Date: Mon, 22 Aug 2016 12:12:56 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Chapter 30 of Come Christmas Steve by Hans Schreiber

Chapter 30
Justice or JUST US

I went and told Whittaker and my parents that Adam was coming. Mom
immediately set out to bake a strawberry pie. I was tasked with retrieving
the berries from our chest freezer. Dad and Whittaker both expressed high
hopes that it was good news for him to be coming in person to deliver it
then went back to work on the production layout for the new building they
were designing. Billy was gone playing basketball with some friends, which
was something he hadn't done much of since switching to online schooling.

I was a nervous wreck. My stomach was in knots. I went to my room and did
some more research on testimonies of children in molestation cases. That
wasn't real comforting. There were so many threads talking about
manipulation. I was happy that Adam was early. At 12:45, Mom called up the
stairs that Adam had arrived. I took a deep breath and headed
downstairs. After the pleasantries were done with, Mom offered Adam lunch.

"Normally, I'd love to. I really hate turning down such a lovely lady and
wonderful cook, but I'm on a bit of a schedule. I'll have to pass," Adam
declined.

Mom was crestfallen.

Turning to me he asked, "Is there a private place where I can show you the
deposition recording?"

"Umm, my room, I guess."

"Is it clean?" Mom asked.

"Yes!" I responded.

"Great. Show me the way," Adam said.

"How about if I bring up a sandwich and some milk. You can eat while you
work," Mom suggested.

"That would be lovely," Adam responded politely. "Thank you, Mrs. Steele."

Adam cleared space on my desk and set up his laptop. He powered it on and
navigated to the deposition mpeg. It started with introductions. Neither
Adam, nor the prosecutor had attended. Only their hired guns, both child
psychologists, were there - the "experts". Daniel was there, obviously, and
his mother was there, but not his father. There was a court recorder doing
the filming and separate note taking. The prosecution's expert went first.

He was smooth as diarrhea on hot pavement. His smile was pasted and
fake. He instantly gave me the creeps. He used a syrupy voice when he spoke
to Daniel that came off condescending even to a six year old. Daniel sat at
the end of the conference room table in a chair that was way too big for
him and he looked very uncomfortable and nervous. He was not the bouncy,
happy little boy, I'd seen at Yellowstone.

The prosecutor's psychologist asked him a few questions not related to the
case to try and establish a rapport, I presumed. Then he asked his full
name and finally launched into the meat of his questions.  Why was he in
Yellowstone? What did he like about the trip? How long was he there? Then,
he asked, "Daniel, do you remember New Year's Eve night when you went
upstairs to use the bathroom by yourself?"

"Yes," Daniel answered.

"Tell us what happened when you got to your door," he continued.

"I couldn't get the lock undone," he responded.

"Then how did you get in?" he asked.

"Mr. Shane helped me," he answered.

"You mean Shane Steel? I have a picture here of someone named Shane. Is
this a picture of who helped you?" he asked.

"Yes," Daniel affirmed.

"How did he help you?"

"I gave him the key and he unlocked the door for me," Daniel said.

"How did he know you needed help? Was he just standing in the hallway?"

"No, he was behind the bush down by the window," Daniel said.

"What was he doing behind the bush? Spying on you?" the slimy expert asked.

"I dunno. Hiding, I guess," he answered.

"Why was he hiding?" asked the psychologist.

Our defense psychologist cleared his throat loudly, signifying disapproval
of the line of questioning. The prosecuting guy looked over and smiled.

"I dunno, maybe because he was nakie," Daniel suggested.

"He was naked?" The expert feigned shocked surprise.

"Yeah," Daniel responded matter of fact like.

"Completely naked?"

"Yup."

"Not even shoes or socks?" he asked, dragging out the point.

"Nope."

"Not even underwear?" he asked, acting surprised.

"Nope."

"Why was he naked?" he asked.

"I dunno," was Daniel's answer with a shrug. With that, the psych moved on.

"So when the door opened up, what did you do?" asked the psych.

"I ran in to go pee," Daniel answered.

"Okay. And Shane went back to his room?"

"Nuh-uh. He came in with me."

"He did? Why did he do that?" the psych asked.

"Cause he was nakie," Daniel said, shaking his head like to say duh.

