Turtle Master: A Passage Through Time

By Peter A. LaPorta

Paul Buttery is full of demons. At a young age he is identified as a genius but along with the title comes a list of genius disorders with Schizophrenia, Homicidal tendencies and Persecutory delusions leading the pack. As he grows into his adulthood, he struggles to keep them at bay and becomes dependent on a constant mix of sex, drugs and alcohol.
Paul's rise to fame as an International Best Selling Author of dark murderous fiction is mirrored with a sea of dead bodies left in a river of blood around the globe. From the banks of Amsterdam to the beaches of California, the trail of a serial killer spans 30 years, claiming hundreds of lives in its evil path.
As the years unfold, two females mysteriously appear at every turn. One seeks pleasures of the flesh while the other looks to fill Paul's destiny of love. All traversing the same journey, the authorities chase the three shadowy figures to rouse the killer from darkness, to bring the Turtle into the light. The FBI follows the crumbs left behind at every murder scene, hoping to find out the true identity of the Turtle Master. Will it be one of Paul's multiple personalities, or will the killer be one of his life-long stalkers?
Come along on this thrilling adventure of suspense and intrigue as the trail of murders brings you closer to the dramatic final page conclusion of Turtle Master, A Passage through Time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665550550

Peter A. LaPorta

Peter A. LaPorta is the International Best-Selling Author of eight previous titles of Fiction and Non-Fiction. A former leader at Walt Disney World and Universal Studios, he is an award-winning speaker and leader heralded all over the world for his excellence and achievement. Through various mediums including print, television, and radio, his words have resonated to audiences around the globe. His breakout non-fiction book, "Ignite the Passion, A Guide to Motivational Leadership" was named by Amazon to be in the top 20 motivational leadership books of all time. He burst into the Fiction scene with "Normandy Nights", a finalist for Best Historical Fiction by Author Academy Awards. His follow up blockbuster, "The Card" was nominated for Best Thriller Fiction by Author Elite Awards. His suspense thriller, Turtle Master, A Passage through Time, brought audiences to the edge of their seats as they traveled the world with a serial killer. His latest work, The Widow’s Box- A Test of Time takes a more poignant turn as you travel through time and generations, promising to entertain you from this Master in Entertainment himself. For more information on Peter and his incredible journey visit http://laportaenterprises.com.

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© 2022 Peter A. LaPorta. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/02/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5056-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5055-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022902116

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

1976

1

2

3

1985

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

1986

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

1991

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

1993

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

2003

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

Post Mortem

Author’s Note

For…

Doug,

Big Ed,

And Turtles Everywhere

(YBYSAIA)

To schedule a speaker event, book signing or seminar, please access

http://laportaenterprises.com

1976

1

The family drove the BMW in silence through the traffic that always seemed to plague the Boston Post Road. In the neighborhood of Cos Cob, Connecticut, people were always rushing into New York City or rushing home from it. This stretch of road was cursed by the residents of nearby Westport but it was a critical stretch that brought them to all points north, including connections in Stamford to Route 7 and the heart of Fairfield County.

In a time of gas shortages and inflation, the BMW 2002 would normally stand out in most towns. However, the air in Cos Cob was not generally filled with envy among its residents. The roadways were filled with emblems of Jaguar, Porsche and Rolls Royce so the BMW stood out in a sort of depressed class not an envious one.

Salvatore Buttery worked in Manhattan and would never find himself home at this hour. His wife had said it was urgent that they meet with the Doctor as soon as possible. The School Psychiatrist had finished his examinations of his son, Paul, and was anxious to give the results to the parents. What was there to tell? His son was an odd nut. His eccentricities had not really been noticed during his elementary school days. Sure, he had his occasional outburst and ruined a desk or two in the classroom. On his first day in Kindergarten, his mother had gotten a call that Paul had taken his shiny new nickel and destroyed the blackboard with it. When Dolores got to the school that rainy day in ’69, she was amazed at the damage he had done. The cuts were deep and the blackboard would need to be replaced. Since it was 1969, the school handled the matter quietly as long as a check was written for the appropriate amount.

