FIC: Early Dismissal
Title: Early Dismissal
Author: calis_1st
Rating: R
Genre: h/c
Characters: Neal, Peter, other male characters
Spoilers: A little bit for Judgement Day, Parting Shots
Warnings: risk of child sexual assault.
Word Count: 3100
Summary: A current case brings to Neal nightmarish memories of being Danny Brooks.
Disclaimer: Neal and Peter do not belong to me, I'm just dragging the poor guys through the mud.
NOTE: this is for the "disappearing" square on my h/c bingo card
It was the smell that nearly knocked him over. Heavy, sickening, sweet. A burning taste that made him gag and choke; he felt lightheaded and almost drunk. How could Peter not smell the ether permeating the air? Peter didn’t notice any particular odor, but he certainly noticed Neal.
“Hey,” he said, “something wrong? You look like you’re about ready to keel over.”
“Peter, how can it not bother you?”
“What not bother me?”
Neal’s knees started to buckle. “Ether? You don't smell that?” he slurred.
Peter knew from every chemistry class he ever had to not deliberately inhale organic vapors, even as he instinctively inhaled deeply. Maybe there might be a faint trace of something buried under a mixture of other chemicals, but not anywhere near enough to cause a reaction. Neal staggered to the wall and stared, glassy eyed, at nothing.
Peter put one hand lightly on Neal's back, grasped his forearm with the other and led him back outside. “That’s it for you, buddy” he said. “Jones, I’m calling this one for today.”
Once outside Neal took a couple of deep breaths and was able to stand steadily by himself. He looked at Peter with a puzzled look. “You didn’t - "
“No, I really can’t say that I did,” Peter replied. “What happened in there?”
Neal looked away, blinking a couple of times, eyes flitting from side to side.
“I honestly don’t know, Peter. I just - that smell. I don’t - I’m sorry, Peter, I don’t know what happened. I really screwed this up, didn’t I?”
Peter just shrugged. “There’s always a next time,” he said. He looked at his watch. “What do you say we call it a day?”
A few weeks later Neal's life changed drastically when Kramer made his move, and by the time this case reappeared his life was again ripped apart with Ellen's murder, and the whole episode was forgotten. Finally, when Neal almost found a new normal - almost - this case emerged for a third time.
It had started as mortgage fraud but was found to be clandestine drug labs set up in residential real estate properties, which were then marketed to unsuspecting buyers. These properties were being sold to people who were buying without legal representation and had not yet qualified for a mortgage, and they ended up being forced to walk away from their down payments when the properties were found to be grossly contaminated and uninhabitable. Peter and Neal, posing as potential buyers of such a property, had an appointment with the “realtor” later this afternoon, and were scoping out the area before setting up surveillance. As they walked around the back of the “cute starter home, needs some tlc” on a quiet street on Staten Island even Peter could smell ether coming through a broken window around the back.
“I think we have a winner,” he said, turning toward Neal, expecting the grin he usually had when they were about to break a case. Instead Neal’s face was white, and Peter watched as his eyes rolled back and he dropped to his knees.
“Neal!” Peter shouted, grabbing the younger man under his arms just before he would have fallen sideways to the ground. He dragged Neal away from the house, away from the odor, and called Jones for help with his semiconscious partner.
Laying on his back, hands fisting the weed-choked grass at his sides, Neal was breathing heavily, eyes closed, head rolling from side to side. He quietly moaned “no, no,” or maybe it was, “oh, oh,” Peter couldn’t tell, Neal spoke so softly. “Please don’t.” That was painfully clear. He gagged, and Peter managed to quickly roll him to his side just before he vomited.
That afternoon Diana and Jones signed the real estate papers and wrote the ten percent “good faith” check. Then they arrested the “realtor” who wasn’t a realtor at all, but who quickly rolled on her boss and several others involved in the scam. While Jones, Diana, Blake and other members of the White Collar team were finding out just how far-reaching this was, Peter was unhappily sitting with Neal on his balcony; unhappily because he was certain Neal should have at least been seen by a physician, even if he didn’t want to go through the emergency room. Neal looked slightly better than at the house but only inasmuch as he was conscious and not throwing up. Neal silently sipped a glass of water, his hands shaking slightly. Peter mostly stared at his coffee, now cold.
