Redemption Chapter 15
Jared woke up on the floor in the bedroom, knowing that’s where he was by the smell of Timothy’s Obsession that had permeated into every soft surface in the room, but not understanding how he got there. The last thing he remembered was being downstairs, but his mind was only providing him jumbled, disconnected images and his head hurt too much to attempt to organize them into something coherent.
He tried to open his left eye, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried, the lids heavy and the lashes matted together with something sticky. His right eye was slitted and hazy, but afforded him an up close and personal view of the almond nap of the new carpet Timothy had installed throughout most of the house, the lingering smell of burnt nylon and industrial glue from its placement strong this close to the source. There was a gurgling sound and he felt a percolating tickle in the back of his throat, like bubbles rising and popping against his trachea, triggering his cough reflex. Fire consumed his body with each explosive exhale, white hot supernovas of pain that forced his breath to stutter and fueled another round of coughing - a loop that finally resolved itself when he was reduced to gasping sobs. His lips were wet, mouth flooded with the taste of old coins and nose filled with the smell of rusty water.
A thought made it through the chaos in his mind and the pain in his body, a shining beacon that guided him from the dark and spurred him toward action. He needed to call for help; there was too much at stake to lay here in defeat. Forcing his arms to lift him up, he cried out and collapsed when lightning shot up from wrists to elbows, retching slightly when the pain settled in his stomach. He lifted his head, thoughts still fuzzy in the fogginess of a concussion, and scanned the cream expanse, polka-dotted in red, searching for his jeans. They were crumpled on the floor, dismissed and discarded once their purpose was fulfilled, much like their owner. He reached out, nausea deepening in proportion to the pain in his arm as he snagged the belt-loop and dragged them closer. Gently smoothing his hand over the pockets, he wondered which one held his cell phone before remembering he gave that lifeline to save others. Panted breaths from the exertion of pulling the denim closer forced another cough from his chest.
Tearing pain ripped through his body from somewhere deep inside, a vague no-man’s land in his torso, blanking his mind of the bright spots of anguish elsewhere. His knees tried to involuntarily curl inward, baser instincts kicking in to alleviate the pain by lessening the stretch on abdominal muscles, but the agony from the movement of his lower extremities paralyzed his frame - the promise of pain deterring him from going forward, the reality of it keeping him from going back. Harsh, garbled breaths filled the room, too fast and too shallow even to his own ears, and dark spots danced in front of his blurry right eye. He thought he heard his name being called, but it was hard to tell over the sound of boiling water in his throat. The dark spots merged, clumped together and blocked out large portions of his vision until they covered the entire field in soothing darkness.
****
[ 15 hours earlier ]
Who's lonely now? Which one of us is suffering?
Who's in his cups? Which one of us recovering?
Jared groaned as his radio alarm went off, disrupting the little bit of peaceful sleep he’d gotten all night. Tenderly, he rolled over, testing his stomach to see how this day was going to turn out. Benji had caught a stomach bug on his last day of school before Timothy decided the twins didn’t need institutionalized education anymore and when Jared had finally gotten him over the worst of it, Benji promptly gave it to Teddy who then passed it lovingly on to Jared. The boys had quickly rebounded; the illness running its course in a few Pedia-lyte filled days, but Jared hadn’t been able to shake it. Of course, the facts that he barely slept, rarely ate and was so stressed his hair was falling out might have been major contributing factors in its tenacity.
The wrong man lies beside you
And waits for you to wake
And all because I lacked conviction,
The judgment's my mistake
His stomach roiled dangerously and he took a few controlled breaths, hoping the nausea would abate. He winced, arms curling around his middle as his knees pulled up.
Who's breathless now? Who only hyperventilates?
Who'd die for you? Who's dying inside anyway?
“You puke in that bed and I swear I’ll make you lick it up.”
Jared slowly shifted to a sitting position, one hand propping him up against the mattress, the other cupping his cramping stomach. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the threat of rising bile.
