Chapter 1 #2
I couldn’t bear to look at this sleazy lawyer any longer, but I also couldn’t bring myself to shut off the video.
I’d tried not to obsess over the bell ringer case, but of course I knew the details.
One of the bell ringers hidden facilities had apparently been found in the middle of a swamp in Louisiana.
It wasn’t one of the main facilities and taking it down didn’t put much of a dent in the bell ringers operation, but it was the first time any evidence against them had been found.
Until now, there hadn’t been any proof that the evidence even existed.
Even more embarrassing was the fact that the raid on the swamp facility hadn’t been carried out by official law enforcement, but by a group of private investigators.
It was a slap in the face of government law enforcement, and now the police of several states, as well as the FBI, were jumping on the bandwagon to make it look like the they’d been a part of the investigation all along.
I snorted out loud.
Where was this eagerness before?
Of course, it was easy to join an investigation once someone else had already cracked it open, but everyone wanted a piece of the credit without doing the work. Meanwhile, victims like me continued to suffer at the hands of these monsters that the so-called “police” didn’t bother to stop.
The lawyer continued droning on, and a dark part of me wondered what had compelled this man to take on such a case, trying to help pedophiles walk free.
Was it just a matter of money, or was he also a member of the bell ringers and it was a matter of personal interest?
The latter option wouldn’t surprise me. The bell ringers had gone unnoticed for so long, and been so successful, because they had a lot of powerful people among their ranks.
As more of these dark thoughts raced through my mind, something in the background of the video caught my attention.
The front steps of the courthouse were filled with people. The mass of reporters around the lawyer took up one side of the staircase, but on the other side of the staircase, a different group of reporters surrounded another man.
At first, I thought it must be the prosecution’s lawyer, but the man at the center of the chaos was wearing a much more casual suit, paired with blue jeans rather than proper slacks.
This was no lawyer.
The man turned to the side just enough for me to get a better look at his face, and I gasped when I realized I recognized him.
Logan Hollingsworth.
It was the detective that had shown up in San Francisco looking for Clay. I’d helped him in his search, and in return, he’d been the one to get me a place in the recovery center.
Why was Logan at the trial?
He wasn’t testifying, and he wasn’t one of the private investigators that found the hidden facility in the swamp. He’d been hired to find Clay, but last I’d heard, that was where his connection to the case ended.
Had he joined the investigation into the bell ringers since I’d last spoken to him?
Although my question went unspoken, it was still answered when Logan took a step back and I could see Clay standing next to him.
The young man looked better than I’d ever seen him.
His blond hair hung down to his shoulders in thick glossy waves, and his blue eyes shone with life despite the stressful environment.
At least a dozen microphones were being shoved into his face, but he barely seemed to notice them.
How?
Where had such a drastic change come from?
A couple years ago, the two of us had been in exactly the same situation, practically living in a gutter while selling ourselves to survive. Living in a nightmare that was only marginally better than the hell that we’d escaped.
Since then, I’d gotten help just like he had. I was on the road to recovery, but it felt like every step down that road took a lifetime to achieve. Yet, Clay was practically glowing.
We may have started in the same place, but there was now a drastic difference between the two of us, and I had no idea how he managed it.
Apparently, all of my unspoken questions were going to go answered today, because just as I was thinking about the miracle of Clay’s recovery, I noticed Logan’s arm settled around the other man’s waist.
Oh. That explained it. Of course he was in such good spirits when he had a man like that at his side. Plus, I heard that he’d also been reunited with his family. It seemed like everyone was in his corner, helping him along his healing journey.
Lucky bastard.
Ugly jealousy bit at my heart, sinking its teeth so deep into me that I tasted bile at the back of my throat.
I could practically hear my therapist’s voice in my ear, telling me that I was being unfair to both Clay and myself.
The two of us had both come a long way, but everyone was different, and I shouldn’t compare our progress.
It wasn’t a race and there was no prize for getting there faster.
Still, I couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in my eyes.
It wasn’t fair.
Why did everything have to be so hard?
Before the tears could fall, I was startled by the sudden sound of an alarm beeping. The timer on my phone was going off, telling me that it was time to rinse the dye out of my hair.
Shutting off the video, which was mostly over anyway, I hopped off the counter and turned my attention to the bathroom sink.
Rinsing out the dye would have been easier in a shower, where I could get my hair wet all at once, but I’d only gotten permission to use the sink for this.
The recovery center’s communal showers were new, and the staff didn’t want to risk ruining them.
However, the sinks were old, and no one cared if they were accidentally stained.
It took a while, and a lot of grumbling and cussing, but eventually, I managed to get my hair washed and dried.
Looking in the mirror, I studied the final result.
Not bad. As I’d expected, the newly dyed ends of my hair weren’t as bright pink as what was shown on the box, but it was still a pretty nice color. The highly saturated color made my hair seem even paler by comparison, making it look almost white instead of blond.
Now, when people looked at me, the first thing they noticed would be a bright flash of artificial color. Not my naturally blond hair or blue eyes, but rather a feature I chose myself.
It was also something the bell ringers never would have approved of for one of their “angels”.
Nodding in satisfaction, and with some newly regained confidence, I took a quick picture of my new look before heading out of the bathroom. As soon as I opened the door, I could hear the sounds of a party starting down the hall and a smile came to my face.
The atmosphere at the recovery center could often be very gloomy due to the nature of its work, so the staff and patients took every opportunity they could to lighten the mood.
And why shouldn’t we celebrate?
It was an important day for me, after all.
Nearly two years of hard work, and I was finally “graduating” from the facility.
There was an odd mix of guests at my party. I recognized all the staff, but a lot of the patients were unknown to me. There had apparently been a wave of new arrivals that I hadn’t noticed while I’d been focused on getting ready for my upcoming graduation.
It wasn’t like a high school graduation, though getting my GED had been a part of it.
In this case, “graduation” just meant that I was finally stable enough to leave the facility and live on my own.
I had a job and an apartment all lined up.
My therapy sessions were down to only once every two weeks, and I hadn’t had a panic attack in months.
I was deemed to be as “cured” as I was going to get while living here.
Now, it was time for me to get out there and start living life on my own.
It was terrifying, but also exciting. I’d been pursuing this goal for so long. Now that it was here, I wasn’t entirely sure what to feel.
The facility’s rec room had been set up with festive decorations.
Paper streamers hung in loops from the ceiling, and a banner that read “Congratulations” had been positioned slightly crooked over the door.
Two dozen balloons of different sizes and colors drifted over the floor.
The facility couldn’t afford helium to make them float properly, but their bright colors still looked cheerful.
A sheet cake covered in rainbow frosting sat on a table at the center of the room, surrounded by paper plates and plastic utensils, just waiting to be cut into servings for everyone.
Altogether, the party probably cost no more than fifty bucks. The recovery center was mostly funded by donations, so they didn’t have a lot of extra money to spare. Yet, I still felt choked up just looking at everything that had been set up for me.
I’d never had a party before. Maybe, before I was taken by the bell ringers, I’d had birthday parties like every other normal kid. I wasn’t sure how young I was when they took me, because I didn’t really remember anything before my imprisonment.
So, there was a chance this wasn’t the first party I’d ever had, but it was the first one I remembered, and that made it the most important.
After a speech from the head of the recovery center, where the woman talked about how proud everyone was of my progress, each of the therapists and nurses that had worked with me stepped forward to say something about my time there.
It had mostly been lighthearted anecdotes, including the time I’d sleepwalked down to the kitchen and proceeded to rearrange every silverware drawer.