Title: - Video.

Author: - Katt.

E-mail: - kattanon@hotmail.com

Rating: - R.

Feedback: - Like it or loathe it let me know.

Archive: - I’d be honoured, just let me know.

Warnings: - This story makes reference to child abuse, if this subject matter upsets you please do not read any further.

After watching "Cherrypoppers" I wondered what was Dutch about to tell Danny when he went to apologize to her.

Disclaimer: - I don’t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.


Video
By Katt

Jesus, Shane felt sick. He couldn’t wait for this day to be over, to get home and take a long, hot shower and then get very drunk. Earlier this morning the Strike Team had exercised a warrant on the house of a known paedophile after a tip off that he had a collection of kiddy porn videos there. The tip was good; the evil bastard had dozens of them in his bedroom closet. They arrested the sicko who was downstairs in the cage now, and it was Shane’s task to catalogue the evidence which meant having to sit in this room upstairs at The Barn and watch every video. So far he’d watched 4 tapes, tapes that showed perverted fuckers hurting kids for their own sick pleasure. Christ, Shane would love to have five minutes alone in a room with every one of those animals. For now though he had to watch the next tape. He inserted tape five into the video, and sitting down again he took a deep breath and pressed the play button. After five minutes Shane was staring at the screen unable to believe what he was seeing,

"Oh shit," he gasped.

He switched the tape off and headed for the door. On an after thought he went to the video and removed the tape taking it with him. He ran down the stairs pausing at the bottom to look around the squad room noticing two empty desks he headed for the Clubhouse. Barging in he found Vic there alone doing some paperwork on that morning’s bust. Vic looked up surprised at Shane’s entrance,

"You haven’t gone through all those tapes yet," he said, a little annoyance in his voice. "If you want some help you’ll have to wait for Lem and Ronnie to get back, you know I don’t look at that shit."

"No man, look you’ve got to come upstairs and see this one," Shane said, waving the tape he held in his hand at Vic.

"Why what’s so special about that one?" Vic asked puzzled by Shane’s hyper attitude.

"It easier if you just come see, come on man."

"Alright," Vic agreed, "This had better be important Shane."

"It is I swear," Shane assured him.

Once they got back to the viewing room Shane put the tape back into the video, re-wound it to the beginning and turned to Vic,

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah just get on with it," Vic grumbled, he really hated watching these things. Blowing out a breath he prepared himself for some uncomfortable viewing that he knew would be stuck in his mind for weeks afterwards. It would come to mind every time he looked at his own kids thankful they were happy, safe and loved, sadly he knew only too well that not all kids were that lucky.

The video began and who ever was shooting it paned around the room. It looked like a cabin; yeah that would be right, out in the woods somewhere so that they wouldn’t be disturbed, cunning bastards. There were voices and the picture showed two men, so that was three guys counting the cameraman. The picture quality wasn’t that great a little grainy, possibly an old 8mm film that had been converted over to VHS. The camera then focused on a closet door, the cameraman moved forward and his hand came into the shot as he unlocked the door. Inside the closet, amongst the coats and boots hunched over on the floor was a kid, his back was to the camera, with his hands tied behind him with rope.

"Come on you little piece of shit," the cameraman grunted as he reached out grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the closet backwards.

The other men were laughing as the kid was pulled into the middle of the room and turned around. The camera had been pointed at the kid’s feet and was now panned up his body. He was tall and slim wearing jeans and a tee shirt, when the camera reached his face Vic drew in a sharp breath,

"Fuck," was all he managed to get out.

He looked at the kid’s tear stained pale face, at his brown hair which flopped over his forehead getting into his eyes, eyes that were huge with fear and full of tears. The kid looked straight at the camera, or to be more accurate straight at the cameraman. His lower lip trembled as he said,

"Please dad, please don’t."

"Oh God," Vic breathed when he heard the whispered plea.

The cameraman, the kid’s father, laughed and backhanded the boy telling him to,

"Shut the fuck up."

Then the other two men moved in and Vic could only stomach watching another few minutes before he signaled Shane to switch it off. Looking up Vic found Shane looking at him expectantly,

"Well, what are we going to do Vic?" He asked.

"Give me a minute Shane…I need to think." Vic told him.

"Yeah, yeah sure Vic. Damn I couldn’t believe it when I started watching that I thought I was seeing things you know. I mean…wow…shit…" Shane was nervous and when he was nervous he talked too much.

Vic leaned back against the table trying to ignore Shane as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, a ball of nervous energy with no outlet. Vic was busy weighing his options, trying to decide the best course of action considering what he’d just seen. On the one hand it would probably be easier all round if the tape just got lost. He still had the paperwork unfinished downstairs and could easily alter the number of videos found before he handed it in. He could tell Shane to keep quiet about it and then no one would be the wiser. However, even as he thought that he knew that it was no good that it just wouldn’t work. For one thing he doubted Shane would be able to contain himself and he’d probably end up telling Lem or Ronnie, and the more people who knew the more chance there was of it getting out. Then there was the fact that if he buried this it would mean the sick bastards on that tape would get away with what they’d done. Although the events on the tape had obviously taken place years before it didn’t make them any less guilty, and they needed to be brought to justice. Vic couldn’t stomach the thought that they would get away with it. So although he felt apprehensive, knowing he was about to re-open old wounds that had been festering away in secret for years he also knew he had no choice. Pausing for a moment longer he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully as he remembered certain behaviours and reactions that were now perfectly understandable, and Vic winced when he thought that he must have added to the secret anguish with his teasing. Now he was about to add to that anguish again but it couldn’t be helped.

"Wait here and don’t tell anyone Shane." Vic said.

"Sure I won’t tell a soul." Shane assured Vic.

Looking sternly at Shane to make sure he understood Vic reiterated his instructions,

"I mean it Shane no one…not even Lem and Ronnie."

Nodding Shane signaled his compliance to Vic’s wishes. Satisfied Vic held out his hand,

"Give me that tape I’m going to see Aceveda, and look through the others…we need to know if this is the only one." Vic decided.

Grimacing Shane handed the tape to Vic and reluctantly picked up the next piece of filth from the pile and inserted it into the machine.

Taking the tape from Shane Vic went to Aceveda’s office. Knocking sharply on the door he took a breath to steady himself and without waiting for Aceveda to invite him he went in. Aceveda looked up from his paperwork when his door swung open, frowning with displeasure when he saw whom his visitor was.

"Yes," he snapped.

Ignoring the attitude Aceveda was giving him Vic showed him the tape.

"We’ve got a problem here."

"Why what’s on the tape?" Aceveda wanted to know.

He was intrigued in spite of himself. He’d spent a lot of time watching Mackey, studying his moods and it was unusual for him to be this agitated.

"It’s one of the tapes we found at that sick prick’s apartment this morning." Vic told him.

"And…" Aceveda asked, impatience creeping into his voice.

"And Dutchboy’s on it!" Vic said.

"What!" Aceveda said sounding stunned. "Jesus, are you sure?"

Despite Vic’s nod he still couldn’t believe it. Aceveda’s mind went into overdrive; Farmington didn’t need another scandal, more bad-publicity. It would be no good trying to find a way to keep this quiet because he knew there was none,

"Shit, he’s out on a case with Wyms right now but they’ll be back soon. We need to keep this as low key as possible it’s going to cause a scandal as it is, we need to keep his arrest as quiet as possible for as long as possible. "

Unable to register for a second what Aceveda had just said Vic stepped closer to his desk frantically shaking his head.

"Wait, wait you’re not listening to me. When I said Dutchboy’s on the tape I don’t mean as a perp, he’s the victim!" Vic told him.