“You need to go see the doctor.” Jared looked up, squinting at the sight of Timothy silhouetted in the bathroom doorway, confused by the concern those words implied. “You’d better not give that shit to me. Bad enough you let those rugrats give it to you.”
Jared rubbed his aching head and licked his dry lips. “I’ll make an appointment today.”
“Good,” Timothy came out of the bathroom, fingers nimbly knotting his tie with practiced ease. “I have meetings all day and then I’m going out tonight with Tony for drinks. If you’re still spewing like a geyser tonight, I expect you to sleep on the couch.”
“Yes, Timothy,” he answered by rote. Lifting up, he grimaced as the muscles across his ribs pulled, a small gasp leaving his lips before he could bite it off. Timothy gave him a withering look.
If I'm again beside your body, don't tell me where it's been
It's cruel, unusual punishment to kiss fingerprinted skin.
He managed to stand, swaying dangerously on his feet, as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He braced himself on the nightstand and blinked until his vision cleared. It really was time he saw Dr. Morgan.
It's my mistake
“And turn that emo shit off,” Timothy barked, leaving the room in a cologne-scented flourish. The fragrance hung heavy in air, the smell assaulting Jared’s senses and proving too much for his already agitated stomach. He dashed to the bathroom, hoping that the twins had learned by now to stay in their room until Timothy left.
*****
Jared went into the boys’ room, face freshly washed and teeth brushed after his last bout with his illness, to wake them. They were both still sound asleep, Teddy with the covers pulled high so only the top of head was visible, his bear lost to the floor during the night, and Benji the complete opposite with the covers kicked to the floor in a heap and Deputy Bear clutched tightly to his chest. Jared’s heart ached at the sight of his sons. It had been a rough two weeks for their family. Between Timothy’s sudden reappearance in their lives, losing Jensen and the stomach flu from hell, they’d taken a severe beating.
Jared would blame himself for Timothy being back in their lives until his dying day. He’d been frozen by shock the night he’d opened the door expecting Chris and finding Timothy on the front porch. For a few precious seconds, he’d convinced himself that he was still on the couch and dreaming. It wasn’t long, but enough for Timothy to shoulder his way into the house and get a bruising grip around Jared’s throat. The threats had come fast and furious - he’d hurt them, kill them if necessary; the twins, Jensen, Donna and Alan, Austin, Dakota, Chris and Steve. Jared protested at first, the fingers threatening his windpipe tightening at the disobedience, saying Timothy couldn’t just kill someone without facing consequences. This wasn’t Atlanta, Timothy didn’t have half the judicial system in his back pocket and his name and money meant little to the inhabitants of Wowakan. Timothy had smiled at Jared’s naivety and reminded him that bad things happened every day - gas leaks in houses that silently killed whole families, mistaken identity that had friends being shot as trespassers, farm accidents, muggings, hate crimes - the world was a dangerous place. If Jared tried to leave or tried to get help, it would be open season on anybody that Jared cared for, loved, and Timothy had already planned on how to make each one look like an accident. Jared struggled to breathe around the constriction, tears streaming down his face. He had to agree. What else could he do?
He’d sat in the living room, tears trailing down his face, when Chris and Steve had come back that night, wanting desperately to run to the door and beg them to take him and the boys away. The only thing keeping him seated was the .357 magnum Timothy had behind the door, trained on the unknowing men. He’d quietly taken his punishment that night for running, the first of many, comforted only by the fact that everybody else was safe.
He’d called Steve the next morning quitting without an explanation and nodded dutifully when Timothy explained that he was pulling the kids from Plains County Elementary. In a matter of twenty-four hours, Jared had lost everything he’d spent the last six months building. He’d willingly stepped back into his nightmare, dragging his innocent children along with him.
