Blindly Reflecting Part Three

~*~*~Chapter Four~*~*~

Me and Alec went to see Dad at the hospital.

He told me that father had been in a car accident and was gone.

He also said, as we stood there beside the bed, that he had killed him. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't kill him. Why do you say that?" I asked and he turned to me.

"Because of what I told him, Dusty, he drank more than usual and drove off a cliff either because he couldn't see straight or because he could."

I shook my head. "He did that, the drinking, even when you didn't say anything."

Alec shrugged. "You told me that you killed Mom, right? So now we have something else in common."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, but for some reason I thought Alec was trying to teach me something. And I was already beginning to understand the difference.

We didn't stay with father long, of course he didn't know we were there, anyway. He looked awful, bruised and pale. I picked up one of his hands under the sheet, it was cold and heavy.

"Good bye, father," I said to him and I think I should've been sadder. "I wish you hadn't hated me so much. Thank you for giving me a brother, though."

I didn't cry. Neither did Alec, he just looked at me some more and sighed. He thanked father for the same thing I did. I almost cried then.

The hospital was a scary place full of people and I stayed very close to Alec the whole time we were there, despite the fact that he seemed nervous, too.

I was very glad to get home again. Alec was quiet and sad, so I made him supper that night, just like I used to. Only with one remarkable difference, he helped me. It was peaceful and it was like we were friends; that was something new.

I think...he needed me. I don't know how I knew. I tried to think of things to say to him, but it wasn't until I was lying beside him in the dark later that it came to me.

"Alec? If I didn't kill mom, then you didn't kill father. I guess I understand now. I don't want you to think that anymore. Okay?"

My brother turned and hugged me and said okay. I sighed with relief and we settled down to sleep.

I must have said the right thing, because he was his usual self in the morning, cheerful and talking again, making jokes about not waking up and biting my ear.

I laughed. He looked at me funny.

"You laughed," he said.

"What, did you think I couldn't laugh?" I tried to make that stern face he makes, but I wasn't good at it. I ended up laughing again at what it felt like to try and he hugged me again, tightly.

I would never, ever get sick of that.

~*~*~

The first time my brother laughed in front of me, I forgot everything else.

Dusty did need to be checked by a doctor, but the rest could wait. I wanted to take him away from here for a couple days. I wanted to show him the mountains and the ocean. I wanted to take him to the most expensive restaurant in town and I wanted to take him on a shopping spree until he had so many possessions of his own he would die laughing from sheer joy.

I called my grandparents out east.

I told them very little about the accident, just that I would be busy with my brother most of the week and they agreed to fly out and take care of the funeral arrangements.

They must have thought me bereft. Instead, I was the opposite. I didn't offer to let them stay with us. I didn't know them well enough to be sure I could trust them and I know they felt put out by it. Oh, well, it was about time that Dusty came first.

They were just lucky I didn't actually tell them anything, that's how I looked at it, I didn't disturb their impressions with any outpouring of terrible truths. They would never know the favor I did them.

The thrill I got watching and helping Dusty's emotions wake up, well, good emotions wake up, was just too intense for sadness to intrude upon.

That day I moved his old bed into my room. Excuse me, our room. I wasn't ever going to even suggest that he move back into the room he'd been banned to and locked in. No, he needed to be with me, but it just didn't seem proper to be sharing a bed. I was going to be twenty-two this year, and he was...

Damn. I still didn't know my own brother's birthday.

But there was more to this, something neither of us ever told anyone, and I doubt we ever would. On that third night, when I was sleeping, he woke me by climbing in beside me as unobtrusively as was possible.

In the darkness, I felt his hand just touch mine, and I whispered to him, "We're alittle old to be cuddling up every night."

He only drew closer to me as he nodded his agreement against my neck. For him, that was almost an act of defiance and it did my heart good. We had missed out on all the years we should have camped and tussled and touched. I had no problem making up for it now.

Children get touched a lot, most children anyway, when they're very young, normal adults have instincts to protect them and include them. They are comforted when they skin a knee or startle to a sudden sound. They are given attention and affection and when they get older they are stable enough to draw away from needing it to get on with their own lives.

What about someone who has never sat on a lap and had a story read to them, was never tucked into a bed or allowed to seek that comfort?

