Baxter and Josh On the Run
Chapter 5
I reluctantly rejoined the world the next morning, well, maybe closer to afternoon, curled into a ball. Through crusted eyelids I saw a kaleidoscope of colors streaming by my shielding arms and felt myself begin to panic because I didn't see Matt. He's usually curled up into my ribs come morning or spooned into my belly. I heard nothing but the normal sounds of nature, muffled by the enclosed truck bed and the racing of my heart as fear began to take hold of me and my imagination ran with the most horrid of possibilities. Slowly, I uncovered my eyes and lifted my head from my pillow, relief flooding my soul as I now found him ... as my pillow. He was sitting Indian style, his head back against the side of the truck cap, and my head was in his lap. This brought a memory of last night back to me, and the heaviness in my heart seemed to set just a bit different. Looking up at this boy who held me all through the night brought a new feeling to my sorrow. I still longed for my boy, my beautiful Jerry, and I would never forget him nor would I ever fully heal. But I could love again and that felt good to me.
The interior of the truck was really starting to get stuffy. According to Micky Mouse’s goofy grinning face and splayed hands on the travel clock, it was 12:30. The sun was beating down and my bladder was in dire consequences. It was a relief to climb out and stretch, but not so near a relief as watering that first tree. Matt joined me before long, adding his own splash and looking up at me with a very worried look.
“Sorry kid, didn't mean to wig out on you like that.” Matt smiled and leaned his head against my arm. Sometimes words just aren't necessary.
I had just about finished what had to be the longest pee of my life when it all got cut short by a scream from a camp away. It was a series of screams, really. It was either a woman or a kid, couldn't tell, but the roar of a man was easily understood. I grabbed up Matt and ran back to the truck while holding my pants up with the other hand. I didn't know what the scream was, but I figured I only had one responsibility right now and that was the boy tucked under my arm with his tallywhacker flopping with each step of my stumbling run. He'd nearly lost his pants when I grabbed him, and didn't have a hand free to pull them up. Probably a sight to see, but not right then. I'd no more than got him to the cab of the truck and grabbed his mother's gun, when out came a boy of 14 or so, running out of the next camp without a stitch. Hot on his heels was a scrawny man who looked pissed. I set Matt down and started throwing stuff into the truck to make a run. I didn't know what was going on and I wasn't interested in finding out either. By then the kid had disappeared into the woods and the man was running right after him. They didn't seem to be concerned about me, and I was minding my own business and 'getting the hell out of Dodge', as the saying goes. So, “was” seems to have been the operative part there. (Sigh)
“Help him.” I looked down to see Matt crouched at the back of the truck, struggling to get his pants untangled and looking very scared.
“Matt, get into the truck, now!”
“No. Help him.”
“Matt, we can't be seen or remembered. If I help him, I might lose you.”
“Help him. Please.” No sooner did he say that, than the kid came running right at me. Damn, too late now. I'd no more than got Matt tucked behind me and the kid was at my feet. He didn't say anything, he just scooted behind me, too. The man came out just about 30-yards back. He had a bit of blood on his forehead and a very unpleasant expression on the rest of his face. I raised my hand out at him and told him to stop. Pissed, deaf, drunk, who knows, he wasn't listening. I brought the other hand out then, the one holding the gun. Well, he wasn't blind I guess, because he slid to a stop, turned, and ran right back into the woods.
“Dad, look,” Matt's shaky voice pulled me back to look at the boys. Our little screaming streaker was shaking like a leaf. Matt was all but laying on the kid trying to give of himself as much as possible, and the kid was holding on to Matt like he was a life raft in the stormy ocean. I turned back to watch for that man just in time to see him charging at me again. He skidded to a halt roughly 5 feet from me and a millisecond before I'd have had to pull the trigger, eliciting another scream from our newest nudist residing under my truck.
“Mister,” I said to him, struggling to get my heart down to some decent rate, “I don't know what this is all about. I don't really care, either. But you just interrupted my first piss of the day, so I would suggest you explain yourself before I realize just how pissed I get when I can't piss in peace.”