"The victim, you’re sure?" A shocked Aceveda asked.

"Yeah," Vic said sadly, "He looks about 14 or 15 but it’s definitely him, and you know the real kicker he called the bastard filming the tape "dad"!"

"Oh God," Aceveda said, "what a mess."

He’d get no argument there from Vic; for once he was in complete agreement with his Captain.

"The question is how are we going to handle it?" He asked Aceveda.

Aceveda paused while he considered the problem. Looking up at Vic he said,

"Who else has seen it?"

"Just Shane…he was going through the tapes to catalogue them when he came across it."

Aceveda huffed out an unhappy breath,

"Oh Shane Vendrell that’s perfect he’s always the soul of discretion." He said sarcastically.

"Hey!" Vic said sharply. "He came straight to me with it and he hasn’t talked to anyone else about it and he won’t…I told him not to. Don’t worry about Shane he’ll keep his mouth shut."

For the time being Aceveda had no choice but to trust Vic’s word on Shane’s trustworthiness so he let it slide and moved on.

"Have you watched it yourself?"

"No not all of it…just the beginning, and that was bad enough." Vic told him wincing as his memory provided him with some graphic pictures and sounds to go with his words.

"I’ll have to watch it…and I want you there as well. The less people we can involve in this right now the better."

Vic looked skeptical,

"You’re not going to keep this quiet for long." He told Aceveda.

"I know…but as long as possible huh. At least until we’ve been able to talk to Dutch properly." Aceveda replied.

"That’s one conversation I’m not looking forward to." Vic said before adding. "I’ve got Shane looking through the rest of the tapes incase there’s any more of him, and you should know that we’re charging that pervert we arrested this morning with distribution as well as possessing pornographic material."

"Distribution?" Aceveda asked knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

"Yeah he had everything all set up for making copies of his little collection."

"Do we know if he’s done that?" Aceveda asked.

"Not yet…but I’ll be sure to ask you can count on that."

Nodding Aceveda stood up and said,

"Come on lets get this over with. I want to have seen this before I talk to Dutch…I want to know what we’re dealing with and how bad it is."

Vic pulled a sour face,

"Believe me from the couple of minutes I saw it’s pretty God damn bad."

Aceveda looked at Vic’s face and could see that the other man was perfectly serious. If a cop with Mackey’s vast experience of the dark-side of human nature found the tape’s contents disturbing Aceveda wondered how many night’s of broken sleep it was going to give him?



Chapter 2.

An hour and a half-later Vic reached forward and switched off the video. He sat back and let out a slow breath while staring at the now thankfully blank television screen. He wanted to close his eyes for a moment but didn’t, knowing that if he did images from what he’d just seen would begin to play themselves out behind his eyes. He’d only just managed to get his rebelling stomach under control and didn’t think he could take re-living any of the details of what he’d had to watch. God, it was no wonder the cops who dealt with this sick shit all the time only lasted a couple of years before they had to be transferred out to another department. It was a fucking miracle if they could sleep at night Vic thought. He spared a glance at the man who sat next to him. The two of them had sat in perfect unmoving silence as they’d watched the video. Neither able to quite believe what they were watching and neither able to look away, no matter how much they’d wanted to. It was Aceveda, who broke the heavy silence that had descended on the room,

"Jesus."

He didn’t say anything else, and Vic wasn’t really sure what else there was to say. He’d seen some bad shit over the years but that tape was one of the worst. The camera had been passed from one man to the other and all three men, including Dutch’s own father, had all taken turns inflicting pain and violating the boy in the worst ways imaginable. Suddenly Vic remembered when he’d had Dutch watch the Cherrypopper tape starring Sally when he’d been trying to get information out of that evil bitch Mrs. Park. He remembered Dutch’s face draining of all it’s colour and his whispered "Oh God" as he’d stood at the back of the room and watched. Afterwards Vic had found him standing stunned, looking down into the squad room below, his expression devastated by what he’d just witnessed. He’d reassured Dutch that he’d take care of the asshole who’d done that to Sally and Dutch’s "good" had sounded heartfelt. At the time Vic could remember thinking that Dutch was going to have to toughen up, not let the hard cases get to him so badly, not to take it so personally. Christ it was no wonder the poor guy had taken it personally, no wonder he’d looked so empty and lost after watching Sally’s ordeal.

Aceveda cleared his throat and stood up with Vic following suit. Going to the video Aceveda pulled the tape out of the machine after it had stopped re-winding and handed it to Vic.

"I’m going to go down and see if Dutch and Claudette are back yet. Go to my office and wait for me there. He should be back so I’ll bring him up with me." Aceveda told him.

Nodding Vic went to the door and opening it took a deep breath, the air-conditioned, cool air refreshing after being stuck in the stuffy room for so long. As he made his way along to Aceveda’s office he couldn’t resist taking a peek down into the busy squad room below. Sure enough there was Dutch sitting perched on the edge of Claudette’s desk the two of them deep in conversation. As he watched he saw Aceveda walk up to them. Both Claudette and Dutch looked at him questioningly; Dutch standing up as Aceveda turned to address him. Vic could see Dutch’s face take on a puzzled look as Aceveda spoke to him and as he began to follow the Captain towards the stairs he glanced back at a concerned looking Claudette and shrugged. Vic looked away and stepping forward he opened Aceveda’s door and entered his office, putting the tape down on his desk and then stepped back to stand at the back of the room.

In a moment the door opened and Aceveda entered followed by a still puzzled looking Dutch. Turning towards him Aceveda nodded and said,

"Vic."

Dutch turned startled, as he’d not realised that Vic was in the room. When he saw him a slight frown formed on his face and he turned back to Aceveda and asked,

"What’s this about."

Sitting down behind his desk Aceveda indicated a chair and said,

"Perhaps you should sit down Dutch."

The smile on Aceveda’s face didn’t quite make it to his eyes and while sitting down it was clear that, as his frown deepened, Dutch was picking up on the high level of tension in the room. Damn Vic wished he was somewhere else, the shit was about to hit the fan and he really didn’t want to be here to witness the fallout. Vic could tell that Dutch’s nervousness was increasing, the guy wasn’t an idiot he knew that something was wrong, and Vic could almost see his mind frantically going over his actions of the past few weeks trying to find what he’d done wrong. Unable to take the silence and suspense any longer Dutch glanced quickly at Vic before looking at Aceveda and asking once again,

"What’s this about…why’s Vic here?"

Aceveda’s face took on a slightly pained expression and before he answered he looked at Vic. Vic hardened his expression making it perfectly clear to Aceveda that he was on his own, no way was he going to be the one breaking this news. Realizing that while rank had its privileges it also had its disadvantages Aceveda turned to focus his whole attention on the man sitting in front of him. The man who’s life he was about rip to shreds.

"Um…Vic and the Strike Team acting on a tip they’d received raided the home of a known paedophile this morning and found some …um tapes…child pornography tapes." He told Dutch.

While Dutch continued to look puzzled, he’d actually begun to relax. Vic assumed that he probably thought he’d been called here to offer an opinion on the motivation of the suspect or to help in the interrogation. Aceveda quickly continued, obviously wanting to get this over with as soon as possible,

"While reviewing the tapes we came across one that was made a while ago. There’s no easy way to say this Dutch but we recognised the boy on the tape…it’s you."

