From: Snwdemon

Subject: Who will catch my fall

Chapter 1: (M/b, abusive situations, no sex)


WARNING: This story contains descriptions of abusive acts, both physical and sexual in nature, involving MINOR boys. I wish to explain that this story is not true! Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against minors, but to educate people as to what a minor child has to do in order to survive in a severely abusive environment they are trapped. One of the most famous examples of this was Steven Stayner, who was kidnapped at age 7 and severely abused for 7 years both physically, sexually, and mentally. I have had the privilege of working with a number of boys like him, and I consider all of them to be extremely brave. Many people still believe that children who stay with an abuser/captor do so because they want to. This is utterly untrue, and is proven through numerous interviews, and psychological studies conducted with these victims. A young child does not have the same ability to cope with stressful situations as an adult would because they have not had the privilege of time and experience that an adult has. Therefore, they rely more on their basic instincts, and learn quickly what they need to do in order to survive. Thus, when they are removed from that abusive situation they also have an extremely hard time adjusting to their new environment because they are not familiar with trust, caring, and compassion. These are the emotions the abused child has to learn once they are put into a new non-abusive environment. People assume that these emotions are natural. Many do not realize that most of our human emotions are learned.


The following story is a work of fiction; however, it does incorporate actual events that I learned from victims I counseled over the years. I also do not encourage others to perform any kind of abusive or sexual act with minors. If the subject of Man/boy sex, abuse, and/or rape of minors offends you, or this material is illegal to possess material of this nature in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age to possess such material, do not read further!


By downloading this story: "You implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to have access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to read." The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Snwdemon. A copy has been placed in these archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. However, if you want to place a copy of this story in your free access archives please email me for my permission. The story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or be printed and distributed in any form that requires payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to individuals, living, or dead, is completely accidental. Reference is also made in context to some locations, businesses, characters, and people to define the story line. No other implication about the true sexuality or actions of the people, businesses, or places mentioned is intended.





Hello everyone, I began this story in the spring of 2004. Since then, I have continued to work on it sporadically, and I have received thousands of responses from you. I appreciate all of your emails, and I have used most of your advice to improve my writing skills. Up until I started this story, my writing had been a small hobby that I never took seriously. However, after posting my first story, Rodie's Love, I began to look at my writing as something more than something I did with the idle thoughts and ideas in my mind. I actually saw it as it truly is, and that is a profession. Anyone can write words on a page, but only an author can make those words mean something to the people who read it. It is much more difficult that many think, and my respect goes out to everyone who is willing to post their stories no matter their how good their writing skills are. Over these years, not only has my stories improved, but so have my writing skills in general thanks to everyone's advice who responded to my efforts.


For this story, as I went back over the entire story, I could see some glaring inaccuracies and errors. They made the storyline confusing because they contradicted some facts, and degraded the overall story. Therefore, I have started from the beginning of the story, and corrected and revised each chapter. I will be posting the revised chapters before I post the new remaining chapters of Part 2. A few of the most visible changes in the revised chapters are the format of each chapter, recaps from the previous chapter, and the moved Author's notes to the end of each chapter as an endnote. I have also included at the end of each chapter, where it is needed, a small glossary of medical terminology and foreign words so that people will understand what the terms or words mean. I have chosen to post the revisions in filtered webpage format in order to keep the font and story format intact. This was lost when it was converted to plain text format, and it added to the confusion in many parts of the story. I also added a short recap from the previous chapter so that the story flowed easier from chapter to chapter. Then I decided to remove all of the author's notes for each chapter because they were more of a recap of my personal life at that time instead of about the story itself. For most of the author's notes, I have kept the relevant parts that were directly related to the story, and deleted the personal information. I will include an epilogue at the end of each part of the story, which will cover all of the events in my life since I began this story, but it will not take away from the story itself by adding it at the end. Therefore, I hope that you will read Part 1 again as it was originally intended without all of the many errors and confusions. Thank you all for your continued support and comments. God Bless, my friends; Damion.