He’d never know how he got from one day to the next, one minute to the next. Timothy might as well have packed up Jared’s heart and soul along with Jensen’s other belongings, they certainly weren’t Jared’s anymore and they’d never been Timothy’s. Jensen’s absence was palpable. Jared could feel it in his heart, in the air, on his skin. He moved on auto-pilot, would’ve given up, if not for the thought that the twins needed him.
As hard as being separated from Jensen had been on Jared, it was worse on the boys. Sick and confused for the first few days, they’d cried for Jensen, whimpered for him. Jared’d held them, shushed them, telling them that Papa Jensen loved them, but had to stay away. He never said it, but he knew that they understood that Papa couldn’t come back because Father wouldn’t let him. That knowledge did nothing to squash the belief he could see in their eyes that Jensen would come riding in and save the day, save them. As the days passed without rescue, Jared saw the hero worship that both boys carried for the man wane and he couldn’t bear it. He sat them down and told them the truth. He explained that it was his fault Jensen was gone, that he’d forced their Papa away. He’d chosen to be with Timothy. Timothy was their father and they belonged with him. He hardened his heart to the cold looks that had never been directed at him before, preferring they hate him than lose faith in Jensen. He deserved it, Jensen didn’t. He locked himself in the laundry room after that conversation, allowing the sounds of the washing machine to drown out his crying.
He suffered three days of soul-crushing silence, suffocating under the quiet as his heart died a little more with every head nod or shake he received. His sons, always so affectionate, refused to touch him, refused to look at him. In trying to protect them, he lost his sons. He soldiered on - this was his penance for destroying their world and he bore his contrition without complaint. On the morning of the fourth day, he was on the floor in the kitchen, clasping his side. Timothy had been less than pleased at Jared’s request that they order pizza for dinner that night since he was still battling the flu and had showed it by hitting him with the cast iron skillet that had been on the stove. He was taking shallow, panting breaths, doing his best to work through the pain and not realizing that each exhale was a name, repeated over and over at twenty-eight times a minute, until small hands cupped his cheeks. He looked up into the Teddy’s teary green eyes, Benji’s hovering just over his brother’s left shoulder.
“We miss him too, Daddy,” Teddy whispered, leaning down to kiss Jared’s forehead like Jared was the child in this situation.
Benji moved around to kneel beside his brother and stroked a comforting hand down Jared’s cheek, the motion causing tears to fall unrestrained. “It’s not your fault. We’re sorry.” Benji looked so much older than his six years, the weight of a hard world pressing down on his small shoulders, as he graced Jared with absolution.
Heedless of his sore ribs, he pulled his sons to him and the three of them cried, in mourning for the loved one they’d lost. The twins hadn’t mentioned Jensen again, but Jared had caught them staring out the breakfast room window, wistfully looking in the direction their heart now lived.
Jared had noticed that the twins’ attitude toward their Father had drastically changed during those months of separation. They no longer cowered from Timothy, challenging him in ways they’d never dared before. Living with Jensen, being loved by him, had nurtured a self-confidence in both boys that Timothy had spent the first six years of their life trying to suppress and that new independent nature bristled under Timothy’s domineering rule. They stopped short of outright contempt, but their hatred was easily discernible. Neither child knew what Jared had endured over their perceived insubordination and, as far as he was concerned, they never would.
Shaking his head, Jared moved into the boys’ room, saddened at the previously chaotic area’s pristine appearance. Timothy was intolerant of any type of mess and the boys now spent so much time ensuring their room was spotless so Father would be happy that they barely had time to play. He gently ruffled small heads, smiling at the grumpy responses he got to the rousing. He opened the blinds, allowing in the inviting sunshine, and noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out of the top drawer of their shared nightstand. Tugging it free, it was a picture he’d taken of the boys and Jensen on New Year’s Eve. Jensen was in the middle of the couch, a twin on each side, all three asleep, cuddled close like puppies as the ball dropped on the TV in the background. Jared traced his finger over Jensen’s face and smiled. Timothy had predictably purged the house of all reminders of Jensen, but had taken special exception to the pictures. Kodak moments had been sacrificed to a hastily built fire, dancing flames turning happy memories to ash. Somehow his resourceful sons had saved this one from the pyre. The twins watched him carefully with sleepy eyes as he slid the picture back into the drawer and shut it. He leaned over and kissed both of their heads.
