The bar was dark, and loud, and filled with people. Ed had waited until almost nine o'clock to make his appearance. He could tell the cops at a glance, most of them were drinking at a table in the middle of the room. There was an empty stool down at the end of the bar and he worked his way through the crowd to get there.

Most of these yahoos were dressed in tight fitting jeans and a western style shirt. Ed knew if he looked down that they would all be wearing cowboy boots as well. He had chosen to wear black this evening labeling himself as the mystery man.

He ordered a Guinness because no one would expect him to chug that right down. The bartender raised his eyebrows at the order but produced a frosty bottle in short order. Even better, Ed decided. Guinness wasn't supposed to be served this cold…he could let it sit for a while.

A couple or two were over in the far corner dancing to a song from the juke box. Clusters of men and women stood here and there, others occupied the tables and booths along one wall. The center table caught his eye once again because that deputy he had seen this afternoon talking to Bill was sitting there with a woman and four other guys.

"Good God, how can you drink that stuff?" A voice asked beside him.

Ed turned with a smile and appraised the man on the next stool. The guy wasn't part of the cop crowd. He looked a lot older and more than a little drunk.

"I developed a taste for it while I was in the service," Ed said.

"You musta been in some English pub."

"I was in more than a few pubs."

"Well, by God, I can't handle that stuff. It makes me gag. I'm Frank Marsh."

"Ed Foster," Ed replied, using a familiar alias. "You know how they drink their Guinness over there? They take a tankard of the stuff and drop a shot glass of good whiskey in it. That kills the bitter taste. The original boilermaker."

"I imagine it does. Those English are crazy."

"Guinness is Irish actually, brewed in Dublin. Nothin like a mug of stout on tap and a sweet Irish lass by your side," Ed said.

"I'll drink to that," Frank said and clinked his glass against Ed's bottle.

Over Frank's shoulder Ed watched a familiar face approach, the cop he had noticed earlier. The man walked up and clapped a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Hello, Dad…you about had enough for the night?"

He gave Ed a smile but his attention was on his father. "Bucky said you came in here for happy hour and you've been drinking ever since."

"It's only beer, Travis. Piss water only slows me down…you can't get drunk on it."

Ed grinned at the old man's defense and Travis rolled his eyes. This sounded like a familiar argument they often shared.

"Travis Marsh," the cop said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Ed Foster. Your dad doesn't like my taste in beers."

Travis looked at the Guinness and made a face. "Don't say as I blame him, how can you drink that stuff?"

"He was in the military just like you. That's where he learned his bad taste," Frank cackled.

"Oh, what branch?"

"Army, and you?"

"Air Force. If I never see another desert air base I'll be a happy man," Travis said.

"Good career training, what are you doing now?" Ed asked.

"Deputy Sheriff. I made Corporal last year."

"Sweet, I bet that makes your father proud."

They both looked at Frank who had his head down on the bar and appeared to be asleep. Travis shook his head and waved at the woman who had been sitting at the table. She pushed through the crowd and looked at Frank.

"Janice, will you take dad home and put him to bed. I'll be along later."

"Sure, bro ... do you have his keys?"

Travis dug in his father's pants pocket and produced car keys. He gave Ed a look asking for help, so then they both took an arm, raising Frank up off his stool. The car was parked right outside the door. Of course it was, Frank had been their first customer some hours ago. Janice opened the back door and they slid the sleeping man inside.

"Thanks," Janice said, but nothing more. She got behind the wheel and backed the car out before heading towards the exit.

"So, can I buy you another one of those nasty bottles?" Travis asked.

"Sure," Ed replied.

They both sat at the bar now. Away from the noise and confusion they didn't have to yell over the din. Bucky the bartender brought them both another drink and returned to his other customers.

"You just passing through?" Travis asked.

"I am, on my way to Denver to see an old Army buddy," Ed said.

"Where did you muster out?"

"Leavenworth ... it wasn't a pleasant experience."

"You were incarcerated?" Travis asked.

"Three years for fucking up."

"Can I ask ... do you mind?"

Ed sighed and thought ahead. The lie had to be convincing and yet not too damning.

"I was stationed in White Sands at the missile range. Our job was dragging old hulks out into the sand hills to be used as targets. The depot had dozens of old tanks, halftracks and the like, some of it left over from the Korean War. We'd load them up on a trailer and haul ass out into the range where we would push them off in designated areas.

