Date: Fri, 13 Aug 2021 10:36:23 +0000 From: Wes Leigh Subject: Under Siege, Chapters 3 & 4 (Gay Adult/Youth) UNDER SIEGE By Wes Leigh This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation. Chapter 3 Again, We Meet... sort of Ok, so maybe I wasn't moving on from the bitter past as well I could have hoped. Would you have done any better in my position? Here I was, 38 years old, starting life over again. I lost my good paying job as an engineer. Now I work for a home improvement store, selling electrical fixtures and assembling barbeque grills. I lost my beautiful house. Now I have a drafty mobile home on a half-acre of dirt well outside the city limits, the only place I could find where I could afford the rent, surrounded by similar homes in various states of disrepair, depending on the pride or lack thereof in the owners. I lost my family, with the exception of my sister, who still occasionally calls me as an act of charity to show me how much she still cares for me despite my horrible condition as a convicted pedophile and my great faux pas of having outed our dear Uncle Jacob, who everyone knows is a bit unusual but would never have done the wicked things I claimed he did. They could all rot, as far as I was concerned, including dear Uncle Jacob, who vehemently denied everything I said he did to me as a boy. Fuck `em. I had Amber, Mitch, and Milo. They loved me, even when I forgot to feed them, and they were far better company. Oh, and I also lost my reputation as an upstanding member of society. You can't be respectable when you're a convicted child molester. Oh no! I didn't deserve to interact with others. I couldn't carry a gun to protect myself. I had to broadcast my sins before the entire country and post my address and crime on a sex offender website. I couldn't get a decent job. Ha! I couldn't even go to some churches. When I told one pastor about my past and my desire to be forgiven and move on, he was sympathetic and even impressed with my honesty, but he said he had no choice but to ask me to leave and never come back. It was the opinion of their lawyers that known sex offenders could not be allowed to attend the church. What a joke! I knew three other sex offenders who attended that church, but they kept quiet about it and so everyone pretended it wasn't a problem. But since I wanted to be held accountable for my behavior, I was a danger. Screw that! I found another church, a church where people were more concerned about having a true relationship with God than keeping track of my sins. And so I worshipped God quietly and faithfully, asking Him to help me let go of the bitterness and find someone who I could love. I wasn't that particular with my prayer. I didn't ask God to make me 'normal' and send me a wife. But I didn't close the door on a relationship with a woman either. I just put it all in God's hands and asked Him to help me heal from all the bitterness. And He was doing that. Yes, I ran into hateful people every now and then. But for the most part, people treated me okay. My boss and coworkers respected me. My dogs adored me. My neighbors left me alone--haha, I think most of them had their own share of problems and really didn't give a damn about me and my criminal record. I was poor but content. By pinching pennies, I'd managed to afford my unpretentious house in the desert along with two big bags of dog food every month and a bucket of fried chicken every few weeks. I was healthy and enjoying long, rambling walks through the west Texas desert with my dogs every day, rain or shine (mostly shine), snow or sunny weather (almost always sunny). It was one of those sunny, cloudless mornings when I led the dogs along the gravel road near my house. It was about the same time as when we'd encountered all the kids at their bus stop before. There were no kids this time. Apparently the bus had just picked them all up and headed down the road to the next stop. I felt relief. Maybe I shouldn't have been uncomfortable about being around children, but I found myself getting a bad case of the nerves whenever they were near. I kept wanting to look over one shoulder to see if anyone was watching me watching them. Paranoid much? Yeah, I suppose I was. When you've had your world torn apart, when you've had those in authority rip you to shreds and expose your every flaw, when the system you were taught to trust and respect turns on you and treats you as the scum of the earth ... well, let's just say that I no longer liked anyone in authority. Cops make me nervous. Judges who promise to uphold the law with their last breath just sound like creepy politicians to me now. And I don't trust anyone, especially neighbors with kids. I think there's a name for what I have. PTSD? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? The mental breakdown thing that army veterans get? It sure feels that way. I know I shouldn't be so nervous around kids. I know my heart shouldn't start pounding when a policeman passes me on the road. I know I shouldn't break out in a cold sweat when I hear a car turn around in my driveway. But it's a response my body makes before my mind can remind me to calm down. I guess that's why, on this particular morning, I was relieved to see that the bus had come and gone and so had the kids. It was just me and the dogs, and we were enjoying the morning air. As we walked along the gravel road, I heard a rumbling noise behind me. Turning around, I saw the bus coming back down the road. I hurriedly moved over into a weed-filled ditch and called the dogs to my side. We waited for the bus to pass, and as it whipped by, I saw him again. The bashful teen from the other day. He was sitting next to an open window, and our eyes met as the bus roared by. It was only for a few seconds, but I felt something odd as our eyes connected and I saw that shy smile of his lighting up his face when he noticed me. It was--how do you describe a feeling like this?