“Our little secret,” he whispered.
*****
Jared walked into the kitchen, checking the clock over the sink as he passed by and frowning at the atrocious frosted glass and chrome time piece. He sighed. Not only had Timothy removed all traces that Jensen had ever lived here, he seemed bent on erasing Jared as well. The house had undergone a complete renovation, the rustic, country style Jared adored razed and replaced with a sleek, modern touch that Timothy preferred. Jared hated it. He’d expected to be bustled back to Atlanta, sure that Timothy would want as many states as possible between Jared and Jensen, but instead was surprised when Timothy declared they’d be staying in Wowakan. It was only when the new mailbox, Olyphant on the side in bold letters, was placed at the side of the road - a road that Jensen traveled every day on his way home - that Jared realized Timothy’s true reason for staying in Colorado. He wanted to taunt Jensen with the knowledge that Timothy had won. Each time Jensen left his house, he would have a reminder in three inch block letters that Timothy had taken Jared from him.
He had about an hour before his doctor’s appointment and his stomach had finally settled down enough that he felt hungry. He opened the refrigerator and twisted his mouth in thought as he surveyed the contents. He turned his nose up at the chicken and brown rice left over from last night’s dinner and the roasted red pepper hummus. He sniffed a container of cut up pineapple, jerking his head back at the unappealing smell of the ripe fruit and closing it quickly. He shifted a few things around, grabbing a couple of the more appetizing options and setting them on the counter.
He leaned over the sink, biting into a dill pickle spear, and watched the twins playing in the backyard. He groaned at the vinegary taste as it burst across his taste buds, the juice running over his fingers to drip into the basin. He closed his eyes, rolling the flavor around in his mouth. It had been so long since he’d really wanted anything to eat and right now that pickle was the best tasting thing he’d ever had, the bitter tang scratching an itch he didn’t even know existed. His free hand dug into a package of sliced pepperoni that he’d snuck into the house past Timothy’s watchful, weight-managing gaze. He popped a few pieces in his mouth, sucking the spicy flavor from the thin disks before chewing the meat and swallowing. He alternated between one and the other, savoring each bite, until he felt satisfied. Sealing the package of pepperoni and tightening the lid on the pickles, he returned them to the refrigerator, gaze lighting on a jar of garlic marinated mushrooms on the top shelf. He couldn’t resist, mouth salivating in anticipation. Using a fork to stab a few of the small buttons, he nodded his head in pleasure at the intense flavor. Finishing half the jar, he replaced the mushrooms and put his fork in the dishwasher.
He wiped his hand on a paper towel and picked up the mail, leafing through the bills and credit card offers, hand pausing on an envelope near the back. He dropped the other post, now so insignificant, and held the envelope, staring at the insignia on the return address. He’d sent this off weeks ago, right after Christmas, and with everything lately he’d completely forgotten about it.
He flipped the envelope over and slid his finger beneath the sealed flap. With a few quick jerks, he held the letter in his hand, still neatly closed in a precise tri-fold, fighting a sudden attack of nervousness. He took a deep, cleansing breath and glanced out the window to double check the boys were still deep in their imaginary play. With trembling hands and averted eyes, he unfolded the papers - three in all, stapled together in the upper left corner - and quickly forced himself to look down at the top sheet. He read the first paragraph, his knees buckling at the words, and, not quite believing, he read it again. He staggered to the breakfast table, sitting down in one of the chairs to keep from falling to the floor. He flipped through the pages, studying every detail to make sure he understood completely. He letter fell to the table and he stared at the wall opposite him, stunned.
