me? To the graveyard. The funeral."

"Yeah."

"Maddie should be there. She should."

"Yeah, she should. But Colorado's a hell of a long way away."

***

Cold, snow, six inches of it, and a cruel, ruthless north wind – just as it should be for a burial, a funeral. Steven stood tall by his father's coffin at the graveside; a warrior burying the fallen with honor, with pride. He filled his lungs and pulled his chest back. The sweet smell of lavender anointing the body declared the unbearable yet wondrous reality that his father would now be welcomed into another world.

A Cherokee Shaman led the handful of shivering mourners that included Joe's family, a couple that ran the convenience store next to the trailer park and an elderly neighbor, one of his father's drinking and drugging buddies. "The sun rises and it shines, but darkness must overcome it. The moon reaches its fullness, only to fade away. Flowers bloom, only to wither. The wind blows, but will always give way to calm. And so it is, change will come, death will come. All things are destined to wither and die. But we know, though death may bite, all things that are bitten return and are born again."

Steven felt a firm hand squeezing his right shoulder and a soft gentle hand resting on his head. He knew they would be here with him; but he dare not look back. His grandparents would be weeping, and though he knew their tears would soon find consolation, he could not bear to see them grieve – that would trigger uncontrolled sobs. He had to be tough, the warrior. The firm hand squeezed his shoulder gently, offering encouragement to be strong and declaring pride that his grandson was standing tall.

In Cherokee, then in English, the Shaman offered the closing prayer. "Great Spirit, Great Spirit, all over the earth the faces of the living shine and forever bring life. Look upon these faces of the grieving that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the day of quiet and the night of comfort. There is no death, only a change of worlds. Knowing this, we offer Red Deer back to the earth; the created is now embraced by his creator."

Steven carefully placed four items on the coffin: his father's motorcycle helmet; a box of letters his mother had written from prison, letters that begged his father to take good care of their son; a picture of himself at age five with his mother, father and grandparents standing proudly behind him; and lastly, an eagle's feather. He waved as the wooden box slipped into darkness. He needed to embrace his grandparents. He turned with his arms outstretched – they were gone. Steven burst into tears. He had always felt so alone. Now he was all alone.

***

"Snowing again. Lots and lots of snow." Steven stood motionless staring out of Joe's bedroom window – He felt so alone. He willed away tears that begged to find life. Why does it hurt so much? Why? He turned and looked at Joe. "How's it we keep loving someone who hurts us so much?"

"I don't know. You tell me." Joe said twisting and turning the hand controller to his PlayStation. "Damn it." He tossed the controller onto the bed. "Your turn."

Steven turned and stared out at the pure white flakes falling; peaceful, snowfall is always so peaceful. "So many days, so much time I spent hating him."

"He deserved it. He treated you like crap most of the time."

Steven's heart pounded, an explosion of adrenalin shot through his body. He spun round and glared at Joe, his fist clenched and eyes burning. "No he didn't! He was sick. An alcoholic. He couldn't help it. He was sick man. I treated him like crap and he was a sick man."

"Okay. Okay. I'm wrong. Sorry." Joe stopped and shook his head briskly. "No. No. I'm not sorry. Steven you have every right to be angry, to hate your father. Hate him. And love him at the same time. Sometimes that's the reality. Love and hate somehow rolled together. You loved him. You can hate him too, ya know."

Steven scratched his head. _Stupid, he's so stupid. White people are so stupid_. He shook his head. He had to scream, he had to make him listen. "No! Screw you! You can't hate your parents. You can only hate what they do. I hate what my father _did_. I can never hate _him_." He let the tears stream down his cheeks; words like a whirlwind, "He's gone ... forever. I can't do ... anything, to ... to fix it ... to fix him. I can't have all those years back ... years stolen by drugs and alcohol ... and now there's no hope of doing anything with my dad ever again. What should've been is gone ... forever. And ... and what could be is gone, forever."

"It sucks. I'm sorry. It really sucks."

_He don't get it. He's stupid, blind._ He tried to slow his words, but they came out quickly. They had to. He had to hear. He had to understand. "You should go downstairs and hug your father. Tell him you're glad he's back. Tell him you're gonna be a great son and he's gonna be a great dad. Stop treat'n him like a piece of shit. You have a chance to get back what you lost. It's lost forever for me." Steven grabbed both Joe's hands and tried to jerk him off the bed. "Come on. Go tell him. Go freakin' tell him." He jerked harder until Joe fell off the bed. "Go! Screw you. Go tell him!" His father laughing and those words – words forever imprinted in mind to haunt him; 'It ain't loaded – don't be scared – just mess'n with ya _._ ' Crack of the gun. Smell of gunpowder. Cruel thud of his body hitting the floor. Convulsions like he's trying to get up. Blood. Bits of brain coming out the exit wound. Silence. Dead. Gone forever. Why? Why'd it happen? Steven tried to yank Joe up off the floor. "Joe you have to go tell him. Tell your dad you love him."

"I can't Steven. No way. I'm sorry for what happened to your dad. It's sad. It's okay to be upset. But you'll be okay."

Steven pushed Joe's hands away and ran through the bedroom door. Joe's words were faint, muffled, meaningless. "Stop Steven. Stay here."

***

Joe rolled over on his front side and sat up on his knees. _Tell him I love him? Why? Such an idiot. Damn him._ Joe heaved himself up but his legs buckled and he fell on the bed. Unnamed and unknown emotions smothered him, sucking the breath from his lungs. They were suppressed desires and longings long ago hidden, locked away – had to be locked away. These desires and longings that would destroy him; because they could never be fulfilled. _Go tell him you love him. No, stupid. I don't love him. No. I won't love him. I don't want to. I don't need to. He never loved me. Never. "_ Damn you Steven ... oh crap, where's he gone _?"_ Joe looked out the window. Steven lay in the front yard, kicking his arms and legs up and down, making snow angels. He was stark naked.

***

Joe put a blanket around Steven and pulled him up. "You _are_ crazy. You trying to get back in the hospital?"

"Yeah. Take me. The voices are telling me to blow up your house. You better take me."

"Geez, just shut up and get in the house. You're not gonna keep running away. You're living with us. You're stuck with us."

"Oh yeah? For how long? Till they find someplace else so they can get me out of your hair?"

"What'a you on about? Get inside. You're not going anywhere. God you're so crazy sometimes."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Naked?"

"Buck naked."

Braxton laughed. "What a sight indeed. Never a dull moment with Steven Littleaxe around. You're a brave soul to take him in. And your family, your parents, good for them. It's not easy to take a strange kid in, especially with the sort of problems Steven's having to deal with." Braxton leaned forward with that patented turn of the lips; his subtle but sure declaration of concern. Joe waited for the question that would follow; he knew its exact intonation and cadence. A question that so irritated him when he was in the hospital and, on his bad days, enraged him. But now he welcomed the question; he wanted the permission, the invitation to be somebody – that must mean he is doing better, is moving forward. Braxton nodded and said, "But what about you? How are you doing?"

"To be honest, Steven, he's driving me crazy. It was the funeral last week. Steven's dad. I know he's upset and all, but it's like he turned it on me. Made it about _my_ dad. That's what I can't stand about him. He drives you nuts."

"Yeah. We established that eons ago. What do you mean, _turned it on you_?"

"I don't know. He just misses his dad and maybe he's just jealous my dad's still around. I don't understand why he even cares about his dad. He was a terrible, horrible human being. I hate to say it, but that's the reality Steven doesn't want to see. He was so god-awful abusive. Treated him in horrible ways. And he ... I don't know."

"Steven still loves his dad."

"Yeah. I get that."

"And that bothers you?"

"No, of course not. No. Rewind. Yes it does. It bothers me like hell. He has no business loving his dad. He should be glad he's gone. My God, for the first time in years he's safe. I know it's a terrible thing to say, but good riddance to the bastard. And there he is missing his dad. Hell, I think he's damn lucky it happened."

"Okay, kiddo. Cut to the chase time. And you know what I'm gonna say."

Joe stood up and paced around the small office. "You always say that. How should I know?" Braxton raised one eyebrow and tilted his head. "Yeah. Okay I know. It ain't about Steven's dad, it's about my dad. I know."

"Bingo. You feel some sort of guilt? That you can't forgive your dad, that you can't love him?"

"Yeah. No. Don't do that. I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Assume. You assume."

"I like to think of it as inviting introspection, not assuming. And you're free to tell me when I'm full of it."

"Most of the time you are. It was Steven, demanding that I to go tell my dad I love him. It was like he was freaking out about it. And he wouldn't leave it alone. But I can't do that and I won't." Joe plopped himself in the old gray chair.

"Why?"

"You know why." Joe started to feel the same anger that he had when he was in the hospital, when he used to sit in this office. He took a deep breath and pushed that flash of anger away.

"Oh, I know your answer. He doesn't deserve it. It's time we got past that."

Joe's words became more frenetic with each sentence. He tried to slow himself down, calm the adrenaline shooting through his heart. "I can't talk about it. But he, Steven, made me see something. And I can't even say it."

"Sure you can. Just say it."

Joe hit the armrests with both fist. "It's stupid. I know it is. I'm afraid to say it and I don't know why."

"Emotions. Such a pain in the ass sometimes. Give them words. Give those emotions permission to surface, to have a life. They won't kill ya." Braxton rubbed his chin, then pointed a finger at Joe. "You know Joe. It's so obvious what it is. And it's so okay. So normal."

Joe wrapped his hands around the back of his neck and shook his head. "If it's so goddamn obvious then I don't need to say it, do I? Go on, you say it. Tell me what's so obvious. I don't want to play your guessing games."

"Why's it so hard to say? Simple enough. You never felt your dad loved you. And when a kid feels unloved, they assume something's wrong with them, that they're not lovable, that they don't deserve to be loved."

Joe felt the pressure of tears welling up begging for freedom. He put his palms on his eyes trying to push them back. "No you're wrong. I didn't feel he _never_ loved me. He _stopped_ loving me. He just stopped loving me. And ... I don't know why."

"You know what Joe? What you feel is real. But your dad never stopped loving you. Dads don't do that."

"Well he did." Joe could feel the rage flash through his eyes. "Easy. It's always easy for you. What do you know about me? About him? He hates me and I don't know why and I don't care why anymore. All I know is ... I can't love him. He'll just hurt me again." Joe paused, leaned his head back and took in a deep slow breath "'Chin up. Chin up.' That's what he said as he walked out the door. 'I'll see you real soon.' 'It's for the best.' He walked out of my life. He went loving after goddamn whores and quit loving me." Joe sat up and started to stand but let himself fall back in the chair. _What's the point? No point. No one cares. No one understands. Screw this. Screw him. What the hell am I doing back here?_ He looked at Braxton. His gray eyes looked puzzled, trying to understand, trying to say he cared. "The other night when Steve was being such a pain, what I realized ... and this is what hurts so much, that I do want to love him and I want him to love me. But it can never happen. Do you get that? I'll never take that risk. It all hurts ... hurts too freakin' bad."

Braxton stood up and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. At that moment, unspeakable pain ripped through his soul causing his body to shiver. Chained grief twisted and thrashed, then burst through his gut and up into his heart and out through the ignored tears of a seven year old boy who'd lost his father's love. Joe wailed until his lungs felt incapable of functioning and the sting in his eyes was unbearable.

After fifteen minutes, his tears subsided. Braxton sat down and said. "There. Didn't kill you kiddo, letting those emotions have their way. How do you feel?"

"Don't really know. Maybe good. But it doesn't change anything. I can't love him 'cause I'll never ever believe that he loves me. That's why I have to keep hating him."

Braxton's chair creaked as he leaned back and tucked his left leg under his right knee. "Now, you're making things easy. I tell you what, hate comes easy, way too easy. It's love that's goddamn hard."

"Yeah. So what?"

"So what? When are you gonna start doing what's hard and quit taking the easy but miserable road? Here's an idea. Go home, take a risk, and let your dad in. You just might discover he does love you and always has ... loved you in his imperfect and very human way. And Joe, he may ... he may let you down, leave you again. But you know what, that's his problem and that would be his loss."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"You're not being punished Maddie. Your parents just want you to get help, get better." Maddie barely heard the words Marie, her therapist, spoke.

'Rising Sun Ranch.' _Saving trouble teens_ – at least that's what the glossy and sappy brochure confidently declared. _Transformation,_ that was the favorite word in the colorful promotional materials full of smiling and perfectly behaved teenagers _. For teens with behavioral problems, mental health disorders and substance abuse issues ... Restoring sanity and dignity to children and families ... There is hope for your out of control teenager._ Hope for what? Maddie's parents sat across from her in the therapist's rustic yet plush office. Maddie sat sideways with her back to her parents. She stared out of the very large window that overlooked mountains smothered by alpine trees; trees brightened by a fresh snow that gently and lovingly rested on strong and proud branches. Picture perfect. It was picture perfect. "Whatever." Maddie muttered under her breath.

Maddie glanced toward her parents and noticed her dad's hands tightly gripping the armrest on the leather bound chair. She looked away as her dad began to speak. "Don't make this hard Maddie. You have to work with these people. Work with us. We don't want you here. We want you home."

A quick shrug of Maddie's shoulders declared defiant disregard for anything her father would say.

Marie's annoyingly calm voice said, "Well Maddie. What would you say is the biggest problem we need to be working on?"

Silence.

"Please Maddie. Talk to us." Judith's tone sounded apologetic. Maddie felt manipulated. More silence – wonderful, in your face, you can't make me, I hate you, silence.

Marie shifted her shoulders toward Maddie's parents and said, "Well, if she not going to engage, we'll try to figure out where we need to focus without her input. What are your concerns?"

Howard sighed, then said, "The lying, the sneaking around. Just the defiance. She has everything she needs, everything she wants. But still, the lying, the disrespect. And then there's the cutting. Cutting? It's just so ridiculous, so ... so senseless. She's just completely out of control and we don't know what to do. No punishment works. She grounded from everything and she doesn't care. She's hell-bent on sabotaging her whole life. And I don't understand it." Her dad's words came out quickly, curtly. Maddie knew he was feeling desperate, angry, and was working hard to control himself – exactly what she wanted.

Judith crossed, then uncrossed her legs, her hand and arms couldn't stay still. "Judith? What do you want to say?" The therapist's question was so ... _therapist_ : rehearsed, rote, oozing with the pretense of caring – the 'I know what's wrong here' tone. Maddie didn't like this counselor from the moment she first caught a glimpse of her walking across the parking lot. Short sassy blonde hair and her nicely tanned and radiant face – still barely springtime – obviously an expensive self-induced tan that those full of themselves have to have. And there was her thin but athletic build with sturdy shoulders and hardened arms; one of those people who pride themselves in being fit and active and look down on anyone five pounds overweight. _Probably wanted this job so she could go skiing every day after work._ "Judith? It's obvious you want to say something."

Out of the corner of her eye, Maddie noticed Judith shift in her chair and look down at her feet. He mother looked so uncomfortable, so desperate. She felt bad for her mom; but she had no choice but to stand her ground. Maddie let out a faint sigh as her mom began to speak. "He just doesn't get it. Those are all surface issues. He can't see, understand the hurt, the damage. His anger is on the wrong person."

Howard snapped back. "I'm not angry at her. I'm concerned. And what happened, was years ago and is not the issue right now. She talked about _it,_ she dealt with all that at the hospital. Judith, she doesn't need to be coddled. She needs to be responsible and respectful. That's all I ask. All I expect."

"Howard, she needs to be understood. Not punished." Judith said with a bit more force.

"Look at her now. This defiance has nothing to do with my brother." Her father's voice bordered on shouting. Maddie nearly cringed but carefully remained rigid in her chair. She could feel his finger pointing at her. She began to count the trees lining a service road at the end of the parking lot. She hummed softly as her dad continued. "This a behavioral problem clear and simple. This is about respect and the choices she's been making. Choices that are going to ruin her life."

Judith drew in a breath and spoke more calmly. "She needs to be understood. If you could see that, maybe we wouldn't be here."

Tears began to well up in Maddie's eyes. _Yes._ _Mom understands. Mom still cares._

Howard pulled his hand through his hair. "It is _her_ choices that got her here."

Maddie turned and looked at her mother and wiped her tears away. "Just take me home. This is not going to help me. It's just making me more angry. Take me home."

Judith looked down. "We can't do that puppet. This _will_ help you. There are things you need to work on. You need to let it help you."

Maddie set her gaze back on the distant landscape; beautiful, inviting, soothing. _Escape. Stay here forever. Why not. Things you need to work on. Let it help me. Mom's right. But how? Deserve the shame, deserve to live with guilt. I can only hate myself. That's the right and noble thing to do._ Maddie looked back at her mom with pleading eyes and said, "This can't help. Just take me home."

Marie raised her rather masculine hand and with gentle confidence said, "Let's step back here. Both your parents are right, Maddie. Choices, responsibility, respect. Yes, these need to be addressed. But the underlying issue, abuse by the uncle, is at the heart of what's going on here and it must be our focus. And Howard, understanding the depth of your daughter's damage and hurt is something you're having great difficulty dealing with, facing up to. You're avoiding the issue by keeping the focus on Maddie's behaviors."

