Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (94 page)

Mr. Wonka: “Don’t forget what happened to the man who
suddenly got everything he wanted.”

Charlie Bucket: “What happened?”

Mr. Wonka: “He lived happily ever after.”

― Roald Dahl

~~~

Gabriela
Lopez

Disney World!

Their tour guide
picked them up with their families, at the hotel. They all climbed into a large
van and after a short ride, they arrived at the world's
best
theme park.

Here, longtime
dreams, could finally come true. The kids were whisked back and forth across
the grounds so they could enjoy every single ride. They had their pictures
taken with Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and
Tigger.

At the end of
the day, the two children finally began to run out of energy, yet they continued
to tease each other. Grins splitting their faces, giggling and laughing, they
found it difficult to wind down—even as tired as they were.

It was a long day,
a huge day, and both Gabriela and her closest friend were exhausted by the end
of it.

“What did you
like best?” she asked.

“The Pirates of
the Caribbean!” Sammy replied happily, resting his head on the backrest of the cushioned
seat of the van.

After making
sure everyone had buckled up, their tour guide started the engine and pulled
out on to the road. It was time to drive the kids and their parents back to
their hotel.

After the
rescue, Sammy had been reunited with his father. His father had never given up
hope—he’d been searching for him for years. Sammy’s father and mother were divorced.
When his mother and Sammy moved out of state, his mom had become ill. After she
died, Sammy was kidnapped or sold—no one really knew the complete story.

Sammy also discovered
his real name was Noah. They had both giggled about that, him being named Noah,
just like the old guy in the Ark.

Gabriela’s
parents cried long and hard when they were reunited, thanking God for the
unexpected gift. They'd feared the worst, after so many years. They still gave
thanks every single day for her, and probably always would.

Despite years of
separation, even in her darkest moments, Gabriela never doubted  someday
mamá
and
papá
would come for her.

Children rescued
from the Big Houses were provided with counseling and support for their
families, as needed. Gabriela loved her therapist, the nice lady who listened
to her. She spoke to her of the children buried in the back yard, of her
nightmares, and of her worst fear, that someday she’d be buried, too.

Noah often still
wet his bed and he hated to be parted from Gabriela. For as long as he could
remember, she was always with him. Noah and Gabriela's parents were advised to
let the children see each other as often as possible. Adjustments were made,
uniting both families into a larger support network

When asked what
they wanted most, the children confided their long standing wish to visit
Disney World. Once the people from Disney became aware of the children’s story,
they immediately offered both families free accommodations and a special VIP
tour.

Neither child
had any idea of those that had saved them. They didn’t know about the courage and
murder of Edgar Gates; Grant Wilkinson’s relentless sense of personal responsibility;
Detective Roman Bronowski’s desire to avenge his colleague; nor André
Chevalier’s passionate drive for justice—but that was just as well.

Thanks to the
dogged persistence of an unknown few, Gabriela and Noah were free to be
children.

Adult concerns
were for adults, which was exactly as it should be.

Leaning their
heads back in the warm, comfortable van, Gabriela and Noah closed their eyes.
They were utterly worn out after an exciting day of healthy, wholesome
fun.

Images of Disney
characters, smiling and laughing children, ice cream, fun rides and the love of
their families danced round and round in their thoughts as if on cheerfully
painted carousels.

This time, when
they fell asleep, they both had very happy dreams.

“Nothing is
ever settled until it is settled right.”

— Rudyard
Kipling

~~~

Detective
Roman Bronowski

The day was
cool, mostly cloudy, with the threat of showers and a thunderstorm forecasted
for later. Roman had a raincoat over the usual suit he wore to work.

After leaving
the police station early, he took his time driving to
Restland Cemetery.
His mind was preoccupied, his heart full. How could he feel so happy, so
satisfied, and yet so melancholy and sad at the same time?

Restland
was
an expensive place to bury a loved one. Despite financial restrictions, Celia
Gates and her husband had chosen to bear the cost. They wanted their son Edgar
buried in the beautiful, well-cared for cemetery, where they could visit regularly.

Roman had anonymously
donated a thousand dollars toward Edgar’s burial expenses. He felt it was the least
he could do for the young man, after all Edgar had done for him.

Parking his car,
Roman grabbed the bottle of the finest Kentucky Bourbon and began the long walk
to Edgar’s grave. He knew exactly where to go; he’d been there many times
before, although not recently.

