Hey everyone welcome to my third story on Nifty. Bear & Cub is going to be a great story and it's proving well on AO3 (TuxEdwards). If you do enjoy B&C, please read some of my other works: Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (on AO3) and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Bear & Cub is for you: Email Me

 

If you like my stories and want to tip or donate to me, consider buying me a coffee: Thank You

 

"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Tortured Soul

Clyde Burns

 

The Jerry Springer show is on the TV in the corner, a ten-month-old magazines that no one's interested in sits on a well-used coffee table, and I'm pacing back and forth through the ugly light blue chairs in the hospital waiting room. I hold an opened envelope in my hand with an unfolded letter. It reads:

 

`You use our supply of boys and drugs, or you don't run your little business in LA. You must deal with us, no exceptions. If we catch you again, it's bad for your business.'

 

That poor boy--how did he get involved with something like this? I've never felt like this before. That boy's eyes haunt me. He is so cute, and if I saw him walking down the street, I just might see if he and I can... then his voice echoes in my head: "Am I going to die?" I pound my fist on the chair in front of me, and my cell rings. 

 

"Hello, it's Burns."

 

"Burns, it's Smith. Where are you?"

 

I sigh and comb my fingers through my hair out of frustration. I swallow hard and want to tell him I just brought the boy of my dreams into the hospital and he's in a bad way, but I say instead, "I'm at the hospital. I found a witness, but he's in bad shape. Where are you?" 

 

"I'm at the hospital also. The doctor just finished with Ryder, and he's getting dressed. He's been asking about you since we left McDonald's. Burns, he's messed up. I've got a peek at his medical report. Boss, he's been living a nightmare."

 

"Meet me in the ER waiting room. Has he said anything to you? That will help the case, I mean."

 

"No, I've been afraid to push him. I don't think he's said five words to me, honestly," Smith says, and then ends the call just before he comes through the door with Ryder holding his hand. As soon as he sees me, he hightails it to me as fast as he can run. I scoop him up, and he latches onto my neck. It's been a long time since I've held a boy in my arms. I forgot how great it felt.

 

"Hey, kiddo, how'd it go? Were you scared?" He nods his head, yes, and just looks relieved that he's in my arms. I look to Smith and ask, "What's the plan?"

 

"Oh, I'm passing the ball. I need to get back to the office to do some digging into the DA," Smith says as he holds his hands up as if he's done with babysitting. 

 

He backs out of the room, and I look into Ryder's eyes and sigh, saying, "Well, I guess it's you and me." 

 

I sit there in one of those ugly light blue chairs with a sleeping Ryder in my lap. He looks so cute, lightly sucking his thumb and making cooing noises. I comb my fingers through his dark brown hair to get it out of his hazel eyes. I find my hands gently petting the boy and caressing his bottom as he snuggles into my chest. "What did he put you through?" I wonder out loud with a whisper. 

 

The doctor emerges from the doors leading to the operating room, breaking up my train of thought. I laid the sleeping Ryder on the couch next to me and met him halfway across the waiting room. 

 

The doctor looks pissed, and I'm thinking that's a bad sign. "Sir, I'm only coming out here as a formality. Gus is hurt real bad. Other than the bullet I took out of his leg, he had lost a great deal of blood. He has multiple bruises on his neck, arms, legs, back, and buttocks. He had severe damage to his anus, but I'm guessing you already know all this. What you don't know is that we almost lost him."

 

He seems very upset with me. "I suspected he was hurt real bad. Is he stable? Can I see him?"

 

The doctor seems confused by my concern and says, "Sir, your son was very badly abused. We have to call the police."

 

Oh, I understand. "He's not my son; he's a witness, and I am the police," I tell him as I show him my badge. 

 

His eyes light up, and he breathes a sigh of relief, saying, "Man, am I glad you said that? I thought you did this to that poor boy."

 

"No, I found him in a cold air vent bleeding to death. He's my only witness from last night. Can you take me to the security office, please?"

 

"Of corse, officer..."

 

I interrupt him and turn to pick up Ryder. "It's detective, actually."

 

"Sorry, detective, would you like to leave your son here? I could have someone watch him."

