An Act of Love (36 page)

Linda heard Owen catch his breath.

“We have more than enough evidence to prosecute and to win a conviction,” Ms. Sylvester continued. “The evidence is strong. It is clear that Bruce McFarland raped Alison Cartwright. However, Miss Cartwright has decided that she does not want to take this to trial. This is not, I must add, because she is afraid of the stigma and the publicity, the future disagreeableness this would cause her. This is because she says she cares for Mr. McFarland and does not want to see him incarcerated. I have told them that I have no doubt we could win this case, and we could see Mr. McFarland jailed for his assault. In addition, I have brought before them the option of pretrial probation. The defendant could agree to become part of the court system; as long as he saw a therapist regularly he would not be brought before the court. In this instance, therapy would be enforceable, and I believe we all can agree that therapy is necessitated in this case.

“However, the Cartwrights are reluctant to proceed with any kind of legal action. They like Bruce. They know he has no previous record. They do not want to see his life ruined. They believe there is a good possibility of redemption if there is therapy. What
they are asking, then, are three things:

“First, that Bruce withdraw from Hedden Academy. Obviously Alison doesn’t want to live with the fear that a rape or other violence might occur, as well as with the embarrassment Bruce’s presence might cause her.

“Second, they would like your word of honor, Mr. and Mrs. McFarland, and yours, Bruce, that Bruce McFarland will enter into a long-term program of therapy with a board-approved psychiatrist or psychologist who specializes in working with men who rape.

“Third, that Bruce will never contact Alison again. Will not accost her physically, will not telephone her, will not send her mail or E-mail.”

Linda stole a look at Bruce’s face: he sat with his head down; it was impossible to read his expression.

“I must add that without the testimony of Alison Cartwright, the major evidence in this case disappears. The Commonwealth could continue with prosecution, however. We do have the evidence of the doctor who examined Alison, the written statements of the nurse and her friend, who helped her get to the hospital and spoke with her after the rape, as well as the physical evidence of the photographs of the bruises on Alison’s body and the pubic hair match. The crime of rape is one the Commonwealth does not like to see go unpunished. But Alison made a strong case on Bruce McFarland’s behalf. Because of that, we are willing to drop the rape charge, as long as you agree to the three items we mentioned.”

“Certainly,” Owen said, but Paul Larson cut him off and leaned across Bruce to whisper in Owen’s ear.

Then Paul Larson spoke. “My clients agree to the stipulations.”

Owen leaned over to whisper to Linda. “Larson says we cannot thank them. To do that would be to admit to Bruce’s guilt.”

“But he
is
guilty!” Linda whispered back.

Ms. Sylvester said, “Mr. Cartwright would like to say a few words.”

Cartwright looked at Bruce. “I didn’t have to be here today,” he said. “I could have let my lawyer handle this. I didn’t have to incur the expense and take the time from my work to fly up here, but I did, and I’ll tell you why. I wanted to get a good look at you. I’m looking at you, young man.
I see you. I know what you did. I know what you are
. If I ever see you near my daughter again, I will personally make you sorry. Is that
understood?”

Linda felt Owen’s entire body go rigid.

Bruce nodded, looking miserable.

“My daughter still cares for you, insane as that may be. It is solely because of her compassion that we are dropping this case. I’d like to see it proceed. I’d like to see you tried. I’d like to see your name dragged through the mud. I’d like to see you in jail for the rest of your life so you can never assault another woman. But I’m bowing to my daughter’s wishes. She’s had enough pain out of you. I don’t blame her for wanting to let the whole thing go, but I will not forget. Do you hear me, Bruce McFarland?
I will not forget
. And if I ever hear of you so much as standing on the same street as my daughter, I’ll personally make your pathetic, disgusting, pervert ass sorry you were ever born.”

Bruce sat looking at the table, his face flaming red.

“Do you understand me?” Cartwright asked, each word sounding like a curse.

Bruce nodded.

“Answer me. Look at me, and answer me.”

Bruce raised his head and met Mr. Cartwright’s eyes. In a shaky voice, he said, “I understand you.”

