Archive of Our Own

On the second day of interrogation, after visiting Douglas's former residence, Evelyn returned to the police station and headed straight to his cell.

The mystery surrounding Douglas was like a fog that was thickening, and Evelyn is a sucker for mystery. Today she was determined to extract the truth from him and would question him about the boy the police had found hiding with his dogs. Lanky-framed boy with long, reddish-haired locks looked no more than twelve years old. He was dressed in more feminine clothing, inappropriate for the current weather conditions and had small bloodstains on his face. He greeted the police squad rather timidly, but made no attempt to flee. Instead he meekly got into the car, letting go of Douglas's growling shepherd dog. The boy was in the same police station as them, but together with a child psychiatrist, operating in the station’s opposite wing.

When she entered his cell, she noticed that Douglas, who had washed off his Marilyn Monroe-style makeup and taken off his cocktail dress, was attempting to get out of bed, struggling to do so, and then sat in a wheelchair. They exchanged pleasant greetings as the old neighbours from the same apartment. He wheeled himself over to the table and immediately took the latte Evelyn had brought for them. They sipped it, looking into each other's eyes. Not everyone would have guessed by looking in Douglas's eyes that a few days ago he'd taken down a bunch of thugs without even getting up on his feet. His gaze was playful and penetrating.

Douglas liked her immediately. This doctor was a pleasant woman. She's a little embarrassed in front of him, but she's not the first person to behave this way in his presence. He feels like they both share something in common. Maybe that's why he's so eager to talk to her.

"Yesterday we started to talk about your childhood. We stopped at the question about the cage you were put in," Evelyn clicks her pen, making some notes on the paperwork. "Tell me how you got out of there?"

Douglas breaks into a rueful smile.

Hot coffee and sweets helped Evelyn lead Douglas down a long path through his childhood memories, alternately replete with violence, deception, glossy magazines, religion, and dogs. Dogs, by the way, continue to be the constant heroes of his recollections.

She mentally noted down every detail of his story for later testimony in court, but she couldn't let herself forget what she wanted to know from Douglas first. It was undoubtedly about the mysterious boy who surrounded himself with his dogs. That's where she began.

"I don't want to interrupt you, Mr. Munrow, but today I heard some news about a boy with a bunch of your dogs. There's speculation that he ran out of your van while you were being stopped by the police. Who is this boy to you?"

"Shit," Douglas, who quietly enjoyed his latte, mumbled to himself. 

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Evelyn leaned her head closer to Douglas.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, doctor. I shouldn't have kept quiet about Victor. I should have told you about him right away."

"Victor? The boy's name is Victor?"

"Yes, that's right, Victor. He’s my son."

Evelyn's brow furrowed sharply.

"If I remember correctly, yesterday you claimed the dogs were your only “babies”. Based on your statement, I thought no one else lived there with you."

Douglas grinned.

"You remember it correctly, but I thought Victor ran away on my command. I told him to hide and not look for me again. He must not have gotten far."

"No. He was found not far from the place where you were stopped."

"Was he looking pale and sickly?"

"He was."

Evelyn began writing down this important detail about Douglas's case, wondering why he continued to grin so sardonically at her after learning that his supposed child, the real one, not the four-legged one, was in such poor condition.

She raised her head.

Douglas's gaze was no longer penetrating. With each passing second, it grew increasingly anxious. He clasped his hands, causing the veins to suddenly leap to the surface of his skin, then unclasped them. The nervous twitch on his face seemed no less vivid but Douglas, aware of his terrible situation due to the deliberately hidden truth, refused to let her see him in such a vulnerable state. He gradually concealed his anxiety with a mask of composure, choosing to hide his hands completely behind the desk and simply follow everything she marked in her pile of papers.

"Mr. Munrow?"

Douglas didn't answer her question, continuing to scowl at the scribbled paper. Evelyn decided she'd made a rash move by placing his file on the desk. It was like throwing a red rag at a bull's snout. Now he would apparently be less open in his revelations. She did not want to allow it happen, wherefore she moved the folders from the table to a chair. Two used coffee cups remained standing alone on it.

"Douglas, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you, doctor," Douglas mumbled.

