Unhinged by Onley James
After the dust settled, Adam returned to his seat with Noah perched on his lap. He was hyperaware of the others’ heavy stares. The only one not watching him was Adam’s father, Thomas, who was not at all what Noah expected. He’d seen photos of the man in newspaper clippings and magazines, but they somehow failed to show just how young and hot Adam’s dad actually was.
He certainly didn’t look old enough to have children in their early thirties, but Noah supposed it was because he hadn’t actually created any of them, just raised them. Raised them to be killers.
Noah watched as he pushed a button on a strange boomerang shaped object in the center of the table. Noah half-expected a strange futuristic 3D model to appear over it, but it was just a speaker.
“This is your friendly neighborhood oracle speaking, how may I service you today?” a voice chirped in surround sound.
“Hi, Calliope,” Asa and Avi said in unison.
“Hello, boys. I see Adam didn’t leave you at the airport. I’m assuming you’re all calling from the Batcave.”
Noah’s lips twitched. This was much nicer than the Batcave. In addition to their shiny white wall that allowed for scribbling, there was another wall of computer screens and a bar that ran along the length of another. They clearly spent a lot of time down there in their secret room.
“We need some real time information. Can you help?” Thomas asked.
“How dare you question my abilities in front of mere mortals?” she asked with mock offense.
Noah’s eyes widened, looking to Thomas, relieved when he only chuckled. “My mistake. We need some information.”
There was the distinct sound of a chair spinning. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
“Noah was able to identify Paul Anderson and a priest, whose name he can’t remember. Can you cross-reference Paul Anderson and Wayne Holt along with Gary and see if there’s any overlap? There has to be something. A baseball team. A prayer group. A men’s league.”
There was a series of clicks, and then she said, “Uh-uh. Nothing. But if it’s something like an AA meeting, there would be no record of it.”
Thomas’s disappointment was palpable. “I just sent you a photo of the priest. Run it against yearbooks from the Catholic school Wayne Holt used to teach at. My guess is that’s where you’ll find him.”
“Hold please,” Calliope said, though she didn’t actually put them on hold. They all sat silently while nails tapped over a keyboard. The only other sound was K-pop music playing in the background. Maybe Calliope’s kids liked BTS? Or maybe Calliope herself did. The only person who would truly know is Thomas.
Noah had thought he’d be more affected by this after his meltdown yesterday, but, somehow, sitting in a group of murderers made him feel safer than he’d ever felt before. Safe enough to tentatively search his memories for anything else that might help them put the pieces together, but there was nothing concrete. A cop and a priest were easy to remember; they had uniforms that stuck out and jobs that were supposed to protect children like Noah.
But the others… Gary had never done a good thing before in his entire life. He wasn’t likely to be running in the same circles as Paul Anderson and a priest. Of course, his father had been a respected school teacher and he and Gary were best friends. I guess videotaping each other in repulsive acts of violence against children guaranteed mutually assured destruction should one of them get caught. Or maybe they just enjoyed reliving the moment.
“Got him,” Calliope cried out, triumphant. “Father Patrick O’Hara… Jesus, Thomas. He was the school principal.”
“Of course, he was,” August said. “These guys somehow always rise to the top.
“I bet they’d all say he’s a respected member of the community,” Atticus added.
“His victims wouldn’t,” Noah muttered, bitter.
“Who’s that?” Calliope asked. “I don’t recognize that voice.”
Asa snickered. “It’s Noah. We have a guest in the Batcave.”
“Yeah, apparently that’s a thing we do now,” Avi said.
“Hi, Noah!” Calliope exclaimed, like she was meeting a celebrity and not just plain old Noah, who lived in a rotted out trailer.
“Hi,” Noah said, face hot.
“Noah made an excellent point,” Thomas said.
Had he? Noah couldn’t imagine how but it was nice to think that might be the case. Thomas perched his hip on the large conference room table, close to the twins.
“Calliope, look for any lawsuits where O’Hara was named as a defendant. They’ll most likely be sealed. The church is really big on keeping those things under wraps and paying to make problems go away. If you don’t find that, search for cases against Holt’s school and any previous schools O’Hara worked at.”
Once more, they all listened to Calliope’s frantic tapping. “Nothing for O’Hara specifically, but there was a case against the city’s archdiocese. Records sealed. But the complainant was an adult. Not a child.”