Howard stood and moved behind his chair. "This is not about me. It is about my daughter. Don't make this about me."

"It is about Maddie. And that means it has to be about her family. It is indeed about you and Judith. Maddie is not _the_ problem. The family is the problem. Maddie is not _a_ problem, she is a victim that desperately needs your help to become a survivor."

Maybe she understood, even cared. Maybe Marie's not so bad. And just maybe she can escape the hell she's been trapped in for four years; a hell empty and heartless. Every day she prayed that it had never happened; on her horrible days, she prayed she'd never been born.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"What the hell! What are you doing here? Jesus, Joe. You're white as a ghost. What's going on?" Joe stood motionless at the door to Chuck's dorm room. He grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him through the threshold. "Get in here. What the hell is going on?"

Joe sat down slowly on the bed. He opened his mouth but his throat constricted, there was no breathe to enable words to surface. He shook his head and handed Chuck a crumbled letter.

Chuck read the letter aloud; with each sentence, his tone became more incredulous, but soon his voice was filled with fear and panic. "My dearest Joe. Of course, you now know your feeble attempt to do me in failed. Leaving me for dead? Oh what a cruel, cruel thing for you to do. What a foolish thing for you to do. But how infinitely more hideous that you would drive me from your mother, the woman I love. Such acts as these cannot be forgotten. And such acts as these demand punishment. You, my child, must learn your lesson. Oh, I hate to have to be the one to teach you, but I fear I must. So do not see this as revenge, but as a harsh lesson for your evil act of hatred. You made me suffer. You beat me, would have beat me to death or so you hoped. But worst of all you took my love away from me. So I am afraid this is what I must do – the only loving way I know to teach you a lesson; to make you a better person, and indeed a stronger person. I shall take one of your loved ones away. I am still deciding who this shall be. Your sister? Your brother? Your father? Perhaps not him, you hate him so much already. Such a surprise he has come back to your home. Oh, you must be pleased! LOL. Well, perhaps it should be your mother, after all if I cannot have her with me why should you? Or maybe that Indian boy living with you, who you seem so fond of? Or the girl? I believe Maddie is her name, a girlfriend I assume. Pity they sent her away. You must miss her. While I decide who it is you shall lose ... well, you can only live in fear, waiting, worrying, wondering who, where, and when. Yes. When? Today, next week, next month, maybe next year? I'm in no hurry Joe. No hurry at all. Now Joe, you can tell the police if you wish. Show them this letter if you dare. I know they've been snooping around. But if you do speak to them, here is my promise: that you will lose two loved ones. Things were going so well for us, with your mother. Then you and Chuck had to destroy it. I'm sorry it has come to this dear Joe. Truly sorry."

Chuck sat beside Joe. Silence swallowed them up. Joe's head spun, his stomach heaved. He buried his head in his hands, took a few slow breaths, then muttered, "What do we do? I don't know what to do. He's crazy. I think he means it. He's a psycho."

Chuck stood up and shook his head. "It's a bluff. He's full of bull. Just trying to scare us. He's playing a game with our heads. The goddamn bastard."

"Chuck, how does he know? Know all those things? He's watching us. My God, he's watching everything we do. He is serious as hell."

"I don't know. And I don't know what to do." Chuck went over and sat on the windowsill. "No. We have to tell the police. They have to deal with this kind of ... craziness."

"We can't. He's a psycho. He'll do it."

"Okay Joe, think about it. If he's crazy enough to follow through, then someone could die. If that happened and the police could have stopped it ... we have to tell them."

"So what if two ... what if two people die? And how the hell does he know all this? He's been planning this. He knows what he's doing."

"All the more reason to tell the police. And we have to tell mom and dad. We can't sit on this. We have to tell them the whole story."

Joe nodded; a horrible and unnerving terror devoured his gut. Tears slipped down both cheeks. "I'm scared Chuck."

"That's exactly what he wants. Don't give in to him. I won't."

***

Joe stood under the archway leading to the living room. Sapped of any more emotions, he watched the scene unfold with a surreal detachment.

"I'm sorry, but there is just not much we can do. As I said, we know who this man is. He's been eluding the police and the FBI in ten or eleven states for months. This letter's postmarked _Chicago_ , three days ago. He could be there or in forty seven other states."

"We need something done. Police protection." Robert pointed his finger at the detective.

"We can't have a police officer camped outside your house indefinitely. We just don't have the resources for that. I can arrange for patrol cars to check on you now and then."

"Now and then? What good is that?" Sarah said trying to steady her trembling hands.

"I'm sorry. These threats are vague. Meant to scare. I can't ... I can only assure you that we are doing all we can to find this man." The detective stood up and placed the letter in a tattered folder. "You do have the option to leave this house and find somewhere to stay for a while. He obviously has had access to this home. Common sense that one changes the locks when a spouse suddenly leaves, as you assumed he had. I'm sorry, that's all I can say right now. Call us immediately if he contacts you again in anyway. Chances are nothing will come of this. Likely, this is simply a scare tactic. Just a sadistic and twisted attempt at emotional revenge." He walked past Joe toward the front door and opened it. He turned back and said, "I know this is difficult. I wish there was more I could do. If you hear anything more from this man, call immediately." He closed the door and walked to his unmarked car.

Joe felt he had just watched a poorly written and poorly acted scene from some archaic TV show. He walked to the window and watched the black car pull away. Then suddenly, his whole body began shaking. He said in a near whisper, "This is all my fault. All my fault."

Robert took Joe's shoulder and turned him around. He held him tight and said. "This is no one's fault but that damn bastard's. I'll not have you blaming yourself. You and Chuck, you did the right thing. He got what he deserved from you two. Don't worry. This man will be taken care of, one way or another."

Amber, with Steven standing behind her, stood at the bottom of the stairs. "What's going on? Was that the policeman who was asking about that creep of a stepdad? What'd he want?"

"Just checking to see if we knew anything new. What have you two been up to?" Sarah said with a forced smile.

"Facebook. Talking to friends."

Steven said, "Not me. Doing homework. Never did homework in my life. It's kind of fun."

"See there, Mom, he gets crazier everyday don't he?" Joe said hiding the fear that was squeezing his heart and soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"You trying to kill us? It's gonna kill us. No way I can do this. No way."

"Survival. It's about survival. You can do this, Maddie." Marie winked, turned and walked down a faint mountain path. Maddie was alone – all alone in the middle of a frozen hell. Two nights camping; a tent, some indescribable and disgusting rations, a cigarette lighter and a whistle – for an extreme emergency only, "You had better be dying if you blow that whistle." The program director told them before they hiked three hours in blowing snow – okay it was a light flurry, but it was still blowing. Each _inmate_ , or troubled teen as the colorful brochure branded them, was abandoned in some secluded location with full assurance that they would survive. And of course, they were given the impossible promise that they would return stronger having experienced revelations and sacred epiphanies that would transform their lives forever. Transformation – _right_. "This is so stupid. I hate everyone one of you." Maddie muttered as Marie disappeared into the woods leaving her sitting on a wet and frigid fallen limb.

Marie called back, "I heard that Maddie. You can thank me when you get back."

Whatever, whatever, whatever. This is going to kill me and they'll be sorry. My parents will be sorry. Only wish I could be there when they tell them, "We're so sorry your daughter froze to death in the wilderness."

Maddie wrestled for half an hour with the tiny pup tent before it stood somewhat erect. Still angry and already exhausted, she wandered around the woods gathering bits of twigs and small limbs. With the sun making its inevitable trek toward the horizon, and feeling more perturbed and utterly shattered, she fumbled around in an attempt to light a fire. She uttered every curse word she could think of, and made up a few of her own, before pitiful sparks decided to rouse a feeble flickering light, which somehow morphed into healthy dancing flames. Maddie laughed with relief as she watched the fire dance around the twigs and limbs warming her frozen hands. She devoured some beef jerky, and wolfed down an apple and banana. That was dinner.

_Now what? Now what?_ She glared at the fire waiting for her personal life-changing theophany. Nothing came. She muttered to the darkness. "This is just stupid. I should be home. I hate this place. Screw this place. Screw Marie. Screw every damn counselor in the goddamn world! And screw my parents. Yeah, for sending me here. And ... and screw God for letting _it_ happen. Letting _him_ ruin my life." She wanted to cry, but tears could not be found, and even if they could, they would have no purpose.

Maddie felt the chill of the night encroaching as tired flames gave way to dying embers. She slipped into the cold and uncaring tent and wrapped herself up snug in her sleeping bag – she then began cursing herself with the harshest and ugliest words she could conjure up. That's when the inescapable thought came; that thought that ignited the urge, the urge that fueled the demand that was never satisfied, not until it was appeased. _Just cut._ _You need to cut. Watch the blood slide down your skin. You need the release, the peace. Give yourself what you deserve._ _What I deserve. What I deserve. Everyone says I deserve better. I do deserve better. Why the hell can't I believe that? Just can't. So just cut. Go on, just get it over with._ Maddie slipped out of her sleeping bag and looked for something sharp, jagged, ugly, angry. Anything would do. She glanced up and saw a sky she never knew existed – bright and alive with a million stars, a million suns burning, existing, being, looking down on her. "Incredible. Amazing." She said aloud. Pulling a space blanket around her, she walked to a larger clearing where she could see the southern sky. Stunning. Brilliant. The sight of the night sky silenced her self-pity – stars unending, declaring the glory of the universe, of creation, the glory of a Creator. _What's that verse? Oh, what's that verse?_ Her minister had been preaching on it for three weeks _._ "Yes. 'Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one and calls forth each of them by name.'" Maddie reached out her arm; she touched the heavens. "'Why do you complain? Why do you say, my way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God?' Oh God, I only want to be normal. What happened to the perfect life I had?" Maddie briskly wiped away tears that dared to surface. "What? Don't deserve to cry either? Forgiveness Maddie. When are you going to forgive yourself?" That's what Marie had asked her a few days before. She had replied with controlled anger, "I Can't. You don't understand. I can't forgive myself. Can't you see that? It can't be done." Marie stroked her hair. "It can and must." "Shut up. Leave me alone." "When are you going to give yourself a break Maddie? When?"

Maddie lay down on the ground and stared at the stars above. _I just want to be home with my family. I want to be in my own bed. I want to be okay. I want to be happy. He won't let me_. The flashback came, as it too often did. Uncle Billy lovingly caressing her, slowly undressing her, carefully exploring her – violating her, raping her. Vivid scenes flashed through her mind's eye, forcing her to relive those moments. Confused and senseless feelings shot through her being: disgust, shame, self-hatred, being loved, being accepted, being wanted, anger, rage, helplessness. These images so often had invaded her mind, her soul; images she tried to kill, burn, destroy – she never could. 'A' for abused. "Ms. Banister what was the significance of the letter 'A' on Hester?" 'A' for adultery, 'A' for shame and guilt. 'A' declaring to everyone she was worthless, guilty, unlovable, untouchable. 'A' for abused. "No Ms. Banister. What was the significance of the 'A' that Hester wore?" I don't know. "Think Ms. Banister. The 'A', it was unlike those the others wore. How?" Don't know. Doesn't matter. "The 'A' Hester wore was stitched with gold thread and made of fine silk. What was she saying? Declaring?" Maybe it shows she never lost her dignity. "What does the letter come to represent as the novel progresses?" Don't know. Don't care. "How did the other women begin to see her?" Don't know. "In Hawthorne's novel the letter begins to mutate. The 'A' came to be defined as 'Able,' and 'Angel.'" So what? "Why did Hester resume wearing the letter 'A' when she returned to Boston?" I don't know. "Think Ms. Banister. Think." It became a symbol of strength, of defiance ... of hope. She became ... no, she was always a strong woman, and the other women finally saw that and admired her, and came to her for help, for comfort. It didn't matter what had happened in the past. It never mattered to her what people thought. She was always determined to believe in herself, to love herself. "Indeed Ms. Banister. Very good." Soar Ms. Banister. Soar like the eagle. Soar to the heavens.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"Kline. Come up and finish the equation." Coach Tyler barked out jolting Joe out of a semi-conscious state. First hour; Algebra II. Algebra used to come so easy; now it was senseless numbers, signs and symbols that Joe couldn't be bothered to deal with.

"What?"

"The equation Joe. Show us you brilliance Finish what Skyler started."

"Oh. No. I can't. I don't ... it's too much, too hard for me." A vibration in his jean pocket sent a shock wave through hidden nerve fibers throughout his entire body.

"Phone off. Kline. Phones off."

"Sorry Coach." Joe pulled his phone out and glanced at the text, from his mom:

Waiting out front. Come now Chuck's hurt. Bad.

"You're trying my patience Joe. Get your big butt out of that seat and do the equation."

Joe shot up and walked to the front of the class. "Stick the damn equation up your ass." He walked out the door and ran down the hallway before Mr. Tyler could surface from his desk to give chase.

***

Joe stood several feet back and watched his mother and father demand responses from the nurse sitting behind the front desk in the ER. The frantic movements of his dad's arms and hands seemed out of place. He'd never seen his father lose control; any and all his emotions were always held tight to his chest, a poker player who'd perfected the bluff, the lie, the cheat, making you think what he wanted you to think. His father wiped tears off his face, then leant over the counter and screamed in decibels that turned all heads in the emergency room waiting area. "I want to talk to the damn doctor! Right now! I want to see my son right now!"

Joe held his sister close to his side. He could feel her body shaking. "Let's wait over there." Joe tugged her arm and she remained motionless.

"No." Amber protested.

"Come on Amber. Let them deal with it." Joe took her shoulder and led her to the far end of the waiting area. They sat in the corner on a cold metal bench.

Amber put her head on Joe's chest. "What's happening? Is Chuck dead?"

"Nooo." Joe said. "He'll be fine. Just had an accident."

"What kind? What happened?"

"Something. I don't know. He'll be fine. He always is."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Joe said and brushed her hair back and stroked it several times. He was lying. He knew _the promise_ had been kept, 'Do not contact the police' – or else. A cold nothingness enclosed Joe. He should feel anger, rage, guilt, fear, a hundred other emotions – but he did not even feel numb. Empty of any emotion. That's what death is, void of feeling, of light, of darkness; the end of being – sounds good, preferable. Amber took his hand and squeezed it hard and put her head on his shoulder. _No. Can't die. Can't let go. Can't give up. Have to feel. Have to live._ The rumble of an aging and oft neglected motorcycle caused Joe to cringe.

"Steven's here." Amber said and jumped up and pointed out the window. She ran out the door to greet him.

Steven's high-pitched screaming protest, muffled by the large plate-glass window, should have caused at least a bit of embarrassment to stir in Joe's gut; but he still felt nothing. Then an angry, gruff voice made a threatening command Joe could just hear, "Move that motorcycle, now. You cannot leave it here!"

"I can. It's freakin' fine. I don't have to goddamn move it. It's not in the way. Just shut your damn face." Steven's words bellowed out as the ER door opened and allowed all the sickly and suffering would-be patients to hear every word clearly.

"Move it now or it will disappear. Ambulances unload here. This drive has to be kept clear."

Joe did not want to lay claim to the wild Indian. He buried his head in his hands hoping to disappear. Then he heard Steven voice scream out, "There's plenty of room. Leave me alone or else I'll eff'n ..."

Joe bolted out the entryway. "Good God, Steve. Not here. Shut up." He grabbed Steven's key, pushed him toward the door, apologized to the security guard and quickly moved the motorcycle. When he came back, he found Steven and Amber sitting on chairs the other side of the waiting room laughing and joking. "Stay with Steven, Amber. I'll go see what's going on."

"Give me your phone Joe. I have to check my Facebook. It's so boring here."

"God. You and Facebook. Whatever. But don't be calling anyone. I'm low on minutes."

Joe stood several feet back from his parents as they talked in hushed tones with a young Asian doctor. He didn't know if he should join their solemn huddle; didn't know if he wanted to. He could hear only bits and pieces of the unholy conversation. "Fifteen" or was it fifty? "stitches on the left side." The doctor pointed to his own left cheekbone. "Several lacerations ... Six stitches" or sixty? " ... to the right ... " He patted the back of the right side of his head. "Three fractured ribs ... hemorrhaging ... jaw fractured ... left arm broken in ... surgery for ... possible internal ...." Joe turned and went back to the waiting room.

"Well?" Steven asked.

"Not much. He'll be okay."

"Good." Amber looked up and smiled, then went back to composing a text. She hit send, looked up and said, "Can we see him already?"

"Not yet. Who you talking to?"

"A friend."

"Who? Better be someone you know. You know mom's rules. Give me my phone." Joe reached over and tried to grab his phone.

Amber pulled back and turned around. "No. It's someone that used to go to my school last year. So leave me alone."

"Well? Who is it?"

"Jimmy Reynolds."

Joe laughed. "Nooo. That weird kid with freckles, red hair, a year ahead of you, that one?"

"Yeah." Amber said as she looked at an incoming text.

"I remember him. He played football last year and broke his big toe and cried like a baby. You don't _like_ him, do you?"

"Maybe. So what?"

"Well you shouldn't. Where'd they move to?"

"Dallas."