"I was a brand new sergeant with a crew of eight men. Not the brightest bulbs in the Army, but then this was a shit detail anyways. Most of the guys partied at night and tried to work through their hangovers the following day. So one morning we placed a row of old Sherman tanks and moved on.

"Of all the men Mackenzie had to be the worst worker and the drunkest. He crawled in the last tank just to see what it was like and never came out. The inquiry said he probably fell asleep in there. But I did a quick count as we left and missed his absence. Two hours later they lit up that area and his tank was destroyed. Bye, Bye, Mackenzie.

"I got a court marshal and a discharge after my three year sentence. Now I got a job working as a ranch foreman over in Lincoln County. Nothin else I can do with a record like that. End of story."

Travis shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, it wasn't fair."

Ed shrugged. "It was the stripes. I never should have taken that promotion. It didn't mean anything ... I was still shoveling shit for the Army. My company commander was a real asshole. Never left his office, probably didn't even know my name."

"I work for the Sheriff and no one likes him. He tries to treat me like a son or something, probably hopes I'll cover his ass when he fucks up again."

"Sounds like my old Lieutenant," Ed said.

"Oh we get paid well, good benefits and all that," Travis said. "But the Sheriff has his fingers in so many pies you'd think he was a politician."

Ed laughed at that since he supposed Travis was making a joke. But Travis leaned in closer and wasn't smiling.

"I swear he bought that last election and will probably do the same this year. The money comes from somewhere and I think it's illegal. That's his biggest secret."

"Elected officials can't be trusted," Ed said. "Just look at those crooks in Congress."

"Well this is closer to home and he's my fuckin boss. Some of the things I've seen ... but I can't talk about that."

"You shouldn't, don't get yourself in trouble," Ed said. "Can I buy you another one of those piss water beers?"

Travis laughed. "That's what dad calls them. He only gets drunk about once a week and my sister usually takes him home."

"Janice is your sister? Pretty lady," Ed said.

"She got mom's looks. But mom passed away three years ago from cancer and dad is still suffering from that." Travis smiled. "Don't give my sister a second look, I warn you. She's in the media as they say."

"Media?"

"She manages a local radio station. All country music ... not my thing."

Ed raised his bottle. "Well here's to mothers, yours sure raised her kids the right way."

Travis smiled at the compliment and they clinked bottles. "So when you leaving for Denver?"

"Tomorrow, I only have a week off," Ed said. "Maybe I'll be back this way come fall and do some hunting. Do you have a lot of poachers in this county?"

"Up in the hills mainly, but those poor guys are only trying to feed their families. We let the state police handle them. I wouldn't want to go up against some of those backwoods shooters. They can drop a deer at a thousand yards and a deputy makes too big a target."

"Smart move," Ed said.

He left Travis with his buddies around eleven o'clock begging off with a comment about making an early start. Travis shook his hand and said to look him up if he was ever back in town. Ed agreed and they parted.

Travis had almost revealed something important but Ed didn't want the man to talk yet. If the deputies knew anything about Timothy's case Ed would have to wait until he had some real questions which needed answers. He would only get one shot at what Travis knew before the man became suspicious.

Ed knew he would have to wear one of his best disguises when he visited the crime scene because no matter which deputy they sent the man would take a hard look at the defense's forensics guy. Now he would have to talk to Bill and mention Travis might know something. But first he had to study the Sheriff a little closer.

A group session of teenage boys was usually a lively bunch, and despite the dire circumstances many of them were in Evan always enjoyed their energy. He thought it would be a little premature for Tim to announce he was gay, but then he never told a patient to hold back.

Group therapy was an important chance to view the social and mental dynamics of individuals among the herd. Each of the boys at Barnhill came from different family and educational backgrounds. But that individuality often expressed itself openly because this was a group of peers with a trusted adult in their midst.

Evan had led hundreds of sessions like this and found the information he gathered quite valuable. Tim would catch on fast once the rules were explained, and there were only two of those.

No one was allowed to repeat the things they heard in group to non-members. Some of the boys carried the information out of the session and into the social environment of the dorm. If a subject inspired personal discussion outside of the group that was just fine. The whole point of peer interaction was to discuss the unknown and seek answers.