Silence followed Aceveda’s words. Dutch just stared at him looking like he’d just been punched in the stomach, and his eyes followed Aceveda’s when he glanced involuntarily down at the tape on his desk. Leaning forward Aceveda said,

"We know one of the men involved was your father what we need to know is…"

He got no further. Dutch shot up out of the chair so quickly he knocked it over backwards and it hit the floor with a resounding thunk. Vic moved towards Dutch his hands held out towards him when he saw Dutch stumble for a moment as if he was overcome with dizziness. Aceveda had also stood up in response to Dutch’s sudden movement. Vic stopped dead when Dutch turned towards him, the fear and panic in his eyes palpable. Dutch moved away from both of them until his back hit the window that overlooked the squad room. As he’d backed up he’d been shaking his head and Vic could see his lips moving as he whispered a near silent litany,

"No, no, no, no, no…"

Sensing that things were beginning to spin out of control Aceveda came out from behind his desk although he stood still when Dutch sidled away from him moving closer to Vic. Speaking in a calming voice he said,

"It’s ok Dutch I know this is a shock but it’ll be best if you sit back down and we can all talk about this."

Dutch looked at him shaking his head as he stuttered out his denials,

"N...no you’re wrong…it…it isn’t me…it can…can’t be me. Just a kid that looks like me…it…it never happened…it never happened."

As he spoke Dutch looked backwards and forwards between Aceveda and Vic. His face was pale and Vic could see a slight tremble that was shaking Dutch’s whole frame. For a moment Vic wasn’t sure whom Dutch was trying to convince of the mistaken identity, him and Aceveda or himself. Hoping to help him get a grip on his emotions Vic said,

"Look Dutch the Captain’s right we need to talk about this thing. You know if it’s not you that’s fine, but we need to calm down ok?"

Dutch was staring at him as if he’d never seen him before. God knows where the guy’s head is at Vic thought. Then Aceveda made his mistake. While Dutch’s attention had been focused on Vic he’d stepped up beside Dutch and in an attempt to steer him back towards the chair to sit down he reached out his hand and grasped Dutch’s elbow. The reaction was instantaneous, Dutch cried out obviously startled and backed rapidly away from both of them towards the door,

"Don’t, don’t touch me!" He shouted, sounding panic-stricken.

Aceveda realised his mistake instantly and pausing he held his hands out apologizing,

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry Dutch I didn’t mean to startle you…just calm down ok."

However, Vic knew it was too late and he was proved correct when Dutch bolted for the door. Aceveda followed with Vic bringing up the rear but Dutch was already half way down the stairs, practically flying down them in his rush to escape. A uniform had to dodge back out the way to avoid a collision as he ran to his desk ignoring the stares and the silence that had settled over the room. Claudette turned her chair towards him as he reached his desk and yanked out a drawer so hard that he pulled it straight out of the desk and the contents scattered onto the floor. As Dutch bent down to search through the scattered contents of the drawer Aceveda called out his name, but was completely ignored. Claudette looked up at Vic and Aceveda as she stood up the bewilderment on her face plain to see. Dutch had snatched his gun and car keys up from the floor and turned towards the main doors. Claudette called out to him and laid her hand on his arm. Dutch jumped back as if her touch had burned him,

"Don’t!" He gasped out before he turned and fled.

No one moved for a moment and Vic could see Claudette torn between chasing after her obviously upset partner and coming to confront them to find out what they’d done to produce that kind of reaction in him. She seemed to realise that with the speed Dutch was moving at she’d have no chance of catching him so she turned and still looking up at Vic and Aceveda she moved determinedly towards the stairs.

Turning around to face Aceveda Vic said grimly,

"Well that went well don’t you think."



Chapter 3.

By the time Claudette had reached the top of the stairs and turned towards Vic and Aceveda her face was like thunder. As she neared them she asked,

"What did you do…what did you do to upset Dutch like that!"

Aceveda stepped back into his office,

"We’ll talk in here Claudette."

She followed him in, sweeping past Vic, who once again brought up the rear, and stopped in the middle of the room pinning both of them with a cold stare. Vic noticed that Aceveda had retreated behind his desk and he couldn’t say he blamed him, Claudette in full protective mode was an awesome sight to behold and you certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. He could remember Shane and Lem talking about it when she’d blasted the pair of them for teasing Dutch when it had looked, quite erroneously, that Sean Taylor was playing him, and beating him at his own game. Her mouth had thinned to a grim line, as she demanded,

"Well!"

Aceveda sat down heavily and sighed. Looking up at her he said,

"There’s no easy way to say this Claudette. Maybe you should sit down."

The belligerence began to leave Claudette’s face being replaced with concern as she glanced from Aceveda to Vic, and noted his saddened expression. Sitting she turned back to Aceveda and in a slightly unsure voice asked,

"Why…what’s happened?"

"When looking through some child pornography tapes that the Strike Team seized this morning Shane found an old one that showed a boy being abused. The boy was…was Dutch."

Claudette looked stunned, and she looked away from Aceveda and turned to Vic for confirmation that what she’d just been told was true. He nodded his head and turning back to Aceveda her voice trembled slightly as she said,

"Are you sure…I mean if it’s an old tape maybe your wrong." Then unknowingly echoing Dutch’s own words, "Maybe it’s just a kid that looks like Dutch."

Aceveda looked towards Vic as did Claudette, and he could see her willing him to contradict Aceveda’s words. It was with a heavy heart that he told her,

"I’m sorry Claudette but there’s no doubt it’s him."

Her eyes closed and she lowered her head for a moment as she tried to get a grip on her emotions, on her shock. Looking up at Vic with eyes that suddenly looked very tired she asked him,

"How old…how old is he…in the tape."

"A teenager, about 14 or 15 I’d guess."

"Christ…I just I can’t believe it. I had no idea…I never once suspected…shit."

"None of us did Claudette. Dutch hid it well." Aceveda told her, trying to make her feel better.

"Yeah but I’m his partner." Claudette replied angrily. "I’m supposed to know him…he’s supposed to trust me."

She paused again and then gathering herself asked,

"Do we have any idea who…who the man is on the tape that…that’s…hurting him?"

Wincing knowing that the details were only going to make the whole thing harder for Claudette to hear, but knowing she wouldn’t leave it drop until she’d been told everything, Aceveda told her,

"There’s three of them and during the tape Dutch calls one of them dad so…"

"God," Claudette breathed at this news. "I knew he didn’t have anything to do with his family…I asked him about them a couple of times and he always just looked uncomfortable and changed the subject. I thought there must have been some kind of falling out, some kind of argument…not…"

Silence descended on the room, as everyone was lost in their own thoughts. Finally shaking herself, pulling herself together, her professional persona slipping back into place she asked,

"Have you watched the tape? Is it…bad?"

It was Vic, who answered her,

"Yeah Claudette it’s bad. Sick bastards didn’t spare him anything."

"What did he say when you confronted him? I mean it was obvious he was really upset, but did he admit it?"

His voice laced with worry Aceveda said,

"He completely denied it, panicked and said it wasn’t him…that it had never happened. Then…then I made a mistake, I don’t know why I did it… it was stupid…but I touched him and he just lost it."

"And took off upset, in who knows what state of mind, to God knows where, with his gun." Claudette said, her voice full of worry.

"Shit." Vic breathed.

"You don’t think he’d do anything stupid do you? Hurt himself?" Aceveda asked her.

Shaking her head sadly Claudette stood up,

"If you’d asked me that thirty minutes ago I’d have said no. But it seems I didn’t know Dutch as well as I thought I did so…I think we need to find him, and the sooner the better."

Aceveda nodded then asked,

"Do you have any idea where to look. I mean I could put out an APB on his car but I’d rather not. After the way he took off enough questions are going to be asked, and for now I think this needs to be kept quiet…for Dutch’s sake."

Claudette nodded her agreement, rubbing her hand over her face for a moment as she thought, she looked up and told him,

"I’m guessing but he might head home…bolt for the place he feels safest. If he’s not there then he could be anywhere and we might need that APB. For now though it’ll be best if I go to talk to him…he trusts me…well as much as he probably trusts anyone over this."

