Date: Tue, 28 Aug 2012 22:01:06 -0700
From: B.E. Kelley <hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Light in Dark Places Chapter 4

This story is a work of FICTION. The events described are my own invention.
Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental. The
author retains the copyright, and any other rights, to this original story.
You may not publish it or any part of it without my explicit authorization.

This story contains depictions of consensual sexual acts between teenage
males.  It is intended for mature audiences only.  If you find this type of
material offensive or if you are under the legal age to read said material;
please proceed no further.

Comments are always welcome at: hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com

A Light in Dark Places
Chapter 4

The gun incident didn't go over well.  The next morning, dad made
arrangements for me to be a guest at the Stonybrook Clinic, the institution
Dr. Caswell had recommended.  We boarded another borrowed plane and landed
in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, around lunchtime.  From there we drove along
the Housatonic River into the Berkshire Mountains and arrived at the clinic
an hour or so later. My first impression of the clinic was that it looked a
lot like my boarding school; it was a large Georgian style building with
well maintained grounds and amazing views of the countryside.  Maybe it's
because of all the time I spent at Philips Academy but this place felt
safe, like home.

We were met by the clinic's administrator, Dr. Collins, when we arrived,
and sat in her office while she explained the program.  Basically, this
place operated like a special school for kids with emotional problems, most
of them had, like me, attempted suicide or were believed to be on the edge
of that abyss.  There were 60 other kids here, beside myself, ranging in
ages from 14 to 18, both boys and girls.  During the mornings, we'd have
classes, so as not to fall behind in school, but the afternoons were
devoted to therapy.  I'd have individual sessions with my doctor and I'd
also be part of a group, 4 boys, who would meet before dinner to talk about
their problems, find common ground and teach each other that we weren't as
alone as we may have thought.

"How long will Peter have to stay here?" Mom asked, once Doctor Collins had
given us a rundown of the program.

"Once you sign his admission form he'll be here for a minimum of 30 days,"
said Dr. Collins, "After that time, it's basically up to Peter and how he
feels."

"Your son tried to kill himself, that's not something we can just cover
with a band-aide, our program is designed to get to the root of his problem
so that when he does go home, he's not a danger to himself," said
Dr. Collins.  "H-his boyfriend just died, he drown, surely that's played a
part in all of this," said Mom.  "Absolutely," said Dr. Collins, "Peter is
probably feeling the greatest emotional pain of his life, what we need to
determine is whether or not the death of his companion was the catalyst
that brought him to this point, or was it the last straw, the thing that
pushed him over the edge."  "My poor little boy," mom sniffled, then blew
her nose.  "I know this is hard for you as parents, but I promise you, this
is the best place for your son to be in his condition," Dr. Collins
explained, "He'll be safe here, we'll take good care of him and when you
get him back, he'll be the happy healthy boy you want him to be."  "Thank
you doctor," said dad, speaking for the first time, "that's all we want for
Peter.  What I want to know is in addition to his medical circumstances,
are you able to deal with his uh, special situation?"  "You're referring to
your status as a high profile elected official, Senator?" asked
Dr. Collins.  "I just don't want some damn reporter getting in here and
harassing my son," dad explained, "I ran for office not him, he doesn't
need that complication in his life."  "Have there been any problems with
reporters so far?" asked Dr. Collins.  "Not yet, but this has all happened
so fast, I'm sure some journalist will get wind of it eventually and if
they think it'll sell a single paper, well, you know the media," said dad.
"Well Senator, as I told you when we spoke on the phone, our facility is
completely secure; we're on 40 acres of land, surrounded by a brick fence
on three sides, dense woods on the other.  All visitors have to pass
through security at the front gates and must have their ID checked at the
door.  We've had children of celebrities and other politicians here before,
we work very hard to make this a safe environment for them and I'm sure we
can deal with any complication that might arise," Dr. Collins explained.
"Thank you doctor, I just want to protect him," said dad.  I sat quietly
through that entire exchange, my arms folded, head down, looking at my
shoes.  My parents accepted Dr. Collins assurances that I'd be safe, while
I was a guest here, and that she'd return me to them with a clean bill of
mental health.  I have to admit, it sounded reassuring to me too.  It
wasn't that I wanted to die, it was just that I hurt so much.  Connor's
death wasn't an abstract concept I could study, it was real and it was a
wound on my soul.  If this place could teach me to cope with that, help me
to, for lack of a better word, get over it, then that was ok with me.
After our interview with the doctor, my parents signed my admitting form,
then it was time for them to leave.  "Ok son, I want you to be good, do
your studies and listen to your doctors, ok?" said dad, he'd given me
similar advice when I started prep school.  "I will dad, don't worry, I
want to get better," I sniffled.  "That's a good boy," said dad, a hint of
sadness in his voice as he hugged me, "I love you Peter, you're going to be
ok."  "Thanks dad, I love you too."  "Oh my baby," mom wailed, throwing her
arms around me and sobbing on my shoulder.  "Its' ok mom, I'm going to be
ok," I stated, though I had tears in my own eyes.  "Come on Vivian, let the
boy go," said dad, trying to pry me out of her arms.  Eventually mom kissed
me on the cheek one last time and dad put his arm around her as they walked
out to the car.  Once they were gone, I turned my attention to Dr. Collins.
"Well, what happens now?" I asked.  "Peter, this is Mr. Perkins, he'll show
you to your room, I see you're wearing loafers but you'll need to give him
the laces form any other shoes you might have packed, and your belt, then
you'll have some time to settle in before dinner, ok?" said Dr. Collins.
"My shoe laces and belt?" I asked.  "It's just a precaution, you'll get
them back once we've determined how you're progressing, ok?" asked
Dr. Collins.  "Yes ma'am," I complied.  While we'd been meeting with
Dr. Collins, someone had taken my bag up to my room.  I followed the
orderly, Mr. Perkins upstairs, where I gave him the laces from a couple
pairs of sneakers and two belts.  My room was on the third floor at the end
of a short hall, it was small, about half the size of my dorm room at
Philips, but I had it to myself.  The same rule applied here as it had when
I'd come home, the door had to be open during the day but at least I could
close it at night, when I went to sleep.  There was a window in the door so
that the night staff could check in on the patients, but at least we had
the illusion of privacy.