"Oh yeah? Jimmy Reynolds? You could do better. I suppose it's safe to have a boyfriend four hundred miles away."

"Shut up. He's not a boyfriend. Just a friend."

"Well, tell him you're done and give me my phone. Come on. Give it to me now and just let me tell him." Joe grabbed again for the phone.

Amber leaned further back and said, "Just a sec." She looked at the phone. "Hey, what's the name of that place that Maddie went to? In Arizona or something?"

"It's in Colorado and it's called The Rising Sun Ranch. Why do you want to know?"

"Just do. What'd mom say?"

"Nothing yet. Give me my phone. Now!"

Amber held the phone close to her chest, finished her text, closed the Facebook page and tossed the phone to Joe and said, "I think we should go find mom and dad. I want to see Chuck."

"Me too. Let's go." Steven said and took Amber by the hand. "Com'n Joe?"

"No. You two go. Come and get me if you hear anything." Joe watched Steven and Amber walk to the other side of the waiting room toward the front desk. One thing, there was one thing Joe could be proud of – he saved a life. Yeah, given a wounded warrior hope. He had dared to care and give a crazy Indian a home, a chance, a life. Damaged, never ever ruined. Maybe that's what life's about – to save a life. But his brother, he's couldn't save his brother. _Should have finished the job. Should have murdered the bastard. Now this._ His phone vibrated. He checked the incoming text, from an unknown number:

Should have listened warned U no police

_sorry had to do this evidently didn't_ _quite finish_

job next time will no more police your

_choice 1 more_ _victim or 2_ _more got it? No_

police!"

Joe ran out the door, running back and forth around the surrounding streets. _How does he know?_ _It's not possible. He's got to be around here._ Ten minutes later, he received a text from his mom:

Where R U. Been Looking. Need U here now

Joe entered the lobby. His sister and Steven sat in a far corner of the waiting area. As he walked toward them, his phone vibrated. His heart raced as he looked at the incoming message. _Damn it. Facebook message for Amber. She's addicted to this thing. Should never let her borrow my phone._ He opened his sister's Facebook page and read the private message from her old school friend:

What up? Any word on ur bro? Do U know

when that girl comes back from that ranch?

Wish I could be with you. You're such a good

friend and more. Hope your bro is okay. Reply

soon. Luv ya.

Joe muttered to himself, "Yuck. She's too young to be having a boyfriend. And she doesn't need to be talking to anyone today." He put the phone in his pocket and called out to his sister and Steven, "Come on. Mom and dad's waiting for us."

***

Joe found his parents waiting in the front of the nurses' station in the back corner of the emergency room. He was ready for a verbal lashing for disappearing; it didn't come. The family silently followed a nurse who lead them down a long corridor to a small room; a comfortable room, simple, no thrills, no pictures, no windows, only three plush chairs and a love seat. Joe knew what happened in this room – cruel and solemn news. A doctor would slip into the heartless cubical, position himself or herself on the edge of a chair and then break the news. The professional, well-practiced in the art of putting on the concerned face with the pressed lips and the ever so slight tilt of the head – seasoned, hardened, not really caring, not really invested in this family, that family. Just part of the job. "I'm sorry the news isn't good. We did all we could."

Joe braced himself as they waited for a doctor to come through the door; but no doctor came. It was just his parents, Amber and Steven. Sarah sat between Amber and Joe, with her arms around them. After a few moments of silence, Robert slowly leaned forward in his chair and spoke. "Your brother's been moved to the intensive care unit, where he'll get good care. Chuck's been in a horrible accident ... a horrible thing happened. He was attacked and beaten up ... very badly." Robert stopped and shook his head, pressed his lips together and allowed a tear to trickle down his left cheek.

Joe watched the tear slip down his father's face and fall to the ground. _Emotions. I don't want to feel, to cry. Why do we have to have emotions?_

"Is he gonna die?" Amber asked and clutched her mom's leg.

"No doll. He's not going to die. But he's hurt. Badly."

"Who did it? Why? Why?" Amber whined.

Sarah quietly said, "We don't know who did this. No one saw what happened; at least no one has come forward. The police will find this person and take care of him. And honey, there's no reason why such horrible things happen. Unfortunately, there are crazy people in the world. And sometimes ... sometimes the craziness finds us. We don't deserve it, but it finds us."

"It's not fair. It's not right." Steven said then jerked his head back, banging it against the wall.

Sarah reached over and took Steven's hand. "No it's not. It's not right at all."

Robert continued. "Your brother was beaten with a bat. Probably someone trying to get money." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid, he ... he is in a coma."

"What's that mean?" Amber asked.

Joe wrapped a blanket of nothingness around him; the following words became murmurs that made no sense; words that had no purpose other than to defeat and destroy. He dare not listen and he dare not feel. No reason to have emotions; emotions would make it real, he couldn't let it be real, couldn't let the craziness touch him. The comforting warmth of unconsciousness was what he needed most of all; void of feeling, void of life. Nothingness seems so friendly, so right sometimes. _No. No don't be this way. Don't give in._ _Don't shut down. It's okay to hurt, to morn, to hate, to fear. It's okay to live, to feel, to be._ "I want to go see him. Now."

"No." Sarah said with an almost cruel certainty.

"No Sarah. He needs to. I'll take him." Robert said and stood up.

"I'm going too. I'm going." Amber squealed.

Robert held Amber's cheek in his hand and said, "I'm sorry. You're not allowed doll. You have to be fourteen. They're very strict about that."

"Stupid. That's stupid." Amber said and then sat on Sarah's lap.

As Joe walked toward the ICU, he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. With a hushed voice his dad said, "This will be hard Joe. Very hard. Just be ready."

"I'll be okay, dad. I'm glad you're here."

"Joe, I'm ... I'm sorry. Really sorry for all the years I lost with you, with all of you."

Joe's response was quiet and solemn. "Me too. Me too."

"If I'd been around, this ... well, it would have never happened. Joe, I know that. I'll never forgive myself. And I don't expect you to forgive me."

Joe stopped and looked at his father. He shook his head; the words that came out of his mouth surprised him. "Dad, no. We have to move on. We're family, and we have to ... to make it through this together. Don't blame yourself. It's that bastard's fault. And ... it's my fault. I ... created this. I ..."

"No, Joe. Todd is an evil, crazy man. We just happened to get in his path. Joe, I'm proud of you. So proud."

He looked his father in the eyes. Braxton was right. His hatred had come so easy, his hatred had been so comforting – and so exhausting. But he had to hate – hate his father all these years. To love him, to care, to hope – had been too risky, too dangerous, too hard. What the hell. Do what's hard, what's right. Without daring to love, to care, to hope ... well, that's not really living. Joe embraced his father.

***

When Joe stood and looked at his unrecognizable brother, his body jerked backwards – the swollen head; blue and purple, the size of a basketball, stitches on both sides of the face, hair shaven to the nap of the neck. Joe curled his lower lip under his teeth and shook his head. Suddenly Joe's belly burst with rage, revenge, hatred; any other feelings became useless and unworthy. He took a step forward and gently rested his hand on Chuck's shoulder. He leaned over and whispered in his brother's enflamed and bruised ear, "He won't get away with this. I'll take care of it." Joe stepped back and let suppressed tears have their way; tears releasing his guilt and rage, his fear and hatred, and an unnerving sense of hopelessness. Joe wiped the tears away, then turned around and walked past Robert into the cold and sterile hallway. He wanted to run – run from the horror he just saw. Hate, rage, revenge – he had no choice, no other emotions mattered, he had to embrace these emotions. His back stiffened and his stride quickened. He wanted this determination to soar, to fuel him, to guide him. _How?_ _How will I take care of this?_ He pulled out his phone and typed, "You're the dead man now." He hit send and prayed that Todd would dare show his face.
CHAPTER THIRTY

"Did you do your homework this time?" Marie asked as they walked up a gentle mountain trail.

Majestic, rugged, beauty unparalleled in God's great universe – The Rocky Mountains declare the unstoppable glory of nature, of creation. Maddie took in a slow deep breath, filling her lungs with the healing mountain air. A deep-seated joy, long absent, bolstered this child's wounded spirit. "I did." Maddie said with a cheeky grin. "So there."

"Well done. You got it?" Maddie nodded. "Get it out then. Let's hear it."

They sat on a bench carved out of a fallen tree. She pulled the letter out of her coat pocket. Weeks ago, Maria had given the assignment; write a letter to your abuser, the perpetrator, the demon she had trusted. A so-called therapeutic activity meant to expose shameful garbage hidden in the depths of one's rotting psyche. She thought it a ridiculous idea, a waste of time, a useless project. She finally completed the therapeutic homework, on the second day of her camping venture.

Maddie's voice was slow and deliberate as she began, but became angry and bitter as she continued. "Dear Uncle Billy, I trusted you. Trusted you with my life. You betrayed me. You ruined me. I feel so shamed, so embarrassed, that I really believed it was love, and couldn't see it for what it really was – filthy ugly evil lust. I really believed when you held me, caressed me, when you were inside me, that you loved me. You made me feel special, loved, alive. I wanted you to love me. How stupid and naïve. So easy to see that now. You were, you are, evil. What you did was unspeakable and unthinkable and it has nearly destroyed me and my family It has lead me to hate myself, to doubt myself. What you did has changed my life, taken away my innocence; innocence that can never ever be returned. You damaged my soul, my heart, my whole being. You ruined the perfect life I had. You've made it so hard to trust the world, to trust myself. I hate you with a passion you cannot imagine and it became a hatred I turned on myself. But from this day on, I will no longer let you have that power over me. You damaged me, but you cannot destroy me. I know now, I am better than being your 12-year-old whore.

"I have a question that I have to ask you. A question that has no good answer, but must be asked. Why? Why would you do that to a 12, 13, 14 year old child? Why would you pretend it was love, something real? How could you be so evil? Tell me that.

"I am moving on, becoming a survivor and not your victim. Some say I need to forgive. To hell with them. I pray you burn in hell a million times over. Then maybe I'll think about forgiving you. Some say God can forgive anything. Maybe so. I can't help but pray that he will never forgive you. Shame on you. Shame on you for doing what you did to a young child. From this day on, I refuse to bare any shame and any guilt. You damaged me, but I am still beautiful, still amazing, still loving, still lovable, still worthy, still perfect, still me.

"P.S. Go to hell dear uncle. Go to hell."

Marie clapped her gloved hands. "Great. Well done. So how did that feel?"

"It feels like ... like I'm starting to believe it. Like it's something I can believe."

***

Joe grabbed Steven's shoulder as he mounted his motorcycle. "You're not going to do anything crazy are you? I'll come with you if you want. Why don't you let me come?"

Steven pulled Joe's hand off him. "Sometimes I need you to leave me alone. Just like sometimes you need me to leave you alone. And, there are times Nature wants me be to be with her. What you all don't understand, is that Mother Nature needs us to embrace her, and we need to embrace her. That's what I need to do right now. I'll see you when I see. Your family needs you right now, Joe. Go be with them. I'll be good. And I'll be back." Steven's started his motorcycle and sped off waving his left hand as he raced down the street from Joe's house.

***

Steven barely recognized his old home. The yard had been cleared of all the junk his dad had collected over a lifetime: machines and engines of all sorts he vowed to fix up and sell; scrap metal that never made it to the recycling plant. The doublewide trailer looked clean, fresh, livable, it looked like a home.

Hidden spirits inside Steven's heart and soul stirred; some had long ago lost any desire to thrive. Others refused to die and had been forcefully pushed down, chained – those spirits embodied unspeakable hurts and fears. As he stared at his old home, forgotten and suppressed memories flooded his mind and aroused confused and unsettling emotions. A small child laughing and wrestling with his father in piles of autumn leaves; he and his dad playing catch with a football with frayed laces; he, his mom and dad watching the fiery and glorious end of a summer's day as the sun slid beyond the horizon. "There he goes again. Hiding from us. Why do you think the sun is afraid of us, Steven?" "I think the sun is afraid of the moon papa." Then, the dark and ugly memories surfaced. The drunken parties filled with cruel and senseless laughter, laughter that inevitably turned to cursing and fighting, name-calling, destruction. A child beaten with extension cords until blood seeped through his shirt. The boy who could not understand why his father treated him worse than he treated his dogs. The father who declared hatred for his own existence and would dare to proclaim his child's worthlessness. Intrusive memories so cruel and heartless, so damaging, so damning.

Steven pulled his motorcycle behind some bushes and took his one-man tent and sleeping bag, and climbed across the chain link fence into the woods that had so often protected him, strengthened him, saved him.

***

He sat in the clearing he and his grandfather had painstakingly carved out so long ago, hoping the Little People would make it their home. "Myths, legends, nonsense." His father said after they cleared the ground and surrounded it with rocks. His grandfather patiently replied. "Legends tell us who we are and who we are to be. Legends guide us, strengthen us. Without our legends, we are not a people. You must know and believe. Legends are a sure glimpse into a world greater than we can understand." Grandfather's tears emerged, "My son you have forgotten who you are and who you can be." "Myths, legends. Damn nonsense. Nothing but nonsense!" His dad replied and stomped off cursing under his breathe. Then his grandfather cupped his hand around Steven's neck and looked deep into his eyes and heart, "You father is so full of hatred for the white's man's world and hatred for his own world. Your father has lost hope. He has drowned by the thirst that kills." Grandfather allowed tears to fall freely down his hardened warrior's face. He bent down and pushed his forehead against Steven's. "Do not hate your father. Do not pity him. Pray for him. And never lose sight of who you are, who we are."

As these memories flooded Running Fox's mind and soul, he burst into tears. He had let his grandfather down. He was lost. No, not lost, but running away, always running, refusing to be found – going in and out of hospitals, pushing away anyone who tried to help him, staying angry at the world. He thought he had to run ... to protect himself. "You have a destiny you must run towards." the Little People had told him. "Run fast, run swiftly." _Where? Where is it? I don't know who am I? Why am I? Why bother? It's too late. Doomed. Doomed to be my father's son._ Steven filled his lungs; a screeching and desperate primal scream erupted. "Failed. Eff'd it all up. Become what dad said I was, a useless piece of crap! Too late for anything." A warm breeze touched his face as if trying to wipe his tears away.

"Shame on you Running Fox. Such language indeed." His grandfather's gruff but gentle voice came from behind. "What kind of warrior gives up? You are my grandson. You are Running Fox. You are a warrior by blood. Be who you are."

Running Fox turned around, reached out his right hand and took his grandfather's wrist and squeezed. "Hug me grandfather." The strong arms of unfailing love held him tight. "Never leave me. Never leave me."

"We will never leave you. The Great Spirit will never forsake you. The Savior's eyes will always be on you. Let us sit and tell me, about this family who have given you such a welcome."

As Running Fox talked about Joe and his family, a warmth born of joy and happiness enveloped his heart. "It's like a home, a real home. Sometimes I feel I don't deserve it. Sometimes it feels so ... weird. I want it. But I'm scared grandfather. Scared they really don't want me. Scared it won't last. Scared they'll get tired of me. And I'm scared I'll ruin it, like I always do. Sometimes I just want to run before that happens."

"They have been a gift to you. You are a gift to them. Running Fox, you must be strong. I know they are in much danger. Be ready. Be strong for them."

"What'da mean? What kind of danger? Is it about the brother? Will he be okay? They won't tell me noth'n. I know something more's going on. Tell me. What is it?"

"It's time to sleep. Time for me to go."

"Nooo."

"Sleep. Go to sleep and find the strength that lays hidden in your heart." His grandfather stood and began to walk into the night. He stopped and turned around and nodded. He smiled and said, "Running Fox. Your father. He is well. And he is very proud of you." Grandfather was gone. Running Fox slipped into his sleeping bag. He tried to burn each word, each gesture into his long term memory bank, lest the visit with his grandfather fade into unreality, but sleep came swiftly as an uncanny peace and joy held his heart tight.

***

Steven wormed his way out of his sleeping bag and popped his head out of his tent. The sun had just begun its ascent over the horizon. He slipped his coat on and went to welcome the sun give birth to a new day. The hoot of an owl sent his heart racing and his head spinning. He looked up; a large barn owl perched proudly in a tree to his left. He reached down and grabbed a stone and threw it at the creature. "Go away! Go away! You won't take anyone else. No more dying. You go somewhere else." The large bird batted his eyes, turned his head and flew away. As the bird disappeared behind distant trees, a second owl, pure white, swooped down and landed on a limb directly above Steven. As Steven looked up, the creature's head swirled back and forth, then as he looked down, his huge eyes flickered. An odd sense of calm suddenly embraced Steven; he nodded and the bird flew away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Guilt – always ugly, always demanding, always relentless. There has to be guilt and this cruel monster can only be satisfied by one thing; sacrifice, the appeasement for the failure, the mistake ... the sin. In September, Joe had pronounced his judgment. He had taken a life and taking his own was the only way to satisfy the monster that threatened to destroy him. But he only _thought_ he had taken a life. That guilt and his failed attempt of appeasement were wasted, was foolish. However, now he had to accept a new pronouncement of guilt; his brother in the hospital, close to death, perhaps maimed forever.