“Neal, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, Peter, just a normal reaction to ether. Well, maybe not entirely normal, but I guess I’m just sensitive to it,” he finally answered.
"No, this wasn't anywhere close to normal. You begged someone to stop. You called for Aunt Ellen. You - "
"Peter, stop. Stop." Neal's water glass shattered as it hit the balcony. He stood and staggered toward the french doors, breathing raggedly and rapidly. It took nearly all his strength to stand upright, leaning against the glass. Peter was at his side immediately.
"Talk to me, please," Peter said softy as he guided Neal inside to the table. Neal sat on one of the straight backed chairs with his arms folded on the table and his head face-down on his arms.
"Neal, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but this isn't normal. I know it's only been a few weeks since Ellen's death, and I know somehow this has to do with her, but this isn't just a reaction to an old-school anesthetic. It's obviously a lot more than that. Neal, you've got to see someone about this or I can't let you work in the field." He put his hand on the back of Neal's head as Neal got his breathing under control.
###
School let out early that day. Not surprisingly, Danny Brooks's mother was nowhere to be found. What was unusual was that his Aunt Ellen was unreachable, too. The street collapse and water main break right near the school left them with more than 300 kindergarten to fifth grade children with no water, no means of preparing lunch, and no way to flush toilets. So the early dismissal emergency telephone notification was completed and an hour later only three children were left in the office - the Masterman twins, whose emergency room physician parents just called apologetically, and Danny. The principal unhappily understood that he would have to call Child Welfare - again - if he couldn't reach Mrs. Brooks or Ms. Parker soon. Danny squirmed in his chair, feet not yet reaching the floor. He might have only been seven, but he knew his mother was unreliable when it came to things like time, and responsibility for her child. So, while the principal was in his office Danny called out, "Mom! She's here, Mr. Tyler, goodbye" and ran out the door before the principal had a chance to get up from his desk. Tyler rushed to the hallway, but Danny was gone. He hurried to the main entrance but Danny wasn't visible on the school grounds, either. Just then the Mastermans' aunt arrived, he signed them out, and began ushering out the remaining staff. It wasn't until he returned to his office three quarters of an hour later that he found out Danny's mother had been nowhere near the school that day. That was because Danny's Aunt Ellen was pacing outside his office.
"I'm here for Da-"
"Danny's mother came for - no? "
Ellen and Tyler stared at each other for a few seconds, then she strode to his phone.
" 'Nine' for an outside line?" she asked as she punched out a phone number. "Ellen Parker. Danny Brooks is missing from his school," she said to whoever answered the call.
"You," she said to Principal Tyler, "you will tell me how this happened."
"Shouldn't we wait for the police?"
"Every minute you drag your feet is a minute longer that boy is in danger."
###
Neal was quiet for so long that Peter was certain he had fallen asleep. He got up from the table and sighed as he looked down at his friend. He hated, absolutely hated to threaten Neal this way. He wanted him to get through this - whatever this was, but if Neal refused to get help, Peter wasn't sure if he could let him do any work outside of the office. He thought about options, and Neal's agreement with the Bureau, and they couldn't send him to prison if he was unable to work in the field, right? He could do deskwork, he could be brilliant, he could still solve cases. But mostly, Peter just wanted his friend to be alright.
He turned to walk toward the door.
"Peter, please stay," Neal said quietly. He was sitting upright. Peter saw his eyes were red rimmed and his eyelashes were wet. Neal opened his mouth as if to speak, blew out a breath, glanced around the room, then looked at Peter.
"I don't even know where to start. I had forgotten about it." He indicated that Peter should sit while he himself walked over to his wine rack. He pulled out a bottle, but put it back and got another glass of water instead. "Can I get you anything?" he asked Peter.
"Neal," he said in a voice that clearly said, don't stall. It also said, I'm listening, I'm your friend.
Neal sat beside Peter and looked at his glass.
"I was in first grade. It was toward the end of the year, maybe May. My school closed early. Everybody got picked up except for two older girls and me. I remember Principal - Tyler, I think - he came out of his office and told the girls that their aunt was on her way. Then he told me he was still trying to find my mother and aunt. It was easier for everyone if they believed Ellen was a relative." He stopped.
"Go on," Peter said gently.
