“Why didn’t you tell somebody?” Helen asks as she sits down next to Kyle, running her hand gently over his back in sympathy.
“I couldn’t. …I was too scared…too ashamed. This went on for months; it was like I was trapped and couldn’t get out. Finally, I did, and I never went back to the Russell house again. But I never spoke about it to anyone.
“After school, I joined the military and then college. When my father became ill, I returned home to help my mother. Years after his death, my mother remarried. …That’s why the different name. I took care of my stepfather who died sometime later. My mother gave me the house after his death, and she moved out – she wanted to be alone. I’ve lived there since then.
“By that time, Jerry Russell had been long dead and so was Nicholas. There was only Victor to contend with…only he knew my secret. One night, I confided in my mother. She wanted to go to the authorities, but I pleaded with her not to. I couldn’t bear the shame. I just wanted to forget it ever happened. This box of photos is my only reminder.”
“If you knew about the photos, why didn’t you take them long ago?” Helen asks.
“I was afraid of Victor; he’s mad, you know. He always swore if I or my mother ever so much as touched them, he’d kill us both, and I believed him. It was only by sheer coincidence my mother became employed by your aunt. For years, she kept an eye on this box, as did Victor.
“I knew about you from the photos of you and by what Victor told me…about that day at the lake. When you came to town, we knew, my mother and I, you had remembered and come for answers. My mother saw you looking at the basement door that night. She was afraid you might go down and find the box, so she waited outside till you turned off the lights. She figured you had gone to bed. She was planning on taking the box and hiding it until your stay was over and then returning it before Victor realized it was missing. But when she saw you in the basement with the box, she panicked.
“When Victor was arrested, there was no need to return the box, no reason to be afraid anymore. All that was needed now was to destroy its contents.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because of you,” he raises his eyes to her. “I know what you’re going through…the torture of the memory. If these pictures can help you…to help set you free…I want you to have them.”
Helen leans over and kisses Kyle. He slowly and gently removes his lips from hers and stands up. He takes the box and puts it under his arm.
“Come on, I’ll carry it down to your car for you. I said I’d be a perfect gentleman. So let’s go before I try to break my promise.”
Kyle places the box in the backseat of Helen’s car.
“What will you do with them?” he asks.
“Probably give them to the police.” Then she looks deep into Kyle’s eyes. “But not until I’ve removed every picture of the young Kyle Adams from it.”
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“I know, but I want to. I think you’ve been brave in doing this, and I don’t see why you need to suffer any more.”
“If that’s what you want. They’re yours now to do with what you want.”
Helen falls into his arms, and they kiss long and hard.
“Call me?” she asks, looking up at him.
“I will, first thing in the morning!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Spilling Your Guts
Victor is showing signs of cracking up, quickly going over the deep end. He has the faint smell of urine on him. His hair is falling out in handfuls, and his breath reeks sour from stomach problems. His knees bob up and down nervously when he sits. There are dark circles under his eyes from little sleep. When he does sleep, nightmares plague him, and he wakes in a cold sweat.
He’s never given permission to socialize with the other prisoners. All conversation is kept down to a minimum of two or three words. He’s not released from his cell for exercise and is denied reading material, radio, and TV.
His meals consist of nearly no protein. They allow him as much white bread and pasta as he wants. Vegetables are few and prepared with a high content of sugar. In fact, sugar and white flour are the main ingredients of all his meals. If he is thirsty, only coffee and sugary drinks – never water.
Such treatment is illegal, but who will stop them? Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. And who can Victor complain to, the guards, his lawyer? Walter Lieberman knows Goebel and Benson’s methods and approves of them. The forces-that-be are pressing down hard on Victor Russell. If he knew how far they are willing to go, he would tell them everything and spare himself.
***
Goebel and Benson stand behind the two-way mirror looking into the interrogation room. Benson reaches over and turns on the tape recorder.
Two microphones rest on the table in the room. One faces Victor Russell; the other, Dr. Robert Carver.
“Now, just relax, Victor,” says Dr. Carver. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them any way you’d like. Don’t think about it too long. Just say what comes into your head. Do you understand?”
Victor nods. Dr. Carver gets a good look into Victor’s bloodshot eyes.
“Tell me, Victor, do you have trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah, it’s real noisy here, especially the guards. They’re always banging stuff around.”
“I see,” says Dr. Carver, writing notes on his pad. “Now, tell me, Victor, when you sleep, do you often dream?”
Victor lies. “No more or less than the next guy, I guess.”
“And what do you dream about?”
“I don’t know…just stuff.”
“Well, give me a ‘for instance’. Do you dream of flying? Are they happy dreams? What sort people do you meet in your dreams?”
“There’s never anybody in my dreams; I’m always alone.”
“I see.” Dr. Carver jots down another note. “Now, Victor, when you’re awake do you ever hear voices?”
Victor lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. After a long moment of silence, he speaks.