His stomach churned and his hand flew to his midsection. He groaned, regretting the odd combination of things he’d eaten. There was a particularly violent gurgle and his hand flew up to cover his mouth.
Oh, God. Not again!
Part B
He tried to open his left eye, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried, the lids heavy and the lashes matted together with something sticky. His right eye was slitted and hazy, but afforded him an up close and personal view of the almond nap of the new carpet Timothy had installed throughout most of the house, the lingering smell of burnt nylon and industrial glue from its placement strong this close to the source. There was a gurgling sound and he felt a percolating tickle in the back of his throat, like bubbles rising and popping against his trachea, triggering his cough reflex. Fire consumed his body with each explosive exhale, white hot supernovas of pain that forced his breath to stutter and fueled another round of coughing - a loop that finally resolved itself when he was reduced to gasping sobs. His lips were wet, mouth flooded with the taste of old coins and nose filled with the smell of rusty water.
A thought made it through the chaos in his mind and the pain in his body, a shining beacon that guided him from the dark and spurred him toward action. He needed to call for help; there was too much at stake to lay here in defeat. Forcing his arms to lift him up, he cried out and collapsed when lightning shot up from wrists to elbows, retching slightly when the pain settled in his stomach. He lifted his head, thoughts still fuzzy in the fogginess of a concussion, and scanned the cream expanse, polka-dotted in red, searching for his jeans. They were crumpled on the floor, dismissed and discarded once their purpose was fulfilled, much like their owner. He reached out, nausea deepening in proportion to the pain in his arm as he snagged the belt-loop and dragged them closer. Gently smoothing his hand over the pockets, he wondered which one held his cell phone before remembering he gave that lifeline to save others. Panted breaths from the exertion of pulling the denim closer forced another cough from his chest.
Tearing pain ripped through his body from somewhere deep inside, a vague no-man’s land in his torso, blanking his mind of the bright spots of anguish elsewhere. His knees tried to involuntarily curl inward, baser instincts kicking in to alleviate the pain by lessening the stretch on abdominal muscles, but the agony from the movement of his lower extremities paralyzed his frame - the promise of pain deterring him from going forward, the reality of it keeping him from going back. Harsh, garbled breaths filled the room, too fast and too shallow even to his own ears, and dark spots danced in front of his blurry right eye. He thought he heard his name being called, but it was hard to tell over the sound of boiling water in his throat. The dark spots merged, clumped together and blocked out large portions of his vision until they covered the entire field in soothing darkness.
****
[ 15 hours earlier ]
Who's lonely now? Which one of us is suffering?
Who's in his cups? Which one of us recovering?
Jared groaned as his radio alarm went off, disrupting the little bit of peaceful sleep he’d gotten all night. Tenderly, he rolled over, testing his stomach to see how this day was going to turn out. Benji had caught a stomach bug on his last day of school before Timothy decided the twins didn’t need institutionalized education anymore and when Jared had finally gotten him over the worst of it, Benji promptly gave it to Teddy who then passed it lovingly on to Jared. The boys had quickly rebounded; the illness running its course in a few Pedia-lyte filled days, but Jared hadn’t been able to shake it. Of course, the facts that he barely slept, rarely ate and was so stressed his hair was falling out might have been major contributing factors in its tenacity.
The wrong man lies beside you
And waits for you to wake
And all because I lacked conviction,
The judgment's my mistake
His stomach roiled dangerously and he took a few controlled breaths, hoping the nausea would abate. He winced, arms curling around his middle as his knees pulled up.
Who's breathless now? Who only hyperventilates?
Who'd die for you? Who's dying inside anyway?
“You puke in that bed and I swear I’ll make you lick it up.”
Jared slowly shifted to a sitting position, one hand propping him up against the mattress, the other cupping his cramping stomach. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the threat of rising bile.
“You need to go see the doctor.” Jared looked up, squinting at the sight of Timothy silhouetted in the bathroom doorway, confused by the concern those words implied. “You’d better not give that shit to me. Bad enough you let those rugrats give it to you.”