Neal sighed. "I knew the look he gave me. It was, 'sorry, kid, your mother's MIA again,' and I just didn't want to get her in trouble." Neal wasn't looking at Peter so he didn't see that the older man narrowed his eyes when he considered how a just-turned-seven year old took responsibility for getting his mother in trouble.
"So, as soon as he went back into his office I pretended my mother was at the door and I took off."
###
Danny could run fast and hide well. His Aunt Ellen always told him those were skills he should cultivate. On this day he ran outside and hid behind the tall shrubbery that grew right next to the building, making his way to the opposite corner of the school. It was easy to run across the street, since the street was only open to the school’s driveway. By hiding behind a parked van Danny could watch for his Aunt Ellen's car.
###
“Ellen always told me that running fast, hiding well and observing carefully were three skills that I should cultivate.” Neal smiled at the memory. “I had only the slightest understanding of what ’cultivate’ meant, but I did them all well.”
“Too well, sometimes,” Peter said.
The smile left Neal’s face. “There was a man, in a blue uniform, he saw me hiding behind a van, and he asked me if I was lost. I thought he was a cop, just like my dad. He seemed kind.”
Peter frowned, fearing where this was going.
“I asked him if he knew my dad, because my dad was a cop, too. He said he did, said he would take me to him.”
Neal felt his heart race as his breathing sped up. Peter had interviewed more than enough crime victims with post traumatic stress disorder to recognize that Neal was reliving it all again as his seven year old self.
“Neal, do you need to stop for a bit? You don’t have to do this all now. Take a break, we can come back to this later.” Dear God, Peter wondered, what have I done?
Neal turned to Peter. “No, Peter, I can’t stop now. Just - I need five minutes.”
He went into the bathroom; Peter could hear water running in the sink. When Neal came out a few minutes later his hair was wet and combed, his face was dry, and he at least appeared to be more composed. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” he said, taking a bottle of scotch from the shelf. “Join me?”
Peter nodded, pretty sure he, too, would need one for the rest of Neal’s story.
###
A cop’s kid. That changed everything. He’d had a plan, he should have stuck with it, but the street closing and early dismissal gave him an unexpected opportunity. He didn’t have to wait for one kid to break off from a pack, this one was already alone. And, oh, sweet lord, was he beautiful. But he’s a cop’s kid, how’s that for karma? So the kid should be extra trusting with his story, right? So why does he look like he’s about to scream? He told him he’d take him to his dad, what the hell just happened? Shit. No time to get him away before making him docile. He yanked the side door of the van open with one hand, his other arm around the kid's chest and face while he rolled into the van on top of the kid, and then kicked the door closed. He poured ether onto a hand towel and covered the kid’s mouth with it. The kid was kicking so hard he had to sit on his legs and pin them between his knees. The kid kept squirming, he couldn't believe the brat was still conscious. Finally, finally, the kid was flagging. He was able to get off him but the kid managed to get one sneaker-clad foot slamming into his groin. “Motherfuckinbrat!” he yelled and poured more ether right onto the thin towel. Some of it probably went into the kid’s mouth and down his face - serves him right. He climbed up to the driver's seat, catching his breath as he watched somebody’s mother pull into the school yard, driving just a bit faster than she should be, if there were still any kids around. He pulled onto the street and made a K-turn to avoid the construction vehicles ahead. He was going to enjoy this one.
Except the kid wasn’t breathing. He didn’t care if they were awake, but they damn well had to be alive. He drove the van to the back of a convenience store about a mile down the road and dumped the kid's body next to the outside trash bins.
###
"But my dad was dead, right? So how could he take me to him? I was seven years old. I didn't know why but I knew to be afraid of him."
Peter watched Neal's eyes move back and forth, tracking something only he could see. He took a sip of his drink. "He used ether. At first I could only smell it. I think I screamed, but I don't know. I wanted to get away. He held me down. I remember getting dizzy. I thought I would throw up. I couldn't make any part of my body move. I was afraid I was dying, but at least I'd see my dad. The guy moved and I just - I kicked him. And I was sure, right then and there, that he would kill me. Then there was more ether, in my nose, in my mouth, swallowing it. It was cold but it burned."
He finished his drink; Peter poured him another.
"Ellen taught me how to hold my breath and play dead. So I did." He and Peter finally made eye contact.
