Avenging Angel

Aren’t computers wonderful? I mean, back when I was a little child, no one would have even DREAMED of such a thing as a computer, let alone the Internet! Of course, even if we had, we’d have probably been executed as Heretics anyway, but I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes!

I can’t begin to tell you what a good time I’m having with this Internet thing. It’s so much fun, isn’t it? We’ve probably got a lot in common, you and I, dear Reader. We work long hours, hate our jobs, the benefits tend to suck, and the Boss…well, you know how YOU feel about your Boss! Now, don’t get me wrong. My Boss is a pretty cool guy, but sometimes I just DO NOT understand him at all. He says, “DO THIS!” and I do it. But, it’s wrong. I’m sure you know how that one goes. I’m sure that you say the same thing every day, just like I do.

God, I hate my job sometimes.

Which is what brings me here. I love to unwind by spending time online, chatting away, writing, dreaming, seeing what other people are up to online. Wow! You name it, I’ve seen it. And like I said, I’d have never thought that THIS was ever going to happen! The Internet sure is an odd place.

Well, enough of that. Let me introduce myself. I’d give you a description, but that would be a lost cause, as it changes a lot. You’re probably wondering what I do for a living, by now, aren’t you? Well, hold onto your computer chair, grab the desk and take a deep breath. This is a dilly. You probably won’t even believe it, but then again, you clicked on this story link for a reason, didn’t you?!

The name’s Galen.
I’m a Guardian Angel.

That’s right, Angel.
As in Heavenly Host, Semi-Divine Being, almost-Omniscient, Servant of the Almighty, the Guy with Wings and a Halo…
Wait a minute, scratch that last item. That’s only for formal wear. We don’t dress like that for work.

Ahhh, work.
Brings me back to where I started. Yes, it’s a job. You could almost say it’s a living, but then again, it’s not like I can DIE, now can I? It’s not like I can quit, either. Believe me, I tried. More than once. The Boss doesn’t accept resignations. That, and He’s got a really warped sense of humor. I mean, look at what he did to the platypus and the giraffe. And what the hell is up with ostriches? Sometimes I think He should have taken the seventh day to double check things, and rest on the eighth. Oh, well.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. We’re never going to get anywhere fast if you keep letting me digress like this!

Didn’t like that last line? I got news for you, pal – I ain’t perfect. The Boss is. There’s nothing in the job description that even hints at perfection. You just don’t go thinking you can do a better job than HE can. Just ask Lucifer about that one. Great poker player, Lucifer, even if he was a bit full of himself. Now, then…

As I was saying, sometimes I hate my job. You probably do too. But trust me, fella, you don’t want mine. What I wouldn’t give to sit in a nice, quiet office for 8 or 9 hours a day and peck around a computer or talk on the phone. I think I could do that. Customer service, yeah! That’s the ticket. But what did I get stuck with?

Look…right over there…see that little boy? Well, let me help you by firing your imagination up a bit. Concentrate now, stay with me! Take a good look.

Meet my Charge, Cory Alvin Wood.

Cory’s a looker, isn’t he? All of twelve, nearly thirteen, and going on 21. Yep, that’s Cory. Or rather, it was. More on that later.
Dark blonde hair, gray eyes tinged in ice blue, smooth and even complexion, average build – not fat, not skinny. A cherubic face, really, unmarred by whiskers, acne, or scars. You can thank ME for the no-scars thing. We’ll get to the whiskers and acne later. Not really a remarkable boy, but still one that a person tends to look at and let their eyes linger just a bit longer. Maybe it’s the gelled spikey hair shaved off in the back and sides, or the gold loop earrings. Or maybe it’s the white “hoody” sweatshirts and baggy khaki pants he likes to wear. Back in my day, we’d have called him a beautiful boy, but that kind of remark gets you into trouble these days! Hell, that metallic grin of his is enough to make girls look already – and a few boys, too, but we don’t need to go there. I’ve got enough problems with Cory as it is.

The big problem is, though, that Cory’s a fine looking young man –and he KNOWS it. And he knows that you know it too. Don’t stare, his head’s big enough already. But I have a plan to take care of that. The Boss probably won’t like it, but then again, I do have these orders that can only be rescinded by the Angel of Death Himself. Now THERE’S a job! I’ve got my application in for that one, believe me! But back to MY job, you see, I can do ANYTHING in my Power to insure this boy’s safety and wellbeing. That’s a loose clause, isn’t it? And I intend to use it, very shortly. At the rate he’s going, Cory’s going to need all the help he can get. It’s time, I think, to throw out the rule book. And soon.