The rest of his days in the early grades were filled with the normal rambunctiousness of a boy his age. A fight here and there, a few words of profanity uttered too loudly in the school library and soon Salvatore’s little Pauly was labeled a problem child. ‘He is full of Italian spirit just like his old man’. That was the only explanation Salvatore could offer and Dolores was too ashamed to say anything more. In large, his behavior went unchecked until he reached Middle School.

With multiple classrooms, seven different teachers and travel in the hallways, Paul had his field day. In one moment he was knocking kid’s books to the floor as they passed by and another he was lighting off firecrackers in the bathroom. The fights and bullying were more rampant but again a blind eye was turned and barely a slap on the wrist was given. It was not until the spring semester that his activities reached new disastrous levels. Seeking revenge on a young man who had stolen his heart’s desire, Paul decided to set fire to the boy’s locker. The book of matches that was lit and fed through the open slots of Frank’s locker quickly ignited the clothes and textbooks that were kept within. Seconds after the children were seated in their classrooms the flames shot out from the locker and soon engulfed the neighboring lockers. The fire alarm went off and even though teachers were able to contain the fire using fire extinguishers, the school was evacuated. It took over an hour for the school to be cleared by the fire department for entry. As the students and teachers poured back into the school the damage was evident. Smoke resonated in every classroom even though every window was open in the school. Exhaust fans were brought into the hallway to push the scent away from the teaching areas in a futile effort. One by one the students walked by the roped off torched locker area and one by one each student looked on in horrific disbelief. All students except one. Paul Buttery walked by the area grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

The days that followed were nothing more than a witch hunt. There were no cameras to catch the wrongdoer and no discernable fingerprints captured in any student data base. There was not a single shred of evidence besides the match book that was used to start the fire. The bar’s logo was clearly discernable through all the char yet gave little in the way of leads to find the young fire starter. The bar was located in Manhattan and to the residents of Cos Cob, it may have well been the corner grocer. The majority of Cos Cob residents worked in the city and nearly every household did some kind of recreation in the Big Apple. The matchbook was a bust.

The school began systematic interviews of the whole student body. Each child was brought into one of two classrooms that were set up for the fact finding purpose. Paul Buttery had his time in front of the inquisition on day two and solemnly claimed that he knew nothing about the fire or the child who was assigned that locker. Like all the children that passed before him, Paul was thanked for his time and returned to class. On day three, Sally Bernstein told the committee that she knew the young man that was assigned the locker. She said that she had starting dating Frank just last week and she was horrified that he had been the victim of such a prank. When asked who she thought lit the fire, she emphatically responded that it was that troublemaker Pauly Buttery. He had been asking her to the movies for weeks and she kept turning him down. If they wanted to find out who set the fire, they should talk to him.

That afternoon, after some direct questioning, three other students claimed they saw Paul Buttery near the lockers before the fire took place. The principal had enough information to move forward. On the morning of the fourth day following the fire, Paul was called into the Principal’s office and entered to see both of his parents sitting there. His mother stared down at her lap and used his father’s handkerchief to wipe the tears off her face. Salvatore, irate that he was going to be late to his office, sat next to his wife waiting for the whole scene to pass.

Come in Paul. Take a seat next to your father. The Principal always tried to sound so kind in front of the parents. The paddles that hung on his office walls spoke a different truth. Each child that had stepped out of line in the school had been on the receiving end of those paddles and had the welts on the back of their buttocks and legs to prove it.

Now, Paul. Do you know why you were called down here today?

Paul looked at his parents and then over to the Principal and smiled a sheepish grin. No, sir. It can’t be my grades. They’re better than anyone else’s.

Opening the file in front of him, the Principal read out loud what he was seeing. Young Mr. Buttery. You are correct. Your grades are at the top of your class. Straight A’s. Not even a slight variance in any class. Your parents must be very proud.

At hearing this, Dolores looked up and smiled as Salvatore reached over and rubbed the hair on top of Paul’s head. Yes, we are very proud of our young man. He will do great things with his great mind someday.