This visit would
be different.

While walking
along the trail, much to his surprise, he came upon Celia Gates and André
Chevalier strolling toward him. Obviously, they’d been visiting her son’s grave.
Roman didn’t even know André was in Dallas, nor was he aware the Frenchman knew
Edgar’s mom.

Roman thought
back to the spy-like conversation he had with André—it now seemed a lifetime
ago. He’d felt utterly foolish talking on the phone while in his bathroom with
the shower running to prevent being overheard.

Later, after the
pedophile ring had been destroyed, he discovered André hadn't been paranoid. Roman’s
house
had
been bugged. Les Miller, the cop he’d been suspicious of, had
since lost his badge and was under investigation.

André’s
passionate statement from that time came back to him,
‘Mon Dieu! Monsieur
Gates, he was a good man, a hero! Oui, oui! But of course, it is up to us to
avenge him!’

Roman had agreed
completely. He’d been consumed with a burning desire to avenge Edgar’s death.
It was the least he could do. If not for Edgar’s actions starting a chain of
events that allowed Roman to figure out what was going on, Roman would’ve been
murdered, as well.

Now, here was André
Chevalier with Edgar’s mom, visiting her son’s grave. There was a story there
somewhere, Roman felt certain of it.

He wondered if
he’d ever get to hear it.

“Detective Roman
Bronowski, it is a great pleasure to see you,
mon ami
,” André said with
a welcoming smile. “You are acquainted with Mrs. Celia Gates, no?”

“Yes, of
course,” Roman said, nodding toward her. “I’m very pleased to see you again.”

Looking sweet
and young, even after having four children, Celia Gates would still have her ID
checked at a bar. There was a compelling hint of vulnerability about her,
something in her smooth skin, kind face and big, dark eyes that made a man want
to protect her.

It was all
camouflage, of course. There was a stubborn, determined powerhouse hiding
beneath her seemingly defenseless exterior. The woman had been volunteering as advocate
at a local rape crisis center for years.

She was the
source, the inspiration. It was her son’s love for this woman as well as the principles
she stirred during his upbringing that led Edgar to discover his courageous
heart. She was the spark that initiated his lifelong mission, his search for
justice—however short that life was.

“You have
brought whisky?” André asked.

Roman lifted the
bottle. “For Edgar.”

“Bravo!”
One dark brow arched, his eyes filled with meaning. “I comprehend perfectly.”

Alcohol was a
traditional form of celebration. This fact hinted to André that Roman had good
news, which he did. While dying to ask him about it, André wouldn’t—not with
Edgar’s mom nearby.

The Frenchman
was one person who respected the fact there was a time and place for
everything.

Celia Gates
gestured toward the bottle of bourbon. “Really?” She smiled, arching a brow,
pleased yet confused. “You brought that for Edgar?”

Roman shrugged.
He felt unable to explain, but he took a shot at it anyway. “Mrs. Gates, your
son was an inspiration, I hope you know that. We all owe him so much.”

“Thank you,” she
said softly, but she appeared as though she might cry.

Roman turned
toward André, purposely giving Celia a moment to collect herself. “If you’re
available, I’d love you to meet my family. Any chance you can come over for
dinner tonight or tomorrow? Or are you leaving town?”

“
Mais oui,
but of course. It would be a great honor. I am available this evening.”

“Seven o’clock
all right for you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll text you
my address,” Roman said with a smile. It was late notice for Angela, but his
wife wouldn’t mind. In fact, she’d be delighted. He’d spoken to her of the
astute, eccentric Frenchman who he credited for changes that improved their
marriage.

Anxious to
leave, Roman said his goodbyes and continued walking toward Edgar’s grave. No
one else was around, which suited him perfectly.

Stopping before
his colleague's gravestone, Roman stared at the small memorial. Edgar’s mom and
stepdad were not wealthy and having their son buried here would've cost a
fortune. This was probably the cheapest headstone available.

“Hey kid,” Roman
began, while opening the bottle of bourbon. “So, I wanted you to be the first
to know. Today, I arrested your asshole father. It seems he’d raped more than
once. Your DNA finally hit a match. It took a while to track the cocksucker
down, but he’s done and dusted now. He won’t be hurting any more women, ever
again, thanks to you. Bail denied—he’s going down.”