But first, some back story:

I suppose this whole problem started about thirteen years ago when the little monster … I mean, boy … was born. He came into the world in the usual way – no fanfare, easy delivery, no complications. Firstborn son of well-to-do parents, grandparents still around, aunts and uncles, a few cousins. Mom and Dad were doing fine, nice home in Suburbia, minivan, dog, etc. You know, the usual. They had him circumcised when he was eight days old, even though they’re not Jewish. Personally, I’m not much on the idea of infant circumcision, but the Boss likes it. They raised him in a good little church, tried to teach him values, the lot. And he DID learn some, really. Actually, I like the Buddhists – little novice monks with vows of silence, no hair to obsess with, simple orange robes, no hundred-dollar sneakers, and the sole pursuit of inner peace. That and they don’t play with snakes. THOSE boys don’t get into much trouble. But what did I get? Independent Protestants. My luck. At least there’s no snakes involved.

Well, you can’t have everything, I guess. After all, I don’t work for Buddha.

Sounds sort of “Norman Rockwell,” so far, doesn’t it? What a good life for a child, right?

HA!

Cory’s family doted on him, in fact, they spoiled him. By the time the little brat was five, he’d already had more gifts and nice things than I’d ever had in my entire life. And he came to view this as the norm. They all thought that he was something special, and Cory came to believe that as well.

Now, you’re probably thinking that parents like that probably just catered to his every whim, right? Wrong. It’s not that they planned to spoil him and wreck my life…Afterlife…whatever. They did genuinely love the boy, and they weren’t afraid to show him that love. Cory grew up a bit, had want of nothing, and everything seemed like it was just fine.

Well, fine for THEM.

Things began going wrong for ME when he learned to walk!

For starters, they lived in a huge house with stairs. Several stairs. Do you have any idea how many times I had to grab the little sucker before he could bounce on his head all the way to the bottom? Then he discovered light sockets. Hey, it’s only 110. 220 would worry me, but 110? Nahhh! Let him learn the hard way. He caught on quick.

Yeah, Cory was a smart kid. Still is, really. He got out of diapers and had the potty thing figured out when he was almost four. I was impressed. Most boys still have accidents up to age six or seven, you know. Not Cory, though. Even at that age, he was obsessed with how he looked. I think the mirror was his favorite toy. At least it kept him occupied. I mean, the kid can’t even stay in bed without screwing that up for me. He thrashes around a lot at night. In fact, I don’t think he’s EVER still for a moment. I just lay down parallel to him on the floor and let him fall out of bed to land on me. It’s easier that way.

But back to the problems of this occupation. Little kids like to get into things. They like to throw things. They like to flush things down the toilet. Chances are, unless you can move at the speed of light, by the time YOU hear it, it’s too damn late! They also like to put things in their mouths, sometimes AFTER they’ve been in said toilet! Chasing a toddler all over the house is one thing, but I’ve never had a charge like Cory Wood. No, he wasn’t the first; and he won’t be the last, I’m sure.

The list just goes on and on. Vases, lamps, plates, you name it. Nothing was safe from that boy. I filed numerous complaints. I asked for help. I asked for vacations. Did I get it?

What do YOU think?

How many hours a week do you work, 48? More?

Quit whining.

I’ve been working 24/7 for almost thirteen years now.

But things are about to change!

Oh, yes! Take a good look at that boy over there, folks. He needs help, and he’s about to get it.

And now before you get all freaked out on me, no, I am NOT going to kill him. I can’t kill him. I can’t let him kill himself, either. Not that I would ever deliberately harm a child. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to protect him. More on that later.

But getting back to Cory’s life – and the mess he’s made of mine.

I thought that things would get better after the toddler years. Nope. Then came mobile toys like tricycles. WHY they never invested in helmets and pads is beyond me. Skinned knees, scraped elbows, narrowly avoided broken bones. And they had a yard, too. Insects, animals, and trees. Boys like to climb trees, did you know that? Sure I can fly, but he can’t. Well, HE thought he could. I let him break his arm once when he was seven. Boy, the shit sure hit the Divine Ol’ fan on that one! Hey, they had good insurance; don’t look at me like that! I thought it might teach him a lesson.

And it did!

Can you say axe? Too late. Soon as the cast came off (and no, it didn’t slow him down a bit! The little weasel still ran me into the ground chasing him around!), out came the axe and he chopped the tree down. As I said, I’m not perfect. There’s not a whole lot that I can do to stop a full grown silver maple from crashing down onto the neighbors’ house. Should have seen THAT one coming, I guess.