"But why would he come in your room?"

"Cause he didn't want to be nakie outside, I guess." Daniel was starting to
let his regular personality show and his nervousness had diminished.

"Oh. Then what happened? Did he follow you into the bathroom?"

"Yup. He did," Daniel answered.

"Why did he do that?"

Daniel looked back and forth between the psychologist and his
mother. Suddenly, he looked nervous again. He started fidgeting and
wouldn't look up.

"Daniel what did Shane do in the bathroom with you?" he asked in a firm
tone.

"He undid my weird belt thingy and pulled my pants down, cause I didn't
know how to do it," Daniel almost whispered.

"You didn't know how to pull your pants down?" the dipshit psych asked.

"No, the weird belt thing," Daniel said.

"Okay. And then what?"

"I went pee."

"What else did Shane do while you were peeing?" he asked. "Did he touch
you?"

Daniel nodded.

"Speak up, Daniel. I need you to answer out loud, not just nod, okay?" the
psych requested.

"Okay," Daniel mumbled.

"Did Shane touch you?" he asked again.

"Yes." Again, Daniel fidgeted and didn't look up.

"Where did he touch you?" the psych asked.

"On my pee-pee," Daniel muttered.

The psych held up a sketch of a naked little boy, front and back. He asked
Daniel to reach out and touch the spot on the picture where Shane had
touched him.

"Here. On my pee-pee," Daniel said pointing to the small penis.

"And did he touch you anywhere else?"

"Yes. On my berries," Daniel said, pointing to the small testicles on the
drawing.

"And anywhere else?"

"Yes. On my bum."

"The outside of your bum or did he touch you up inside of it?" the psych
probed.

"Inside it. He rubbed my bum and he put his big pee-pee in my crack."

"Did he do this while you were going pee in the toilet?" the psych asked.
Daniel nodded.

"Speak up, remember," the psych commanded.

Daniel looked up at him and said, "Yes."

"How did this make you feel?" the psych asked.

"Scared," Daniel said.

"Did you tell him to stop doing it?" he asked.

"Yes," Daniel muttered with his head down.

"Did he stop?"

"No."

"When you finished peeing, what happened?" the psych asked.

"He made me turn around," Daniel answered.

"You didn't want to?" the psych asked.

"No."

"Why didn't you want to turn around?"

"Because," Daniel answered.

"Okay. Then what happened?"

"He sat me up on the potty and pushed my shirt up so he could rub my
pee-pee," Daniel responded.

"And did you tell him no?"

"Uh-huh. But he said I had to so we could play a fun game."

"So he held your shirt up and rubbed your pee-pee with his fingers?" he
asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Did this upset you?"

"Yes."

"And you told him you didn't want to play this game?"

"Yes." Daniel said.

"What happened after that?" the psych pursued.

"He sucked on my pee-pee." Daniel said, looking miserable. He was very
convincing.

"ADAM! None of this happened! I swear!" I said, emphatically.

Adam paused the video and put a steadying hand on my arm.

"I have no idea why he is saying all of this. It happened exactly like I
said it did!" I cried out. I was about to vomit. I was shaking and about to
bawl.

"I know," Adam replied. "He's been coached to lie. Keep watching." Adam hit
the play button again but quickly stopped it when Mom walked in with a tray
of sandwiches, Jello salad, veggies with ranch dressing and a slice of
strawberry pie. I was glad she hadn't come up any earlier when the bullshit
lies were being told.

"Looks wonderful, Mrs. Steele. Thank you very much," Adam said.

"Yeah, thanks Mom. Love you," I chimed in. When she started down the
stairs, Adam hit the play button again.

"How did you feel about him doing that to you?" the evil psychologist
asked.

"Bad."

"Did he do anything else? Did he make you do anything to him?"

"Umm, Yes?" Daniel framed it as a question, not an answer but the psych
ignored it and forged on.

"What did Shane make you do to him?"

Daniel suddenly looked up and straight at the psychologist. There was
uncertainty in his expression. "I forgot," he said. Then he looked at his
mother, in a questioning manner.

"It's okay, Daniel," said the psych. "If something bad happens to you and
upsets you that much, it's normal to forget some things. Just try your best
to remember, okay? He was sucking on your pee-pee and you told him to stop
it, but he didn't. Think about what happened after that?"

