by Sera, Drew
I couldn’t look in the direction of the docks. Footsteps grew closer, and Thom put his arm around my shoulder.
“Come here, Wesley.”
I panicked.
“No, please don’t make me go back. I...I’m better off on the streets than the docks,” I pleaded.
Thom looked at me with sympathy, and I thought for a moment that I might have a shot at just living on the streets instead of the docks. He guided me to walk to the corner with him while everyone else stayed a few paces behind.
No.
I broke down and began crying, despite trying to make myself strong and cold again so I could deal with shit on the docks. I could hardly move my feet forward as we moved toward the unmistakable smell of the horrific place. I kept my head down, and soon we stopped walking.
“Look, Wes.”
I looked up and in the direction of hell on earth.
It was completely dark. Why weren’t there any lights on? I frowned as I took a step forward, then I noticed that there was a chain-link fence lining the perimeter. I was trying to make sense of this.
“Skagen Group Home for Boys…is no more. It’s closed, Wes,” Thom said. “I closed it.”
“Wh-at?” I gasped.
I kept looking at the dark property and then back at Thom.
How did he do this?
Why did he do this?
“I found out what they did there under the umbrella of Skagen Steel.” Thom paused. “And I see the effect it’s had on you.”
I was speechless.
“I didn’t bring you here to scare you, Wesley. I brought you here for closure.” Thom jostled my shoulders and pulled me to lean against him. “You are part of this family. Our family goes to whatever lengths necessary to take care of one another. Nothing stays hidden.”
My head was against Thom’s chest as I looked out at the lifeless, still land. I couldn’t believe it. He somehow shut this place down…and he was holding me.
“Dad, what went on here?” Kyler questioned.
I froze and tensed up against Thom at Kyler’s innocent question.
“They made money in heinous ways. They bought—” Thom paused as he looked at his sons. “They bought young boys. Parents would keep their boys until they were nearly school aged and then sell them to this atrocious place. Many women who were desperate for money were just breeding, hoping for boys to sell and make money.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t know that. Is that what happened to me? I thought we were all throwaways.
“Why would a steel company buy kids? What would they do?” Mason asked.
“Among many things, they ran an illegal fight ring with the orphaned boys. It earned them more money.”
“Shit. Seriously, Dad?” Mason asked. His tone was different this time and sounded disgusted.
Thom nodded and then Dean spoke up.
“They put the orphan boys to work. It was all underage, heavy manual labor loading steel to be exported. Skagen Steel kept a filthy secret as to how they amassed their profits.”
Dean was right. I loaded so many shipping containers with steel and iron.
“If the boys didn’t pull their weight in work, they were stripped and beaten...lashed,” Thom added as his hand gently ran down my back.
Everyone looked at me, and I couldn’t hide my embarrassment.
“Is that what happened to your back, mate?” Martin asked.
I gave him a nod. Everyone was quiet as Thom continued.
“Boys worked their asses off during the day, and by night the owners would pick a few boys and made them fight for necessities. Winning fighters were awarded food, water, and medical care.” Thom paused and squeezed my shoulder. “I was so curious when I learned of their practices that I went to visit Skagen Group Home for Boys. I pretended to have a few boys to sell so I could get inside. I spoke to the owner, and he explained everything. He even showed me everything. I saw the room where you probably slept in. No beds. Just a single mattress and some filthy blankets.”
I couldn’t listen to it. As Thom continued to expose my humiliating life, I tried backing away and covered my ears as if it would stop him. Thom kept advancing until I backed into a wall. With his eyes on me, he gently pulled my hands away from my ears.
“They tattooed the boys when they arrived at the docks...their initials and their age at the time, right, Wes?” Thom asked.
“Childhoods were left in the disgusting room where they were tattooed,” Dean added.
“WB6,” Martin said piecing things together. Months ago, when Martin asked about my tattoo I had told him that I got it on the streets and that the number 6 was my lucky number. “6.” He stared at me. “6 isn’t your lucky number. Is it, mate?”
I shook my head.
“You were 6 years old when you got there,” Martin said as the pieces fell into place.
I felt weak and leaned my weight into Thom again as I stared at the place I once knew as home.
“I can’t believe you went there,” I said.
“Dean came along. I wanted to understand you better. While I don’t know everything you endured, I know where you came from.”
I was quiet for another moment.
“It smells bad there,” I commented.
“Smells like fear, son.”
Son.
Was I someone’s son? Did I have a mother or father somewhere that sold me?
“I wanted you to see that they can’t hurt you anymore, and you don’t need to fear going back there.” Thom hugged me and I began to feel my strength return. “Let’s go home,” Thom said.
When we got home, Thom made me some hot tea, and he sat in the kitchen with me while I drank it and calmed down.
“Are you doing okay, Wes?” he asked me.
“Yes. I am now. I was really afraid that you were taking me back.”
“I couldn’t do that. Not in a million years, Wes,” Thom said confidently. “I don’t want you to be afraid of your past or doubt yourself. You’re a very strong young man.”
I nodded and concentrated on the liquid in my mug.
