Abuse: The Complete Trilogy

by Nikki Sex

  Susie stopped screaming. Fueled by adrenaline, she jumped to her feet, suddenly madder than she could ever remember being in her life. Unreasonably bold, she flew at the other man who was handcuffing her friend.

  “Leave her alone!” Susie shouted, shoving him. “That’s Miss Buttercup! She’s always nice!”

  The man didn’t budge. Quickly and quietly he finished cuffing Miss Buttercup without saying a word. His blank-face and lack of reaction frightened her even more. The scariest men of all didn’t show how they felt.

  Her fragile hold on what had become a tentative and unknown future suddenly overwhelmed her.

  “Please don’t hurt Miss Buttercup,” Susie begged, then she burst into a fit of loud, utterly hysterical tears.

  “We won’t hurt her,” the kind, blond man assured.

  The man spoke in a low voice, softly and soothingly. He offered Susie tissues and waited for her to get her tears under control. He made no move to touch her.

  Another man got to his knees and tried to coax Sammy out from under the dining room table, which seemed an impossible task. Sammy refused to budge until Miss Buttercup—still cuffed and sitting on a chair at the end of the table, told Sammy it was safe. Then, he finally came out.

  When everyone finally settled down, the kind man asked Susie, “Why are you worried about er… Miss Buttercup?”

  “I love Miss Buttercup!” Susie vowed staunchly, wiping her nose with her arm. “She’s nice to us, we love her and, and…”

  “And?” the man asked kindly.

  “I was brought here when I was eight years old,” Susie said, sniffling and hiccupping.

  “Oh?” the nice man said encouragingly.

  “Yes,” said Susie. “Miss Buttercup came here when she was eight years old, too.”

  Chapter 76.

  “You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”