"Okay. I'm trying to mumember. Don't be mad at me," Daniel said, looking
over at his mother.

"It's okay sweetie, Mommy's not mad at you. Mommy loves you. Just do your
best to remember everything, just like we talked about."

The psych immediately shot Daniel's mom a cross look, then refocused on
Daniel. "After Shane sucked on your pee-pee, what did he make you do to
him? Did he maybe make you touch his pee-pee?"

"Enough!" our defense psych said. "Why do we even have Daniel here, if
you're going to invent the testimony yourself? This is so
inappropriate. I'm officially objecting to this entire interview. Put that
on record."

"You are out of order. You'll get your turn. Please keep quiet until then,"
the prosecutor's psych spat back.

"So Daniel, did he ask you to touch his pee-pee?"

"Yes."

"Did he want you to touch it in any special way?"


"Yes. He told me to hold it tight and to rub it up and down like he'd done
to mine," Daniel said.

"Was his pee-pee dangling down like this or was it sticking up like this?"
The psych actually dangled a finger, then let it twitch as if it were a
penis getting an erection. When it was pointing up, Daniel agreed that it
was sticking up and hard.

"Let's pretend my finger is Shane's pee-pee. Show me how he made you rub
it?"

"Like this." Daniel wrapped his fingers around the pointer finger and
stroked up and down on it.

Adam stopped the video. "Shane, did you let him or coax him to touch or
stroke your penis?"

"Hell no! Daniel reached out one time while he was peeing and touched his
finger to my soft dick and said something about how big it was. That's
all. I swear! I never even got one bit hard at all. It wasn't sexual. This
is all total bullshit!"

"I believe you, Shane. I just had to ask." Adam resumed the video.

"Is that all Shane made you do to him?"

"No."

"What else did he make you do?"

"He made me suck on his pee-pee like how he'd sucked on mine," Daniel said,
looking down. His lip quivering.

"Did he say why he wanted you to do that?"

"Umm, no."

"Are you sure? Think hard. Why did he want you to do that?"

"Oh yeah, he asked me if I liked milk," Daniel said, suddenly remembering.

"Why would he ask you that?" the psych asked, nodding and looking pleased.

"He said he had some magic milk inside his pee-pee and if I sucked on it, I
could get some to come out and it would make me super strong, like a
ninja."

"Do you like ninja's?" the psychologist asked.

"Uh-huh. I have my own ninja sword."

"'That's neat. So I guess you wanted to suck on it after Shane told you
that?" the psych asked.

"No. I still didn't want to," Daniel said, looking at his mother for
confirmation.

"So are you saying he made you suck on it even though you didn't want to?"

"Uh-huh," Daniel answered.

"Then what happened next?"

"He squirted his milk in my mouth. It was yucky."

"I see. That must have been very scary," the psych sympathized.

"Yeah." Daniel agreed and nodded.

"Did anything else happen after that?" the psych asked again.

"My mommy and daddy came."

"Did your mommy and daddy see you and Shane naked?"

"No. Shane got really scared and kind of mad. He said I better not tell
what we did. He said I would get in big trouble if I told."

"How scary. So what happened after that?"

"Shane told me we should play a secret ninja game. He hid behind the big
elk so my parents couldn't see him," Daniel exclaimed, looking at the
psychologist.

"Big elk?" the psych asked. "What big elk?"

"The one on the bathtub thing," he explained.

"You mean the shower curtain?" he asked.

"Yeah. That."

"Oh, okay. Did your parents know Shane was behind there?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Because we were secret ninjas. Mumember? Mommy and daddy were already mad
like Shane said they would be and I didn't want to get in trouble. They
were yelling."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell us about that night?"

"No," mumbled Daniel.

"You've been very brave Daniel," the psych said. "We'll take a break now
and then you need to answer some more questions, okay?"

"Okay," Daniel said. Then he blurted, "Can I have a cookie now?"

Adam paused the video. I stared at him blankly. "That's it then! I'm
screwed. I'm going to spend the best years of my life in prison."

