Apocalypse Dawn (15 page)

She felt a little guilty just now because it seemed like she was praying to Him lately only to intercede on her behalf or her family’s, not just to accept and talk and give thanks. But that was when she most needed Him: when things-like Gerry’s situation-got the better of her. And when those things-like Gerry’s situation-continued, sometimes she couldn’t help feeling that God didn’t care.

Upon occasion, Megan had unburdened herself to Bill Townsend when he had been visiting. Bill had always seemed so understanding, so seemingly in tune with God’s ways, that he had been easy to talk to about her work and about her faith. She’d told Bill about the bad things she had dealt with while counseling the base kids, and Bill had told her that God’s plan took everything into account, that no sparrow fell without notice. He couldn’t explain why those terrible things happened, but he did believe they served a purpose that wasn’t always within human understanding. From the way he had talked, Megan knew that Bill believed that. But she had her doubts, and times like tonight brought those doubts to the forefront.

Gerry sat in the bed with his back to the headboard. He held his good arm wrapped around his injured arm, his knees doubled up. Although he stared at the television set where the Lakers had just returned to the court after the half, Megan knew the boy no longer saw the game. He was reliving the night, reviewing another section of the never-ending nightmare his life had turned into these past few years.

“Your parents got into an argument,” Megan prompted after a short while.

“Yeah,” Gerry said.

“I’m sorry.”

Gerry shrugged a little, taking care with his injured shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Gander. It’s my fault.” Tears ran down his scratched cheeks. “It’s always my fault. That’s what you don’t understand. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time, and you just don’t listen. If you just listened and believed me, maybe we could fix me. Make me better.”

“1 know you, Gerry,” Megan said softly. “You’re a good person.”

Stubbornly, sniffling and wiping at his tears, Gerry shook his head. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “I’m not. I can’t be. If I was good, my mom and dad wouldn’t fight so much over me.”

“Your mom and dad haven’t just fought over you,” Megan said. “During our sessions, you said they’ve fought in the past over money and over jobs your mom has taken.”

“Yeah, but they’d have more money if they didn’t have me,” Gerry said. “I’ve heard Dad say that. And if they didn’t need more money because of me, Mom could be at home more.”

“We’ve talked about this before. I thought we both agreed that your mom works because she likes work. She makes friends there.” And, Megan suspected, Tonya Fletcher worked outside the home to get away from her controlling husband. Megan believed the abuse issue ran deeper than just Gerry. During her conversations with the woman, though, Megan had never gotten Tonya to open up.

“Maybe she wouldn’t need friends if things were better at home.” Gerry rested his chin on his knees. Tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. “Maybe she’d be happy with my dad.”

“You don’t think she’s happy with him?” Megan pried at the situa tion as delicately as she could. Normally, she would have been tempted to wait until Gerry was better able to deal with the situation, but with the MPs about to be notified, she couldn’t afford to do that. Boyd Fletcher was going to go through the roof when he found out what was going on.

“I don’t know,” Gerry answered. “1 think they’d be fine. If it wasn’t for me.” He choked back a sob, faking a cough. “I’ve heard my dad say that. I told you he’s said that.”

Megan knew. When Gerry had told her he’d heard his dad say that, she’d felt sympathetic and angry all at once. No child should have to hear or endure the things Gerry had. But there were others out there that had things as bad and worse.

“Did you do something to cause the fight tonight?” Megan asked. The MPs would want to know, and it was better to know the answers to the questions those men would be asking so she didn’t get blindsided.

“No.” Shivers coursed through Gerry. “It just started over dinner.”

“How did it start?”

“They were talking. About going out. Mom was tired. You could see that she was tired. Dad said he wished they could go to a movie, the way they used to before they had me. But they didn’t have anyone to watch me and he didn’t want to take me.”

Megan forced herself to remain silent.

“Mom told Dad to go ahead and go, that she would stay with me while he got out of the house and relaxed for a little while. He said that going out wasn’t the point, that he wanted to go out with her, that they never got to do anything together anymore.”

The Fletchers rarely went out as a couple, Megan knew. But some of the gossip around the base was that Boyd liked to hit the bars, and having a fight with his wife gave him a good excuse to go.

“Dad got mad then,” Gerry went on. “He started cussing and throwing things. He broke one of the vases Mom had made in her art class.”

Evidence for the MPs, if it hasn’t been cleaned up, Megan thought and felt immediately guilty that she had to think like that. Tonya Fletcher hadn’t gotten to finish her art class due to her husband’s reluctance to watch Gerry by himself. When Gerry had suffered his “bike wreck” during one of the an classes, Tonya had stopped going.

“After the vase got broke,” Gerry said, “Mom got mad. She started yelling back at Dad. She hardly ever dares to do that. She said if anybody deserved to get out of the house, it was her because she was stuck there all day just waiting for him to come home and find something wrong with everything she did.” The boy’s voice lowered. “Then Dad said the way he heard it she wasn’t there by herself all the time.”

Megan measured the question carefully, then asked, Your dad suspects your mom sometimes has company at home when your father is gone?” That was a new wrinkle in an already volatile situation.

Gerry wiped at his reddened eyes. “Dad says she does. But, Mrs. Gander, I’ve never seen anyone else there. I come home every day right when I’m supposed to, and I’ve never seen anyone. Mom just sits there alone.” He sniffled, a little more under control now because he was so physically exhausted. “Sometimes, Dad asks me if I’ve seen anyone around the house when he’s gone. He gets me by myself and asks me. But there’s never been anyone there. I don’t think he believes me, though. Most of the time he just tells me I’d lie for her because she’s got me trained to do that.” He wiped at his eyes and looked at Megan. “Tonight, Dad said he thought Mom was up to something. Then he started talking about how I don’t look anything like him. Or her, even.”