But the big rule was that no one could force someone to talk about an issue, it was all voluntary. Evan might prod the group with a difficult question but then the answers had to be civil and not combative. The discussion often opened a can of emotions that were hard to deal with, but nothing was really off limits.

Group met for two hours and sometimes didn't stop there. It was a long time for boys of that age to sit still. Evan ate his lunch, reviewed some of the things Tim had said to him and then prepared for the meeting. He could not reveal to Tim why the other boys were there but most of them were comfortable talking about their issues.

Jimmy was a sure bet to become a mass murderer, except he had been caught in the cycle of preparation for that career. Tony desired sex with young girls, very young girls, most of them too young to understand the meaning of sex. Alan was an exhibitionist who took his unnatural desires to the extreme of stalking women, breaking into their houses and masturbating as they slept.

Not all of the boys were involved in sex crimes, but for the deviant ones the inclusion of some sexual element provided the necessary stimulus to make them repeat the activity. The boys were all here because they had been caught, and like Tim, they all had lawyers that wanted evaluations to help forge the proper legal response.

Two of the boys had been remanded to Barnhill by the court as incorrigible. Although Tim was the only one who had admitted to parricide there were several others who had contemplated such dire actions. One boy had said he wanted to kill his mother because she took away his X-Box. No one in the group had taken him seriously.

And that was the risk of being open about the feelings each one of them held inside, they could be scorned by the others who did not believe them. Evan was the ringmaster of this little circus with an insider's viewpoint. The private sessions might give him the real answers but he almost never challenged what a boy might say to the others.

They met in a conference room setting since sitting around a table was a good way to keep the boys from slouching and zoning out during meetings. It was sad to say that Evan knew at least one of his little charges spent much of the meeting playing with himself under the table.

This one struggled with his sexual feelings and they had given him drugs to calm him down, but that did not make him cease the habitual pattern. If the others knew about it they didn't say anything because that would violate the rules.

Evan entered the room a few minutes after one o'clock and all of the boys were there. Several were gregarious enough to offer a greeting and he spoke back, calling them each by name. Tim sat just about in the middle of the table on the right side. As usual Tony had to play class clown.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls ... I give you the renowned Dr. Moore, head shrinker extraordinaire," and the boy stood to applaud, but he did so alone.

"Thank you, Tony ... you may resume your seat," Evan said.

"So who's the new guy?" Alan asked while combing his fingers through his long blond hair and leaving it spread across his shoulders.

Showing off for the new guy, Evan thought. The nursing staff said Alan spent hours staring at his reflection in various mirrors around the dorm. At least he wasn't stalking the nurses.

"The young man in question is named Tim, and he will speak when he's ready," Evan said. "Let's all show Tim how things work here in our little group. Is there any unfinished business?"

"Jimmy was upset because one of the staff took away his calendar," Tony said.

"I was just trying to keep track of the time," Jimmy said. "I have to plan my days once I get out."

"Last time you said it was so you could keep track of the money you'd need for ... you know," Robert said.

"Yeah, the big event which you have yet to reveal to us," Mike said.

"I don't know what you mean," Jimmy replied.

"You mentioned a certain explosion which you said was designed for maximum effectiveness to maim and kill certain people at your school," Alan said. "It seemed so random and pointless to me."

Jimmy grinned. "No it wasn't. I was targeting the faculty lounge where most of them would be at seven-thirty in the morning drinking coffee."

"What have you got against drinking coffee?" Mike said, and the others laughed.

"Doesn't matter what I was going to do, I'm off to Ravenswood until I'm forty years old," Jimmy said. "I might as well be dead."

"Is this specific information or are you making that up?" Evan asked.

"No, this is real, Doctor Moore. My lawyer said I would be gone a long time."

"To you anything over twenty-four hours is a long time," Alan said.

"Alan, that was uncalled for," Evan said.

"Sorry, Doc."

"Jimmy, the staff took your calendar because you were using it to plot your event. It shows your continued focus on something that is destructive to others and dangerous to your wellbeing. The drawings you made on several pages were pretty graphic and that's why it was confiscated."

Jimmy looked at Evan and shrugged. "I like to draw ... it keeps me calm."

