Stevens School Runaways

Stevens School Runaways - Part 15 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man)
[email protected]

(First published on Eunuch Archive)

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Although the main ordeal is over and the runaways are resting in their infirmary beds, their future is uncertain even as a once unlikely benefactor tries to help.

Stevens School Runaways - Part 15
"Aftermath"

Tom and Rich were given adjoining beds in the infirmary. The infirmary, nestled upstairs in a third floor alcove of the large Stevens facility away from the hustle and bustle of the reform school, contained a total of six beds. Both boys lay asleep well into Monday, surprisingly comfortable and mildly sedated. Tom woke up first and saw a group of other boys outside on the recreational field playing soccer. The look was cursory as he began to take stock of his new surroundings. He felt pain in many places on his ravaged body, but it was more of a pervasive soreness, as though he'd been given pills of some kind to ease his recovery. No longer nude, he was wearing blue cotton pajamas and lying on his back under the thick covers, including the cozy shelter of a nice comforter. He loved comforters! He felt a kind of rush too -- like a mild thrill. The weekend, he thought, was over, and aa sense of satisfaction was there inside him along with the knowledge that he'd survived. Then there was a fear, a gnawing fear suddenly arriving in earnest -- and he felt a bit of numbness by his nuts. Not bound or tied in any way, he furtively moved his hand under the covers to feel for his penis and testicles – for a few seconds he was terrified and an empty feeling filled the pit of his stomach – no, those bastards didn't – but then he smiled, and realized that he hadn't been castrated. Whew! That was a relief. His genitals were intact, even if they were quite sore when he felt around down there. In any case, Tom had a pretty good idea that they still worked – which was the main thing.

It sure was quiet in the infirmary. The door entering the sick quarters was closed, and the other beds – except for the one nearest containing a still sleeping Rich – were empty. Tom thought about rousing his friend, but then felt a surge of compassion, and let him sleep. At least Rich didn't snore. It wasn't quite like the hospital room which Tom remembered from when he'd had his tonsils removed, or just last year when he'd had all four wisdom teeth extracted and so been hospitalized for two days as a precaution by his parents, this room apparently didn't have a Nintendo or even a television set. There were a couple of magazines lying around – dog-eared copies of Reader's Digest, National Geographic, and Boys' Life. But he didn't feel much like reading. What he ended up doing was falling back to sleep.

Alfred Cousins had witnessed some of the runaways' weekend ordeal – but not all of it. During his frequent absences, he'd been busy. On Saturday, he'd furtively investigated the confidential files of inmates Thomas Bridges and Richard Hansen – only to discover an intriguing string of notable biographical details. "No actual violence committed by either boy – very questionable admissions" were among the conclusions he'd arrived at following a thorough review. What are they doing here? He asked aloud to himself several times. Neither boy had a history of previous delinquent behavior before being sentenced to Stevens. Although it wasn't unusual that these two weren't local – the school frequently accepted out-of-state "clients" – some red flags appeared to make them exceptional. Cousins had been employed at Stevens long enough to gain tenure. While eleven absconders had suffered punishment regimes during the 1990s, and though he'd invariably expressed sympathy and even empathy with those boys punished – for instance, following the brutal ordeal undergone by Payton and Singletary he'd repeatedly expressed his objections to practices he'd deemed excessive – he'd never felt tempted to actually intervene. But this case – the situations with Richard and Tom – cried out for intervention. If the truth were known, he'd never felt comfortable about the punishment regimes inflicted at Stevens, or the government tie-in to such practices, or even their secretive nature. He knew for a fact that most of the supporting staff – people like visiting mental health counselors flown in explicitly from Boston and New York City and Baltimore to treat the kids in the aftermath of their ordeals -- weren't briefed on the intimate details of what the teenagers had actually been subjected to. Once, after overhearing a conversational snippet between a well- credentialed clinical psychologist and headmaster Taylor immediately AFTER the shrink had completed post-ordeal interviews with absconders Payton and Singletary – Cousins received the distinct impression that the likelihood of emotional trauma consequent to a Stevens punishment weekend was being mistakenly minimized. "Those kids have the wildest imaginations," the visitor had joked, "you should have heard the allegations they were making."

So Alfred Cousins, once victimized himself by adults in a life-altering way and forced to harbor a terrible secret of his own -- decided to call the parents in question.

Rich was awake now. He looked out at the Stevens surroundings; the field was empty and the part of the building he was in seemed deathly quiet. It was nearly dark, but he could just make out the outline of his friend's face, was he sleeping, or just faking it? "Hey Tom – you awake?"

"Yeah. So you're back in the land of the living? Finally!"

"How do you feel?"

"Not bad, considering, except a little woozy. I think they slipped us some pain pills."

"Yeah, same with me. They slipped me a Mickey. I'm really sore in a lot of places, but the edge of it doesn't seem to be there."

"Pretty awful what they did to us, huh? Child abuse at least. We should be able to sue those bastards."

"At least they didn't cut your balls off like you were worried about."

"What do you think? It must be a serious crime what they did to us. We could close this place down maybe. I'll bet we can." Tom was very angry, understandably.

But Rich was more pragmatic. He had his doubts about any immediate retribution that they could take to rectify their situation. It was, in fact, a very dismal picture. Their future, as he saw it, really sucked. He posed some logic toward his friend. "Some of the guys who were punished like us are still going to school here. In any case, nobody closed down the place after they were given their special weekend. I don't think there's anybody who'd listen to us, anyway."