Then came kindergarten.

Do you have ANY idea what goes on at school playgrounds? Slides, monkey bars, swings…who INVENTED this stuff?! That’s why they have a NURSE, for God’s sake! Let the poor woman earn her paycheck! Why do I have to hang onto him when he tries to loop-the-loop over the top bar on the swing set? I get nauseous, you know.

And then there’s the other kids.
As I said before, Cory’s a good looking kid and he’s pretty much got it made. Not all kids do, though, and most of them don’t like having their noses rubbed in it. Now, Cory’s not delicate, but he has had a few medical problems. They say he’s got ADHD, which I would swear upon the Almighty to be true. Concierta and Addereall XR are jokes, folks. Pharmaceutical companies are a scam. Might as well feed him sugar pills. Wait, no, no sugar! Don’t want that. Sugar is a bad thing. He’s also had sinus trouble, but that’s not the point. I just don’t need that condition exacerbated by being punched in the nose several times! Usually, though, I can plant the idea in the kids’ heads to just drop it. Not that there hasn’t been a scrap or three, but I don’t like taking the blows for him, either.

That pretty much sums up elementary school. Don’t think that the boy was lonely, though. Oh, no, far from it. He made friends pretty easily, and his little pack tended to stick together. You know, eventually the kids will separate into clique groups. Cory fell in with one that was OK. At least, the other Angels and I thought that they were. They were just adventurous, easily bored, and thrill seeking. We all came to the conclusion that we’d gone into the WRONG line of work right about, oh, the second week of kindergarten! We certainly earned our keep, thank you very much. The good thing about school was that it gave US time to chat and compare notes. My buddies all said that I seemed to have got the worst of the lot, though.

Those were a very hectic, but overall good, six years. I got him that far, didn’t I? Good grades, lots of activities, friends, his family still doting on him…la la la.

So far, so good, right? You’d think.

But things do tend to go wrong in Life. And sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

Cory’s parents were taking him to a baseball game the summer he turned eleven. Minor League boys, you know. We’d just gotten him situated into his cute little uniform and I’d just spent the last twenty minutes whispering into his ear that he really did NEED to wear his cup. I think the image of a line drive straight into the balls convinced him. After all, what boy out there hasn’t been hit in the balls at some point in time? The memory of the pain involved in learning to ride a bike properly was probably the deciding factor in that one. Bicycles. God, I hate those things! You have no idea. Do you have any clue what happens when you combine bike, boy, steep hill, and a wooden plank? You guessed it, flight! Flight leads to emergency rooms. ER’s lead to excitement. Excitement leads him and the rest of them to trying to better the last stunt and see who can score the biggest ER bill…see where this is going?

See, there we go again, wandering off the track. Where was I now? Oh, yes. That ball game. That fateful evening when things went so horribly wrong.

And there we were, in the minivan, on the way to the ballpark, when it happened.

It was one of those freak accidents. The oncoming car swerved when a dog ran out in front of it. The driver lost control, overcorrected, crossed the center line, and struck Cory’s parents’ van head-on.

Sometimes, being a Semi-Divine Being really sucks. I think I’ve mentioned that already. For US, in times of real crisis, Time slows down. In fact, if it’s bad enough, it stops. This gives US time to evaluate the situation and take steps. Well, there wasn’t a whole lot that I could do. When the other car began to skid, I raised my hand. I could see my Counterpart in the other car doing his part, too, but it just didn’t happen. They say that Man cannot understand the Will of God, and I’ll admit that I don’t either. Neither of US were able to prevent the crash, hard as we tried.

Tires screamed, metal smashed, airbags went off…but not before what felt like years passed for Us. I still remember Michael’s face as we sat on the highway between the two vehicles, only inches apart.

“They’re going to hit,” he said.
“Someone’s going to die,” I replied.
And sure enough, there was Frederick, who had Death-Duty that term. He didn’t look like he was enjoying it, either.
“Nasty business,” he commented.

“We can’t stop the crash, I’ve tried,” I told him.
“So did I,” Michael replied. “Let’s just protect the children and hope for the best.”
“That’s all we can do, I suppose,” I remember saying, while Fred just nodded.

Now, for us, Death isn’t that big a deal. They’re being taken OUT of the World of Man and taken INTO the World of God. Of course, our charges are children. We may not like what we do for a living sometimes, but overall, we don’t dislike the children we’re assigned to. Not really. I know, I know, forget what I said about Cory before…we’re getting there! At this point in my career, he was still a pretty good kid.