Slowly, I slid one arm under his head and around him, it just didn't feel wrong and when I heard him take a deep, contented breath, I knew for sure it wasn't. I told him there was nothing to be afraid of and that I loved him.

He was quiet a minute, having just learned something and accepted something, finally, as a certainty. Then, with wonder in his voice, he told me he knew.

I would not let him down; neither would I deny him. He slept with me, at least part of the night, from then on and, although I didn't know it then, for many months to come.

~*~*~

Dusty and I took very little time away from our other plans for Dad's funeral. We did what was expected for as short a time as possible. I'm sure his family and his friends from work thought us the most selfish, cold-hearted offspring who ever lived. I gave my father this last gift without remorse, truthfully, it didn't make much difference. I wanted nothing to do with any of them.

I wore my brother out totally for the next four days.

That had been my intent. I wanted him ready to settle down for what was coming, and I also wanted him to have a taste of what he and I had to look forward to on the other side.

The ocean. It has an effect on people even this time of year when it's deserted. We drove along the coast. I promised to bring him back in the summer when all the seafood, ice cream and tourist shops were open. Not to mention the scantily dressed...well, I said girls and he looked at me strangely.

Yeah. There was still a lot we didn't know about each other.

I told him we could go watch the seals on the piers and feed the gulls that cried so forlornly over our heads. Dusty took it all in with a pensive quietness. I didn't want to be constantly asking him what he was thinking, it was too intrusive. I just hoped it was good.

On the third and fourth days I took him shopping.

That was as fun a time, not to mention interesting, as I ever spent. He was still quiet, but his eyes shone whenever he looked at me and I grinned my fool head off so much I was afraid my face would freeze that way. He was fascinated by toys and books as well as everything else. He begged me to teach him to read and I assured him that would be starting soon.

We also spent a good deal of time in the pet shop, he just had to play with the puppies, he was enthralled by them and that planted the idea in my head.

Saturday morning, after breakfast, with Dusty collapsed on the sofa for a day of rest, I finally went into my father's den to find the name and number for his lawyer and to search for all the other paperwork I would need.

In front of his computer were two envelopes. One with Dusty and my name's on it. The other one said, interestingly, 'to whom it might concern'. It was with foreboding that I opened the first one and sat down at his desk to read it.

It told me what I needed to know and some things I wish I didn't have to know.

The letter was long, and it seemed to go into some detail. I remembered then how he had stayed in here the whole day before leaving to go for the last drive he ever would. Now, I knew why.

He started by explaining something about my brother's birth. May 30th. In less than two months he would be seventeen, by the way.

Anyway, the letter went on, the doctors had warned him that Dusty's Apgar score had been so low that the chances were good he had brain damage, cerebral palsy, along with nerve damage that could leave him blind. My father had actually found that fair and just, the letter stated, and I winced at it.

He really had hated my brother for being born.

Then, he went on about Amy. When she'd began to question Dusty's treatment and his eyesight he'd fired her, and that began my brother's long years of loneliness and brainwashing.

Along with mine. Once he started, my father wrote, he didn't know how to turn back.

I don't think he wanted to turn back. He explained that, too.

About the urges he had and how strong they got when my mother died and he was forced into celibacy. He was ashamed of the thoughts and had hid them, but then, eventually, with Dusty so cowed....arousingly subjugated to put it in his words and again it was hard to read and imagine my father writing this... he gave in to them.

He wanted to hurt Dusty for hurting him, intentional or not.

How convienent, I thought nastily.

He wrote that he of course knew it wasn't the child's fault, but that apparently didn't stop him from wanting him dead and my mother alive because she had been the only person he had ever loved. The only person who'd ever loved him.

That was how he explained that the time came when he finally did more than just isolate my brother. He swore he only did it half a dozen times...as if this infrequency made it all right. Or in any way better.

He had never actually raped him, the letter said, but I had a different view. I consider what he did rape, and I'm sure, so would a judge and a jury.

Maybe what he'd done was not as physically bad, but emotionally, it was just as damaging to be used like that.

Then, he wrote on about the real horror story.

~*~*~

I couldn't believe what I read, that this was my father, that man who'd held me and played with me.

He wrote that he wanted to stop, wanted help, but he was scared; so he turned to seeking it anonymously and of all places; on-line.

Big surprise here, instead of help, he found others like him and after many months of e-mails and even phone calls he was convinced that he couldn't help it that he had these drives and it wasn't as important as society made it out to be.