It was still a couple of hours before dinner, so I pulled out a book of
poems I'd brought with me, sat back on my bunk and started to read.  I
thought reading would be the best distraction; I was ok as long as I wasn't
thinking about Connor and until they taught me some way to cope, I tried to
block him from my mind.  I was halfway through Tennyson's Ulysses, when I
heard a noise that sounded like someone crying.  I glanced up from my book
and looked into the room across the hall, I could see its occupant sitting
with his back turned to me, he looked to be holding himself and gently
rocking back and forth.  He looked to be about my height with a slight
build and short blond hair.

I didn't know why he was crying or what I could do to help.  I felt
somewhat helpless, should I walk across the hall and try and comfort him?
Would that be frowned upon?  What would I even say?  I didn't have to
deliberate long; before I could make a decision, a member of the staff
walked into the boy's room and looked to be comforting him.  I couldn't
hear what was being said but I could see the counselor's face and she
seemed to be compassionate and understanding.  Soon the crying stopped and
I could hear muffled voices speaking softly.  I turned back to my book
after that, I desperately wanted my own privacy and I figured the least I
could do was give this boy the same courtesy.

I didn't hear anything else, from the boy across the hall, until dinner
time.  I hadn't even heard the counselor leave his room.  When it was time
to eat, he knocked on my door frame and let me know they were about to
start serving dinner.  He had a soft voice but he spoke clearly and I got
up to follow him downstairs.  He didn't say much but I did learn that his
name was Tyler and we were the same age, but I left it at that.  It wasn't
that he was unfriendly, it just didn't seem like he was in the mood for a
conversation.

I had judged correctly, Tyler was my height but a little thinner than me,
almost what you'd call skinny.  His hair spiked up a bit in the front and
he had big, brown, puppy dog eyes.  Bookish and shy, he looked like the
kind of person that, in better circumstances, I'd probably befriend quite
quickly.  I followed him into the dining room and he showed me where the
trays were stored, then we collected our dinner and I followed him to a
table.  There were a couple of other guys there that he introduced as Kevin
and Jacob, we exchanged greetings but that was about it.

I wasn't in the mood to eat so I looked around the room and discerned that
there were all types of kids here and you could easily tell the ones who
were just beginning their therapy from those who were nearing the
completion.  At some of the tables, the expressions were somber and
subdued, at others there was the normal laughter and smiles you'd expect
from teenagers enjoying each-others company.

The food didn't look bad but I still felt like I couldn't enjoy it while
Connor couldn't, how could I take pleasure in food when he'd never eat
again?  "You have to eat your dinner," said Tyler, as if he read my mind.
"What?" I asked.  "You have to eat your dinner, you get points for that,"
said Kevin.  "Points, what points?" I asked.  "Points for privileges, you
do what they tell you, stick to your program and you get points for
different things," Jacob explained.  "Oh, I didn't know that," I admitted.
"He just got here," said Tyler.  That ended our conversation and I took a
couple of bites of my meatloaf, I didn't finish but I could at least make
the argument that I'd tried to eat.  When I was done, I scooted back from
the table to stretch my legs and bumped into a girl who had been walking
behind me.  I must have caught her off balance because she ended up on the
ground.  I bolted out of my chair and apologized profusely, as I offered my
hand to help her up.  She was some sort of punk with a bad attitude; I
figured that out before she even opened her mouth.  She had short black
hair, cut like a boy, a nose ring and black lipstick; this isn't going to
go well I thought to myself.  She looked me up and down then batted my hand
away and got up on her own.

