Date: Tue, 4 Mar 2014 17:16:17 -0800 From: Rich H <rlhsanclemente@gmail.com> Subject: When the World Changed, Part 21 Here is the latest chapter of this story. my thanks as always to Flip for his editing assistance and for being a sounding board, and to Nifty itself for providing this forum for people like me who indulge themselves by writing gay fiction. If you haven't contributed to nifty to help support it, you should. The usual disclaimers apply. This is fictional, without any resemblance to anyone real. It's in places graphic sexually, so if that's not your cup of tea or if that's illegal where you live, by all means don't read it. The story is entirely mine, and all rights other than the license given here to Nifty remain with me. I'll put in my usual plug for "Seal Rocks," my other Nifty story, also here in the HS section, with the last chapter posted in April 2011 (wow, that's a long time now). My thanks also to those who've been kind enough to write and let me know what they think of the story so far. You folks make this process vastly more gratifying, and I appreciate the time and care you tale in reading and commenting on the story very much. I hope I hear from even more of you in the future. Enjoy! When the World Changed Part 21 Even when the afternoon sun poured through the windows, Dr. Leeds' office looked dark. The richly varnished wood paneled walls, the heavy gold and purple curtains, the thick carpet with the school seal woven into the center, seemed to absorb light like a sponge. Brady had peered in several times as he passed by it on the first floor of Mueller, on his way to and from class, past the plaques with the lists of past Cum Laude graduates. Now, at night, with only the floor and desk lamps to illuminate it, the room seemed like a well appointed dungeon. He didn't realize that at the far end of that office, through a heavy door, lay a large conference room with an immense polished table. Deeply upholstered leather chairs lined the table on both sides, with another row behind them along the side walls. Three brass chandeliers hung over the table along its length, and sconce lights along the walls provided further illumination. All of it was inadequate, though. The room felt ominous, shadowy and filled with undefined peril. Ian and Stud Douggie sat at the far end of the table, fidgeting nervously, on the side away from Brady and David as they entered. Brady recognized their father seated behind them, next to an elegantly dressed and very pale woman with flat blond hair and deepset sad eyes. Her arms were unnaturally thin. She looked like she would crack and shatter at the slightest disturbance. Ian's dad laid what appeared to be an attempt at a comforting hand on her arm, only to have her jerk nervously at the touch. The McShanes saw them enter the room, alongside Mr. Taber. Ian and Stud Douggie avoided eye contact. Brady glanced at David, whose eyes were blazing as he stared at them. Mr. McShane half rose from his chair as if spoiling for a fight, but his wife's frail hand stayed him. He paused, regarded them angrily as David's father came into the room behind them, and sat down with a thud. Mr. Taber steered David, his father, and Brady into chairs along the wall on the opposite side of the room, nearer the door. He sat next to them, ramrod straight and placidly composed. Dean Storeman entered the room a moment later and sat on the other side of David from his father, smiling wordlessly and patting David's knee. Brady saw Mr. McShane scowl slightly. The silence in the room was crushing. Brady couldn't look at any of the McShanes, didn't want to draw attention to himself by looking sideways at David or Mr. Taber or anybody else, and at the same time felt awkward looking down as if he were guilty of something. He chose a blank stare, straight ahead, through the window, where a tree branch with a few straggling leaves was swaying in the wind against the brightly lit backdrop of the chapel. A door at the head of the room opened, and Dr. Leeds stepped out very formally, followed by Dr. Larrimore, the Assistant Headmaster and Provost, and (to Brady's surprise) Mr. Aherne. They sat together at the table's head, Dr. Leeds in the center, and surveyed the room. Dr. Leeds cleared his throat before beginning. "This is a meeting of the Disciplinary Committee of the Wilson School, to consider claims of misconduct and breach of good discipline here on the School campus, as specified in the Student Handbook and Disciplinary policy. Miss Harder -" he waved toward the other end of the room, where she sat with a stenographic pad in her hand "- will take notes of our proceeding here tonight." Brady blinked; he hadn't even seen her come in. Had she been there all the time? He snuck another glance at her, and she gave him a quick smile and wink. Something about that small gesture relaxed