“Thish ain't your bushnessh,” the man slurred to me. “Get outa my way.” Well, he was somewhat correct, this wasn't my business. But I couldn't walk away now and look at myself in the mirror again.
“No Mister, it isn't. But that kid is now hiding under my truck, and my son is now wrapped around him and would fight you tooth and nail if you tried to get to him. So, you both sort of made this my business,” I said to him with a sigh. “Look, turn around, get on your knees. Please don't make me explain another dead body to the police. They aren't nearly as forgiving after the first one. He paled a bit at that, perhaps realizing that my only concern here was how to explain a dead body. That was the least of my concerns, but he didn't know that. The aggressiveness went out of his eyes, giving a bit of a homely defeated look to what was otherwise a very unattractive face, and then actually followed my directions.
“Buddy, bring me the rope from the truck,” I said to Matt over my back, never taking my eyes off this odd man. “We'll tie him up so we can get out of here and...” Matt went flying past me with the baseball bat in his hands and put an awkwardly swung line drive right through the ugly man's head. The good news, it just knocked him out. The bad news, it sent Matt into a bit of a screaming melt down of his own as he stood over the man’s laid out not-quite-a-corpse and screeched a litany of barely comprehensible cursing and kicks. The bat seemed to hang forgotten in his hand as Matt held up his pants with the other hand and punctuated his screaming with kicks from each bare foot.
I tucked the gun into my waist band and carefully pulled Matt away from this odd man and into my arms so I could hold him and watch the man on the ground. I backed up to the tailgate, still holding Matt, and got comfortable. I figured he might be working through his own trauma of seeing his mother hurt and held him, whispering calming sounds as his screams wound down to angry tears and glares that would kill were they able. I could feel his little heart pounding in his chest, his breath rumble in and out as he turned into my neck and finally hid his face from that lump of meat in the dust. I'd been holding Matt for a few minutes as he worked through his own bit of insanity and quite forgot the nudist under the truck until he hugged onto my legs. I'll admit it. I scream like a girl.
Matt, of course, saw me jump and scream, so looked under the truck to see this little naked boy clutching my feet, then looked back up at me questioningly and started to laugh. “Hey, shut up. He scared me, ok.” I laughed back with Matt, my stress shaking out through me, then giving him the obligatory tickle to the ribs.
“Yeah, Dad. That's what you have to be scared about in all of this today.” Damn kids.
“Matt, why in the hell did you hit him like that? What if he'd grabbed you? I told you to bring me the rope, not go all Hank Aaron on the guy.” I had him by the arms, shake him a bit with each sentence. That kid has no idea of the crap he puts me through. I pulled him into a hug before I completely lost it and shook him to pieces.
“Daaad …,” Matt whined into my ear. “Look at his butt.” I made an assumption that the butt in question was not the Louisville Sluggee and looked down at the sad eyed boy still cowering under the truck.
“Come here, kid.” He just shook his head and scooted back a bit. “Look, I know you're scared, it's ok. Just, come here,” I called to him in my most reassuring voice that had exactly zero effect. I couldn't blame him. Matt finally went under the truck and brought him out to me, fresh tears in his eyes.
“Dad, look …” and Matt turned this broken boy, who was easily twice his size but seemed very small at the moment, to show me his bottom. The boy was bleeding. Matt held the kid by his shoulders and spoke gently into his ear, but that still left him shaking like a leaf in a Wisconsin nor'easter.
“Oh, God.” Bad memories of my first year in prison resurfaced. “Matty, get the first aid kit.” While Matt ran to the front of the truck, I pulled the naked boy back around and went down to one knee so I was looking up into his eyes – the only way I could have seen them. “I'm going to try to help you, but you are going to feel a lot of pain. I'm sorry, there's no way I know of to do this that won't hurt. First, though, my name is Frank. That little guy trying out for the major leagues is my son, Matt (that got a bit of a smile). Can you tell me your name, or at least what I can call you, or should I just call you Aloysius Infractitus?”
“Geez, Dad. Give up on the Aloysius Infractitus Brown thing. It wasn't that funny the first time.”