Looking down at the folder, the Principal continued. While your grades are top notch, Paul, you have had a behavior problem for many years now. Fighting, bullying, vandalism. The list goes on and on. What do you have to say for yourself?

Paul looked over at his tearful mother and looked back to the Principal with a dead stare. I believe those things are in my past Sir and my parents have better things to do than listen to them again.

The Principal stared back at the young sixth grader before him. That is a very wise response for a young man of your age and you are correct. Let us not dwell on the past but look at the present. Paul’s student file was closed and a second file was pulled out and laid on the desk.

Mr. and Mrs. Buttery. Are you aware that we had a fire here at the school a few days ago? A fire which was deliberately set by someone?

Salvatore jumped in quickly. Of course we know of the fire. It was in the paper. If you brought us in here to accuse my son of any wrong doing…

Mr. Buttery. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s just have a nice conversation with just the four of us here. Now Paul. You were asked by Mr. Bodden and Miss Sawitzki if you knew anything about the fire. Is that right?

Paul looked back at the Principal with no fear or hesitation. Yes, sir. They asked me and I told them the truth. I don’t know anything about the fire. I was already in my classroom when it started.

That’s true. What an honest young man you are Paul. All the children were already in their classes when the fire started.

So why are we here? It was clear that Salvatore was getting edgy.

Well, Mr Buttery. A fire like this does not instantly go up in flames. The fire department tells me that a matchbook was lit and thrown into the locker. After a short period of time, the primary locker caught on fire and spread to nearby lockers. The children had plenty of time to be comfortably seated in their classroom before the fire was reported.

Again. Why are we here? Are all the parents being brought in to sit with their children in this office like criminals or are you just targeting my Pauly?

Dolores reached over and placed her hand on her husband’s arm. Please, Sal. Let the man speak.

The Principal looked over and gave Mrs. Buttery a kind smile. Thank you for your calming effect ma’am.

You are welcome. But if you please, to my husband’s point, can we move this along. My husband need’s to get to work.

Of course. Just one more question for Paul before I have him step out. Now, young man, did Mr. Bodden also ask you if you knew the young man whose locker this was?

Pauly looked over at his father in a plea for interference. When none came, he looked coldly into the Principal’s eyes and said, Yes, sir. He asked me and I said I did not know.

A sly grin came upon the administrator’s face. So you are saying that you don’t know Frank Principe?

Without missing a beat, Paul responded with his escape clause. Frank? Yes, sir. I know Frank. I didn’t know it was his locker. Mr. Bodden asked me if I knew who’s locker it was and I said no.

For what seemed like minutes, the Principal stared at the young man. His case had crumbled on a technicality and he knew it.

Standing up, Salvatore reached out for his wife who was still seated. Will there be anything else? I really need to get to work.

The Principal also rose. Just a moment with you and Mrs. Buttery. Paul, please step outside into the office and have a seat on the bench. Salvatore Buttery sat back down as his son was escorted into the outer office. When the Principal returned to his seat, both parents looked on with finality on their faces.

Now I know you are anxious to leave but I must share a few facts with you. A few facts you might find very interesting. For the next few minutes, the Principal shared his findings about young Sally, young Frank and the students that saw Paul near the locker. Dolores had begun to cry but Salvatore fully supported his son.

So what you are telling me is that you have no evidence to support your claim that my son started this fire?

That is exactly what I am telling you, Mr. Buttery. We have no physical evidence, and no eye witnesses that saw Paul start this fire. As far as the school is concerned, since we have no confession, the matter is closed with no one to blame.

Salvatore jumped up enraged. Then what the hell do you want from us?

Mr. and Mrs. Buttery. Can we just talk as adults? Not administrator to parents, just one parent to another. Please call me Adam. Can I call you Salvatore and Dolores?

The two Buttery parents looked at each other and nodded. Call us anything you like if this speeds up the process. Salvatore sat back in his chair, stepping back from the battle at hand.

Salvatore and Dolores. I have seen children like Paul before but none so smart. His intelligence far exceeds his years. His test results are off the charts. He is really a child prodigy.