Cartwright looked at Owen and then at Linda. “As for you two … I can’t imagine what you two did to turn this boy into a rapist, but you’re both beneath contempt. You’re
lower
than this boy. I hope you’re ashamed of yourselves.” Abruptly he turned to Donna Sylvester. “That’s all I have to say.”

Everyone stood. The lawyers shuffled papers into briefcases. Bert Cartwright stormed out of the room, leaving a cloud of hostility behind him. Sylvester followed. Finally, in miserable silence, Bruce and Owen and Linda and Larson went out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Dr. Ingersall’s office
was on the second floor of an elegant old Victorian house on a side street in Northampton. Two days after Christmas, Linda arrived early and found herself in a waiting room furnished rather like any family’s den, with a television and VCR and two cushiony couches and three cozy armchairs, with glossy magazines on the coffee table and on a low shelf a stack of bright plastic children’s toys.

Dr. Ingersall, clad in jeans and a tartan flannel shirt, no jacket, no tie, came out from his inner office with an open, hearty, country sort of ambling walk. He wore tooled leather cowboy boots.

“How are you both today?” he asked.

“Fine,” Linda replied politely, and everyone shook hands, and then they went into Dr. Ingersall’s office and he closed the door.

They settled in a room brightened with many windows and on the wall, impressionist prints. Linda and Owen sat side by side on a sofa, Dr. Ingersall next to them in a chair. The coffee table held a vase of fresh daisies, a large bowl of pistachios, and a box of tissues.

Dr. Ingersall began. “I’ve spent several sessions now, as you both know, with Bruce. I like him. He’s a likable boy. Bright, engaging, good-looking, too. On the surface, a fortunate young man. Inside, however, he’s churning with emotions. He feels helpless. He feels powerless. He feels he’s facing challenges for which he is not adequate. He feels inferior.”

Linda was shocked. “Bruce feels inferior?”

Dr. Ingersall nodded. “At my first meeting with your husband, he told me about Bruce raping your daughter. So I’m sure you are acquainted with the literature on rape. You know that rape is not about sex or love. It’s about power. All our studies show that the act of rape stems from a sense of inferiority, powerlessness, inadequacy, and desperation.”

“How could Bruce be desperate?” Owen asked.

“Well, look at what’s been going on in his life. He’s finishing his senior year. He
knows he’s got to leave the familiarity of boarding school. He’ll be separated from his friends, his teachers, and in a sense from his entire self-image. He’s being asked to test himself against new criteria: how good is he now? Can he gain admission to a first-rate college? Can he get into the one college he passionately wants to get into? A college, I might point out, for which he is not particularly well matched.”

“Alison Cartwright wants to go there.”

“Yes. Alison. The young woman who Bruce feels love for, the woman whom Bruce believed was beginning to love him. They’ve just begun to realize they’re in love, and suddenly he sees that before they can really become a couple, she’ll be torn away from him. She is choosing a school that rejects him.”

“He didn’t know until the interview that the school would reject him,” Owen pointed out.

“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Dr. Ingersall replied. “Bruce’s read the school description. He’s read the catalogues. He knows Westhurst is an unusual school, appealing to strictly artistic types. He went into that interview knowing that he would fail, knowing that he would be rejected. It made it even more devastating, and even more exactly what he projected, that the person who interviewed him was a woman.”

“But still,” Linda cut in, “still, I can’t grasp that Bruce feels inferior.”

“Feelings aren’t always logical,” Dr. Ingersall reminded her. “Adolescents certainly aren’t. And in Bruce’s case, his sense of inferiority stems not from school, where his grades are good, where he has friends, where he performs well. I think we’re going to discover that it stems from an old and powerful and primal wound: Bruce was rejected by his mother.”

“But he had me,” Owen pointed out. “And he had Linda. And if he was hurt by Michelle’s lack of interest, well, then why didn’t he talk to me about it?”