Joe sat by his bedroom window, staring out into a dark and lifeless street. It was two AM. His imagination created unwanted scenes of someone else he loved being hurt, murdered, dying a senseless and horrible death. He could feel the crippling grief others would have to endure, grief he would be responsible for. _It's up to me. I have to stop him. How? How? It's like he knows everything. He's trying to play God. How? How does he know?_ Joe leaned his forehead on the cold windowpane. _He knows everything; my friends, Steven, Maddie. Knows where she is. Knows the police were called. Like he's watching, everything. Everything._ Nerves in Joe's neck sent an electric shock down his spine causing his body to shudder. He stared out the window. _He's watching_. _He's watching everything_. Then it hit; the thought, the realization. His heart constricted. His chest felt heavy. He could barely breathe. He went to his computer and logged into to his sister's Facebook account. There it was, in her private messages with her old school friend Jimmy; hundreds of messages, back and forth. Amber had told him everything. _Everything he knows, it's here._ _He's been using Amber. Goddamn him. This is just a game to him._ He sent a private message:

u up? can't sleep. worried about chuck.

Joe waited for a reply as he again read the messages sent back and forth over the past three months. Subtle and sick flirtations to which his sister had replied to with more and more excited and heartfelt responses. _The bastard._

A reply came:

Can't sleep either. How's your bro? They

know who did it?

Joe replied:

about same. police dont kw nthing. joe think

ex step dad did it. but he wouldn't ever do that.

The next came quickly.

I remember him. He was okay. Hey did u find

out when that gf of Joe is coming home?

Joe's jaw clenched tight as he continued the charade.

he don't know. why u wnt ta know?

As Joe pressed send, he said to himself, "Nooo. Got to be more subtle." A text came back:

No reason. Just wondering. Sure it's not his

GF?

don't think so. He don't tlk bout it w me.

Think he likes her???

Joe hesitated and shook his head:

probably not. he never talks about her.

You said he was always talking about her.

Ran off with her Xmas day. Ruined your

xmas.

Joe typed in, "I lied." _No wait. Wait_ Joe hit the backspace and retyped his message:

not since she went away. mom said we are

going to have to go to a hotel. they don't

feel safe here. Must be something going on they

won't tell me. I think they're afraid of my step

dad. they crazy sometimes.

The next text was slower in coming. It read:

Yeah. Where you going, a hotel in F'ville?

don't know. better go to bed

OHHH. I miss u. Can't wait to see u again.

U still going be my GF?

"Goddamn bastard. Screw him." Joe's stomach turned inside out. He took a breath then typed his message:

don't know. maybe

The response came.

Don't tease like that

"Enough of this."

got to go by

Love you lots and lots

"Oh my God, flippin' pervert." Joe felt nauseous as he hit send on his last text:

_love ya to, talk soooon, can't wait_.

Joe changed Amber's password and shut the computer off. "She's done with Facebook. She'll go ballistic. Oh well. What hotel? Yeah. Lure him in. I should call the police. No. This _is_ my fight." Joe went to bed. Schemes raced through his brain, plans for every possible scenario being mapped out. His guilt would be appeased.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A day later Joe stood by Chuck's bed; his shallow and labored breaths were so feeble, like someone giving up. Joe took his brother's hand, leaned forward and whispered. "I'm going to get him. Whatever it takes, I'll take care of him. Can you hear me? You won't believe this. He's been talking to Amber on Facebook, pretending to be some school friend, one who moved away last year. I'm gonna find him. He wants to play games. I'll play his game. Do you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you do." Chuck's hand remained cold and lifeless. Joe squeezed his brother's hand gently. Suddenly Chuck's body jerked slightly and the steady beeps of the monitors stopped. Then a steady heart-piercing high-pitched hum echoed in the small sterile cubical. "Something's wrong. Something's happened! Someone! He needs help!" Joe screamed.

Three nurses appeared. One grabble Joe's arm, pulling him hard, she said. "I'm sorry you need to leave."

"No. Leave me alone."

"You need to let us help him." She pulled harder and pushed him from behind. "Call you parents. We'll find you when things settle down here."

"Code Blue. CCU. Code Blue. CCU." The overhead announcement was calm and indifferent, and unnoticed by Joe as he stumbled his way into the busy corridor. Even the human beings walking past him seemed mere apparitions fading into darkness. He never remembered phoning his mom, then dad, and was surprised when they soon arrived with Amber. In a merciful numbness, he sat with his family in the waiting room. It was nearly an hour before a doctor ushered them into what he called, "a more private setting." The place where loved ones hear the pronouncement that would change all their tomorrows, the hated and cruel words, "I'm so sorry, we did all we could." Words declaring death is real and affirming that life is both sacred and fragile and never to be taken for granted.

"I am sorry. We did all we could. His injuries were too ..." A numbness enveloped Joe as the doctor's words flowed out smoothly, even kindly. These were words he would not accept, believe, would not hear. Even the sobs of his mother and sister where muffled, nearly non-existent. Surreal; a moment that cannot exist when you are seventeen. When life is supposed to be easy, when youth never dies, never fades – is always strong, invincible, alive.

***

Joe's grandparents were at their house when they returned home. Their hugs and tears offered no comfort. They just seemed an intrusion to Joe. After sitting shrouded in unbearable silence for an hour around the kitchen table, Joe stood up and announced, "Mom. I'm going out for a bit. I need to find Steven. I need to ... he needs to know."

Sarah reached for his hand and entwined her fingers with his. "No. You're going to stay here with us. We need to be a family now."

Joe rubbed his mom's shoulder. "I know we do. I won't be long, promise. Steven needs to know. Needs to be here."

"I ... No. You stay here. I don't ..."

The quiver in his mom's voice stirred his ever-lingering guilt he had determined he would appease. Before he could respond, Amber's voice rang out as she walked into the kitchen. "Mom! Something's wrong with my Facebook. It won't take my password! I need to get on. This is ..."

"Amber! Not now. Forget about that right now. Not a word more about it." Mom's anger, fueled by a million emotions just below the surface, hit Amber hard; his sister burst into tears.

Joe put his hands on Amber's shoulder and said, "It's okay Amber. You don't need to be on the computer now. Go sit with grandma. Don't worry about it." Amber moaned and muttered something under her breath then left the kitchen. Joe went and embraced his mother. Her hands shook, her lips trembled, and tears fell freely.

Robert came into the kitchen. "What's wrong? Sorry. Dumb question. We can all cry as much as we need to."

"Tell Joe to stay here. He wants to leave. I don't trust him. I'm sorry Joe. I'm worried you might ... Just stay here for us."

"I won't do anything mom. I won't ever do that again, you know that. Dad, I really need to find Steven. I won't be gone long."

"Back before dark?" Robert said.

"Yeah. Before dark. No problem."

***

"Steven!" Joe shouted as he reached the clearing. "We need you to come home."

"Geez. crap. You scared me, man." Steven pointed at Joe and nodded his head. "You need me. I ... I know you need me." Steven finished rolling up his sleeping bag and turned around. He looked at Joe, then hung his head down. A tear slid down his right cheek. "It's Chuck, isn't it?"

Steven got up. He cupped Joe's head in his hands, pulled his forehead down and pressed it against his. "No. This can't happen. It isn't right. Bad things shouldn't never happen. But ... but they do. And we still have to live on Joe. We still have to live on. Let's go home. You need to be home."

Joe felt his knees wobble. "Not yet. I'm not ready. I'll ... Hell, I'll never be ready." He sat on the fallen tree and his hand started shaking. Suddenly a damn burst and tears streamed uncontrollably down Joe's face. Steven sat down and wrapped his arms around him; Joe buried his head on Steven's shoulder. His tears seemed to take on a life of their own – he could only let them come until his chest was near collapse and his eyes burned and refused to open. When his sobs finally retreated, he pulled back from Steven and muttered, "Geez. Sorry."

"God. Don't be stupid. Noth'n to be sorry about." Steven wiped his own tears away with the sleeve of his coat.

Joe looked away and said. "It's my fault you know. This is all my fault."

"Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Don't talk crazy, man. It's some crazy guy's fault. There's way too many crazy people. It's a scary crazy world. I'd stay here, in this place forever if I could. Hey, maybe we should just go back to St. Jimmy's, the psyche unit. We'll live there. It's safe there."

"It's not over. And it's my fault."

"I know you're in danger. Something more is going to happen and I know I'm going to help you."

"Those Little People talking to you again. Geeze."

"Shhhh. I told you, they don't like people talking about them. Especially white people. You mustn't talk about them, not here or anywhere."

"It's good to know you're still crazy. But you're in danger too." Joe told him everything; the threats, the promise, the madman's determination for revenge, for some sort of crazed and perverted justice. His phone vibrated just as he finished.

"We'll get him, Joe. We'll get him."

"Yeah. But _I_ will. No _we_ to it. I don't know when. But I will deal with him _._ " Joe glanced at his phone. "It's mom." He sent a text back:

_am fine don't worry hm soon._ _with steve now._

He stood up. "Let's go it's getting dark."

Another intrusive vibration. Text from Mom:

Ur sister's thinks you changed her FBook

pw.

Joe texted back:

I did. don't let her get on. she's been talking

to Todd and didn't know. don't tell

her that, not now.

Judith's next text read:

WHAT!

true, pretended to be some kid named jimmy.

Joe shook his phone at Steven. "I'm gonna turn this off. Shouldn't have told her that on a text." Vibration. "Shoot, this can go on forever." Joe looked at his phone, 'Private Facebook message.' He opened his sister's account.

Hey poo bear. How's ur bro today.

Joe's stomach turned over. His head pounded, his chest felt like it was twisting out of place.

"You okay Joe? Geez. What'd she say?"

"It's him. Todd. Screw him." Joe responded with a text:

screw you todd. he's dead. go to hell.

A text came back.

Well Joe. Thought it was you last night,

trying to pass yourself off as your sister.

Naughty you. Pity about Chuck. Sorry it came to

that, I was kind of hoping he would pull

through. Well I am nearly at Colorado Springs

Hard lessons teach you much Joe. Hope you

learn from this. Poor Maddie. She's such a cute

kid. I am sorry to be a man of my word but I

_must finish what I promised_.

Joe's fingers shook as he composed his response.

_leave her alone. ill kill you_.

Todd's reply came quickly _:_

_So so scared_.

Steven tried to grab the phone. "What's he saying?"

Joe spun around. He shouted, "Not now. Hold on." He sent his reply.

You're bluffing.

Vibration.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I'm outside your

house right now.

Joe responded.

Wish you were. You're not that stupid.

He waited for a reply. Vibration. "Crap. Goddamn him." Joe legs wobbled, he sat on log and looked up at Steven and said, "Bastard says he's in Colorado. Going after Maddie."

"We got to go. Go save her." Steven said. "Let's go. We have to go now."

Joe fumbled as he composed a text.

your bluffing. bastrd.

The reply was immediate.

Maybe am bluffing, maybe not. I'll say this much. I never planned to

see you again. But I will die knowing you learned your lesson.

You're sick.

Just determined Joe, just determined. Got to go. Getting close to Denver now.

"Steven. You're right. We have to go to Colorado. We have to go now."

"Yip. Let's go."

With Steven's motorcycle strapped down in the back of Joe's truck, they headed toward I-540. "Text mom. Tell her I'm going to camp out with you tonight. No. Ask her. If I can."

Steven sent the text and waited. "She said, 'No, get your butt home.' What should I say?"

"Tell her I really want to and I'll be okay.

"She said, 'Just come home now,' with lots of those exclamation thingies."

"Heck. Tell her I'm sorry and I just can't come home yet. Tell her I'll talk later and I'll tell her what's going on and ... text her... that I'm sorry. Then turn the phone off, and take the battery out. I don't want them tracking us." Joe turned on US-412 and set the cruise control on 85. He kept taking deep slow breaths, filling his lungs again and again, demanding his body and brain relax. _For Chuck. Got to do this for Chuck ... and got to save Maddie. Got to._
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A hard jab to Joe's shoulder made his whole body jerk. "What the hell?"

Steven giggled and said, "Gotta make sure you're awake. Now, how we gonna save her? Hey, we'll be like those shining knights in armor, swooping in and saving her. And you'll kiss her and we'll drive home into the sunset and live ... what do they say? Happy freakin' forever after. Yip, happy forever. But what'a we gonna do to save her? What's the plan? Do you even know where we're going? But ... hell, what if we're too late, Joe? No, can't be too late. It's my destiny, it's my gift, to save her. Geez. I need to pee. Don't we need gas? And I'm hungry as a rabid bull. We need to stop. Then let me drive for a while. God! Another four hundred miles! I gotta pee."

"Do you ever shut up? We're over half way there. Should get us there around six. Turn the phone back on and Google 'Rising Sun Ranch,' in Colorado. We need the address for the navigator app. And no, I don't have a plan. I'm trying ... I'm trying to think like he would be thinking, what he would be planning.

"Yeah and what's that?"

"Dunno."

"Lot of good you are white boy. Here's what we'll do. We'll use the baseball bats you got in here. Yeah. Next best things to a knight's sword. We'll crack his head open." Steven slammed his fist on the dashboard. "Like that. Just like that. Hey. I _need_ to pee."

Ten minutes later, Joe pulled into a gas station just outside of Wichita. Joe gave Steven his credit card; the one to be used for emergencies only or risk losing the truck forever. "Tell them we want to fill it up and get some junk to eat." Steven took the piece of plastic with great care and rather wide eyed, as if he had never seen a credit card before. Joe looked at the messages on his phone; thirty-six texts and twenty missed calls. No message alerts from Facebook. He took a deep breath. _Can't do this to them. This is crazy. Shouldn't be doing this. But .... there's no choice. No choice._ He phoned his dad's cell.

"Joe? Where the hell are you? What in God's name are you up to?"

"It's just something I have to do. And I can't explain. Not right now."

"Where are you?"

"Nowhere. I'm with Steven. We'll be home sometime tomorrow. I just have to do something. I'm sorry but I have to do this. Tell mom I'm ... we're fine." Joe choked on a rush of emotions heaving in his gut. His voice trembled and his words barely came out. "God, I'm sorry. Sorry about everything. It's all my fault. Can you ever forgive ..." No more words would come.

"Don't say that. Okay. Listen. I don't know what you're up to. But I'll trust you in this. Your mother's taken some pills to try to cope. She'll be out till morning. But Joe, you'd better be back home by then. Your mom can't handle much more. Joe, should I call the police? You need to tell me what's going on."

"I don't know. No. No dad. There's no point. I'll call later. And dad, thanks ... thanks for being there."

"I love you."

"I ... I love ya too. I do."

***

Joe's head hit the passenger side window and his heart skipped a beat as the truck swerved to the left. He grabbed the wheel and jerked it down. "Damn it! What'da doing? Flippin' hell, you fell asleep, goddamn it."

"Well yeah. It's like three AM. Why shouldn't I?"

Joe punched Steven's arm. "Uh? Cause you're driving." Joe took in a deep breath trying to steady the shot of adrenaline charging his heart. "Pull over. Let me drive. You're gonna get us killed."

"Oh yeah. I'm okay now. Wide-awake. Had a nice little nap."

"Pull over now."

"Na. Another fifty miles. I'm good. Just talk. Keep me awake. I know. Ask me some questions. What do you want to know? Anything. Then I get to ask you questions."

"Geez. No thanks. Not a game I want to play." Joe put his head back and closed his eyes. Horrific images of his brother flashed through his mind; Chuck's bashed and battered head, him taking his last breathe, scenes of his brother being beaten. Then images of Maddie being attacked with him there watching, there too late. "Damn it. Pull over. Just let me drive."

"No. Forty-eight more miles. Come on. Anything. Ask me."

Joe groaned. "Whatever. Okay. Little People do you really believe you see them? Or is it just your imagination? Or you just like acting crazy? What's the truth?"

Steven slapped the steering wheel. "I told you they don't like you talking about them. And we should never talk about them when it's dark. They really hate that for some reason."

"You really believe it don't you?"

Steven shook his head wildly, throwing his ponytail back and forth. Then he heaved his head hard against the headrest. "It' ain't about believing, Joe, it's about knowing. I told you before, you stupid white people just don't get things. You just want to believe what you see, what you can take apart and put back together. The world is a wild ... a ... a mysterious place. Indians understand that and respect that and ... we honor a world you just don't understand. We're in tune with mysteries, things ya'll miss. Now, Little People aren't really people, like you and me. I suppose they're not really human. They're more like ... like spiritual beings. It's a very spiritual world. There are things all around us we don't see, don't understand. Little People will help you sometimes. They can be mean too. They're kind'a unpredictable. A lot of them, they like to tease. I've had em stick their little bitty fingers in my ear when I'm sleeping."

"Come on. Steve." Joe shook his head. He started to pronounce Steven crazy yet again, but caught himself. _So naïve. How can someone be so naïve._ "You don't really believe that?"

Steven pounded the steering wheel with his right hand as he shouted. "Just ... just go to hell you stupid idiot! Why do you have to judge what you don't understand?"

"I'm sorry. You're right." Joe pictured long haired fairies flying around. He laughed saying, "So they're kind 'a like fairies. Mischievous little pixies."

