The Light at the End of the Tunnel

by James W. Nelson

  “Fine. No problem,” the woman said, “Well, Baby Boy-Doe9, we are going to find a name for you.” The woman placed her hand on his back to encourage him to come in. And he did not mind her touch at all. He liked it, and knew right then he would soon find out what ‘rape’ and ‘reap’ meant. He entered the woman’s nice house and didn’t look back. His handlers never entered with him. They just handed over the paperwork, shoved his belongings inside, thanked his new foster parents, and left.

  Good riddance!

  The woman picked up his suitcase and kept her hand on his back as she escorted him through the house. He began feeling a sensation brand new to him, which he liked, at least he was pretty sure he liked it, and also was pretty sure the sensation was being caused by this pretty woman’s hand on his back.

  They stopped at a door. The woman pushed the door open, “This is your room, Baby Boy.” She removed her hand, and his new physical sensation immediately stopped, but he was pretty sure it was not stopped forever. That sensation was a good thing, and, strangely, he felt, it probably could get even better.

  The woman pushed his belongings-suitcase into the room, “Well, you get settled, Baby Boy. I’ll be back later to see how you’re doing. In the meantime I’m going to check out my book of names. For a good-looking boy like you ‘Baby Boy’ just does not work for me.”

  Yes, I really like this woman!

  She smiled, touched him once more on the shoulder, and closed the door.

  ****

  Les Paul began to discover the first room he had been given to be by himself. First, he wondered why a curtain stretched across part of the middle of the room. Oh well, he kept looking around. The floor was carpeted, indoor/outdoor, though, but that was okay. He had a window facing east, he thought. Looked like the backyard. A mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling. A large poster of all the main predatory animals graced the wall between the dresser and the closet door. Another poster displayed all the known largest dinosaurs. Dinosaurs and predators he really liked. Finally he reached the bed, and the curtain, and made a discovery!

  On the other side of the curtain was a second bed!

  How could this very pretty lady do that to him?

  The hall door opened, “Hey, who the hell are you?”

  Furiously, he spun, and faced another young boy, but about six inches taller and maybe twenty pounds heavier. Les Paul was big for his age, but not that big. He swallowed his fury. Time to be meek, “They call me Baby Boy-Doe9”

  “What a stupid mouthful! Well, I’m Jasper, and I’m in charge of this room. If you want something you ask me first. Understand?”

  Jasper was a new kind of kid, something he had yet not experienced, somebody, he felt, that he could learn from. First in his mind was asking what the words ‘reap’ and ‘rape’ meant, but maybe should wait. Maybe, eventually it would come up, and he would find out without having to ask. No use looking really stupid.

  “I asked if you understood!” Jasper snarled.

  “Yes.” He tried to look shy and weak, “I do.” With each new foster household he was learning more and more about manipulating people to get what he wanted, usually without asking at all.

  “Good.” Jasper smiled, or at least his face changed…maybe to a smiling sneer. Les Paul felt intrigued by what might be coming next, “Got us a plan for tonight, Baby Boy, the lady of the house is gonna be alone.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, her old man travels a lot, all over the world—stupid bitch.”

  “Why…do you say that?”

  “Because she totally trusts me—stupid bitch—but tonight she’s gonna find out.”

  “Find out what…?”

  “I’ve never had a partner before—oh, I had a little four-year-old for a while, snotty-ass little shithead! He didn’t last long.”

  “What did you do to him?” It sounded like Jasper had hurt the little shithead, something Les Paul could wrap his head around quite easily.

  “What makes you think I did anything to him?”

  “I don’t know.” Obviously wrong about that. He knew it was always very wrong to jump to conclusions. “It…just sounded like you did.”

  “I did.” The smiley sneer increased, “I just made sure he got in trouble for stuff, and he was never very smart about getting away with stuff—stupid little dumbass!”

  “So what’s on for tonight?”

  “You don’t need to know yet.” Jasper’s face sobered, “Just you make damn sure you’re ready to do exactly what I tell you.” Jasper’s brow raised, “Are you? Will you do exactly what I tell you? No matter what, or how gross?”

  “Yes.” Les Paul knew he had finally found a teacher, and he would use him.

  ****

  “Okay, when we go in,” Jasper said, “You grab her right arm and hold on tight. I’ll get the cuffs on her left wrist, then I’ll take over her right arm and you get her feet. She’s a heavy sleeper, so she won’t wake up right away. We’ll have time.”

  “Where’d you get the cuffs?” Les Paul asked.

  “That’s more shit you don’t need to know!”

  “What’re we gonna do to her?”

  “We are gonna to do nothin’! You are gonna to help tie her down, then I am going to rape the hell out of her! You are going to stand guard! If we have time you can rape her too!”

  “What’s ‘rape?’”

  “Oh you are a dumbass, aren’t you, dumbass?”

  “I can’t help what I don’t know!” he cried, maybe for the first time realizing that his feelings could be hurt. Here he was thinking of Jasper as becoming his teacher and here his future teacher was mocking him for not knowing something.

  “Do you at least get a clue as to what we’re—that is I—what I’m going to do to her by us putting handcuffs on her hands and feet?”