"Some of you have artistic ability. Would you find it beneficial if you were given art supplies to pursue that ability?" Evan asked.

"What would we be allowed to draw?" Jimmy said.

"I'm not suggesting you continue drawing scenes of violence. Good art is not always a true representation of what's in your mind, which in your case would be fantasy. Why don't you try drawing things you see in real life?"

"I could draw Alan. I know he would sit still long enough to pose for me."

"Portraits are fine," Evan said. Would Alan sit for a portrait? Of course he would, anything to garner attention to his looks. "Do any of you have some new business to discuss?"

"Oh yeah," Tony said. "Guys, tomorrow is pizza night so we have to pick a film to watch. Ms. Beatty says there are some new ones in the library to choose from."

"Why don't you spend a few minutes before dinner picking a film," Evan said.

"We can do that," Tony said.

Evan looked around the table to see if there were going to be any other comments. If not he was going to ask a general question and try to start a discussion. He would always rather the boys take the lead because they usually had a lot of thoughts percolating between their ears.

Tim became aware that several of the boys were looking at him. Not hostile looks, just glances of curiosity. He didn't want to talk ... this was only his second day. But he had to say something.

"I know you're curious about me and why I'm here," Tim said. "I never thought of myself as a violent person until I killed my parents."

Evan sat back and observed the reactions around the table. He had not expected Tim to be so blatantly honest this soon, but the other boys seemed to hang on the words that had just been spoken.

"At least I think I killed them both ... I don't really know. It was all confused by the drugs I had taken. The man I called my step-father wasn't really married to my mom, but he gave me drugs and ... and he assaulted me.

"I don't remember that afternoon too clearly. No, it was almost night time and getting dark outside. He came home from work high as a kite and I locked myself in my room because I knew what was coming. I took two Oxycontin pills.

"That was way too much for a guy my size, but I was hoping to pass out before he came in my room. He had already broken the lock on my door months ago and all I had was this little hook and eye which I used to hold the door closed, but that wouldn't stop him.

"I remember he started a fight with my mother and she slammed her bedroom door. I just lay down on my bed and waited for him to come get me."

The other boys around the table were leaning in, some of them looking nervous, but all of them paying close attention. Perhaps some of this was familiar to their situations in life.

"I was pretty woozy," Tim said. "I know he opened her bedroom door and I think I heard a pop, no, two of them. I think my mother shot at him with her pistol. She had one, you know, it looked like a toy gun. I don't remember much after that until Stan…"

Tim stopped there, looking down the table at Evan. He had the boys hanging on his words, waiting to hear more. Evan wasn't going to interrupt. Tim would have to decide if he wanted to continue.

Each of the boys around this table had spoken about their crimes at some point. Some did it to establish their credentials in the group, others just to get the facts off their chest so they could move on. Evan was already surprised at the candor Tim displayed.

"Stan pushed my door open at some point and came in my room. I don't recall exactly what he did right then. I kept going in and out, the drugs made me dizzy but I didn't pass out for long. I remember hearing other pops so maybe my mother was shooting at him again.

"I keep trying to recall the events in some kind of order, but my brain was whacked by that point. I remember Stan pulling my pants off and assaulting me. I didn't feel much until he rolled off me and I saw my rifle leaning on the dresser beside the door. Now that I think back I felt it was like a message from God…my chance to kill him."

Tim was still showing a great lack of emotion at this point. The other boys looked shocked as they well might be. Tim had just told them he had been raped and none of the others had ever faced such a horrible fate, or at least never admitted it.

"I got out of bed and grabbed the rifle which caught Stan's attention. He tried to take it away from me and I shoved the butt in his crotch, nailing him in the balls. He tried to leave my room and I started shooting. I kept pulling the trigger until the rifle was empty and then it occurred to me that something wasn't right.

"I had ten bullets for the rifle and that was all. It wasn't like I could go out and buy any more, so there were only ten. But I had counted only nine shots and the magazine was empty…that wasn't right.

"Stan was dead, I could see that much. He was lying in the hallway halfway out my bedroom door so I had to step over him to get out. I went around the corner to my mother's bedroom and saw her lying on the floor with that toy pistol in her hand, but she was dead.