"Oh, Neal," Peter whispered.
###
The manager of the convenience store was fed up with people dumping their trash near his bins, since they usually threw stuff on the ground, and he paid for trash pickup by weight. He got a partial license plate and a general description of the van, then went out back to see what the hell couldn't get disposed of properly. His anger changed to panic when he saw the brown haired child with a rag stuffed in his mouth. "Please don't be dead, kid, please" he said, pulling out the rag and checking for a pulse. It was faint, but there. He ran to his store and yelled inside, "call the cops, call an ambulance."
###
"I woke up in the hospital a little while later. Ellen was there, my mother, a couple of St. Louis cops - real ones. The cops wanted to talk to me, but it was Ellen that handled everything. It took a while, I think, I couldn't keep anything down, I puked for days. My head hurt for a week. Every time I thought about that smell it all came back. The dizziness, the nausea, the headache. Until I stopped thinking about it." He shrugged. "So now you know."
"So, he didn't - molest you?"
"No. No."
"Do you know whatever happened - did they catch him? "
"I don't know anything else. I'm not sure that I ever did."
They sat quietly sipping their drinks.
"Would you like me to find out?"
Neal shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore. But you're going to anyway, right?"
###
Peter didn't know what surprised him more - that Neal actually took his advice to see someone about his PTSD (even if Neal said it was just to find out if he could cope with the smell of ether) or that he asked him what he'd learned about the man who had done this.
"As expected, there was no record of Danny Brooks's abduction in the St. Louis police files. But I did find an arrest in Joplin later that summer of a man with a similar MO. He didn't make it to trial. Pedophiles are not very well thought of in any kind of jail."
"So I've heard."
"I - I have his photograph, if you want to see if it's him."
Neal's eyes narrowed, then held his hand out. Peter opened an unmarked folder and picked up the picture on top. Neal scrutinized the photograph with the same intensity as when he examined potentially forged documents and paintings. After a full two minutes he tossed the photo back to Peter and nodded.
"You okay?"
"Don't we have some mortgage fraud files around here someplace?"
Peter didn't call Neal out on his non-answer.
Thank you for reading.
Author: calis_1st
Rating: R
Genre: h/c
Characters: Neal, Peter, other male characters
Spoilers: A little bit for Judgement Day, Parting Shots
Warnings: risk of child sexual assault.
Word Count: 3100
Summary: A current case brings to Neal nightmarish memories of being Danny Brooks.
Disclaimer: Neal and Peter do not belong to me, I'm just dragging the poor guys through the mud.
NOTE: this is for the "disappearing" square on my h/c bingo card
It was the smell that nearly knocked him over. Heavy, sickening, sweet. A burning taste that made him gag and choke; he felt lightheaded and almost drunk. How could Peter not smell the ether permeating the air? Peter didn’t notice any particular odor, but he certainly noticed Neal.
“Hey,” he said, “something wrong? You look like you’re about ready to keel over.”
“Peter, how can it not bother you?”
“What not bother me?”
Neal’s knees started to buckle. “Ether? You don't smell that?” he slurred.
Peter knew from every chemistry class he ever had to not deliberately inhale organic vapors, even as he instinctively inhaled deeply. Maybe there might be a faint trace of something buried under a mixture of other chemicals, but not anywhere near enough to cause a reaction. Neal staggered to the wall and stared, glassy eyed, at nothing.
Peter put one hand lightly on Neal's back, grasped his forearm with the other and led him back outside. “That’s it for you, buddy” he said. “Jones, I’m calling this one for today.”
Once outside Neal took a couple of deep breaths and was able to stand steadily by himself. He looked at Peter with a puzzled look. “You didn’t - "
“No, I really can’t say that I did,” Peter replied. “What happened in there?”
Neal looked away, blinking a couple of times, eyes flitting from side to side.
“I honestly don’t know, Peter. I just - that smell. I don’t - I’m sorry, Peter, I don’t know what happened. I really screwed this up, didn’t I?”
Peter just shrugged. “There’s always a next time,” he said. He looked at his watch. “What do you say we call it a day?”
A few weeks later Neal's life changed drastically when Kramer made his move, and by the time this case reappeared his life was again ripped apart with Ellen's murder, and the whole episode was forgotten. Finally, when Neal almost found a new normal - almost - this case emerged for a third time.