  “Not really.” He felt so stupid. He was pretty sure that what was going to happen would be similar to what happened to that little seven-year-old girl who got ‘reaped,’ as she called it, but suddenly it occurred to him that she maybe just mispronounced it—and he didn’t even see what happened to her!—into his mind crashed that memory of his own darling little girl child—I’m beginning to HATE that memory!

  He doubled his fists and clenched his teeth and forced that memory away, and came back to what he really was thinking of: the real word must truly be ‘rape.’ Yet it would also be somewhat different. Two words that sound so different could not mean the same thing. He had finally gotten to a dictionary, but the word ‘reap’ that he found, had something to do with cutting grain and harvest, so that couldn’t be right. He didn’t know much about those things because his life had been so controlled, and, yes, sheltered, so he had not yet learned about life at all. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was to someday get to ‘rape’ a woman.

  “Well, class over, dumbass.”

  “You haven’t told me anything yet!”

  “And I’m not going to. Tonight I’m going to rape our foster mother. If we have time you can too, and tomorrow I’ll tell you about it—now let’s go. She should be sleeping sound by now. Remember, you get her right arm.”

  “I will.”

  ****

  The subjugation of the lady of the house went off like clockwork. Les Paul felt really proud of himself. He had grabbed her right arm, held it till Jasper came, then he had grabbed both her feet and held on. The woman barely had moved until just her left leg remained free. She must have come awake then, partially at least, because she had kicked out and caught Jasper right in the face, which knocked him down.

  But Les Paul had grabbed the cuffs, and that leg, and soon had her locked down. He had then watched as Jasper bound up a wash cloth and stuffed it into her mouth. That’s when he noticed her eyes. They were wide open and full of fear. For one or two seconds he actually wondered if he had done the right thing by helping Jasper, as this woman had been nothing but kind to him…

  He was running, and running, and running. He kn
ew his pursuers were close. He knew what they would do if they caught him. They would kill him. It was the law of the clans: if one took another man’s woman by force, and did not kill her to silence her he would be caught and put to death.

  He had already faced the clan council. The woman had identified him. He was to be clubbed to death at sunrise, but he had tricked his guard and used the man’s knife to free his bonds, and then killed the guard, and then he had run, but was seen running. And much shouting had ensued and then the chase.

  He had run straight out onto the grassland. There was no hiding place. All he could do was keep running, but he knew they were catching him. His legs were weak from hunger, and growing so tired, and he was so hungry…he collapsed.

  They caught him. The last thing he saw was the first man raising his club and bringing it down—

  Jeezus! Les Paul came out of his memory. That would hurt!

  The two or three thoughts about the prior kindness of his new foster mother lasted just that short amount of time. Then he began watching Jasper again as he stripped off her nightgown. Such a flimsy thing, because it came loose and ripped off so easily, like paper almost, then he was getting his first glimpse of a naked woman’s body, which didn’t last long—

  “You get the hell out to the front door now!” Jasper ordered, as he started undoing his belt and jeans, “Get going—NOW!”

  Continuing to stare at his new foster mother’s naked body, he backed up to the bedroom door, then left it partway open and ran to the front door. Everything was dark except for a street light a distance away on each side of the property. No cars were moving. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t have stayed and watched. He should have been able to watch, and at least find out for sure what was meant by ‘rape.’ But he was beginning to get at least the beginning of an idea, if one had to open his jeans, but still…

  Sounds began to reach him. She must have been able to get rid of the wash cloth—

  “No! You—“ His foster mother’s voice but it didn’t last long. Jasper must have gotten the cloth back in—and then he heard a whap!

  He must have hit her—“You leave that in there! And shut the fuck up!”

  ‘Fuck?’ Now what on earth is that word?

  More sounds left the bedroom, but just Jasper now. Not words, really, just…he didn’t know, yet the sounds reminded him of, something…something he had experienced himself long, long, long, ago, so long ago he had trouble believing it was his own memories—they weren’t his memories!!!!…He saw her face, her eyes full of fear as he had seen from his foster mother just minutes ago, and her face, so young, much, much, younger than his foster mother. Who was she? Then he realized he was inside her, a part of him was inside her and he was pushing against her and grunting, and she kept making frightened sounds with each push, as if she was trying to get away from him—why? Why would she do that? What they were doing was pleasurable, yet she didn’t appear to be enjoying it—

  “Your turn, Dumbass.”

  Jasper’s voice brought him out of his memory, his memory that couldn’t even have been his…then why did he have it? “My turn?”

  “Yeah, Dumbass, get the hell in there!”

  He hurried to his turn in the bedroom, yet he wasn’t really sure what having a turn meant…? What was he to do? He had a chance to learn a life lesson tonight but that asshole Jasper wouldn’t help him! Wouldn’t let him watch! It made him so mad!

  He reached the bedroom door. A soft glow from the bed lamp reached into the hall. He stood looking in. She was still naked of course. He stared hard. He wanted to remember this life lesson, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered, if this raping is so wonderful, why did we have to tie you up?