"Oh great, another prep school reject," she barked at me.

How rude, I thought, and what gave me away, the penny loafers or the blue
oxford button-down I had on?

"Sorry I'm not a walking stereotype, can't say the same for you though, can
I?" I fired back, the words leaving my mouth before I even thought about
them.

"Oh, a wiseass," she smirked, "I can respect that, what's your name?"

"Peter," I answered.

"I'm Wendy," she replied, "next time watch where you're going preppy, and
don't look at my ass when I walk away."

Lady, if only you knew how uninterested I am in your ass, I thought to
myself.  I kept that comment rattling around in my head, where it was safe.
I'm no pussy but Wendy looked like she could take me in a fight any day of
the week.  She was a little scary.

"Well, she seems friendly," I said sarcastically, to my table mates.

I got a weak grin from Kevin but Tyler and Jacob just continued eating.
When they'd finished, I asked Tyler what people did after dinner.  He'd
only been there two days and hadn't really developed a routine but from
what he'd observed, most of the students/patients either gathered in the
library to do homework, in the common room to watch TV or just headed back
to their rooms to be alone.  I didn't have any homework and I wasn't in the
mood for TV, so I walked back to my room and back to my book.

At lights out, I put on my pajamas and closed the door.  I kept expecting
someone to open it at any moment and admonish me for closing it but that
didn't happen.  Eventually I closed my eyes and entered into a frightful
dream.  I was back on the beach in New Hampshire, I held Connor's lifeless
body in my arms and as I wept over him, his eyes snapped open.  But they
weren't his beautiful green eyes, they were black, all black, dark as the
pits of hell.  When he called my name in a disembodied voice, I snapped
awake, bolting up in bed, panting for breath.  That was the first time that
had happened and I lie there, crying, until the sun rose.

When morning came, I got up and took a quick shower then pulled out some
clothes for the day.  I was used to wearing a coat and tie to school every
morning and the casual atmosphere, here at the clinic, was a welcome change
of pace.  I put on clean underwear, socks, jeans, a tee shirt and a hoodie,
then pulled a baseball cap out of my bag.  It was a Philips Academy varsity
baseball cap, maroon with a white PA embossed on the front, formerly the
property of right-fielder, Connor McCarthy.

I held the hat in my hands for a few moments and remembered that perfect
day when I'd been a supportive fan, rooting for my team and my best friend.
I didn't usually go to baseball games, I think it's about the most boring
sport there is, but if Connor asked me to come, I usually gave in.

"Come on Peter, you have to be there," Connor had pleaded, "we always do
better when you're in the stands and this game is important."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," I'd objected, "do I really have to go?"

"Absolutely, you're my good luck charm, you just have to be there," he
begged.

Connor did this thing with his eyes, I don't know how he did it but the
look he gave me always made me melt and of course, I gave in.  That
afternoon I was front and center as the Philips Academy Lions took on the
Choate Wild Boars, in what turned out to be an exciting game.

Both teams were good and the score stayed close the entire game, until the
bottom of the 9th.  The Lions were ahead 4 runs to 3, the Boars were at bat
and the bases were loaded with two outs.  Our pitcher, Jeff Baker, was one
of the best in our league but it had been a long game, his relief had
sprained his wrist, and Jeff was exhausted.  The exhaustion began to show
in that last inning as he'd given up three hits and the bases were now
loaded.  The Choate batter had already swung at two balls, earning strikes,
and the Lions fans held their breath as Jeff put everything into his last
pitch.  The batter hit the ball with a thundering crack and it flew high
into the air as his teammates on base ran for home.  Connor saw the ball
coming and dove for it, when he opened his eyes, he found the ball in his
glove, giving him the catch that won the game.

You don't get many parents at boarding school sporting events, because of
the long distance from home, but our fans cheered our team like hero's and
stormed the field to celebrate with them.  I ran out to find Connor, the
crowd parted and he saw me first and ran straight at me.  He was so excited
that he grabbed me in a bear hug and swung me around like a rag doll; his
excitement was infectious and made me excited for him.  He put me down and
we high-fived and then he took off his cap and put it on my head.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want you to have that," he smiled, "I'd never have made that catch if my
good luck charm hadn't been here."