him. "There are two boys before us tonight, on related matters, so we are addressing both boys' cases together, especially since they are brothers. Douglas, and Ian, you understand the nature of this meeting?" Ian and Stud Douggie seemed unable to speak for a moment. They glanced at each other, then at their father, who growled, "It's a Goddam kangaroo court, that's what it is." Dr. Leeds bristled a bit. "You'll have full chance to speak on the boys' behalf, Donald. For now, I want to set out the circumstances and then give the boys an opportunity to speak for themselves." Brady suppressed a giggle - he'd always thought the name "Donald" to be especially ridiculous for some reason. Maybe it was the association in his mind with Donald Duck. Mr. Taber glanced at him sharply for a moment. "First, and most seriously, we have the incident involving Douglas. Dean Storeman, will you please explain what you've found to have occurred through your investigation?" Storeman stood, stepped to the table near Leeds, and laid out what had happened. He seemed to have all the information, and he didn't spare any graphic details. David had been examined at Princeton Hospital that night, and his injuries were consistent with blunt trauma to his rectum, including some tearing nd bleeding. David sat, head down, blushing furiously. "The treating doctors were unanimous that Mr. Tanner had been anally violated. Mr. Tanner is explicit that the person who did this was Mr. McShane - Douglas McShane, that is. In my twelve years as Dean, not to mention my twenty two years at this school, I've never encountered anything so ugly or brutal. I believe the committee should impose the harshest possible sanctions on Mr. McShane." Dr. Leeds' face remained calm, but his eyes showed how deeply he felt what he'd just heard. "All right, thanks you, Dean Storeman. Now, David, I'd like you to tell us yourself what happened." David gulped audibly. He stood, knees trembling. "I - I was in the room. I cut out of Rec Tennis," he glanced at Dean Storeman guiltily. "And I guess I had the door unlocked, or open or something, because I didn't hear anyone come in. I just all of a sudden got hit on the head. I got knocked into the desk. And I heard Douggie saying how I was such a , um, . . . " "It's all right. In this context you can tell us whatever was said, however vulgar." "Right." Douggie's face was crimson; his father was half standing and glaring at David, who did his best to avoid eye contact. "He, um, he called me a worthless faggot cunt, and he pulled me out of my chair and hit me again, and threw me across and onto my bed. I started to yell, but he hit me in the mouth and told me to shut up or he'd kill me." David's breath was starting to come in short bursts. "He, um, he kept hitting me, and - and I was trying to get away or hit him back, but - well he's a lot bigger, and all." Donald McShane snorted. Brady, glancing up, saw a stricken look on his wife's face. "And then - he, um . . . " "It's OK, David," his father whispered. "Just tell us what happened." "He's coaching his kid to tell lies, dammit!" Donald McShane exclaimed. "That is enough, Donald," Dr. Leeds said firmly. Mr. McShane thudded angrily back into his seat. His wife put a hand over his, but he shook it off. "He - he called me a worthless little faggot -" Brady saw Stud Douggie crack a momentary smile at that "- and that he was going to give me what I deserved. What all faggots deserve. And he hit me in the head, with something - maybe he punched me, I don't know - but, the next thing I knew I was on my stomach, and he, he was in me, and it was hurting like mad, and I started to, to scream. And he shoved my face down into the bed. I couldn't breathe. He just, he went on and on, I don't know how long. I think I like passed out for part of it. I, I was suffocating, between my face being shoved down on the bed and - and what he was doing." He was crying now, but looking very directly at Stud Douggie. "Then he was - he was done, and he was wiping himself and me with - with my underwear and my T shirt, and it was all bloody, and he - he tore up the room, and he kept hitting me. And he finally left." David sat down, looking like he'd exerted every last bit of his energy. His father put a protective arm over his shoulder. For an instant Brady felt envy. Brady realized David hadn't said anything about the pictures. Dr, Leeds swallowed. "All right, thank you, David. Mr. Conover, when did you return to the room, and what did you see? " Brady froze for a moment. He felt Mr. Taber nudge him slightly in the ribs. He stood. "Sir, I came back - I dunno, I think it had to be like 7:45 or so, because study hall was already going -" "And where the hell were you supposedly all that time?" Donald McShane snapped at him. Brad flared with anger. "I was at the doctor's, sir, because I got