"Could you tell me a little backstory about your son?" Evelyn began attentively. "This is a very important detail in your case. It could radically change the entire course. Hard to say for sure whether it's for the better or for the worse, but it would be very kind of you to share this with me."

A tired sigh, followed by the distant cracking of fingers, came from her patient. Evelyn gave Douglas a little more time to collect his thoughts.

For a long time he couldn't squeeze out a single coherent word. He was preparing for this battle with himself for a long time, but sooner or later, he would be forced to confess and serve his punishment for what he had done.

This child was… partly a stain on his soul: indelible, caustic in every way, streaking a root throughout his life. For Douglas it was undoubtedly better to talk about dogs. He could handle any number of dogs he brought home, but not the creature standing on his two legs, the immature copy of himself that fate had given him. Victor, like all the dogs in his house, had one of the biggest flaws of all – he trusted people and loved them. Trusted him with all his heart. And look, where this need of trust led him. He promised Victor he wouldn't get caught. Yet he still ended up in the hands of law enforcement, just like his useless parent.

"Well, where shall I start?" Douglas, as if mocking, began bending one finger after another. "Since the rape at the orphanage, since they kicked me out after I gave birth to him, since-" he was cut off mid-sentence with a wave of the hand.

"Hold on. You say you gave birth to him, but how…" Evelyn, stunned by such a blunt admission, looked at him incredulously. "So you're a woman?"

Douglas chuckled, crossing his arms.

"Can I have a smoke here? Do you mind?"

Evelyn rummaged around and pulled a fresh pack of cigarettes from his bag with the things she'd brought here. Douglas carefully opened it, pulled the plastic strip, lit a cigarette, and blew smoke through his nose.

"If you want to know whether I'm a woman or not, then I'm not. I did drag shows to make a living, and I absolutely loved it, but dressing up in women's clothes doesn't make me a woman, believe me. I was, however, told that I was originally intersex, which allowed me to bear a child and quite successfully, as you could see.”

"But which gender is listed in your passport?"

"Is that important to know?"

"It's important for the rest of the case, Mr. Munrow. I need to know what to change in the gender field."

"Leave it as male. That's how I feel, and I'm not going to change anything," Douglas's statement sounded extremely critical and Evelyn deferred the matter to be discussed outside the cell.

She bit her fingernail, though she had never done so before. The situation with Douglas was confusing, if not delusional. Throughout her entire career as a psychiatrist she had no idea how, as a professional, to respond to such statements from a patient without alienating him, and becoming even more confused by his testimony.

"I've already told you about how I lived in a cage with dogs after my mother left, how my father shot me and paralyzed me and how I spent the first few years with Salma."

Evelyn nodded.

"So," Douglas took a deep drag on his cigarette. Ash fell onto the table, which he immediately brushed down. "After Salma left for the theatre group in Boston, I fell into some kind of depression. I abandoned theatre. I did what I could do best – read. I just read and read, and read, and saw no world beyond reading. For years books saved me from the ignorance I encountered in that institution; the only thing I was grateful for was the library with its selection of books for every taste and genre. I devoured them like crazy. Several years passed like that, until I grew older. Couldn't wait for the day when I would be reunited with the dogs. I always knew they were sneaking not far from me. They were running back and forth on the other side of the building, waiting for my return."

Douglas crushes his cigarette butt, drops it into the ashtray and takes a drag on another cigarette.

"At that time a new caregiver and part-time teacher came to work at the orphanage. I think he was teaching ethics. He was assigned to check on us during bedtime. He checked the entire third floor, I lived there. The first time during a check he helped me to get out of the wheelchair and moved me onto the bed. My naive mind translated this as a sign of kindness and friendliness. Not knowing anything about his past, I gladly accepted it. He was the second person after Salma to treat me as a person there. But, unfortunately, over time this sign degenerated into something vulgar. Only a human being is capable of doing so. He started to lie down and rub his back against mine when the lights went out, saying he was helping. My attempts to object or, much less, stop him, were laughable. He may have been slim, but I was too clumsy due to my illness to save myself and report this to the other teachers. That fateful night he pulled me out of bed, put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me into the hallway. It was dark and cold, I couldn't even open my eyes to understand, where I'd been pulled from my sleep and why. He wheeled me into a small room, threw me on the bed and hurried inside. I assume you can already guess what he did there. Should I go into the details, or is it irrelevant to the investigation?"

