Post by tuckerblane on Oct 9, 2019 17:58:15 GMT -5
A woman is sat behind a desk wearing a black robe with a pale blue blouse underneath it. Her office is appointed with cherrywood and lined with bookshelves filled with legal tomes. She wore a maternal smile as she stared at a young towhead who is anxiously looking around the room.
“You’re safe in here, Mr. Blane” she said in a soft voice. “My bailiff is right outside the door and will not let anyone get in here without my express permission.”
He looks up with tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he meets her gaze.
“N-nobody?” he said with a quiver.
“Nobody” the judge echoed. “You and I will just have a little talk about what happened to you at school. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Perfect” she said softly with a smile. “What I’ll need from you is just the truth. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Don’t worry about anyone out there” she said as she pointed to the door. “Can you do that for me?”
He silently nodded his head as he looked back down at his feet.
“Please tell me your full name.”
“Tucker Marshall Blane.”
“When were you born?”
“April 20, 1992.”
“Where do you live at the moment?”
“I...” his voice trailed off. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Do you not know your address?”
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head slowly.
“Ok. That’s ok. Who do you live with?”
“My Aunt Kelly.”
“What’s Aunt Kelly’s last name?”
“She’s my mom’s big sister.” He paused for a moment as he searched for the name. “Gravens?”
“Do you go to school?”
“I used to. But I didn’t like it there.”
The judge made a few notes.
“What didn’t you like about your school?”
Tears began streaming down his face.
“It’s ok, honey” the judge said softly. “Take your time.” She placed a box of tissues in front of him. He grabbed one and wiped his tears away.
“Mr. Bowls” he said with a silent sob.
“What did Mr. Bowls do that made you not like him?”
Tucker broke down sobbing into his hands. The judge came around the desk and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now” she whispered in his ear. “But that’s why I need you to talk to me. I want to make sure nobody else gets hurt by him.”
Tucker turned into her shoulder and threw his arms around her neck. The judge held him in a hug as he continued to bawl.
After several minutes he stopped crying.
“Do you feel ready to talk now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me about Mr. Bowls.”
“He was the school’s director” he began. “Nobody likes him.”
“Why don’t they like him?”
“He’s mean to us. He calls us bad names.”
“Has he ever hit you or another student?”
“No, ma’am. But he’d make us...” he trailed off again. “Do stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“One day he told me and Jenny Cresswell to go to his office. He said we won a prize.”
“Was Jenny a friend of yours?”
“No. Boys and girls aren’t allowed to play together. That’s one of the rules.”
“Tell me about his office.”
“I had been in there before. It was like this place but... not as nice.”
“Go on.”
“His desk was gone. There was a bed in there. Well, just a mattress. In one corner he had a camera setup. I thought we did something good and he was going to take our pictures. But...”
The judge nodded her head as she took her place behind her desk.
“It’s ok” she said.
“He told us to take our clothes off. We didn’t want to but he started screaming at us so we did. Then he told Jenny to lie down. She didn’t want to though. That made him mad.”
“How mad did he get?”
“He started calling her names. Then he said no boys will ever like her because she won’t be able to grow boobs. But boys aren’t supposed to like girls. We’re not allowed to play together.”
“What happened next?”
“He... he grabbed her by her arm and threw her on to the bed. Then he told me to lay down on top of her.”
Tucker continued his story of sexual perversion and depravity forced upon him and Jenny by Mr. Bowls. The judge was convinced by his lack of technical knowledge and language that he wasn’t coached through this story. He recounted to the judge the names of five other girls from different years and classes that Mr. Bowls made him do things to.
“She was only eight years old” he mumbled. “He told us all that we had to do this because we were bad in previous lives. This was our punishment for it.” He paused and took a breath. “She died because what he made us do. She sneaked out of the dorms one night and they found her on the beach the next morning. She didn’t know how to swim.”
Tears leaked from the judge’s eyes as Tucker finished his story.
“If it’s ok, ma’am,” he said with a tiny voice, “I don’t want to talk anymore. It hurts too badly.”