Jared rubbed his aching head and licked his dry lips. “I’ll make an appointment today.”
“Good,” Timothy came out of the bathroom, fingers nimbly knotting his tie with practiced ease. “I have meetings all day and then I’m going out tonight with Tony for drinks. If you’re still spewing like a geyser tonight, I expect you to sleep on the couch.”
“Yes, Timothy,” he answered by rote. Lifting up, he grimaced as the muscles across his ribs pulled, a small gasp leaving his lips before he could bite it off. Timothy gave him a withering look.
If I'm again beside your body, don't tell me where it's been
It's cruel, unusual punishment to kiss fingerprinted skin.
He managed to stand, swaying dangerously on his feet, as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He braced himself on the nightstand and blinked until his vision cleared. It really was time he saw Dr. Morgan.
It's my mistake
“And turn that emo shit off,” Timothy barked, leaving the room in a cologne-scented flourish. The fragrance hung heavy in air, the smell assaulting Jared’s senses and proving too much for his already agitated stomach. He dashed to the bathroom, hoping that the twins had learned by now to stay in their room until Timothy left.
*****
Jared went into the boys’ room, face freshly washed and teeth brushed after his last bout with his illness, to wake them. They were both still sound asleep, Teddy with the covers pulled high so only the top of head was visible, his bear lost to the floor during the night, and Benji the complete opposite with the covers kicked to the floor in a heap and Deputy Bear clutched tightly to his chest. Jared’s heart ached at the sight of his sons. It had been a rough two weeks for their family. Between Timothy’s sudden reappearance in their lives, losing Jensen and the stomach flu from hell, they’d taken a severe beating.
Jared would blame himself for Timothy being back in their lives until his dying day. He’d been frozen by shock the night he’d opened the door expecting Chris and finding Timothy on the front porch. For a few precious seconds, he’d convinced himself that he was still on the couch and dreaming. It wasn’t long, but enough for Timothy to shoulder his way into the house and get a bruising grip around Jared’s throat. The threats had come fast and furious - he’d hurt them, kill them if necessary; the twins, Jensen, Donna and Alan, Austin, Dakota, Chris and Steve. Jared protested at first, the fingers threatening his windpipe tightening at the disobedience, saying Timothy couldn’t just kill someone without facing consequences. This wasn’t Atlanta, Timothy didn’t have half the judicial system in his back pocket and his name and money meant little to the inhabitants of Wowakan. Timothy had smiled at Jared’s naivety and reminded him that bad things happened every day - gas leaks in houses that silently killed whole families, mistaken identity that had friends being shot as trespassers, farm accidents, muggings, hate crimes - the world was a dangerous place. If Jared tried to leave or tried to get help, it would be open season on anybody that Jared cared for, loved, and Timothy had already planned on how to make each one look like an accident. Jared struggled to breathe around the constriction, tears streaming down his face. He had to agree. What else could he do?
He’d sat in the living room, tears trailing down his face, when Chris and Steve had come back that night, wanting desperately to run to the door and beg them to take him and the boys away. The only thing keeping him seated was the .357 magnum Timothy had behind the door, trained on the unknowing men. He’d quietly taken his punishment that night for running, the first of many, comforted only by the fact that everybody else was safe.
He’d called Steve the next morning quitting without an explanation and nodded dutifully when Timothy explained that he was pulling the kids from Plains County Elementary. In a matter of twenty-four hours, Jared had lost everything he’d spent the last six months building. He’d willingly stepped back into his nightmare, dragging his innocent children along with him.
He’d never know how he got from one day to the next, one minute to the next. Timothy might as well have packed up Jared’s heart and soul along with Jensen’s other belongings, they certainly weren’t Jared’s anymore and they’d never been Timothy’s. Jensen’s absence was palpable. Jared could feel it in his heart, in the air, on his skin. He moved on auto-pilot, would’ve given up, if not for the thought that the twins needed him.
