Wire-Pulling Pt. 01

"You're right!" he confirmed after just a few seconds and a lot more paper rustling. "I did not notice that thing at all!" Now he chuckled for a moment before he spoke again. "I can't wait to get that guy into the witness stand and confront him with those pictures."

"I'm sorry... what?"

"What is it, Paul? Surely you can't have a problem with me proving in court that your mother is being framed?"

"You haven't watched the news today, have you? Carver's dead. House burned down with him inside," I informed him in a deadpan voice, and, while the other end of the line went deathly silent, I heard a scoff from the other end of the couch I was sitting on.

"Oh..." was all I could hear after a few moments.

"Yeah. That brings me to my next point. My boss is entertaining the possibility of Carver's death not being entirely accidental. So, he thinks it would be best if I bailed my mother out of jail ASAP."

"Yes! Of course... That sounds... like the logical reaction." He was audibly working on regaining his composure. And, despite the dire topic, it almost made me smirk while shaking my head. "Can you afford the bail amount?"

"No. But the firm I work for will give me a bail bond."

"Perfect!" I wasn't sure whether he was happy about the case moving forward or not having to pitch in financially. "Then we'll meet tomorrow in my office. The judge will have to set some conditions for her release, like travel restrictions and such. Unfortunately, since it's Sunday, there won't be a judge available before tomorrow, even if I use Carver's death as an aggravating circumstance to get this done quickly. I'll take care of the paperwork."

"Travel restrictions? That could be a problem."

"Why?"

"I don't have an apartment in Austin, Breston. And I can't afford to put her up in a motel for months until her trial is done."

Not to mention that I couldn't keep an eye on her in Austin while working in Houston.

"Oh! That shouldn't be a problem. She's not a violent offender, has no prior records, and has no money to speak of. So, she won't be considered a flight risk. And she has also been quite cooperative so far. Worst case scenario, the judge will prohibit her from leaving the state. A two-hour drive into town is generally considered close enough to make sure she can attend all hearings and appointments. Even if most of those weren't conducted online these days."

Well, at least something went well for me. However, I made a mental note that her new abode needed an internet connection.

"All right. Just give me a call as soon as you have a timetable, so I'll have enough time to make the drive."

Then I ended the call with a remarkably relieved-sounding Breston. The only thing left to do now was to call Bill to thank him, once again, for his help. Though, I chose not to mention Tim's newest theory regarding his motives. After that, I decided to call it a day when Tim left and walked into my new bedroom.

# # # # # # # #

Mom, Dick, and I walk back into the house. I feel tense but I don't know why exactly. He leads us into the house, with Mom shuffling after me. As soon as the door closes behind us, I know I screwed up somehow, and there will be hell to pay again.

He's angry, and it's safe to assume that I'm the cause. Though, I can't say for sure what set him off this time.

"You just don't learn, do you, boy?" he growls, causing me to look at him in defiance while Mom stops whatever she's doing and grows perfectly still.

"What's it this time, Dick?" I ask while putting a slight emphasis on his nickname, somehow happy about whatever it is I did to piss him off. "Did I hold the fork the wrong way?"

He just stares at me for a few seconds before deciding to speak.

"Seems like you need another lesson in behavior, boy."

Calling me 'boy'. That was one of his little customs for as long as I've been living here. As if he was refusing to acknowledge that I have a name because he wanted me to know that I only have as much value as he would bestow upon me. Like I cared about the fucking asshole's opinion of me. I just shake my head, dismissing his threat.

Seeing this, he lifts the vest of his three-piece suit to unbuckle his belt. And my attitude instantly changes.

Don't get me wrong, I would never in a million years concede his point to get out of a beating. That's what he wants to achieve with this little exercise. Nor would I ever apologize for making his life a little harder. But I still know what's coming, and that I won't particularly enjoy it.