It had started as mortgage fraud but was found to be clandestine drug labs set up in residential real estate properties, which were then marketed to unsuspecting buyers. These properties were being sold to people who were buying without legal representation and had not yet qualified for a mortgage, and they ended up being forced to walk away from their down payments when the properties were found to be grossly contaminated and uninhabitable. Peter and Neal, posing as potential buyers of such a property, had an appointment with the “realtor” later this afternoon, and were scoping out the area before setting up surveillance. As they walked around the back of the “cute starter home, needs some tlc” on a quiet street on Staten Island even Peter could smell ether coming through a broken window around the back.
“I think we have a winner,” he said, turning toward Neal, expecting the grin he usually had when they were about to break a case. Instead Neal’s face was white, and Peter watched as his eyes rolled back and he dropped to his knees.
“Neal!” Peter shouted, grabbing the younger man under his arms just before he would have fallen sideways to the ground. He dragged Neal away from the house, away from the odor, and called Jones for help with his semiconscious partner.
Laying on his back, hands fisting the weed-choked grass at his sides, Neal was breathing heavily, eyes closed, head rolling from side to side. He quietly moaned “no, no,” or maybe it was, “oh, oh,” Peter couldn’t tell, Neal spoke so softly. “Please don’t.” That was painfully clear. He gagged, and Peter managed to quickly roll him to his side just before he vomited.
That afternoon Diana and Jones signed the real estate papers and wrote the ten percent “good faith” check. Then they arrested the “realtor” who wasn’t a realtor at all, but who quickly rolled on her boss and several others involved in the scam. While Jones, Diana, Blake and other members of the White Collar team were finding out just how far-reaching this was, Peter was unhappily sitting with Neal on his balcony; unhappily because he was certain Neal should have at least been seen by a physician, even if he didn’t want to go through the emergency room. Neal looked slightly better than at the house but only inasmuch as he was conscious and not throwing up. Neal silently sipped a glass of water, his hands shaking slightly. Peter mostly stared at his coffee, now cold.
“Neal, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, Peter, just a normal reaction to ether. Well, maybe not entirely normal, but I guess I’m just sensitive to it,” he finally answered.
"No, this wasn't anywhere close to normal. You begged someone to stop. You called for Aunt Ellen. You - "
"Peter, stop. Stop." Neal's water glass shattered as it hit the balcony. He stood and staggered toward the french doors, breathing raggedly and rapidly. It took nearly all his strength to stand upright, leaning against the glass. Peter was at his side immediately.
"Talk to me, please," Peter said softy as he guided Neal inside to the table. Neal sat on one of the straight backed chairs with his arms folded on the table and his head face-down on his arms.
"Neal, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but this isn't normal. I know it's only been a few weeks since Ellen's death, and I know somehow this has to do with her, but this isn't just a reaction to an old-school anesthetic. It's obviously a lot more than that. Neal, you've got to see someone about this or I can't let you work in the field." He put his hand on the back of Neal's head as Neal got his breathing under control.
###
School let out early that day. Not surprisingly, Danny Brooks's mother was nowhere to be found. What was unusual was that his Aunt Ellen was unreachable, too. The street collapse and water main break right near the school left them with more than 300 kindergarten to fifth grade children with no water, no means of preparing lunch, and no way to flush toilets. So the early dismissal emergency telephone notification was completed and an hour later only three children were left in the office - the Masterman twins, whose emergency room physician parents just called apologetically, and Danny. The principal unhappily understood that he would have to call Child Welfare - again - if he couldn't reach Mrs. Brooks or Ms. Parker soon. Danny squirmed in his chair, feet not yet reaching the floor. He might have only been seven, but he knew his mother was unreliable when it came to things like time, and responsibility for her child. So, while the principal was in his office Danny called out, "Mom! She's here, Mr. Tyler, goodbye" and ran out the door before the principal had a chance to get up from his desk. Tyler rushed to the hallway, but Danny was gone. He hurried to the main entrance but Danny wasn't visible on the school grounds, either. Just then the Mastermans' aunt arrived, he signed them out, and began ushering out the remaining staff. It wasn't until he returned to his office three quarters of an hour later that he found out Danny's mother had been nowhere near the school that day. That was because Danny's Aunt Ellen was pacing outside his office.