Aceveda agreed with her but added a proviso,

"I want you to take Vic with you though."

Neither Vic nor Claudette looked very happy at this suggestion. Vic felt that he was in as deep with this whole mess as he wanted to be, and the thought of some kind of emotional scene at Dutch’s place really didn’t appeal. Before he could refuse to go though Claudette beat him to the punch,

"That’s not necessary. Look Dutch is upset, God knows what state he’s in emotionally I really don’t think he’s going to appreciate an audience do you. If I go on my own he’s more likely to open up to me."

However, Aceveda had made his mind up and remained firm,

"Exactly Claudette you don’t know what state he’s going to be in…I’m not sending you after him alone when he’s…confused and armed."

Claudette huffed,

"Oh what we’ve gone from a Dutch who might…might harm himself to one who’s going to hurt me. He wouldn’t do anything like that…Jesus."

Adamant Aceveda stood firm,

"Either you take Vic or you take a couple of uniforms with you as back up, it’s your choice Claudette."

Narrowing her eyes in annoyance at him but accepting defeat Claudette unwillingly nodded. Vic had been about to protest himself but realised that if Claudette had had no luck changing Aceveda’s mind then he certainly didn’t. Standing up and moving out from behind his desk as they moved towards the door Aceveda said,

"I’m going to check with Shane and see if he’s turned up anymore tapes with…well with Dutch on them."

"Oh shit." Claudette muttered. Then turning to Vic she said, "Come on I think the sooner we find Dutch the better."

*

They’d been driving for about ten minutes in uncomfortable, slightly strained silence when Claudette asked,

"Was it really bad?"

Vic knew exactly what she was talking about,

"Yeah it was…look I wish I could tell you different Claudette but…Jesus it’s a fucking miracle Dutch can even function after growing up with that."

"I just can’t believe I didn’t realise, spot something…some clue. I mean how could he walk around with that kind of a secret and no one notice."

"Well I guess he’s had years of practice." Vic said sadly. "To be honest Claudette from the way he reacted it was like he’d repressed it, he just denied it had happened. Maybe that was his way of dealing with it…burying it deep down inside himself."

Claudette glanced at him, before turning her attention back to the road, she seem surprised at his understanding. Sighing she replied,

"That’s what I’m worried about. If he’s just shoved all this down inside himself and never dealt with it Christ knows what its going to do to him to suddenly have to confront it now. Didn’t you or Aceveda think of that before you just unleashed all this on him…didn’t you think how he might take it?"

Annoyed Vic said,

"Sorry Claudette, but you know I didn’t realise there was an easy way to tell someone that you’ve just watched them getting repeatedly raped and beaten by three fucking perverts, one of them their own father, when they were a kid…Shit!"

Turning to look out of the window Vic tried to calm his temper. He wasn’t even sure if it was Claudette he was pissed off at or just the whole fucking mess. Christ what a day, and he had the hideous suspicion nagging away at the back of his head that this was just the start and things were going to just go downhill from here on in. The silence stretched on for minutes and sparing a glance towards Claudette he could see the shock on her face that his words had caused. She might have been imagining what was on that tape but he’d pretty much given her the rough outline for her imagination to work with when he’d lost his temper.

"I’m sorry Claudette I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to say…all that."

"It’s ok you were right there is no easy way to tell someone…that. I’m just…God I don’t know it’s just hard to take in that’s all."

"I know how you feel." Vic assured her.

Glancing at him she gave him a quick, sad smile. Then with a sigh she announced,

"We’re here."

"Yeah and so’s Dutchboy." Vic said seeing Dutch’s car badly parked in his driveway.



Chapter 4.

Walking up to the front door they noticed that it hadn’t been closed properly. Reaching out Vic carefully pushed it open while Claudette stepped past him into the hallway. Her foot brushed against something on the floor and looking down she saw Dutch’s keys. She bent down and picked them up, placing them on the small table that stood near the front door. As she stepped deeper into the quiet, still house Vic followed her and closed the door behind him. Seeing that Claudette had frozen, standing perfectly still, a look of indecision on her face he whispered,

"What?"

When she turned towards him and spoke he was shocked by the tremble of fear he heard in her voice. The usual ultra-confident Claudette Wyms seeming to have disappeared,

"What if he’s done something…hurt himself…he took his gun…Christ what if we find him…"

She couldn’t finish her sentence and she didn’t have to. Vic knew what she was thinking because he had been thinking the same thing. What if they found Dutch with his blood and his brains splattered all over a wall. He’d seen suicides, as had Claudette no doubt, desperate people who were blinded to other possibilities. People who could see no escape other than death. He’d seen what was left of people who’d stuck a gun in their mouths and pulled the trigger. Jesus, was that what they were going to find? Was he going to have to live with the knowledge that his actions had been the catalyst that had pushed Dutch over the edge? If that were the case what would finding her partner like that do to Claudette?

"Do you want me to go first?" Vic asked her.

He had to admit to feeling some relief when she shook her head.

"No…no he’s my partner and besides the state he might be in…well he might not react well to a man."

Vic nodded his understanding and followed her further into the house.

The living room door was open, but the room was empty and seemed undisturbed, as did the kitchen. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs Claudette gazed upwards and called out,

"Dutch…Dutch it’s Claudette are you here?"

There was no reply and as she began to climb the stairs, with Vic following on behind her, she called out again,

"Dutch it’s Claudette I’m coming up ok? Please son if you’re here please answer me."

However, there was no response to her plea.

They cautiously moved from one room to another. The spare bedroom, bathroom and home office were all neat and undisturbed. Finally they stood in front of the master bedroom door, and Vic was surprised to find his hands sweaty and his heart pounding in his chest. Glancing sideways at Claudette he could see she was just as nervous as he was. The door to the room was firmly closed, and Vic found himself afraid of what they’d find, what they’d see, when they went into that room. Reaching out a hesitant hand, that shook slightly, Claudette gently knocked twice on the door calling out,

"Dutch it’s me…look I know you’re upset…confused…but we need to talk. Can I come in?"

Still no answer and after waiting in vain for a moment in the hopes of there being a reply she finally reached out and turned the door handle, pushing the door slowly open.

Yet again they found themselves presented with a neat and tidy room. The bed was made, everything in its place, nothing seeming to have been disturbed. All was quiet and still in the large, bright, sunny room. Vic let out the breath he’d been holding with a relieved sigh. He was relieved that they had not been confronted with the sight of Dutch with no face left his police issue handgun clutched in his lifeless hand. Claudette also let out a small sigh of relief next to him so he knew he hadn’t been the only one who’d feared that they’d find the worst when they’d opened that door. She took a step inside and softly called out,

"Dutch."

Vic looked around and shaking his head said,

"He’s not here Claudette. He must have dumped his car and taken off. Perhaps we should have Aceveda put out that ABP after all, for his own safety?"

However, Claudette shook her head and stepped further into the room pausing to look around,

"No that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he drive here only to abandon his car and take off on foot?"

Turning away to leave the room Vic shrugged at her question,

"Who knows…look it was pretty clear he wasn’t thinking straight so who knows why he’d do anything."

He turned back again to find Claudette hadn’t moved, a look of intense concentration on her face, her head cocked to one side. Puzzled he stepped back into the room and asked,

"What…"

However, Claudette quickly held up her hand and hissed,

"Sshh."