Over the past three years that I had to live in his house, I've grown accustomed to his belt. And that's yet another reason why I feel no respect for the man. I've gotten used to the level of pain that leather strap could cause. And I'm smart enough to know that his venture into the world of politics wouldn't allow him to inflict any serious damage on me, so the pain I'm already used to will be as bad as it gets. With that, he doesn't hold anything over me. I'm sure of that. I'm safe... at least relatively speaking.

I will not bow to that man like my mother has.

My defiant attitude towards him grows even stronger when I notice what kind of belt he's wearing tonight. That flimsy little thing is more looks than function. It won't even sting. Did he just smirk!? I watch him pull his belt out of his pants and wrap the end of the damn thing around his hand. But...

Why's the belt buckle hanging down instead of being held in his hand? Is he serious!?

Mom noticed as well and, to my surprise, actually plants herself in between us, blocking his path towards me, and starts pleading with the man not to do 'anything rash'.

"Don't you DARE protect this useless boy, or I'll continue with you once I'm done with him!" he suddenly shouts out and pushes Mom out of the way. "This is MY house, and I WILL be obeyed! We'll see how long you can hold that attitude of yours, boy!"

He raises his hand above his head. I watch wide-eyed as the buckle swings around his shoulder to come to rest behind his back, and find myself rooted to the spot. I can't do shit but stare at his raised hand, unable to process this. He can't be serious! Suddenly, he brings his hand back down in one quick and fluid motion.

I see the belt buckle fly towards me in a wide ark.

And I hear Mom scream.

# # # # # # # #

I shot awake with a start. I was panting, covered in sweat, and immediately checked my left shoulder for any damage. Only when I didn't find it to be hurting could I finally realize where I even was.

That dream made me relive the first time the asshole had sent me to the hospital. It was right after some fundraising campaign for his candidacy as a senator, shortly after my fourteenth birthday. To this day, I'm still not a hundred percent on what it even was that I did wrong, but it was probably the way I spoke with his benefactors and supporters. To me, the people who funded and supported him were the same as the man himself: Not deserving of my respect.

I had a lot of those dreams during the first year after arriving in this town, but ever since I had built a proper life for myself, with a proper apartment, a proper job, and proper friends who guided me, the dreams stopped. I guess, thanks to the stress and everything that happened during the past two days that made me think about the guy, I should've expected them to return. But I didn't.

As I moved into the kitchen to get myself something to drink, I kept thinking about my life with the senator.

When Mom and I moved into his house, he didn't immediately start beating us. At first, whenever I behaved in a way he didn't approve of, he threatened me with being sent to military school, telling me how they would know how to beat some sense into new recruits. Though, he never followed up on that threat.

The longer I thought about him never sending me off over the years, the more I believed that, while they surely would know how to "set me straight", he didn't want me to learn all the other things young men learn at military schools. I'm convinced he feared what I would be capable of once I returned from there. That suspicion was somehow confirmed when he moved on from military school to boarding school. That threat did have an effect on me. At least in the beginning. Back then, the desire in me to support Mom was still going strong, and boarding school meant that I would no longer be there to help her out. I would effectively be locked away without learning anything of value. Despite what some rich pricks claim, boarding schools are nothing more than a means to get rid of your child when you can't be bothered to raise it yourself. No employer gives a flying fuck about where you got your high school diploma, regardless of whether it's a boarding school or in-state high school.

As I stood in the kitchen, I raised my right hand to feel the skin of my left shoulder. The thick bulging scar from where the belt buckle first hit was still easy to find. But, in the end, it was only a taste of how the following four years under his roof would play out.

I remembered finding Mom by my side when I woke up in the hospital bed. In the worst of my memories, I was scared shitless, I was crying, and, throughout it all, Mom was just... there. At some times, she would try to stop him, try to calm him down or persuade him, but it would never end well for either of us. Even back then, at merely fourteen years, I already knew she was as much a victim in this and just as scared of him as I was.

But that simple fact never made it easier to accept that, in the end, she would just stand there and watch it happen. Surrendering to being powerless against him, accepting this as the new normal, and simply giving up.

