The Second Son

By Susan Dorsey Sivadon

Four-year-old Sam is snatched violently from his home and transported thousands of miles to Utah where he becomes the second son in a family of stolen boys belonging to sheriff Elliott Vickers and his pretentious wife, Delilah.

Sheriff Vickers is an exemplary citizen and a respected father in the community, but while the people of Price put their trust in him, behind closed doors Sam and the others learn about the real man behind the badge as they endure unspeakable acts of abuse.

 

When a toddler named Ricky arrives at the ranch and proves to be too much for Delilah to handle, the sheriff intervenes. Together with his brother, Sam witnesses just how far Vickers will go to keep his secrets safe. Now they must keep to themselves the horrifying truth about what really happened to Ricky.

When Sam stumbles upon a large sum of money lost to someone long ago, he knows fate has finally shined her light and given them a way out. Desperate to stay a step ahead of a madman who has the law tucked safely in his pocket, the three young brothers face impossible odds as they search for parents who've long presumed them dead.

 

The Second Son is a story about a little boy held captive whose love and concern for the poor in spirit is his greatest gift, and about parents in the terrifying grip of their worst nightmare made real. Sam's tale is one of courage and hope, of prevailing truth, and personal honor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Dorsey Sivadon
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989260508

Susan Dorsey Sivadon

Susan Dorsey Sivadon is an award winning author whose passion is to offer a voice to those who have endured the unspeakable and illustrate how a small measure of hope has potential to evolve into extraordinary strength and resillience. Her approach to storytelling nurtures her readers through the often gritty and emotionally immersive experience of her characters. Ms. Sivadon resides in Twin Falls, Idaho with her husband and Chessi the orphaned squirrel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Abreeze lifted the scent from the driveway, up through the second story window and interrupted Sam’s concentration. He looked up from his book to the golden wheat fields below.

Steam rose from wet dust as the first raindrops hit the hot gravel. The smell of summer rain had been fused to that day long ago. It had been his habit to dismiss those memories or force them aside, but the scent of the rare and sultry summer downpour always took him back.

HE WALKED BESIDE HIS mother under the eaves of the corner market taking care to step over the cracks in the sidewalk, not on them.

Funny how he recalled the smell of the rain and the feel of his hand in hers, but he could no longer picture her face. He wasn’t Sam then; he had a different name, a name that isn’t real anymore.

She hurried him inside, chose a few items then held his hand as they stood in line to pay. He made a buzzing sound while his mother chatted with the man in line behind them. His finger flew through the air  like a bee, then touched each of the colorful flowers in the fabric of her dress.

He’s cute, what’s his name? the man asked.

This is Sawyer. She tapped his shoulder. Can you shake hands with the man?

Sawyer looked up into puffy gray eyes and slowly extended his hand.

How old are you? the man asked.

The wiry gray beard on his chin matched the man’s eyes. Sawyer pulled his hand away and stepped behind his mother.

She knelt down beside him. Show the man your age, she whispered.

Sawyer hid his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder.

Aww, come on, she nudged. She gently bent his thumb over to show only four fingers and held Sawyer’s hand up for the man to see.

Ah, fun age. He continued discussing the rising price of food with Sawyers mother, but the gray eyes stayed fixed on Sawyer.

STRONG HANDS GRIPPED him and lifted him from his bed. His mouth forced closed as a sweet-smelling cloth covered his nose. He kicked and tried to scream but crushing arms held him tight as he sensed the descent of the back steps. The night sky came into view above him and cool air rushed over his face as drops of rain fell on his legs.

Then nothing.

His head too heavy to lift, bobbed sideways bringing him up out of the darkness.  The steady hum of tires in motion vibrated and swayed, and he remembered he was no longer in his room.

From the fog in his mind an image began to emerge. Fear struck his heart as the figure took shape, but he was too sleepy to cry out as he was pulled under, forced into the blackness again.

Her voice came in a dream. She cried and begged him not to talk to strangers. Where was she? The sound of splashing rain interrupted her. Wait, he wanted to tell her something.

If only he could open his eyes to see the clock beside his bed with the happy mouse that ran up and down, but his eyes were heavy, he was too sleepy and there was only darkness, darkness and the splashing sound of rain.