“That's my boy, right there to voice the encouraging word for his Dad,” I stage whispered to the boy before me. “I thought you liked being called 'Al', Matt. Here you let me down.” I called over my shoulder. “Well, back to 'Francis' it is.” You know, that got me kicked.
“Ow! That hurt, you big meanie!”
“Hey, I warned you, Dad,” Matt giggled back at me. Well, I guess he did, I just didn't think he'd do it. But, the interplay had the new boy giggling a bit at the silliness, and that was our goal in the first place.
“So, can't call you 'Infractitus', and something tells me 'Francis' might get me kicked again, so what can I call you?”
The young man in front of me was beginning to straighten his back a bit, looking less the hunted and fleeing and beginning to show a touch of life again, but was staring behind me rather than at me. I brought his attention back to me, and the shakes returned a bit, but he managed to whisper “My name is Joseph Allen Masterson, but everyone calls me Jam,” he whispered.
“Glad to meet you, Jam,” Matt voiced from behind me.
“Jam, who is that man?” I asked him. The kid paled a bit and looked away from me to the left and down.
“He's my Uncle Dave. My mom's brother.” This brought a resurgence of slow tears and the shaking got worse.
“Ok,” I said. “Where's your mom? Can we take you to her or call her or something?”
“My Mom and Dad died two weeks ago. I was given to him because he's the only relative I have,” Jam said quietly. “He said that we were going to go camping and 'get away from everything for a bit',” he said, mimicking Uncle Dave's voice at the end, I guess. “I came out to my Mom and Dad last year, and I guess she told Uncle Dave because he was in my pants from the moment we got here. At first it was just him sucking me and forcing me to suck him. Then he started shoving his finger in my butt. Today he grabbed me and tore my shorts off, then tried to force his dick up my butt. God, it hurt so bad!”, he said with a whisper. “Do I have to go back with him?” he asked, trembling.
“Oh, damn. I'm sorry, about your parents, buddy. And, there is no way in hell I'd send you with that jerk, but I don't know what to tell you. I'm going to try to figure out how to help you, somehow, okay?” I got a small nod from Jam for that, but he was focused behind me and wouldn't look at me.
“But, first, let's take care of Uncle Asshole over here. Matt, could you please bring me that rope this time.” I got a small smirk of acknowledgment from young Jam and Matt tapped me on the shoulder to give me the rope. Standing up, I looked over to Matt to take the rope and thank him, but just felt my jaw drop. There stood my new son with naught but a smile, as the saying goes. I guess I stared a bit as he then walked to stand arm in arm with Jam and grin at me. It was like a beautiful before and after of puberty, with Matt's bits still hairless and small and his little soldier standing tall, to Jam’s bit of hair, darkened skin on his penis and scrotum, and a very interesting growing and lifting of his own beginning.
“Uhm, Matt, not that I'm complaining, but why are you naked?” I asked finally, having found myself enjoying the show.
“Well, Jam was so sad I thought maybe if he wasn't the only one naked he’d feel better. Besides, it's kinda fun,” he finished with a giggle. I just shook my head and turned back to deal with the idiot behind me. I live a very surreal life right now.
“You're really cute,” I heard Jam whisper to Matt, followed by another giggle from Matt.
Uncle Dave was beginning to stir by the time I'd torn myself away from my little fantasy come true and I quickly flipped him face down and hog-tied him none too gently. I didn't want this idiot coming at me again.
Walking back to my nudie duo, I noticed they were both grinning at each other and sporting matching flag poles. Ok, considerably different, but you get my point. It never fails to amaze me the recuperative powers of the teenage boy. Incredibly traumatic experiences seem to take a back seat to eternal horniness. I left the two giggly ones and opened the first aid kit.
I hated to break the two up to deal with Jams bloody butt, they seemed to both be happy and considering their similar recent histories it seemed a shame to interrupt whatever they had going on. Still, I had Jam turn and show me his bottom. There was indication that he fell on his butt quite hard based on some scrapes and small stones embedded in his skin. I had him bend forward and Matt held him to his chest as I opened his cheeks to look inside, deathly afraid of what I'd find. Using peroxide, I gently cleaned the stones out of his skin and scrapes, then inside to remove the blood and whatever else was there. He had a substantial scrape to the skin outside his anus that caused most of the blood, it seemed, maybe from a thumbnail or something. I cleaned that as well as I could, eliciting a bit of a dance and whine from Jam.