It was only, after all, sex, which was perfectly natural, and other such all out fucking half-truths and bullshit...and so he met with others like him.

He let these men...play, I quote, with my brother...this was somehow, he wrote, supposed to show him that Dusty would like it. All retarded kids liked it, they were oversexed and easily stimulated once reaching adolescence. Feral, simple creatures happy for the attention. I gritted my teeth and read on.

Sebastian was one of these sickos. He offered to buy the boy, my father wrote, many times. Seb was smitten, he said, and wouldn't harm him. The prick swore he would have the best home and the best clothes and would remain isolated and when the price went ridiculously high, dear old Dad decided maybe it was for the best for all of us. So, Dusty was gone, and that solved everyone's problems.

My, and I cringe to call him father, just wanted to return to a normal life. Me, I hardly noticed the change. No one else really even knew about him.

I had to stop reading for a minute, closing my eyes and taking long calming breaths. Then I read on.

Seb had only approached him, with Dusty getting older, to find out if he had met any others since. He wanted to find...younger kids to play with.

There wasn't much after all this, just a sorry that he had to end his life this way, and a prompt to read the other letter and to destroy the one in my hand. Then to contact his lawyer. He also mentioned a life insurance policy and where it was kept.

The other letter was similar, without the explanations for anything but his activity with Seb and a couple other men. He had names and addresses and statements about what he had done and what they had done.

I destroyed the first one. I kept the other. I couldn't thank him for his foresight, but even if I could've, those words could never have left my mouth. I couldn't thank him for anything. I didn't hate him because Dusty didn't hate him.

But he would always be the sadness and the perversion I saw, anywhere, for the rest of my life and how could anyone not resent that?

As for Mr. Sebastion Walter, he was about to learn what punishment really meant. I hoped he would pray someone would only lock him a closet.

~*~*~

Alec got me a puppy for my birthday.

I named her Flippy, the name he had given the one on his dresser, although he swore he didn't remember that.

I was glad Flippy was around when it came time for me to see Sebby again. I wished I could have brought her with me to the court, and held her there. I could hug her all I wanted.

Not that I couldn't hug Alec, but I tried to be merciful with him. Poor Alec, I know I pushed his patience at times, I could tell by his grin.

Sebby, I found out, was a criminal, what he did to me was actually against the law. Nothing was what I thought it was, he wasn't trying to teach me, that's why he never gave up. He just liked being mean, and I will always wonder; how can anyone like being mean?

Still, even knowing all that, I couldn't look him in the eyes. I tried a few times, but as soon as he caught me, I had to look away every single time. I answered their questions the best I could. I thought it was over. It was bad, but it was over. Then they told me I still had to be cross-examined.

I slunk back to the table, very aware of everyone looking at me, feeling sorry for me.

I did as Alec said to, tried to think about my life now, with him. But my hands were unsteady and my thoughts kept going back.

The worst thoughts I had were not of Sebby hitting me, but of my first sights of him after the long days of darkness and how much I loved him, hugged him, groveled to him...while he offered up that sick smile and still hurt me.

He wanted me to beg him to hurt me- and I did more times than I can remember- crying with pain and begging him to hit me harder ... almost glad in some strange way when he complied and I could barely stand how badly it hurt.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I wish, that I had spit on him. I wish I'd had the courage all these people did who looked him right in the eye with disgust, but no, not me. All I ever did was grovel.

Alec remained close all that day of cross exam, and often asked if I was all right. I told him I was, but I was very glad to get out of there and home.

After supper I fed the puppy and she knocked her water dish over and for the first time in my life I found myself screaming, not with fear or pain but with anger, terrible anger.

"Do you have to be so stupid!" I yelled at Flippy, grabbing the dish away so fast that she was frightened and cringed back. I saw Alec, sitting on the sofa, glance over, surprised.

I was more stunned than Flippy was.

I put my hand out and she wagged herself back up to me, forgiving instantly and I told her I was sorry, but then I went to Alec and sat down beside him. I was deathly frightened, I could feel tears running down my face.

"Alec?" I whispered. "I don't want to be like father."

His smile was gentle and kind.

"You're nothing like him, don't worry. I thought it would be good for you to have someone to care for, but maybe it's too much right now, with everything else. Puppies are a lot of work. I can find a good home for her if you'd rather wait."