Well that’s good to hear, Adam. He makes his mother and I very proud.

What I am trying to tell you is that children like your Pauly need to be handled differently. They can use their high IQs for good or they can use it badly. I know that Paul is a good kid but his school record shows differently. He is so bored with his school work that he gets himself into trouble all over the place. There is not a teacher or student in this school that does not think Pauly lit that fire. They know he did it. My point is not to put the blame on him, but to prevent this from ever happening again. With Paul’s intellect, very bad things can happen in the future. Help me to help him.

Dolores wiped away her tears and looked into the Principal’s eyes. What would you have us do then? Do you want us to put him in a different school?

Absolutely not, Dolores. I don’t want to disturb him any more than he already is. What I do want is to have him tested. Let’s see where his IQ truly stands. Have him evaluated with our school psychiatrist and let’s see how we can help him.

Psychiatrist? Are you crazy? I don’t want my Pauly labeled as some kind of nut job.

This is nothing like that Salvatore. I can assure you. The Doctor is not even at the school. He operates in a discreet office in the back of his house. No one besides us and the good doctor will ever know. He is funded by the school system and all of his records are sealed. Let him talk to Paul. He will give the results directly to you and no one else. If you want to come back here and talk about his results we can but all I want is to connect you and Paul to someone who can help him take the right path in life. What do you say?

2

The BMW drove down the sloping US 1 as Salvatore let off the gas. He could see the Hot Little Drive-In approaching on the right and he knew that was his turn. On Friday afternoons, he often treated himself to a long dog or a sausage and pepper roll at the locally famous dog house but that was his private time. Today was not one to mark with celebration. Within the hour, his wife would be in tears and he would probably have to take off his belt to have a word with little Pauly. No, his Chicago dog would have to wait for another day.

Pulling down the street, both of the Buttery parents shook their head in a renewed sense of disbelief. The residential street was no place one should find a doctor, even if it was just a psychiatrist. The doctor had a good thing going with his back of the house office bankrolling his front street split level Cape Cod house. A picture of New England, no one would guess that they were looking at the office of Dr. Samuel Weintraub. There was not a designated sign, a symbol such as a barber pole, or even a name on the mailbox. Besides his honored guests and the local mailman, no one was the wiser.

Salvatore drove the BMW around to the back of the house that looked specifically designed for auto privacy. Not a word was spoken as the patriarch put the car into park and turned off the ignition. The Buttery family exited the vehicle and walked silently up to the back door.

Dad? Do we have to all go in? I already talked to the Doctor. Can’t I just sit in the car until you are all done?

I’m afraid not Pauly. The Doc specifically told your mom that he wanted to see the three of us in his office. Seeing the trepidation on his son’s face, Salvatore stopped for a moment and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Look son. I’m sure it won’t be bad. Let’s go in and talk to the Doctor and get it over with. The sooner he tells us what he wants to tell us, the sooner we can get out of here.

Salvatore! Can you at least give the Doctor a chance?

Of course, Dolores. Of course. Now let’s stop all of this nonsense and see what the verdict is.

As if on cue, the glass sliding door to the office slid open and the Doctor came into view. Well, there is the smiling family. Come in, come in. We have much to discuss. Come in and make yourselves comfortable.

Salvatore looked back at his son and let his wife take the lead. He seemed to have less excitement than even his son at the conversation ahead. Dr. Weintraub took a seat behind his desk and allowed Mr. and Mrs. Buttery to sit in the two focal seats. Sitting on a bench seat off to the side, young Paul hung his head in silence, knowing now was not the time for his intellectual banter.

Welcome everyone. As you know, everything we discuss here today will be confidential. The school never ordered any testing to be done so there is no official paper trail. Adam does not even know the results and as far as I am concerned, that is up to you to tell him if you like.

The two Buttery parents glanced at each other in a puzzled way. Salvatore jumped on the opportunity.

So what you’re saying Doc is that everything we are about to talk about is a total waste of time?

Salvatore!