speared and had my ribs broken by your son at practice. Mr. Glendon took me and drove me back, he can tell you what time it was." "So you've got something against my boys too?" "This is not a cross examination, sir," Mr. Taber said in a firm quiet tone. "Mr. Conover should be allowed to tell his story." Mr. McShane sat back again, patting Ian on the shoulder. Ian's face cracked into a half smile. Brady struggled again to suppress his anger. "I got to the room, and the door was locked, which was weird for study hall. I went in, and - and everything was all messed up, and David was there. He was in bed, all curled up, like he was sick. And I was asking him what was wrong, and then I saw the blood." He gulped. "And I pulled him up and saw him, and he said what had happened." He was struggling to imagine how he could explain things without referring to the pictures. "And that's when you tried to assault my boys. right?" "That is enough!" Mr. Taber's voice was like steel in the dark room; Donald McShane fell back onto his chair as if hit by lightning. Brady, looking sideways, saw the glare in Mr. Taber's eyes. He silently thanked God he wasn't on the receiving end of a stare like that. "Please proceed, Mr. Conover," Dr. Leeds said. "Well, David told me, and I, I got really mad, so I went to Ian's room, and I guess Douggie was behind the door. He tripped me - somebody tripped me, something, I don't know - and he put his belt around me, like tying me up, and it pushed my elbow into my rib, where they hurt." He looked down, ashamed. "It hurt really bad. I couldn't move, or anything. And then Douggie, he pulled my pants down, and he started hitting me with his belt. I couldn't stop him." Brady felt his eyes moistening; he commanded himself to hold it in. "And then," he took a deep breath, "Douggie said he was going to do to me what he'd done to David -" "Did he say specifically what he'd done to David?" Dr. Larrimore asked sharply. "N-no, sir, he didn't. He - he started like grabbing at me. And - and Ian got upset, and started yelling at Douggie that he wasn't supposed to do that or something, and then they were fighting, and then I guess Mr. Frazier came in." He felt spent. He looked at Dr. Leeds, then at Mr. Taber, who nodded and motioned for him to sit. Mr. Taber stood. "Dean Storeman corroborates that Mr, Conover was beaten on the buttocks by a heavy object, causing serious bruising and some cuts." Douggie was again suppressing a smile. Brady longed to shoot him between the eyes. Ian, by contrast, was now slumped forward in his chair, eyes down, looking utterly miserable. "Mr. Tanner," Dr. Larrimore, said, "why did Mr. McShane single you out for such a thing? What prompted this incident?" David opened his mouth dumbly for a few seconds. "He - he just - he, and Ian, they've been like on my case since, well, forever. I don't know." He dropped his head. "They know I think they're both royal assholes, I know that." "Let's confine the vulgarity to recounting events," Dr. Leeds admonished. "Yes, sir. Sorry sir." Dr. Leeds looked over at Stud Douggie. "Would you like to speak to any of what has been said? Do you dispute any of this?" Stud Douggie, blinked rapidly several times. "I, uh, I, I didn't do anything to him." His voice lacked much conviction. "I mean everybody knows he's a queer anyway. Him and Conover and all of 'em, they probably like cornhole each other all the time. My dad warned you last spring he was queer." Dr. Leeds appeared unperturbed. "I will thank you also not to use vulgarities, even though the subject here is a graphic one. Do you have any evidence to support your claim that you weren't responsible for this?" Mr. McShane stood, visibly angry. "What damn evidence does he need? What evidence do you have that Douggie did anything to this kid aside from his own say-so?" Dean Storeman was visibly trying to stay calm. "He told Mr. Conover, when he returned to their room, while in a state of pretty extreme distress. That, together with what happened in Ian's room with Mr. Conover, lends a credibility to his statement." "The hell it does! Did anyone see Douggie go into that room? Or hear anything? You had it right," he said, jabbing a finger at Dr. Larrimore. "What possible reason would Douggie have to waste his time with this little faggot?" "Donald, the warning about vulgar language applies twice over to us as adults." Dr. Leeds' eyes glittered. Mr. McShane was undaunted. "That doesn't answer my question. Why should we think that my boys want to waste their time doing anything to this kid ?" "Because I know what he does to Ian!" David shouted angrily. "And you know he does it too, don't you?" Ian's head shot up, his eyes wide with panic. "I saw it, I had the pictures, and Douggie couldn't stand it!" Dr. Leeds and Dean Storeman seemed stunned by this outburst. "What do you mean, David?" David's