“Bruce was a little boy when his mother left him,” Dr. Ingersall said. “He couldn’t articulate all his emotions, all his confusion. He’s been carrying this around with him for a long, long time. Other things have contributed: he is conflicted about Linda, for instance. On the one hand, he likes her, even loves her. On the other hand, he still harbors the childish belief that if she weren’t there, in his mother’s place, his real mother would be. And as he’s grown older, he’s developed a sense of pride as well as a broader and superficial understanding of the dynamic between him and his mother. Can he come whining to you, to anyone, because his mother’s deserted him? Of course not. He’s
almost eighteen years old. He’s got to be a man. Intellectually, he knows that Michelle is like any number of women and men who have no instinctual affection for their offspring. He can read stuff like that in any magazine. He can hear that on TV. But emotionally, beneath all those protective layers of intellectualizing, lies an opening, bleeding, tormenting wound. He has to face it, he has to come to terms with it, he’s got to go through it, if he’s going to live with himself and with others in this world.”

Linda said, “This sounds pretty grim.”

“It is pretty grim. You’ve got an anguished, deserted child in a man’s body. You’ve got a young man who’s tried to suppress an enormous amount of trauma for most of his life.”

Quickly Owen said, “You sound as if you think he’ll … rape … again.”

“I think it’s certainly a possibility. While he is in such turmoil. That’s the act that makes him feel powerful.”

“But can’t we do something? Can’t you?” Linda asked.

“I can help. We can make a start. I think Bruce likes me all right, is beginning to trust me, and that’s crucial. But even at two sessions a week, this is going to be a long process. It’s not going to be over in a few weeks or even a few months. And Bruce is going to have to put himself through some pretty tough emotional stuff if he’s going to get well. He’s facing an enormous challenge. A lot of hard, painful work. This will cause the same intense stress that Bruce faced when he knew he was returning to Hedden for his senior year, and when he was facing the interview at Westhurst, and when he was about to be separated from Alison for Christmas break. He’s volcanic, your son. We don’t know when he’ll erupt, we only know that there is a destructive fire rumbling inside him.”

“He’s starting at the Ebradour public high school in January,” Owen said. “He’s got some friends there—”

“Lilibeth,” Linda murmured, concerned.

Owen looked at her. “I guess I’ll have to keep a pretty close rein on him.”

“Yes. And as we discussed before, keep him busy. Keep him busy using his body and his mind. Keep him occupied, so that he’s exhausted by the end of the day.”

“I’ve started him refinishing furniture in the barn,” Owen said. “He seems to enjoy that, and I told him when we sell it he can keep the profit, use it for spending money.”

“Good. There’s another thing I want to suggest. It’s a form of chemotherapy.”

“Chemotherapy,” Linda repeated, her heart lurching.

“Like Valium is chemotherapy,” Dr. Ingersall said reassuringly. “Like antidepressants and antianxiety medications.”

“What are you recommending for Bruce?”

“It’s called Depo-Provera. It’s a weekly intramuscular injection that suppresses the release of a pituitary gland hormone, thereby lowering the male’s level of testosterone. This brings about diminished sexual arousal. It is being used on repeated rape offenders.”

“Chemotherapy alarms me,” Owen admitted.

“Perhaps it will help to know that this same drug is issued commonly as a birth control device, and to regulate menstruation in women, to help adjust irregular menstrual cycles.”

“Are there any side effects?” Linda asked.

“The common ones are mild: rashes, acne, nausea, that sort of thing. There have been extremely rare episodes of liver toxicity, jaundice, and blood clotting, but let me remind you that any woman taking an oral contraceptive faces these odds.”

“Have you talked this over with Bruce?”

“I’ve mentioned it. We need to be careful with Bruce right now. He’s volatile. He’s a mixture of painful emotions. On the one hand he knows what he’s done, and he feels lacerating, hideous shame. He hates himself. He believes himself to be a hateful person. This makes him respond to others with anger, like a wounded animal. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to believe that he actually raped two young women. He is still openly protesting, declaring his innocence. I realize these are contradictory states of mind, but they both exist within Bruce at this moment. He is very angry. Very frightened. He has just lost everything, or what is everything to him: his school, his friends, his world for the past three and a half years. His girlfriend and the chance to be really loved by a woman. His home situation has changed dramatically: he’s lost his stepmother and his stepsister. He certainly feels that he’s also lost his father’s love, and he feels he deserves this.”

Owen cleared his throat. “I tell Bruce I love him every night.”

“Yes. Keep doing that. I know he’s not very likable now, but he needs to hear that from you.”