 

"I can't do that," I say, as the groggy Ryder latches back onto me and his head searches for that perfect spot to lay on my shoulder. "This one isn't my son either. He's the other witness."

 

The doctor nods like he understands and leads me to the security office. I briefly set the boy down in a chair while I called the office and had Jen get two officers down here to guard Gus. "No one should know he's alive but me and the manager, but I can't risk someone coming after him," I tell the hospital security. "I need them to watch the boy until my units get here," I continue as I pick Ryder back up. Turning towards the doctor, I ask, "Can I see him now?"

 

We head through the halls with a two-man security team to Gus's room. I set Ryder on a couch and, within eye sight, walked over to look through Gus's room window. He's hooked up to more machines than it should take to keep his little body working, and my emotions slam into me. How could someone do this to such a beautiful boy?

 

"He's in a medically induced coma so that his body has time to accept all the work I had to do, and I'm not even done; I have to operate again once he's strong enough for it. To say you found him on death's door, detective, is an understatement."

 

A tear falls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it off. "He's important to me, doc. Do what you have to." `He's important to me,' I said for the case, sure, but that's not what I meant. Looking at Ryder rub his eye and yawn, I realize what has been missing in my life. He sees me watching and hops off the couch and rushes over to me, hugging me. I wrap my arms around him and rub his back, telling him, "It's been a hard day for both of us, kiddo; let's head to the station. Then I'll take you to my house, okay? I'm hungry for pizza." Ryder looks up at me with those hazel eyes and smiles. I take him by the hand, and we head to the Jeep. 

 

Ryder

 

The detective takes me to his office and has me sit outside with a lady he introduced as "Jen, keep an eye on little Ryder here." She protested, but he just went into the office with Detective Smith. When Detective Smith closes the door, it bounces off the frame without latching, leaving just enough room for me to listen to their conversation. 

 

"Did he say anything else?" Detective Smith asks.

 

"No, I think the hospital really spooked him. He hasn't said a word or let go of me for that matter. This is the most space between us I've had from him all day," detective Burns says, and then gives me a little wave before continuing, "Not that I mind it; it's kind of nice that he likes me so much."

 

"He'd be the only one that does," chuckles Detective Smith.

 

"Ha ha ha, tell me about him," jokes detective Burns.

 

"First off, I've called all the local and even out-of-town orphanages and passed around the information I got from the hospital: finger prints, pictures, birthmarks, name, etc., and no one has records of your boy at all. I struck out against the DA adopting any boy, ever. Those who knew of him just laughed when I suggested it. I ran him through our system, like you asked. Missing children, kidnapped, runaways--it all came up negative, as I figured," detective Smith says as he takes a seat. 

 

Detective Burns looks upset when he asks, "And the housekeeper?"

 

"She barely speaks English. Says that our honorable DA would switch out boys every year or two, depending on how young the new boy was. He'd keep the old `Ben' for a few weeks to teach the new `Ben' his `chores' and then he'd return him."

 

"What the fuck? Return him where?"

 

"She doesn't know. She was never around much to see anything; she was just responsible for watching the boy during the day, feeding him, keeping him out of trouble, and dealing with medical issues. Sometimes she would hear screaming echoing through the house at night, but she was afraid of doing anything about it."

 

"Damn! It sounds like whoever killed him did us a favor," Detective Burns says so softly that I almost didn't hear it. Then he continues, "Those guys killed thirteen highly public men and kidnapped or killed nine boys. I want them found. Send some black and whites out there to kick the pavement and get anything they can on some group, new or old, selling young boys in his town." Detective Smith stands up as he's writing something down and leaves the office. Detective Burns watches me and then stops him by adding, "And get me in the DA's house. I don't want anyone in there before I get a chance to look at it. Oh, and find out who Ben was. If he's going through the trouble of renaming the boys, the name must mean something."

 

He gets up from his desk and reaches inside a big cardboard box and pulls something out, putting it in his pocket. Then he came out to me and picked me up, asking, "How's our junior detective? Did he behave himself?"