Who will catch my fall:


Chapter 1 -- November 18, 1995

The desk Sergeant was not having a good day. He had been taking calls non-stop all morning ranging from reporters to nut cases calling about the Bill Jefferies shooting yesterday, and the gruesome discovery made later at his house. The police had also put out an alert because a few of the people who lived close to Jefferies home said that he had a fifteen-year-old son named Devon. However, the officers involved in the shooting claimed that Jefferies was shooting at a young boy who had fled the scene on foot as Jefferies shot at him before the officers on scene fatally shot him. Therefore, it took him a little while to acknowledge the young boy standing at the counter. When he was finally able to acknowledge the boy, he noticed that the boy was covered with dirt and mud, along with an odd-looking stain on the right side of his t-shirt that started at the neck and went all the way down the right side. When the boy saw him looking at it, he quickly hugged himself with his left arm going under his right arm, and across his chest to his right side. His left hand instinctively covered the darkest part of the stained area on his t-shirt.

"What can I do for you young man?" Sgt. O'Malley asked him. He had to strain to hear the boy's reply over the noise in the office behind him.

"I need some help please? I escaped from Pop, then he hurt me, and now I don't know where to go." The boy said in a voice just barely over a whisper as he looked down at the floor.

"What was that again son? Speak up a bit so I can hear you." The phone was ringing again distracting Sgt. O'Malley so he picked it up and hung up immediately.

"I'm the kid who Bill Jefferies was after yesterday and I need help," the boy said a little louder while still looking at the floor. This time though the sergeant had heard him clearly. He turned around and bellowed at the others in the large room behind him.

"QUIET DOWN! I need to hear this," he shouted and everybody was startled into silence. He turned back to the boy and asked in a calm voice, "What is your name again son?"

" don't know. Pop always told me to say my name was Devon, but it is not my real name. I'm not his son, but I can't remember what my real name is," the boy answered while looking down at his muddy sneakers.

"And who is this `Pop' you keep mentioning?" The hard-bitten sergeant asked to verify what he had heard the first time.

"Pop is Bill Jefferies, I ran away from him yesterday when he said he was going to kill me like all of the others. He said that he was going to kill me because I was bad like the other boys, but the truck broke down, and I got free and I ran. That is when the police saw him shooting at me, and they shot him when he pointed his gun at them. I kept running but my leg was hurt, and I couldn't run anymore," the boy answered with a sniffle. He continued to look down at his muddy shoes as he spoke, and he only looked up at the sergeant once he had finished. Not knowing what to do after hearing this incredible story, Sgt. O'Malley decided to notify his superior, and the detective in charge of the investigation so they could figure out what was going on.

"Ok son, why don't you come with me," he said. He saw the boy tense up and take a step backwards towards the door as he extended his hand towards him. Sgt. O'Malley could see the fear in the boy's dirty face so he gave him his most reassuring smile and the boy relaxed a bit. He was still poised to bolt if he felt threatened in any way though so Sgt. O'Malley did his best not to alarm the boy.

"Ar...are you going to put me in prison?" The boy asked in a soft voice with a frightened look on his dirty face. The sergeant looked closer at the boy noticing that his clothes were dripping wet and muddy. The boy was only wearing an old pair of sneakers with no socks, wet muddy jeans, and a thin t-shirt. This was not the typical clothing a child should be wearing in November in the state of Washington. The kid was freezing cold, and even though he tried to hide it, the sergeant could see him shivering. Sgt. O'Malley thought to himself that there was something about this kid's face, and his appearance that told him that this was a child in trouble, and in need of their help.

"No son, I am not going to lock you up. I just want you to talk to one of the detectives is all, so I am going to take you to a room where it is warmer than out here. Come along now," Sgt. O'Malley said to him with a reassuring smile on his face. The boy hesitated for a moment, then decided to trust him, and followed him down the hallway. Sgt. O'Malley did notice that the boy limped as if his right leg was hurt, and his right arm seemed odd as he supported it with his left arm. He ushered him into one of the interrogation rooms, went and got a blanket, and draped it around the kid's slim shoulders. He then left again, and made a cup of hot chocolate and took it to the boy. The kid sniffled again, thanked him, then gave him a little smile before Sgt. O'Malley left, and asked one of the clerks to go find Detective Roberts. Next, he returned to the duty desk and called Captain Smith.