“I saw the barbed wire fenced area where they would make the boys fight.”
I swallowed hard and continued to stare into my mug.
“Did you have to fight a lot?” he asked me cautiously.
I just nodded. My tea started to look blurry, and I jumped when Thom stood up. He pulled me out of my chair and wrapped me up in a hug. I didn’t fight or resist him. I knew I had nothing to ever fear with Thom.
“When you’re ready to talk, Wes, I’m always here for you.”
He rubbed carefully on my back and gave the back of my head a gentle pat as he let go of me. I took a deep breath and looked at my mug.
“Finish your tea. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and then left the kitchen.
What a wild night. I really wouldn’t have guessed that it would have turned out like this. Picking up the mug, I sipped on it as I walked around the kitchen table to the windows that overlooked the back yard.
In the distance, I saw Dean and Mason walking toward the woods. What on earth are they doing out there at this hour? Though it was pretty dark, I could still identify who it was, and I could tell that Mason was clearly agitated about something.
I shook it off since it wasn’t my business and went to my room. When Martin and I were ready for bed, my curiosity kicked in as to why he had never wanted to move into one of his brother’s bigger bedrooms.
“Because then I couldn’t watch over you and wake your ass up when you have those nightmares.” We both laughed for a moment. “I should apologize to you, mate. I’m sorry I pushed you to talk. I didn’t know. I’m sorry for whatever happened to you there.”
I shrugged and shook my head at him, hoping he’d catch on that I wasn’t in the mood to talk about this stuff.
“Wes, you don’t have to be afraid here. We’re a family. Dad won’t let anything happen to you, or any of us.”
My head hit the pillow fe
eling a mix of things. I felt exposed and humiliated about my prior life. While I felt like a huge weight had been lifted, a ton of new questions raced through my head. What had happened to the owners? What happened to the boys living there? How had I ended up there? Was I really parentless, or did I have parents that sold me? Did I possibly have other biological brothers that had been living there with me? How did Thom close the docks? What kind of power did he really have?
Even though my head was swimming with questions, I felt closer to being accepted by the Van Doorns. I didn’t have to keep my past in the dark shadows anymore.
9
Mason
June 2007
“I don’t want to do this, Uncle Dean. It’s not right,” I explained as we made our way down the path to the woods.
“Keep your damn mouth shut until we get into the woods, Mason!” he hissed at me through gritted teeth.
I didn’t really give a damn who heard me right now. I was fucking pissed off and tired of this shit. And now that I’d heard some of the shit about Wesley, I didn’t want to take part in this anymore.
Once we were deep enough into the woods, I came to a stop and turned to face my uncle. I reached in my pocket and threw the small envelope of pale green tablets at his feet. He looked surprised as he bent and picked up the envelope. He turned the envelope over in his hands and examined the unbroken seal.
“This hasn’t been opened, Mason.” He glared at me as I nodded. “Are these the ones I gave you last week?”
“Yes. I’m not doing it anymore.”
“You’re unbelievable, Mason. God, you’re such a disappointment. You’re a disgrace to the Van Doorn name,” he spat.
“Why? Because I don’t want to continue to push that kid around?” I pointed at the house and paced. “Didn’t you hear anything tonight? He was forced to fight other kids in a fucking pen that was lined with barbed wire. This is the only home he has!”
My uncle grabbed me, shoved me against a tree, and then he slapped me across my face. He had fistfuls of my shirt in his hands as he shook me.
“This is NOT his home! He’s an orphan! His crack addicted bitch mother sold his ass off for money, Mason. I visited that place with your father. Be grateful you’re a Van Doorn and grew up like you did.”
I shoved my uncle away from me. He stood a few feet away from me and laughed.
“At least you have strength. That’s about all you have. No brains in that head of yours. You’re just Thom Van Doorn’s dumb son.”
“I’m not dumb. I’m his oldest. I’m next in line…Uncle Dean.” I reminded him smugly.
“No, Mason. Your father was up there hugging and consoling your enemy.”
“Wesley is not my enemy.”
“Oh no? How are you going to feel when that little prick not only surpasses you but Kyler and Martin?”
“Dad’s not going to do that.”
“Mason, it’s okay to be scared. You’re feeling emotional because you haven’t been taking these pills as I’ve instructed. You’re crashing.”
I put my hands on my head and looked upward. Those fucking pills.
“I’m not taking them anymore. They make me feel terrible. I can’t concentrate on anything, and I get agitated easily. I feel aggressive all of the time and snap at just about anyone—”
Holy shit!
Uncle Dean stared at me with a smile on his face as it dawned on me what he was doing. He was purposely putting me on these so I’d snap and be aggressive with Wesley.
“Mason, you need these tablets to help you to do your job with Wesley. And, I can see you’re finding them to be highly addictive. You need them.” He held the unopened envelope up. “One of these, every other day. It’ll keep you feeling even.” He shoved the envelope against my chest until I took hold of the envelope. “Find your balls, Mason. Keep on Wesley and do what’s best for the Van Doorns.”