"I sat down in the hallway on the carpet, lay the rifle down and stared at her…maybe I was waiting to cry but I didn't feel anything. I don't know how long I sat there, but then the doorbell rang. I had to step over Stan again to find my pants figuring maybe the cops had come to get me. But it was only two of my friends at the door and I let them in.

"We sat in the living room for a while until Jack asked me where my parents were and I told him I had killed them. They both laughed thinking it was a joke until I showed them the bodies. Both of those boys ran out of the house and thirty minutes later the cops came, so here I am."

There was a lot of information in what Tim had said. His revelation of the events had been clearer than ever. He had stated some new facts Evan had never heard before, the most important being that he had not shot his mother.

Drugs like Oxycontin had a debilitating effect on a young mind and so perhaps the boy had just assumed he had shot her at first. Now that there was some distance from the killing things were starting to occur to Tim that had not been there before.

The cops had assumed the boy had killed them both and that was the basis for this prosecution. It was reasonable that Stan had killed Tim's mother but unreasonable to think they could prove any of that. Bill would need to know what had been said, and soon.

"Thank you, Tim," Mike said. "None of us has ever been so honest the first time up at bat. I don't know how you could deal with it…how do you deal with it?"

"I have no feelings for Stan," Tim said. "I wanted him dead and I got my wish. As for my mom…she knew what he was doing to me, but he was the source of her drugs. I blame her for allowing him to assault me. The cops might have listened to her if she told them, but she didn't or she couldn't, I haven't figured that part out yet."

"Are you religious?" Alan asked. "I mean you said it was like a message from God, do you believe that?"

Tim sighed. "Not really. But it wasn't the first time he assaulted me. The drugs made me pretty numb to the whole thing and I felt helpless to stop him. After a while I guess it was just a thing. It started almost two years ago and I got used to it. He did it, it was over, and we moved on until the next time. Do you know what it's like to be raped?"

Evan thought he ought to end the discussion right there, but Alan had been pushy on the other boys for weeks and perhaps it was his turn to squirm. It wasn't a combative question and Alan was perfectly capable of refusing to answer. Only Evan knew the truth.

"Yes," Alan said. "My uncle molested me when I was eight. It was painful."

Tim nodded. "I agree…it hurts until you get used to it. My body adapted to ignore the pain, and then it didn't hurt anymore. The most curious aspect of the whole experience was that after a while it made me cum."

"He was stimulating your prostate, that's why you ejaculated," Alan said. "I learned about that after puberty."

"Oh, I didn't know why," Tim said. "I thought I was gay."

"You don't become gay just because someone assaults you and your body reacts like that."

"Gay is something you are from the beginning," Mike said.

"The beginning of what?" Tim asked.

"I mean like from birth. Maybe you don't know why you're more attracted to guys than girls, it's just a feeling. Some guys are bisexual because any kind of sex turns them on. I'm an expert on that, but then Doc says I'm just fixated on the whole subject."

"I never met a guy I wanted to have sex with," Tim said. "But I don't know any girls I'd do it with either."

"Sex is a drug," Alan said. "I know, I'm an addict."

"It's the most personal thing a guy can do," Tony said. "Sometimes we do it just to feel better."

"You're talking about masturbation," Mike said. "We all do that, some of us more than others, but I like sex with other people better."

"Some of us don't have anyone to share it with, or we don't think we're good enough to have sex with someone else," Alan said.

There was silence after that comment and Evan almost smiled with the way the boys had handled the subject. All of it had been in support of Tim's revelation and that was kindness to the extreme. Alan had almost revealed the root causes of his sneaky behavior. He might have the looks but he had no confidence in his ability to perform. Probably why he had chosen to prostitute himself in the past, but the others didn't know that and probably never would.

The usual four boys had dominated the group today, at least until Tim had spoken. The other five looked interested but didn't feel sexually dysfunctional. No, sex wasn't their drug, being criminals was their chosen high.

Perhaps I should split the group up, Evan thought. There were definitely some divergent views among the boys on why they were here and what they had done wrong. It was time to turn the wheels of thought in another direction.

"Jimmy mentioned earlier that he was going to be locked up for a long time," Evan said. "At this point we can't be sure any of you will serve time for the reasons you were arrested. There are mitigating factors to most of your alleged crimes and your lawyers will add those facts into your defense.