His anus was bruised and swollen, and I could imagine quite sore. “Jam, there is a bit of scrape and stuff here, and that's where the blood came from. But I got to check you to be sure you aren't hurt inside, and to get some grease in there so you don't get even more sore. This is going to feel really weird and will likely hurt a bit, but I gotta do it, ok?” I asked.
Jam quietly said “Ok” and begging whatever gods would allow this to happen to this poor kid, I greased my pinkie finger with Vaseline and slowly inserted it into his obviously very sore bottom. I could feel no damage with my pinkie, so did the same with my index finger, moving it around to feel for tears or anything that seemed out of order, more thankful than I could ever tell you that he wasn't badly hurt.
Inexplicably, Jam soon began to move back and forth against my finger and whining a bit. I removed my finger to the suppressed groan of Jams, got more Vaseline and greased around his swollen anus, then went to put more inside. He immediately began moving back and forth again, seeming to enjoy this. I was just reluctantly ending this when I saw Matt startle and let out an ‘oooh’. Looking forward I realized that Jam had taken Matt into his mouth, giving my little guy his first bj, I bet. Knowing that if I didn't get away from this I would do something I'd regret, I quietly left them to their actions and went to the cab of the truck to get some relief of my own before I lost control.
A good fifteen minutes later, having gotten myself in better order, I returned to find two boys blushing lightly and smiling shyly at me from the tail gate. I thought it best to ask no questions, instead giving each a kiss on the forehead and sending them to Jam’s camp to get redressed and collect his belongings.
With the boys away, I looked over at Dave and my anger at what he'd done to this poor boy resurfaced. Maybe I was in no position to judge, but I never took what wasn't freely offered. Not that it came without huge cost … dammit, don't go back there, Baxter. Dave was looking at me, and I have no shame in kicking him over and giving him a well deserved punt to the balls. His scream rang out through the wooded campsite, and I didn't care. And further, having started, I found it difficult to stop, and kicked him whereever I could another five or six times.
Breath racing in and out of me, I stepped back to the truck and watched him squirm. This son of a bitch raping that sad little boy brought about my own memories of the first years of my imprisonment, my own tortured silent screams as I was used by older, bigger men. Settled, I reached into the truck and came out with my new garage sale axe and walked towards Dave, who began to sob uncontrollably. I didn't care. I absolutely didn't care. I snatched him up and over my shoulder and walked into the woods, wanting to get this done before the boys returned.
A few dozen steps into the scrub I found exactly what I was looking for: a pine tree about ten inches in diameter had fallen in a storm sometime in the past. I tossed Dave over the tree, then finding a likely limb, took the axe and lopped all but about 8-inches clean off. No, not Dave's limb; I was tempted, don't get me wrong. Setting the axe aside, I cut a blubbering and begging Dave's legs loose from the rope, leaving his arms well trussed, then picked him up by the neck and balls and impaled him on the stub of that limb. His scream startled birds out of the surrounding trees and left me positive I'd gone way too far. But, fuck it.
Using the last of the rope, I tied Dave the asshole down to the tree. I wanted to cut his balls off. I wanted to kill him. I just couldn't, but damned if he was ever going to forget this bit of vengeance I could offer for a boy who just lost his parents and for another boy who was raped by convicts. Picking up my axe, I walked away wondering what I'd become.
I walked into camp and found the boys at the tailgate of the truck, eyes wide at seeing me with the axe and no Dave. I slowly walked to them and slid the axe back into the truck, then sat down on the tailgate next to them and sighed.
“Did you kill him?” Jam asked quietly.
I reached over and smoothed his hair from his forehead for a moment. “No,” I said, just as quietly.
Matt piped up next to Jam “Did you chop his balls off?” I looked at Matt sadly, slowly shaking my head in the negative, still smoothing Jam’s hair from his eyes.
“No, I was tempted, though. I tied him to a tree out in the woods a bit,” I said, thinking they didn't need to know the particulars, for which I was still ashamed.