Afterward, she would try to soothe and comfort me, like that day when I woke up in a hospital bed. Though, with the damage being done, I slowly started resenting her for it. Being held and having my tears dried AFTER I got the shit beaten out of me didn't help me. Admitting that something bad happened to me, while she stood there and didn't do anything about it, didn't help me. And refusing to leave him after each and every beating just rendered her shed tears pointless. But the thing that enraged me even more back then was the fact that I knew I was just as powerless as she was.

But that time was over. I was no longer powerless.

He never followed up on his threat of sending me to military school, because he knew I would learn to stand up for what is right and I would have learned how to succeed in it. Well, thanks to Bill, I learned those things anyway. I was no longer the helpless, weak little boy who had to take his beatings. Now I COULD take him on, and not just in a physical fight.

And I would take him on. I would have my revenge!

I actually chuckled to myself at this point, before leaving my glass in the sink and moving back into my bedroom for a few more hours of sleep. The next morning held a surprise, though.

When I got the call from Breston regarding my mother's hearing being set for one in the afternoon, I immediately let Bill know about it. He was quiet for a short moment while I could hear him type on his keyboard before he told me to meet him at the company parking lot at twelve p.m. And, preferably, fully geared up.

"Why so late? We'll never make it to Austin in time for the hearing," I asked over the phone. "And why the dress-up?"

"Firstly, we won't attend the hearing. Neither will your mother, for that matter. That's purely between her lawyer and the judge. We'll drive directly to the jail, so we'll be there once she gets out. Second, precautions. If I'm right, the senator's people will know about her pending release and have at least one man watching us. Just consider this a standard VIP transport."

"Oh! Does that mean I'll get to drive one of them fancy cars?" I joked, though Bill didn't bite as he kept his stoic calm.

"Yes. And you won't go alone. I know I sound paranoid to you. But... I took the liberty of digging around your stepfather last night. I think it's out of the question who's responsible for this whole framing job, which means two things: First, he knows you're on to him and highly motivated to screw him over. Second, he's just as motivated to not let that happen, and we now know they won't shy away from shutting you up permanently. Now make sure you have everything you need ready. And be here on time."

The next thing I heard was Bill hanging up on me. So, I shrugged, walked into the kitchen, and simply made breakfast.

A few hours later, I found myself in the company parking lot, where Bill handed me my vest, radio, and gun. He and Micheal were already wearing theirs. Then we sat in one of the armored SUVs and started the hour-long drive up to Austin County Jail.

And then we waited.

For about an hour, we just stood in front of the jail's gate, scanning our surroundings and staying close to the car. We knew that Breston was in the Sheriff's office to make bail, though we didn't expect it to take that long. And holy hell did that waiting time do a number on me! I had no damn idea how to act once I'd found myself face-to-face with my mother. It had been almost half a decade since we even spoke to each other. And the longer I was standing there with nothing to do but think, the more I realized that, despite Bill's best efforts to enable me to have an actual life, I was not prepared for this.

Luckily, as soon as I realized this, Breston showed up in a not-quite beat-up Honda, so I didn't have to dwell on my fears about how to handle Mom.

"Good to see you, Paul!" Breston greeted me enthusiastically and with a bright smile on his face. "I see you brought reinforcements?"

"Just in case," Bill replied without looking at the man, his eyes still wandering over our surroundings, to which Breston just nodded.

"Show of strength. I like it." Then he turned towards me. "It's going to help keep your mother calm, Paul. She's been in there for over three weeks now and... Well... Needless to say, jail is seldomly a pleasant experience. But she told me..." He leaned into me to whisper the next part. "...that she felt safer in here than with her husband around. It is possible she's not too happy about suddenly being released."

That gave me pause. Obviously, neither my mother nor this lawyer had come to the same conclusion regarding her safety as Bill had. However, I didn't think it would be wise to discuss this out in the open while we were expecting the senator's people to watch us from somewhere.

Another twenty minutes later, Breston's concern regarding my mother's eagerness to leave the relatively safe confinement was confirmed. As we turned upon hearing the squeaking noises announcing the gate's movement, I saw my mother standing on the other side of the fence. She was the embodiment of insecurity.