Vic stood still and held his breath straining to listen just as Claudette was. Then he heard it, and as Claudette turned to look at him he could see that she had too. The sound of someone trying very hard to repress a sob. Narrowing his eyes he looked around the seemingly empty room seeing nothing, but Claudette stepped forward towards the window and he found himself following her. To the left of the window was a large wardrobe and there jammed into a corner between the wardrobe and the wall was Dutch. He had his back pressed into the corner, his long legs pulled up against his body, trying to make himself as small as possible. In his left hand he held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and considering the way his tear-filled eyes were unfocused Vic would have guessed that it had probably been nearly full an hour ago. Even more worrying was the fact that in his right hand he held his loaded gun. When he saw them a small whimper escaped his mouth and he tried unsuccessfully to pull himself back, further away from them.

"Oh God son look at you." Claudette breathed her voice tight with sorrow.

As she moved towards Dutch the hand holding the gun twitched, and Vic reached out towards her,

"Careful Claudette."

"I know I see it…but it’s alright isn’t it Dutch you wouldn’t hurt me would you?" She said looking at Dutch.

Dutch’s face was flushed with the alcohol he’d consumed, his fear-filled eyes stared at her as if he was unsure of who she was. He brought the hand that held his gun up and Vic found himself reaching behind himself for his own weapon. God knows he didn’t want to shoot Dutch but he was here as Claudette’s back up and the drunken, upset man in front of him could do anything. Just as his fingers brushed against the butt of his gun Vic relaxed slightly when Dutch merely swiped his jacket sleeve against his nose, wiping away the snot that had gathered there from what must have been quite a crying fit. In fact Vic wasn’t entirely sure that Dutch even realised what he held in his hand. In a quiet stuttering voice Dutch said,

"G…go away…leave me…leave me alone."

Claudette sat down on the floor in front of the distraught man careful to make no sudden movements and to give him some space. She shook her head sadly as she replied,

"I’m sorry son I just can’t do that."

Dutch looked at her and then turned away leaning his head against the wall for a moment before he straightened up a little and began to raise the whiskey bottle to his mouth. Claudette leaned forward slightly and held out her hand, in her best no nonsense voice she said,

"Ah, ah I think you’ve had enough of that now son. Give me the bottle…getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything Dutch…it isn’t going to make anything go away."

"It…it stops me thinking…stops the…" Dutch suddenly stopped talking, but at least he hadn’t taken that next drink.

"It might seem that way but it isn’t going to make this situation go away…you’re going to have to deal with it." She told him.

A corner of Dutch’s mouth curled up in a sneer as he laughed bitterly,

"Situ…situation is that what it is huh. Is that what I am…a situation?"

He looked Claudette in the eye and then squinted behind her at Vic.

"Why are you here? J…just go…go away and leave me alone."

"We’re here because we care son…because we’re your friends and your hurting. The Captain told me about the tape about what happened to you and…"

"Shut up! Fucking shut up…you liar…you’re all liars!" Dutch shouted. "You don’t care…no one…no one ever cared…so fuck off and leave me alone!"

As he spoke tears began to fall from his eyes.

Vic saw Claudette bite her lip and steady herself as she shuffled forward a little closer to Dutch.

"I know son…I know it’s hard…but you have to face this…you have to…"

"NO!" Dutch shouted.

In smooth motion that belied his drunken state he suddenly pulled his gun up and pointed it unwaveringly at Claudette.

"N…no…I don’t have to do anything…not anymore…you can’t make me do anything…I…I won’t let you."

Vic felt his stomach tighten as he could see this whole scenario going to hell. He began to reach back slowly for his gun again, his eyes never leaving the weapon in Dutch’s hand. He had to admire Claudette. Jesus, she had balls, she didn’t flinch just stared straight back at Dutch as she calmly said,

"You’re not going to hurt me Dutch…I know you. You’d never hurt me or anyone else. Please put the gun down…let me help you. If I’d known Dutch…"

"What…if you’d known what? I told you it’s lies…all lies…it never…n…never happened." Dutch sobbed.

"Put the gun down Dutch…you’re making Vic nervous." Claudette calmly told him.

The gun wavered in Dutch’s hand as he looked up at Vic. The pain, confusion and loss in Dutch’s eyes took Vic’s breath away for a moment. Dutch stared at him and then dropped his gaze to the floor. The barrel of the gun followed and slowly Claudette leaned forward and gently took the gun from Dutch’s hand, and reaching behind her she placed it on the floor. Dutch looked back up at her, silent tears running down his face,

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry…sorry…I didn’t mean it Claudette I wouldn’t hurt you I’m sorry."

Claudette slowly inched forward until she was sitting next to Dutch, her back against the wall. She reached out and took the whiskey bottle away from him,

"Sshh…sshh…it’s ok Dutch…it’s ok son…I know…I know you wouldn’t."

"I meant to…I was going to…I was going to use it on me…make the things in my head stop…make the lies stop…but I was a coward…I thought…I thought the whiskey would make it easier."

"Oh Dutch no. Don’t say that…I’m here for you…we’ll get through this I promise." Claudette told him.

She reached out and put her arm around her partner and pulled him towards her. He buried his face in her shoulder sobbing,

"It…it’s true isn’t it…what…what they said…the things in my head…they’re tr…true aren’t they."

Sadly Claudette rubbed her hand up and down his back as she replied,

"Yes son it’s true…I’m so sorry."

Vic silently moved forward and picked up Dutch’s discarded gun from the floor and then without a word he left the room, left Claudette comforting her sobbing, devastated partner and went to phone Aceveda.




Chapter 5.

He slowly, groggily opened his eyes. Jesus he felt like shit. His mouth was dry and tasted foul, his tongue feeling thick and as if it had a layer of fur covering it. His head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool, and sharp needles jabbed into his eyeballs when he opened his eyes causing him to quickly shut them and turn away from the light. God, he wished he could go back to sleep, but as he tried to reach out and grab onto his slumber he found it tumbled away, and he felt as if the whole world was wildly spinning out of control. Once he noticed the spinning it seemed to get worse, and he thought that maybe if he opened his eyes and fastened his gaze on a fixed point the spinning might abate. So he slowly opened his eyes again, squinting at the room, trying to ignore the jabbing needles in his head. He realised he was in his bedroom, in bed. It was night time but the bedside lamp was switched on, bathing the room in a warm golden glow that was usually restful and soothing but which his sore head was making far to bright and piercing. He looked down at himself and found he was still dressed, at least he had his shirt and trousers on. He slowly came to the conclusion that he felt so bad, not because of some exotic deadly disease, but from a self-inflicted source. Damn it, he was hung over.

Closing his eyes once more he tried to remember when he’d gotten drunk, how he’d gotten home. For a long moment his cotton wool brain refused to give him any answers, but then suddenly everything came slamming into his mind with blinding crystal clarity. He remembered it all. The "talk" in Aceveda’s office, fleeing the Barn, driving home much too fast half blinded by the tears that had refused to stop falling. Then once home his despair, an utterly soul destroying black hole that had seemed to open up and completely swallow him. He remembered how a thousand images and sounds, a thousand sensations and emotions had suddenly been unleashed into his consciousness. It was as if someone had turned a key and opened up his very own personal Pandora’s Box inside his mind. Things that had been half remembered blurs on nights when he’d woken up in a sweat, needing to turn on every light in the house, needing to take a shower and get clean no matter what time it was, suddenly roared into his mind. Memories that had been half-formed, blurred and jumbled were now intact, sharply defined and playing out inside his head like a perverse horror movie. His heart had been slamming against his rib cage, beating so loud and so hard it had hurt. His chest had tightened and he had thought he was going to have a heart attack. A cold sweat had broken out all over his body and he hadn’t been able to control the shaking that had taken him over. It had felt as if there suddenly wasn’t enough air left in the whole world to fill his lungs, and he’d been left gasping for oxygen.