“I understand” she whispered while she choked back tears. “Mr. Blane, you were very brave in here today. Thank you for your bravery and courage. I know this wasn’t easy for you.” She wiped away her tears with her fingertips. “When you’re ready we’ll go back outside into the courtroom and you can sit with your Aunt Kelly. Ok?”
“Yes, ma’am” he replied. “Thank you. I’m ready.”
The judge opened a small, hand carved box on her desk, and pressed a red button. A moment later a baritone voice called out “All rise!”
The judge stood up and walked over to Tucker. They held hands as she escorted him back into the courtroom.
Tucker screamed unintelligibly as he sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat pouring out of him like he just finished a twenty minute fight. Hyperventilating. Gasping for air. He pulled his knees into his chest and began rocking back and forth on his bed as if he were ten years old again. The near constant nightmares and panic attacks have made him sleep less and less. Bags had formed under his eyes. His disheveled appearance made him look like a drug addict.
Having regained his breath he reached to his left and pulled out a velvet Crown Royal bag. He pulled out his pipe, lighter, and a small bag of very dark green buds speckled with purple and blue. He smoked the bowl and then set everything down as he began coughing.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” he thought to himself. “I thought I was over this.”
His eyes began to get heavy and he laid back down on his bed.
His phone alarm went off at 0615. A soft guitar being gently picked at as the volume slowly increased. After a few moments Tucker rolled over and killed the alarm. He rubbed his eyes and started the process of waking up. He checked his phone’s calendar to see if he had anything planned that day.
Nothing scheduled.
He typed out a quick text message and set the phone back down as he got up to take a shower. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in to the room.
As he sat down to a large breakfast of sausage, eggs, pork chops, fried potatoes, and a bowl of fresh fruit salad, his phone rang.
“Hey, doc. Sorry for messaging you so early.”
“More nightmares?” his shrink asked.
“... yeah.” He paused for a beat. “Same one. In the judge’s chambers.”
“What happened after that?”
“I woke up screaming in a cold sweat” Tucker said slightly defensive. “I couldn’t breathe. Full blown panic attack.”
“Yes” the psychiatrist said matter-of-factly. “That’s your PTSD. We’ve talked about this.”
“Can I see you this morning?” Tucker pleaded. “I-I’m not sure what to fucking do.”
“How about I come to you?” the doctor suggested. “Are you home?”
“Yeah. Just sitting down to breakfast.”
“Take your time. I can be there inside an hour.”
“Thanks. Door’s open.”
He hung up the call and began to slowly consume his breakfast.
Forty-five minutes later his apartment door opened. In walked a tall woman wearing bright pink leggings, an off white top that clung to her curves, and her dark red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“What’s up, Doc?” Tucker smiled.
“Not much, Bugs” she playfully fired back. “You caught me at the gym.”
“Can I get you anything?” he offered. “OJ? Coffee?”
“Coffee. Black.”
He smiled and walked into the kitchen; he quickly reappeared with two large mugs of a light Colombian roast. She accepted the mug and they sat down on his sofa.
“Why am I still hung up on this? Seventeen fucking years!” His frustration quickly surfaced. “It’s ruining so many facets of my life right now. I haven’t trained in a month. I had to cancel my next tournament appearance because there’s no way in hell I’ll be ready to fight in six weeks.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of research on this area” she said. “I’m seeing more and more combat vets now. PTSD is a hell of a lot more complex than people think.”
“What do the experts say?”
“It’s not about you letting go of your past” she began, “but about your past letting go of you. There’s talk in the neuroscience journals about clinical trials involving psilocybin to treat it.”
“I already do mushrooms” he replied softly. “It’s not working.”
“When was the last time you dosed?”
“About a week before the nightmares came back.”
“And before that?”
“I’d been microdosing pretty regularly for about four months. Making tea out of it.”
“What changed?” she questioned.
“I’m not sure” he said. “My aunt got pretty sick for a while so I was taking care of her. When she recovered I came home, fasted for two days, and took close to ten grams at once.” He let out a long sigh. “That was intense. Dark room. Silence. I just let go and let them talk to me.”
