Page 107 of The Session

“You had access to middle school newspapers and could look up team rosters. I’m amazed,” Mark replied.

“I think the reason why is much more interesting, and you’re not going to be able to google that, are you, Mark?”

John’s eyes flickered to a point beside Mark’s head. Mark turned and saw a red video projection on the back wall showing numbers and graphs. A moment later, it went blank.

“It’s a lot easier than staring at a laptop. It allows me to make eye contact. The camera aimed at you has a thermal imaging system, and the metal desk and chair you’re sitting on can measure skin resistance. We also have microphones picking up your heartbeat and breathing patterns, which is a roundabout way of saying you’re sitting inside a lie detector. But to be honest, calling it a lie detector is imprecise. It tells us a lot more.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I don’t need the equipment to know the reason you quit that team was because the assistant coach offered to give you a rubdown and touched you in what we would call an inappropriate manner.”

“I didn’t really care for volleyball, to be honest with you,” Mark shot back.

“Alan Jason Michelson, one of your teammates, who was two years younger than you, did care a lot about volleyball. But because you didn’t warn him or go to the administrators, it left him in a vulnerable position. Because of your silence, the assistant coach preyed upon Alan.

“Like you, Alan was the product of a broken family, had an estranged father, and was particularly vulnerable to a male figure in his life. His abuse wasn’t limited to fondling. It went beyond that. He was introduced to other predators, offered alcohol and drugs, which took him down a much darker path.” John paused. “When was the last time you spoke to Alan?”

Alan had dropped out of school their sophomore year of high school. People knew he was into drugs and liked to party. Nobody ever questioned how he was able to afford them, but Mark remembered seeing Alan get into the car of a suspicious-looking older man at least once and wondering who he was to Alan.

It had always bothered him, and now it made his blood boil—with anger and with shame—for not doing anything. He’d wanted to tell his mother and ask her for advice, but she’d been in a much more vulnerable state back then, and he didn’t dare cause her undue worry.

“Alan shot himself four years ago. The coach—the one who tried to molest you and succeeded with Alan—moved to Illinois and got a full-time teaching position but was dismissed after similar allegations,” John went on.

Mark sat quietly, slowly shaking his head.

“Now, most people would say, ‘Hey, you’re thirteen, you’re just a victim, what do you know?’ Sure, that’s a fair answer. But are you okay with that, Mark?”

“No,” he whispered.

“Let’s talk about your family and friends. Who should we start with first?”

“Fuck you.”

“How about your cousin Devon? You put him in charge of your Youth Athletic League when you were no longer able to run it. Correct?”

Mark stayed silent.

“While that was probably a practical choice, do you think it was a good one, considering what happened with Stephanie O’Connor?”

Goddamn it. No.

“Sixteen years old, very pretty girl, offered to volunteer for the Youth Athletic League and became friends with Devon, who is eleven years her senior. And the two began to text each other, and you knew this was happening,” John continued.

“I told him to cut it out when I found out,” Mark argued. That was a mistake, responding to John. He should have remained silent, but he felt compelled to defend himself.

“Did you know the two exchanged photographs, and the possession of some of them on Devon’s phone is a felony?” John asked. He glanced at the display behind Mark. “No, it looks like you didn’t know that.”

Mark pulled his phone from his pocket. There was still no signal. “I need to make a call right now.”

“We’ll let you make the call. Eventually. But we’re still talking here.”

“Goddamn you motherfuckers. Mess with me, that’s fine, but this is serious!” Mark snapped.

“Let’s talk about your mother.”

“Let’s not,” Mark replied.

“Seven months before she met your stepfather, money was tight, expenses had gotten a little out of control, and her credit card got suspended. Around that time, she was working as an assistant manager at the home furnishing store. Do you remember anything about that period?”