Pain gouged at him in the slumber between dreams. Groans grew in the distance as awful twisting became tighter and tighter, stabbing at him until his bowels erupted and yanked him into agonizing consciousness. His eyes sprang open as he gasped for air realizing it was his own groaning voice he’d heard.  He squeezed tight but could not stop the flow of burning liquid as it exploded in his underpants.

He blinked and tried to focus, but darkness persisted. Despairing sobs forced their way through his nose, muted by the tape that held his lips together,

The man.

If only his mother would come. She would take him home. But how will she know where I am? The question came to him over and over, but there was no answer.

Thoughts drifted with the tapping rain and the steady hum of the engine as sawyer passed between nightmares made of dreams and the horror he endured in the dark space where he shivered and prayed for his parents to find him.

The vehicle slowed and pitched him sideways as it turned. A bump and the sound of a bell. The tires came to a stop. A clanking noise, the smell of gas, then shuffling.

All at once, light poured into the small space from above causing his pupils to constrict in pain.

He looked up into steely gray eyes. The same cold, puffy eyes he had seen before, the same gray beard.

You stay quiet back here. You so much as fart and I’ll kill you, the man growled. He tossed a small blanket over Sawyer’s shoulders, slid the cover over and darkness returned.

The engine rumbled to a start and tires hummed on the pavement again.

Sawyer slipped back into the darkness of dreams as they drove. Hours dragged like days while restless visions of his parents paraded before him. He drifted along in and out of sleep until gravel crunched under the tires and woke him.

The vehicle slowed, turned sharply, then stopped. A door opened and slammed shut. His bottom burned like fire and his feet were numb.

Elliott, where is he?

Sawyer turned his head to the sound of a woman’s voice, but it wasn’t his mother’s.

In a moment, the cover came off and chilly night air rushed into the tiny space.

The man clutched his arm and pulled Sawyer from a large crate onto the tailgate of a pick-up truck. The man pulled a folding knife from his pocket, cut the ties that bound Sawyer’s wrists and ankles then yanked the tape from his mouth. He then scooted him off the tailgate and stood him on the ground.

Sawyer’s legs buckled and sent him face-down onto the driveway. Even if he could run, he knew better. The man would kill him.

Is this him? Is this our son? A blond-haired lady ran from the house and knelt beside him in the driveway. Sawyer opened his mouth to plead for his mother, but his voice had no sound.

The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips as he leaned on the door of the pick-up.

He’s probably ready to eat something, he said, as the cigarette bobbed up and down.   Her bracelets clanked together when the lady lifted Sawyer from the ground. She squeezed him into her chest, then touched his soiled pajamas.

Poor baby! she droned in a thick drawl. She held him against her shoulder, trapped in the permeating odor of strong perfume and alcohol.

He’s perfect.

The man blew a plume of smoke into the air and smiled as the lady whisked Sawyer inside and down the hall, stroking his hair as her shoes clacked on the linoleum floor. She kicked the bathroom door open, sat him on the toilet seat, then reached for the faucet and began to fill the bathtub. She rearranged her blond curls in the mirror then squatted in front of Sawyer.  

You are beautiful, she said. She pulled her fingers through his thick hair then held his face close to hers. Her large eyes shifted back and forth scanning the details of his face.

The way she smiled made him feel like he was about to be eaten.

I’m Delilah, she said. I’m your new Mama.

Her words shot through him like poison arrows. He was never going home; that’s what she meant.  He opened his mouth to scream but again his voice failed.

It’s okay sugar, I know you’ve had a long day. She squeezed his shoulders then sat back.

Her eyes locked on Sawyers as her smile turned to a thin, strait line. Your new daddy’s the sheriff, you know. She raised an eyebrow. He’ll make sure no one ever takes you from us.

Sawyer’s despair exploded in convulsive sobs.

Oh, hey, everything is going to be just fine, little one. I’m gonna’ take good care of you, she slipped his pajama top over his head then touched his nose with her finger. Now, let’s get you in the tub. She tugged on his bottoms and slid them onto the floor.

Sawyer’s body shook. Welts covered his thighs beneath the foul crust of his excrement. He stood naked before Delilah choking on his tears.