"Sir, Sgt. O'Malley here, I think you need to come down here for a moment. I have got a young boy claiming that he is the child who was fleeing from Bill Jefferies yesterday. Yes sir, I put him in room #2, and sent someone to find Detective Roberts. He appears to be a boy of 9 or 10 years old and he looks like he has been hiding in a mud hole. He is cold, wet, and muddy so I got him a blanket and hot chocolate to warm him up a little. My opinion sir? I think he is the boy in question who was fleeing from Jefferies. He looks like he is scared half to death as well as half-frozen sir, and it appears that his leg may be injured also. He said that Jefferies told him to tell everyone that his name is Devon, but he is too young to be Jefferies son. Yes I will, and thank you sir." Sgt. O'Malley said before hanging up the phone and returning to his attention to his work on the desk.



Devon was led to a room with a metal table in it surrounded by a couple of chairs. The police officer had him sit down and brought him a blanket before asking him if he wanted anything. Devon asked for some water but the officer brought him a cup of hot chocolate instead before leaving and closing the door behind him. He sat there thinking to himself while he sipped the warm drink as he wrapped the blanket tightly around him. His right shoulder and side was hurting very bad now, so he pulled a small bottle of aspirin out from the pocket of his damp jeans and took two of them. He gingerly felt his side through his wet t-shirt and winced as he applied some pressure, but after a few moments, the pain subsided to the dull ache again. He could not remember how he had gotten hurt exactly, but he knew Pop was the one who hurt him, and the sound on his side kept bleeding. Pop was always the one who hurt him, and Devon always blanked it out when Pop hurt him for some reason. It must have been something real bad because he always blanked out the real bad things Pop did to him. He told the officer that Pop had always told him his name was Devon, but he never believed it. He knew instinctively that he was not Devon Jefferies, but he did not know how he knew this, or why he could not remember so many things.

One of the things that he did remember was all of Pop's rules, and the punishments for breaking the rules, so he always tried hard to obey them. However, no matter how good he was, Pop always punished him for breaking the rules. Sometimes, Pop would do worse things to him that his mind balked at remembering. Whatever it was, he was sure it was something to do with the bad place that Pop took him to sometimes. Pop would always tell him that he was going to take him there and leave him, knowing that he did not like the bad place. When bad things happened to him, he would always blank them out by saying a little poem over and over to himself. It was his special poem, and it always made him feel better when he was hurt or scared. The weird thing was that when he remembered the poem, he was not the one who was saying it. It was another boy's voice that he heard, and for some strange reason that voice always made him feel better. It was also the same voice that told him that the kiss me cloud was where he lived, but he did not know where that was. Although, the only memories of home that Devon could remember was with Pop even though he somehow knew that this fact was wrong.


"He isn't my father. Pop was never my father." Devon told himself again as he had done many times in the past. However, he did not know if these people would believe him, or even help him. However, he had nowhere else to go, and he was hurting so much. He was so tired too, but he was afraid to sleep because he did not think he would wake up again if he did. The teachers at school always said that if a kid needed help to go to the police. On the other hand, he did not have any reason to trust the teachers, or any other adult for the most part. None of them had ever helped him before even though they had seen the bruises, and had seen him taking bottlefuls of aspirin constantly. They also knew that he was older than all of the other kids in his class by two years, but he was still one of the smallest boys too, and the teachers just told him that he had been held back. Yet, because he was quiet, never drew attention to him self, and did his work, even if it was only D's and C's that he got, they just ignored him and that made Pop happy. Now he did not know if the police would help him because Pop always said that they would never believe him. That they would lock him up in prison because he was bad for always breaking the rules, and that he needed to be punished. He did not want to come here at all, but Pop had hurt his arm, side, back, and leg, so he needed help. Also, he was so cold and wet, and he knew that he was going to die if he had to spend the night in the woods again. Therefore, he came here and hoped that they would help him and not lock him up in prison as Pop had told him because he had broken the rules again. He continued to hold his side and took another drink from his hot chocolate when the door opened and two different men came into the room. After glancing at them for a moment, he stiffened, and started at the cup in front of him.