"Not yet. There are some real problems with this testimony," Adam said. "I
became very suspicious about why, all of a sudden, the prosecution wanted
to do the deposition this week after putting me off.  Then, I found out
that Daniel's father was not going to attend the deposition. I had spoken
with the father by phone and he had told me that Daniel had given him an
account of the events of that night on several separate occasions. He told
me that Daniel had told him that you helped him get into the room, but not
any other details the next morning. Then, after he learned of the
accusations against you, he'd questioned his son again in great detail,
several times. He convinced Daniel that it was okay to tell the truth. The
story Daniel told to his father matched yours in every detail. On three
separate occasions, the father questioned Daniel again, and each time, the
story matched. The mother refused to speak with us."

"Daniel's father told you that his story was just like mine?" I asked.

"Yes. And, after we finished the deposition, we immediately traveled to
South Bend, where he was attending a business meeting. We showed him the
video and he was infuriated. He knew Daniel was not telling the truth. He
knew Daniel had been coached. The mother filed for divorce two weeks
ago. She is seeking sole custody on the basis that he was negligent in
supervising Daniel thereby allowing you to prey on their son in
Yellowstone. It all smelled to me."

"So will the father's testimony save me?" I asked, hopeful again.

"No. Probably not. Not alone. But it is helpful. There are other issues
with Daniel's story. Primarily the timeline. Let's watch our expert's
questioning." Adam restarted the video.

The defense psychologist spoke kindly to Daniel and his demeanor
brightened. He asked him about his favorite TV shows and story
books. Daniel told him all about one of his favorite story books. Something
about a baby lion who grows up to be an astronaut and fly to the moon. "Do
you like stories?" the psychologist asked.

"Uh-huh," Daniel said emphatically, and smiling.

"Do you understand that some stories are true and some are not?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think the story about the baby lion is true?" he asked.

"No." Daniel giggled. "That's silly."

"I'm going to show you a video. It's another story about what you already
talked about with Mr.  Knowles. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"Your father told us that you talked with him about what happened in the
motel room at Yellowstone that night when you had to use the bathroom. Do
you remember talking with your father about that?"

"Yes," Daniel answered.

"He told us what you told him and we made this video about it."

The video started to play. It was setup so that you could see the video
playing and see Daniel in the same screen shot.

The video, to my surprise, was of me. It was the one we made at the
motel. When I came on screen, Daniel excitedly exclaimed, "That's Shane!"

"Yes, it is," our psych replied. "Watch the video and then we can talk
about it after, okay?"

"Okay."

Daniel munched on a cookie as he watched the actors reenact the
events. "Hey, that's not me," Daniel blurted out when Leandro came on
screen.

"No, that's just an actor pretending to be you," our psych explained.


"Oh. Okay." Daniel took a drink of his milk.

When it was over, our defense psych asked Daniel, "Is that close to what
you remember happening?"

"Yes," Daniel quickly responded. "Becept the people looked different, but
not Shane."

"Daniel!" his mom interrupted in a firm tone.

Our psychologist cut her off sharply, "Excuse me, you are not permitted to
speak during my questioning of your son. If you say one more word, I will
insist that you leave the room." She scowled. Our psych repositioned his
and Daniel's chairs so that Daniel could not easily make eye contact with
her.  Daniel withdrew suddenly and stared at the floor, simply from the
sharp mentioning of his name by his mother.

Our psych asked Daniel, "Did you ever see Shane naked any other time
besides when he helped you get into your room that night?"

"Umm, No."

"I talked to your father and he told me that he talked with you a few times
about what happened that night. Do you remember talking with your father
about it?" His mother cleared her throat and our psych shot an angry look
in her direction.

"Yes."

"He said you told him about the things that happened. He said your story
was just like what we showed in the video. But you told Mr. Knowles about
some other things today. Things about touching each other's pee-pees and
sucking on them and getting some milk squirted in your mouth. So we have
two different stories. Why do you think we have two different stories,
Daniel?"  Daniel stared down at the last bite of cookie in his hands. He
shrugged. "I dunno." Then he popped the cookie into his mouth.

"Daniel," our psych asked, "You told Mr. Knowles over there that you
touched Shane's pee-pee, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Did you reach out and touch it with your fingertip just like it was shown
in the video?"

"Yes."

"But you told Mr. Knowles that Shane made you hold it and stroke it up and
down. You showed how you did it on Mr. Knowles' finger."