I want my Mom! He forced the words out then shoved his hands into her chest and turned to the door, but Delilah gripped his arm and whipped him around to face her. She pinched his chin between her fingers and pulled his head sideways. Her fingernails dug into his arm as she tightened her grip and stared at him like a hungry dog.

I am your Mama, she spat as she jerked him up nose to nose. "I’m your only Mama, you hear me, Son?" Her words were smelly hot puffs in his face.

She held him there for a moment, then slowly pulled back. I wouldn’t want to punish you so soon after you just got here and all, but I will. You understand, don’t you?

Sawyer nodded, sobbing.

Okay then. She released his chin, loosened her grip on his arm, and stroked his hair. Now, what’s your name, honey-bee?

Saw-yer, he answered in heaving breaths.

"Well, Saw-yer, she mimicked, your name is Samuel now. I’ve been saving that name for you."

Delilah checked the water in the tub and adjusted the knobs. We’re gonna’ call you Sam.

Sawyer’s stomach twisted as vomit rose into his throat.

Without warning, she yanked his arm again. Say, yes Ma’am! she demanded. It’s a rule of courtesy you’d best learn right now, young man.

Yes... Ma’am, he choked.

That’s better. Her face contorted back to the maternal smile.

A figure moved across the hallway outside the bathroom door.

Delilah released Sawyer’s arm, unrolled a wad of toilet paper, and wiped his eyes and nose.

Sam, this is your brother Jake. She motioned to the boy to come in.

Jake, honey shake hands with your little brother. It’ll be up to you to help him out, you hear?

A burly young boy stepped into the light. With a jerk of his head, he tossed his bangs from his eyes and stared down at Sawyer. He pursed his lips and thrust his hand out.

Sawyer reluctantly shook.

Good, Delilah said, stuffing Sawyer’s pajamas into a bag. I’ll be back in a jiffy. She turned the water off and raised an eyebrow to Jake. You stay with him.

Jake dropped his hand and wiped it on his pajamas. He squeezed the corners of his eyes into menacing slits and took a step closer to Sawyer. You stink. What’d you do, crap yourself?

Sawyer glanced at the tub and shivered.

Let’s get one thing straight. I’m seven and I’m the boss of you. He shifted his weight to the other foot, crossed his arms, and glared. Any trouble from you and I’ll kick your ass.

Sawyer looked up at the rugged, pouty face of the boy who was now his brother and tightened his fists.

SAM RARELY THOUGHT of those days anymore. It had been nine long years since that night. It was the night he became Sam; the second son in the Vickers family. Being second, he had learned, was the same as being last.

Last and least.

Until Ricky came. Then Ricky was last.

But Ricky wasn’t smart, and Ricky wasn’t lucky, either.

Chapter 2

The summer before Sam entered second grade, the sheriff and Delilah announced that Jake and Sam would be getting a little brother and they were naming him Ricky.  Delilah’s month-long preparation for Ricky’s arrival got everyone excited about having a bigger family, but once Ricky arrived their enthusiasm to welcome the newest Vickers boy turned to frustration within a matter of hours.

The problem with Ricky was that he howled. He bawled day and night from the moment he arrived. He cried so much he threw up. But even the puking didn’t stop Ricky from howling.

Sam and Jake had been given the impossible task of making Ricky feel at home.

It’ll be okay, just stop crying. Sam put his arm around Ricky. You’ll only make her mad.

He refused to look at Sam or at anyone for that matter; instead, he grew more agitated then crawled to the corner of the room and screamed louder.

Jake favored direct intimidation and tried to scare Ricky into submission with his I’ll-kick-your-ass routine, but neither Sam nor Jake seemed to get through.

The long days of summer on the isolated  Utah ranch kept Sam and the others at the mercy of Delilah. The heat had already made her cranky, but by the end of the first week with Ricky, Delilah’s crankiness had escalated to a whole new level.

Take your brother, weed the garden, and don’t come in here till I call you for dinner. Go! Delilah scolded when Sam came down the stairs.

Ricky threw himself on the ground and cried when she pointed at the door.

Jake stepped over him then followed Sam out the back door.

SAM AND JAKE WORKED crouched down in the dirt while the sun’s rays beat down and turned their skin brown. They pulled weeds, trimmed dead leaves, and turned the dirt until even rows emerged with rich brown soil in between.