"It doesn't matter. If you prefer, you can skip this part."

"I'd rather not, thank you," Douglas put a wry smile, nervously tapping his cigarette against the ashtray’s rim. The ash had long since fallen off a cigarette, but he continued to methodically tap it out of inertia.

Evelyn recognised his smile from a hundred of her patients.

That's the smile of victims of monstrous violence, hiding eternal pain behind a crooked line.

I weakly flailed my limbs as his figure fell upon me. I was about to scream in fear, but his hand instantly pushed my face deep into the pillow. My voice croaked, drool spraying across the sheets. The teacher huffed into my neck, sending a vile shudder down my spine, whispering: I've had my eye on you for a long time, Doug. Tug. What a smart and handsome boy you are. Tug. I like boys like that. Tug. Stop screaming like a baby. Calm down. You'll like it now. Tug. That's it. Tug. When you calm down, you'll like it.

It's just one of the stages of your adulthood, Doug.

Tug.

"After that incident he didn't dare to approach me for a long time. I also avoided him. Although I wasn't very good at it, I couldn't push my wheelchair through the hallways for a long time. Fatigue quickly overwhelmed me. I soon learned that he was fired for the same reason another student had suffered. That's when rumours of his past as a rapist reached me and I stopped being surprised by every new side of this incurably sick humanity. You know, after that, I closed myself off even more from everyone and began to believe in dogs, my saviors, which I hadn't seen for years."

"And you didn't tell anyone about what happened, like that student?"

"I suppose, unlike him, I was a coward and couldn't come out and admit my weakness without hesitation, but that didn't make any sense after he left. I might have continued to drag my pathetic existence in the orphanage if not for this crappiness that had clung to me after his assault."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"I went to the nurse at the orphanage once, but she gave me a completely wrong, even frightening, diagnosis. I brushed her off and simply endured pain. I'm used to enduring," Douglas smirked.

"Did you find out that you're... carrying a late-term baby?" Evelyn asked cautiously.

"Unfortunately, I was late for the abortion or something like this. When I couldn't stand the pain in my back and stomach any longer, they examined me and suggested to get this child somehow into our "brave new" world. I agreed. After all I wasn't planning on carrying him around forever. I had to wait a few more months, I skipped classes. Hung around the library, trying to not to attract the attention, but, ironically, attracted ton of stares and gossip. There were all sorts of rumours, even to the point of being labeled a “tranny”."

I couldn't take it anymore. I burst into tears. I hit myself, throwing my favourite books everywhere. Just recently I'd been carefully leafing through them. When my classmate walked into the room I yelled at him, sending him away, and threw a book at him. He berated me and left. I continued to choke on my tears. It wouldn't be surprising if they soon labeled me a crybaby, too.

Oh God, I'm so ridiculous, so ugly! This weakness, this nonsensical belly... Give me the chance not to wake up the next morning.

"Gosh..." Evelyn whispered.

"Don’t apologize, it’s just a lack of tact in these institutions which teachers don’t encourage."

“Did you ever see that teacher again?"

"Thankfully, our paths never crossed again," Douglas said, looking up at the clock. "It's lunchtime. Will it be brought to us soon? I'm actually getting hungry."

Evelyn glanced at her wristwatch and confirmed his words.

"But for now, tell me more about what was happening to you at that moment."

Douglas sighed with exhaustion. He tossed cigarette’s remainings into the ashtray.

"I was filled with hatred for everyone. I hated rude teachers, mean children and the family I no longer had. Even myself," Douglas enunciated.

As if in response to his impersonal hunger, the door to the cell opened and tray of hot food were brought to their table, but just for Douglas.

"Thank you!" he said to the stuff and turned his head to the Evelyn. "Will you not eat, doctor?"

Evelyn shook her head, rather nudging Douglas to take a bite. For ten minutes he ate his lunch, keeping a cell in complete silence, or even in some sense giving it a deserved break.

"So, can we continue?" Evelyn asked, when Douglas had a hearty meal.

"Of course," Douglas replied, lighting a new cigarette and throwing his head back, blowing a smoke.