"Umm, yeah." Daniel was squirming.

"Which is the correct story, Daniel?"

Daniel made a really big shoulder shrug and mumbled, "I dunno."

"Okay. It's okay," our psych assured him.

"Did you think Shane's pee-pee was big?" our psych asked.

"Yeah," Daniel shook his head in agreement.

"Can you tell us what it looked like?"

"I don't know," Daniel shrugged.

"Okay, well was it soft or hard?" our psych asked.

"Soft," Daniel answered.

"Was it dangling down or sticking up when you touched it?"

"Umm, dangling down."

"Okay, so it was just hanging down. Did it ever grow bigger and start
sticking up?"

"I dunno."

"Okay. You seemed to know just how to rub Mr. Knowles' finger earlier. Did
Shane show you how to rub like that or did you practice that with
Mr. Knowles?"

Daniel blurted out completely innocently, "We practiced at the book place."

"Hold on!" the psych, Mr. Knowles, objected, "How dare you interject an
insinuation that I prepped this witness? I will have this all stricken! You
tricked Daniel into saying that. You confused him."

"You'll have that chance. For now, sit down and be quiet," our guy barked.

"Daniel," our psych continued, "Have you ever seen Mr. Knowles before
today?"

"Uh-huh," Daniel said.

"Can you remember how many times you saw him?"

"Umm, I dunno. He brought me cookies. I like cookies."

"I'm striking ALL OF THIS, DAMMIT!" Mr. Knowles bellowed. He stood up and
said, "This is over! Stop the recording!"

"Holy shit!" I said. "I'm free. You freaking saved me."

"Not just yet. The fact that the boy was obviously coached is helpful. We
didn't get to finish our deposition. We have to start over, unless the
judge determines that the witness coaching is so egregious, which it is,
that he agrees to toss the case," Adam explained.

"How could he not?"

"It's entirely up to him. He's not a favorable judge. What they have done
to poor little Daniel is really out of line. The judge may be more incensed
at their actions than he is with you."

"With me? What would he have against me? I never did anything."

"Actually, you did. You exposed yourself to a very young boy. You removed
his pants and underwear and stood by watching while he urinated. You
allowed him, by your own admission, to reach out and touch your penis. You
never made any effort to cover yourself up. You did, also by your own
admission, hide in the bathtub and coax Daniel to keep your secret to avoid
discovery by his parents. It is within reasonable speculation by a jury
that if the parents had not shown up, you would have taken sexual advantage
of Daniel once he finished his potty business."

"Never! I would never do that!"

"I believe you, but to be honest, if I were on the prosecution side of the
bar, I'd have no trouble painting you as an opportunistic pedophile. Then
you add in the Colt situation and the boys on the bus, whatever that was
about, and working at the after school program where you befriended those
two cute young boys, and it all plays into the hand of the prosecutor to
easily paint your behavior as being consistent with the grooming habits of
a predator. So you see, your behavior is not so clearly altruistic. And
what juror is not going to wonder what the hell kind of person runs naked
out into a public hotel hallway to begin with?"

I sat back in my chair. I hadn't really thought through my position. Adam
was right. I had been stupid in so many ways. I had stood there in plain
view of little Daniel. Why hadn't I grabbed a towel to wrap up in? It had
all happened kind of fast. I'd started to but then he needed help with his
belt. Why had I been comfortable in taking down his pants for him? Why did
I run into a hallway naked? Shit, I would probably have serious doubts
about it all myself if I was on my own jury. That realization scared the
shit out of me. "So, now what?"

"If the prosecutor had simply gone for the easy mark, felony indecent
exposure, we would probably be rolling over and taking some kind of plea
deal. However, he decided to go for something salacious to grab the
attention of the press and it will cost him. He tampered with the boy's
testimony and it was badly done. No one can look at that tape and not know
it. If the judge believes you are a pedophile, and he has a tendency
towards wanting to believe that because of his own childhood experience, he
will most likely throw Daniel's whole video testimony out, sanction and
remove the prosecutor, and start completely over with a new prosecutor."

"Wow. Start over? Will this ever end?" I asked.