“Gotta name?” Thomas asked.
“Josiah Smithfield.”
“What can you tell us about him?”
“Twenty years old, high school dropout, arrested twice for narcotics and once for petty theft. He has been in rehab twice. Oh!” she cried. “Josiah’s rehab facility? St. Anthony’s, run by the same church that runs Holt’s school. Guess who’s listed as the social worker? O’Hara. He has a doctorate in child psychology and a bachelor’s degree in education. This fucker literally dedicated years to putting himself in the lives of vulnerable children.” Calliope’s voice was shaking.
Noah didn’t blame her. His insides were shaking, too. What kind of monster spent his entire life trying to find new ways to victimize little kids? The same kind of monster who would videotape it and share it with others.
Noah wiped his sweaty palms on his jean clad thighs. “But, this boy…he doesn’t fit the pattern. These guys are—what’s it called—preferential offenders, right? So, what would O’Hara want with a teen?”
“Good point,” Calliope said, followed by a series of more tapping. “Gold star for Noah. Josiah likely first met the man at Sacred Heart in 1997. He was the parish priest and Josiah’s parents show tithing records all the way back to the eighties. That could have put him in O’Hara’s cross hairs. Maybe seeing O’Hara’s name once he was in rehab triggered his memories like Noah. Maybe he couldn’t live with not doing anything?”
“Can we go talk to him?” Adam asked.
More typing and then a sound of dismay. “No. He died three years ago. Death record says suicide by hanging.”
Noah’s stomach churned and, for the first time that day, panic started to bubble inside, vomit climbing his throat until he knew he couldn’t hold it back. He lurched for the trash can, barely making it before he lost his breakfast. Adam was beside him in a second, hand on his back. It felt like hours before he stopped but it was probably only a few minutes.
When he finally stopped retching, Adam sat beside him, legs sprawled in a vee. Noah didn’t bother trying to stand, just sat between his splayed thighs, letting him curl his arms around him. Not one of them missed a beat, turning back to the board. “Keep looking. He can’t be the only one,” Thomas said.
“I have an idea,” Noah said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. They all turned to him expectantly. “The age group they target, younger children—they tend to suppress trauma, right? That’s what I read a few weeks ago after I started to remember. Kids with early trauma often act out, have substance abuse problems later, anger issues. Can’t you cross-reference children in the preferential age range against prison and rehab records like you did with Josiah? I mean, they won’t all be victims, but it would probably narrow our search. Maybe they remember more than I do.”
“I can do that, but it will take longer than searching just one name,” Calliope said.
“Do we really believe this kid offed himself?” Atticus asked suddenly.
Thomas turned to frown in his direction. “What do you mean?”
“Holt wasn’t just a child rapist. He was a killer. He killed the kids he hurt. Not all of them, but a good amount. What if it wasn’t just him? What if these men have been eliminating the children who complain? The ones who refuse to keep the secret or, like Josiah, possibly remember later?”
Thomas looked pained. “Calliope, you know what to do. Add children who went missing or who died under suspicious circumstances to the list.”
Archer cleared his throat. “You should probably also cross-reference the sex offender registry with children who came into contact with O’Hara. Some victims go on to become offenders, as we all know.”
Noah’s insides curdled like milk. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hurt a child the way somebody had hurt him. But the things these men had done to him had changed Noah. Even when he didn’t remember, it had changed him. He’d had a huge hole in his heart, one that he could never fill, not with drugs or alcohol or casual rough sex. He’d spent his life feeling worthless and…tainted…like he had a permanent stain on his soul that only he could see.
Still, Thomas was right. If a person couldn’t keep their impulses in check, they were a danger to society. Once a person crossed the line from victim to aggressor, the good of the people outweighed any sympathy for the child the monster used to be. It had to. If not, the cycle continued.
“Get back to me as soon as you have anything, please, Calliope,” Thomas said.
“Aye, aye, Capitan,”Calliope said, then the line disconnected.
The others began to make their way to the entrance, but Thomas approached Noah, holding out a hand to help him up off the floor. Noah took it, noting the calluses on his palms. How did a doctor have such rough hands? Adam rose on his own, hovering over Noah’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you go join your brothers,” Thomas said. “I would like to speak to your Noah alone.”