He remembered taking his gun out of its holster. All he’d wanted was for it to stop, for everything to stop, it had been too much, complete sensory overload. He’d been standing in the middle of his living room, the metallic taste of his gun bitter on his tongue. The metal had been cold against his lips and hard against his teeth, and he hadn’t been able to do it. A myriad of voices had howled and screamed in his head saying,

"Do it…squeeze the trigger!"

While one lone voice, a dark hate-filled voice, that he knew as well as his own, sneered at him,

"Coward…sniveling coward. You stupid little piece of shit…can’t you do anything right boy!"

He’d pulled the gun from his mouth and snatching up a nearly full bottle of whiskey, "Dutch courage" how appropriate, he’d fled upstairs to his room. Once there he’d crammed himself into a corner and tried to hide from the monster that he knew had been unleashed, that he knew was stalking him just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Just waiting to humiliate and hurt him. He could remember uncapping the bottle, and the feel of the whiskey as it had burned its way down his throat. He’d thought that if he drank enough maybe he’d finally be able to get something right.

After that his memories became less coherent, a jumble of fear and sobbing, of despair and loss. Then he remembered voices and faces. Oh Jesus, Claudette and Vic, they’d found him, they’d seen him like that. Worst of all they knew. They knew the foul, stinking, filthy, poisonous stain he had burned into his soul. They knew what he was, how dirty he was, how bad he was. Then he remembered something else. Something that made his heart falter in his chest and the acid sting of vomit rise up into his mouth. He turned his head to the side and, into a bucket that someone had had the foresight to place there, he was violently sick. As he heaved the only memory he had in his head now was the image of himself pointing his loaded gun straight at his partner, straight at Claudette.

After the dry heaving had finally stopped he turned over onto his side, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and curled up, trying to make himself as small as possible. Wishing as he had on so many dark, lonely nights in his childhood that he could curl up so tightly that he’d somehow fold into himself and just disappear, just cease to exist.




Chapter 6.

Claudette stood in the middle of Dutch’s living room and tried to rub away the headache that was throbbing behind her eyes. Vic had left a couple of hours ago after he’d helped her put Dutch to bed, after he’d passed out. He’d returned to the Barn to fill Aceveda in properly on what had happened and to try and figure out where they go from here. She turned towards the silent television watching as a muted newsreader mouthed words while accompanied by pictures of people carrying placards protesting about low wages or ruined rain forests or to many car emissions or something or other that really didn’t interest her too much.

She rolled her shoulders trying to release some of the tension from her body. These past hours, waiting for Dutch to wake up, had been amongst the longest in her life. She paced through the room moving over to stand in front of the alcove by the fireplace. It had shelves built into it and on the shelves were books, and some of the few photographs she’d seen in the house. Her eyes skimmed over the book’s titles and she smiled to herself, psychology, sociology, forensics, nothing that could be termed "light reading", somehow she wasn’t surprised. Turning her attention from the books she studied the photos. The biggest one was a group shot, very like the one she had hanging up on a wall in her own apartment. Rows of faces stared out of it, and as she peered closer she was finally able to pick Dutch out from the crowd, in the middle of the back row. At the bottom of the picture were the words "Los Angeles Police Academy Graduating Class of 1991". The second picture was the individual picture that everyone had taken upon graduation from the academy, a head and shoulders portrait in uniform. Claudette smiled at Dutch’s serious face in the picture, he hadn’t really changed much in the following 12 years. However, it was the third and final photo that really grabbed her attention, and reaching forward she picked it up.

Two teenage boys were standing side by side in the sunshine, smiling at the camera. The one on the left was obviously Dutch, the other boy a complete contrast to him. They were both roughly the same height, but the other boy was blond to Dutch’s dark hair, with a bigger, more robust build. Even their smiles were a contrast to each other. Dutch’s reticent, just a slight curve of his mouth, while the other boys was a wide, beaming grin. As she studied the picture she heard Vic’s voice in her head, "A teenager, about 14 or 15 I’d guess." That’s what he’d told her when she’d asked how old Dutch had been in the tape. Now looking at this photograph she’d guess that was probably about the age he was when it was taken. She studied his face. His eyes squinting slightly into the sunlight, the shy almost nervous smile, and wondered if it had been taken before or after that damn tape had been made. Aceveda had told her that one of the men in the tape had been Dutch’s father so no doubt the abuse he’d suffered had been going on for years. She studied the picture trying to see some clue, some indicator of what was happening behind closed doors. Trying to find something that the other people in Dutch’s life at that point should have seen. Something that should have alerted his teachers, his doctor, his friend’s parents. Something that would’ve meant someone stepping in and rescuing him from the hell he must have suffered. She stared at the picture but couldn’t see anything other than a tall, slim, slightly awkward teenage boy. Putting the picture down with a sigh she found her mind had suddenly turned to little Jenny Reborg. She remembered sitting on the floor holding the terrified, traumatized little girl while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. She thought about Jenny and glanced once more at the boy in the photo, knowing sadly that there’d been no one there to hold him or comfort him when he’d needed it most.

A noise upstairs grabbed her attention and she pushed away her morbid thoughts. It sounded like Dutch was being sick, and she hoped that most of it was ending up in the bucket that Vic had suggested they leave by the bed. Walking to the bottom of the stairs Claudette paused for a moment and was surprised to realise that she was a little afraid to go up. She was a cop, she’d dealt with difficult situations, traumatized people on countless occasions, but she realised those times had all been different to what she faced now. All those times she had been dealing with strangers, and had her professional persona to fall back on. This was different. Dutch was her friend and that was how she needed to treat him, not just as a crime victim. She knew that once any investigation into that tape got underway Dutch would have enough people treating him as a case-number. What he’d need most was someone on his side who was first and foremost his friend, and she was determined that that was exactly what she was going to be for him. So taking a steadying breath she went up the stairs and headed towards Dutch’s bedroom.

Claudette paused outside the door, but couldn’t hear anymore sounds of sickness, so reaching up she gently knocked on the slightly open door and went in. The smell of vomit assaulted her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose slightly. However, this was forgotten when she saw the tightly curled figure on the bed.

Despite the fact that his eyes were squeezed shut silent tears still managed to leak out and run down his face. The deep unhappiness that was coming from Dutch was palpable and Claudette sighed,

"Oh Dutch."

At the sound of her voice a sob escaped him and he managed to stammer out,

"Go…just go Claudette. I’m…I’m sorry…what I did…you must hate me."

Concerned and confused Claudette moved closer and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached out to touch him, but then thinking better of it she pulled her hand back again.

"Dutch…what do you mean? Of course I don’t hate you…why would I hate you?"

"What I did…I…I aimed my gun at you. Jesus I could’ve killed you. How can you even speak to me?" Dutch wailed his distress evident.

"It’s alright…it’s alright. You didn’t mean it…I know you’d never hurt me. Look at me Dutch please…please open your eyes…look at me please."

Slowly and hesitantly he did and Claudette was stunned for a moment at the abject misery in their depths. Wanting to reassure him she continued,

"You were confused, upset…you didn’t mean it. Let’s forget about it ok?"

She saw a flicker of hope pass over his face as he asked,

"Are…are you sure. Cause if you want to report me…press charges I’ll understand…I wouldn’t contest it…"

Claudette interrupted,

"Shh…that’s enough of that talk. No one’s reporting anyone ok?"

Dutch nodded obviously relieved. Claudette looked at him and said,

"Come on Dutch time to get up…we need to talk."

She saw the shutters begin to come down as he pulled back from her shaking his head,

"No…no…there’s nothing to talk about."

