John Eric Carson was the kind of guy any County Attorney in the state would give his eye teeth for. A natural detective, methodical, precise, observant. John was the guy who saw everything and was always arranging the puzzle until it fit. Carson had a way with folks too. He had the knack to get just about anyone to tell him anything, sometimes without asking a question. In a nutshell, John Carson could have been the ulitmate Deputy Sherriff.
All the natural traits John had made him a bit of a misfit in the Society he was engaged with. He had learned to choke some things back-- and every year it was harder for him to keep from puking them up. His parents had made a choice for him long ago. They had ponied up with a beast that had all the answers... by 24, John was starting to chafe in the yoke.
Carson had the mind to be a great investigator or maybe even a real good lawyer. He was making a living in the trades... his mind was sort of made up for him by the Society. "Got to watch those showy displays" , "God takes care of the birds".... Jesus, what rubbish. John was waiting for God to pick up the tab.... hell, at this point the tip would have been a gesture.
Even with as much crap as he wadded in to stay aligned with the spiritual "mother ship" John couldnt understand why he was begining to doubt... a peice was missing. He knew he had seen it in the box. Had he mislaid it?
Randall Charles Baxter was the perpetual geek. Not really a bad looking kid. Randy suffered from a perpetually bad haircut and acne. Randall Baxter had some secrets. They were wearing on him... and causing some true mental confusion.
Randy was a natural salesman. Always selling, pitching something. And he had a real need to be accepted. The senior leaders of the Society always liked the kid. Randy was an ass-kisser in the first degree.
The Society had regular big area meetings to inform the membership on various facets of the spirtual journey. Carson would go... and as a young man found the social aspect to be enjoyable. Always a new face or two... and lots of young folks stuck in the same boat. Girl wearing their subtly sexiest best clothes too.
Randy never missed the "conventions" either. Always seemed that Old Randy knew everyone, especially the high profile leaders.... especially the ones with kids.
Randy was always on the front row when the special meetings were held too. The leaders really bought Baxter's bullshit about reaching out for "privileges". He was trusted.
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After 10 years of marriage, life was starting to stink for John Carson. He wanted out of the cult. And his wife needed to stay in. In the worst way. That puzzle was starting to screw with him and he sure as hell could not explain it to his wife. How do you explain what you don't understand yourself?
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Life had dealt Randy some ups and downs to. He did'nt deserve them...and he could'nt break the cycle they had started.
Seems his Daddy had been taking 'liberties' with Randy and his sisters. And like so many in that situation.... Randy's only way express his power-lessness was to do the same to others.
A little boy spilled the beans on Randy. Digital rape and Sodomy would have placed Baxter as a ward of the state for years.
The boy's mama was discouraged by the Society from prosecuting Randy... seems you need "two witnesses" to put a baby fucker away per the rules or the Society. Sick.. sick twisted bastards and the legelistic "rules".
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John Carson caught a ride home with Randall one night. They had been socializing and when Carson's ride split early ... well, "johnny on the spot" Randy was there to save the day and offer a ride home.
It was late... Randy offered to let the younger boy drive home. Randy, had a old Mustang, a real piece of shit... sort of that baby crap yellow.
"Man, I'm really beat", and a big yawn came out of Baxter's yap as he settled into the black bucket seat. John checked the mirrors, let out the clutch and headed north.
A few miles out of town , out were the highway gets dark Randy stirred in the seat. The pair filled up the limited forward area of the old pony car. A little stretch and shift and Baxter's hand was on John's knee.
John thought nothing of it... the older boy snorted and snored a bit, soon the hand moved away.
The games began. Baxter began the yawn, shift and touch on a regular interval. The hand seemed to land farther and farther up John's lap. The the second time he literally removed it from his crotch.
After the third John pulled the Mustang to the shoulder and stopped. The road was deserted.
" Listen, you son of a bitch", John Eric was a little miffed. "Put your hand on me again and I'll drop you were your sitting!" Feigning the stupidity of sleep Randy offered some lame excuse, but no apolgy.
"Get your ass over here and drive this shitbox home". Both were out on the shoulder and Randy took the wheel. Nothing else happend.
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John knew about Randy and the young boy. The Society had a grapevine. Carson knew who's closets held the biggest bones.
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For years the event was forgotten. But the puzzle would not go toghther for John. He could not bring himself to run in the Society anymore and the strain was telling on his wife. She had aspirations within the cult and John was dragging her down. She left him for her "spirtuality".
The dreams got worse. And soon John put the peices in place. He could have saved that little boy.
Guilt is a terrible thing, especially when one takes responsibity for the guilt of another.
One night John went to the leaders and laid the whole story out. They were not much help.
"That was a long time ago... you didnt do anything to encourage that did you?" Those guys were grade a assholes. John had snapped a bit. "I should have killed that mother fucker on the side of the road right there!" The Elders, unfazed by the story, were promptly taken aback by the language.
Situation Normal. The Watchtower at it's finest.
I have'nt been back since.