Everything had to look a certain way for Delilah. Her vegetable garden, her hair, her home, and her children.

When Sam and Jake finished, they stayed hidden between rows of tall corn and built small towns in the dirt. Matchbox cars they kept hidden in the shed transported imaginary people over bridges and miniature country roads to places far away.

The screen door squeaked open. Sam peeked through the stalks, anticipating Delilah’s call to dinner, but it wasn’t Delilah who came running; it was Ricky.

Somehow, he had managed to get around Delilah and escape. Ricky came flying down the steps with one shoe on and one shoe off.

You little son-of-a-bitch! Delilah opened the screen door and scanned the yard. She spotted Ricky running toward the highway and took off through the field after him.

He hasn’t learned the Vickers’ rule of survival yet, Jake said.

What rule is that? Sam asked closing the gap in the corn stalks.

Jake nodded his head toward Delilah who was now only a few feet behind Ricky when he tripped and fell into the ditch. She grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him to his feet.

Delilah always wins.

Delilah stomped her feet, cursing as she dragged Ricky back to the house.

Hey Sam, if Ricky’s a son-of-a-bitch what’s that make her? Jake’s elbow jabbed into Sam as he laughed at his own joke.

Shhhh! She’ll hear you.

They squatted between the rows of corn as Delilah hauled Ricky up the steps and jerked the screen door open.

Let’s get outta’ here before she comes after us, Jake said.

Sam followed him down the path toward the barn.

That kid is a special kind of stupid, Jake said when they reached the bottom of the hill. He stopped at the tool shed next to the barn, opened the door, and handed Sam a pitchfork while he pulled the wheelbarrow from the corner.

What are we doing?

If she sees us out here working, she won’t bother us. Dad said he’s adding the coop to your chore list, so you might as well learn how to do it now.

I already know how, Sam said, unlatching the door to the chicken house. I’ve helped you do it a hundred times. He grabbed the pitchfork and shoved it into the hay. If I do this, what are you gonna do?

Dad says I’m ready for grown-up chores. Jake positioned the wheelbarrow under the door to catch the dirty hay. He said it’s time for me to learn about being a man. He’s showing me how to mend fences and take care of the cows.

You already take care of the cows.

Yeah, but this time he made me help a baby calf be born.

That’s gross!

He said it’s part of the facts-of-life he wants me to learn. Jake looked down. He made me watch something else, too.

What’s worse than that?

Jake dug his heel in the dirt and pursed his lips. I can’t tell. He made me promise.

What kind of facts?

Never mind. Jake pulled on his gloves.

After they finished the chicken coop, they fed the cows and milked them. Sam and Jake poured milk through paper filters into gallon jars and placed them in the refrigerator in the barn. Sam latched the barn door and took off his gloves just as the sheriff’s car pulled into the driveway.

What time is it, Jake? The sun was already low in the sky.

Holy smokes, Jake looked at his watch. It’s almost seven! She’s never been this late calling us in.

I wonder what’s up.

They waited until the sheriff stepped through the front door, then scurried up the path to spy through the backdoor screen.

Sam carefully climbed the steps and peeked in while Jake stood behind him. Ricky sat crouched in the corner of the kitchen with his hands behind his back. He was still wailing, and Delilah was still screaming. It was hard to tell who was more hysterical.

This is going to be ugly, Jake whispered.

The sheriff pulled a bottle from a brown bag and placed it on the counter in the kitchen. He poured the amber liquid into a glass and swallowed it in one gulp.

Delilah’s hair hung in stringy, damp curls. Laundry lay piled on the dryer, and the evening meal was nowhere in sight.

What the hell, Delilah? The sheriff looked around with his hands in the air, then noticed Ricky bound in the corner. You had to tie him up? He’s three for God’s sake. What’s the matter with you? Where’s Jake and Sam?

Delilah stepped forward and took the sheriff’s jacket. Her eyes darted wildly around the room.

Sam grabbed the handle to the screen door, ready to step in and present themselves before they got in trouble.

I sent them to their room for the night, she slurred.

Sam and Jake exchanged glances as Sam carefully removed his hand from the door.

Doesn’t she remember sending us outside? Jake whispered.

Beats me. She’s delusional.