I smiled back at him, touched by his gesture; after all, all I'd done was
sit there.  He'd done the hard part.

"Wait a sec," said Connor, as he turned the cap backwards, "there, that's
more you."

I wore that hat every time we didn't have to be in uniform for the rest of
the school year and then for most of the summer.  Holding it, here in the
clinic, made me feel close to Connor, the Connor who gave me his cap
because we were best friends and I'd kept my promise to watch him play, the
Connor I missed to the point of pain.  I put the hat on backwards, because
that's how Connor thought it suited me best, and headed down to breakfast.

I got in line for breakfast, behind Tyler and then followed him to an empty
table.  Okay, I only knew his first name and how old he was, but he lived
in the room across the hall from me and so far he's the closest thing to a
friend I have.  We sat with Kevin, there was no sign of Jacob, and then
Wendy headed in our direction.

"This seat taken?  Well it is now," she said, before any of us could
answer.

She seemed to be observing all of us, then I noticed she looked me up and
down, eyeing my wardrobe curiously.

"What?" I asked, when I got tired of her eyeballing me.

"Slumming it today, preppy?" she asked.

"Are you always this perky?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Only in the morning," she replied, with a giggle that sounded out of place
here.

"So where are you from preppy?" she asked.

"My name's Peter," I replied.

"I know that, so where are you from preppy?" she asked again.

"Near Pittsbu... uh, Washington DC," I replied with a roll of my eyes.  I
didn't want to give out to much personal information just yet and I did
spend a lot of time there so it wasn't exactly a lie.

"Hey, me too," said Tyler, speaking for the first time that morning.

"No way," I exclaimed, "where?"

"Georgetown, near the Cathedral," said Tyler.

"You're kidding, that's not far from me," I replied, thinking about my
parents Capitol townhouse.

"That's sweet," Wendy interrupted, "before you two start planning your
wedding, it's time to go to class, you're sophomores right?"

"Yeah," Tyler and I replied.

"Then you'll be in my class, come on, I'll show you the way," said Wendy.

I was beginning to wonder if her abrasive, smartass remarks were just some
kind of defense mechanism but I didn't ask.  I hadn't figured this place
out yet and I didn't want to do or say anything that might upset someone,
especially knowing that some of them were probably in far worse shape than
me.  Basically, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings when they were
hurting already, so I kept my mouth shut.  Tyler had only arrived late
Friday, and hadn't attended classes yet, so he and I followed Wendy.

The classroom reminded me of the classes I'd been in at Philips Academy.
The room was small and there weren't any desk's, there was just a large oak
table, a Harkness table, named after the method of teaching it was used in.
The teacher and students sat around the table, encouraging classes to be
conducted in a discursive manner.  Because the clinic's faculty was so
small, we would have all of our courses taught in this room by a single
teacher.  There was one teacher for juniors, seniors, sophomores, freshman,
etc...

There were eight of us in class and our teacher was Mrs. Langley.  She
started us on an English assignment and then we moved on to math and
history.  School work was a nice distraction, I was also curious about my
fellow students, I wanted to know what had brought them to this place but I
figured I'd have to wait to find out.  What brings you here; doesn't seem
like an appropriate question to ask patients at a clinic for the depressed.
After a fairly easy morning of study, we were dismissed for lunch at 12:30.

I still wasn't interested in eating, so I decided to wander around and
explore the clinic.  I found the TV room Tyler had told me about, the day
before, and the library.  There were offices for the staff and then I found
a room I was particularly interested in.  It looked like the comfortable
living room you'd find in big old house, there was a massive fireplace,
overstuffed furniture and a large picture window with a view of the
clinic's front lawn and the river beyond.  What caught my eye, however, was
the piano sitting in the corner.  It was only an upright but it looked to
be in good shape, if a bit dusty.  I sat at the bench, opened the keyboard
and tickled a few of the keys to make sure it was in tune.  Next I played a
few scales and was impressed with the sound quality.  This was a happy
discovery, the piano has always been an escape for me and despite the
morose tone of the music I'd been playing recently, I was glad I'd found
it.

"Hello Peter," said Doctor Collins.

I hadn't heard her come in and the sound of her voice made me jump, almost
out of my skin.

"Dr. Collin's, I-I-I didn't see you there," I sputtered, my heart still
racing.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you," she smiled, "I was surprised to hear
the piano and wanted to see who was playing it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," I replied, feeling a bit
sheepish.

"No bother at all, do you know how to play or were you just checking things
out," she asked.

"Oh, I can play," I blushed; I don't know why I was suddenly feeling shy.