 

"I almost forgot he was here," Jen says, offering me a piece of candy. I look at the detective, and he nods his head, giving me permission to take the shiny yellow piece of candy. I unwrapped it and put it in my mouth. My eyes feel as wide as diner plates. 

 

The detective and Jen just laugh, and he gives me a little shake, asking me, "What's with that face? You've never had candy before?"

 

I shake my head no, and he tickles my tummy. We exit the police department, and Bear stands up in the Jeep and barks at us. I wave to him, and he shakes his tail, very excited to see us again. "Hi boy! Did you miss us?" I ask him, and he licks my face. 

 

The detective pats my knee and says, "Buckle up, Ryder." The Jeep ride is kind of cool. It's yellow under all this mud and dust. It has no doors or top cover, and the radio is so loud, I can barely hear myself sing. Detective Burns keeps looking my way and smiling. Depending on the song, he taps my knee or waves his arms with me. 

 

After a long time, he pulls the Jeep into the parking lot of a run-down hotel. It has a pool with no water, two cars in the parking lot, and a couple of rooms with the doors and windows boarded up. "You wive here?" I ask not sure if I made the right choice to trust this man. 

 

"That's right. I'm upstairs, the last two rooms facing the ocean." 

 

"You wive in two rooms?" I double my questions as I undo my seat buckle. Bear jumps out of the Jeep and begins to sniff around. He trots over to the half-lit sign that stands out in front of the parking lot and pees on it. The sign says `Sunset Palms.' 

 

"You coming?" The detective asks as he begins to climb the staircase.

 

I hurry to catch up, with Bear on my heels. "I didn't know you had a dog," I tell him as Bear matches my speed next to me. My footsteps on the metal shelves sound thunderous as I stomp away, following the person that owns me now. 

 

He looks back at me and smiles, answering me, "He's not my dog. He belongs to a kid not much different than you. I bet you two would get along just fine."

 

"Weww, I wike his dog." 

 

Clyde Burns

 

I turn on the lights and look around the hotel room. I wish I had time to clean up. Empty scotch and beer bottles litter the rooms, not to mention the dirty dishes and all the other things left out by a bachelor man. I toss my hat on the table and hurry to remove a bunch of files from the other recliners by the TV. "So, um, I'm sorry it's a mess. I wasn't expecting visitors or even house guests," I tell him with a little embarrassment in my voice, which I'm sure he recognizes. 

 

"I think it's coow," Ryder says, hurries over, and jumps on my bed. He sits there and bounces on his butt with a smile that would melt the harshest heart. I pick up the phone and order us a pizza supreme, a two-liter bottle of Coke, and a bottle of scotch from the bar next to the hotel. I turn back to ask him to join me outside, and he's naked. The first thought that went through my head was, `How'd he get his clothes off so fast?' The second is, `Damn, he's gorgeous!'

 

"Ryder, get dressed, please," I ask him, looking away and not believing that I just had to do that. It's been so long since I had a naked boy in my bed. Seeing him there with his underwear around his ankles sent tingles through my body. 

 

"But I'm inside your house. Don't I have to be naked?" He asks in a confused tone.

 

I grab two glasses that I think are clean and tell Ryder, "Get dressed; let's head outside. I think I need some fresh air. Besides, I think we need to have a talk while we wait for our pizza." He hurries past me with Bear on his heels, wearing only his slacks. I walk outside, close the door, and head over to the second-floor patio. His golden chest practically glows in the setting sunlight. Sitting down, I sigh and set our glasses on the TV tray in between the two lounge chairs. I get ready to relax, and Ryder crawls into my lap. "Um, hey kiddo. You can have your own chair if you want." 

 

He sits up and suddenly looks at the chair like he's just realizing it's there, saying softly, "You mean, I can sit in my own chair? Am I awwowed to sit by mysewf?" I can feel him shaking in my lap. Like I've messed up the status quo and tempted him to break another rule.

 

"Look, let's get something clear," I tell him, and I spin him around in my lap so he straddles my legs and can look into my eyes. "Ryder, I have no idea what you've been through in your life. How long has it been since you were allowed to sit in your own chair or wear clothes in front of adults?"