“I realize what’s going on here, and I understand my predicament. True…I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid! Do I dream? Do I hear voices?” he says, mockingly. “You said I could answer any way I wanted to. So, why don’t I just tell my story and just get it all off my chest. Then you figure out if I’m crazy or not. I couldn’t care less, and the police will have what they want…all on tape. That sound good to you, Doc?”
“If that’s what you want to do, then please continue.”
“That’s what I want! You guys getting all this?” He addresses his statement to the two-way mirror – there is no response. He turns his gaze back toward the doctor and begins speaking slowly into the microphone.
“I hate my father! I’ve always hated him and I always will hate him. He has made my life one long living hell. I used to pray every night for him to die. Finally, one day I got an answer to my prayers. And you know what happened? Nothing happened! Even death doesn’t stop him! He rules my life even from the grave!
“As far back as I remember…no…even before that, I’m sure…before any memory I have, my father molested me and my brother. He took advantage of his own two young boys, year after year. He kept us in his web of shame and fear with no way out.
“He even used us to lure other young boys, getting them drunk, and leaving them helpless.”
“Your mother,” Dr. Carver asks “did she know about any of this?”
“I can’t see how she couldn’t. It went on under her nose in the same house for years!”
“And these episodes only occurred with your brother and other young boys, never with any girls?”
“My father used to call it the Secret Boy’s Club. He wouldn’t allow us to mention girls; they were taboo.”
“What about the time at the lake with your cousin, Helen?”
“That was an accident…a comedy of errors. She came on us unexpectedly in the woods. …It was a total ni
ghtmare. That poor little girl…I remember…she ran off crying…leaving her doll behind.
“That damn doll! My father kept that doll like a war souvenir, a holy relic, a precious keepsake. He kept that doll! Often, he incorporated it into our sessions locked up in the basement.
“He called it our token female. It was a weird little doll…made up of flags from all over the world. When you pulled its string, it said phrases in different languages. He used to pull that string for hours and answer back to it in whatever language it was speaking. He became obsessed with the damn thing. He took it on himself to learn all the languages the doll spoke…even curse words and swearwords…no…especially curses and swearwords! He even forced my brother and me to learn the different languages…especially the dirty words. Oh, how he loved dirty words!”
Victor falls silent.
“When did your father die?”
“When we were in our teens…my brother and I, we couldn’t believe it … we were finally free…or so we thought.
“A couple of years after his death, he began appearing to us…mostly in our bedroom at night. He also forced us to return to the basement for his sessions. It was like he never died.”
“Was this the ghost of your father that you were seeing?”
“‘Ghost…you tell me! His fists felt real. It drove Nicholas insane.”
“Victor…your brother’s accident…did Nicholas kill himself?”
“I don’t know… maybe. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I wish I had that courage.”
Victor leans forward toward the microphone and continues.
“A few years after Nicholas died, I met my wife. We dated. …Daddy didn’t show for years. I thought things could be normal. We married; we had kids, a house, and a car. I was working; life seemed normal. Then I started to see my father again. He began to appear whenever I was alone. He started telling me to do things.”
“What kind of things, Victor? What did your father tell you to do?”
Victor’s face grew pale. He hangs his head down and catches it in his hands. He looks as if he is about to cry. There is a crack in his voice.
“He told me to…” Victor can hardly speak. “He told me to…touch my boys…my sons. He wanted to start a new secret boy’s club. I knew it was wrong, but he has this power over me!”
Victor is nearly screaming at this point. Then he pauses, calms himself, and continues.
“My wife found out and kicked me out of the house. I don’t blame her. I would have done the same. I moved into a small apartment on the other side of town. I started drinking heavy again. Occasionally, at night, my father visited me.
“Then one night, he was angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. He had the doll with him…that damn doll. After years of pulling on its string, it finally broke. It was useless…but to him, it was dead.”
“The death of the ‘token female’?” interjects Dr. Carver.
“Exactly, and now he wanted the original, my cousin, Helen…to have his way with, like he did with the doll.
“I told the police I wasn’t a murderer, and I’m not! Everything…the rape of my cousin…the killings of Donald Johnson and Carol Hastings…the phone calls…even the dead cat…I had nothing to do with any of it!
“He told me every detail of each incident, because he wanted me to confess to all of it. As usual, I had no power to fight against him. I did what he asked.”
“How is it we found some of your semen on Carol Hastings’ clothes?” Dr. Carver asks.
“He brought them over one night. It was during one of his sessions…he…”
Victor’s voice trails off to a whisper. He can say no more about it. Dr. Carver immediately changes the subject.
“Victor, why are you telling us all this now? Why not before?”
Victor looks into the eyes of the doctor and smiles – a madman’s smile.
“You see, doctor, as much as I hate my father, there are two things stronger than my hatred: the hold he has on me and the fear I have of him.
“That’s why I did all those horrible things he told me to do for so long…and I never told a soul. But these past few weeks have taught me something. If I’m locked behind brick walls and iron bars, he can’t touch me.
