My mom had hidden the worst of our home life from me. It was only after being detained that I learned how my dad chose the ranch in Moose Pass for his hidden drug lair. One of the special agents pulled me into a private room and asked what I knew about the illegal activities.
Obvious to him, the questions confused me. He understood I had no knowledge of what my dad really did for money. I always thought he worked as an architect, at least that’s what Mom told me.
The parties my dad held for his so-called friends turned out to be a way for him to distribute drugs through his dealers to the entire Kenai peninsula. He spent most of his time in Seward convincing dealers to do his dirty work. They never figured out where he stayed, so he must have had somegirlfriend in town.
When Dad got greedy and tried to take over Anchorage, the undercover cops infiltrated the group and convinced my mom to talk.
When one of the undercover officers, Tom Johnson, took her into the barn for a “tour,” my dad thought he was using her as a bonus for dealing with my dad, like others had done in the past.
Sick as it had been, it was Dad’s way of showing his appreciation for the secrecy. Instead, he had convinced Mom to confide in him. Tom had planned on saving us, but he was too late.
If I hadn’t taken my dad out last spring, the police would have had enough to put him away for life. We were all better off, so they say.
This news hit me like a ton of bricks; I felt like I had been hit by a Mack truck. My entire body ached, and my head spun. I attempted to make all the puzzle pieces fit but thought my head would explode.
Tom. The one person I had a positive feeling about was actually a good guy. Chills ran up my spine knowing my assumption had been right.
Even though I had eliminated the biggest drug dealer in southern Alaska, the fact was that I had committed murder and the state made me pay for my crime.
Unfortunately, I was forced to endure a trial and my lawyer convinced me that by pleading guilty, which Iwas, I would be charged as a juvenile instead of an adult. He was right; I was sentenced to juvenile detention, which meant I would be released when I turned twenty-one.
MCLAUGHLINJuvenile Detention Center’s secure treatment unit would be my home for the next five and a half years. Fifteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to cry, but I couldn’t help myself. Change is hard in general, but going from a four-hundred-acre farm to sharing a ten-by-ten cell with another boy was a bit extreme.
I wasn’t sure how to live without being outside, without soaking up the sunshine, without drinking a glass of iced tea with my mom at the end of a hard day’s work.
When I finally got comfortable—or exhausted—I dreamt. Mom floated beside me over our property. She held my hand and told me everything was going to be okay. I wanted to believe her.
My face throbbed with pressure; I woke to find a fist slamming into my cheek. I backed away before the second hit connected. My roommate had dropped from the top bunk, grabbed me by the hair, and with his nose almost touching mine, whispered, “Shut the fuck up.”
“Sorry.” I sniffled.
“If you keep making so much noise,they're gonna come in here and search our room. If they search our room, you're the one who will be in solitary, not me. I’m not getting put in that hell hole again. Got it dickweed?”
“Got it.”
“Now. Shut the fuck up.” He climbed back to his bunk.
Mom? Can you hear me? I’m so scared. What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to the farm? Am I ever going to be able to go back there? Shit. I didn’t grab any of our pictures.
Chapter 10
Kennedy, age eighteen—March 2006
SPRING BREAKUPsoaked through the UGGs I found in Megan’s closet. My feet grew numb on the walk home; I knew better than to forget the plastic baggies.Why did Cody have to ruin my boots?
Not only did the ice and water slosh beneath my feet, but I heard it creak and crackle under tires behind me. I turned to see how much time I had before I needed to move to the side of the road, but there was only darkness as far as I could see. Strange. On alert, I continued to walk toward my trailer park.
Then, I heard it again. This time, though, I waited to turn around. Lights moved in the other direction; someone had come off the side road and headed toward town. I released my breath.
My nerves were on edge; every sound after that made me jump. For the third time this week, the same car seemed to appear in this same spot. I couldn’t helpbut wonder if John had come for me.
Each time he bought a dance, his sessions grew more intense. He started off a little rough, sure, but over time he added new positions and demanded I do things that hurt. He was usually my last customer of the night; each time he left the bar, I hoped to never see him again. It had become harder for me to control his actions; he shared a shot and an Oxy with me when we spent time behind the curtain. He knew it made me less apprehensive.
When he put his hands around my neck tonight, though, I told him “No.” He didn’t listen. I tried to push him off me, but he reminded me how much I liked what he did to me and threatened to take his payment back. I gave in and allowed him to continue because I needed the money.
Even the pills wouldn’t dull the anxiety of not being able to breathe, though. Scared that he would kill me right then and there, I bucked under him, but he held tight, getting off on my fear.
The more I struggled, the harder he squeezed. His eyes turned dark, and I tried to scream. Eventually, I turned over a table and it crashed to the floor. I guess I had made enough of a ruckus because Willy arrived and pulled him off me. Yelling obscenities, Willy forced John, pants down, through the bar and out the front door.
