Shattered Lives (29 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Fishers, Indiana

             
With each spoonful of cereal, Brett eyed his mother carefully.  Victoria knew she was being watched because Brett wasn’t subtle about anything.  Never had been.  He popped his vitamin and Truvada into his mouth and washed them down with the milk that was still in the bowl, then held his juice glass with both hands and stared at his mom.

              She folded the newspaper and set it down on the table, took off her reading glasses and said, “I’ve suspected . . . known, for a while, but I didn’t want to believe it.  When I found out for sure, I thought that when you came home . . . back, it would stop, and we’d be a family again.”

              “Is it because of me?”

              Victoria shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes and said, “No, Honey, no.  We just grew apart.”

              “But if I were here . . . you know . . . if I hadn’t been kidnapped . . .”

              But Victoria had suspected Thomas of cheating before Brett was ever taken, and out of any hope that Brett might forgive his father, opted not to tell him that.

              “Brett, sometimes these things happen.  Your dad got busy at school.  I got busy at work,” she looked away, shrugged and just shook her head.

              Brett was silent and decided that he was as much to blame as his parents whether she said it or not.

              “Does Bobby know?”

              “Yeah, I know,” Bobby said from the doorway, startling both Victoria and Brett.  “I knew for a long time.”

              “How . . .?”

              He was dressed as Brett was: shorts, no shirt and bare feet and bed-head.  He sat down at the table across from his big brother.  He looked first at Brett, then at his mom and shrugged.

“I just knew.”

              The three of them looked at each other and then Brett said, “Now what?”

              Victoria didn’t have a clue.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

Waukesha, Wisconsin

             
Sweat dripped off his body. They started with the ball machine firing to Stephen’s backhand and then switched to his forehand.  Using a two-handed grip, Stephen hammered balls to the corners.  His normal game would have been to charge the net after a long volley, but his tennis coach, Bob Luchsinger, had instructed him to remain on the backline.  That was like trying to keep a thoroughbred at a trot instead of a full gallop.

              “Take a break and get a drink, and we’ll work on your net game,” Lucky said from across the court.

              Stephen slipped off his shirt and walked to the wall, leaned his back against it and slid down to a sitting position, knees up.  He took a towel out of his bag and wiped the sweat from his face, his arms, chest and stomach.  He took a blue Gatorade out of his tennis bag and drank a good quarter of it, spilling some down his chest.  He mopped it up with the towel and sat with his head down, one hand in his sweaty hair and knees drawn up to his chest.

              He liked coming to the tennis club.  As much as the workout, he liked the smell, which was offensive to others.  Rubber and sweat.  The club had sixteen full courts, six with synthetic turf and ten with a rubber, non-turf surface, and ten racquetball courts whose back walls were plexi-glass.  The locker rooms had showers and a large hot tub.

              “Stephen, right?”

              Stephen looked up warily and said, “Yes?”

              The red-haired, freckled-faced man handed him a business card. 

“You might want to read it and then put it in your bag, but keep it handy.  If he asks what we were talking about, tell him I was complimenting you on your game.” 

He turned around to look for the tennis instructor, who had his back to them talking to an adult on the other side of the court.

“You’re pretty good, but I think I could take you,” he added with a smile. 

Then he walked two courts away, and using the wall, practiced backhand volleys.

Stephen looked at the card.

Detective Paul Eiselmann, Waukesha County Sheriff Department

The card had a seal, a badge number, email address and a phone number.  Stephen looked over at the man, who was more intent on his backhand than he was on him.  He turned the card over and saw a phone number identified as a cell phone and the message,
Det. Graff says hello.  Call me anytime. P.E. 
Stephen watched Eiselmann volley and decided that he’d beat the cop in four sets.

“Stephen, let’s go,” Lucky called from behind the canon.

He got up, kept his legs straight and bent down, placing the flat of his hands on the floor, and stretched.  He did two quick squats and jogged up to the net.

“Let’s try a little finesse, okay?”

“Whatever,” Stephen answered, annoyed.

The ball machine swung on a slight swivel, and Stephen moved effortlessly, much like he did in goal on the soccer field, returning each shot, though several went wide.  He swung his racket at the net.

“Take it easy,” Lucky said.  “The net is all about touch, finesse, and placement.”

Stephen placed his left hand on his hip and glared at Lucky.

Bob Luchsinger turned off the machine and walked up to the boy.

“What’s up?”

Stephen shuffled his feet, tapped the head of his racket on the synthetic turf, but didn’t look up.