You mean she’s drunk. Do you even know what delusional means?

It means crazy. Dad says it all the time.

They continued to watch from their hiding place while Ricky sat on the floor in the corner with his head down, bawling. Delilah ranted on about how Ricky tried to run away.

I’ve tried everything, she whined. I bribed him, I tried reasoning with him. She spoke slowly, articulating her words.  I-I gave him time out. Nothing worked...so I spanked him. She turned to face the sheriff. ‘Then I ..."

Then ... what? he demanded.

"I schmacked him. I s-s-m-acked him a few times, listen, Elliott. The last thing we need is for this kid to wander out to the road." She misjudged the distance as she leaned against the doorway and nearly fell.  Believe me. I tried everything, but he’s a monster. She pointed to the corner.

The sheriff poured himself another drink.

Ricky’s really got her rattled, Jake said. I’ve never seen her like this before.

I can’t take it anymore! she cried. Look at this place. I hate our kids, I hate myself, and right now, I hate you, Elliott!

Who doesn’t she hate? Jake whispered.

I know, I know, the sheriff said, looking at piles of laundry on the floor. Don’t worry, he kissed her forehead, placed his arms around her and held her for a long time.

Why don’t you go upstairs, have a long, cool shower, and relax with a magazine before bed. I’ll take care of things down here, okay?

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the stairs then kissed her again.

You sure?

You just forget about all this, he said. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Ricky.

She brushed his cheek with her hand disappeared up the stairs.

I don’t get it, Sam whispered. She’s mean, and he’s nice to her. We’d get smacked if we complained like she does."

He has to be nice to her. Geez, Sam. You really don’t know anything about the birds and the bees.

Sam turned to face Jake. What what’s it got to do with birds or bees?

Shhhhh, never mind. He glanced at Sam then turned back to the door.

Ricky sat blubbering in the corner of the kitchen. The sheriff poured another scotch, tossed it back, and turned toward the back porch.

Jake ducked down just in time, pulling Sam with him. They moved to the side of the house where a small split in the wood slats allowed them to peek through.

The sheriff stepped out onto the porch and rifled through the toolbox. Sam could see the hairs on his father’s fingers and smell the liquor on this breath through the break in the wood.

The sheriff snatched a roll of duct tape from the chest, turned off the light, and walked back into the kitchen. He pulled Ricky from the floor and propped him against the wall.

Holy shit, he mumbled.

Ricky looked up through swollen black eyes. His deep purple lips looked like two plumbs stuck to his face. Dried blood made a crusty trail down his chin and onto his neck, and Ricky’s howl had turned to a wheezing whine.

Woah, Jake whispered. Look what Delilah did to Ricky. He tugged on Sam’s sleeve and led him back to the screen door while the sun disappeared below the horizon.

Jake, let’s get outta here. I’m scared.

Shhh ... Okay, just a minute.

The sheriff tore strips of duct tape from the roll. Ricky’s eyes widened under the swelling. He bucked his bound legs against the floor but remained helpless to move in any direction.

The sheriff held Ricky’s jaw closed with one hand and taped his mouth with the other. Sam’s eyes stayed riveted on the tape over Ricky’s lips. A memory formed in his mind and sent ice water through his veins.

This will not go well for you, the sheriff said, and that’s too bad. We wanted a happy family, that’s all. It’s all you had to do, just be happy.

Ricky shook his head from side to side. Tears ran from the puffy purple slits that covered his eyes.

Problem is, Ricky, the sheriff said, it hasn’t been a happy place around here lately.

The sheriff poured another drink and stared at Ricky while he sipped. When he finished his drink, he reached into the cupboard high above the sink and pulled down a black pouch. He took a small glass bottle from inside and jerked the handkerchief from his pants pocket.

Sam stood frozen as he stared at the cloth on the table.

Oh, God! Jake said.

The sheriff turned in their direction and walked toward the back door.  Before Sam could think of what to do, Jake jerked his arm, pulling him down the path to the tool shed. They reached the bottom of the hill just as the sheriff opened the screen door and stepped out onto the back stairs.

The security light from the barn cast a shadow beneath the eave. Sam and Jake pressed themselves against the side of the shed and hoped the sheriff would not glance in their direction.