“I tell you, Doc, either you claim me insane and put me away for good or I swear I’ll kill someone, so they lock me away for life or they hang me. Either way is fine with me. Never release me, please. I never want him to touch me again.”
Victor sits back in his chair. There is a look of calm resolve on his face.
“Victor…” Dr. Carver starts to speak.
“No more questions,” Victor interrupts. “There’s nothing left to say.” He stands and shouts at the two-way mirror, “Did you get it all? Is that what you wanted, you filthy sons of bitches?”
***
Helen waits with the phone receiver to her ear. A guard escorts Victor to a chair facing her. He sits down and just stares at the phone.
“Pick up the phone, Victor,” Helen shouts, but all is silent on the other side of the two-inch-thick Plexiglas. She makes a fist and starts to pound on the glass. The faint thumping catches Victor’s attention. She motions for him to pick up the receiver.
“Yes?” he says into the phone.
“Victor, it’s me, you cousin, Helen.”
“I know who you are. You’re International Nancy!” As if a song from a long-forgotten children’s TV commercial he sings, “Wherever I go…I always know…just how to say hello.”
“I’m not Nancy…I’m your cousin, Helen!”
“Helen…yeah, right, Helen…our token female!”
“I need your help, Victor,” she pleads into the phone, looking at him through the Plexiglas.
“You need my help?” He starts to laugh. “All I can offer you is advice. You need to get yourself locked up…like me, immediately. You need to get yourself into a prison or an insane asylum…or something…anything!
“You see, the world has it all backwards. Prison means freedom! He can’t get at you in here. Outside is prison!”
“Who’s outside? Tell me, Victor, is it your father? Is your father still alive?”
“No…Daddy’s dead, but don’t let that fool you cause that don’t stop him!”
“Victor, I found the box of photos in the basement. I gave them to the police, but I kept a few of them. Can you tell me about these?”
Helen holds the photos taken that day at the lake up against the glass pane.
“Oh, look,” he says, smiling, “you’ve brought the family album with you!” He starts to laugh again. “There’s Victor…and Nicholas…and Daddy…and – oh, look – a picture of you! What a pretty little girl you were.”
“Victor, tell me what happened that day?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Not all of it. It’s all a big blur. I need to know, Victor!”
“You were initiated into the Secret Boy’s Club…an honorary member…our ‘token female’.”
Helen realizes she isn’t getting anywhere fast. She decides to ask as many pointblank questions as she can.
“Victor, tell me, is Nicholas really dead?”
“If he isn’t, he sure knows how to play dead real good. Sit, Nicholas, sit. …Roll over, Nicholas. …Now, play dead…good boy!” Victor speaks as if he were in pain, “He was ashes…just like Daddy. Even his sneakers melted.”
“Is he really dead, Victor, or is he playing dead?”
He doesn’t answer. She is losing him, and she knows it.
“Victor, tell me, is your father dead or is he playing dead?”
He smiles. “Only one person I know who’s dead for sure…really dead…and that’s International Nancy. He pulled her string too hard and boing…she was dead. Now he needs you…the token female.”
“He needs me for what, Victor?”
“You know,” he sneers, “to do dirty things with…to curse in German and French, to…to pull your string.”
“But
if he pulls my string…he’ll kill me?”
“Eventually, but not for years. Anyway, he won’t hurt you much. He needs you. It’s the people around you that he’ll hurt.”
“What are you telling me, Victor?”
“Exactly what I just said. Oh, he may slap you around a little, but it’s the people you love…they’re the ones he’ll kill. That’s how he gets to you.”
Victor begins to cry. “Like wives…he’ll go after wives…and sons…especially sons…he’ll kill them if you don’t do what he says.”
Victor looks into Helen’s eyes, “My wife…my children…make sure they’re safe…for me…please?”
“I will.”
“No…swear…swear you’ll make sure they’re safe!”
“I swear!”
“You’ve got to get them someplace safe,” he continues. “Get them locked up, if you can. You, too, get yourself and your loved ones locked up, so he can’t get at you.
“Do something crazy…molest a child. …That’s always good for one free admission to the nuthouse. Don’t worry; you don’t have to mean it. God will understand.”
Just then the guard reappears to take Victor back to his cell. Before Helen can say another word – before she can say goodbye – Victor hangs up the phone, gets up, and walks away.
Helen watches as they guide him out of the room; he is still mumbling. Her focus changes, and she sees her own reflection in the Plexiglas. She is crying.
***
It is clear Helen has taken Victor’s warning seriously, but was it merely a warning? Perhaps, more like a prediction. Was Victor in the know? Had he been told what would be the next course of action?
That evening, Helen returns to the home of her parents. She finds them sitting in the living room and watching TV.
“Hello, dear, I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” her mother says, smiling. “I would have kept something out for you.” She rises from the couch.
“That’s all right, Mom. I had something while I was out.”
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