That’s ok Mrs. Buttery. No offense taken. Mr. Buttery. All I am trying to say before we begin is that the information you are about to receive is strictly for your knowledge only. You can use the information in various ways, using my findings as a reference if you desire. People you choose to help in your son’s development can call me to confer at any point in the future. If you wish just to take the information home with you and stick it in a drawer somewhere, that is fine too. You are his parents and you own his future.

The young Paul snickered to himself without being audible. He knew where Sal wanted to stick it already. Before they all left, the good Doctor might have some specific instructions on it as well.

What I would like to start with today are the results of the Intelligence tests that I performed on your son. As I am certain you are aware, your son is very intelligent. His grades in the school system so far have been outstanding but I am not certain anyone knew just how smart Paul actually was until today.

Dr. Weintraub walked over to the corner of his office and pulled down a projection screen. Turning on the slide projector, he waited until the light came fully on before closing the drapes on his office door.

Now this first slide I am pulling up is a standard IQ chart. As you can see, the average student of Paul’s age is somewhere around the 100 IQ point area. Some a little higher and some a little lower but the majority sits in this bulk area here. The next group on the chart is probably where people think Paul is. This group of above intelligence people score somewhere around the 120s on their IQ point. We used to call them smarty pants, right Mr. Buttery?

While the doctor was clearly checking to make sure Paul’s father was engaged in the conversation, there was nothing to worry about. Salvatore was anxious to see where this conversation was going.

Yup. They were the ones who answered all the teacher’s questions all the time and got all the rewards for it.

Perfect. Keep that last thought in mind Mr. Buttery.

Just call me Salvatore and my wife Dolores. Let’s not make this stuffier than it has to be.

Perfect, and instead of Doc please call me Sam. Now, back to the chart. As I said before, I am certain that most of Paul’s teachers put him somewhere in that category but they would all be wrong. Very wrong. Let’s continue.

I’m sorry, Sam is it? Are you saying my son is smarter than above average?

That’s exactly what I am saying Dolores. Now this next category is probably where Adam, I’m sorry, Principal Walsh, probably thought Paul should be. This group generally scores somewhere between 130 and 140 on their IQ tests. While Principal Walsh was correct that Paul had a higher IQ than people originally thought, he was still understated.

Wait. So are you sayin’ my Pauly is in that next category? The friggin’ genius category?

That is exactly what I am telling you folks. Paul here not only broke through into the genius level, he crushed it. While he could get into Mensa with an IQ score of 145, his actual score was 162 IQ points. That’s right 162. I couldn’t believe it. I tested him three different times and his medium score was 162. One of the times he actually scored higher. For a boy his age, that is phenomenal.

The stunned parents looked at each other for several moments and then turned their gaze over to Paul. With a smirk on his face a mile wide, the boy returned the gaze to his parents until they turned back to the psychiatrist.

Ok, Doc, I mean Sam. As you can guess that info really packed a wallop to Dolores and I. To think that we raised some kind of rocket scientist is kind of surprising. You would think he would spend all his time in the library instead of lookin’ up the girl’s skirts.

That is precisely the question at hand, Salvatore. Why does Paul spend so much of his time getting into mischief? Why does he get into fights? Why does he create havoc in the halls? Why does he test his teachers and administrators? I can see by the look on your faces that you don’t know the answer to these questions.

I thought that was the reason we were here. I thought you were going to enlighten us.

I am Dolores. I am. Why don’t we ask Paul? Can you come on over here and stand next to me Paul?

Paul reluctantly rose from the bench and silently took his place next to Dr. Weintraub. The Buttery family all looked at each other waiting for someone to break the silence.

Paul and I have discussed this question at length and we came up with one very basic answer that explains everything.

You have one answer that is going to explain everything my son does? That sounds a little fishy to me Doc. Are you going to blame it all on his parents or his upbringing? Is that why we are here?

Not at all, Salvatore. It is actually much more basic than that. Do you want to tell them what we came up with Paul?

Paul looked up from his gaze at the floor and looked his dad straight in the eyes. I’m bored.