--all those old cliches seem so silly, but yeah, I think my heart skipped a beat. Ok, that's just strange and totally inappropriate. Or is it? I waited for the dust to settle after the bus passed and continued my walk with the dogs. I spent the rest of the walk thinking about the kid and the feeling I had when I saw him. It was a yearning in my heart. A desire to somehow reach out and comfort him or to hold him or just be there for him. My head was swirling with memories of being hugged by my uncle Jacob and of Tommy wriggling in my arms with just a towel wrapped around his naked body. All those memories I had tried to shove into a dark corner of my mind and forget ... those memories broke out of the recesses of my mind and overwhelmed my heart. NO. NO. NO, I silently cried. I'm not doing this again. I'm not reacting to my heart's desire to be close to another lonely boy. I don't care how much he wants it or needs it or desires it. I'm not becoming anyone's friend or big brother or anything else for that matter. I'm not going to be hurt like that again. Turning around, I called the dogs to my side. We returned to the house where I ate breakfast, fed the dogs and took my shower, packed a lunch and headed for work. Throughout the day, as I waited on customers who needed electrical outlets in ivory, not white, not brown, not beige ... only IVORY ... and other major electrical fixture dilemmas, while I dealt with the everyday hassles of my job, my mind replayed those few seconds of eye-to-eye contact with the dark brown eyes of that boy with the wavy, dark auburn hair. I couldn't get him out of my mind. So much for my plans to never be hurt again. By lunchtime, I was a man obsessed. Yeah, it was bizarre, to say the least. I kept seeing his eyes, and the more I thought of them the more I convinced myself that the boy needed something from me, was seeking something I had to offer, and that he would be coming to me soon to ask for my help. Was it a premonition, a silly notion I had made up, or a message to my heart that God was sending that boy into my life for a very specific reason? I decided to stop dwelling on it and simply pray. During a break at work, I found a quiet place by myself, bowed my head, and whispered, "Father God, you've always been there for me through every crazy turn my life has taken. I've committed everything to you, and I trust you, no matter where you take me. This boy ... he's really on my heart right now, and I have no idea why. I don't WANT to be thinking about him, but I can't stop. Only you know why this is happening. So I ask you to prepare me for whatever it is you have in mind, and if I'm going to be seeing him again any time soon, help me. I don't want to be nervous or scared. And I don't want to screw up again and put myself in prison for another eight years. This time, if there is a `this time', I want to be a blessing to this boy. I want to be a man he looks up to. I want to be the guy he trusts to have his back and help him out with whatever it is he needs from me." I sighed, and added, "I love you, God, and I'm yours to use in whatever way you want." Immediately, my heart was at peace. I was able to work the rest of the day without being so preoccupied. The nerves faded away and I had a peaceful afternoon. It turns out I needed that calm, because a storm was coming. Chapter 4 Breaking Storm Pound. Pound. Bam bam bambambam BAM. I woke from a deep sleep to the sound of someone banging on my front door. The dogs, who normally slept on the floor next to my bed, leapt up with furious barks as they rushed out of the bedroom and into the living room. I don't know what was the loudest: the frantic beating of my heart, the harsh pounding on the door, or the dogs barking loud enough to wake the dead. I struggled to catch my breath and get my racing heart back under control. What a way to be woken up! I threw off the sheets that were tangled around my feet and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I took a deep breath and stood up. The clock on my dresser showed 2:46. Who the hell comes banging on someone's door at that hour? I felt along the wall until my fingers brushed the light switch and flipped it up. Now I could see my room and down into the hall. Bam Bam BAM. Whoever it was seemed desperate, so I didn't bother throwing on any clothes. I slept in athletic shorts and that would have to be good enough for my insistent nighttime visitor. Stumbling down the hall and into the living room, I reached the front door just as a third round of pounding started. "Just a minute," I called, turning the deadbolt and the lock on the knob. As I pulled open the door, I saw the boy from the bus, eyes wide and filled with terror. *** "Please help us!" he begged. "What? What's wrong?" I asked. "Come with me! Help my mom, please!" I held up my hand. "Wait ... what's going on? Why do you need help?" "It's Randy. Her boyfriend. He's going crazy! Please come help us." And then he pulled open the screen door, grabbed my hand, and began tugging me out the door. I stopped him and said, "Hold on a second and tell me what's happening." "There's no TIME to EXPLAIN!" he pleaded. "You gotta come NOW!" With no idea what to expect, I slid into a pair of sneakers I kept by the front door and grabbed a baseball bat I stored behind the couch. The dogs wanted to go with me, and I seriously thought about taking them, but changed my mind and told them to stay in the house. I followed the boy outside. He grabbed my free hand and began running, urging me to follow. He led me to the gravel road at the end of my driveway and turned right, then shouted, "Come on! This way." I struggled to keep up. The kid was quick, but my adrenaline was flowing now and I caught up to him as we ran past three houses and turned into the next drive. As we approached the front door, I heard shouts and a woman screaming. Not