  — Abraham Lincoln

  ~~~

  Bright and early one morning, in the middle of November, Senator Robert Whitfield’s clandestine business finally ended with a bang. Twenty-three mansions across the United States, all full of children and staff were raided. Boys and girls, ages six and older, were discovered to be systematically trafficked to the most powerful men in the country.

  For over 28 years, this pedophile ring acted with complete impunity, hiding behind a façade of respectability.

  When the first serious allegations anonymously trickled out by SWAT teams and first responders, they were assumed to be gross exaggerations. After all, children were imaginative and unreliable narrators. How could they be trusted?

  CNN and Fox News, publishing what they were told to publish, credited these stories as ‘wild, unsubstantiated allegations,’ designed to ‘create mischief during an election year.’

  Both CNN and Fox got it wrong.

  It soon became the biggest political scandal in US history.

  Senator Robert Whitfield was named, as well as his famous evangelical brother. Various judges, diplomats, senior police officials and members of the CIA, FBI and other top politicians were wanted for questioning.

  Shortly after the raid, the FBI database of evidence showing perpetrators abusing children, was ‘instantly and permanently deleted’ from their servers. The agency issued a statement explaining ‘the loss of data was due to a technical malfunction.’ This caused an untold number of incriminating testimonies, videos, pictures and graphic details, to be dumped.

  They were contrite about such a terrible accident.

  This seemingly all too convenient computer glitch caused public outrage. How could the FBI lose all of the evidence relating to crimes of only powerful, prominent official and political figures?

  However, in this age of technology, by then it was too late. Word of these horrific offenses was out, going viral, spreading faster than any information had ever moved through the country.

  Not long after the data loss, certain videos and photos appeared on the internet, splashed across numerous sites—too many to delete. One of these explicit videos was of Zachary Bailey as a child, clearly being sodomized by a younger Senator Robert Whitfield.

  Only two people living, and one who had been murdered, would recognize exactly where those pictures came from. It seemed all the evidence on Chester Wilkinson’s computer hadn’t been destroyed after all.

  When Roman Bronowski and André Chevalier watched proof of this on TV (with details sensitively blacked out) they both smiled.

  Somewhere in heaven, no doubt, Edgar Gates was smiling, too.

  At the same time a Special Investigation was launched by a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist from the New York Times. After André introduced Zach to his journalist friend, Zachary was pleased to sell his story in an interview that shook the nation to its core.

  Much to Zachary Bailey’s delight, his consistently unsupportive mother, father and older sister were hounded by the press who demanded to know ‘their side of the story.’ Why didn’t they listen, report or follow up on any of Zachary's accusations? They refused to comment.

  The church Zach and his family had belonged to was shut down after it was found to be frequented by Isiah—Senator Whitfield’s evangelical brother. The church minister went into hiding, under investigation for conspiracy.

  While extensive and crucial evidence mysteriously disappeared from the FBI’s servers, it inexplicably turned up on the computer system of the European law enforcement agency, Europol.

  The international organization, which was apparently beyond the reach of even the most powerful of corrupt American officials, soon released a statement that "Operation Child Rescue" had identified over 1,250 American suspects and a possible list of over 4,000 children.

  Only after going public, Europol passed the evidence back to American authorities. None of whom were brave enough to attempt to ‘accidently’ delete it again. By then a senate investigation had been initiated to discover how such an unfortunate loss of data could have occurred in the first place.

  Judges (not wanting to be named) suggested ‘inadmissible evidence’ in order to let powerful men escape arrest and trial, but nothing could stop the relentless wave of information once it began. When two high-profile public servants were stopped at an airport, while attempting to flee to a non-extradition treaty country—local police arrested them.

  Before Christmas, over two-hundred thousand Americans gathered in the Nation’s Capital, screaming for the truth.

  The bodies of over 300 children were eventually discovered in the backyards of the raided mansions. When prosecutors claimed the children were killed in order to protect the child molesting network, there were riots.

  Only the most privileged and wealthy were granted secret membership of this influential pedophile ring. After the accused were finally publically named—every one of them once powerful, untouchable and above the law—more victims had the courage to come forward and report their own abuse by these influential predators.

  In situations like these, there is strength in numbers. Victims, who felt so isolated by their abuse, were no longer alone in their plight.

  Suddenly, money began pouring in to Grant Wilkinson’s ‘Sexual Abuse Therapy Foundation.’

  Once knowledge of Chester Wilkinson’s abuse of children came out, Betty Jo Wilkinson, the woman who murdered her child molesting father, was feted as a hero. The D.A. immediately dropped all charges.

  Given probation and community service, Grant’s sister continued to work on her own recovery, incorporating and helping those with a less privileged upbringing than her own. This community service, which also served as her legal penance, was therapeutic.

  Seeing how the other side lived did her a lot of good.

  In response to public outcry, in record-breaking speed, the fastest legislation ever agreed upon by Democrats and Republicans in both houses became law. The United States federal government removed all limitations for cases o
f child abuse throughout the country, overriding state statutes of limitation.

  When bail was suggested for accused sexual predators, more riots ensued. Americans would accept nothing less than total transparency. Conspiracies and cover ups would no longer be tolerated. The public was well aware of the corruption that necessitated Europol to step in.

  The backlash from ongoing trials; stories from a seemingly endless number of survivors; and distrust and dislike of the super-rich, including privileged political figures went on for years.

  Chapter 77.

  “Having a baby is a life-changer. It gives you a whole other perspective on why you wake up every day.”

  — Taylor Hanson

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson—one year later.

  I sit on the swing set, my feet on the ground, idly rocking.

  I still can’t believe it.

  Smiling, Renata comes through the back door, walks across the grass and sits on the swing next to me. “Are you okay?” she asks, looking at me uneasily.

  “Honestly, I’m still in shock.”

  “But you’re happy, right? This is what we wanted.” With a sheepish shrug she adds. “It’s kind of what we wanted, right? Just more so.”

  I nod, trying to hide a troubled frown. I'm not sure if I succeed.

  Her expression twists with concern. “Are you disappointed? Do you have doubts?”

  I reach my hand out to take hers, still blown away by the news from this morning’s ultrasound results. “Of course I’m not, not at all. But I’m a little worried—mainly about you. This is scary stuff. I had no idea how scary it really could be. I’m excited, but I’m afraid for you. I’m also a little stunned—but mostly, I’m excited.” I finish, managing a rather distracted smile.

  “I’m excited too.” A grin splits her face, her eyes sparkle with happiness.

  I love her so much. God, she better be OK.

  I clear my throat. “So, what did your Uncle Robert say?”

  “My uncle, it turns out, is one of a set of triplets; my mother, a brother and him. Apparently, triplets run in my family. His brother lives in Sweden and they lost touch years ago. Isn’t that weird? If I had a brother, I’d never lose touch.”

  I nod, knowing how close she’d been to her own baby brother, Timmy. His loss left a huge hole in her heart. I think that may be a big part of the reason why, for as long as she can remember, Renata has longed for children of her own.

  “Your Uncle Robert is a bit of an asshole,” I observe, a mischievous grin on my face. “It’s possible his brother fled back to Sweden, specifically to get away from his jerk of a brother.”

  We both crack up over this.

  “So, your mother was one of a set of triplets.”

  “She sure was.”

  “Did your uncle say anything about his mom having trouble during pregnancy or childbirth?”

  “According to him, there were no issues—not that he’d know. He says my great grandmother gave birth to triplets, too. It’s not that uncommon. Statistically, triplets or higher multiple births occur a little more than once in a thousand births; one set in ten thousand births are identical triplets.”

  “Identical?” I gasp, imagining three identical girls, all getting into mischief. “I didn’t even consider that.” I put my hand to my heart dramatically. “Three little girls who all look like their mommy, every one of them wrapping me around their wee little fingers. What a terrifying thought,” I tease.

  She laughs. “Hey, it could be three little boys who look like their daddy, all causing nothing but trouble.”

  I grin and nod. “Too true.”

  “I’ve got to explore my family history,” she says speculatively. “I think I’ll take a genealogy course. I saw something advertised recently in the local papers—people really get into it. Anyway, apparently multiple births are normal for my family.”

  “That makes me feel better. I was worried about you.”

  “I was worried about me, too.”

  I stand up and pull her toward me, her legs rest between mine while she still sits on the swing. My beautiful wife, my caring, clever, sexual surrogate.

  I’ll never forget the first time I saw her at André’s home in Las Vegas. I’d been utterly mortified when we were introduced. I was ashamed. I felt dirty, unworthy and unlovable. Then along comes this beautiful woman, who was supposed to be my therapist. How could I be with her? Someone like me would only corrupt and ruin her perfection.

  I was a monster.

  She thought she was a mouse. This always seems impossible to me, when I always found her to be so fearless and strong.

  How far we’ve both come since that time.

  It was her eyes that attracted me at first, drawing me in. Crystal blue with a vivid dark rim around the iris, they’re extraordinary—just like she is.

  Her happy smile makes my breath catch. In high spirits and glowing with pregnancy, she looks more beautiful than ever before.

  Our lips meet in a soft, chaste kiss.

  Triplets run in her family.

  Relief lightens my heart. Everything will be fine. I’m going to be a father—times three! It’s a huge responsibility, but I’m resolved to be the best father I can possibly be.

  I’m smiling so broadly, the scars on my face tighten and pull.

  Her eyes sparkle when she sees the playful hint of happiness in my expression. I jump back into my swing.

  “Want to see how high we can get?”

  Renata giggles playfully—such a happy, carefree girl. A carefree, three months pregnant woman.

  My wonderful wife.

  The monster married the mouse. We were meant to find one another, if only to help us both learn the truth. I was never a monster, and Renata, my brave, capable wife, was never a mouse.

  I love the swing set I designed and built for her. We can reach about twelve feet high at full swing. I recall the joy on her face the first time I took Renata to a playground after she'd told me how much she loved to swing. It changed her mood from troubled to jubilant so quickly. It was beautiful to watch.

  Delighting Renata has become a habit—or perhaps more like a hobby. It's my favorite thing to do.

  We begin to swing, both of us laughing like a couple of five year olds. Together, we swing higher and higher, in complete sync. Up into the clouds. Weightless, soaring; happiness and love lifts us up, defying gravity.

  I feel as though we’re swinging higher than we ever have before.

  Maria, our housekeeper and an important part of our family, comes out of the house to watch us. With a broad grin on her face, she waves joyously.

  Maria couldn’t have been happier when she found out Renata was pregnant. Wait until we tell her we’re having triplets. She’ll probably set her church on fire from the amount of prayer candles of thanks she’ll light.

  “You look like children!” she shouts, teasing us playfully.

  “Yes!” I shout back.

  Renata and I grin at each other and swing even higher. Happy, excited and thrilled about our future, we both feel like children, too.

  Chapter 78.

  Mr. Wonka: “Don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he wanted.”

  Charlie Bucket: “What happened?”

  Mr. Wonka: “He lived happily ever after.”

  ― Roald Dahl