Adam smiled. "It's a long process, Shane. We have a decision to make once
we know the judge's mind on this deposition. There are a couple of
options. As it turns out, your accused crime took place on federal land. In
1889 and 1890, Wyoming and Montana were admitted into the Union but
Congress assigned all of Yellowstone National Park to the District Court of
Wyoming. That is the only place where a crime can be heard by a court
outside the state where it was committed. There is a 50 square mile section
in the Idaho portion of the park where it would technically be impossible
to assemble a jury, since under the sixth amendment to the constitution,
known as the vicinage clause, jurors must come from the district where the
crime was committed. Even to assemble a jury for the 260 square miles of
the Montana portion of the park would be difficult, but not
impossible. Bottom line is that the State of Montana has no jurisdiction
over this case. It has simply fallen through the loophole cracks by being
assigned to the state system. By law, it must be heard by the Wyoming
Federal District Court." Adam sat back as I took this all in. When I just
stared back, he continued.

Adam explained, "To complicate matters, there is no federal law against
nudity or indecent exposure or child sexual abuse for that matter. If such
a crime is committed on federal property, the local laws have been employed
by the courts. In Montana, the law states that a person commits the offense
of indecent exposure by knowingly or purposely exposing the person's
genitals or intimate parts under circumstances in which the person knows
the conduct is likely to cause affront or alarm in order to abuse,
humiliate, harass or degrade another or arouse or gratify the person's own
sexual response or desire or the sexual response or desire of any
person. In the event a minor is involved, the punishment is a fine not to
exceed $50,000 or to be imprisoned for a term of not less than 4 years. The
four years can be modified by a judge upon a written finding that cause for
a shorter term exists."

"Four years?" I blurted.

"Four years is a minimum," Adam clarified. "Or a hefty fine and no prison
can be imposed. Or, a judge who is willing to recognize the circumstances,
could set some token prison term and possibly suspend it with
probation. And, there is also the additional risk of ending up on the sex
offender registry. That should not be taken lightly. That would make the
rest of your life very difficult."

"Oh my god," I groaned. "All because I tried to help a kid not pee his
pants."

"Basically." Adam placed a sympathetic hand on my knee and asked, "Regret
it?"

I considered his question. "No. I regret not doing some things differently,
but I don't regret trying to be kind and helpful to a little kid. I'd do a
better job of hiding my privates from Daniel, for sure. I guess I'd just
gotten so comfortable with being naked around my brothers and roommates
that I didn't think about it. Plus it all just kind of happened so fast."

"Hmm," Adam said, making a note. "That's an interesting thought."

"All right," Adam began. "Here's what I suggest. I'll take the tape to the
judge and see what his reaction is. If he is furious and decides to toss
the case, we take it. If we get a sense that he still wants to go after
you, we get it moved to Federal District Court in Wyoming and work out the
best deal we can over there."

"Sounds good, I guess. You're the expert."

Adam gathered everything up, stuffed a last fork full of strawberry pie
into his pie hole, and headed off. I shared what had happened and what the
possible consequences would be with my family and with Whittaker. Whittaker
emailed his mom to share what had happened and she emailed back that she
would contact Adam. I couldn't shake a nagging ache in my stomach over
it. For the first time, I was losing hope that it could all just go away. I
worried that I would end up going to a real prison and God alone knew what
level of hell that would unleash. A solemn pall fell over the household as
we all contemplated the consequences. My mother asked for us to all join in
a circle and pray that the judge would make the right decision when he saw
the tape.

Sunday, we all headed back to church. Pastor Nichols gave a lengthy and
unusually boring sermon on the book of Isaiah. I sort of tuned it out and I
could tell most of the rest of the congregation had also. My hopes for a
stirring sermon that would lift me up and give me renewed confidence for a
positive outcome were dashed. I was left bereft of any emotional or
spiritual recharging.

I looked for the strange young woman with the child, but she wasn't
there. Shawna was though. She was in the choir and sang a short solo
section. Her voice was angelic. Whittaker was obviously impressed by it. It
really was inspirational. It was probably the best part of the whole
service. Afterwards, as Billy had arranged it, the four of them went over
to Jaime's foster family's place for games and dinner. I went home with my
parents, excused myself and headed to my room. I researched the judge
online and it was clear that he was not the compassionate type.