Evelyn swallowed.

"What happened at the end of your... pregnancy?"

Douglas looked tense, trying to remember anything from that day.

"I gave birth to him, if I can put it that way. I barely even felt the cut. I remember bits of what the nurse was telling me in the hospital room: a lot of blood had spilled, the boy was weak. It was a miracle he survived. That's how I found out I had a son. I was disappointed that he was born a male. A girl would be a better option for me. Overall, I was, in my own way, glad to be alive after that. I think it was the only time God believed in me and helped me finish this job."

"And what was your first reaction to your child?"

Douglas flashed his eyes at Evelyn.

"I hated Victor," he inhaled, letting out a long breath. "It was dislike at first sight."

They brought him to me after they'd resuscitated him, letting me hold him in my arms. Apparently, it was normal after mothers gave birth to their children. I’m not a mother, and I don’t remember my mother telling me how she held me. He's so red-skinned... like he's not mine at all. Maybe they mixed him up with another child in the hospital. I tried to pretend to lull him, but suddenly he burst into tears against my chest. It was so loud that the whole room could shake; it almost made my eardrums burst. I closed my eyes and, for some reason, didn't pull away from him, despite the panic that gripped me. From the very first seconds the deafening crying began to tear my brain apart from the inside.

What am I supposed to do with him now? How am I supposed to live with this? There are so many questions and so few answers.

"In the tissues of his face, twisted from the roar, I saw that same teacher when he was angry with us for not being ready for bed. At that moment, I felt so sick inside that I threw up right on the bed. I hope he never forced himself on anyone else or had children."

"We can't know for sure."

"If only I could have a gun back then, I should have killed him when he tired to help me," Douglas clenches his fists so hard Evelyn has to pause briefly to let him calm down and return to their conversation.

"Where were we?" he asks.

"At the birth of your son," Evelyn reminds him politely.

"Right. Victor's birth wasn't a life-changing thing for me. More like a new cross to bear after my paralysed legs, which I'll have to bear for the rest of my life. I've lost the opportunity to enjoy my life for the second time. You must admit, doctor, it's ironic, isn't it?"

Evelyn neglected to give an honest answer.

"Why did you decide to name your child this name? Perhaps there's some special reason?"

"Nothing special. When the nurse told me I couldn't leave him without a name – it would be illegal, I had to come up with something, so I gave him the first name that came to mind. Victor. Simple as that. Like my older brother’s name, who’s dead now. What do you think?"

"I think it's a perfectly good name, not worse than any other boys' names."

"Well, as they say, tastes differ."

"That's true," Evelyn sighed.

"Should I continue?"

"Of course."

"To my unspeakable joy, that very year I became an adult and was able to leave the orphanage. The start of a new life was just around the corner so I started packing."

"Excuse me, Mr. Munrow, but what about the child? You were going to give him up for adoption, or did you decide to take him with you?"

"My last year there played into the hands of the orphanage. They didn't have to hide anything or admit that they'd been harbouring a rapist for a whole year until I left and I was overly proud, couldn't imagine all those caregivers who raised me would feel sorry for me."

"So you got an education at the orphanage, and after reaching a legal age, you were sent off into adult life?"

Douglas laughed.

"If by adulthood you mean a reluctance to live, hopeless attempts to find yourself after such a long isolation and constant sleep deprivation, then yes, that's what adulthood looked like to me. A terrible twist of fate. And I also missed Salma. Deeply."

Ah, dear Salma. If you saw me now you wouldn't believe it was the same little boy, Douglas, who lived and breathed for theatre and, secretly, for you. I don't know whether you'd pity me or not after hearing my story, but the last thing I want is to hear someone pity me. But I would forgive you for that, too. Say what you want because I still love you. If you need I'll fall at your feet, just come back to me, save me from this hellish abyss.

Evelyn smiled.

"I recall you recently had a child yourself, is it right, doctor?"

"Yes, but why are you asking that?" Evelyn asked, surprised by Douglas's question.

"How do you feel as a mother when you see him?"

"Mr. Munrow, by our rules, I should be the one asking you questions, not you interrogating me," Evelyn retorted.