Jam was quiet for a moment, then with tears slowly rolling down his soft cheeks he hopped off the tailgate and resolutely reached in for the axe and started into the woods. It took me a hot second before I realized what he intended and I quickly caught him. “No, Jam. You don't want to go down this road. There's no coming back from it,” I said, hugging the boy to my chest as he cried. After a moment I felt small hands join the hug, and we stood there, in the middle of our camp somehow holding on until the storms in our souls ended.
We repacked the truck, and with the boys dressed again, headed out of that bad neck of woods. I soon came to a car and tent at another camp. Jam confirmed it was his, so we stopped to see if he had forgotten anything. I found Dave's wallet and took out all the money, giving it to Jam. There were a few camp supplies that we snatched up, knowing they would either go to waste or to Dave when he finally got free, neither being acceptable in my eyes. And, we found Dave's rifle, a 30-30 lever action, and I realized how lucky I was that he hadn't come back to his camp to get it. I collected the gun and a box and a half of shells, shaking with how lucky we'd been. Everything loaded in the truck that was usable, and Dave's tires all flat care of a grinning Matt, we made our way to a new life.
We had only barely started down the campground road when a large group of Harley riders came into the area and flowed the other direction. Waiting for 25 or so bikes to make the turn off the main road and into the campground area gave me time to think. They would find Dave's camp. They would find Dave. They would remember a truck leaving. But, bikers have a tendency to be very unforgiving of certain things in life, so the best I could hope for was to make sure that the truth of the situation got out there and I could use their nature towards my own needs.
“Boys, I need to talk with these men for a minute,” I said to the two wide-eyed lads next to me. “Stay in the truck, and if something happens to me then I want you to drive out of here, ok Jam?” I had no idea if Jam could drive or not, but he didn't do more than nod so … here goes.
I followed the trailing bikes to the campsite and, stopping a respectful distance back, got out of the truck and approached the group with a hand up. “Excuse me,” I called out. “Can I talk with you a moment”. A large man in a black t-shirt that showed thick tattooed arms and wearing a leather vest and leather skull cap came out to me. I walked towards him, gulping down my fear as discretely as I could manage, and held my hand out towards him. He took my hand in a fist that could have swallowed another two of mine, still silent.
“Hi. I'm Frank Brown. I've got my son Matt and his friend Jam in the truck there behind me. I was camping down the way from you last night and this morning, and, well, some very strange things came about that I think you should know”. I thought I said all of that quite confidently, and my knees weren't shaking a bit. Not a bit. Hey, this is my story.
“How are you, Frank”, said this very large man in the deepest sonorous voice I'd ever heard. It reminded me of James Earl Jones’ voice, and I think my poker face slipped a bit, because he smirked just a bit at me. “My name is Mark Carpenter”.
“Well, Mark. My son and I were camping down the road from you, as I mentioned. You likely saw us pulling out as you were coming in?” He nodded for me to continue. “Well, I was taking a late morning pee on a tree and heard a scream. Here comes the older boy, Jam, running for his life without a stitch on.” I could see Mark's eyes grow big, then narrow, look towards the truck and then back to me. ‘Knees don't fail me now’ I instructed those sometimes traitorous joints. “Running right behind him was a naked man, who it turns out, was his Uncle Dave. Jam hid behind me and I stopped Dave, and, well, come to find out Dave tried to rape Jam and I got a bit violent with...”
“Hold it. Stop right there, not another word,” he said, reaching towards his back pocket. I started to panic, then he pulled out his wallet and gave me his card. “Give me a dollar” he said.
“Huh?” I blinked at him. He lifted his hand palm out to me, sort of a time out gesture, nodded to the card in my nearly nerveless hand, and said “Read the card”.
“You're a lawyer!”
“Not everyone who rides a motorcycle is a criminal, Frank,” Mark grinned at me. “You know how much those things cost? Now, dollar?” With more relief than I could ever imagine I reached into my wallet and gave Mark a dollar.