I thought over and over about the deposition and grew furious at the
manipulative psychologist who had purposely twisted poor Daniel into
lying. They were blatant lies and the asshole had to know it. How could he
justify doing such a thing? The truth clearly meant nothing to him, only
winning. Winning at my expense. I honestly thought I could be capable of
causing great physical harm to him if given the chance.  He was as bad and
evil as Uncle Arty as far as I was concerned.

When Whittaker and Billy came home, they chatted about the fun time they'd
had at Jaime's place. I quickly separated myself from the conversation and
headed out for a walk. I walked two full laps around the ranch and when I
was done, I buried myself in the poetry book by Frost that Steve had given
me. I guess everyone sensed my foul mood, because no one tried to approach
me. I read a poem that described what I was feeling.

A speck that would have been beneath my sight On any but a paper sheet so
white Set off across what I had written there.  And I had idly poised my
pen in air To stop it with a period of ink When something strange about it
made me think.

This was no dust speck by my breathing blown, But unmistakably a living
mite With inclinations it could call its own.  It paused as with suspicion
of my pen, And then came racing wildly on again To where my manuscript was
not yet dry;

Then paused again and either drank or smelt - With loathing, for again it
turned to fly.  Plainly with an intelligence I dealt.  It seemed too tiny
to have room for feet, Yet must have had a set of them complete To express
how much it didn't want to die.

It ran with terror and with cunning crept.  It faltered: I could see it
hesitate; Then in the middle of the open sheet Cower down in desperation to
accept Whatever I accorded it of fate.  Since it was nothing I knew evil
of, I let it lie there till I hope it slept.

So that was me. A mite. Subject to whatever fate the judge accorded to
me. Would he let me be or would he strike me down with the blot of his pen?
I feared he would not be as benevolent as Robert Frost had been to the mite
on his page.

I headed to bed and wrestled with the dark side of my soul until I fell
asleep.

I slept in. I had no desire to face people and their awkward
encouragement. When I did emerge from my hole, I busied myself with
projects for the business. Everyone made a wide circle around me as I'm
sure I was clearly broadcasting my sour mood. The day was dragging on until
late afternoon when Adam appeared on the caller screen of my phone.

"Adam," I said, "What's going on?"

"I showed the judge the video. He was already aware of what had gone
on. Not only did he fail to side with us, he informed me that our use of
the video we showed Daniel was inappropriate and beyond the bounds of a
fair deposition. He actually scolded me and made it clear that all of the
prosecution's deposition footage would be used, but ours would be
stricken. We would have another chance to depose Daniel, in his office,
with him present and there would be absolutely no leading the boy's
testimony. It was abysmal. He has his own agenda and is determined that you
get no shot at a fair trial."

I wanted to vomit. I couldn't speak for a bit. "Oh." The thought raced
through my brain that the prayer we'd said as a family, to ask for the
judge's favorable decision, had been wasted words.

"That's it? Oh?" Adam asked. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yeah. That's it. Thanks for trying, Adam."

"It's not over yet, Shane. I've already filed the requisite paperwork to
correct the venue to the proper jurisdiction in Wyoming. They will have no
reach there. This was all just a very wasteful exercise that won't mean a
thing in the long run. Hang in there with me. We're not done."

"I'm done. I can't keep this up. I can't stand it any longer. It all seems
like there is no such thing as justice. It's JUST US against those with
power to lie and cheat and get whatever predetermined outcome they
want. It's all rigged!"

"Shane, this is not how it always is. You got a bad draw. The system has
flaws, but mostly, it works.  Getting this moved to Federal Court will be
completely different. I should have just done it to begin with," Adam
offered.

"I hope so, Adam. I hope so. Thanks. Let me know what happens with moving
it to Federal Court," I said.

"I will. Of course. Hang in there Shane. It will get better."

I hung up, and started pounding my fist against the desk until my hand was
throbbing. Then I screamed in fury. I was just a mite. Just like I'd always
been. A mite to abuse and torture. A tiny weak creature, surely incapable
of feelings and of no real value. So why not exclude me from the group and
whisper behind my back, or sit me on the bench and let the others play, or
laugh me to scorn, or just send me to prison for no good reason. Why not
just drop the pen to the clean white sheet and drown me in the ink of your
own selfish indulgence. "Fuck you! Fuck every single one of you!" I cried
out.