His shrink started pointing her finger at him.
“That’s it” she said poignantly. “You went from a microdose to taking a hell of a lot more at once. That’s what made your head get all screwy again. Do you have anymore?”
“Yeah” he said with a laugh. “About a half pound. Why?”
“Let me get a quarter bag” she said businesslike, “and you fix yourself some tea. Start small. Stay small.
“I just had a huge breakfast” he said hesitantly. “First time eating in two days. Don’t want to risk losing it; if you catch my drift.”
She nodded knowingly.
“You’re lucky I work for shrooms, ya know” she said teasing him.
“How long has it been?” he said wryly. “You wouldn’t cut your favorite patient a break if I didn’t have the plug?”
“Ha!” she laughed. “You’re funny. But seriously. I’ve got a full patient load this afternoon with some serious head cases. Plus I have to testify at a Baker Act hearing. I’m gonna need something to take the edge off.”
He slowly walked back into his bedroom and came out with a small jar full of mushrooms. He tossed it to her and she snagged it with one hand before deftly depositing it into her bag.
“Later tonight” she whispered. “Make yourself some tea before bed. Let’s see how well you do in the morning.”
“Deal” he said and held out his hand. She shook it and then turned for the door.
“I heard you’re thinking about being a pro wrestler” she said casually. “It’ll be a good way to get you back into fighting shape. I hear GCW gets pretty intense.”
“You ever roll for a half hour straight in a combat sambo match?” he said with a smirk. “Try having some two hundred and fifty pound Russian trying to shove your head up your ass. Then you’ll know intense.”
She laughed and walked out of his house.
Two days later and the bags under Tucker’s eyes have been greatly reduced, shaved his beard, and has gotten some color on his skin. A large, concrete slab has consumed much of his backyard. He had pull-up bars, parallel bars, and various other stations installed for calisthenics. He’d been working out and covered in sweat. His running shorts have become drenched in his sweat as he finished his last set of pull-ups.
Tucker dropped to the ground and landed on the pad with his bare feet. A determined look in his eyes said he was back to business.
“Let’s do this” he said in a low, confident voice.
“You’re safe in here, Mr. Blane” she said in a soft voice. “My bailiff is right outside the door and will not let anyone get in here without my express permission.”
He looks up with tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he meets her gaze.
“N-nobody?” he said with a quiver.
“Nobody” the judge echoed. “You and I will just have a little talk about what happened to you at school. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Perfect” she said softly with a smile. “What I’ll need from you is just the truth. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Don’t worry about anyone out there” she said as she pointed to the door. “Can you do that for me?”
He silently nodded his head as he looked back down at his feet.
“Please tell me your full name.”
“Tucker Marshall Blane.”
“When were you born?”
“April 20, 1992.”
“Where do you live at the moment?”
“I...” his voice trailed off. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Do you not know your address?”
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head slowly.
“Ok. That’s ok. Who do you live with?”
“My Aunt Kelly.”
“What’s Aunt Kelly’s last name?”
“She’s my mom’s big sister.” He paused for a moment as he searched for the name. “Gravens?”
“Do you go to school?”
“I used to. But I didn’t like it there.”
The judge made a few notes.
“What didn’t you like about your school?”
Tears began streaming down his face.
“It’s ok, honey” the judge said softly. “Take your time.” She placed a box of tissues in front of him. He grabbed one and wiped his tears away.
“Mr. Bowls” he said with a silent sob.
“What did Mr. Bowls do that made you not like him?”
Tucker broke down sobbing into his hands. The judge came around the desk and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now” she whispered in his ear. “But that’s why I need you to talk to me. I want to make sure nobody else gets hurt by him.”
Tucker turned into her shoulder and threw his arms around her neck. The judge held him in a hug as he continued to bawl.
After several minutes he stopped crying.
“Do you feel ready to talk now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me about Mr. Bowls.”
“He was the school’s director” he began. “Nobody likes him.”
“Why don’t they like him?”