  He walked to the bedside. He wanted to see her naked body close up. He looked at her from her feet, up her legs, stopped for a long time on her midsection, then moved up to her breasts, again a long time of looking and studying and imagining and enjoying, and finally he reached her face. Her face still showed fear. Her eyes were big. She was shaking her head—No? Why?

  Then, finally, he began to feel the change occurring in his own body, the same feeling that he had begun to feel in his stomach earlier—and somewhere else too—when this brand new pretty foster mother had put her hand on his back when she took him to his room. A pleasant feeling, and he suddenly knew that feeling had something to do with this naked woman and what he was supposed to do with his turn.

  She kept shaking her head—No! He looked away. He would ignore what she wanted and would do what he wanted. The feeling in his stomach increased and had now moved down to where the real feeling was beginning to take shape. He stared at his foster mother’s midsection. He didn’t see it as beautiful. He couldn’t see it as a loving husband would. He only saw it as something that would immeasurably increase the feeling he was feeling all over his body now, something he had never experienced, but if he didn’t do what he had to do next the feeling would be gone, maybe never to rise again.

  He undid his belt, then undid his trousers and was amazed at what now moved freely and stiffly from his own midsection. He climbed onto the bed, only vaguely noticed his foster mother’s eyes getting even bigger and bigger, that she kept negatively shaking her head, that her body was trying to move away from him. He only saw what he had come for and continued his approach…and then it was over—over, so quickly!

  Oh, that immeasurable feeling came all right and reduced him to a jerking idiot totally out-of-control—

  “You completely dumb ass!” Jasper’s voice. I must have done it wrong! “Get up! We’re gonna turn her loose now! You, dumbass, are out of luck!”

  Wet from his own excretions, he rolled off the bed and hitched up his clothes. What’s next, he wondered, and watched as Jasper used the handcuff keys to release his foster mother. Good, it was over. They could go to bed now. In his young psychopathic mind, he did not really see that they had done something really, terribly, wrong.

  In his mind his foster mother had not really agreed to what they had done to her, yet they had not really hurt her, had they? And he felt really surprised when she jerked the cloth out of her mouth, got up, put on a dark robe, walked quickly to the bedroom door, then stopped and turned, “You boys stay in this room! Do not move!”

  Then she left and he could hear her on the phone but couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  “What’s wrong, Jasper?”

  “Oh you are the stupidest idiot I have ever known. She’s calling family services to come get us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we just raped her…well, you didn’t, ya little dumbass, you just sprayed all over yourself, the bed, and did you even get any on her? I doubt it!”

  “You mean you knew this would happen, that family services would come get us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why’d we do it?”

  “For fun. I thought the ol’ lady would like it. I guess she didn’t.”

  A few minutes passed. Outside the bedroom window they could see red lights flashing. Family services with red lights flashing? That seemed unlikely.

  “I think it’s the police.” Jasper said, and the look on his face said that was not a good thing.

  Chapter 30 Jail

  The young blonde-headed nine-year-old boy in the cell did not look like a criminal, and for sure did not look like worst-of-the-worst criminal Les Paul.

  “Do you think it’s him?” Nicole asked.

  The chaplain could only speculate, “If he performed his own rape, as they’re saying, I can imagine that it’s him.”

  The door to the viewing room opened and the detective they had spoken with earlier stepped in, “We were wrong, at least partly,” he said, “This boy only helped the older boy do the actual rape. But helping put on handcuffs, standing guard, and then attempting to…also…rape….”

  “‘Attempting’…?”

  “Right. This boy only tried, but to hear the older boy tell it, this boy didn’t have a
clue. I’ve spoken to the boy myself. This boy doesn’t even know—or didn’t know—what the word ‘rape’ means.” The detective held his chin with his right hand, “Something strange, though….”

  “Strange?”

  “Yeah. Just as I was leaving this boy asked me—he barely got it out. He asked me what ‘reap’ meant.”

  Nicole elbowed the chaplain and said barely above a whisper, “It’s him!”

  “Now, I have a question for you folks—“

  A sharp rap came at the door. The detective excused himself and left.

  Saved by the bell, maybe. The chaplain’s mind went directly to the conversation with his partner after they heard the news of two boys raping their foster mother.

  “That’s got to be him, Radford,” Nicole said, “Reap is how Cassandra pronounced rape, and if he got close in the house with Cassandra, he’s got to be wanting to finish the job.”

  “Could be,” the chaplain agreed, “And if it is him, we’ll save us a lot of traveling. As it is we were about three houses behind. If this kid is Les Paul we can save all that, but what reason can we give for wanting to see him? Have you thought about that?”

  “I haven’t, but now I will, but really, what’s wrong with just saying we’re tracking a young boy for the birth parents? We have his age, and a vague description of how he might look.”

  “And if they ask for a name?” asked the chaplain.

  “You mean of the boy? “Can’t we just say ‘Baby Boy-Doe9.’”

  “No, I mean the parents—what if they want to know the names of the parents, and the true name of the boy, that is, if he has ever gotten a real name…?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they won’t ask, or, maybe we could just look in the phone book.”

  “Fictitious names?”