When I'd made myself considerably miserable, I headed out for a walk to
blow off steam. I stopped at the big oak tree and slumped down against the
trunk. I thought of the many times I'd climbed it as a boy to think and
sometimes cry over some sad thing or another that had happened to me. I
remembered happier occasions, when I'd used the cover of the leaves to slip
my penis out and masturbate.

The entirety of everything just overwhelmed me and I burst into great
heaving sobs. I sobbed for what seemed like an hour, though it was probably
no more than ten minutes. When I was done, I wiped my snotty nose on my
sleeve for the fourth or fifth time and dragged myself back to my
feet. Somehow, I felt a little better just getting it all out. A freight
train rumbled by on the opposite side of the canal.

"Are you okay?" a small voice asked.

I spun around in startled surprise, "Colt? What are you doing here?"

"Just out riding my bike. I come here sometimes to think and play. I like
to climb the big tree," he said.

"Does your dad know you come here? Because I don't think he'd like that," I
told him.

"No," Colt answered sheepishly. "Why were you crying?"

"I was just feeling sad over everything that's going on is all," I
answered.

"Yeah, I know how that is," he said with a big sigh.

"Look, you shouldn't be here. I don't need your dad driving by and seeing
us together, all right?"

"I know. I'm sorry. You sure you're okay?" he asked. "Do you need a hug?"

"No, I'm all right. You head off now. And Colt?" I said.

"Yeah?"

"Don't come back here anymore. It's not a good idea, all right?" I
requested.

"All right. See ya," Colt agreed. He got back on his bike and rode off.

I made my way home, hugged my parents and shared what Adam had told me, and
then went to bed. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't horny. I wasn't anything but
numb, nervous and scared. I was truly scared.

I'd excused myself from dinner and I'd stripped to my boxers and climbed
into bed early, clutching a pillow to my chest, desperately in need of
Steven to hold me. For the first time in my troubled life, I allowed myself
to entertain the idea of suicide. Not just as a flicker or a passing
notion. I'd had those before, never serious. At this point, I was
serious. I contemplated how I could pull it off. I couldn't leave a body
hanging around for Mom to discover or anything awful like that. I needed to
just disappear. I thought of drowning myself or taking the truck and
driving off a cliff in a remote canyon. I was relishing the thought of the
impact when I was startled by someone climbing into bed with me.

I turned to find Whittaker pressing himself against my body. He didn't
speak. He just spooned up against me and wrapped a long leg over mine. I
started to cry and to rehash all the unfairness, but he simply pressed a
finger to my lips to quiet me. "I know," was all he said. His arm slipped
tenderly over my shoulder and across my chest. He simply nestled against me
and held me. I relaxed. I melted into him. I slept.

The next day, and for two long weeks, I worked on the business to keep my
mind off my worries. Orders were coming in. Dad was very busy in producing
the units and even hired a guy to help fit and weld.  Whittaker was busy
working on a contractor to build a production building beside the existing
barn.  With the increased inventory that we were keeping in the barn,
Whittaker had me go with Mom and purchase a security camera system and
install it. We added lights outside the barn and the house for additional
night security. It was a pretty legit system and it all ran on Wi-Fi so
even I could install it. That kept me happily occupied for a couple of
days. Besides that, I was busy answering phones, writing proposals,
ordering parts and a multitude of other tasks. It kept my mind from
dwelling on all the negative thoughts.

 I hated the days to end and the nights to come. That's when the mental
demons showed up and lured me back into fits of despair. The other thing I
did during that time was to write more letters to Steve, updating him on
all the events and begging him to write back. I was desperate to hear from
him. I checked the mail every day in hopes he'd written me, only to be
disappointed over and over.

I was in my room on a late afternoon, reading about prison life on the
internet, when Mom called up to me. "Shane, Adam wants to talk to you. Is
your cell phone dead? He says he's been trying to call you."

**********###**********

I want to thank my editor, Paul Stevens, for once again helping me hone
this chapter. I appreciate the kind comments from so many readers. I'm glad
I am able to complete the story and I assure those of you kind enough to
inquire that I am well.

I hope you will consider donating to Nifty in order to allow the platform
to remain available for this kind of story. www.donate.nifty.org

More to come.
Sincerely, Hans