"Hello there, I am Detective John Roberts and this is Captain Smith." The taller of the two men said to him. John started to extend his hand towards Devon, but stopped when he saw Devon cringe, and raised his left arm as if to block a blow.

"Its ok son, you have nothing to be afraid of here. We just want to talk to you and see what we can do to help you is all." Detective Roberts said calmly in the same tone he used to use with his daughter. He watched the young boy relax a little and hug himself with his left arm after pulling the blanket around him tighter. Detective Roberts thought he saw a slight wince on the boy's face, which was streaked with dirt. Judging from the streaks on his face, he guessed the boy had been crying recently. At that moment, another officer opened the door and asked for Captain Smith. The Captain leaned over and whispered something into John's ear, then excused himself, and left. Detective Roberts sat down across from Devon and put his arms on the table in front of him.

"All right now, would you mind telling me your name son?" John asked the boy.

"Devon I guess, but it is not my real name sir," the boy answered softly as he looked down at the table.

"And why is that son?" John asked him. He watched the boy look up at him for a moment then look down again before he answered.

"Because that is the name Pop always told me to tell everyone, but it isn't my real name though," Devon said quietly while looking down at the table. He could not look at the man's face when spoken to or answering because that was one of Pop's rules. Devon had learned that if he did not obey the rules that Pop would beat him. Also, didn't the man raise his hand to hit him when he came in? He probably only stopped because the other man was with him he thought to himself. Therefore, Devon tried to obey the rules with the man so he would not be punished.

"Ok, so if Devon is not your real name then what is your name?" The man asked him.

"I ...I don't know. I cannot remember my name sir. I just know that Devon isn't my real name is all," Devon replied as he continued to stare down at the table. Only after he was quiet was he willing to risk glancing up at the man to see if he was angry with him.

"All right then, do you mind if I call you Devon for now until we can find out what your real name is?" John asked him. He was noting all of Devon's mannerisms as he asked him the questions. He saw that the only time Devon would look at him was when he was not answering him or when John was speaking. When he asked a question, Devon always turned his head to the right a little, as if he was listening intently to the question, his tone of voice, and the inflection of each word. Devon was also very careful to make sure that he was respectful when he answered him, while at the same time; he was also trying to appear as submissive as possible. He never answered immediately, nor did he volunteer any more information than what was needed to answer the question. Detective Roberts knew that if he changed the tone of his voice, no matter the reason, that Devon would apologize to him even if he had done nothing wrong. So far, all of this boy's mannerisms spoke loudly to John that this kid had been physically abused, and mentally abused for some time in the recent past.

"Yes sir. I don't mind if you call me Devon," said Devon as he stared at the cup of chocolate in front of him. Once he was quiet, he risked another quick glance up at the man before returning his gaze back to the cup.

"Now Devon, who exactly is this man you call Pop?" John asked him.

"He is Bill Jefferies, sir." Devon responded meekly as he continued to stare at the cup in front of him.

"And this Bill Jefferies is not your father correct?" John asked.

"Yes sir." Demon said, and then he risked another glance at the man for a moment.

"So is he your uncle or some other relative then?" John said to him.

"No sir. I'm not related to him at all." Devon told him as his face flushed a bit.

"And you know this because why?" Detective Roberts asked him in a slighter harsher tone of voice this time just to see how Devon would react.

"I'm sorry sir." Devon said quickly when he heard the man's voice become angry. He did not look up this time, but shut his eyes tight instead, and tensed himself for the blow he knew was coming. The man must be mad because he kept looking up at him when he was not supposed to look. John watched Devon as he heard the change of tone in his voice. Devon apologized as he expected him to do, then he watched Devon go rigid with his eye screwed shut tightly as his body trembled. After a couple of minutes passed in eerie silence, Devon opened his eyes, but he did not glance up this time, and he sat there with a fearful expression on his face as he waited for John to hit him. John was positive now that Devon had been beaten into submissiveness. He quickly readjusted his tone and tried to make the boy relax.