There was a note of annoyance in her voice when Claudette replied,

"You can’t keep denying it Dutch…you can’t keep hiding from this. It’s too late for that now…the Captain and Vic have both seen that tape."

"Oh God." Dutch breathed miserably.

Then he looked up at her, not quite able to meet her eyes as he asked,

"Have you…have you seen it?"

"No…no I haven’t."

She barely heard his whispered,

"Thank God."

"Come on." She said. "If you go downstairs I’ll clean out that bucket and make you some coffee."

Carefully sitting up, wincing when his headache got worse, he slowly shook his head,

"You don’t have to do that. I’ll clean it up it’s my mess."

"It’s ok," Claudette assured him. "Just go and sit down in the living room and I’ll be there in a minute. Then we really need to talk Dutch."

Nodding he admitted,

"Yeah…I know."

Ten minutes later Claudette was placing a cup of coffee and a couple of Tylenol on the table in front of him.

"I found these in your bathroom cabinet and thought you could probably use them."

"Thanks." He mumbled, taking them and washing them down with a sip of hot coffee.

Claudette stood by the fireplace looking at her disheveled partner as he sat on the couch, his hands on his knees, his eyes on the carpet. Trying to break the ice, ease into the subject, she turned towards the photo of the two boys.

"I was…ah…looking at your pictures over there. The one with you as a kid with your friend."

Dutch glanced up, his eyes flicking over towards the picture.

"Sam," he said a sad smile on his face. "We grew up together. He lived next door and was just a couple of months older than me."

"Do you still see anything of him?" Claudette asked.

Dutch looked away from the photo and looked down at the floor once more before answering.

"No his dad got a promotion, but it meant they had to move to Boston so…"

"You didn’t stay in touch?" Claudette asked.

"We did at first but…well you know how it is. After six months or so…" Dutch shrugged. "I missed him though. Before I used to like to spend time at their house. They were nice people, good people. Sometimes they’d persuade my parents to let me sleep over. That was the best…a whole night knowing that no one would…" He stopped his face reddening and he bit his lower lip.

"Knowing that no one would hurt you." Claudette finished for him.

He nodded and said nothing.

"How old were you when…when…"

Suddenly Claudette was tongue-tied. Damn it she’d had this conversation before, she’d interviewed victims of sexual abuse too many times. However, as she looked at Dutch, as she saw his discomfort, she suddenly didn’t want to have this conversation, she didn’t want to force it on him.

"Look," she said, "if you don’t want to talk about it yet then that’s ok."

As she said it she felt like a coward.

Dutch took a deep breath and looked up at her shaking his head.

"No you’re right Claudette I do need to tell someone. It’s been buried inside me for too long."



Chapter 7.

Claudette sat quietly on a chair across from Dutch and listened while he told her lie after lie. When he’d offered to open up to her she’d been surprised by his sudden change of heart. Then when he’s begun to talk she realised that he was really engaged in a desperate attempt at damage control. He knew the truth was out, and no amount of denial on his part would change the fact that the tape of his abuse existed, and had been seen. However, what he was trying to do was trivialize it, make it seem less serious then it really was.

Claudette studied him while he spoke. His eyes never quite meeting hers, his hands clenching and unclenching, reaching up occasionally to rub his nose, his right leg sometimes bouncing nervously as he talked, as he lied. Every move he made screamed "Liar!" She’d told him before that he wasn’t a very good liar, and this just confirmed her opinion.

After the first five minutes she had only listened to what he was saying with half an ear, concentrating instead on his body language. However, she still registered what he was saying. Telling her that "…it wasn’t so bad…" His father had never really "…meant to hurt me…he…he…loved me…" His father had only come to him "…sometimes…not very often…really hardly ever…" When he did "…he was always gentle…he didn’t really hurt me…he didn’t hurt me too much…" The tape, well now apparently that was "…just a one off…and it wasn’t so bad really…Mackey and Aceveda…they’re over-reacting…" Then of course her personal favourite was his mumbled "…all my fault really…he never wanted to do it…I…I…kinda made him…led him on…so see it was my fault…" When he finished his litany of mumbled lies and excuses Claudette just gazed at her nervously fidgeting partner. As far as she knew he’d never deliberately lied to her before, and yet he’d just spent the past twenty minutes telling her lie, after lie, after lie. Blowing out an exasperated breath she said,

"Bullshit!"

She watched Dutch flinch slightly and tense at the annoyed tone of her voice, but tough, because Claudette was pissed.

"Look son you can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t you sit there lying to me, and expect me to swallow that bullshit story you just told me. God, show me a little respect!"

Refusing to look up at her Dutch stuttered,

"I…I don’t know what you mean Claudette…I never…"

Not wanting to have to listen to him tell her one more lie Claudette interrupted him,

"Don’t sit there and tell me…it wasn’t so bad…If that was the case Dutch why did you drink yourself into a stupor just so you could try and kill yourself. Don’t sit there and try to tell me that deep down your father really loved you, and that it was just his way of showing you how much he loved you. That’s crap and you know it. Your father is a monster Dutch. A monster who preyed on you, who hurt you, and used you for his own gratification, not because he loved you, but because he’s an evil bastard. Not only that but are you really trying to get me to believe it was all your fault, that you led him on. That’s not you talking Dutch, that’s him. That’s the lie that he told you to keep you quiet, to keep the secret, to make you feel guilty, and to justify what he did to you. Christ, is that what you thought about Sally Dutch huh? Did you think Sally asked for it…led Sean Taylor or any of those other men on?"

His face pale Dutch finally looked up at her at the mention of Sally’s name, his expression horrified,

"Jesus, no…no of course not. Sally was a kid Claudette…just a kid."

"Yeah and so were you Dutch. In that tape Vic said you were about 14 or 15, well Dutch that’s a kid. How old were you when all this started? How old were you when your father stole your innocence, stole your childhood away from you?" She asked him gently.

Dropping his gaze to the floor she had to strain to hear his answer,

"About eight."

Oh God, Claudette had to take a moment to steady herself, to stop the anger she felt for Dutch’s father from bleeding out into her voice, she wouldn’t want him to think that anger was in any way directed at him. In control again she continued,

"About the same age as little Jenny Reborg. Do you remember Jenny Dutch?"

Dutch nodded. How could he ever forget seeing her terrified face staring up at them from that prison that evil bastard Dr Grady had placed her in? He remembered that when they’d found her he had had to move away and let Claudette and Aceveda take over caring for her. He hadn’t been able to stomach staying in that room. Looking into that little girl’s frightened, traumatized eyes had hit a little too close to home. Just like Sally’s case Jenny Reborg had triggered off those confused, terrifying nightmares. The one’s that made him scream himself awake. The one’s that made him afraid of the dark, afraid of the shadows. The one’s that made him feel dirty and corrupted, and meant he had to scrub himself so hard he would sometimes make his skin bleed.

"She never asked for it either Dutch. It wasn’t her fault…" Claudette told him.

Interrupting her Dutch said,

"I never meant…I know Sally, Jenny they were both innocent…I know that."

"So were you. It wasn’t you…it was him…it was all him Dutch. You must never think anything else. None of it was ever your fault." Claudette told him wishing with all her heart he’d listen, he’d believe her.

Quickly glancing at her Dutch chewed his lower lip thoughtfully before looking away towards the window. In a sad, unsteady voice he said,

"It’s…it’s not that easy Claudette. You don’t know everything…you don’t understand."

"So why don’t you tell me son. Make me understand…and this time the truth…no more bullshit ok."

Sighing Dutch slumped back in his seat closing his eyes and reaching up to rub at his forehead. Then he wearily nodded and said,

"Alright the truth…if that’s what you want to hear. Don’t blame me if you change your mind though…don’t blame me if you…if you…."