"You're probably eager to know how I lived with Victor. I've already put two and two together – you started this conversation so you could write down every last detail and then dissect my story under a microscope. I have no doubt you feel nothing but sincere love for your child. He’s, after all, an extension of your family, of yourself. And Victor? Victor is not even an extension of me. He shouldn't have been born into this world and live this life with me."

"Have you considered giving your son to a foster family or an orphanage?"

She could have demanded a detailed explanation from him regarding his claims about the child as his own extension, but instead decided to continue the conversation in its usual vein.

"Give him away?" Douglas thought for a moment. "You know, on one of the most impulsive days of my life when I was fed up with parenting, I was about to wrap him in a cradle and take him to the nearest orphanage. He was about the same age as your child then."

One day my patience snapped. It was the evening when I had a hysterical fit. Victor was sick again, I was struggling with my debts, I had contracted something myself and was barely clambering out of the pit called routine. We were one foot in debt for the apartment, I was on the verge of expulsion, and worst of all, I couldn't keep up with the child, who was growing by leaps and bounds. As his needs grew so did his list of needs, which I couldn't meet. Not with my current financial situation. Giving him away to the orphanage and taking the dogs instead was the only sensible idea I had in my head.

"Sorry, Victor."

I fed him formula and dressed him in something appropriate, then I wrote a short note for the orphanage staff. We practically rolled out the door, but…

"Before we left I stopped and thought: do I want to bring him the same fate I recently escaped? Do I want to condemn him to eternal loneliness and suffering among criminals? Then, I thought, I would let him stay with the dogs and me. It'll be safer that way. He'll have a better chance of survival."

"You never abandoned your dream of being reunited with the dogs?"

"Never in my life," Douglas laughed. "They were my first and only family who welcomed me into their family, and I promised myself to pay them back. Victor, them, and I – together we formed a very strong family. They didn't care who we were to each other: father and son, mother and son or anything else. Dogs weren't our priests of justice. Unlike people, they weren't lacking in virtues and vices. We could live more than okay around them."

"But you were still unemployed and had a child."

"That's right. I was looking for cheap apartments all over the city, and each time we were given a certain hesitation before moving in. Not blaming those landlords because we two looked incredibly strange. Think of it: a disabled person in a wheelchair, a baby, and suitcases, stuffed with books behind them. It was an interesting time, though. After moving in I pulled myself together. I went to college, graduated with good grades. In the university I majored in biology. I stayed at home, studied, and graduated. Just because of social service help I landed a job in the dog shelter, to whom I’m externally thankful. One of the best chapter in my life, full of learning and adapting to our world, which still rejected me as a member of society."

"What about the boy?"

"Victor was always with me. He didn't even know what kindergarten was meant for. It was too expensive for us, but learning about the world from the home for Victor was priceless. He learned his ideas about life, so to speak, imbibed with his mother's milk, without leaving the four walls. I've been reading with him, even before he could form words, Shakespeare and other playwrights of that era. My communication with him was entirely based on books."

Today I decided to play a game with Victor called "Drama’s guessing game”. I give him a piece of someone's play and he guesses the playwright. I give him the name of the playwright and he tries to quote one of their works from his memory. Usually Victor’s lucky in guessing Ibsen's works, but he's terribly unlucky in the second game. Sometimes I don't even know what to come up with to entertain him for the entire day, leaving myself a few hours of peace and contemplation of the future, because this child drains me of all the energy with which I wake up every morning and prepare for battle, where my opponent is a six-year-old preschooler.

"So, which playwright wrote this play, Victor?"

Victor stares at the page I've flipped to the second act. I see him bite his lip, mentally reviewing the countless volumes of literature we've pored over together. I'm certainly not going to give him any hints.

"Ch-Christopher Marlowe?"

I chuckled. He already understood that his answer had been approved.

"Can you tell me the name of this play?"

"Tamburlaine?"

"Well done."

Victor started giggling. I looked at his face, and was glad that genetics was on my side. Victor looked more like me than like that bastard. My heart ached with the urge to gently pat his head. It would be a reward for his erudition, but I didn't dare: the way which produced him into the world made my heart suddenly ache with an unbearable force. His trusting stare worsened the situation. Victor didn't understand why I reached out to his short-cropped hair and did nothing. It hung incongruously in the air. The image was so coy that I hurried out of the house, remembering that I'd planned to go to the library today and print out my term paper.