No, what hurts US is the MOMENT of harm. Remember the ‘punch in the nose’ thing I mentioned? WE feel everything that the child feels. I felt it when he broke his arm. I felt every little cut he ever got. I couldn’t begin to imagine carrying the boy through a head-on car crash, but yet there I was. Instinct took over, and Michael and I both flung ourselves back to our Charges and braced for impact while Frederick, Mr. Death Himself, looked on.

As crazy as this boy had made me, as much as he’d driven me to distraction over the last eleven years, I realized that there was NOTHING that I would not do for him. I could not bear the thought of him being hurt. Worse yet, and since Fred WAS there, I realized that despite whatever I did, he MIGHT be killed! My only concern was Cory, and I did my job.

Time snapped back into place.

The cars hit.

Perhaps I overreacted a bit. I flung myself on Cory, literally INTO Cory, and pulled our head down and covered our face. Thankfully, we were in the back seat and buckled in. I felt the shards of glass cutting into the skin on our back and arms, and felt the searing pain as one of our legs snapped at the shin. Something hit us hard on the head, and I could feel Cory slipping away into unconsciousness. Still, I was he - and he was me. You have NO idea how draining THAT is to do. But his heartbeat was still strong, there was no great blood loss, and he was safely away from the pain. I encouraged his brain to shut down, to shield him from it all. I didn’t want him to hear the screaming from the front seat.

I didn’t want his eyes to see Fred reaching in to claim his parents.

And that just about brings us to where we are now.

Cory spent the next few days in the hospital with me by his side. He never knew I was there, as none of our Charges do. Oh, sometimes they might sense US and wonder, but they never really SEE us. Most of them don’t even believe in us. I knew he’d never know what I’d done, or what I’d been unable to do. I felt terrible for him, as his pain was my pain. He/I cried for days on end when they told him that his parents were gone. There’s no way to explain what a little child feels when his world literally comes to an end. I hope that none of you ever have to endure that.

He watched his parents being buried from his wheelchair, as it was too long an affair for crutches. Besides, the wheelchair was safer for him. Crutches are juts another accident waiting to happen.

Funerals are hellish. I don’t know WHY people put on these morbid shows. In the long run, it did Cory more harm than good, I think. When we finally got him home, I saw him safely to bed. His own bed. And I lulled him into a long, deep, and much-needed sleep. His Grandparents, all four of them, were at the house to tend to him. So as Cory slept, I sat up with him and kept watch.

And I listened.

And do you KNOW what those old codgers were talking about?

Was it Cory?

No!

It was money!

Money and who got custody of him!

It seemed that Cory’s parents were well insured. They had investments. And Cory had Social Security Survivor Benefits until age 18. And of course, everything that they had had was now Cory’s – in Trust.

My Charge had just had his world destroyed by a stray dog, and these heartless bastards were fighting over his money!

Needless to say, I took action. One call to Fred, and his maternal Grandpa dropped over with a heart attack. The old bastard was talking Military School, himself an old war horse. He was saying things like how it’d make Cory a man, and no Grandson of his was going to be one of those “nancy-boys”. Well, no Charge of mine was going to Military School. I KNOW what goes on in there! Cory might have driven me mad, but he didn’t deserve to be shipped off like some piece of used luggage while the old folks enjoyed his house and money. Fred and I dispatched his Grandma some months later, after a debilitating stroke attributed to the stress over the loss of her child and spouse in succession. Cory didn’t seem to be bothered by that too much, and I didn’t blame him. He never was too fond of them, anyway. Pompous old assholes, they were. I’m sure they had MUCH to answer for when Ol’ St. Pete got hold of ‘em.

In the end of that mess, Cory’s paternal Grandparents moved into his house and got custody of him. At least THEY didn’t propose any more life-altering changes. In fact, they loved him. They didn’t seem to care all THAT much about his money, and since I was rapidly picking up on this computer thing while Cory mended, I was able to check his bank records late at night.

Now you know why your PC is loopy sometimes. That’s just US checking up on you.

Have you looked in your kid’s TEMP FILES lately? You should…

And that brings us back to where we came in.

Did I mention that I’m starting to hate this job?

I think it was right after Cory started walking again that it happened. Of course, it took time. It didn’t happen all at once, but I could sense that something was wrong. He wasn’t as interested in the things that he used to be. He kept to himself, and politely blew off his friends. My Counterparts and I had long talks at night about this, but we agreed in the end that the boy just needed his time. We decided to give it to him.