blush grew even deeper, if possible. His father put a hand on his back reassuringly. I saw - last year, I saw Douggie - he was, like, doing what he did to me. To Ian. In the bathroom in Roebling. And, and I took pictures of them, and they knew it. I, I used them to get them to lay off me." He sighed, defeated. "That's why Douggie came after me yesterday. To get the pictures." Dr. Leeds leaned forward. "You are telling us that you have pictures of Douglas , um, - " he seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "Sodomizing, " Dr. Larrimore suggested. Dr. Leeds swallowed again, clearly not wanting ti use the term. "Yes, 'sodomizing' his own brother? And where are these pictures?" "I don't have them," David whispered. "Douggie found them. They're gone." "So," Donald McShane roared triumphantly, " you have no evidence to support this obscene story of yours either?" He glared at Dr. Leeds. "And the kid admits to blackmailing my boys, even if you do believe that sick story! You need to take a serious look at this kid!" he said, thrusting a finger at Brady. "He's the only person with access to that room, not my boys!" "It's true, I had the pictures!" David protested, barely in control of his voice. "But now you admit they don't exist!" Mr. McShane shot back. "Pardon me," David's father interjected in a calm professional tone. "I've been quiet up to now, even though it's my son who has been cruelly injured here," this with a cold glare at Donald McShane. "But I have seen the pictures. David showed them to me last summer. I can vouch for his story." "Of course you're vouching for him," Mr. McShane answered. "You're the little pansy's father, you don't even care what he is. You're some overeducated snot shrink who lets his son be a faggot instead of a man! You'll vouch for him all right, but where are these so called pictures, huh?" David's father kept a placid look on his face. "Actually," he said, reaching behind himself, "they're right here." He opened the briefcase with the easy manner of one pulling out a contract for signing. "Well, copies, anyway. When David showed them to me, last summer, and told me he wanted to keep them as a tool to prevent your sons from bullying or molesting him, I went along. But I know how things can be here, or at any boarding school. So, unbeknownst to him, I had copies made." He lifted a large manila envelope from the briefcase. "I also have here an affidavit from the processing lab attesting to their authenticity, that they were correct copies of the originals I provided." He tossed a legal looking piece of paper onto the table. "It's very hard to find a processing lab willing to handle things of this nature, what with the obscenity laws. It's also difficult to make copies of Polaroids, which these were. But these people were very cooperative, and they did quite a good job with it" He put both hands on the table and leaned toward Mr. McShane. "Shall I show them to the Commitee?" David's father looked about, visibly pleased with the train wreck he'd just caused. Donald McShaane's face had so many colors in it. Fiery red and ashen pale at the same time, that it could have been a contour map of a major mountain range. David's jaw hung open, slack, only his glittering eyes showing his emotion. Stud Douggie and Ian were both ramrod straight, staring at David's father. So were Dr. Leeds, Dr. Larrimore, and Mr. Aherne. Mr. Taber alone seemed completely composed. He looked steadily at Brady and whispered, "It is not polite to gape, Mr. Conover. Close your mouth." After soaking in this scene for a few seconds, David's father started to undo the string holding the envelops shut. "Please don't," a small voice trembled from the other side of the room. "Please." Mrs. McShane had a small lace handkerchief in one hand in front of her face, her other hand was clutching at her chest. "That's enough." She looked up at her husband. "That's enough, Donald." Mr. McShane rounded on her furiously. "Is that it? You're fucking quitting on your own son? Are you that Goddam weak?" Ian stirred, his face visibly wet. "Leave her alone, Dad. Please/" Mr. McShane slapped Ian on the back of his head. "Listen to you, Jesus. You're still a candy assed mama's boy, aren't you? After all I did to make you into a man, and what your brother's done." Ian swallowed. "I know what he's done. You, too." Mr. McShane hit Ian again, harder. Ian's head lurched downwards toward the table. "Shut your Goddam trap, boy! These are fakes, it's all faked. Wh – whatever it is, or whatever they show!" he shouted angrily, waving his arms at Dr. Leeds. "You know that as well as I do! This has been a setup from the start, to get my boys in trouble! Are you really gonna fall for some sleazy doctored pictures dummied up by these . . . these perverts to defame my children?!" "I said stop it!? Mrs. McShane shouted, in