"No stupid. Angels. They're kind'a like angels. You believe in angels don't you?"

Angels? When he was little he believed in angels. But back then, well, Christmas was real, and Christmas had to have angels, so you had to be believe in angels when you six. Angels. His mother often told him the story of an angel coming to her, just before her grandmother, who had raised her, died in a car accident. The angel whispered to her, "Don't worry, your nana will be fine, she's coming home." Another story he liked to believe when he was young. It seemed so naïve now. _Maybe better to be naïve than to be cynical_. He said, "I don't know. Maybe."

"You should. They've helped me, when I really needed it, was really lost. So ask me another question."

"Okay. Steven, what do you want to do? I mean with your life. What do you want to be?"

"When I'm all growed up?"

"Yeah."

"I want to be a therapist. Help people. Work in a hospital with kids. Or maybe work with druggies and winos. Especially with Indians, they need lots of help. Yip. I'm going to college and be somebody. You know, I don't know one Indian that's gone to college. That's what I'm gonna do, go to college and help people, save people; that's my gift."

Joe looked at Steven. His face looked so much like a young child; he still had to remind himself that Steven was sixteen. Joe's heart seemed to change somehow as Steven talked; he felt what may have been envy, or maybe it was a sense of awe. _He's gone through so much and still so innocent, so childlike. No, it's more than that. What is it? It's a crazy hope he holds onto. How can he have so much hope when he has no reason to have it? Geez, with what he's been through, what a shitty life, and he still ... Hope, that's something I've lost._ Joe swatted Steven's arm and said, "That's cool, real cool. You can do that."

"And something I want to do, gonna do ... is dance. Yip, Indian dances, at Pow-wows. The Fancy Dance, I want to learn that. And I'll be a great dancer. I'll get respect and ... be admired at the Pow-wows, like my grandfather was." Steven stopped and took in a slow breath, filling his lungs, he nodded and seemed to be imagining himself dancing at a Pow Wow. Suddenly, he slapped Joe's knee and said, "Hey, we can all go ... to a Pow-wow, the three of us. I'll take you to a Pow-wow and you will watch me dance."

"That'd be cool. Real cool. Yeah, we'll do that."

"Promise?"

"Sure. I promise."

"Okay. My turn. My question. Do you love Maddie?"

"Damn it. Leave out."

Steven shook his head, the swatted Joe's shoulder. "Well?"

Joe rubbed his hand through his hair, then looked out the side window. "No I don't love Maddie, not like that anyway. I don't even like her like that. She's a good friend, that all. That's a stupid question." Joe looked back at Steven and emphatically stated, "No, I don't love her."

Steven laughed, an unexpected belly laugh. "Huh, you're so wrong. Don't be lying. You _like_ her and you do _love_ her. I think you're just afraid she won't love you."

Anger shot through Joe's body. His chest tightened and the muscles in the back of his neck felt like they were burning. He bit his lower lip. _This kid dares to tell me what I think and feel._ He took a breath and tried to pronounce his words slowly, to muffle the depth of his anger. "Hey. Shut up. Don't try and tell me what's going on inside me. I don't love her. So shut up." In the hidden depths of his soul, Joe knew Steven was right – but he could never give words to that hidden and frightful feeling, that wonderful, exotic and overwhelming emotion people call love. To talk about his feelings toward her, to give his hidden yearning words would only encourage his heart to believe foolish fantasies. "She's a friend. I don't love her like that. Alright?"

Steven honked the horn as he said, "Yes you do. And she loves you."

_Enough._ _Shut up already._ Joe let out a faint growl and said, "Whatever. You got another question or not?"

"Yeah. Have you forgiven your dad yet?"

"I think so."

"I think so? That's a yes or no question. Yes or no?"

"I guess."

Steven blew the horn again. "Yes or no. You have or you haven't."

Annoying. Steven could be so annoying. This game had become tedious, his response was curt. "I tell you what. I don't know what it means to forgive. No. To be honest, I can't forget what he did. I know he's trying now. And I ... I want to trust him. I'm trying to trust him. But he's still that person that ran off. I can't trust him. No matter how hard he's trying to be a father. I guess, maybe he still has to earn forgiveness _." Another stupid question. What is forgiveness? Forgetting? Letting go?_ _Saying it's all right? Trusting? What if he leaves tomorrow, next week, next year? What if he cheats on mom again? Just can't trust him. Guess that means I haven't forgiven him._

Steven's voice became somewhat squeaky but very irritating. "Earn it? You can't earn forgiveness. You give it because ... well, just because. Like Jesus forgives us, not because we deserve it, but because he loves us. We tell him we messed it up to hell and back, then he forgives us and we move on and try to do better. So you should forgive you dad, and move on and let him be your dad."

"I'm trying. But what if he screws up again? I'd just hate him all the more."

"So what. We'll all screw up again and again, Joe. That's life. You got to be ready for it. But when we don't forgive, we just hurt ourselves. You know, hate hurts us more than it hurts anyone else. Yeah, hating just destroys us and nobody else. So, just forgive him."

_Enough already._ "I am trying to, Steve. But what about you? You can't tell me you've forgiven your dad. After everything he did to you ... how he abused you."

Steven's words came out slowly. "I forgave him every time he hurt me. He was always my dad and he did the best he could. He was a sick man, Joe. A sick man. And now he's gone. Forever." The last word barely surfaced. Steven then shook his head and said, "But that's okay. It's okay Joe, he's doing good now. He's good now. I'm tired. You drive. Your turn."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"Maddie? You with us this morning?"

Marie's question jolted Maddie, interrupting her thoughts of home: sleeping in her king-sized bed overflowing with two dozen stuffed animals that never stopped smiling at her; playing the grand piano in their living room, a room full of memories of a life that was once so perfect; eating roast beef dinner with her parents on Sunday; telling them exaggerated stories about her friends and enemies at school. And now she imagined sharing hopes and dreams that her new life, her new birth, now promised. To be home and able to prove that things are different, that she is different, changed, new, reborn. No more pretense. No more spreading toxic waste on those she loves the most. No more trying to prove she was worthless, unlovable. "Sorry. Yeah. What was the question?"

"There she goes, dreaming again. She's such a dreamer." Natalie said and laughed. The other six girls in the group therapy session snickered.

Marie tilted her head toward Natalie in a disapproving manner. "Nothing wrong with having dreams, Natalie. We all need our dreams."

"Not in group. It's like she doesn't take this serious." The fourteen year old snapped back and rolled her eyes.

Maddie had tried not to hate Natalie, but it was hard. _She's so immature. Such an idiot. I was probably like that when I was ... eight._ "I take it seriously. I don't just say what I _think_ they want to hear, like some." Maddie mimicked Natalie's expression and rolled her eyes. _Damn. Shouldn't have said that, done that. Reduce myself to her level._ She waited for Marie's rebuke.

"Okay girls. You've been here long enough to know better. Focus on yourselves. Stop the cattiness. Maddie, stay focused. The question is, what is the biggest fear you have, one that would keep you from becoming the person you want to be? Can be?"

"I don't know. I have lots of fears."

"The biggest one. The one you still need to face ... before you go home."

"Used to be, that I don't deserve to ... to be loved. But now? Maybe ... I'm afraid my parents won't believe in me, that I've changed. But no ... " Maddie looked down at her feet, her stomach twisted; she felt a need to cry. She took a quick breath and gave words to her fear. "I think my biggest fear is that no one will ever love me. That if they know me, what happened to me, the things I've done ... well, they could never love me."

Marie responded with a slight smile – that caring and comforting turn of the lips somehow made Maddie feel safe. "That's a powerful fear we have when we've been abused. How would that fear keep you from being successful when you go home?"

Maddie glanced at her therapist and shook her head, then fastened her eyes back on her feet. "I don't know ... it'll ... keep me from taking risks. Letting people in. It would keep me from giving people a chance. Keep me from reaching out. Keep me from giving and receiving."

Marie nodded. "Yeah. Very good. Think of a situation where you're gonna need to let someone in, take that chance to be who you are, let them know you."

"There's someone I've been pushing away and don't want to. He's know everything about me ... but I still ... I just don't feel safe."

"You still feel you don't deserve it." Sandy said. The short, but very confident Black girl from Los Angeles was one of the few girls Maddie felt comfortable with at the ranch.

"Maybe a little. But not really. It's more that ..."

"I'm sorry you need to leave." The booming voice of the program director echoed from the parking lot. The girls turned and looked out the large bay window.

"Guys. Come on, turn around. Focus. Nothing for us to worry about." Marie got up and stood in front of the window and with both hands motioned the group to look the other way.

Daniel, one of the male residents, rushed through the room's double doors and said, "Marie, there's a guy's asking for Maddie." He looked toward Maddie. "Says he's your uncle and wants to see you. Said you wrote him a letter and wanted to see him."

The room swayed. Maddie grabbed the side of her chair; her head began to swirl. No coherent thoughts, only flashes, ugly images – his body on her, his deep heavy breaths, his groans, the sounds of unwanted and wanted sex. "Maddie! Maddie is that your uncle?" Marie's voice was a million miles away. "Maddie?" Marie's hand was on her shoulder.

"What? I ... I don't know." She got up and peered through the side of the large bay window; her eyes slowly shifted from the distant snow covered Rockies to the parking lot. She spoke in a staccato monotone, as if trying to convince herself her words were the right ones. "No. That's not my uncle. I don't know who that is."

The man glanced at the window as the five girls stood staring wide-eyed through the window. Then each turned and fixed their eyes on Maddie; she turned quickly and pushed her back against the wall. Slowly she said, "No. I don't know him." She turned, glanced out the window again and saw the stranger salute the director, turn and walk toward his car.

"Some crazy guy want'n you Maddie. You must a told him you were here. Why'd you do that? That's so stupid." Natalie said and pushed Maddie's left shoulder. She fell back across the arm of a leather couch next to the window.

"Shut up. This is nothing to do with me! And don't ever touch me again, Natalie!" Maddie let herself lie on the couch. _God everything's my fault. Stupid idiot. I hate her._

Without warning, the doors burst open and slammed against the walls. "I need Maddie. Maddie Banister." All the girls' eyes glanced Maddie's way.

Marie stepped in front of the man. "You can't be here. You'll need to leave, sir." Todd swung his right arm full force and struck Marie on the side of her head. She tumbled across folding chairs circled for the group therapy session. The girls scattered as their high-pitched screams echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Todd looked at Maddie. She curled up on the sofa. He smiled.

Maddie quickly slid her legs toward the floor and attempted to stand, but her knees buckled and she stumbled back into the plush sofa. She buried her knees in her chest and pushed herself back into the soft leather. "Leave me alone. Who are you? What'd you want? Leave me alone." As he approached, Maddie thrashed her legs wildly.

Todd caught her left leg. "None of that. I just need to have a talk with you." He yanked her off the couch and her back hit the hardwood floor with a loud thud. "Careful now. Just come with me for a minute. You'll be fine."

"Nooo!" Maddie screamed, kicking at his legs and waist.

Natalie jumped on Todd's back. He reached around and grabbed her hair and yanked; the small framed girl flew toward the window crashing her head against it. Todd unzipped his jacket, pulled out a Beretta 9mm sub-compact pistol, which at glance looked like a toy gun. He pointed the gun toward Marie who was struggling to get up. The gun cracked, piercing Maddie's ears. She saw her counselor fall face first onto the floor. Todd spoke with a calm, reassuring tone. "Don't get up miss, or one of these will surely die." He pulled the trigger again and sent a bullet over the head of the screaming girls. "Now, I'm not here to hurt anybody. Maddie dear, just come with me and your friends will be just fine. Everything will be just fine." Todd pointed the pistol toward Natalie. He looked Maddie in the eyes, smiled, nodded and clasped Maddie's right arm. Maddie pulled her arm back trying to twist it lose. He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head; and causally aimed the gun at Natalie's forehead. "Please, don't make me do this."

Maddie's throat constricted, two words barely surfaced, "No. Don't." She nodded. Todd pulled her to her feet. Her body limp, heart beating out of control, stomach heaving – unreal, a nightmare that would suddenly end as all nightmares promise to do. As she stumbled toward the door, a resignation, an acceptance of evil, of fate, encompassed her. Wordless prayers were willed to a God she knew was there, but had always feared this God never really cared much about her. But in that moment, a strange assurance enveloped her; there is a Creator who cares, who knows, who's here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"Never ever seen mountains like this. These are like big, huge. Nothing like the Ozarks, is it? And these roads, noth'n but circles. Hey, you sure we ain't lost? Damn GPS thingies. I'm ... Oh hell. Joe. I'm starting to feel sick." Steven put his head between his knees as Joe's truck crested another summit and headed down another winding road toward a sprawling valley.

"I trust it. Google maps won't let us down." Joe glanced at his phone. "Should be a road going off the left just before we get to the bottom of the valley. You okay?"

"Hell no. Feel like I'm gonna ... No. Geez. I'm gonna throw up."

Joe whacked Steven on the arm. "Not in my truck. I'll beat the living snot out of you if you do."

"Stop the truck! Let me out! I'll just walk. I don't think I like mountains at all." Steven rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

"You'll be alright. Nearly there. See. There, that must be it. Should be just down this road. Look for a sign. There must be a sign." The truck neared the bottom of a seemingly endless incline. "No signs. Got to be down this one, this road." Joe turned on narrow path lined by mature pine trees that formed a dark forbidding green canopy, and refused the morning sunlight any time or space.

Steven's stomach heaved; newly digested burgers and fries covered the side of the white truck. He coughed and spit glops of food and gunk out of his mouth. Slowly, he pulled his head into the cab and moaned, "I think I'm dying. I'm going pass out. Freak'n hell. I'm gonna die before we even get there. Oh my God! It's coming again." Steven stuck his head out the window.

"You're not dying. You're just carsick. You'll be fine once we stop. Quit moaning. We're just about there. I think. I hope." The truck rounded another turn as Steven heaved again. "See. This is it. Not big on signs are they? Look. 'Rising Sun Ranch. Private Property, no through road.' We made it." Joe pulled off the road just before the drive and nestled the truck behind a row of small fern trees "We'll walk from here." He jumped out of the truck. "Move your ass already."

Steven's door slowly opened. He eased one leg down to the ground, when his second foot hit the ground, he collapsed. Joe helped him up. Two steps later, he collapsed again. He groaned, "I'll be dead shortly. Go. Just go. Without me."

"Jesus. We don't have time for this. Com'on."

"I told you, just ..." Steven slipped to his knees, threw up, wiped vomit off his lips and said, "Go on already."

"Okay. Okay. Stay here. I'll see what's going on. Just stay here."

Joe hurried across an indistinct path, well hidden by the dense forest. _Hope this is right. God, I hope it's right_. Random thoughts began racing through his brain: _What am I doing here? This is crazy. Be grounded forever now. Lose my truck. Parents will never forgive this. God, they'll be sick with worry. Hell, Todd's probably bluffing. Yeah, wasted trip. God, what am I supposed to do if he is here? Shake my finger at him and tell him to go away. Heck, I'll just get arrested for trespassing, that's all that's gonna happen. She's probably fine. I'm sure she's fine. This is just crazy._ A distant firecracker-like pop halted intrusive thoughts. His heart felt like a knife plunged deep into its center. Then all thoughts stopped; he started running – dodging trees and jumping over underbrush and fallen limbs.

A moment later, more firecracker like pops rang out. O _h my God, must be gunshots. Which way? To the left. No right. No left._ He stopped and listened. _God,_ _which way?_ Another gunshot. _Left. Go left_. He made his way, grabbing on to trees and rocks to pull himself up a steep incline. _Too late. Too freakin' late._

***

Maddie felt Todd's relentless grip digging deep into her wrist as he held her arm behind her back. The cool metal of his revolver pressed into the small of her back as he forced her toward a well-used hiker's trail on the far side of the parking lot. As they reached the foot of the trail he stopped, fired his gun once aiming it toward the main lodge. Pulling a zip-tie out of his pocket, he yanked Maddie's left arm downward. "Hold still. Now give me your other arm." Todd's words should have been harsh, demanding, crazed; but they were controlled, confident – eerily comforting. "You can trust me." He squeezed her left arm tighter. Maddie slipped her right arm slowly behind her back. Todd bound her wrist together. "Not too tight I hope."

_Not too tight? Why's he doing this? Crazy. He's crazy. This isn't real. God. God._ Her ears rang as the shock wave of three more gunshots rang out. He jerked her shoulder hard and thrust her forward; she stumbled and was quickly yanked up and shoved all the harder up the rising trail. "We have to hurry now. We haven't much time. Just a bit further. We'll find a nice view."

"What are you doing? What do you want. Who are you?"

His words now came out quickly, with a sense of urgency. "Joe Kline. He's my stepson. This is about him. Nothing to do with you. It's unfortunate to make you a part of this. But a lesson must be taught." He increased his pace causing her to stumble again.

Maddie tried to speak slowly, trying to show the lunatic she wasn't scared; but her words came out faster with each sentence. "What are you talking about? You said you wouldn't hurt me. I believe you. Just let me go. Joe's a thousand miles away. What's it have to do with me? You can't get away with this. Just let me go. You'll just end up in prison."