Salvatore Buttery stared down his son with daggers. You’re bored? That’s your answer? You’re friggin’ bored? Is that supposed to be a joke? If you’re bored, you get a hobby. Your mother gives you chores. You get a damn paper route. You don’t pull the crap you pull at school because you are bored.

Sal, please. Dolores reached over and put her hand on her husband’s arm so he would not strike his son.

No, Dolores. This is the biggest crock of shit I have ever heard. The boy is bored so he does his shenanigans. But he’s a genius. Let’s not forget that. He’s so smart, he can’t think of anything to keep himself busy besides getting into trouble.

Mr. Buttery…

Are we back to using titles Doc?

Mr. Buttery, or Salvatore. Let’s take a step back. Maybe this next part we should discuss with just you and Dolores?

What is left to discuss? The kid is smart and bored. We get it. We’ll get him an erector set or a microscope or something. What else is there to talk about?

Sal, let’s hear the rest of what the Doctor has to say.

Ok. Ok. You both win. Pauly? Why don’t you go outside for a minute? The doctor doesn’t want you to hear about yourself.

The young Paul Buttery looked at his parents and then back to Dr. Weintraub. If looks could kill the good Doctor would have been buried right there at his desk. He nodded back to his father and walked towards the door.

It will just be a few minutes Pauly. Don’t get too bored.

In a flash, Paul’s anger rose to the surface and he almost let loose on his father. He could feel the heat rising in his face as his ears began to glow. As he had so many times before, he turned his anger into a smile, visibly ignoring his father’s sarcasm. Sure Pop. He turned and went out to the parking area.

3

The door to the office closed behind Pauly as they all watched him go out into the dooryard. The two Buttery parents turned to look at the School Psychiatrist and waited for him to connect the dots.

Ok, now that we can speak freely, I would like to speak to the subject of direction.

Direction? I don’t understand Doc.

To properly show you what I am referring to let us look at the next slide. The Doctor went over to the slide projector and advanced to the next slide in his magazine.

What are we looking at Sam? Salvatore was visibly anxious to be done with the conversation at hand.

On the screen, you see many names of famous people in history with high IQs. While many of them are estimated since IQ tests were not around until after the turn of the century, they are a true depiction of those individuals.

I’m sorry I keep asking questions but are you saying that my Pauly is smarter than some of those people? There are Presidents on that list.

Yes, Dolores that is exactly what I am saying but don’t put too much weight on any politician. Some are not as smart as they let on to be. But I do want to follow that thought line for just a moment.

Salvatore Buttery scanned the list with amazement and incredulity. He was lost in thought. Paul Buttery was the son of a mook, an Italian immigrant. There was no way he was as smart as these people. These people must have mixed up Pauly’s tests with someone else.

Now Sal, I can see the skepticism in your face. Let’s take a brief sample. This list of geniuses makes up about 2% of the population. The rest of the world are simple minded compared to them. As Dolores pointed out, there are some great names on that lists. Besides Presidents, there are scholars, painters, inventors. There are heroes but there are villains as well. Intelligence does not always make someone bound for glory. Sometimes, they are monsters set on the path of evil.

What are you getting at Sam? Are you saying our Pauly is some kind of monster?

No, of course not. But I want you to look at this list as some sort of road. In one direction, you have the great creative minds. Charles Dickens came in at 165, Michelangelo at 177 and Davinci somewhere in the 200 range. In a different direction, you have monsters. Karl Marx used his 180 IQ to create Communism. Stalin and Hitler, both around the 130 mark, used their intelligence to terrorize the world. Somewhere in the middle are those that used their minds for a multitude of directions in the sciences, literature and creativity.

You’re losing us Doc. All this information is interesting but what does it have to do with Pauly?

Ok. Let’s put together this puzzle by looking at Hitler. When he was a young man, like Pauly, he was interested in the arts. He applied to a school for the arts and was rejected. In that one moment, did that school change the course of history? If Adolf Hitler was allowed to keep pursuing his painting and his love for the arts, would he ever have risen to power and become so evil? In every great mind like your son’s, there is unused potential. Pauly understated when he said he was bored. Realistically, he has a great amount of untapped intelligence that he is not using up in the great brain of his. Think of him like a car with a full tank of gas. How fast he goes depends on how he gets driven.