I gave him a reading assignment for a new play from the late Kyd’s repertoire so that we could perform a short monologue later, and left. I don't know how Victor reacted to this, but I thought I heard a stifled sob from him.

"Alright."

"He taught himself to walk, too."

"Really?"

"Yes," Douglas shook his head imperturbably. "Falling and falling again, he whined and cried, crawling from room to room, but one day he got up and walked on his own. I was shocked. He reminded me of those tiny dogs on the television who, at the trainer's command, would stand on their legs and, afraid of losing their balance, spin around the stage. Only, unlike circus performers, I never hit my son. Expect one time he abused the dog."

"What did he do to it?"

"Tugged on its ear repeatedly. He thought it was a play and the dog liked it. It wasn’t. I slapped him that hard that he couldn’t sleep on his left cheek for a whole night, and the whole day it stayed red. However, the slap taught him well and from that time on, he started to pet the dog’s ears. I consider this his biggest achievement as a human being – to take care and respect our animal friends no matter what."

Evelyn could imagine how a slapped cheek must sting for Victor. Her collages at the police told what they saw when they encountered Victor. The boy was sitting cross legged in the center of the ring, composed from the dogs, who, evidently, made sure to protect their owners child by growling and flashing sharp fangs. He spoke to the police on a low volume and in a polite manner refused to wear clothes more suitable for his frame and begged, while taken to the police car, not to hurt his father’s dogs and find to each of them a safe place to stay.

This was a talk to continue for tomorrow’s interrogation.

"Aside from this incident when Victor faltered, he could be considered something of a child prodigy."

"You're exaggerating about the child prodigy title, but yes. Victor went to school more gifted than his peers and even excelled in one or two subjects. In my opinion, the quality of self-reliance, instilled from childhood, toughens a person for the rest of their life."

One day Victor stopped by my work at the shelter after school. He brought some papers to sign. Turns out he was supposed to go on a school field trip the following week. I quickly signed the papers and went back to my work. He was still standing there, staring at me from behind. He shifted from one foot to the other, which was irritating to me. Unable to bear it, I turned to him.

"Why haven't you gone home yet?"

"Dad, this is my first field trip. The teacher gave us a whole list of things. I know you work a lot, but can we go to the store together and buy all this stuff? Please?" 

"Not now, Victor," I said, rummaging in my pants pocket, where I luckily had a couple of dollar bills. "You're not a little boy anymore; you can buy everything yourself." 

"But-"

"Follow the list strictly. Here," I placed the bills in his palm, "should be enough. Buy yourself some ice cream or whatever you want with the change."

"Dad, it's winter, and it's cold here," Victor shivered.

"Just get going to the store," I turned back to the table and lit a cigarette, burying myself in the papers and bills.

"Okay. Bye, dad."

I didn't care about Victor or his stupid field trips, which I could only dream of back then, sitting in the cage. I was considering ways to keep the dogs from having to live on the streets if the shelter has to close. 5 years of my hard work here for nothing. No wonder that the same human beings were at fault, because dogs dared to disturb their unhappy lives with a smell. Smell, my ass. It’s money, the satan, always has been.

"So you're proud of him in some way?"

"If you mean his ability to connect with people better than I could at his age, then yes, I'm proud of him for that." 

"You're taking my words out of context, Douglas!" Evelyn said playfully.

"Touché," Douglas rolled his eyes. "But in this room I speak the truth and nothing but the truth."

Evelyn glanced at her wristwatch. The conversation with Douglas had consumed most of her work time. She felt tiredness, seeping into her bones, just by listening to him talking, and she better start to pack her work bag, but before that she tried to get over herself to listen, respectfully, to his story until the end.

"Mr. Munrow, how about we chat a little longer?"

"Easy! I just need, with your permission, to catch my breath with the next cigarette," Douglas pulled another cigarette from the pack.

By this time the entire room was permeated with the suffocating stench of nicotine, and Evelyn stood up to open the window.

"So, would you mind talking about the beef you had with the insurance company and the gangsters?"

"They attacked me and my family first, violating our agreement. So I set the dogs on them."