That, Megan knew, was true. Gerry was much smaller than his father, but that could have been just genetics, a throwback to another part of the Fletcher family, or to Tonya’s family.

“Dad said I looked like someone else,” Gerry said, “and that someone else was probably really my dad. Mom yelled at him, telling him he should never say something like that in front of me.” He gnawed his lip. “I think Mom was really embarrassed and that’s why she did it.”

“Did what?”

“She threw a pot at him. Just picked it up from the stove and heaved it at him. He was so surprised that it hit him in the head. I couldn’t believe it. Then he crossed the room and slapped her.”

Megan forced herself to remain under control. From the sound of things, the Fletcher situation had dropped into complete chaos.

“Mom fell,” Gerry said. “Dad drew back like he was going to hit her again. Before I knew it, I ran at him.” He started crying again, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head in denial. “I hit my own dad, Mrs. Gander. I never thought I would do something like that.” He sobbed brokenly. “What kind of son would do that?”

Megan swallowed the lump in her throat. “A son who cares about his mother and wanted to protect her.”

Still shaking his head, Gerry buried his face against his knees. His shoulders shook with silent grief.

“Is that when your father hit you?” Megan asked. She hated having to push the boy, but she needed as many details as she could get.

Gerry hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it once?” Megan asked. “Twice? More than that?”

He looked up at her, his eyes still pooling with tears of helplessness, hurt, and shame. “1 don’t know, Mrs. Gander. He hit me and hit me. Mom had to get him to stop. She threatened to call the MPs. She told him she would tell the base commander.”

Horrible images of the violence that had taken place in the home filled Megan’s mind till she felt she wasn’t going to be able to handle them. Why, God? Why put a child through this? And at the same time she wondered why she had to be the one to deal with the child. Guilt ripped through her an instant after that thought.

“Did your dad stop then?” Megan asked.

“Yeah. But the house was wrecked. There were broken dishes everywhere. That’s how come my arms and legs are scratched up.”

“What happened to your shoulder?”

Gerry shook his head. “I don’t know. He grabbed me or something. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. He said he was sorry.”

Megan felt like screaming. After beating up his family, Boyd Fletcher simply handed out an apology.

“He doesn’t mean to be that way, Mrs. Gander,” Gerry said. “He really doesn’t. But if my mom did something wrong-” his voice broke and he sucked air noisily for a moment-“if I’m really not his kid, then he shouldn’t have to pay for me or take care of me. Should he?”

No answer came to Megan. In all her years of counseling, no child had ever asked her a question like that.

“You see,” Gerry said desperately. “This might not be his fault at all.”

“Listen to me, Gerry,” Megan said as calmly as she could. “After tonight, some things are going to have to change.”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t want them to change. I just want them to go back to the way they were. I never should have come here.”

“Yes, you should have.” Megan paused, gathering her thoughts, hoping she was making herself convincing. “Gerry, this thing that happened with you and your mother tonight might have gotten worse if you hadn’t said anything. You and your mom might have gotten hurt. You still might get hurt-the next time it happens. Staying quiet when things are this.wrong.in the household isn’t good. People who can help you have to know what’s going on.”

“No one can help me. No one cares.”

Megan took a breath, listening to the commentary of the basketball game coming from the television, not believing how ordinary the sound was when there was so much pain in the room. It seemed like a reminder that no matter how bad Gerry Fletcher’s life got, the world didn’t care.

No one cares, Megan thought. Or I could have stopped this long ago. Tears leaked down her cheeks, triggered by sadness and anger and confusion. Do You care, God? Do You see what You’ve let happen in this poor child’s life? She felt bitter and angry then, and she knew her tone toward God was accusing. Guilt stung her, but in a way she forgave herself. She felt that tone was deserved even if God wasn’t ultimately to blame.

“I can help you,” Megan said in a husky voice. “I’m going to help you. First, though, we’re going to have to get you and your mom someplace safe.”

Panic filled Gerry’s face. “I don’t want to leave my dad.”

“Just for tonight.” For starters, Megan thought. She was certain she could get the base commander’s office to push Boyd Fletcher into getting more and deeper counseling after this episode.

“How much trouble is my dad in?”

‘Some.’

“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

“No,” Megan said. “It’s not your fault, Gerry. Please believe that.”

Gerry shook his head. “1 shouldn’t have told.” He rocked back and forth against the bed’s headboard, unable to stay still. “I knew I shouldn’t have told.”

“You needed medical care.”

“My arm isn’t broke. I thought it was broke. I got scared. I should have just stayed in bed instead of sneaking out. I should have known my dad would never break my arm. This is all my fault.”

Before Megan could say anything, a familiar bass voice reverberated in the hallway outside the door.

“Where’s my son?” Gerry knew that voice and trembled. Megan knew it, too, and braced herself. A string of curses exploded after the nurse answered the question. Loud footsteps, the result of heavy combat boots worn by someone big enough to make them really crash into the government-issue linoleum floor, rang out in the hallway, coming closer with every footfall.

Turkey

Goose jogged as he talked over the headset, running tandem to Bill on the other side of the road. They secured the perimeter the unit had established around what was left of Glitter City during the evac op, taking their turn as the others had in two-man groups. The other eight men kept working with the wounded when they weren’t walking patrol. Goose was also certain Hardin was busy squirreling away salvaged goods every chance he got.

Thick yellow dust still hung in the air. Sunlight slashed through the haze. Perspiration caked dust, smoke, and debris to Goose’s exposed skin. His lungs ached for clean air and labored hard to suck what he got through the wet dust filming the kerchief he had wrapped around his face. They avoided craters left by the SCUD explosions and the clouds of thick smoke streaming from buildings that continued to burn.