Warnings!
Child sexual abuse, extremely dubious consent, paedophilia, rape/non-consensual, suicidal thoughts, underage sex, victim blaming.
Where Our Demons Hide
Part 1 – The Plaintiff's Case
There were two, three short raps of the gavel on the sound block, and the court moved to settle in a rolling thunder as everyone scrambled to find their seats.
Someone let out a small cough.
Then, silence.
After a long minute, the judge peered over the sheaf of papers in her hands and called, "Would the plaintiff please take the stand?"
A tall well-built young man rose from his seat in the front of the courtroom. He was blond, blue-eyed and handsome, the very picture of the all-American ideal, but he looked drawn and ashen-faced. His eyes were fixed to his feet, encased in a pair of black leather shoes peeking out from under neatly-pressed trouser legs. He walked with stiff limbs over to the witness' stand.
The courtroom guard brought him a Bible and, with one hand placed over it, he said his oath.
"I swear that the evidence that I shall give..." the guard began.
"I swear that the evidence that I shall give..." Alfred repeated.
"…shall be the truth, the whole truth…"
"…shall be the truth, the whole truth…"
"…and nothing but the truth."
"…and nothing but the truth."
"So help me God."
So help me God, Alfred said wordlessly.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and smoothed down his tie as he took his seat. He leaned forward and made to speak, but stopped. His bright blue eyes darted around the courtroom, from the jury sitting to his left to the audience who made up the court in front of him. He swallowed audibly. He looked frightened.
When he caught sight of his family sitting in a row in the middle of the room, he seemed to regain some of his composure. The lost, frightened look gave way to determination as his lips pressed themselves into a firm line.
"Whenever you're ready," the judge prompted him, kindly.
Alfred nodded.
Staring straight ahead, he spoke into the microphone, "My name is Alfred Jones. I'm eighteen years old, and I am accusing my old schoolteacher, Mr Ivan Braginski, of sexually abusing me."
The pre-prepared line was delivered in a flat stilted tone. He looked almost like a puppet the way his mouth flapped to form each clipped and over-pronounced word.
But his eyes! His eyes were burning with life. They unfurled and darkened to a deep blue shade as he turned at last to look at the man sitting to his right in the dock; a large, pale-faced man in a light grey suit, with a pair of his own dull and unblinking eyes staring straight back at him.
The tape started with a screen of white noise. Then it fizzled into colour, and there was a snippet of an old TV commercial before cutting to a side profile of a boy.
A boy, a little boy with wheat-blond hair, and a pair of wide innocent blue eyes.
The picture pulled and wavered before coming into focus, the camera lens zooming out so that more of the boy was in frame.
He was wearing a white school shirt and dark blue shorts. He sat spread-legged on a cement block, scuffing the soles of his shoes as he kicked against the dirt floor, his hands planted palm downwards in the space between his thighs, holding his upper body upright.
"Say hello, Alfred," came a deep voice from behind the camera, sounding very close to the microphone.
The boy, Alfred, twisted around to face the camera and gave a wide grin, showing off a set of milk teeth with a missing gap.
"Hi! My name is Alfred!" he greeted. "I'm eight years old and I'm with my maths teacher, Mr B, who's going to get me ice-cream!"
The voice gave a small chuckle, sounding genuinely delighted with the boy.
"And what flavour would you like?"
Alfred brought his hand to his chin. "Uhh... I like chocolate, but I also like vanilla," he said. He frowned as he pondered over his dilemma, muttering, "Chocolate... or vanilla..."
The voice gave another chuckle.
"I'll get you both of them."
Alfred looked up, excited. "Really?!" he said.
He got up and ran to hug the deep-voiced man. The camera shook in his hand before righting itself and training on little Alfred with his arms wrapped around his waist.
"You're the best, Mr B," Alfred said affectionately.
A large white hand raised itself to pat Alfred on the head. It lingered just long enough over his soft blond locks to seem overly familiar.
"I was eight years old. School was out, and my parents were late to pick me up that afternoon. They called in to say they would be late. Mr B – Mr Braginski, my math teacher – he offered to stay and watch till they picked me up."
"And that was when he first made an advance on you, Mr Jones?"
It was the prosecutor prompting him to confirm.
Alfred nodded. "Yeah," he said.
"A sexual advance?"
Alfred nodded again. "Yeah," he repeated in a thin rasp.
"Could you please recount the moment for the jury, Mr Jones?"
Alfred trained his eyes to his hands clutching his tiepin, twirling it round and round in between thumb and forefingers. He did not speak immediately.
A small eternity passed before he leaned into the microphone and mumbled, "He made me kiss him."
He could still remember the warmth of that summer afternoon and the smooth coolness of the cement block pressing into the back of his thighs.
They were in the front grounds of the school, and Mr B had bought him two cones of ice cream from a passing vendor; one chocolate and one vanilla, as he had promised. His face and hands were sticky with the soft cream as they melted quicker than he could eat them.
Mr B had set aside his small camera to fish out a handkerchief from his pocket. He took Alfred's tumbler – a brightly-coloured plastic tube printed with cartoon superheroes – and poured some water over the handkerchief. He brought the makeshift wet wipe to Alfred.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he said.
Alfred scrunched his nose, hands still clutching the ice cream cones as Mr B scrubbed his face with the handkerchief. Once he was done, he folded it over and set it aside for later use.
"Mr B, how do I say your name again?" Alfred asked curiously.
"It's Braginski," Mr B said.
Alfred frowned, muttering the name under his breath as he tried it out. His tongue twisted on itself, and he gave up.
"What's your first name?" he asked, defeated.
"It's Ivan."
"Can I call you Ivan?"
Mr B cast him a sidelong glance.
"That's a very intimate thing to do, to call an adult by his first name."
Alfred stared.
"Do you know what 'intimate' means, Alfred?"
Alfred shook his head no.
"It means..." Mr B paused, searching for the right words. "It means… you're close to someone, or familiar with someone. It means we have to be very good friends first."
Alfred was silent for a moment as he mulled over his teacher's words.
"Are we good friends, Mr B?" he broached.
Mr B blinked once. His eyes were a pair of startling violet, taking on an unearthly hue in the light of the afternoon sun as he turned to face Alfred with an unreadable expression.
"Of course," he said.
"I kissed him on the cheek as a – as a gesture of friendship, I guess. So I'd get to call him 'Ivan'."
A smile flickered over his lips, short and bitter. He bowed his head.
"Then he told me he could teach me how grown-ups kissed," he mumbled. "He held me by my chin and he made me kiss him on the mouth."
The court was deathly silent, but all eyes turned to Ivan Braginski who sat completely expressionless. Alfred did not look up to see this.
"He also told me that grown-ups kissed with their tongues," he continued, still staring at his hands. "He wanted to show me, but I thought it sounded gross and said I didn't want to. He dropped it then.
"And not long after, my parents came to pick me up."
An audible sigh escaped his lips. The recount seemed to have shaken him, but he also looked relieved to have had the story told and the weight lifted from his chest. His lips twitched slightly at the corners in an almost-smile.
"Did you tell anyone of this encounter back then?" the prosecutor prompted him.
Alfred looked up. "No," he said.
He lied.
Disclaimer!
All incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental. The author does not condone any immoral or illegal sexual conduct with minors in real life.