As hard as being separated from Jensen had been on Jared, it was worse on the boys. Sick and confused for the first few days, they’d cried for Jensen, whimpered for him. Jared’d held them, shushed them, telling them that Papa Jensen loved them, but had to stay away. He never said it, but he knew that they understood that Papa couldn’t come back because Father wouldn’t let him. That knowledge did nothing to squash the belief he could see in their eyes that Jensen would come riding in and save the day, save them. As the days passed without rescue, Jared saw the hero worship that both boys carried for the man wane and he couldn’t bear it. He sat them down and told them the truth. He explained that it was his fault Jensen was gone, that he’d forced their Papa away. He’d chosen to be with Timothy. Timothy was their father and they belonged with him. He hardened his heart to the cold looks that had never been directed at him before, preferring they hate him than lose faith in Jensen. He deserved it, Jensen didn’t. He locked himself in the laundry room after that conversation, allowing the sounds of the washing machine to drown out his crying.
He suffered three days of soul-crushing silence, suffocating under the quiet as his heart died a little more with every head nod or shake he received. His sons, always so affectionate, refused to touch him, refused to look at him. In trying to protect them, he lost his sons. He soldiered on - this was his penance for destroying their world and he bore his contrition without complaint. On the morning of the fourth day, he was on the floor in the kitchen, clasping his side. Timothy had been less than pleased at Jared’s request that they order pizza for dinner that night since he was still battling the flu and had showed it by hitting him with the cast iron skillet that had been on the stove. He was taking shallow, panting breaths, doing his best to work through the pain and not realizing that each exhale was a name, repeated over and over at twenty-eight times a minute, until small hands cupped his cheeks. He looked up into the Teddy’s teary green eyes, Benji’s hovering just over his brother’s left shoulder.
“We miss him too, Daddy,” Teddy whispered, leaning down to kiss Jared’s forehead like Jared was the child in this situation.
Benji moved around to kneel beside his brother and stroked a comforting hand down Jared’s cheek, the motion causing tears to fall unrestrained. “It’s not your fault. We’re sorry.” Benji looked so much older than his six years, the weight of a hard world pressing down on his small shoulders, as he graced Jared with absolution.
Heedless of his sore ribs, he pulled his sons to him and the three of them cried, in mourning for the loved one they’d lost. The twins hadn’t mentioned Jensen again, but Jared had caught them staring out the breakfast room window, wistfully looking in the direction their heart now lived.
Jared had noticed that the twins’ attitude toward their Father had drastically changed during those months of separation. They no longer cowered from Timothy, challenging him in ways they’d never dared before. Living with Jensen, being loved by him, had nurtured a self-confidence in both boys that Timothy had spent the first six years of their life trying to suppress and that new independent nature bristled under Timothy’s domineering rule. They stopped short of outright contempt, but their hatred was easily discernible. Neither child knew what Jared had endured over their perceived insubordination and, as far as he was concerned, they never would.
Shaking his head, Jared moved into the boys’ room, saddened at the previously chaotic area’s pristine appearance. Timothy was intolerant of any type of mess and the boys now spent so much time ensuring their room was spotless so Father would be happy that they barely had time to play. He gently ruffled small heads, smiling at the grumpy responses he got to the rousing. He opened the blinds, allowing in the inviting sunshine, and noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out of the top drawer of their shared nightstand. Tugging it free, it was a picture he’d taken of the boys and Jensen on New Year’s Eve. Jensen was in the middle of the couch, a twin on each side, all three asleep, cuddled close like puppies as the ball dropped on the TV in the background. Jared traced his finger over Jensen’s face and smiled. Timothy had predictably purged the house of all reminders of Jensen, but had taken special exception to the pictures. Kodak moments had been sacrificed to a hastily built fire, dancing flames turning happy memories to ash. Somehow his resourceful sons had saved this one from the pyre. The twins watched him carefully with sleepy eyes as he slid the picture back into the drawer and shut it. He leaned over and kissed both of their heads.