Bob Luchsinger stood a compact five foot ten.  He had thick black and unruly hair on his head.   Black hair spilled out of his shirt and onto his arms and out of his shorts and onto both of his legs.  He was in his mid-thirties, but looked younger and had a dark shadow on his face even after he had shaved.

“Look . . . Stephen, I don’t know what happened to you, but I don’t blame you for being angry.  I’d be angry too.  But there is a time to be angry and a time to be focused.  You’re an athlete and a smart kid.  You know that.”

Stephen looked up and said, “Mike’s a better player than I am.  Why did you ask me to be your partner instead of him?”

Luchsinger blinked, not expecting the question.  He knew the boys were best friends, so he chose his words carefully.

“I like the way you play.  I know you better than Mike, so I asked you.  If you don’t want to play, that’s okay.  I can get you a refund.”

Stephen stared at the man, wanting to ask him the million dollar question.
Are you the fucking pervert who had me kidnapped?
  But he didn’t. 

In the end he said, “Let’s go.”

Lucky frowned at him, tried to read his mind, but gave up.  He turned around and walked back to the ball machine and turned it on.  Stephen slowed himself down, placing his shots carefully, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Fifteen minutes later, his shorts were soaked with sweat.  Sweat poured off his chest, stomach and back.  But Stephen loved it.  He loved working out.  He loved the ache and the pain from pushing himself to the limit.  But Stephen didn’t know what his limit was, and each time he played soccer, tennis or baseball, he went all out. ‘
Balls to the wall!’
was the slogan he and Mike lived by.

Luchsinger turned off the machine and said, “Collect the balls on your end, and I’ll get the ones on mine.”

Stephen walked back to his tennis bag, took a quick drink, set his racket down and ran the towel over his face, chest, stomach, arms and legs.  Then he walked around the court picking up stray balls, tossing them to the other side of the net where Luchsinger caught them and dropped them into the large bucket.

When they were done, they met at the net and Luchsinger said, “Listen.  If you don’t want to partner with me, it’s fine.  I have no problem with that.”

Stephen shook his head and said, “No, I’ll play.  I just think Mike’s better than me, that’s all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.  If I didn’t think you could play, I wouldn’t have asked you.”  Stephen shrugged dismissively.  “I talked to a couple of the other coaches, and given the circumstances, if you’re uncomfortable using the main locker room and shower, I can let you use the coaches’ locker room for a while . . . you know, until you want to use the main room.  Mike can too if he wants.”

              Stephen looked down and then looked back up at the man. 

He shrugged and said, “Thanks.”

              Luchsinger smiled at him and said, “Nice job today.  Don’t forget, the net is all about finesse and touch.  Not everything has to be rocket fire, okay?” 

Stephen smiled at him, shook his hand and said, “Thanks.”

Luchsinger had a mother-daughter lesson and went to the next court where they were waiting.  Stephen turned around and walked back to his bag.  As he packed, Eiselmann went to the water fountain, which was near and pretended to drink from it. 

“Everything okay?”

Stephen didn’t look in his direction, but instead glanced at Luchsinger who was busy with the mother and daughter.

“He said Mike and I can use the coaches’ locker room if we want to.”

              “Being nice, maybe.”

              Stephen shrugged and said, “Before the workout, I told him I had a soccer game tonight.  He said he’d come watch.”

              “Good.  Your mom is on court nine.  Which locker room are you going to use?”

              “I’m just going to go home.  I have goalie training at four, then the soccer game at seven.  You gonna be there?”

              “Yes, but I’ll be in the background.  Don’t acknowledge me, but I’ll be watching.”

              Eiselmann finally took a drink of water and headed towards the lobby.

              Stephen waited for his mom but kept an eye on Luchsinger.

              Wondering.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Waukesha, Wisconsin

First, a visit with Andy Garber, the family dentist.  Nice guy, but Mike didn’t like dentists.  He determined that Mike would need either implants for the two missing teeth or two bridges because the missing teeth were inconveniently spaced apart from one another, one up and one down.  And if that wasn’t enough, not one tooth, but two teeth were loose enough for Jennifer and Mark to consider either braces or a retainer.

              “I thought I had only one loose tooth,” Mike protested.

              “Sorry, Buddy,” Garber said. “Two, though one is certainly looser than the other.  I just want to protect them so we don’t lose either one.”

              Jennifer looked at Mark and both had the same thought:
We can’t possibly afford this!