He walked away from me, leaving me alone in the woods. I tore open the envelope and popped one of the light green tablets into my mouth.
“I’m sorry, Wesley,” I mumbled.
10
Wes
August 2007
Over the summer, Martin and I had become the best of friends. He got me on a health kick and I jogged with him twice a day, and we swam in the lake each evening. We typically talked about girls, school, or cars during our jogs and sometimes he’d try to ask me about old stuff in my life.
Barely two months had gone by since I learned that Thom somehow shut down the docks. It was still unbelievable to me. As he revealed where I lived, he also made the rest of the family aware of some of the horrors in my past life. Things I never wanted anyone to know about, but he touted that we were family and that nothing stayed hidden.
Martin had always been inquisitive since the first day I arrived in Thom’s home. I knew at times he’d been frustrated that I wouldn’t share things, but I really didn’t see what good could come out of it. He’d been persistent though.
“You had another bad dream last night, mate,” Martin commented as we jogged along the creek.
The nightmares still came often, and I had hoped they would go away because they’re waking Martin up. I had suggested we keep separate rooms, but he insisted on sharing with me.
The silence was awkward, so to break it I apologized. “Sorry I woke you.”
“I don’t mind that I woke up. It bugs me that you have them. From what Dad has said, that fucking place was hell.”
Hell was a good way to describe the docks.
“What were you dreaming about last night?”
I didn’t respond.
“You said something about fighting again.”
I remained quiet and continued jogging with him. I was amazed at his stamina. Martin could carry on conversations while he jogged without sounding short of breath.
“Were you fighting in your dream, Wes?”
I was.
I just kept jogging as I thought about my dream. I hated fighting.
Martin kept talking and asking questions. Maybe if I just told him, he’d stop. “Did you fight a lot while you were on the docks?”
I stopped running and put my hands on my hips and stared at him when he stopped a few feet ahead of me. Martin walked back to me and kept his eyes on mine.
“Why do you care?” I panted.
“We’re friends…brothers…I want to know what happened.”
I stared at him while trying to catch my breath. I was considering telling him a little bit but was apprehensive.
“If I tell you, are you going to tell Thom?”
Martin held his hand out for me to shake.
“You have my word that I won’t tell him.”
I stared at his hand for a few moments.
“Brothers, Wes. I’m not going to share anything with Dad about what you and I discuss. It stays between us.”
I nodded and shook his hand.
“I hate fighting.” I released his hand but looked down at the dirt path we had been running on. “If we didn’t work hard, we were more likely to be picked to fight that night. I didn’t want to fight, so I always worked hard.” I moved some dirt around with my shoe. “If you won the fight, you got an extra slice of bread or a glass of milk.”
“Did they pit kids that were similar in age against one another?” Martin asked.
I could only shake my head. I had gone against several kids that were older than I was…and younger.
“We fought in the yard in an area that was sectioned off by a short fence.”
“Could kids jump the fence to stop the fight?”
“No. The top of the fence had barbed wire on it.”
“Shit.”
“The owners and their friends would sit in some raised seats. Like bleachers or something. They’d bet on the fights. The kids who weren’t fighting had to sit on the ground and watch.”
“How many kids lived there, Wes?”
“A lot.” I shook my head trying to count as I ran through thei
r initials on their chests. “Maybe eighteen, or so.”
Martin gave my shoulder a pat and gestured with his head up the road. I walked alongside him as he continued to ask more questions.
“Dare I ask what happened if a kid lost a fight?”
“Nothing really. We just went back to our room. Sometimes other kids would help if they were hurt.”
“Did anyone ever get hurt really bad?”
IA6. Isaac Alders.
I nodded as I thought about Isaac.
“Isaac,” I blurted out.
“How old was Isaac?”
Isaac. Poor Isaac.
“He was my age, but I think he had been there a little longer than I had.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died fighting when he was eight.”
I kept talking as we walked.
“Isaac was fighting a boy older than he was. The older boy was starving and determined to win.” I shook my head as I recalled how the older boy hadn’t eaten in four days. “He was hungry and pummeled Isaac against the fence where I sat with some other boys. The older boy delivered an uppercut to Isaac’s face.” I swallowed trying to catch my breath still from our jog. “His head snapped back, and I remember feeling something wet hit my face. I looked upward at the sky because I thought it started to rain. The boy sitting next to me started tapping me on my arm, and when I looked at him, blood was all over his face. When I wiped my face and looked at my hand, I saw blood.”
“Shit, Wes!”
I ignored Martin and kept going.
“In the fight pen, Isaac lay motionless right in front of me. Some of his hair spilled through the chain linked fence and was touching my knee. The other boy had fallen to his knees with his hands on his head. He knew that Isaac was badly hurt.”
“What the fuck were those bastards in the stands doing?”
“They were exchanging money. The other boy was screaming for someone to help. Eventually, the older boy was taken away, and Isaac was carried in a different direction.” I felt cold suddenly but kept rambling. “The rest of us were sent back to our room, but later that night we could hear them whipping the other boy from the fight. He was crying…we could hear him crying…then he stopped.”