The sheriff lit a cigarette and stood in the light of the porch blowing smoke rings into the still, night air.

Sam’s heart hammered in his chest. He swallowed and fought the urge to give in to his fear as giant sobs formed in his throat.

Jake touched his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. When the sheriff looked toward the highway, he eased open the shed door then squeezed in. Sam kept one eye on the sheriff as he carefully followed Jake inside, then eased the door closed. They stood still in pitch darkness careful not to bump anything. Finally, they heard the screen door snap shut.

Sam’s body shook. What do you think he’ll do? he whispered.

Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

Jake felt for the door and opened it enough to allow a small stream of light in, then cleared a place on the dirt floor to sit. I think we’re in here for the night, he said, leaning back against the wall.

I’m scared, Sam whispered. Did you see the stuff he got from the cupboard?

Yeah, he’s probably gonna’ knock him out so they can get some sleep tonight.

Poor Ricky.

Poor Ricky? Ricky’s stupid is what he is. He’s been nothing but a pain for all of us.

He’s just scared is all. I was scared when I came here. I’m still scared.

Yeah, but you weren’t a cry-baby, and you knew enough not to piss them off.

Sam drew a squiggly line in the dirt and decided not to think about what might be happening to Ricky.

Jake, what was it like for you?

What do you mean?

What was it like when you came to live here? Were you ever scared?

I was never like Ricky, if that’s what you mean. The sheriff paid a lot of money for me, he looked down. They were nice to me at first but ...

They paid money?

Look, Sam, I really don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t get it.

My parents sold me to them for adoption, you moron! Dad said they paid eight thousand dollars for me, and he’s told me more than once it was a sorry-ass investment.

Jake picked up a piece of gravel from the dirt floor and rolled it in his hand. I know it’s true because my old mom was always crying about bills. They needed money, not a kid to feed. His voice trailed off. They never even told me goodbye.

They didn’t tell you?

They tricked me. She sent me outside and the adoption people were there to pick me up. Look, Sam, Jake tossed the rock into the corner. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?

What was your name, you know, before?

Just drop it. Jake leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

What was the stuff in the bottle? Sam asked.

I don’t know, some medicine to make you sleep. I saw him use it on a cat once. But he said he gave it too much and it died. He will probably knock Ricky out, so he doesn’t cry all night.

I think he used that medicine on me.

What makes you think that?

I remember stuff sometimes, or pieces of stuff; like a cloth on my face the night he came to my room, and the day before, in the grocery store when he talked to my mom.

What are you talking about, Sam? He couldn’t have talked to your mom. Your mom was dead before he ever went to get you.

My mom’s dead?

The court gave him and Delilah custody because of what happened to your parents. I’m not supposed to say anything to you about what happened, and believe me, you don’t want to know.

But Jake, I remem—

Jake threw his hand into Sam’s chest. Shhhhhh!

The screen door slammed at the top of the hill. From the small opening in the door, Sam watched their father hoist a large bundle on his shoulders, then start down the path toward the shed.

Shit! Oh, Shit! Jake whispered. He stood quickly. Get up. Hurry get up! Hide! Over there ... He pointed, In the corner behind the tools.

Sam’s heart raced as he maneuvered quickly and cautiously over tools and small equipment through the darkness with Jake. Sam flattened himself against the far wall of the shed and crouched down behind the barrel that held yard tools while Jake did the same just as the door creaked open.

The heaping load on the sheriff’s shoulder interrupted the stream of light as he stepped into the shed. He flipped on the light and looked toward the barrel. Sam froze, certain they were in plain sight of the sheriff and as good as dead, but the bundle he carried blocked his view of them while he rummaged through the array of yard tools in the barrel with his free hand.   The blanket from the back of the couch had been wrapped tightly, secured at both ends with duct tape, but Sam saw some of Ricky’s brown hair hanging down from one end of the blanket.

The sheriff reached past Sam’s face and clenched the yellow handle of the shovel, pulled it free, then flipped off the light with his elbow, leaving the door ajar.

Sam looked over at Jake who sat with huge, fearful eyes like a stone statue in the semi-darkness. They kept still, barely breathing for fear the sheriff would discover them. The shovel sliced into the dirt one scoop after another on the other side of the shed