“Why?” Adam asked, tone somewhere between alarmed and suspicious.
Noah felt both those emotions and then some. He found Thomas way more intimidating than Adam and his brothers combined. Who was more terrifying than a man who raised and trained psychopaths? It was like meeting a lion tamer. Noah didn’t know if the man was crazy or confident in his abilities. He wasn’t sure which he found more terrifying.
“Because if Noah is going to be part of this family, he needs to understand what he’s signed on for.”
“I just don’t understand why I can’t come,” Adam said sullenly.
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t pout, Adam.” To Noah, he said, “Why don’t we go chat by the pool? It’s lovely outside.”
Noah’s heart plummeted to his shoes, but he simply nodded.
Once they were alone, Thomas glanced at Noah, a small smile on his face. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” Noah answered honestly.
Thomas tilted his head. “But not the others?”
“No.”
“Interesting. Why is that?” Thomas asked, gesturing for Noah to sit down at the poolside table.
“Because they don’t do anything without your permission. They would only hurt me on your orders. That makes you the scary one.”
Thomas chuckled. “You’re smart. That’s a good thing.” He gazed out over the blue waters of the infinity pool, so Noah did, too, watching it spill over the edge into oblivion. “You understand my son can never love you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Noah treated it as one, a pit forming in his stomach. “Yes. I know.”
“Can you help me understand why you want to be with somebody who cannot love you back? I know it’s not our money. I observed the two of you carefully. You are genuinely fond of my son. So, tell me, what is it you get from him?”
There was no malice in the man’s tone, more a curiosity, like Noah had now become part of the experiment. Noah sighed. It was so much more complex than anything he could put into words. All he could do was share what he could articulate. “He protects me. He takes care of me. He would kill or die for me. He sees me. Nobody ever sees me.”
Thomas nodded, seeming to absorb Noah’s words. “He takes care of you how? What happened after I spoke with him on the phone yesterday? He was very angry with me for suggesting you should talk to a therapist—you should by the way. But what happened last night?”
Noah felt himself smile. “He found me drunkenly clutching a vodka bottle and took me downstairs, wrapped me in a blanket, and just held me. We watched cartoons, ate pizza, and got drunk.”
Thomas made a noise of surprise. “All on his own?”
Noah shook his head. “No. Calliope told him what to do. But the fact that he cared enough to ask has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does. You’re an adult, Noah. I’m not going to attempt to tell you or my son that you cannot see each other. I truly believe he would come unhinged at the slightest suggestion of it. But being a part of this family means not only keeping our secrets but becoming part of our cover-up. You’ll have to lie convincingly enough to pass a lie detector test. You will need to train to protect yourself. Shooting, fighting, all of it. I can’t have Adam distracted worrying about your wellbeing. You’ll have to think quickly, act quickly, and never, ever hesitate. In this family, everybody pulls their weight.”
“I understand,” Noah stated solemnly, even though, deep down, he was more than a little excited by the prospect of learning to protect himself. It would be nice to feel safe even when Adam wasn’t around.
“Do you think he’ll get tired of me?” Noah suddenly asked, choking a little on the words. He wished he had Thomas’s crazy confidence when it came to his place in their world.
“No. The opposite, in fact. I think you’ll find that my son’s attention is a lot like a child holding a kitten. They are excited by it, fascinated with it, want so badly to give it affection, but they don’t understand how fragile it is. I don’t want Adam’s attention to crush you. Quite frankly, I’m not sure he’d recover.”
Noah thought about it. “I don’t know how Adam feels. I know he can’t love me, like you said. But I don’t even know what love is. Is it wanting to be in each other’s company all the time? Wanting to protect each other? Take care of each other? Comfort each other? The thing about Adam and I…we tell each other exactly what we need from one another. We have to because neither of us have the instincts necessary to navigate it any other way. Like, how is that different than love? Nobody’s ever loved me, so I honestly don’t know.”
“I can see why my son finds you so fascinating,” Thomas said, returning his gaze to the view. “And, if I’m being honest, I truly don’t know what love is, but I suppose that makes sense.”
“Why’s that?” Noah asked.
Thomas’s intense gaze pinned him in place. “Can I tell you a secret? One not even my sons know?”
Noah nodded, chest tight.
“Nobody’s ever loved me either.”