"Excellent, music can be a good outlet for your feelings, but it's almost
1:30 and I think you have a session with Dr. Newman," she said.

"Oh, right," I answered, looking at my watch.

"I guess I'll get going," I said, as I made for the door.

"Peter," Dr. Collins called after me.

"Yes ma'am?" I asked.

"You can come back and play the piano anytime you like," she smiled, then
sent me off to my appointment so I wouldn't be late.

I sat in a comfortable chair in Dr. Newman's office and thought that, if I
had just a moments quiet in this chair, I'd fall asleep in no time.  Now
was not the time for sleep however as Dr. Newman began asking questions
about my life leading up to my, uh, incident.  I told I'm I'd always been
pretty happy but that Connor's death had taken a real toll.  He asked me
about our relationship and how he'd died, but it was too personal, I only
gave him the barest of facts.  Dr. Newman took copious notes while I
talked, and I got the feeling he was analyzing every word I said.  We'd
talked for about an hour and then he asked me how I felt about being at the
clinic and if I had any questions.  I immediately thought back to what
happened in Tyler's room the night before.

"Last night, when I first checked in, the boy across the hall was in his
room crying," I said.

"Yes, that does happen from time to time, how did that make you feel?"
asked Dr. Newman.

"Helpless," I replied.

"Why helpless?" he asked.

"I didn't know what to do," I answered.

"What did your instincts tell you?" asked the doctor.

"I wanted to do something to comfort him," I explained.

"What held you back?" the doctor continued his questioning.

"I don't know, I guess I just wasn't sure if I should say anything," I
answered.

"You're heart was in the right place," said Dr. Newman, "and if you're
comfortable comforting a friend then do it, but don't try and get involved
if you think it's going to adversely affect you."

"That's a little selfish isn't it?" I asked, wondering how I was just
supposed to ignore another person's suffering.

"Not at all," he explained, "you're here to heal, if you can be a comfort
to a fellow patient that's great, but not at the cost of your own mental
wellbeing."

"I think I understand," I replied.

"I know it sounds harsh but it is for your own good," the doctor added,
"and if you see any behavior that truly worries you, I would ask that you
tell the staff immediately.  If you make friends and one of them tells you
they're planning to hurt themselves, I expect you to come to me
immediately."

"Ok, I can do that," I agreed.

"Good.  Well, that's the end of your preliminary session, I want you to
start keeping a journal of those dreams you mentioned and we'll talk about
them more next time," said Dr. Newman.

I left the doctor's office with no clearer understanding of what had caused
me to try and drown myself.  Other people lost loved ones, got hurt, or had
their feelings run through the wringer and they didn't do things like this.
Something in me snapped, if I was going to get better then we had to find
out what it was and put it back together.  I did appreciate Dr. Newman's
advice on dealing with other patients though, if I find Tyler crying in his
room again, I won't be afraid to be a shoulder to cry on.  Maybe he'll have
to do the same for me at some point.

I didn't have my group therapy session for another hour so I went back to
where I'd found the piano.  I looked out the window and was inspired to
play something from George Winston's Autumn album, the trees I was looking
at would be ablaze in color when fall arrived.  I let my mind wonder, as it
tends to do when I'm at the keyboard.  I remembered the day I met Connor,
all the pranks we had pulled on people, the personal triumphs we'd shared,
his soft and gentle touch by the campfire on my birthday.  I didn't even
notice I'd been crying, until I finished the song and stood up to walk out,
that's when I ran into, of all people, Wendy.

"What's the matter preppy?" she asked.

"Just leave me alone, ok?" I asked with a sniffle, I wasn't in the mood for
her attitude.

Then she did something I wouldn't have expected.  She put her arms around
me in a gentle hug, rubbing softly and soothingly up and down my back.

"I know it hurts, it's ok though, I don't think there's anything wrong with
boys crying," she said, gently, "do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head no and just stood there while she rubbed my back.

"It's cool, you don't have to say anything, just let it out if it feels
better," said Wendy.

I didn't understand why she was being so nice to me, from every encounter
I'd had with her up to this point, she'd given the distinct impression that
she didn't like me.  I was grateful for the hug though and soon I'd stopped
crying.

"Feel better?" she asked, as she brushed a tear off my cheek.

"Yeah," I answered sheepishly, "thanks for, you know..."

"Don't mention it.  I know I can be a bitch," said Wendy, "bet we're all
here because we have problems, I don't know what brought you here but I can
probably guess what it feels like."

I smiled my thanks and she rolled her eyes at me, clearly she was back to
normal.  I left the room and headed for my group session, thinking I had
definitely underestimated Wendy.