"I'm here for Da-"
"Danny's mother came for - no? "
Ellen and Tyler stared at each other for a few seconds, then she strode to his phone.
" 'Nine' for an outside line?" she asked as she punched out a phone number. "Ellen Parker. Danny Brooks is missing from his school," she said to whoever answered the call.
"You," she said to Principal Tyler, "you will tell me how this happened."
"Shouldn't we wait for the police?"
"Every minute you drag your feet is a minute longer that boy is in danger."
###
Neal was quiet for so long that Peter was certain he had fallen asleep. He got up from the table and sighed as he looked down at his friend. He hated, absolutely hated to threaten Neal this way. He wanted him to get through this - whatever this was, but if Neal refused to get help, Peter wasn't sure if he could let him do any work outside of the office. He thought about options, and Neal's agreement with the Bureau, and they couldn't send him to prison if he was unable to work in the field, right? He could do deskwork, he could be brilliant, he could still solve cases. But mostly, Peter just wanted his friend to be alright.
He turned to walk toward the door.
"Peter, please stay," Neal said quietly. He was sitting upright. Peter saw his eyes were red rimmed and his eyelashes were wet. Neal opened his mouth as if to speak, blew out a breath, glanced around the room, then looked at Peter.
"I don't even know where to start. I had forgotten about it." He indicated that Peter should sit while he himself walked over to his wine rack. He pulled out a bottle, but put it back and got another glass of water instead. "Can I get you anything?" he asked Peter.
"Neal," he said in a voice that clearly said, don't stall. It also said, I'm listening, I'm your friend.
Neal sat beside Peter and looked at his glass.
"I was in first grade. It was toward the end of the year, maybe May. My school closed early. Everybody got picked up except for two older girls and me. I remember Principal - Tyler, I think - he came out of his office and told the girls that their aunt was on her way. Then he told me he was still trying to find my mother and aunt. It was easier for everyone if they believed Ellen was a relative." He stopped.
"Go on," Peter said gently.
Neal sighed. "I knew the look he gave me. It was, 'sorry, kid, your mother's MIA again,' and I just didn't want to get her in trouble." Neal wasn't looking at Peter so he didn't see that the older man narrowed his eyes when he considered how a just-turned-seven year old took responsibility for getting his mother in trouble.
"So, as soon as he went back into his office I pretended my mother was at the door and I took off."
###
Danny could run fast and hide well. His Aunt Ellen always told him those were skills he should cultivate. On this day he ran outside and hid behind the tall shrubbery that grew right next to the building, making his way to the opposite corner of the school. It was easy to run across the street, since the street was only open to the school’s driveway. By hiding behind a parked van Danny could watch for his Aunt Ellen's car.
###
“Ellen always told me that running fast, hiding well and observing carefully were three skills that I should cultivate.” Neal smiled at the memory. “I had only the slightest understanding of what ’cultivate’ meant, but I did them all well.”
“Too well, sometimes,” Peter said.
The smile left Neal’s face. “There was a man, in a blue uniform, he saw me hiding behind a van, and he asked me if I was lost. I thought he was a cop, just like my dad. He seemed kind.”
Peter frowned, fearing where this was going.
“I asked him if he knew my dad, because my dad was a cop, too. He said he did, said he would take me to him.”
Neal felt his heart race as his breathing sped up. Peter had interviewed more than enough crime victims with post traumatic stress disorder to recognize that Neal was reliving it all again as his seven year old self.
“Neal, do you need to stop for a bit? You don’t have to do this all now. Take a break, we can come back to this later.” Dear God, Peter wondered, what have I done?
Neal turned to Peter. “No, Peter, I can’t stop now. Just - I need five minutes.”
He went into the bathroom; Peter could hear water running in the sink. When Neal came out a few minutes later his hair was wet and combed, his face was dry, and he at least appeared to be more composed. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” he said, taking a bottle of scotch from the shelf. “Join me?”
Peter nodded, pretty sure he, too, would need one for the rest of Neal’s story.