“Good, now I'm your lawyer and this conversation is protected. So, you said that man tried to rape the boy?” At my nod, Mark looked over his shoulder at the man standing some distance back watching us talk. “Bill, grab your kit! And, grab Susan, too.” Looking back at my gaping jaw he chuckled “Bill's a doctor and Susan is a social worker. Need a dentist, we have one with us?” I just shook my head. What a day.
Bill and Susan in tow, we walked back to the truck. I opened the door and took Jams hand. “Buddy, I know these folks look a bit scary in their leathers and stuff, but they are good folks. This man here is a lawyer, and that other man is a doctor and the lady with him is a social worker. They are going to make sure you are ok, and I'm hoping they can take care of you. Okay?” I was hoping that Jam would be willing to accept the help of these people, because I didn't see a way I could take him with me. “Jam, Matt and I, we....”
“It's ok, Frank. Matt told me all about it,” Mark said.
“You did?” I asked Matt. He shrugged at me.
“I thought he should know, Dad.” Ok, I couldn't argue that.
Jam got out of the truck and went with Bill and Susan, not exactly happy about dropping his drawers for someone to look at his butt again but resigned to it.
Mark and I watched him go, then he turned back to me. “So, the rest of the story?”
So, I told my new lawyer about being an ex-con, trying to spend some time with my son (he didn't need to know the rest of that story yet) and how I didn't want to be involved with the police, but there was no way I could allow Dave to hurt that poor boy. I told him, quietly, how I'd kicked Dave, and how I'd secured him to the tree. Mark listened quietly, winced when I told him about the tree, but didn't interrupt.
“Ok, we'll ride down there and check on dear Uncle Dave in a bit,” Mark said. I could tell by the way he said it that he knew there was more to the story than I was telling him, but he didn't push for more. After a bit, Jam came walking back with Bill and Susan, Susan hugging him one handed as they walked. He was smiling a bit, so I guess it didn't go too bad.
“Hey, Mark,” Susan called out as they approached. “This one's a real sweetheart. Can we keep him?” Bill just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “...another chick to the nest”, but he said it with a smile towards Susan. She and Jam continued on to the truck while Bill stopped and spoke with Mark and me.
“Your first aid was adequate. Not exactly what we would do in the E.R., but adequate. Jam told me about his Uncle Dave and what happened to his family.” I blew out a bit of a relief that he was ok. “Susan wants to adopt him,” he grinned at Mark.
Mark laughed out loud. “Another one?” Bill just shrugged and smiled towards Susan. Turning towards me, Mark explained “Bill and Susan have six adopted children, and maybe seven now”. I just shook my head.
“How do you manage that?” I asked. “Matt alone drives me nearly insane, I couldn't imagine six kids – or seven!”
Bill just smiled at me and shrugged. “You just love them. In the good times and in the bad, and somehow it all works out in the end.”
In short order, Jam and Matt hugged a teary farewell, and I pulled the boy in for a hug and a kiss to his forehead. I made sure I could email Mark for updates on how things were going with Jam and Dave.
Before leaving, I pulled Mark aside for a moment. “Uhm, Mark, I may need a lawyer from time to time here in the future,” I said to him, hoping I wasn't tipping too much of my hand.
“Sooner or later, most people do,” Mark smiled back at me, shaking my hand. “Call me if you do.” At that, he turned back to his camp. I felt guilty relief knowing I’d left this mess in his hands. He and a group of riders were going to go check on Dave, call the police and an ambulance. I was fairly sure he would have the area well trampled before anyone got there.
Soon, Matt and I were back on our way, rolling down a country two-lane black top road. Matt was very quiet, staring out the side window. “Matt, I think maybe I should take you back to those folks. I think they could do a better job for you than I can,” I said, pulling off to the side of the road.
Matt looked over to me, and I could see a tear make its way down one cheek. “You don't want me anymore?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, Matt! You know that isn't true. No! I want you with me, but I'm just saying maybe they would do better for you,” I gushed back, pulling him in for a hug.
“I'm where I want to be,” he said into my ribs, “Dad.” And so, with a road a bit blurry all of a sudden, and against what was likely the wiser action, we continued. It was selfish of me, I know, but it's been a really long time since anyone actually chose to be by my side, and I couldn't imagine losing him. We will just have to face whatever comes.
TBC