              As if Garber read their mind, he said, “Look.  Dentistry is expensive.  I’m going to make a deal with you guys, but I want your word that this is between you and me.  Okay?”

              Jennifer barely heard him.  She was adding up the cost of travel soccer for their three kids, plus the credit card payments that were killing any chances they had to get out from under.  Mark wondered if either he or Jen would have to pick up a second job.

              “Guys, I’m doing this for free.  You’ve been in my care since the kids were little, and I appreciate that.  And, I know what this young man went through, so all of this is on me.”

              Jennifer and Mark exchanged a look.  Mike, lying flat on his back in the dental chair could only look up and backwards.

“With that in mind, I’d like to do implants.  If we do bridge work, it would damage four perfectly good teeth.”

He stuck his gloved finger in Mike’s mouth and said, “See?” turning to his parents. “This tooth and this one, I’d have to file down, and I don’t want to do that.” He shifted to the lowers and said, “Same with this tooth and this one.  He’s too young for a bridge.  Cosmetically, the implant would be better for him.”  Garber looked up and saw Jennifer wiping her eyes and Mark blowing his nose.  He paused and said, “Is that okay?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Mark said. “Are you sure?”

At first, Garber thought Mark was talking about the implant versus the bridge, when it dawned on him that the question referred to free dental work.

Garber was in is late fifties, thick in the middle with a salt and pepper head of wavy hair.  His eye brows were thick.  Though he had been a dentist for more than thirty years, he took pride in the fact that he had kept pace with new practices and procedures that were common practice among the newer crop of dentists.  Unknown to his patients, he spent four weeks each year doing free dental work in Appalachia, feeling it was important to give back.  Given all that Mike had been through, it was important to give back to him too.

“If you’ll let me, this is something I’d like to do.”

Mark looked at Jennifer, then at Garber and said, “I don’t know how we can thank you.”

“No need.  I only ask that this deal is between you and me, okay?”

Unable to answer, both Mark and Jennifer nodded and then Mark shook Garber’s hand, while Jennifer hugged the man.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The second stop was to see Blaise Frechet, a Pediatrician specializing in pre-teen and teen youth, and one of Mike’s and Stephen’s travel soccer team sponsors.  Though he generally had excellent checkups and didn’t have any injuries or major illness, Mike cared for doctors even less than dentists. 

Frechet was fine-featured and fairly tall but because he was so slightly built, he didn’t seem tall.  He had thin, straight blond hair with matching eyebrows and pale blue eyes.  He had a habit of whistling as he checked over his patients, but Mike had never recognized the tunes and the whistling wasn’t pleasant to listen to.

The only thing Mike had looked forward to was getting his stitches removed and getting cleared to play soccer that evening.  The checkup was his passport to play soccer.

“Mike, strip down and put on this gown, but don’t tie it.  Leave it open in the back.”

Proud that he was no longer stuttering, he asked, “You want everything off?”

“Yes, please.  It will be easier for me to take out the stitches, and given what you have been through, I want to give you a thorough physical.  While you get yourself ready, I’m going to go speak to your parents, okay?”

“Sure.”

Mike didn’t like the thought of getting naked again in front of anyone, doctor or not. 

Frechet smiled at him and left the room.

Mike hopped down from the bed, slipped off his Nike sandals, then his shirt and then his shorts and boxers in one quick move.  He was confounded by the gown and was fumbling with it, when there was a quick knock on the door.  Frechet opened it and came in, shutting it and then locking the door behind him.

Mike tried to hustle into the gown, but Frechet said, “Let’s hold off on that for the time being.  I’ll check you over first, okay?”

Embarrassed, Mike turned dark red.

“First, put your feet together, hold your arms to the side, and look straight ahead.”

Mike did so, as Frechet pushed on his arms, and then felt his neck, chest, ribs and stomach.  He stepped behind Mike and did the same from behind.

“Mike, all in all, you look good.  I see from the bit of hair under your arms and in your groin that you’re in the beginning of puberty.  Looking at the X-rays that were sent from Chicago, I think you’re going to begin a growth spurt.”

“Really?”  Mike had been hoping he’d grow.

His voice had gotten a little deeper.  He and Stephen had been the same height until the last year when Stephen had gotten taller.

“I looked at the growth plate in your wrists,” Frechet took hold of Mike’s right wrist, “and in your knees and ankles.  That, and in looking at your penis size,” Frechet took gentle hold of it, lifting it up, stretching it gently, “you’re about to grow.”