"What, send her away?" I was shocked. "No, Alec. Forget it. I'll get it right, I promise."

He told me that he knew I would.

But that night I asked him if I could leave a light on and I didn't even bother to pretend that I was going to sleep in the other bed. He seemed to understand, didn't even make any jokes about it, just stroked my arm and told me how great I had been in court.

He held onto me when I started sobbing, it wasn't controllable, I didn't even try, I just let it come out.

"Alec..." I surprised myself again by what I said next, and my teeth clenched around the words. "Alec, how can anyone be like that? Why me? Why couldn't I just grow up like you and like everyone else? And how come you let me, why you didn't do something, why didn't you help me?"

Then Alec cried, harder than I'd ever seen him. He said he was sorry, over and over and he told me what I already knew. There was no reason, no excuse.

It had been, simply, the easiest way to survive and I began to understand that it was how all of our minds worked for self protection, not to fight against what had the power and the control over our lives.

In his case, it had been father who had taught him. For me it had been father, too, but even more so with Sebby and I knew why I'd groveled.

To forgive Alec was to forgive myself.

~*~*~

I had contacted my father's lawyer. We spoke at length and he wouldn't take the case, despite my father's demise as it was a conflict, but he recommended someone.

I started the ball rolling and it escalated into six months worth of legal goulash, hearings and trials.

And in the end, Seb didn't get what he deserved in my opinion, death, but it was close enough, he got maximum sentence and I had my hopes that prison wouldn't go easy for him.

I knew for a fact that child rapists were the lowest of the low amongst those incarcerated and often were lucky to survive the harassment. He was a good looking guy, I hoped he would be popular, if you know what I mean.

Personally, I think he should have been given, with a large pink bow around his neck, to the largest, meanest prison sodomites...naked with 'love me now' tattooed on his forehead.

Most of his estate, and let's just say it was more than substantial even after the lawyers hefty share, went for restitution directly to my brother.

Between that, what my father left him and the life insurance policy that decided to pay, I think because of the publicity, Dusty was actually rich.

Now he'll have every advantage, everything he needs...

Yeah. Every advantage, only... he and I once had a decent home in a decent neighborhood and that would have been more than enough if there had been decency to go with it.

They wouldn't emancipate Dusty, he didn't meet the conditions but they did allow him to remain in my custody for the 10 months left before his eighteenth birthday.

During all these months, there were doctors and specialists in our lives. I brought him to as many as he could handle.

The first thing I found out, way before the trial, was that Dusty was far from blind.

His vision could be corrected completely, except for the color blindness. It was not total it was only reds and greens he couldn't distinguish, he could see blues and yellows. He was given glasses to wear for a couple weeks, it would be easier taking them on and off until his eyes accustomed and to be sure he had no headaches before the contact lens were made.

Again, the revelation of the fact that he could see was quite a turning point in his understanding. He was normal and it took a few days for it to sink in to acceptance.

I kept him as cheerful as I could and I kept him talking. He did an awful lot of thinking.

One day he said to me, thoughtfully, but calmly, "I should really be mad at father, shouldn't I. Really mad."

"Yeah. I guess you should," I agreed.

"I would be... only he gave me you and that makes up for it," he decided and I could tell how relieved he was to have found a way out of it.

I still can't believe sometimes that I thought Dusty was stupid.

He proves that wrong every day. Including how fast he's learning. I'm told it's not as easy to learn once grown as it is for young children.

His tutor, this sweet bear of a guy named Bruce, is constantly telling us how impressed he is. He has extensive training with special needs. He laughs a lot, he and Dusty have grown quite close and I'm encouraged that Dusty can make friends and trust people. Bruce says that's mostly my doing, but it isn't.

It's Dusty's nature.

We are bound by blood and a love so strong it's unshakable, and with things intangible now, common ground and common grief, guilt and fear.

I have been the anchor that kept him stable and his boundless love for life, and yes, for me, held his sanity during a time that it wavered.

I was told that the greatest favor my father did for Dusty was to hire Amy. That for almost the first three years of his life, he knew love and care, is all that kept him from being an emotional cripple forever.

I know, over time, his dependence on me will slack off, as it should and I can get going on my own career again. I'm in no hurry though.

My baby brother, whose birthday I know and will never forget, has come the rest of the way back to me.

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~*~*~and so our story ends~*~*~