 

He looks ashamed and answers me softly, "Never. I've been trained to fowwow the ruwes of my master. Detective, are you my master now?"

 

His response steals the air from my lungs, and I just don't have the words. The weight of the day comes crashing down on my shoulders. Without warning or time to hold my emotions back, they slam into me with memories of Gus's face when he asks, `Am I going to die?,' the look of hopelessness in Ryder's face when I first spotted him at the top of those stairs, and the countless other children I've lost or saved too late. These little faces will forever be burned into me, and I'll see them every time I close my eyes. The thought that this perfect boy believes he isn't worth anything and needs a `Master' is almost too much for me to bear. I hug him tightly so he can't see my emotional wall break under the pressure of my past, and my tears trickle down my wrinkled cheeks onto his shoulder. I would give anything to forget each wrinkle tied to a memory. I'm not sure if he is crying on my shoulder or not, but when I get those faces--those lost souls--back behind the wall, I push him back and get close to his face. "Ryder, up to this point, no one has treated you like a real person. From this point forward, I promise you that will change. You are a person, not a piece of property. Do you understand?"

 

His eyes move around my face, trying to read my intentions. Then he whispers, "I don't know how to be a person." 

 

I wipe the tears from my face, then his. I take a deep, calming breath and say, "I'm so sorry they treated you like that. Ryder, I'll help you all I can." I hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, like an early alarm system going off. I look over my shoulder to see Maggie from next door coming up the steel stairs. I check Ryder's face and then wipe mine again. Lifting him off my lap, I set him down next to the chair and stand up. 

 

I dig a fifty out of my wallet just in time to hear Maggie say, "Well, bless my heart, who do we have here?" She walks up and sets the pizza on the TV tray and the bag of our drinks next to it. 

 

"Maggie, this is Ryder." I introduce him, and she ruffles his hair. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and latches on to my waist. "Ooph, we'll have to work on the shyness," I say with a chuckle. 

 

"Well, thanks for the tip, hon. Nice to meet you, Ryder, you cute thing," she says as she turns and heads down the stairs. 

 

I open the box of pizza and dig in. As I chew, I break open the bottle of scotch and pour myself a glass. Ryder and Bear watch me eat, and at the end of the pizza slice, I toss the crust to Bear. Ryder looks sad that I didn't toss it to him, and his eyes follow my hand back to the pizza box. I swear I can hear his stomach growl. Taking another slice, I ask, "Are you going to eat too? Aren't you hungry?" 

 

He looks confused and like he's fighting years of training. "Can I? I mean, you're not done yet?"

 

I sigh, set my pizza down, and face him. "Ryder, first off, sit in your chair. From now on, that chair belongs to you. You sit in it whenever you want, understand?" He nods his head and touches the very old lawn chair that I bought on sale at Lowe's years ago. "From now on, you don't have to wait for me to finish eating, stand next to me, hold my hand, stay quiet, or do anything that sick fucker made you do, unless that is what YOU want to do. I do not own you. If you want to be naked inside the house, then be naked, but don't do it because you think you need to do it because it's some kind of rule some slave owner told you was law. I know you've lived your life by a bunch of messed-up rules, but that isn't how little boys should live."

 

He looks nervous and asks, "Wiww you hewp me?" 

 

I lift his chin and stare into his eyes, telling him, "I'm here to help you, but you have to talk to me about your past life."

 

He shakes his head, whimpering, "But I'm not supposed to tawk to anyone about it." I take the cat collar and hold it up. His eyes go wide, and he begins to quiver again. "I don't want to wear one of those again," he sobs. His tears begin to flow from his red eyes as he grabs for his neck, protecting it, whispering, "I don't want to be one of the auction boys again."

 

I hold my arms open wide, and Ryder rushes into them. I hold the boy and rub his back, trying to calm him down. "You don't have to wear anything you don't want to. I just need you to tell me about the collars when you're ready."

 

I get Ryder to calm down with some hugs and a little rocking as we share my chair. Once he begins to breathe normally, we finish off the pizza, and he drinks half the bottle of Coke. We agree to go for a walk, and, interrupting the moment, my cell phone rings. Seeing that it's Smith, I tell Ryder to go downstairs and play with Bear. Once I hear him take the last step off the metal stairs, I answer, "Hello, Burns."