"It is ok son; I will not hurt you in any way. It is all right to look at me ok," John said in a soft reassuring tone of voice. Devon did not relax nor looked at him, but remained tensed while staring at the table.

"It's a trick! As soon as I look up, he is going to hit me even more. Don't move, and take your punishment for breaking the rule." Devon thought to himself as he sat staring at the cup. Pop always tried to trick him just so he could punish him more. John could see that Devon did not believe him, so he stood up, and saw Devon cringe as he took a deep breath and held it. However, instead of raising his arms to protect himself, Devon's reaction was to clutch his right side and arm protectively as he gritted his teeth and winced. John moved to the side of the table and knelt down until he could see Devon's face.

"Really, it is ok son. I promise that nobody will hurt you here, and nobody will hit you either. I just want to help you is all, and I did not mean to frighten you just now. You do not have to be afraid of me or of anybody else here because nobody is going to hurt you. Please Devon, you need to trust me because all I want to do is help you, not hurt you. You are not in any trouble, so you have nothing to be afraid of, ok?" John said in a soft, caring tone. He watched as Devon struggled with himself as to whether or not he should believe what John said. Devon looked at John as he slowly let out his breath, and he thought that John had sad, but caring eyes. Then John saw Devon wince again, and that seemed to make up Devon's mind. Devon relaxed a little, then looked at John and spoke for the first time.

"I...I'm not in trouble?" Devon asked him, and John shook his head. Another sharp pain went through his side and his eyes began to water as he sucked in another breath before gritting his teeth again.

"No you are not in trouble Devon. I just want to help you is all. Are you feeling ok?" John asked him as he saw Devon wince again, and his eyes water as if he were about to cry. Devon held his breath until the pain passed, and he was feeling dizzy. Now, he knew that he had no other choice but to trust the man because his side was getting worse. He nodded his head to the man finally as a small whimper escaped him. The man got up and went back to his chair while Devon watched him. Devon was beginning to feel hot, yet cold too, and he started to sit up and remove the blanket. However, when he glanced down at his side, he could see blood covering his hand.

"It's bleeding again." He thought to himself as he realized this, and pressed his hand back down harder even though it hurt more. He pulled the blanket tighter around him with his left hand first, and forced himself to look at the man when he spoke after covering his right side with his left hand again.

"I can't remember how I know I'm not related; I just know that I'm not his son is all. I can't remember a lot of things cause of Pop." Devon said to him quietly.

"Can you remember where you lived then Devon?" John asked him.

"Not really sir. I have an idea but it's kinda silly." Devon said softly. His throat felt dry and scratchy as he spoke. He reached for his cup of chocolate with his left hand, but his hand started to shake as he touched it. Then he felt another sharp pain in his right side where he had pressed his left hand against him. His side felt wet and slippery now while his dizziness got worse.

"Well you let me be the judge of that ok, where is this place that you think is silly?" John asked as he looked at him, and it was obvious that Devon was in some kind of distress. He was about to ask Devon if he was hurt when he answered him in a faint, quivering voice.

"It's the kiss me cloud sir. I think that is where I live.'t feel so go...od sir." Devon said softly. His side was really hurting him now, and he was so hot yet still freezing cold. He shifted in his seat and the blanket slipped off his right shoulder. Detective Roberts could see the large bloodstain that was covering the entire right side of Devon's dirty t-shirt underneath his bloody left hand. He saw that Devon's whole body was now shaking badly, and that his eyes were glassy. The last thing he noticed was that one of Devon's pupils was dilated while the other was almost fully closed. John had already started to move when Devon spoke again in a faint trembling voice before he toppled off the chair into John's arms.

"It sir," was all Devon was able to say before he felt his world spinning out of control as he started falling into utter darkness.

End of Chapter 1

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