###
A cop’s kid. That changed everything. He’d had a plan, he should have stuck with it, but the street closing and early dismissal gave him an unexpected opportunity. He didn’t have to wait for one kid to break off from a pack, this one was already alone. And, oh, sweet lord, was he beautiful. But he’s a cop’s kid, how’s that for karma? So the kid should be extra trusting with his story, right? So why does he look like he’s about to scream? He told him he’d take him to his dad, what the hell just happened? Shit. No time to get him away before making him docile. He yanked the side door of the van open with one hand, his other arm around the kid's chest and face while he rolled into the van on top of the kid, and then kicked the door closed. He poured ether onto a hand towel and covered the kid’s mouth with it. The kid was kicking so hard he had to sit on his legs and pin them between his knees. The kid kept squirming, he couldn't believe the brat was still conscious. Finally, finally, the kid was flagging. He was able to get off him but the kid managed to get one sneaker-clad foot slamming into his groin. “Motherfuckinbrat!” he yelled and poured more ether right onto the thin towel. Some of it probably went into the kid’s mouth and down his face - serves him right. He climbed up to the driver's seat, catching his breath as he watched somebody’s mother pull into the school yard, driving just a bit faster than she should be, if there were still any kids around. He pulled onto the street and made a K-turn to avoid the construction vehicles ahead. He was going to enjoy this one.
Except the kid wasn’t breathing. He didn’t care if they were awake, but they damn well had to be alive. He drove the van to the back of a convenience store about a mile down the road and dumped the kid's body next to the outside trash bins.
###
"But my dad was dead, right? So how could he take me to him? I was seven years old. I didn't know why but I knew to be afraid of him."
Peter watched Neal's eyes move back and forth, tracking something only he could see. He took a sip of his drink. "He used ether. At first I could only smell it. I think I screamed, but I don't know. I wanted to get away. He held me down. I remember getting dizzy. I thought I would throw up. I couldn't make any part of my body move. I was afraid I was dying, but at least I'd see my dad. The guy moved and I just - I kicked him. And I was sure, right then and there, that he would kill me. Then there was more ether, in my nose, in my mouth, swallowing it. It was cold but it burned."
He finished his drink; Peter poured him another.
"Ellen taught me how to hold my breath and play dead. So I did." He and Peter finally made eye contact.
"Oh, Neal," Peter whispered.
###
The manager of the convenience store was fed up with people dumping their trash near his bins, since they usually threw stuff on the ground, and he paid for trash pickup by weight. He got a partial license plate and a general description of the van, then went out back to see what the hell couldn't get disposed of properly. His anger changed to panic when he saw the brown haired child with a rag stuffed in his mouth. "Please don't be dead, kid, please" he said, pulling out the rag and checking for a pulse. It was faint, but there. He ran to his store and yelled inside, "call the cops, call an ambulance."
###
"I woke up in the hospital a little while later. Ellen was there, my mother, a couple of St. Louis cops - real ones. The cops wanted to talk to me, but it was Ellen that handled everything. It took a while, I think, I couldn't keep anything down, I puked for days. My head hurt for a week. Every time I thought about that smell it all came back. The dizziness, the nausea, the headache. Until I stopped thinking about it." He shrugged. "So now you know."
"So, he didn't - molest you?"
"No. No."
"Do you know whatever happened - did they catch him? "
"I don't know anything else. I'm not sure that I ever did."
They sat quietly sipping their drinks.
"Would you like me to find out?"
Neal shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore. But you're going to anyway, right?"
###
Peter didn't know what surprised him more - that Neal actually took his advice to see someone about his PTSD (even if Neal said it was just to find out if he could cope with the smell of ether) or that he asked him what he'd learned about the man who had done this.
"As expected, there was no record of Danny Brooks's abduction in the St. Louis police files. But I did find an arrest in Joplin later that summer of a man with a similar MO. He didn't make it to trial. Pedophiles are not very well thought of in any kind of jail."
"So I've heard."
"I - I have his photograph, if you want to see if it's him."
Neal's eyes narrowed, then held his hand out. Peter opened an unmarked folder and picked up the picture on top. Neal scrutinized the photograph with the same intensity as when he examined potentially forged documents and paintings. After a full two minutes he tossed the photo back to Peter and nodded.
"You okay?"
"Don't we have some mortgage fraud files around here someplace?"
Peter didn't call Neal out on his non-answer.
Thank you for reading.