Stevens School Runaways - Part 15 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man) 
plupy@surfbest.net

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved 
(First published on Eunuch Archive)

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *

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?"

"Naοve. 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

  
SSR15_Stevens_School_Runaways_Part_15