from fear, but fury. "Don't you ever touch me again, you bastard!" Then I heard a crash and the woman screaming again, but this time it sounded like she was in pain. The boy threw open the door and ran inside, leaving me no option but to follow him. We both slid to a stop, looking around in shock. The living room was trashed. Broken furniture littered one corner and a couch had been knocked onto its back. We heard something heavy crash to the floor in a nearby room, and the woman screamed again. The boy tried to run ahead of me, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, moving in front of him and heading into the room first. I saw a woman on the floor, kicking up at a man who leaned over her, his fists balled up as he swung at whatever he could reach. She seemed to be keeping him at a distance, but she was on her back on the floor and it was only a matter of time before he found a chance to fall on her and pin her to the ground. "HEY!" I shouted. "Stop it! RIGHT NOW!!" The man turned and blinked. His eyes were glazed over, and he frowned at me in confusion. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. Then he saw the boy standing behind me, trying to peek around my arm. "What did you do, you little fuck? Ratting me out to the neighbors, is that what you did, you fuckin' little faggot?" "You get away from my mom!" the kid shouted. "JOSH ... I told you to get out of here!" the woman screamed. The kid shook his head violently from side to side. "No, Mom, I got help. He's not hurting you anymore." The man turned to face me and pointed at the front door. "I don't know who the fuck you are, man, but you get the fuck outta my house before I kick your fuckin' ass." Then he turned to the woman and snarled, "And then I'm gonna beat some fuckin' sense into this fuckin' whore before I whip that fuckin' faggot-ass son of yours--" "HEY!" I screamed, lifting the bat and smacking it against my other hand. "I ... SAID ... STOP! Get away from her right now, or I'll call the police to drag your body away after I bust your skull open!" We stared at each other without moving. He finally looked down at the bat in my hand, and then he looked me in the eye and saw that I meant every word of it. He began laughing, an eerie, maniacal laugh. He turned to the woman and spit at her. "Fuck you, Marie, you and your fucking faggot son. You can both eat shit and die for all I care." He turned around and picked up a jacket and began walking toward me where I stood in the doorway. I backed away, carefully pushing the boy behind me until we were back in the living room. The crazy boyfriend brushed past us and kept walking, lifting one hand to give us a middle finger as he walked out the door without saying another word. The kid ran to the front door and slammed it shut. He turned the dead bolt and the lock on the knob as well, then turned and ran past me into the bedroom to check on his mom. I followed him and found them hugging each other, crying hysterically. "You shouldn't have come back, Joshie. I told you to run and not come back." The woman gasped for air as she hugged the boy and rubbed his back. "I couldn't leave you, Momma. I just couldn't." He sobbed as he held his mother's neck, finally pulling away and looking her in the eyes. "I had to get help, and I knew the Dog Guy would help us. And I was right, wasn't I?" "The Dog Guy?" she asked, confused. The kid nodded and pointed at me. "Yeah, that's what I call him. He walks his dogs every day and they're really nice dogs and he has a really nice smile, so I knew he would help us." The woman hugged her son tighter and whispered, "You were right, Josh." "Did I do good, Momma?" She nodded and sighed. "Very good, kiddo. Perfect." She finally glanced up at me and said, "I don't know who you are, but I'm really grateful you came to help. Thank you." "You're welcome. Ummm .... should I call the sheriff now?" She quickly shook her head. "No, no, that's okay. We're alright now, aren't we Josh? No. We'll be fine now that Randy's gone." It seemed strange to me, but I wasn't about to argue. Living out in the country like we did, I was used to it. Folks around here were reluctant to ask for help from the law. They settled their affairs on their own, and I had my own reasons for feeling uncomfortable seeing sheriff's SUV's in the neighborhood. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked the woman. "No," she replied, bringing her feet underneath her and standing up. "We'll be fine now." She held out her hand. "I'm Marie Canton. This is my son, Josh." I switched the bat to my left hand and reached out to take hers. "I'm Jake. Jake Turnbull." I chuckled and added, "Otherwise known as the Dog Guy." They both laughed, and Marie pulled Josh close to her side. "Thank you for coming to our rescue, Jake. From now on, we're going to remember you as the Bat Guy." We all laughed at that and the tension finally seemed to leave the room. Marie told Josh to begin picking up books that had fallen onto the floor and return them to shelves on the wall. She walked with me to the front door, then pulled a curtain aside and looked all around the front yard. "His car is gone," she said. "I don't think he'll be back tonight." "What about tomorrow? Will he return and cause problems?" Maybe it wasn't any of my business, but I had to ask. "He won't be back," she said confidently. "He knows better. I'll let his brother know what he did tonight, and that will be the end of it." And that was all she would say on the matter. Like I said, it was how things were done out here, and she seemed certain that the matter was finished. I said good night and left her house, wondering if I would be called upon again to bring my bat to the rescue one more time. I hoped not. I had never bashed anyone's skull in, and I didn't know if I even could. All I knew for certain was that I'd almost wet my pants. End of UNDER SIEGE, Chapter 4