a voice louder than Brady thought her capable of. Her husband and sons recoiled in astonishment. She stood and took the envelope, opened it, and flipped through the pictures. Her face hardened. She stared at her husband for a long moment, then slapped him in the face with the envelope. "You see what you did? What you taught Douglas? You complete bastard!!!" Mr. McShane stepped back, defensive. "I, I taught him to be a man. And I should have taught Ian, too, but you wouldn't let me." "Cut it out, Mom, Dad's right. They're all bullshit," Stud Douggie said, standing up to protect his father. Mrs. McShane slapped him. The crack of it echoed through the room, seeming to freeze time. She was crying now. "God, he's destroyed you, Douglas. Look at yourself, what you've become. My own son. You," she seemed to need a moment to gather herself, "you're both monsters. You've become monstrous, Douglas, don't you see? I never should have let it happen." "Don't talk like that about my dad, not even you! He's the best man in the world!" Stud Douggie was red faced. His fists were balling up; Brady feared he might take a swing at her. Mr. McShane pulled him back, putting a protective arm over his shoulder. "It's all right, Douggie, she just wants to coddle you and turn you into some milquetoast rich kid. Not my boys!!!" he shouted at her. "Neither of them." He put a protective hand on Ian's shoulder. Ian shrugged the hand off, his face still forward toward the table. "Don't touch me right now, OK?" Mr. McShane shoved at the back of Ian's head, sending his forehead into the table. Dr. Leeds stood angrily. "I think we need to take a break here and calm you down a bit, Donald." "Break, my ass!!! I'm not sitting here and listening to these, these slanders anymore! You assholes will hear from my lawyers! Come, let's go." He tugged on Stud Douggie's arm and started for the door, Douggie falling in behind him. Mrs. McShane stood still. , Ian didn't move. At the door, Mr. McShane turned and looked back. "I said let's GO!!!" "Yes, Donald," Mrs. McShane said quietly, her hand patting Ian's hair. "You go. Please go now." He stared a long moment at her before turning and slamming the door behind him. David's father retrieved the envelope from the table. "Mrs. McShane, I didn't mean to spark a family quarrel like that." Mrs. McShane's face was tear streaked, but resolute. "You were protecting your son. You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Tanner. It - it seems I do have a lot to apologize for. And for them, too," she added gesturing vaguely toward the door. " Dr. Leeds, may I use a telephone? I'd like to make a private call." "Of course." Dr. Leeds led her from the room, guiding her by one elbow. Everyone in the room seemed to exhale at once, sitting back in their chairs. Only Ian remained slumped forward, staring at the table. Brady glanced at David, whose expression was a mix of triumph and trepidation. Brady raised one eyebrow at him, and got a shrug in return: no idea. Mr. Taber had pulled a handkerchief from his lapel pocket, and was quietly cleaning his glasses. Dr. Larrimore and Mr. Aherne huddled together, whispering. Brady kept staring at Ian. He'd never seen anyone - much less Ian McShane, the most overtly superior behaving kid he'd ever known - look so alone or forlorn. He swallowed and leaned toward the table. "Ian, are you -" "Just shut up, Conover. Leave me alone, OK?" Mr., Aherne stood and walked round the table. "Ian, I think we should get you a drink of water and give you a bit of private time with your mother before we go any further." Ian stood limply and followed Mr. Aherne from the room. The silence that followed was oppressive. Dr. Larrimore sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. David's father patted his son's shoulder. Miss Harder finally spoke up. "That was quite a scene, Walter," she said to Dr. Larrimore. "I've been doing these hearings for a lot of years, but that was really something." "It was that, Patty. It was . . . it was awful." He stood. "I think we can stretch our legs a bit as well, Patty, and give Mr. Tanner a chance to speak with his father as well." "Thank you, Walter," said David's father. It was only when the door closed again that David and Brady relaxed. David hugged his father fiercely, his eyes brimming. "You asshole," he said, his voice muffled because his face was pressed into his father's neck. "You didn't tell me." David's father laughed and patted his son's back. "You're welcome. You never would have let me, you know. You'd have screamed that I was being interfering and playing shrink with you and all that mumbo jumbo I always get when I try to help you. This was, well, easier." He pulled his son back from the embrace and held him at arm's length. "I was hoping I wouldn't need to do it, actually. I had a feeling it would cause some real