"Why?"

"I was only trying to protect those I care about. Could it be counted as a self-defense move?"

Evelyn shakes her head.

"Mr. Munrow, you understand that you could be jailed for this without aggravating circumstances? Court could even, in the most extreme case, sentence you to death for the murder of multiple people."

"I understand that perfectly well. I'm not afraid of anything. The law is designed solely to silence people like me by burying my head in the sand."

"Mr. Munrow…"

"Where do you think I'm wrong, doctor?" Douglas tugged the cigarette from his lips. "Rich and poor never stood equally in front of the law."

"I'd suggest you refrain from any irrelevant discussions today," Evelyn said, running a hand through her short hair. Douglas was proficient at diverting her tired attention from the matter at hand. "So where was Victor at that time?"

"With me," while answering, Douglas appeared calm and cool-headed. 

Evelyn remained seated, shocked by what she had just heard.

"Why did you decide to expose your child to such danger by making him your accomplice?"

"Victor was asking for it," Douglas chuckled. "Children find love where they can. He's no fool. For his age he was well aware of our precarious financial situation. After the shelter closed we were short on cash. He fully supported my plan to steal a few precious trinkets and jewelry. I also really appreciated his initiative and independence."

"Grab a gun and shoot!"

"Dad, I don’t know how to shoot! You didn’t show me!"

“Shut the fuck up and shoot, if you want to save your life!"

Shoot.

"You didn't force him to do this against his will, did you?"

"I know all the children's rights by heart, doctor, thank you very much. Victor willingly took on my errands. He was my legs, where my own were powerless."

"Then he did it out of great love?"

It turned out that Douglas, who liked to be sarcastic more than anything, couldn't brush this question aside. He pondered it for at least five minutes. He didn't smoke, didn't grin and didn't wring his fingers. His entire being was immersed in his own thoughts. Evelyn understood that she had clearly stumped him, because in Douglas's mind the line between love for people and love for animals was clearly blurred.

"You know, don't mistake me for a tyrant. I don't mean to portray myself as one, but sometimes, just for fun, I treated Victor like one of many dogs. He, like my other children, needed attention and love. Apparently, it was my mistake raising him like that and put him in his place. Polly always stood up for him. She was sort of a mother figure when I punished him for disobedience. Maybe he wanted to show me how wrong I was with my parenting methods and how ashamed I should be. I was ashamed, but what else could I do? I've never felt the need to have children and the idea of being a parent was foreign to me, and remains so to this day. Well, to answer the specific question about great love... Every child's heart contains so much love for their parent that a parent's heart could never accept it. The same thing happened with me and Victor. No matter how much love he gave me, I could never reciprocate it. God is cruel in his plans; you know this very well. That's why he arranged things so that we would both serve as a lifelong punishment for each other, and that our hearts would never know true love. Well, I believe that was, at least, his will: to give him life through me and deprive him of my love," Douglas said, crushing his fifth cigarette of the day on the ashtray’s bottom, as if on the final note of a virtuoso performance.

That was the last straw for Evelyn. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she had to hold them back with the willpower of steel.

Trying to empathize with such a contradictory personality as Douglas Munrow wasn't easy, but to not empathize wasn't her job either. To do her job well, she simply had to maintain a wall of neutrality between herself and her patient. It wasn't the first or last time she'd had to do that. Today she'd failed miserably. She was confused, unsure whether to be happy or sad about this. On the one hand, she knew her emotions weren't completely shattered by the departure of her child's father from home straight to the mental hospital, and she still had a chance to be a good mother to her baby. On the other hand, she was so burned out that she didn't want to see the next day this police station nor Douglas – the source of her tears. 

"Are you all right?" Douglas asked quietly.

"Yes, everything's fine," Evelyn wipes her face. "I think I'm tired. I'll go home. I need to think about our conversation today, but be ready to continue tomorrow after lunch."

She rises from her chair, gathering all the file folders into her work bag. A second bag stands by her side, and that one belongs to Douglas.

"Does Victor have his own things in that building? I can go there and bring his things to the police station."

"That would be great," Douglas replies. "Pack him some warm clothes. The weather has been brutal these past few days."