 

"Hey, so I finally got the search warrant to look through the DA's house."

 

"Excellent, that judge took her sweet time."

 

"Don't get me started. I've been on the phone with her office all day. I had to convince her it was a Special Crime Unit crime scene because of the special circumstances. You want me to send the team over?"

 

"Nope, I've got a better plan. Meet me there," I tell Smith, and then I hang up. "Hey, hop in the Jeep; I'll be right down," I holler down to the boy and dog. I put the pizza box and the drinks inside the apartment and head down the stairs. Jumping into the Jeep, we head off towards Beverly Hill to the DA's house. When he realizes where we're at, Ryder takes my hand and holds on tight. I flash my badge, and the black and white lets me enter. 

 

Parking the Jeep, I turn and unbuckle Ryder. Pulling him into my lap, I promise him, "If everything goes well, this is the last time you ever have to go here. I need you to take me on a tour and show me everything that sick fuck told you to never talk about or show people. I'm hoping you can be a huge help to me and Detective Smith. Can you do that?"

 

"You're not weaving me here, are you?"

 

"Never; it's you and me against the world now, kiddo. I just need a few answers, and I'm hoping you can help." The boy looks at the front of the house, and I can feel the grip on my shirt become tighter. He nods his head and then lays it on my shoulder. We climb out and tell Bear to wait in the Jeep. 

 

Smith is waiting for us just inside the door. "We only have this place for a couple hours before Forensic gets here. I hope something is here."

 

"Oh, there's something here," I say, and I set Ryder down on the floor. "Okay, Ryder, show me what he did to you." The boy looks at us two adults and takes my hand, pulling me upstairs. 

 

"So get this," Smith begins a story, "Ben was the kid that lived next door to the DA when he and his wife got their first house. He got her pregnant at age sixteen and did the right thing. At twenty, they moved in together. They had a little boy named Elliot, age five. Ben, age seven, was watching the small boy as they unpacked the moving truck. When they were done unpacking, they went looking for the boys. After some looking, he heard faint smacking sounds and crying, so he followed them. The boys were hiding in a shed on Ben's property. Elliot was naked with some kind of stick in his butthole, and Ben was mercilessly spanking him with a small gardening shovel, punishing him because he couldn't get the stick to go in deeper."

 

I stop our ascent and look at Smith, asking, "You're joking, right?" 

 

"Sorry, boss, I wish I was; I could never make something like this up." Ryder gets to his room and heads inside and Smith continues, "Elliot had internal bleeding from having it repeatedly shoved up there, and he didn't recover and died. Shortly after that, Ben's house burned down, and his parents died. Then the DA adopted Ben, and that's the last known record of Ben. I got ahold of a judge that knew our DA when all this happened; he says Ben was homeschooled, and when he got old enough, they had a fight, and he moved away in the dead of the night."

 

"Wow, that's fucked up," I say, stepping inside Ryder's room.

 

Smith taps the door as he passes it and whispers, "Deadbolts on the outside of the door. Hey boss, do you think Ben moved away?"

 

I look around the perfectly clean room in bright blue and white. If you told me a kid lived here, I'd never believe you. Ryder walks over to the bookshelf, counts ten books, and then pushes the tenth book in. There's a loud click, and the two bookcases move just a little as if a lock was just disengaged. Ryder pulls on one side, and I push on the other, and a separate room is revealed. 

 

Ryder hurries over to turn on the lights. Neon signs that spell `Ben' and `Ben's Playroom' give an eerie shadow to the whips and straps hanging on the wall next to a shelf with a lot of tiny dildos lined up by size and one shelf for small ballgags, leashes, dog and cat collars, lube, buttplugs, fleshlights, etc. There are two sex tables in here, along with spanking platforms, both with tiny restraints on them. Ryder stands in silence with a shameful look on his face. 

 

"No, I don't think Ben got very old before he died," I say almost as an afterthought.