  ~~~

  Gabriela Lopez

  Disney World!

  Their tour guide picked them up with their families, at the hotel. They all climbed into a large van and after a short ride, they arrived at the world's best theme park.

  Here, longtime dreams, could finally come true. The kids were whisked back and forth across the grounds so they could enjoy every single ride. They had their pictures taken with Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Tigger.

  At the end of the day, the two children finally began to run out of energy, yet they continued to tease each other. Grins splitting their faces, gigg
ling and laughing, they found it difficult to wind down—even as tired as they were.

  It was a long day, a huge day, and both Gabriela and her closest friend were exhausted by the end of it.

  “What did you like best?” she asked.

  “The Pirates of the Caribbean!” Sammy replied happily, resting his head on the backrest of the cushioned seat of the van.

  After making sure everyone had buckled up, their tour guide started the engine and pulled out on to the road. It was time to drive the kids and their parents back to their hotel.

  After the rescue, Sammy had been reunited with his father. His father had never given up hope—he’d been searching for him for years. Sammy’s father and mother were divorced. When his mother and Sammy moved out of state, his mom had become ill. After she died, Sammy was kidnapped or sold—no one really knew the complete story.

  Sammy also discovered his real name was Noah. They had both giggled about that, him being named Noah, just like the old guy in the Ark.

  Gabriela’s parents cried long and hard when they were reunited, thanking God for the unexpected gift. They'd feared the worst, after so many years. They still gave thanks every single day for her, and probably always would.

  Despite years of separation, even in her darkest moments, Gabriela never doubted someday mamá and papá would come for her.

  Children rescued from the Big Houses were provided with counseling and support for their families, as needed. Gabriela loved her therapist, the nice lady who listened to her. She spoke to her of the children buried in the back yard, of her nightmares, and of her worst fear, that someday she’d be buried, too.

  Noah often still wet his bed and he hated to be parted from Gabriela. For as long as he could remember, she was always with him. Noah and Gabriela's parents were advised to let the children see each other as often as possible. Adjustments were made, uniting both families into a larger support network

  When asked what they wanted most, the children confided their long standing wish to visit Disney World. Once the people from Disney became aware of the children’s story, they immediately offered both families free accommodations and a special VIP tour.