Cars. Hitler. This is all so confusing Doctor.

I know it can be overwhelming Dolores but it all boils down to this. From the moment you leave here today, you need to not only think of what direction your son should go in but push him in that direction as well. If it is music, than get him playing an instrument. If it is literature, push him to read and write as much as he can. A mind like your son’s cannot be left unchallenged or unchecked. You must drive him to be better than all of us.

I think I am seeing the big picture here, Sam. If he gets left alone, since he is so bored, heaven only knows what he will get into. His antics in school can just be the tip of the iceberg. We need to push him and push him hard. The what and the how are the hard parts. Any suggestions Doc?

Salvatore and Dolores. My advice stops here. I won’t tell you one path or another since that is a private thing between a boy and his parents. All I recommend is that you do something. Remember, this time it was just a small fire in a school locker. Next time, it may be worse. To do nothing, to leave Pauly alone to explore freely, would be detrimental to all.

Outside in driveway, Paul Buttery was left alone for too long. His great mind, coupled with his anger about being asked to leave, created a moment of free exploration. The freestanding garage had a door that was not locked and Paul let himself in. While his parents were discussing his future with the school psychiatrist, Paul was looking for mischief. He found it in a box of roofing nails left on his Doctor’s workbench. Checking to make sure the adults were still occupied, he took the box of nails and went about his silent revenge. In the rear of each of the four tires of his Doctor’s car, Paul placed a roofing nail at an angle that would puncture all four tires when the Doctor went to back out of his garage. Paul would be long gone and no blame could be put on him. Who knows how many more troubled children would come and go before the good doctor took his car out for a spin.

Walking out of the garage, Paul quietly closed the garage door behind him. Seeing his parents deep in conversation, he knew they did not even notice him gone. Leaning back against his father’s car, a broad smile came across the young man’s face. No matter how much they watch, or how close they keep me, there will always be a way. Always.

1985

1

Driving in New England in the fall was nothing less than a feast for your eyes. The colors were everywhere, surrounding your senses and filling them up with a renewed sense of wonder around every turn. Doug Morgan had lived in many places growing up, but he believed that this one was truly his favorite.

As he drove his Vega through the winding roads from Willimantic to Storrs, he could not help himself to be lost in thought. His best friend was supposed to have been at his house at 1030am for Sunday Brunch. His mom and dad put together a nice spread from the garden and his brother was actually home as well. Together they waited until almost 11am when his dad finally gave in and said, Let’s eat.

This was a typical move on his friend’s part and after he gave him a ration of guilt over it, they would move on as they always did. That’s the way they were. Paul did something crazy or irrational and Doug would pick up the pieces. Besides, Doug knew well enough that Paul was either drunk, or stoned, or strung out on whatever flavor drug he was on this week.

Somewhere in the mix there would be a woman. There were always women. It did not matter what commitment Paul was currently in there were always extras. Sometimes his friend would bring along an extra just for Doug, but most of the time he passed on her like a second helping of Brussels sprouts.

Doug Morgan was not anything like his best friend. Yes, he drank socially but never to the extent that Paul did. He never touched any of the recreational drugs Paul offered and was looking more for a relationship than someone to simply satisfy his carnal desires. To the outside world, it was always a question why the two of them were such close friends. In Doug’s mind, it was an easy answer. He was point man. While guardian angel was too strong and too philosophical, he knew that he needed to watch over his friend before the genius killed himself through self-indulgence.

The two of them had met the first day of their freshman year at The University of Connecticut. Like two opposing magnets they were drawn together and stuck within moments of meeting each other. That first night, Paul bought a case of beer and they just sat and talked all night long until they both passed out in Paul’s dorm room. Luckily Paul’s roommate had not arrived yet and Doug had a place to sleep besides the floor. When they awoke the next morning, the conversation resumed where it left off and they never looked back. Three years later, they were still close as can be.