“He’s mean to us. He calls us bad names.”
“Has he ever hit you or another student?”
“No, ma’am. But he’d make us...” he trailed off again. “Do stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“One day he told me and Jenny Cresswell to go to his office. He said we won a prize.”
“Was Jenny a friend of yours?”
“No. Boys and girls aren’t allowed to play together. That’s one of the rules.”
“Tell me about his office.”
“I had been in there before. It was like this place but... not as nice.”
“Go on.”
“His desk was gone. There was a bed in there. Well, just a mattress. In one corner he had a camera setup. I thought we did something good and he was going to take our pictures. But...”
The judge nodded her head as she took her place behind her desk.
“It’s ok” she said.
“He told us to take our clothes off. We didn’t want to but he started screaming at us so we did. Then he told Jenny to lie down. She didn’t want to though. That made him mad.”
“How mad did he get?”
“He started calling her names. Then he said no boys will ever like her because she won’t be able to grow boobs. But boys aren’t supposed to like girls. We’re not allowed to play together.”
“What happened next?”
“He... he grabbed her by her arm and threw her on to the bed. Then he told me to lay down on top of her.”
Tucker continued his story of sexual perversion and depravity forced upon him and Jenny by Mr. Bowls. The judge was convinced by his lack of technical knowledge and language that he wasn’t coached through this story. He recounted to the judge the names of five other girls from different years and classes that Mr. Bowls made him do things to.
“She was only eight years old” he mumbled. “He told us all that we had to do this because we were bad in previous lives. This was our punishment for it.” He paused and took a breath. “She died because what he made us do. She sneaked out of the dorms one night and they found her on the beach the next morning. She didn’t know how to swim.”
Tears leaked from the judge’s eyes as Tucker finished his story.
“If it’s ok, ma’am,” he said with a tiny voice, “I don’t want to talk anymore. It hurts too badly.”
“I understand” she whispered while she choked back tears. “Mr. Blane, you were very brave in here today. Thank you for your bravery and courage. I know this wasn’t easy for you.” She wiped away her tears with her fingertips. “When you’re ready we’ll go back outside into the courtroom and you can sit with your Aunt Kelly. Ok?”
“Yes, ma’am” he replied. “Thank you. I’m ready.”
The judge opened a small, hand carved box on her desk, and pressed a red button. A moment later a baritone voice called out “All rise!”
The judge stood up and walked over to Tucker. They held hands as she escorted him back into the courtroom.
Tucker screamed unintelligibly as he sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat pouring out of him like he just finished a twenty minute fight. Hyperventilating. Gasping for air. He pulled his knees into his chest and began rocking back and forth on his bed as if he were ten years old again. The near constant nightmares and panic attacks have made him sleep less and less. Bags had formed under his eyes. His disheveled appearance made him look like a drug addict.
Having regained his breath he reached to his left and pulled out a velvet Crown Royal bag. He pulled out his pipe, lighter, and a small bag of very dark green buds speckled with purple and blue. He smoked the bowl and then set everything down as he began coughing.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” he thought to himself. “I thought I was over this.”
His eyes began to get heavy and he laid back down on his bed.
His phone alarm went off at 0615. A soft guitar being gently picked at as the volume slowly increased. After a few moments Tucker rolled over and killed the alarm. He rubbed his eyes and started the process of waking up. He checked his phone’s calendar to see if he had anything planned that day.
Nothing scheduled.
He typed out a quick text message and set the phone back down as he got up to take a shower. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in to the room.
As he sat down to a large breakfast of sausage, eggs, pork chops, fried potatoes, and a bowl of fresh fruit salad, his phone rang.
“Hey, doc. Sorry for messaging you so early.”
“More nightmares?” his shrink asked.
“... yeah.” He paused for a beat. “Same one. In the judge’s chambers.”
“What happened after that?”
“I woke up screaming in a cold sweat” Tucker said slightly defensive. “I couldn’t breathe. Full blown panic attack.”
“Yes” the psychiatrist said matter-of-factly. “That’s your PTSD. We’ve talked about this.”