“Our little secret,” he whispered.
*****
Jared walked into the kitchen, checking the clock over the sink as he passed by and frowning at the atrocious frosted glass and chrome time piece. He sighed. Not only had Timothy removed all traces that Jensen had ever lived here, he seemed bent on erasing Jared as well. The house had undergone a complete renovation, the rustic, country style Jared adored razed and replaced with a sleek, modern touch that Timothy preferred. Jared hated it. He’d expected to be bustled back to Atlanta, sure that Timothy would want as many states as possible between Jared and Jensen, but instead was surprised when Timothy declared they’d be staying in Wowakan. It was only when the new mailbox, Olyphant on the side in bold letters, was placed at the side of the road - a road that Jensen traveled every day on his way home - that Jared realized Timothy’s true reason for staying in Colorado. He wanted to taunt Jensen with the knowledge that Timothy had won. Each time Jensen left his house, he would have a reminder in three inch block letters that Timothy had taken Jared from him.
He had about an hour before his doctor’s appointment and his stomach had finally settled down enough that he felt hungry. He opened the refrigerator and twisted his mouth in thought as he surveyed the contents. He turned his nose up at the chicken and brown rice left over from last night’s dinner and the roasted red pepper hummus. He sniffed a container of cut up pineapple, jerking his head back at the unappealing smell of the ripe fruit and closing it quickly. He shifted a few things around, grabbing a couple of the more appetizing options and setting them on the counter.
He leaned over the sink, biting into a dill pickle spear, and watched the twins playing in the backyard. He groaned at the vinegary taste as it burst across his taste buds, the juice running over his fingers to drip into the basin. He closed his eyes, rolling the flavor around in his mouth. It had been so long since he’d really wanted anything to eat and right now that pickle was the best tasting thing he’d ever had, the bitter tang scratching an itch he didn’t even know existed. His free hand dug into a package of sliced pepperoni that he’d snuck into the house past Timothy’s watchful, weight-managing gaze. He popped a few pieces in his mouth, sucking the spicy flavor from the thin disks before chewing the meat and swallowing. He alternated between one and the other, savoring each bite, until he felt satisfied. Sealing the package of pepperoni and tightening the lid on the pickles, he returned them to the refrigerator, gaze lighting on a jar of garlic marinated mushrooms on the top shelf. He couldn’t resist, mouth salivating in anticipation. Using a fork to stab a few of the small buttons, he nodded his head in pleasure at the intense flavor. Finishing half the jar, he replaced the mushrooms and put his fork in the dishwasher.
He wiped his hand on a paper towel and picked up the mail, leafing through the bills and credit card offers, hand pausing on an envelope near the back. He dropped the other post, now so insignificant, and held the envelope, staring at the insignia on the return address. He’d sent this off weeks ago, right after Christmas, and with everything lately he’d completely forgotten about it.
He flipped the envelope over and slid his finger beneath the sealed flap. With a few quick jerks, he held the letter in his hand, still neatly closed in a precise tri-fold, fighting a sudden attack of nervousness. He took a deep, cleansing breath and glanced out the window to double check the boys were still deep in their imaginary play. With trembling hands and averted eyes, he unfolded the papers - three in all, stapled together in the upper left corner - and quickly forced himself to look down at the top sheet. He read the first paragraph, his knees buckling at the words, and, not quite believing, he read it again. He staggered to the breakfast table, sitting down in one of the chairs to keep from falling to the floor. He flipped through the pages, studying every detail to make sure he understood completely. He letter fell to the table and he stared at the wall opposite him, stunned.
His stomach churned and his hand flew to his midsection. He groaned, regretting the odd combination of things he’d eaten. There was a particularly violent gurgle and his hand flew up to cover his mouth.
Oh, God. Not again!
Part B