Through their college years, Doug had picked up his friend so many times he should have gotten combat pay. He found Paul in every situation imaginable and managed to help cover tracks along the way. From parked cars to bushes, Paul was always passing out somewhere. He found him in the cemetery once and thought he was dead but when his pants were still down around his ankles, he knew that Paul had just passed out in the middle of some form of debauchery. One time, he had gone on a weekend long binge and it had taken three people just to find him. In the end, it was a stroke of pure luck when Doug and the other two found him literally passed out in a sewer pipe that ran under the campus.

There were demons that raged inside his best friend that drove him to such extremes but Doug knew well enough just to leave those demons right where they were. Paul was some sort of genius. Not that he bragged about it, but everyone that knew Paul knew that his brain was in a different universe than the rest of them. The things he noticed and the conversations they had spoken through the years were remarkable. He never knew where those discussions would end up but he guessed that was part of his friend’s draw. No two days were ever the same around Paul Buttery and that was all part of the thrill ride. He enjoyed most of the craziness and provided bumpers when Paul decided to go out of bounds. After all, the main purpose of being a point guard is to be there when needed. There was never a power play between them and never would be. Paul Buttery and all of his demons could lead the way each and every time. Doug was perfectly content to exist in the shadows and wait for the fall out.

Pulling the car off of Eagleville Rd and into the apartment complex, Doug rounded the corner just in time. Another car was racing out of the complex in a hurry. Chuckling to himself, Doug thought the car was probably the reason his friend did not show up for brunch. While he did not get a good look at the driver, he imagined it was some woman on a hurry to cover her tracks from her night with Paul.

Doug parked the Vega in front of the steps to the apartment, got out, and again looked around at the wooded beauty that surrounded this place. No wonder Paul was always getting laid. This place was like something out of a wilderness movie. He probably brought them in to make them feel safe and pounced all over them like a bear in the woods.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

It was always a crap shoot whether Paul would answer the door or not. His big Chrysler Cordoba was parked in the driveway but that did not mean he was conscious. He could be passed out anywhere within the apartment. Doug had his own key if it came to that but he had learned it best to knock first. You never knew what you were walking into when you entered Paul’s apartment.

KNOCK. KNOCK….

On the second knock the door opened slowly. Standing in the doorway with his hair disheveled and his untied robe barely covering his nakedness was Paul Buttery. He gave a grunt to his best friend along with a nod. He gave a wave of the two liter bottle of Coke he was holding in his hand and Doug was invited in.

What the hell are you doing here so early?

It’s after 12, Paul. Did you just get up?

Waiting for a reply, Doug watched as his friend tilted the bottle of Coke to his lips. Instead of taking a swig, he watched in awe as the bottle was drained from top to bottom. Two liters of soda gone in 30 seconds.

That can’t be good for you.

After the night I had, it’s exactly what I needed.

Did you reach a new level of degradation? Or was it your usual Saturday night blur?

With the caffeine slowly waking him up, Paul started to come around. Not sure what you are implying, Mr. Morgan. Are you saying I get hammered every Saturday night?

Are you denying it?

No, I just take offense that you only think it is Saturday night. I strive for new levels of sex, drugs and rock and roll nightly.

That’s the part you take offense to? You are unbelievable.

Going to the counter, Paul takes a glass out of the cupboard and a bottle of Vodka out of the freezer. Raising the bottle to Doug, he gets a look of disgust in return as he continues to fill the glass with vodka. Picking up the glass and drinking it all down, Paul wipes his lips with the back of his hand as he puts the glass in sink. So tell me again why you are here so early?

Did you forget you were supposed to come to brunch this morning with my parents?

What are you talking about? That’s not until Sunday.

Well if last night was Saturday, genius, then…

Oh crap. That’s what you were getting at. Sorry about that. Are your parents pissed?

No, I told them you probably got called into work. I said you were working a lot lately and they understood.

"Well, thanks for the cover. They are good people. Really good people. Speaking of work, I think I’m supposed to be there later. You said today is