problems." "Had you not," Mr. Taber said with a slight smile, "I would have been forced to hit you." David turned. "You knew? Sir," he added quickly, blushing a bit. Mr. Taber smiled. Brady wondered if he were ever capable of doing it without looking icy. "Your father and I consulted this afternoon at some length. We agreed on this course of action if necessary. It was fairly obvious that an accusation would be made against you, Mr. Conover -" Brady blinked "- and that the question of motivation would at some point become crucial. What was left was the timing." "What I'm unsure about is what to do with these. This copy, anyway." David glanced sharply at his father. "There are others?" "You never just make one copy of things like this, son," he said with a wry smile. David's father was patting the envelope against one hand, ruminatively. "In one sense, there's a criminal issue here, but I don't feel right letting underage kids get into legal trouble because of what . . . what appears to be a family atmosphere." "I'd appreciate it if you would give them to me, Mr. Tanner." Mrs. McShane has reappeared in the doorway. "I intend to file divorce papers against Donald immediately. Arrangements to freeze bank accounts and so one are being made now. I - I don't know what Douglas will think of it all," she sighed, he voice tremulous, "but I know I have to protect Ian." David's father stood and handed her the envelope. "I understand your decision, ma'am. If you want to speak to anyone, I can refer you to some really first rate therapists. I know this is going to be trying time for you and your family." He handed her a business card. "Thank you," Mrs. McShane said in a whisper. Then she laughed softly. "Donald would have a conniption, seeing me even considering psychotherapy. He detests the entire idea." "If I may," Mr. Taber said in an uncharacteristically warm tone, "Mr. McShane appears to have a long list of things he detests." She looked at him a moment, then burst into laughter. Brady and David glanced at each other, trying to figure out what was so funny at such a time. The Committee reconvened several minutes later. Ian had washed his face, and seemed a bit more put together than when his father had left. "Since Douglas McShane and his father have left these proceedings," Dr. Leeds said with a nod to Miss Harper, "we must assume they have nothing to add. Ian, would like to ask you if you have any knowledge of what your brother did." Ian shifted in his chair, visibly uncomfortable. "It's all right, Ian," his mother said from behind him. "He'll never hurt you again." Ian looked less than fully convinced of that, but cleared his throat anyway. "Well, I - I wasn't there. When he - did, you know, whatever, to David. I was at practice. Where I was supposed to be." "Pardon me?" "It - it was part of the plan. My dad came up with it. He was really pissed off at us over open weekend, when he heard what had been going on at school. That we hadn't made any 'progress.' That - that's what he called it, 'progress.' He said - he said we needed to take control of the situation. But we knew we had to keep Conover occupied or out of the way so Douggie could have the time he needed to get to David." Dr. Larrimore scowled. "So the injury you gave Mr. Conover on the practice field was deliberate?" Ian gulped. "Y - yes, sir. I was actually supposed to take out his knee." He looked at Brady. "I couldn't do that." He looked at Brady with visible shame. "That would've messed you up forever. It's not like we're friends or anything but - but I couldn't do that." Brady blinked, unsure what to say. "Thanks," he finally croaked. "So, so once that was, um, done, Douggie could skip out on practice – claim he was sick or something - and have all afternoon and evening, at least until study hall, to get to Tanner." He looked now at David. "He was just supposed to mess around with you and get you to give up the pictures. He wasn't - that wasn't anything I ever knew he'd do. I - I guess he just -" "Yeah," David said snappishly, "he sure did." Ian looked away for a long moment. "So - so when he came down to my room after dinner, and he had the pictures, we were all happy and stuff, and he decided to hang out because he knew Conover would come back and go apeshit. And - and you did. Like he said." "And he was waiting," Brady added. "Yeah. He was. Waiting." Dr. Leeds leaned forward. "You had no idea what your brother did, or planned to do, to Mr. Tanner then?" "No, sir, not before. Like I said, he was only supposed to, you know, knock him around and get the pictures. I didn't know . . . all of it, until Douggie started - until he was going to do it to Conover, and - and I panicked." He wiped his face. "I didn't want that. Not that, for anybody." Mr. Aherne folded his hands on the table before him. "Do you realize, now, what you were