"What about counselors – we're supposed to get counseling – it said so in the video they showed us. I'll bet if we were honest with the counselor they bring in and told that person how we were punished, I mean all the nasty details, I'll bet they'd go apeshit -- like they'd have to believe us."

"My Dad has a word for you— and your dopey kind."

"What?"

"Naïve. He'd say that if somebody was peeing on you, you'd think it was raining."

"I'm not sure I'd like your Dad much."

"He's got to be better than your Dad – the born-again freak. Wasn't it his idea to get you put in here? Didn't he even tell the freaking judge that?"

Tom was now near tears. "I guess, but if he'd known what it was like, he'd never have done it. Never!"

Rich felt a change of heart. He too was angry, and very depressed. But he suddenly realized that to attack his only friend in this place wasn't very nice, wasn't very nice at all. "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't mean it."

Tom took the apology as a green light to started talking about counselors coming to the rescue again. "I bet the counselor they get to talk to us will listen. That's their job."

"Maybe. But I think it's too easy. That's what you'd expect to happen if this was a normal place. I don't think this is a normal place, not even a normal reform school, and I don't think anybody around here gives a God damn about us."

"What about Mr. Cousins?"

Rich had to think about that one, but not for too long. "What's he ever done for us? I mean really? Did he stop them from hurting us?"

"He could call our parents if we asked him."

What could our freaking parents do, Rich mused, we're freaking wards of this place, it's like they OWN us. "I doubt Mr. Cousins would call our parents – even if we asked him. I don't think he has the freaking guts anyway. Besides, they'd probably fire his ass if he did, if any of the bastards found out, and he probably doesn't care enough about us – even if he does care about us – to stick his neck out like that. No, he'd never dare call our parents." Rich felt that their future was as hopeless as it was uncertain. But about Alfred Cousins calling their parents – he was already mistaken.

Mr. Cousins first tried calling Tom's parents on that Saturday when their son's punishments for absconding were in full swing. Mrs. Bridges, the Evangelical Christian woman who'd first discovered her son's diary in his room and been "utterly shocked" by its contents, answered the phone in a brusque tone. "Yes, this is the Bridges home, Jesus loves you, who am I speaking with?"

Mr. Cousins was already made jittery by the circumstances under which he was calling. Realizing the risk he was taking, the woman's self-righteous and religious manner only made things worse. But she had to be Tom's mother. "Is Thomas Bridges your son?"

"Yes, I have a son named Thomas. He's away – at school. But whom am I speaking with? What is this about?"

"I'm on staff here at the Stevens School. I'm sorry to bother you, but your son is being severely punished at the school today – he and another boy. He tried to run away and was caught – brought back to the school."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then Mr. Cousins thought he heard the woman whispering to someone, and then the boy's father came on the line after what seemed like an eternity. "Hello, I'm Andrew Bridges, and Thomas is my son. What's this about? Whom am I speaking to?"

Mr. Cousins choked a bit, and courageously forged ahead. "Your son is being severely punished to the point of torture for attempting to run away from the Stevens School. He and another boy were caught and brought back. The government is involved in the punishments – they're actually 'pain threshold' experiments. He's in serious danger of receiving lifelong trauma. You have to get him out of this institution if you can."

But Andrew Bridges – like his often-hysterical wife – weren't easily convinced of such things – nor did the man seem overly concerned about his son. "What – praise the Lord – are you talking about? My son's a ward at the Stevens school – and I couldn't intervene even if I wanted to. Besides, if he's being punished for running away, the boy probably deserves everything that's coming to him. I recommended that he be sent to that excellent school. I am aware of corporal punishments meted out at Stevens, but I'm sure that everything is done within reason. As you are probably aware, 'Spare the rod, and spoil the child' is taken right from the Bible. I will take it up with the headmaster there – a Mr. Taylor I believe – when I get the chance. But what you're saying makes little sense – and I would classify this call as harassment – what did you say your name was, sir?"

This Bridges guy is an ignorant fool, Cousins mused. He realized that to brain-wrestle with the likes of this born- again would be futile. "I didn't. Sorry to bother you," Mr. Cousins hissed, and then abruptly hung up.

He had slightly better luck with the Hansen boy's parents, but only slightly. The conversation progressed into a conference call with both concerned parents. "If what you say is true," said Alice Hansen, Richard's Mom, "it's even more crucial that we get him home. But we've tried contacting him at the school – and they won't even let us speak with him! We've called our local Congressman's office, and the Governor's office, and social services, but it's like Richard has dropped into a dark hole. Do you have any suggestions?" Mr. Cousins didn't – at least not yet. He'd opened up a Pandora's box and taken from it everything but a solution. Mr. Chad Hansen, Richard's Dad, was thankful for the call but equally frustrated. "Could you keep us posted? I don't have to know who you are – I don't want to know – but could you call us again after the weekend to let us know how Rich is doing?" I'll – try to call you from my home in town – it's not safe here – if I can. I know you have to be worried but the last thing I'd want to do is to make matters worse for your son."

"We understand," Mr. And Mrs. Hansen said simultaneously, "and we appreciate everything that you're trying to do," the boy's Dad chimed in. But at that moment, after a last pregnant pause and the line going dead, Alfred Cousins felt somewhat like a bumbling Don Quixote. This latter realization hit him in the psyche like a runaway train. What the heck was he going to do?

End of Part 15