Evelyn nodded, placed Douglas's bag on his lap, and was about to leave when Douglas slipped something thin and smooth into her palm.

"Take it, there's a message for Victor. If you see him, give it to him. Until I can explain myself to him face to face, let him read my revelations," Douglas winked at Evelyn, rolling away from the table with his bag, and began laying everything out on the bed. "And thank you, doctor."

"Evelyn."

"Thank you, Evelyn."

Evelyn said goodbye and left him alone.

As if on purpose, in the only corridor leading to the station’s exit stood a skinny, fair-haired boy, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. Victor, all refreshed, was talking with the staff and gesturing to them. Maybe he was asking them about Douglas, maybe about the dogs. Or maybe she should quickly hand over the boy Douglas’ letter and run away from here before this place, full of human tragedies and suffering, drove her even more insane? Evelyn would do so. 

"Who taught you how to braid your hair? Most boys don’t even know what braid is!" laughed one person from the stuff, pointing at Victor’s ponytail.

"My dad taught me this! I began braiding them myself, but was constantly teased in the school for my hairdo. Now I just braid when I’m at home or running dad’s errands," Victor answered enthusiastically. "He often says: if someone picks on you – just tell the dogs. They’ll never make you suffer like humans. They’re the only one real family you ever know."

Evelyn approaches Victor, calls out his name, hands him the letter, and then hears behind her back:
"Ma'am, I think I know you! I saw you with the police!"

"You’re right. We met earlier," she turns to him, smiling.

"Do you know where my dad is?" Victor asks her, there’s a question in his eyes. 

"I just finished talking with your dad, but you have nothing to worry about," she tells him as if trying to convince herself that Douglas’s story didn’t make her feel uneasy about his possible sentence. Victor might end up like his father in the orphanage. 

Victor holds a letter in front of her.

"Did he write it?"

"Yes," Evelyn confirms. "He wishes you would read it, and he’s really sorry that he cannot talk to you right now."

"I see," Victor is examining the piece of paper. "Still thank you, ma’am! Can’t wait to read it! Oh, but if I want to answer him, could you pass it to him?"

"Sure," she replied to him without thinking.

Victor clasped his hands.

"Thank you, ma’am!" he shouts in excitement and throws himself at her, tightly embracing. Evelyn’s in awe of the boy’s antics. "I definitely write him something that can cheer him up! I can write it by tomorrow!"

Some of the station employees tried to pull him away and he finally backs down, releasing her.

"And also I’ll draw some of our dogs," he adds.

Evelyn starts to choke on her tears again, but restrains them. She’ll cry if she wants at her home. Instead she nods to the boy, and a second later her trail from the police station vanishes.

A few hours later Evelyn will be home, fussing with her baby and reclaiming her domestic life, feeling sincere gratitude for her little but close-knit family, while Douglas, having smoked his last cigarette, shaves, puts on his blue dress suit and a purple lace shirt, and awaits for something grandeur the dogs promised him during their last encounter on the highway. His anticipation is not in vain. Within minutes the sound of dogs barking could be heard outside his kennel window, gradually becoming louder. The whole area sounds like music to his ears. It’s a great shame he cannot records this sounds right now.

We were sitting on my bed, surrounded by dozens of dogs, sleeping soundly at our feet. It was the day before the attack on our house. Victor, who had been so short-spoken with me earlier, spoke for both of us that evening. Of our entire conversation, I only remembered one of his questions to which, to my surprise, I found the correct answer. The correct answer to the correct question.

"Dad, what do you mean: you will die if God wills it?"

"It means, Victor, that I deserve to die according to his will. He’ll no longer wish to see me on this earth. I’ll sacrifice my being to ascend to him, exhausted, my mission fulfilled. And you too."

"Is my mission already complete?"

"Yours is not. You still have so many things to do."

Before he knows it, someone falls in the station foyer, a flurry of activity ensues and a massive set of keys is shoved under the door to his cell.

With a smile on his face, Douglas drives up to the door, grabs the keys and opens it, meeting his four-legged saviors. The sweet faces his children appear in the foyer, embracing him with a soft, welcoming bark.

Douglas drives up to them, showering them with affection. Accompanied by their noble entourage, he leaves the station.

Well, good Lord,

From now on I'm in your safe hands.