Todd's grip tightened. "I know exactly where I'm going. And I lied. I am sorry. But I did lie." She felt his fingers dig deeper into her skin; she nearly fell as he pushed her forward. "Not much time. I was hoping ... well just maybe. But it doesn't matter." He increased his pace. "Oh good. This looks perfect. Just up there. That will do. Oh yes, such a beautiful view. No place in the world like the Rockies, is there?" He pushed her further up the incline until they reached a small clearing overlooking a valley with a snow-covered peak in the distance.

When Maddie felt his grip loosen slightly, she jerked her arm to right and then left and threw her legs up. As she started to fall, Todd slipped his arms under hers and lifted her up; she could feel the barrel of the gun under her chin. "Now, now. We have to be careful here." He carried her forward a few more paces, then threw her on the ground. "There. Take a deep breath. Oh my. Will you look at that scenery? Nothing in the world like it. This is a good place. A very good place. Let's enjoy the view for a few quiet moments, shall we?"

"Just let me go. Nothing will happen to you. Just let me go."

"Oh, I wish I could. I do."

"Let her go Todd! This has nothing to do with her. You can let her go. This is about you and me. Right? Let her go and then do whatever you want with me." Joe's voice boomed across the rock and stone of the steep mountainside surrounding the well-used path.

When Joe's voiced bellowed out, Maddie, for some reason, was not surprised. _Safe now_. _The nightmare will end._ She struggled to get up. Todd pushed her down. _Lay down. Roll. Roll_. She flopped on the ground, kicked her shoulder up and over and started rolling down the incline. Another crack of the gun. "Noooo!" Maddie shrieked. She jerked her shoulders again and her body rolled to the side of the path and stopped. She looked around for Joe. She knew he'd been shot.

As she worked to sit up, a foot pushed her torso flat on the ground. She glanced up, it was Joe. He whispered, "Shh. Don't move." Then Joe shouted at the top of his lungs. "Go ahead! Shoot me! Be done with it! And let her go!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Maddie could just see Todd grinning and shaking his head. His words came out in a jovial, teasing manner. "You know it doesn't work that way, Jo-Jo." He aimed the gun at Maddie. She forced her shoulder down and rolled over two times back toward the trail.

"Hear that? Too late. The police are here." The sound of an engine grew louder and suddenly the rumbling roar pierced her ears. Maddie's entire body vibrated as a motorcycle flashed by. Another gunshot or was it two? She wasn't sure. As she struggled to push herself up, she could just see Steven raise a baseball bat and spear Todd square in the chest as he sped past. The bike then careened up a steep incline and crashed between two trees. Maddie tried again to get up but Joe motioned her down. A shroud of helplessness enveloped her as she watched the scene unfolded. Joe darted toward Todd as he struggled to stand and kicked him in the groin. The crazed man fell forward onto his knees. As Joe cocked his leg to kick him again, Todd raised his gun, with hand trembling, he pointed it at Joe and said, "Don't." Joe's ex step dad smiled and then nodded. Maddie closed her eyes and heard the ugly crack of the crazed man's pistol.

***

Todd's body fell limp and rolled to the side of the trail; slowly blood began to ooze out both temples. Joe stood dazed as he stared at the bizarre scene. Unthinking, he took a step back as a pool of crimson oozed toward his shoe.

"Joe! Thank God you're okay. But Steven! Joe, come on!" Maddie's cry was muted, distant, dreamlike. "Joe! We need to help Steven." Maddie nudged Joe from behind. "Untie me. Hurry."

With a pocketknife, Joe cut the zip tie off Maddie's wrists. Joe shouted, "Where's Steven?"

"Over there. There!" Maddie grabbed Joe's hand and pulled hard as she dashed toward the mangled bike resting between two trees.

It took a long moment to spot Steven laying six feet in front of his motorcycle. Matted hair covered Steven's face. Joe feared the worst as blood began to soak through his jacket. They knelt down beside him and Maddie carefully pulled his hair aside. With eyes shut, Steven whispered, "Joe? Did we save her? She okay?"

Maddie leaned over and kissed his forehead. "You saved me. You saved me Steven."

"We ... did it Joe. We ... did it." Steven struggled for enough breath to give his words life.

"No Steven. You did it. You were something." Joe spoke softly in his ear.

Steven's eyes opened slightly, his words came out slowly. "I know. That was cool. But I don't feel so good. I think I'm ... I think he shot me Joe. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Joe squeezed Steven's hand. "No it wasn't. You'll be okay. You will be ... you'll be fine."

"I'm gonna dance, Joe. Grandfather's going to teach me all the dances. I'm going to be a great dancer, the best at all the Pow-wows. I'll be the best."

"I know you will. And we'll come watch you." Joe fought the tears clouding his eyes. "I can't wait."

Steven tried to tilt his head up. "I ... I need to go now. Can I go now?"

Maddie caressed Steven's face. "Help will be here in a second. Okay? We'll get you to a hospital."

With a faint but determined smile Steven said, "Hey Joe. I found something. In my pocket. Eagle feathers. Warrior's feathers. One for me. One for you. I don't feel too good. But, yeah, they're here now. I can go now. Yip, I'm ready. Let's go."

Maddie's lips trembled as she bent to kiss his forehead again. "You can't go yet. Stay with us."

"It's okay. They're here." Steven closed his eyes and sighed. His body jerked, then settled peacefully.

A voice called out, "Maddie? Are you okay? Who is that with you?"

Joe looked down the path. Half a dozen police officers, guns raised, raced toward them shouting out commands Joe couldn't decipher. Joe screamed, "We're friends of Maddie! He's hurt bad! We need help!" He looked back at Steven and put his hand gently on his shoulder. "It's okay now. They're here." He shouted out again, "Hurry! Help us!"

A female police officer clutched Maddie's arm and tried to lift her up. Maddie shook her shoulder hard, in a bare whisper she said, "We're not leaving him. We're staying here."

Joe saw tears trickling down Maddie's soft, full cheeks. A tidal wave of guilt overwhelmed him causing tears to well up in his eyes. _What have I done? How could this happen? This can't be. I should be dead. I should be the one. It should be me._ He took Maddie's hand and looked her in the eyes. He shook his head and mouthed, "I'm sorry." Wiping tears away, he glanced over his shoulder and yelled, "We have to stay here with him! Please let us stay." Suddenly four police officers surrounded them and attempted to lift Joe and Maddie up and away from the scene. The both shook their shoulders wildly. Joe shouted, "We have to stay with him!"

"The medics need to take care of him. You need to step back and let them tend to your friend," the female officer said and then Maddie was pulled up and away from Steven. Two paramedics appeared and knelt by Steven.

Joe jerked his torso hard when another police officer put his hand on his shoulder. Joe put his palm on Steven's forehead and pulled it gently back across his head. "I won't leave you."

"You need to step back and let us see to him." The paramedic's voice lacked any emotion.

Joe's body tensed and a flash of anger ripped through his gut. "Don't touch me!"

Joe felt a hand touch his shoulder with a gentle but firm grasp. The voice of a male police officer sounded caring, understanding. "Give them some room. He's needs their help."

Joe forced his trembling body upright and went over to Maddie. He feared her anger and wrath. It was his fault, what happened to her, to Steven, to Chuck – all his fault. She should utterly despise him; he deserved her hatred – everyone's hatred. His mind flashed back to the scene: Todd's grin, his knowing nod; Todd blowing his brains to kingdom come. _That was his plan: kill a friend; teach him a lesson; destroy his life; then take his own, dying satisfied, mission complete._ Joe looked at Maddie – her eyes so scared, hopeless, so lost. He turned his head away. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

Maddie reached for his hand, gripped it tight and pulled him close. Joe closed his eyes as she put her hand around his head and pressed her cheek onto his. "It's not your fault there's crazy people in the world. I need you to hug me."

He embraced her. Unbearable pain welled up in his belly and shot through his heart; heavy sobs weakened his legs and stole his breath. He could never let her go. He needed her to bring healing; she needed him to bring healing. He whispered in her ear, "He's gone. He's gone, isn't he?"

"I know. I know."

Joe felt her tears on his cheek mixing with his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched the paramedics carry Steven away on a stretcher. A grey haired, slightly bulky paramedic approached and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. The man looked down as he spoke. "Your friend. There's nothing that could be done. The bullet ... went into his chest, likely tore through his heart. I'm sorry. I am."

Joe's head fell limp. Then he nodded it slightly. He felt Maddie's arm wrap around his neck. As the man walked off, she pressed her head on his shoulder. In holy silence, they watched Steven being placed in the ambulance. It then slowly pulled away and made its way down the narrow and rugged mountain trail. Joe's muscles morphed into bread dough; he feared collapse was imminent. He reached out and held on to Maddie's forearm; words barely came out, "This can't be happening."

Seconds later – or was it minutes or hours? Time seemed to stop – the policewoman came over and apologetically said, "I'm so sorry about your friend." She paused and glanced toward the rugged and magnificent distant landscape, then looked Joe in the eyes and said, "We are going to have to talk with you. I know this is difficult, but we will need to know what happened here this morning. Tell me your names?"

"I'm Maddie. Madeline Banister and this is Joe."

"Joe Kline." Joe stared at his feet.

"Well let's get you two down to the lodge, get warmed up. We'll get this over with as quickly as we can." The officer put her arm around Maddie's back and started walking.

Joe cried out. "No. My brother. I ... we need to go with him. Where they taking him?"

"Brother?" The woman's tone seemed incredulous.

"Foster brother. We're the only family he has. I have to take him home with me."

"There's a process that will take time. Is he in Child Protective Services?"

"Yes mam. In Arkansas."

"I see. We'll get someone to assist you. How old are you?"

Her tone seemed irritated or maybe just condescending. Joe shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Eighteen." Joe lied – _In too much trouble already. So what? I should be treated like an adult, not a minor, a child._

"And you, miss?"

"I'm ... sixteen." Maddie wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed vigorously.

"Resident here?"

"Yes mam."

Joe knew the question was coming and offered a response. "I'm not. I'm a friend. Came to help her. I knew he ... I knew him ... that ... that monster. I knew he was going to come."

"I see. And your friend ... foster brother?"

"Steven Littleaxe. Yeah, he came with me."

"Come on. Let's get inside, get you two warmed up. I'm afraid there's lots of questions we'll need to get through." The police officer's tone softened somewhat. She put her arm around Maddie as they walked briskly past Todd's body, now surrounded by several police officers. Both Maddie and Joe kept their eyes focused straight ahead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"You two must be exhausted. You really should try to get some sleep. Sure you won't take the Trazodone the doctor ordered, Maddie?" Marie patted Maddie's shoulder, then squeezed it gently.

"I'm sure. I want to wait up. My parents could be here anytime." Her parents' plane had landed at Denver and they were on their way to the ranch. That thought helped her ignore the shroud of darkness that had been smothering her all day long – she'd be safe, she'd soon be home. And she would be a new creation – despite this day, despite the evil that had wanted to destroy her.

"Could be a few more hours, Maddie. It's a long drive from Denver."

Maddie looked over at her counselor who now stood at the entrance to the small study at the corner of Marie's Alpine style bungalow. "I know. Thanks for letting us stay in your place tonight."

"No problem. You don't need to deal with a hoard of curious teenagers clamoring for details that are none of their business. And you let me know ... if you need to talk some more?"

Maddie nodded her head and smiled. That first impression she'd had of Marie – too preppy, too sporty, too perfect. How she misjudged her; she cared, understood; she had saved her.

Marie pointed her long finger toward Joe. "Same goes for you Joe."

Joe forced a slight smile. "I appreciate the offer. I'm good. I am."

"This is difficult stuff. A god-awful trauma you two went through today. God-awful. If you need to talk, either one of you ... I'll be in the study, reading, just knock." She walked over and put her hands on their shoulders and slowly said, "Promise me you'll knock on my door if you need to talk."

Joe nodded. Maddie stood up and skipped toward Marie, she held up a curled pinky finger and grabbed Marie's pinky. "I promise." She gave Marie a hug and whispered, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh yeah. I've had worse days. Being shot at ... no big deal. My job is to worry about you. Don't you be worrying about me." She slipped into the tiny study, leaving the door slightly ajar. Maddie returned to the chair in front of the cabin's large window. She felt herself nearly disappear into its oversized marshmallow-like cushions. Joe sat across from her in a matching chair.

"She's nice. Always the therapist though." Joe said and laughed.

"She's great. She is. I hope she is okay. Can't imagine she's had worse days than this." Maddie gazed out the window. "I used to hate her. Hey, look it's starting to snow."

Maddie jumped up and plopped onto Joe's lap. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head on his chest; his heartbeat, the warmth of his body made her feel safe, and it gave her a strange sense of hope. His arms wrapped around her. Her back suddenly stiffened. She hated that involuntary reaction to human touch; she still couldn't help it – she felt smothered by his heavy arms. She hoped he didn't notice; notice her repulsion over any threat of intimacy. She saw a tear trickle down Joe's left cheek. She wiped it away with her finger. "We can get through this. We will. You know, Steven's happy now. He's with his grandfather."

Joe shook his head slightly. "Yeah, but he's missing us already. He's ...dying to be back with us to stir everything up and frustrate us to hell and back." Joe paused. "I know he's missing us." Joe pulled Maddie's hair back and tucked her bangs behind her ear. "I miss him. God, I miss my brother. How can anything ever be the same? How can anyone get through this sort of thing? Maddie help me. You don't know how much I ... I wish it had been me. I wish I was dead. Not Chuck, not Steven." Tears ran down his cheeks.

Joe's words stirred an emotion Maddie couldn't identify. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that." As the words came out anger rushed through the fibers of her being. Anger at his self-pity, his wallowing in the unchangeable. Self-pity decides to give in, give up; self-pity forgets that in a fallen world evil and good must coexist and that we _must_ forever be embracing the good. There are only two choices; to succumb or survive, to die or live. But this anger, it wasn't about Joe, it was about her. Maddie wiped his tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. You can't give up. We can never give up. Giving up cost me years of my life."

"You don't get it. How can I live with the 'what ifs,' the 'should haves?' I should be ... I should have done the job right the first time. Don't you see? Then all this would never have happened. Steven's dead. Chuck's dead and ... and I've ruined your ... "

Maddie put her hand over his mouth. "Stop it. Where would I be if you'd killed yourself? What would my life be like, if I hadn't met you? And Steven? What would have happened to him? Because of you ... you gave him something he hadn't had for years. You believed in him, that's something he hadn't had since his grandfather died. You lifted him out of his living hell. You saved him. He ... he died satisfied, happy. And he's happy now, in a better place, with his family now."

"Why do people say that, 'they're in a better place.' What does that mean, anyway? Steven's gone. Chuck, he's gone. Death is death. It's over and we're left to somehow fill a void, a nothingness, and that's impossible."

Maddie shook her head. "Joe, death is what makes life special, sacred; it's what makes life worth living. And Joe, we have to believe, have faith. You need to believe. Death is a beginning, not the end."

Joe shook his head. "I wish I could be naïve, believe all that. But I can't."

"So I'm naïve, am I? Well I'd rather be naïve and live in hope. You need some faith Joe, faith in something bigger than the evil that's all around us."

"Maybe you're right. No. I know you're right. But I can't believe in God after all this. And how can you?" Joe's question didn't seem to reflect anger, but a longing to find hope. "If there was a God, a God who cared ... well, why? Why would he let all this bullshit happen to us? Why wouldn't he do something? Stop it?"

Maddie clasped her hands around Joe's neck. She pressed her lips together. She wanted to shake him, scold him, hit some sense into him – she wanted him to believe, to find hope. She nodded her head resolutely and said, "I may not know the why's ... why things happen, why God lets evil try to ruin things. But I know this ... My Redeemer lives and so shall we."

Joe shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "Like I say, I wish I could be so naïve. But Maddie, you're wrong about me giving Steven something. He's the one that gave _me_ so much, gave me things I'd given up on. He taught me to care again. He taught me to forgive. He gave me more than I could ever give him. He ... Steven's..." Joe stopped.

Maddie looked into his bloodshot eyes. She leaned forward and pressed her ear against his chest. Joe spoke softly, but his voice resonated in her head and chest. He said, "What did you mean? About where your life would be if ... if I wasn't' around?"

"We wouldn't be here now. You wouldn't be with me now. And I wouldn't ... I don't know where I'd be." Maddie sat up. Joe stroked her cheek, he leaned forward and slipped his lips onto hers. Her eyes closed. The feel of his flesh – warm, moist, loving caring. No. Powerless, used, shame, unclean; an object, a filthy dirty object. Maddie pushed Joe causing her to fall off his lap hard onto the floor.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't ... I shouldn't have ... I'm an idiot." Joe stuttered. He reached out with both hands and pulled her up.