complicit in? How this all spiraled out of control?" Ian was suppressing sobs now. "Yes, sir. I - I'm sorry. I really am. I - I've fucked up everything. My brother, my family -" "Stop it," he mother snapped. "You are the last person to be responsible in any of this, Ian. You're a sweet, caring boy -" Brady and David exchanged incredulous glances "- pushed to do horrible things. If anyone here is responsible, I am, for letting your father do all he's done, to both of you, for so many years." "No Mom, it's not you." "It is, baby," and they were in each other's arms, weeping. "It truly is." Her eyes squeezed shut for a second. "It's unforgiveable." Dr. Leeds looked uncomfortably around the room. "I think we've heard all we need to. Unless any other member of the Committee has any other questions?" There were none. "We will discuss the matters at hand and make our decision now. This hearing is adjourned." He looked at Brady and David. "I hope you boys understand that everything said here this evening was and should remain confidential." He tucked his small pile of papers into a neat stack. "Especially given the content and context of this matter, I would hope for your discretion." Mr. Taber stood up with military precision, gesturing for Brady to follow suit. David and his father did as well, carried along by the momentum. As they left the room, Brady looked back at Ian, shuddering in his mother's arms. God, he thought, and I thought my life was fucked up. The lights along the gravel car path shone brilliantly in the damp night. The cold air on Brady's face was electric. He took in a huge gulp of air and grinned at David. "Wanna scream like a banshee yet?" David's face was composed. "We still don't know what they're gonna decide." "Are you nuts? They admitted to everything, man! You got 'em with the pictures, it all was like perfect! You screwed heir asses to the wall, Davey!!!" David's father had an arm around his son, as David pushed his face into his father's cashmere coat. "Yeah. Hooray for me." The bell rang ending evening study hall as they walked: Dum, dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum, dum-dum, dum-dum . . . . Brady found himself walking in its rhythm almost bouncing up and down, grinning. He realized he loved that sound. The bare threw branches shone wet in the streetlamp glow, and windows of the dorms shone rightly. People began streaming out of the dorms, bound for the canteen for a last soda before lights out, for a walk in the brisk night air after being cooped up in study hall, for a few stolen moments of freedom. As they crossed center campus toward Linsley, the boy in front of it started gravitating towards them. "What happened?" "Is McShane's ass grass yet?" "Davey, did you really beat up Stud Douggie's face like that?" "When do we get to celebrate?" Brady wanted to jump up and down and tell them all about the triumph, but something about David's demeanor held him back. He looked at David, who had pulled away from his father and was smoothing his hair across his forehead. "There's nothing to celebrate, guys," he said quietly. "It's just really all fucked up." He strode at full speed into the dorm. That left Brady, and David's father, to take the brunt of the interrogation. David's father looked at Brady for a long second, then excused himself to say goodbye to his son. Evan was now leaning close to Brady. "Did it go all right? David is like depressed or something, I don't get it." Brady shrugged. "It, um, it was OK. It's all like confidential; we're not supposed to say anything." "Yeah, sure, but did it go OK? I mean what's gonna happen to Ian?" Brady flashed on his last image of Ian. "I dunno, Evan." He couldn't figure out where the stirrings of pity, and even remorse, that he could feel were coming from. The chattering predictions of impending doom for both of the McShanes faded to background static in his ears. He felt exhausted all of a sudden. His side started to throb. He brushed past the boys peppering him with questions, tanking down his tie, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was noisy, though everyone was in their rooms. Music echoed from every open door - Donovan, Sergeant Pepper, the Turtles, the Hollies, Cream . . . Brady leaned against the wall and listened idly, eyes closed. He wanted to sleep on the spot/ When he opened his eyes, Doug was leaning against the wall at the far end of the wall, near Brady's room, arms folded. He nodded to Brady and cracked the slightest of smiles. Brady walked quickly to him and threw his arms around him. "God," he whispered, "I'm so tired, Doug." Doug returned the embrace gently, obviously taking care not to squeeze any sensitive ribs. "I know. It's OK. It's over now." Brady took a huge gulping breath, dizzied with the faint smell of Doug that he got with the air. "I dunno," he whispered. "Is it?"