"My question to you is based upon what might happen, not what will happen. Thoughts of prison are fraught with misconceptions, especially for boys your age, and so we will begin to address what you think and discuss a better point of view.

"If you were shipwrecked on a deserted island the biggest issue would be food, water and how to avoid the boredom. Prison is not like that. Your basic needs are taken care of and so boredom is the big issue. The state offers training programs to educate you and make it easier for you to live after release. Any thoughts?"

"If they give me ten years for what I did then I'll have to choose something," Tony said. "What would you do, Doc?"

"If I was sixteen I'd get in the school program. A lot of guys spend sixteen to twenty years going to school before they find jobs and start a life. You have much the same opportunity, even in prison. Go to school, get a degree, learn a trade…something to use when you get out.

"Besides, the state mandates you get at least a high school diploma. It may be a condition of your early release so be sure to ask your lawyers. It's not easy to rejoin society with a prison record. But there are many employers who will see a college degree as a sign of change in you.

"Prison is nothing more than punishment. Accept that and you can move on. But Parole Boards look at accomplishments and changes. You will have to prove yourself worthy of release."

Evan shook his head at the silence his comments had engendered. "Okay, now that I have put a damper on our discussion by talking about prison why don't we end the group for today so you guys can go look at movies."

"Yaaay," Tony said.

"Thanks, Doc," Mike said. Always the polite one.

As they got up to leave Tim gave Evan a smile, as if to say, see I can do this. He had done very well. And then Evan heard Tony say that maybe he could study to be a psychiatrist if he got locked up. Alan laughed and Evan thought…Heaven Forbid.

The boys spread out across the juvenile wing while Evan returned to his office and began to make some notes. He put down the pen and picked up the phone to call Bill.

"Hello, Evan," Bill said.

"Oh…hello. How did you now it was me?"

"Caller ID said Barnhill so who else would it be? You really need to put down your pen and get with technology," Bill said. He had been chiding Evan about his old fashioned ways since they first met.

"I just finished my first group session that included Tim. I really didn't expect him to say anything but perhaps the presence of the other boys encouraged his candor. Bill, he gave us his viewpoint on the shootings and it is a far different story than what you and I understood to have happened."

"Oh, really? I know you have all this medical confidentiality but what can you tell me?"

"I think if you were here he would tell you the same thing so I'll spill the beans. He was drugged as we suspected, but it was self-administered before that final rape. I'm sure he did it because he knew what was coming. But even in his altered state he remembered hearing at least three gunshots.

"He says his mother had a small pistol, he called it a toy. But it seems he believes she took a few shots at Stan. Then he claims things got woozy but he remembered another shot before Stan assaulted him.

"What convinces me he may be on to something is that he discovered the rifle leaning against the wall and realized it was his chance to kill Stan. He said nothing about getting even with his mother. He also said that he recalls only having ten bullets for the rifle and that he was surprised when he shot Stan that the rifle only had nine shots left.

"Where did that other bullet go and who shot his mother? I'm beginning to believe that Stan shot her while Tim was out of it even before that final rape. I know this will interest you, but if she shot at Stan where did the bullets go?"

Bill was quiet for a moment and Evan could almost hear him smile. "You're a genius, Evan. No wonder I like you. Well I'm awaiting a call from my private investigator and the two of us are going to visit the crime scene. We'll look for those bullets since the Sherriff's report mentions nothing about them, or a small handgun.

"I'm convinced Barnes tried to sterilize the crime scene of any information that might exonerate Tim. He probably removed any drugs from the house as well…what a complete shit that man is."

"You won't get me to argue with you on that issue," Evan said. "When do you plan to see Tim again?"

"Friday for sure, the afternoon if we can get into the house that morning. I'm going to be taking Ed who will do the forensic workup for me."

"He's an expert on these things?" Evan asked.

"The U.S. Government thinks so. He was with CID in the military police."

"I don't understand all those initials but if you think he's good then I accept his qualifications."

"I'll call you when I'm on the way over there. I hope Tim is doing well," Bill said.

"For someone in his predicament I'd say he's doing just fine," Evan said. "It only remains to be seen what we can do for him."

"Yeah," Bill said. "Isn't that the truth."

On to Chapter Six

Back to Chapter Four

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"Falling Down" © Chris James.
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