“So, here’s to
you, kid.” He took a swig from the bottle, raised it in a salute and tipped
half of it over Edgar’s grave.

“I’ll talk to
your mom about it tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll be sensitive—not that she can’t
take it. She’s quite a woman, soft and sweet on the outside, but there’s tempered
steel underneath.”

The sun peeked
out from behind the clouds, bearing down on him. Roman paused to take off his
raincoat.

“So… um, I guess
you know all about the huge pedophile scandal. You’re the one who started the
ball rolling, after all.” He put the bottle down on the lawn, then shoved his
hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“I hope you
don’t mind, but I kind of spilled the beans—off the record, of course. I told
that prize winning NY Times journalist about how you sent those pictures to the
victims, how that started a domino effect and how you were killed for it. None
of this would've happened, if not for you. Think about all of the people you
saved that were being abused, not to mention the justice served for the ones
who couldn't be saved. That's what you stood for.”

He cleared his
throat. “It was behind your ultimate sacrifice. I think by the time that
reporter gets the evidence together; it’ll be quite a testimonial."

Roman looked
around the quiet cemetery. “Things might get a little noisy around here when
you’re exposed as a courageous, whistle-blowing hero. The city will probably
buy you a huge new gravestone. Maybe your family will make some money from
telling your story, who knows? So, have another drink to celebrate.”

Roman took
another large swig, pleased to find the alcoholic burn momentarily cleared the
growing thickness in his throat. He coughed, then tipped the rest of the bottle
over the grave.

His brows drew
down in concentration. “What else? Oh, yeah, you’ll love this, Edgar,” Roman
said with a short laugh. “You know ex-senator Whitfield’s brother, that well
known evangelical minister with his own TV show? That asshole used his reputation
and connections to traffic children. Then, throughout police interrogation, he
acted as though he was a servant of God.” The detective snorted. “More like on
the payroll of the devil himself.”

His expression
grim, Roman frowned. “Anyway, the bastard ratted his older brother out—off
shore accounts, business records—the works. He gave us details of the pedophile
ring in exchange for lighter sentencing, not that it’s done him any good. The
self-righteous douche is in critical condition after getting shanked in jail.”

Shuffling his
feet, he pursed his lips. “We now know the identity of the man who shot you,
too. The ex-senator gave him up in a plea bargain.” Roman shook his head. “Don’t
worry, Robert Whitfield hired an assassin to kill a cop. The only way that son
of a bitch is getting out of jail is in a pine box.”

He somberly
regarded Edgar’s gravestone.

“Speaking of
your contract killer, Europol has him on their most wanted list. He’s apparently
in Kazakhstan, but I don’t imagine he’s happy there.” He grinned. “We managed
to freeze his bank accounts before he took off. I wish I could’ve arrested him
for you, but the murdering piece of shit will never be allowed back on US soil.
Eventually, he’ll be caught.”

The wind picked
up, a cloud covered the sun. Roman rocked back on his heels and gazed up into
the sky for a moment.

He steeled
himself, then took a deep breath. “I’ve done what I could to avenge you, Edgar.
As much as possible, I’ve tried to set things right. It’ll never be enough, but
I’ve done my best.”

He knelt down to
touch Edgar’s tombstone.

“Thanks for my
life, kid,” he murmured softly. “I’ll never forget it.” Roman took a moment to
read the words on Edgar’s memorial once more.

Here lies
Edgar Gates, beloved son and brother.

Where there
is much light, the shadows are deepest.

Bright star,
gone too soon.

You proved it
is not the length of life, but the depth.

Rest well,
sweet son, until we meet again.

His heart full,
Roman felt a jumble of mixed emotions. He was extraordinarily pleased to have
accomplished what he set out to do, yet remorseful he hadn’t been able to save
his colleague.

Edgar Gates had
been a young man with integrity, conviction and his whole life ahead of him. The
world was greater because of him. The world was lesser without him.

How can I
feel like this?
Roman wondered, as a number of powerful and overwhelming emotions
tore through him.

When all was
said and done, the detective felt incredibly happy, yet also unbearably sad.

As Roman Bronowski
strode slowly away from Edgar’s grave, an empty Kentucky bourbon bottle in one
hand, he was crying.

The
End