"What Dutch…if what?" Claudette asked.

"If you come to hate me…despise me." He said quietly.

"Oh Dutch…I could never do that…"

Once again interrupting her he said,

"I hope you still feel that after…after I’ve told you."

Claudette could see the pain in his face and hear it in his voice, and she felt fear rise up inside of her about what Dutch was going to tell her. She knew that these kind of experiences were never best left buried, that they would fester in the dark slowly poisoning their victim. However, she was worried about how Dutch was going to be affected having to face what he’d suffered. She also knew that it wasn’t going to end here. Dutch was a cop, the pressure that was going to be exerted upon him to "do the right thing" and give a statement, help bring to justice the men who’d hurt him would be enormous. Looking at him Claudette suspected that he hadn’t thought about that yet, he hadn’t realised just what the outcome of that tape coming to light was going to be.



Chapter 8.

Snapping shut her phone Claudette sighed. She was standing in Dutch’s kitchen having left him asleep on his couch, and not wanting to disturb him had come out here to make a phone call. She wasn’t looking forward to the morning that was a certainty. The phone call had been to Aceveda to find out what was going on at work, and to discover what action was going to be taken concerning the video. He had told her that he’d contacted the sex crimes unit, and they’d sent over a detective to view the tape. Naturally the detective wanted to talk to Dutch, to secure his cooperation in prosecuting his father and the other two men in the tape. Aceveda had suggested that they come over to Dutch’s place in the morning. That Dutch would be more responsive if he felt in a safe setting. Easier to emotionally blackmail you mean, Claudette had thought. She knew what was going to happen. Aceveda and this detective were going to try and browbeat Dutch into "doing the right thing". She knew of course that it was indeed the right thing to do that those creatures needed to be brought to justice. However, she couldn’t help but worry what the cost was going to be to her partner. Moving as quietly as she could she re-entered the living room to check on Dutch.

He’d fallen asleep with his long body crammed into a corner of the couch. Even in his sleep he looked unhappy, Claudette thought sadly. That was hardly surprising though, the depth of guilt, shame and self-loathing her partner had revealed to her had shocked her. The events he’d related, and his own skewed perception of his role in them, had made her feel ill. One thing was certain; Dutch’s father was a real piece of work. She’d earlier described him as an evil bastard, but now she wasn’t sure if even that summed up the depths of his depravity. Being careful not to wake Dutch she walked over to the bookshelves again and once more picked up the photo of the two smiling boys. Gazing at the boy Dutch once was she wondered how he’d had the strength to survive all he’d been forced to suffer.

Over the preceding hours Dutch had told her what she was sure was just a fraction of what he’d gone through. He’d explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, that there must be something wrong with him because neither of his parents had ever loved him. He’d told her how his drunken mother had virtually handed him over to his father on the night of his 8th birthday. When he apparently been judged, by both parents, as old enough to take over his mother’s conjugal duties. That had been the first time his father had come to him. The moment when he’d had the last vestige of childhood innocence cruelly ripped away from him.

Unable to meet her eyes Dutch had told her that as he became used to his father’s visits, as he became accustomed to the pain that often accompanied them, he had grown to accept them, and sometimes he would almost look forward to them. He told her that this just proved his father correct, that there was something wrong with him, that he was wicked. He had been unable to stop this feeling though, because although he didn’t like what his father did to him, his father obviously enjoyed it, and the child had been pleased that he was pleasing his father. He’d always strived for his father’s approval, but seldom achieved it, yet here in the dark, in the midst of the fear and the pain, his father would sometimes call him a "good boy". At those times the boy could almost believe his father loved him. Sometimes, afterwards, instead of leaving him alone in the dark with his tears, his father would stay, he would lie panting on the bed next to him; sometimes he would hold him. Then the boy would close his eyes tightly and try to pretend that his father’s touch was loving, not dirty and perverted.

While he’d spoken Dutch had resolutely refused to meet her eyes, staring down at his hands instead. His voice was an almost monotone as he clinically related the horrifying crimes committed upon him by someone he should have been able to trust above anyone else in the world. His voice only betrayed his emotions when he would hesitate, or his words would become so quiet Claudette would have to lean forward and strain to hear what he said.

As he spoke the years of his childhood passed. He became a teenager in his narrative, and he explained to her how his father would tell him that he led him on. The way he moved, the way he looked, all conspiring to lure his father to act the way he did, to do the things he did. He’d tried not to, he told her. He’d tried to avoid his father, he tried to avoid doing anything that might signal willingness to him, but it never worked. He’d never managed to figure out what those signals were so that he could stop them. A pattern was established, and he was expected to unquestioningly surrender to his father’s attentions several times a week.

At this point in his narrative Dutch faltered, and Claudette had wondered if he’d be able to continue. Silent tears had begun to roll down his face as he’d told her how, as a teenager, his father had begun to elicit responses from him. He’d used this as proof that his son enjoyed what he was doing to him, that he wanted it, welcomed it. He falteringly told her how his father would touch him, do things to him, which would make him orgasm. As he spoke he flushed red with embarrassment. Claudette longed to interrupt, to assure him that he was not to blame, but knew he needed to get all these things out into the open, and now that he’d found the courage to do so, he needed to tell the story his own way.

However, she didn’t have to wait long to have her say. As he reached the subject of the tape, all he’d say was it had been bad, that he tried not to think about it, that he’d pushed it away. He’d gotten over it, he’d told her, and he’d gotten on with his life and couldn’t see the point in raking over the past.

When Dutch’s faltering voice had finally fallen silent Claudette had been seething. She’d had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down before she spoke. She didn’t want any of the rage she felt for Dutch’s father to spill over into her voice, and be misinterpreted by Dutch as being meant for him. Dutch’s father had obviously spent years warping his son’s mind. Dutch was an insightful, thoughtful, intelligent man, and yet he truly seemed to believe the perverted lies his father had filled his head with. He couldn’t see that as a child he could in no way contribute to his own abuse. She tried to explain to him that it had all been down to his father, he’d been the one with all the power, he’d been the adult. She tried to show him that because his parents had starved him of affection, it was only natural that when he was offered some scrap of human closeness that he would grab onto it. It hadn’t meant he’d wanted the things his father had done to him, it only meant that he’d been a child, a lonely, confused child. She had tried to assure him that the physiological responses his father had forced him to experience had all been part of his cruel scheme to make Dutch feel compliant in his own abuse. It hadn’t been because he’d enjoyed what his father had been doing to him, it had just been his body’s automatic response to the stimulation it had received. She reminded him that the victims of male rape often get erections and even ejaculated during their attacks, but that too was just a physiological response out of their control.

Dutch had nodded when she’d finished talking and had mumbled,

"I know all that but…"

Then his voice had trailed off leaving his denial unfinished.

She’d gone to the kitchen then to make some tea, but when she’d returned she’d found the physically exhausted, and emotionally drained, form of her partner asleep on his couch. That had been when she’d taken her opportunity to call Aceveda. Looking once more at Dutch now, at the frown on his face, even in his sleep, the downturned set of his mouth she wished she could make things easier for him. She wished she could take his pain and guilt away from him. Sitting down in a chair across from him she closed her eyes, and hoped to get some sleep herself. There was no question of her leaving Dutch alone tonight. Trying to find a positive side to this whole mess, Claudette wondered if maybe this whole experience could be cathartic for Dutch. Perhaps if he could drag his demons out into the sunlight and face them, instead of burying them inside himself in the dark, well perhaps it would help him heal. She certainly hoped so, and with a note of trepidation still in her mind concerning the morning, but with a gleam of hope too, Claudette fell asleep.



END PART 8