Maddie felt her cheeks go flush. She shook her head. "No. Don't be sorry. It's okay. Please, don't be sorry. I don't know what happened. God, my butt hurts." Maddie laughed, she knew it was a nervous, uncomfortable chuckle. Joe didn't laugh, didn't smile. She felt her whole face grow hot; inside her anger was beginning to swirl in her gut. _It wasn't' okay. He should have never done that. Not the time or place. Thoughtless. It's all guys want._ _It's all they care about_. She took a quick breath and tried to will those thoughts away . _No. No. Idiot. It's okay, a normal thing, why not? A kiss, so what. Just trying to comfort each other. No. Not ready. Not ready yet. No. I'll never be ready._ Maddie remained standing. She turned and stared out the window. That last thought took hold of her heart with a merciless and cruel grip. She put her palm on the cold window. "My parents. They should be here soon. Your parents too, they should be here in the morning. That's great."

Nearly inaudible, Joe replied, "Yeah. They're gonna kill me when they get here."

"Family. We need family now. Most of all we need family." Maddie suddenly pointed out the window. "Oh my God. There they are. There's a car coming." Maddie turned around and reached out for Joe's hand. "Come on. Let's go. Go meet them."

"No. You go. I'll stay here. It's family. Your family. Go on then."

Maddie ran toward the door screaming out, "Marie! They're here! They're here!"

As Maddie put on her coat, Marie came out. "Wonderful. I'll put the kettle on for some coffee."

Maddie left Joe standing at the window, waiting and watching for the impending reunion with her family. Maddie jumped up and down as her parents parked the car and got out. He watched the three embrace. Thoughts bombarded him; _I can't understand her. Can't read her. What does she want? I don't get her. Everything's on her terms. No, that's not fair. I'm just a damn fool. Should have never done that._ Joe turned and walked toward the kitchen. "Marie? Anything I can do?"

Marie shook her head, then pointed at him. "Joe? How are you? Really?"

He shrugged, then shook his head. "Not good."

Marie nodded and pressed her lips together. Her head tilted ever so slightly – it was the kind of expression you see at funerals, an expression meant to express concern and understanding ... and pity – so sorry for your loss, so so sorry. She said, "And what does 'not good' mean? Define 'not good.'"

_Having no hope. Scared the nightmare will never end. So much guilt and grief that death seems the logical option._ Joe drew a breath, sighed and said, "I don't know. Feels like it will never end." Joe paused, shifted his feet. "You know, those movies, where all the bad stuff happens, lots of people die, and then ... then they get the bad guy, kill him off in some climatic and wild scene? And it's like all of sudden everything's going to be perfect again. They all go back home and everything's back the way it was. The bad guy's dead. It's all over. Happy ending. Happy freakin' ending. But it's not like that, is it?"

"It's going to take time, Joe. Trauma like you've been through doesn't just fade away. It's hard to see that right now, but it will get better. And it _will_ take time. You'll need help, support. Don't try to do this on your own. But now Joe, honestly, do you feel like you might hurt yourself?"

"No. Of course not." She knows. Maddie would have told her – the friend she met in the hospital, the one that nearly offed himself, sliced his arm all up, took a thousand pills. She shouldn't have told. "I'm okay. Don't worry." He had to say that. Had to convince himself. _I'm okay – aren't I? Parents will come tomorrow, they'll be mad, but they'll be worried. Yeah, more worried than mad. They'll understand. I had to do what I did, what we did. But Steven's dead now. Chuck's dead. There's no understanding anything anymore. And the kiss? Why'd I do that? Didn't she want it? Expect it? No, of course not. So stupid. Someone's dies, not the time to do that sort of thing._ He looked Marie in the eyes, nodded and said, "I'm ... I'll be okay." Are you safe? Are you safe? That's what Braxton had asked him. Are you safe with all those emotions churning around inside you? I think so. I hope so.

"You will Joe, you'll be okay. Don't give up. I found that it's faith, hope and love that carry us through. Faith, hope and love." Marie put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it. "Don't let go of those three things. Never let go."

Joe nodded and tried to smile. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. _Faith, hope, love, gets us through? More blind gullibility._ Faith, hope, and love. Joe had heard that somewhere, or read it somewhere, he couldn't remember. _That's what it takes to get us through, to survive? Faith, hope love .But where is it? Lost long, long ago. Lost forever. Oh, to be that naïve, to believe in the unseen. Faith, hope, love ... Oh. Yeah, I remember what it says, 'the greatest of these is love'. Well, one thing I do believe in is family. Family is what matters. Family needs me, and God, I need family._

***

Large puffy snowflakes landed gently on Maddie's shoulders and cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her ski jacket and hopped up and down as the her parents' rented Lexus pulled into its parking place in front of the main lodge of the Rising Sun Ranch. Judith leaped out of the door and threw her arms around her daughter. Howard soon joined the tearful reunion of a family being reborn. Maddie felt peace embracing her; peace that would protect her, nurture her, would forgive her – peace that would enable her to live again.

Judith pulled back and held her only child at arm's length and looked her up and down. "Are you okay? Are you okay? What a terrible thing you had to endure." Her mother bursts into tears.

Maddie wiped away her mom's tears with her hand and said, "I'm fine. I'm safe now. I'm sorry for putting you all through this. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. Everything is going to be okay now. Everything. Let's go get warm. There's a guest room in my counselor's cabin. We're staying there tonight. Then I want to go home. I'm going home."

The three embraced again and Howard whispered in Maddie's ear, "We can't get you home soon enough. Maddie, I have so missed you."

***

From the small archway leading from the kitchen, Joe watched Maddie and her parents come through the door. Marie hurried over and gave hugs, then took their coats and pointed them to the leather sofa in front of the wood burning stove. Joe's stomach tightened; a wave of shame and guilt welled up in his belly. He wanted to just disappear, melt away into nothingness. He stepped back, hoping to slip out of sight. Maddie called out. "Joe, come on." He shook his head and took another step back. They would hate him. They would curse him. Chew him up and spit him out. His ex-stepfather had traumatized their daughter, had been a few seconds away from killing her. So what if he was a crazy man? Joe had created the monster, had given birth to the rage and insanity that for no good reason engulfed their daughter, just because he called her a friend. "Get in here." Maddie skipped over and grabbed Joe's hand and pulled him into the living area. "This is Joe. He and his ... and our friend, they saved my life."

Judith stood up. "I remember you and your friend. New Year's Eve. Crashing our party."

"Sorry about that." Joe mumbled. Judith laughed and hugged Joe.

Howard said, "It was a stupid thing you and your friend did. Stupid, and brave. Incredibly brave." He reached out and shook Joe's hand. "I'll be eternally grateful for what you did. And I'll see to it ... that your friend ... that he is taken care of."

Joe nodded. "Thanks. He was more than a friend. He was like my brother." Joe turned slightly and wiped his eyes, trying to chase away the moisture that was gathering and threatening to surface.

Judith embraced him again and said, "This is such a terrible, terrible thing. I just can't imagine what you've been through. You can let those tears come."

Joe rubbed his face again and said, "I know. But I'm okay." He willed his tears away. Chin up. Yeah. Chin up.

Maddie took his hand and pulled him to the loveseat next to the sofa as Howard and Judith lowered themselves onto the sofa. Marie excused herself to the kitchen to prepare some late-night snacks. The four sat in silence for a few moments. Joe moved his hands up and down, left and right, not knowing where to let them rest; his left leg moved up and down. He wanted to get up and walk away. What _can_ they talk about? Not this day, this nightmare. No way. He feared the inquiries would come, questions would bombard him – 'Tell us what happened. What lead up to this? Why did this happen? Who was that man? Why did he do such a thing?' Joe took a breath and said, "How was your trip? Was the snow a problem?"

"It was fine. No problems. Snow's just starting to thicken up. Should be a nice snow." Judith said.

Silence. Then Howard looked at Maddie and dared to ask the forbidden question, "Are you ready to talk ... about what happened? What we know is so sketchy. We understand ... if you're not ready. But sometimes, the best thing is to talk about it."

Maddie nodded. She took Joe's hand and spoke about the unspeakable. Joe kept his head down. The images of that day given words, given life again – emotions rumbled deep inside him, emotions he knew he needed to honor, not suppress. He let silent tears fall. When Maddie finished her account of that morning, she squeezed Joe's hand, giving him permission – no, giving him an order _, Talk about it, let it out. Words give us power over our emotions._ Joe opened his mouth and let words come out; words he hoped would honor his friend, his hero.

***

Joe waited by his truck in front of Denver's airport. He prepared himself for the chastising that would come and was more than deserved – disappearing; leaving them to worry, multiplying already unbearable emotions of losing their eldest son. Joe was sorry for all that. But he did what he had to, and he hoped they would understand. Then the thought came, a thought that crushed him, crippled him – he would be going home to his brother's funeral. As that thought hit him, he felt nauseous and his legs wobbled. He went to the men's room and washed his face. He stared in the mirror. _Oh God. Why? Dear God, why all this? I never really believed, believed in anything. If you're really there why would you let this happen? Can I hate you? Maybe I need to hate you. How can I not hate myself? God, if you're there, give me strength, give me ... a bit of hope, and some faith, and love. And ...and forgive me for not being able to believe._

***

No smiles – when his parents came through the revolving glass door, there were no smiles, only lengthy embraces communicating love and acceptance, and declaring the holy determination to be a family; a wounded, hurting family that somehow would survive.

Few words were uttered in the twelve-hour drive back home in Joe's truck. Through the hum of the engine he could too often hear Steven's mangled motorcycle rattling and shifting in the bed of his truck, reminding him that Steven was lost forever. Only an occasional, safe question was asked. "How's Amber?"

"Coping."

"Granny and Granddad?"

"Strong as ever."

"The price of gas is killing us, isn't it?"

"I need the bathroom. Can we stop?"

Several hours into their drive, Sarah took Joe's hand with both of hers. She said, "I'm so so sorry about Steven. I can't believe this has happened." Joe nodded. "Indian Child Welfare is arranging to have his body brought home. He can be buried ... next ... next to his grandfather and dad." She shook her head. "Two funerals. Two." She paused, then said, "One ... one should never have to happen. Now two." She rubbed Joe's hand and forearm. "We'll be strong. We'll get through this."

Joe nodded again and put his head on his mother's shoulder. "We will. Mom, dad, I'm sorry to ... to put you through all this. I know how hard it was on you all, the last two days. I didn't know what else to do."

With his eyes straight on the road, Robert said, "You could have told us. There were others ways to ... you shouldn't have done this on your own." Robert hit the steering wheel and shook his head. "But Joe, you ... no, Joe you did what you had to. I understand that. I don't like it. I ... I hate what you had to go through, all this mess. But ... well, I'm very proud. Very proud of ...." Robert's last words faded as they came out. He glanced at Joe, offered a slight smile then nodded.

Joe's body relaxed. A tear surfaced and slipped down his cheek – a tear of relief. They would survive; that's what human beings do best, survive; somehow they always survive. Faith, hope, love – that would carry them through. With his head on his mother's shoulder, he drifted off into a dreamless, forgiving sleep that offered a moment of comfort and peace – a brief escape from the grief and sorrow the coming days would bring.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

"'Death has been swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.'" The minister closed his Bible and surveyed the sea of hurt and puzzled mourners. Joe squirmed, shifting his feet and arms. He feared more tears would come, pour out uncontrollably. How can a mere emotion be so powerful, so physically painful and draining? Grief is the cruelest of emotions, always relentless and ruthless and so slow to loosen its grip. Joe stared at his feet as the preacher continued. "We gather to say goodbye, and we gather to celebrate a life well lived. But we are also here to grieve the untimely loss of a true and worthy friend to so many of you. And in this moment we offer support and love for Chuck's family as they mourn their loss ... of a loyal brother, who in strength and love worked in so many ways to hold this family together, and, the loss of a son who never failed to make his parents proud." Joe looked up, the preacher fixed his gaze on him; his eyes penetrated his soul that was looking for some morsel of faith. The preacher's voice became more powerful and more comforting. "Death is always cruel and always unwelcomed. But death is horrible and tragic when it dares to come to one whose journey of life had barely begun. This is when we need to embrace faith with our hearts and souls. For it is faith that declares death does not have the last word. The resurrection is the promise, the guarantee of the eternal. We dare to believe that death gives way to life anew, to life eternal. The comforting reality we must embrace, is that Chuck precedes us, waits for us. 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?' Gone. Gone forever. We grieve, we hurt, we wrestle with the question of why. But we grieve with the abiding confidence that our Redeemer lives. Chuck is now with the Creator, the Savior. Because that is true, our grief can find comfort. Let us declare our confidence as we close by singing together, _To God Be the Glory._ "

As the organ began playing, Joe covered his face with both hands and leaned over. Burying his head on his knees, he tried to push the tears back. His father's arm slid up his back until his warm and strong hand cupped Joe's neck with a gentle grip. "It's okay. He deserves our tears." Sobs followed his father's whispered words. Joe sat up and embraced his father and their tears mingled together.

***

Maddie noticed Joe sitting alone on the front porch, swaying slowly and methodically in the old rocking chair. She knew he was trying to escape the barrage of mourners offering that grimaced turn of the lips and slight nod of the head – protocol for any wake. She too hated all those the nonverbal pronouncements that pretended to understand a family's grief; no doubt, underneath the show of sorrow were prayers of thanks that they were not the ones grieving. She slipped out the front door. Looking down at him, she reached out her hand. Joe clasped her hand firmly and she helped him out of the creaking rocking chair. They furtively slipped down the porch steps, across the front yard and walked quickly down the street until they were outsight of Joe's home.

Maddie smiled and said, "There must be lots of memories growing up here. Her smile continued as Joe talked about the endless memories these streets held – touch football games with what seemed a hundred neighborhood kids; setting off fireworks on the Fourth, hoping the neighbors would not call the police on them; racing bikes up and down the street; games of tag; sitting on the curb just being kids, just being alive.

Joe laughed and then sighed. "Heck. I'm rambling." He looked at her and smiled. "There's no end to these memories. It's like they're all coming at me, coming and filling my heart up. But ... Maddie, all of sudden, they hurt so much. Memories of ... he's gone now."

Maddie took his hand and squeezed it. "I know it hurts. But it's good. Chuck, he lives in those memories. Tell me more." Maddie put her arm through his. Ten blocks later and a stream of quiet tears released from both, Maddie stopped and stepped in front of Joe. She pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. She said, "That's for saving me."

Joe bowed and said, "You're welcome." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks for being ... being here ... being a friend. God. I've been going on and on. Maddie? What'd 'bout you? How you doing? How you feeling?"

_Feeling? What do I feel? What should I feel. I know ... I think he loves me. I don't know what to do. It's not right. What's right? What's wrong? Do I love him? No. I can't. What am I afraid of?_ "I'm good. I am. Are you ... going to go back to school soon? I want to get back quick, after Steven's funeral on Monday. I need an ordinary life. Get back to boring." Maddie felt stupid after those words came out. So superficial. _Avoiding, still avoiding._ _What do I want to feel? Why I am I afraid to feel?_

Joe shrugged, then sighed and said, "I'm gonna do online school the rest of the year. Maybe I'll go back ... for my senior year. I don't know yet. I guess I'm afraid to go back right now. I need to figure out ... geez, I don't know what I need to figure out."

Maddie chuckled. "That's okay." She put her arm around his waist. They continued walking. Maddie laughed under her breath, then said, "One thing I figured out is that I am very good at making things too complicated. And I'm going to stop making life so god-awful hard. When I think of all the stupid things I've done ... just making life harder than it should be. One thing I learned, being in the hospital and in that brat camp ... well, my life has been pretty damn good. It could be perfect if I quit mucking it up."

Maddie stopped and looked him in the eyes. _God he had_ _such puppy dog eyes._ She had an urge to kiss him again – a real, a passionate, I-really-really-like-you kiss. She looked down and a nervous giggle slipped out. _God, no. He must think I'm such an idiot. This is a funeral, a.wake. Death. Grief. Can't smile. Can't laugh. And good God, don't lead him on._ She glanced toward his eyes; was it the grief? Or confusion? Or hopelessness she saw? Fear. Maybe it was fear. "I'm sorry. I'm the one babbling on now. Joe, what are you afraid of?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You just look so afraid. Maybe I'm wrong." _Hell. I'm a_ _fool. Just keep your mouth shut Maddie._

"You might be right. So many emotions. But, yeah, I'm scared. Scared things will never be normal again. I'll never be normal."

"I've always believed that normal is a highly overrated virtue. What's normal anyway?"

"I don't know. But I'm ... I guess, Maddie, I'm scared about us. Scared we ... crap, never mind. I don't know what I mean. You just confuse me sometimes. I don't know how to ... I don't know if you ...no, forget it. Just forget it."

"No. That's good. I'm scared too. I don't know what we're supposed to be. Oh, that sounds stupid. Why's this so hard?" Maddie felt her cheeks grow warm; she knew they were turning a rosy shade of embarrassment.

Joe words stumbled out. "I think ... we should just be ... you know, friends. But ...then again ... Damn it. Damn it. Screw it. I ... I love you Maddie. There. I said it. Right or wrong, I said it. And I don't know if I can just be your friend. It's getting too hard." Joe brushed her bangs from her face.