 

"Boss, check this out!" Says Smith over by the shelf. I take my eyes off all the paddles, straps, and other things used for adults to have fun with each other to see what has grabbed Smith's attention. The dildos are all about the different sizes of the average seven- to nine-year-old. They're incredibly realistic, and are labeled with boys names. The first one is labeled `Ben,' and the last one is 'Ryder.' I walk over, and he whispers, "There are forty-five of them. Does he use these to fuck the boys with?" 

 

Picking up Ryder's, I looked it over. From what I remember seeing in the apartment, this is his cock. The DA must have taken casts of the boy's erect cocks and used those to make dildos of their pricks as souvenirs. The end of it has a metal insert that's threaded. I put Ryder's in my pocket and peeled his name off the shelf. Picking up another one, I take it to him, asking, "Why is it threaded?" 

 

His eyes look anywhere but the small fake penis that is in my hand. He takes it from me and takes off running. "Smith, take pictures and video and catch up," I say behind me as I follow behind him, trying not to lose sight of him. I find him in the master bedroom. Everything in here is elegant in deep reds and soft tans. 

 

Ryder is standing next to two bookcases like the ones in his room. Softly, he says, "This is the punishment room," and before I can ask what he means, he opens the bookcases. I didn't think it could get worse than the other room, but it is. One neon red sign flashes to life, labeling this room `Ben's Punishment Room.' The whips and paddles here look more harsh. Like they are meant to cause pain without damaging the victim, with holes drilled in them and some with metal studs. There are chains hanging from the ceiling with tiny restraints at the ends, so the boys can be suspended in midair. The shelf in this room also has dildos and small ballgags, but these dildos are adult size. Some of them are way bigger than my cock. 

 

I didn't even notice him until he came into my field of view next to a small machine that kind of looks like a mechanical bull, like the ones you find in country bars. But this one looks horrifying. It has clamps where the riders legs go and restraints for the hands at the horn of the saddle. I get closer to see what he's doing and find Ryder waiting for me. 

 

"See, you take the diwdo and howd this button down." He does the steps that he's had to do for over a year. When he holds down the button, a bolt springs up from the middle of the saddle, and he screws the small dildo onto it. "Then you cwimb on and sit down so it goes in your bottom. Master cwamps my wegs and my wrist and then sits on the bed to watch me as the machine turns on," he says, and I see a tear drip onto the saddle as he talks. He flips the switch, and the machine begins to try and buck its imaginary rider off, slowly forcing the dildo up the rider's ass. "The ride wasts at weast an hour and maybe more. It's swow now, but it gets much faster. The size of the diwdo and added time depend on what I do wrong. I never got to use a small diwdo before."

 

I take him by the shoulders, and he buries his head into my shirt, sobbing. I turn off the machine and ask, "What could you possibly do wrong to deserve this?"

 

He answers in between sobs, "I can't howd a hard on wong enough. I make Johnathan cum too fast. My hair isn't combed right. It could be anything." 

 

Smith joins us, and I nod to him as he begins to video and take pictures. I pick up my little tortured soul, and together we head out into the hall. "Is that all you can show me? Is there any evidence that you were here other than your dildo?" I ask, almost fearing the answer. 

 

"He keeps photos in his office safe, but I don't know the code to get in. And Mr. Johnathan has paddwes and stuff in his room, but nothing with my name on them." 

 

"Is there anything you want? Do you have stuff you want from here?" I ask, trying to think of what he might need. We head back into his room and open the drawers on his dresser to find one outfit.

 

I give him a side-eye glance, and he shrugs and says, "I towd you, I'm not awwowed to wear cwothes." Right, I look around the room and don't see anything that he might want. I feel a tug on my shirt, and looking down, I see he's exhausted from being so upset. "Can we just go, pwease?" He asks and holds out his arms to be picked up. I can't tell him no, so I pick him up, and he rewards me by laying his little head on my shoulder. 

 

"Hey Smith, I'm done. Call the boys in blue and tell forensics that the house is all theirs. Let those extra rooms open a little so they can be found. I want to be there for the safe cracking and remember that the boy was never here."

 

"You got it, boss."