Her shoulders were slumped in the crinkled skirt suit she had worn when she was arrested, and that was now all she had left of her old life. Her head hung slightly low, so her black hair, which contained a lot more gray than I would've expected on a woman of thirty-nine, was almost covering her eyes. I could still see them darting about in search of... danger, I suppose. All the while, her hands were nervously fidgeting around.

That display worsened once she noticed the three armed men waiting for her on the other side of the gate. I almost expected her to turn around and ask the guard to let her back in, until she noticed Breston walking towards her. Going by that display, my mother had reached the same conclusion about her ex-husband's motives as Bill had.

"Ms. Anderson," Breston called out as he started towards her with an outstretched hand and a reassuring smile on his face. I took a deep breath before following him. "I'm sorry for all of this being so sudden. We just determined that it was imperative to have you released and brought into a safer environment."

"Why?" was all my mother said in a small voice, and I first looked at her in surprise, then at Breston in disbelief. She didn't know!?

"There's much to discuss, Ms. Anderson, but I'm afraid this is not the place to do so. That's also why Paul and his colleagues are here, to make sure..."

I stopped listening to Breston's ramblings. As soon as he said my name while gesturing towards me, my mother's reaction had me too intrigued to spare any attention for him. Hearing my name, her eyes followed Breston's gesturing hand towards my face, and, as if in slow motion, her eyes widened in recognition while her mouth opened slightly in a look of disbelief. Or shock. Or... maybe even fear.

I had seen her like that many times in the past. Every time her husband decided that I needed to be 'disciplined', she looked a lot like she did at this moment.

"P... Paul?" she asked in a voice that was even smaller than before.

"Hello, Mom," I confirmed her question in a neutral voice, like I was greeting a business associate instead of my mother.

It seemed like she was breathing in deeply, just to then hold that breath while staring me in the eyes, while her body had grown completely still. Then her eyes wandered over my face as if to take in every detail, to my shoulders, and, finally, up and down my body. Her facial expression changed into something I could only describe as a mixture of sadness and regret.

Then it hit me. The last time I saw that look on her face was the night she told me to leave their house. Although, back then, I was too angry to even think about it. Now, however, I was painfully aware of why I refused to move too far away from her, despite what I told Tim the day before. I also remembered why I went to the gym, and why I was so eager to sign up for the supposed martial arts course I thought Bill was giving.

To my greatest surprise, I suddenly knew exactly what to do.

It was the complete opposite of what I had always thought I would do if confronted with Mom, but the anger I had felt since the day she kicked me out was now overshadowed by my need to get answers. Answers I would not get in a phone conversation, and that I couldn't verify during short visits.

"Yes," I interrupted Breston, who was still droning on while trying to reassure her, before turning to my mother and addressing her directly. "We should get moving. You're staying with me for the time being."

Hearing that, Breston immediately shut up and blinked at me before finding his voice again.

"She is?"

"It's the smartest thing to do," I replied in a confident tone, though I did sneak a glance at Bill who, still without taking his eyes off our surroundings, showed me the tiniest of nods.

So, I placed my left hand on her back while gesturing toward the car with my right. Even when her feet started moving, her eyes stayed fixated on me. She also didn't react when Breston protested.

"Wait! We need to go to my office and tell her what we found out," he said in a voice that held clear disbelief.

"No offense, Breston, but I don't consider your office safe to talk in. You're free to come along, though. We'll stop at the firm to get her up to speed."

And, just like that, I led my mother to the backseat of the armored SUV parked only a few yards away, where the both of us sat down before Bill and Michael got into the front.

Chapter 3

The ride back to Houston was quiet, and the tension was tangible.

You see, in the real world, it is a lot harder to determine whether or not you're being followed than the movies make it seem. That is, if the person you suspect of following you has at least half a brain cell at their disposal, in which case you will be followed by multiple people. And it will be especially easy for them if the list of probable destinations for your journey is known. In our case, it was not only known, but it was also very short.