“Can I see you this morning?” Tucker pleaded. “I-I’m not sure what to fucking do.”
“How about I come to you?” the doctor suggested. “Are you home?”
“Yeah. Just sitting down to breakfast.”
“Take your time. I can be there inside an hour.”
“Thanks. Door’s open.”
He hung up the call and began to slowly consume his breakfast.
Forty-five minutes later his apartment door opened. In walked a tall woman wearing bright pink leggings, an off white top that clung to her curves, and her dark red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“What’s up, Doc?” Tucker smiled.
“Not much, Bugs” she playfully fired back. “You caught me at the gym.”
“Can I get you anything?” he offered. “OJ? Coffee?”
“Coffee. Black.”
He smiled and walked into the kitchen; he quickly reappeared with two large mugs of a light Colombian roast. She accepted the mug and they sat down on his sofa.
“Why am I still hung up on this? Seventeen fucking years!” His frustration quickly surfaced. “It’s ruining so many facets of my life right now. I haven’t trained in a month. I had to cancel my next tournament appearance because there’s no way in hell I’ll be ready to fight in six weeks.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of research on this area” she said. “I’m seeing more and more combat vets now. PTSD is a hell of a lot more complex than people think.”
“What do the experts say?”
“It’s not about you letting go of your past” she began, “but about your past letting go of you. There’s talk in the neuroscience journals about clinical trials involving psilocybin to treat it.”
“I already do mushrooms” he replied softly. “It’s not working.”
“When was the last time you dosed?”
“About a week before the nightmares came back.”
“And before that?”
“I’d been microdosing pretty regularly for about four months. Making tea out of it.”
“What changed?” she questioned.
“I’m not sure” he said. “My aunt got pretty sick for a while so I was taking care of her. When she recovered I came home, fasted for two days, and took close to ten grams at once.” He let out a long sigh. “That was intense. Dark room. Silence. I just let go and let them talk to me.”
His shrink started pointing her finger at him.
“That’s it” she said poignantly. “You went from a microdose to taking a hell of a lot more at once. That’s what made your head get all screwy again. Do you have anymore?”
“Yeah” he said with a laugh. “About a half pound. Why?”
“Let me get a quarter bag” she said businesslike, “and you fix yourself some tea. Start small. Stay small.
“I just had a huge breakfast” he said hesitantly. “First time eating in two days. Don’t want to risk losing it; if you catch my drift.”
She nodded knowingly.
“You’re lucky I work for shrooms, ya know” she said teasing him.
“How long has it been?” he said wryly. “You wouldn’t cut your favorite patient a break if I didn’t have the plug?”
“Ha!” she laughed. “You’re funny. But seriously. I’ve got a full patient load this afternoon with some serious head cases. Plus I have to testify at a Baker Act hearing. I’m gonna need something to take the edge off.”
He slowly walked back into his bedroom and came out with a small jar full of mushrooms. He tossed it to her and she snagged it with one hand before deftly depositing it into her bag.
“Later tonight” she whispered. “Make yourself some tea before bed. Let’s see how well you do in the morning.”
“Deal” he said and held out his hand. She shook it and then turned for the door.
“I heard you’re thinking about being a pro wrestler” she said casually. “It’ll be a good way to get you back into fighting shape. I hear GCW gets pretty intense.”
“You ever roll for a half hour straight in a combat sambo match?” he said with a smirk. “Try having some two hundred and fifty pound Russian trying to shove your head up your ass. Then you’ll know intense.”
She laughed and walked out of his house.
Two days later and the bags under Tucker’s eyes have been greatly reduced, shaved his beard, and has gotten some color on his skin. A large, concrete slab has consumed much of his backyard. He had pull-up bars, parallel bars, and various other stations installed for calisthenics. He’d been working out and covered in sweat. His running shorts have become drenched in his sweat as he finished his last set of pull-ups.
Tucker dropped to the ground and landed on the pad with his bare feet. A determined look in his eyes said he was back to business.
“Let’s do this” he said in a low, confident voice.