Mike was embarrassed, afraid he was getting hard.  If Frechet noticed, he didn’t let Mike know.

“Sit on the end of the table, and I’ll listen to your breathing and your heart.”

Thankfully, Mike did so, trying to cover himself up with his hands.

“Keep your hands and arms at your side.  Take slow, deep breaths.”

Frechet warmed the stethoscope up with his hands, but it was still felt cold to Mike.

“Breathe in and hold it.  That’s it.  Exhale slowly through your mouth.  Again.  Good.  You’re breathing is fine.  Lungs sound good. Okay, lie down, head on the pillow, arms at your side.” 

He pulled out the bed extender so Mike could lie down comfortably.

But Mike wasn’t comfortable.  He was almost erect and there was nothing he could do about it.  Again, if Frechet noticed, he didn’t let Mike know.  And, there was no way Frechet didn’t notice.

“I want you to breathe normally in and out through your nose.”

Frechet used his stethoscope and listened to Mike’s heart and then moved lower to Mike’s stomach and then just above Mike’s groin.

“Sounds good.”  He took the stethoscope from his ears and tapped Mike’s stomach on either side of his belly-button.  “Don’t worry about your erection.  It’s not the first I’ve seen.”

              Frechet examined Mike’s testicles, first one side and then the other.

              “You have bruising on your left testicle.  Is this uncomfortable?” he asked as he felt it.

              “N-no.”

              “Good.  That means it’s healing.  I’m going to check for hernias, so turn your head to the wall and cough.”

              Mike did so.

              “Good.  One more time.”

              Mike coughed again.

              “Excellent.  Mike, I’m going to give you a shot to relax you so I can take out your stitches.  It will make you drowsy, and you probably won’t remember anything after I inject you.  You seem to be in excellent shape, and I’ll finish your exam while the shot takes effect, okay?” 

              Mike nodded, though he was embarrassed and uncomfortable lying there like he was.

              “I think you have a game tonight, right?”

              Mike nodded.  He watched the doctor fill a syringe from a little bottle, nip it to get air bubbles out, and then squirt it.  Mike also noticed that Frechet wasn’t wearing any gloves. That was odd.  Doctors and nurses always used gloves.

              “This is to help you relax.”

              He took a cotton ball and alcohol and swabbed Mike’s forearm at the elbow, found a vein and inserted the needle.

              “You’ll feel woozy in a second or two.”

              Mike’s eyes fluttered.  He tried to fight it off, but couldn’t.

                “Just fall asleep, and when you wake up, you’ll be all set.

His eyes fluttered open.  Mike was on his back in the same position he was before he fell asleep. 

              “Careful.  You’re not fully awake yet.  I’m applying an antibiotic ointment because of that broken skin.  I don’t want any chance of infection.”

              Mike blinked, tried to sit up, but couldn’t.

              “All done.  I’ll help you get dressed and then I’ll bring in your parents, and we’ll talk about your exam.”

              Mike kind of remembered getting dressed with Frechet’s help.  He wasn’t sure if Frechet had kissed him on the lips, using his tongue.  Maybe he just imagined it. 

By the time he was fully awake, he was dressed and sitting on the table, and Frechet was talking to Jennifer and Mark.

              “He’s in very good health.  All things considered, that is.  The reports from Chicago confirm what I found out today.  Stitches came out just fine.  For the next day or so, Mike should use Tucks pads, but after that, wipe as he normally would, but I’d like him to use the antibiotic ointment he used on his stitches for the next week or so.  Just to be safe, I’d like to see him in two weeks to check it.  Other than that, he’s good to go.”

              Frechet smiled at Mike and at his parents and then stood up, ending the session.

              Mike hadn’t spoken until he stood to leave and after his parents shook Frechet’s hand, Mike said, “Th-th-ank you.”

              Mike and Jennifer gaped at their son.  They hadn’t heard Mike stutter at all in the last few days.

              “It could be the stress from the exam or from the relaxing agent,” Frechet said with his charming smile.

              He tried to place his arm around Mike’s shoulders, but Mike sped up ahead of his mother and headed out the door.

              “Mike’s been through a lot.  I wouldn’t worry about it,” Frechet said gently.  “He’ll be fine.”

As they walked to the car, Mark waited until Mike was well ahead, and asked Jennifer, “What the hell happened to Mike?”  

Jennifer wondered the same thing.

“It’s like someone threw a switch or something.” Mark said.  “He goes in normal.  Everything’s fine.  And he comes out stuttering like he did in Chicago.  What happened in there?”