_What do I feel? What should I feel? Fear. That's what I feel. Fear. Just not ready. Maybe never will be. Never-ever will be ready!_ "You know what. This isn't the time to be ... worrying about that. And I'm sorry, I don't mean to lead you on or anything. I'm scared too. Just ... we ... you're right, we just need to be friends. Okay?" She turned and started walking briskly down the street towards Joe's house

Joe caught up with her and said, "I'm sorry. You're right. I take it all back. What I said, that 'L' word. I never said any of that. Okay?"

"Love's such a complicated and strange entity that defies human understanding. Joe, I can't deal with complex right now. Yeah, what was that you just said? I don't remember. Oh well, never mind."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Joe placed two eagle feathers on the casket; feathers Steven found when he threw up beside his truck near Rising Sun Ranch. Circled around the graveside stood Joe and Maddie and their families, and two social workers from Indian Child Welfare. Behind them were Braxton, Angie, Miss Linda, Tim, Steven's therapist in the hospital, and four other staff members from the hospital.

As the casket disappeared into its black hole, a Blackfoot shaman offered prayers, which seemed to smooth a spirit hidden deep within Joe's battered psyche. "Oh, Grand Father the sky, Oh Grand Mother the Earth, grant unto this your child a holy blessing as he journeys to join our ancestors. Welcome him, sustain him. Our Mother the Earth, let his quest for communion with you be as spacious as the sky and as magnificent as the Eagle that soars high in your unending kingdom." The shaman scooped up a handful of dirt and tossed it onto the coffin. He turned and raised his hands in benediction. "Now, let us walk about Mother Earth in balance and in peace, for beneath our feet lay the bones of our noble ancestors."

Joe tossed a handful of dirt into the grave. He looked down and whispered, "Thank you, Steven. You are the best friend I ever had." Joe felt his chest caving inward. He could have never imagined that grief, a mere emotion, could create such crushing physical pain. He feared his body could not endure any more of this, the cruelest of emotions. A lone tear trickled down his cheek. Then his legs weakened; he feared they would buckle. _Oh God._ _Give me strength. Give me something ... strength ... no, a reason ... a reason to live_.

Joe felt an arm slide around his waist. Maddie, with a soft voice said, "Goodbye dear Steven. Goodbye. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't. I'm sorry." She whispered in Joe's ear, "This isn't fair. It's not right."

Joe said, "He's okay. He is okay." How many times had Joe said that in the last few days: A hundred? A thousand? Maybe another thousand times and he might begin to believe it.

Maddie rubbed his back. "You're right. Death is a journey. That's our hope. Death is a journey to somewhere better, greater. It's not over for him. It's only a beginning." They stepped back from the grave. Maddie embraced Joe and said "Tomorrow. Joe, can you come over? To my house and spend some time with a crazy kid from the lunatic ward? I know it's against your holier-than-thou principles, but..."

Joe looked at Maddie, a puzzled look became etched on his face and his mind went blank. He drew in a breath to speak and for some reason just shrugged.

She looked away and muttered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Joe shook his head. "No. Geez, of course I want to. We need each other right now. I mean as friends." _Friends. Yes. Just friends. Has to be that way. Damn it all._

"Great." Maddie handed Joe a piece of scrap paper. "The code to the gate. About six?"

"Sure." Joe said. _Just friends? But I want more, need more. She must know that. No. Just stop hoping for more. Friends. That's what it is. That's what it's got to be._ "That'll be great."

With a strange and growing numbness vying to take over his body and being, Joe walked toward his family standing by his father's car. Then, a low and raspy voice called his named. He turned and saw Braxton walking towards him.

"Hey," Joe said, wondering how he should greet a counselor in public – with a handshake, a hug, a nod? He said, "It was really nice you were here ... that you could all come."

Braxton leaned forward and embraced Joe with a firm grasp. Joe's arms tried to respond but seemed to fall limp. His counselor pulled back and said, "I want you to come to my office at the hospital. We'll have natter, for old time's sake. Eh? You're dealing with a lot. You don't have to do it on your own, Joe. You call me. We'll set up a time. Okay?"

Joe nodded and said, "Thanks. I will." Joe's voice lacked conviction.

"Hey, kiddo, promise me. You _will_ give me a call."

"Sure. I _will._ That would be good." It _would_ be good. Necessary. You don't have to do it on your own. You can't do it on your own. You don't have to be alone. "I'll call. Soon. Thanks." _Nothing wrong with asking for help. We all need help._

***

"Play it. That thing you played on New Year's Eve." Joe said, pointing toward the grand piano on the far side of the huge living room. He sat on the floor with Maddie, their backs rested against an oversized suede sofa – _that must be big enough for at least six people,_ was Joe's first thought when he entered the room.

Maddie gasped then said, "Oh my God! What a New Year's Eve was that. And what a Christmas Day. Days we'll never forget." Maddie laughed.

Her laughter – it was soothing, healing. Laughter had been silent, been impossible the past few months. Doesn't laughter remind us that hope hasn't died? "I like it when you laugh. I need to laugh more."

"Yes, you do." Maddie said. "Play what? Chopin or Debussy?"

"Debussy I think. Cloud da loom."

Maddie laughed hard. "Clair de lune, you twat. Claire de lune."

"I was close enough. Play it."

Maddie got up, curtsied, and strutted proudly to the grand piano. She played. Haunting harmonies resonated throughout the room. The subtle but emotive notes of Debussy entranced Joe's senses. He stared at Maddie; the unassuming maestro, master and commander of the keyboard, so alive as she played. Joe felt that each note given life was working to heal his battered and damaged soul. "Play it again. Again, dear maestro." Joe begged when the last notes faded.

"Nooo. I'll play this. One I need to be practicing." She ruffled through a pile of sheet music. "Here. Chopin's Nocturne in E flat major. One of his best." With a posh English accent meant to mimic her piano instructor, she said, "'It is a source of most ineffable delights, _but_ likewise a restless, agitating bewilderment. Perhaps his finest work indeed. Indeed.' Well, that's how my piano teacher describes it. See what you think."

The work's boundless melodic line, enriched by a simple harmonic theme drew Joe into the strangely sensual piece of music. As he listened and watched, the beauty of the music touched his soul. Tears filled his eyes; tears responding to a realization that life is beautiful, that life is special. Never before had Joe understood that music reminds us ... no, declares, that life is worth living, worth celebrating.

When Maddie finished, she joined Joe still sitting on the floor by the sofa. He said, "Will you marry me."

"Oh yeah? You just want me for my talent." Maddie laid on the floor and rested her head on Joe's ankles.

"Well, yeah. You're amazing. You should be playing in that place... that place in New York."

"Carnegie Hall. I'm a long way from that. But who knows. You know, music, it saved me. My piano teacher talks about the classics being psychodrama." Joe chuckled. "Yeah, I know. But it is. The great composers, it's all about their personal pain, their highs and lows, their inner anguish and agony. You know, they say Beethoven was bipolar. And think about it, his greatest works came after he became deaf." Joe shook his head. "It's true. The pain, the joy, the hope. It's all there in their music. When I play, all my emotions emerge, flow. I feel real, alive. I ...What? Don't look at me like that. It's true."

Joe nodded. He studied her face – to reach out and stroke her hair, her cheeks, a face that reflected purity and goodness. Joe could see something different – she _had_ changed. Her eyes gleamed with a new sense of joy and anticipation; childlike, she had recaptured a childlike innocence. She _had_ overcome the evil that threatened to destroy her. "You've changed." Joe said quietly, almost apologetically.

"What do you mean? I'm just me."

"Yeah. It's you. Just you. Why? Why'd you have to lie about things? Hide you talent? Pretend you were poor and stupid. You lied about you age, the school you went to. What else have you lied about?"

"Don't remember. Oh. That's a lie. That I did cocaine. Um, and that I was pregnant and had an abortion. That I had a boyfriend who committed suicide. God, I can't believe all the things I lied about. I'm done with that. It's embarrassing really."

"Why'd you hide behind lies?"

"That is a very good question Mr. Kline. Hell if I know."

"Yes you do."

Maddie sat up and scooted next to Joe. "It's shame. Shame of who I was."

"Shame about being rich, talented, smart, pretty? Perfect?"

Maddie's head shook slowly. "The abuse. And the secrets. They destroy us. They pervert and distort everything. I suppose it's like hiding in an alternative universe. Trying to create a fantasy world so you don't have to deal with the shame, the guilt ... deal with the reality of being abused. Being worthless. Doesn't make sense. But human beings have trouble making sense most of the time, don't you think? I wish I were a cat." Maddie meowed and pawed at Joe's head. She laughed and said, "Cats have such an easy life. Everything's on their terms; when they eat, when they want to be stroked, when they want you to leave them the hell alone. The life of a cat would suit me. What would you be? What animal would you be?"

"God, I don't know. Maybe a gorilla. Big and burly, so no one wants to mess with you, but they still think you're cute."

"I can see you as a gorilla." She paused and stroked his cheek. "So when you gonna stop pushing people away. And become a cuddly teddy bear. That's what you want to be. I can tell."

"Yuck. Teddy bears aren't animals anyway."

"Joe, who _are_ you? I don't know if I really know you ... like for real. I only know a few bits. What are your dreams? What excites you? Motivates you? What do you believe ... about God, about anything?"

"Green's my favorite color. Does that help?" Joe smiled, but a sudden urge slapped him in the face; to get up and leave. This unsettling emotion demanded he run away; avoid the questions, the probing. _Why? Why's that question so uncomfortable? It's true. I do push people away._ Who am I? The answer's simple. He might as well be honest with her and himself. "Truth is, I don't know who I am. And I'm afraid to find out, because I know I won't what I'll find. I used to pretend to be the tough jock, the rough and tough football player. I hid behind that. Now that's gone. I don't know how to pretend to be anything else. You know, I keep trying to pretend to be strong, like I used to be. But I can't even do that anymore. I don't know. I don't know who, what, why I am."

Maddie elbowed him. "Who's lying now? I don't believe that. I can tell you who you are. You're the kind of human being who cared enough to take in a kid who everyone hated and no one understood, a kid who spent his life pushing people away. And you were the only one who cared enough to see through his hurt; the only one able to get close to him. And you're the kind of human being that accepted a damaged girl who was hell bent on destroying her life. You didn't care what she'd done to herself, what'd been done to her. You helped her believe she didn't have be a victim, that she could be a survivor. You had the courage to risk your life to save her life. You found the strength to forgive your dad, and you gave him a chance and now you have your father in your life. You are a human being who buried his brother and his best friend and is finding the strength and the ... the fight to move on. You are someone who understands hurts and pain and suffering, and ... Well, that's who you are. Don't tell me you don't know who you are. Be proud of who you are." She placed her index finger on his heart, "And inside there, are dreams and hopes and love that are begging to come out. Quit trying to be the tough football player, the guy too tough to tackle. You don't have to pretend about anything." She kissed him on the cheek, grinned then said, "You know, life, it's pure and simply about learning ... learning who we are, and, it's about daring to be who we are. Life is about learning to just be."

Joe looked into Maddie's eyes. They sparkled with life, with a quiet joy. He needed to embrace her, kiss her, love her; he needed to release his passion, his love for her. Forbidden. The line had been drawn. Just friends. Just friends. He said, "What a philosopher you are, dear Maddie. And ... well thanks for ... just being here for me." A lone tear slid down his cheek.

Maddie wiped the tear away, then took his hand and entwined his fingers with hers. She said, "I'll always be here. We'll get each other through all the days that are gonna be racing toward us."
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"Flashbacks? Nightmares? On edge?" Braxton leaned forward with a slight tilt of the head. Joe knew that gesture well; it was the one that probably all counselors use to convey concern, while at the same time offering the assurance that it is safe – safe to be.

"Yes, yes and yes. But not too bad."

"Normal stuff. These post-traumatic stress symptoms, they can be difficult, real buggers. It's all normal. Been able to handle it pretty well, then?"

"I think so."

"Hmm. You think so?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"No suicidal ideations, thoughts?"

"No. Not at all."

"Good. Good for you. You've been through a lot kiddo. More than any kid should have to deal with. Grieving? Where you at with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stages of grief. Denial, anger, guilt, depression. It's a long road to acceptance. Grieving is a process, takes a long time, and I'm talking years not months. You have to honor the grieving process, let the grieving heart beat until it fades into the background. Let yourself feel the pain, the loss when you need to. And let the tears come now and then. We have to let the pain live and not deny it. Don't be afraid to cry. Don't be afraid to talk about how you miss your brother, and Steven. Talk about how it hurts. Honor those emotions by giving them words."

Joe had a strange sensation, sitting in the worn grey chair, listening to the raspy voice, and the irritating and repetitious questions – and the concern and hope that Braxton's voice always seemed to declare. _Things can get better. We can get through this._ Joe stood up and took three steps toward the window. Picture perfect. Trees budding, declaring spring's arrival. Green had pushed away the dead brown grass. The sun shone brighter and days were finally warmer, longer. His gaze shifted to the enclosed courtyard; kids from the adolescent unit were throwing footballs, kicking soccer balls. Some walked together, talking, laughing, joking – all hiding hurts and fears, keeping deep secrets well hidden. Damaged, never ruined. There he is, with Steven and Maddie: Steven running circles around them; jumping on his back. Maddie putting her arm through his; making fun of other patients to hide their own secrets. That was a world ago. He turned and looked at Braxton. He rubbed his hand through his hair and said, "It's weird being back here." He sat back down. "So what is it we need to talk about? Where do we start?"

Braxton leaned back in his chair and tucked his left foot under his right leg and clasped his hands behind his neck. "Anger, and guilt. Where you at?"

Joe told him. Anger, at himself, Todd, God – and yes, he now wanted to believe, wanted to take a risk and believe in something big enough to handle his anger. And guilt? Guilt too often raised its club to beat and destroy him. Guilt too often screamed out with vengeance that he was deserving of condemnation and blame. Joe gave his emotions words, and more and more he felt he would be able to keep these emotions in their place. As he revealed his heart and soul to Braxton that afternoon, he knew bit by bit, he would gain the strength to become the person he wanted to be.

As he stood to leave, he walked over and looked at Braxton's bookcase and thumbed through a row of impressive looking, well read books. "I've figured out where I'm going, who I am."

"What's that kiddo?"

"A therapist. I want your job. I can do what you do. Helping people, I can do that."

"Yeah. You can. That's good. You do that."

***

Maddie's yellow Jeep made its way through thick woods clothed elaborately in fall foliage. Just as Joe was about to declare for the third time that they were utterly lost, they came to large open field. Cars, trucks, trailers and countless large and small tents lined the perimeter of the acreage. Several hundred had gathered. Many were clad with beaded armbands and angora anklets with sheep bells; others had colorful beaded chokers around their necks, some wore elaborately beaded chest plates. Several had brightly colored feathered headdresses, some modest, some more elaborate and stunning.

The beating of drums and the hypnotic and compelling harmonies of chants and songs echoed through the field and greeted them as they walked toward the large gathering. Joe felt the vibrations of the earth and he sensed spirits unseen celebrating life. Maddie and Joe walked hand in hand to observe this celebration of a world and culture too quickly fading.

They sat behind a sea of old and young encircling a dozen feather clad male dancers. Both were overwhelmed by the privileged glimpse into traditions that existed long before white settlers pushed their way across the continent. In silent awe they watched the Men's Fancy Dance, mesmerized by the fast and furious footwork and the brilliant colored feathered bustles covering the head and backs of the dancers. Later they watched the Grass Dance, a declaration of history, of tribe, of family. Joe nudged Maddie several times pointing toward smiling children, proud grandmothers, men lost in the celebration of their heritage, their ancestors. Twice he leaned over and said, "Can you see him. I can see him. There, with his dad and his grandfather. Yip, he's there dancing with them."

The second time he said that Maddie laughed and pointed and said, "Yeah, and I can see the Little People, laughing, dancing, poking at his feet trying to trip him up. His journey's complete Joe. His journey's complete."

***

As they crossed the border back into Arkansas from Oklahoma, Maddie slid across the seat and put her hand on his knee, leaned closed and kissed him on the cheek. She whispered, "I love you Joe. I do."

Joe laughed, then took her hand and said. "Faith, hope, and love. That's all we need, that gets us through."

"Yeah, that's what we need to live, to survive ...to be and to become.

Also by Nathan Bassett

The Smoke That Thunders

"I refuse to let them strip me of love, of hope – of humanity. That is what they want. And, Peter, we must, and we can pray for them."

Early on in life, Peter and Chad decided not to care about the world around them ... albeit for very different reasons. Chad took great pride in being a self-absorbed, pretty-boy. Peter, a has-been hippie, worked hard to disappear into his own world. A flip of a coin drew them into an unlikely friendship their first year at university.

A year later, they befriended a white South African exchange student. Concerned about their self-centered view of the world, he invited them to join him in South Africa.

This year in Africa forces them to face the realities of oppression and cruelty, and of hope and love. However, both begin to see these realities from very different perspectives; perspectives that threatens their friendship and in the end, shapes their futures.

'The Smoke That Thunders,' explores the quest for friendship, love and forgiveness in the midst of human frailty and cruelty. It is a journey towards hope—hope that we can find faith in ourselves and in something much greater.