After all, he was physically fine. His Grandparents loved him, he was set for life financially, and he had ME. What more could he need?

As it turned out, we all screwed up.
Bad.

Cory’s Grandparents loved him to distraction. If his parents had spoiled him, they outdid even them. Every little whim that the boy had was catered to, in largesse. A new computer, video games, DVD’s, clothes, vacations to fancy places – you name it, the boy got it. He got this silly haircut, starting abusing gel on it, and insisted that his teeth were crooked. This led to painful braces, but he seemed to enjoy it. He even got his ears pierced. The Grands weren’t too keen on this, but since Cory pointed out several other boys with earrings, and he really whined about it, he got his way. As usual.

His 12th birthday, which DID include his old friends, was the bash of the year. They must have blown thousands on the party, but that’s not the point. The good mood that was such a relief to all of us after the party didn’t last long. Despite all of that, he was becoming more and more withdrawn and despondent. It might not have showed on the outside, but I knew better.

Cory just wasn’t Cory anymore.

And nothing seemed to help him. Finally, after another report from the Boss that the boy wasn’t saying his prayers at night, I sort of crossed a line. What I did during the crash was one thing – invading his Personality was quite another. I’ll also have you know that Demons do it all the time, so it’s not that hard to do. You HAVE read THE EXORCIST, haven’t you?!

And there it was, right there in the forefront of his psyche – Survivor Guilt.

No matter what we did, all of us, Cory couldn’t let go of the notion that he should have died too – and didn’t. I don’t know how many nights I spent in his bed with him, trying to comfort him as he cried himself to sleep. I think I did all that I could, but it wasn’t enough. What was even more disturbing was the reasoning that I found behind his radical shift in Personality and appearance : Cory hated himself.

I was losing my boy.

And then came puberty.

Jesus Christ, people! You have NO idea.

And I do say that literally. I said it a lot during his 12th year. Over and over.

There was this one fateful morning that he woke up with an erection. A ‘stiffy’, the boys called it. That is, the boys he was still talking to. My Counterparts had done quite a good job of convincing their Charges that Cory needed to be alone, and it was nothing that THEY’D done to him. They seemed fine with it, although I knew that they missed him. I should have been happy that he was making SOME new friends, but then again, you don’t know them. One look at them and my Counterparts that were with them was enough to convince me that I needed to formulate a plan, and FAST.

But getting back to the erection. Cory had always slept in pajamas. Even though he moved around a lot, the comfort of a good, warm bed was not lost on my boy. You can’t even begin to imagine the bliss that a tired boy feels when he lays down for the night in his own bed. That morning, though, as he pulled back the blankets with his stiff little penis poking out of his PJ’s, I sensed that something had changed. For the worse, I might add!

He became interested in his penis, and he tended to play with it a lot. I could tell that he was enjoying it, although I wasn’t too keen on the idea. Penises led to pleasure, which led to masturbation, which led to pre-marital sex…and well, you see where this is going.

Now, before you go quoting the Bible on me, let’s clarify something here: Onan didn’t get struck down by God because he jerked off. He defied the Boss by refusing to get his brother’s wife pregnant, as was the Jewish Law OF THAT TIME PERIOD. Onan was supposed to father a child on her, so that the boy would be, by the Hand of God, his dead brother’s son in the eyes of the Jewish Law. When the Boss says, “FUCK!” you do NOT pull out early! Onan did, and he died. God got him. Case closed.

Therefore, wanking is NOT a sin.

And, no, you can’t sell your daughters into slavery, or stone disobedient sons to death anymore. Polyester fabric and Holstein cows are fine, too. And NO, you cannot smite your neighbors anymore.

Not that many teenage boys think that, anyway. Wanking, that is, not stoning or smiting. Oh, I’m sure that some do, if the Church they’re in has drilled that into their heads. Pity, really, because they’re wrong. The vision that Ol’ St. Pete in the New Testament wiped all of those old Laws off of the books. Someone just forgot to tell a LOT of modern day ministers that, though. Fact is, if a boy is masturbating, he’s not getting anyone pregnant (usually), which the Boss does frown upon. Slightly.

But back to Cory.

After that one morning, where he spent so much time playing with it that I thought that he’d break it off, I ‘suggested’ that we take a break. After all, he had to pee, I knew, and doing that at the same time was physically impossible. As the weeks, passed, though, it became harder and harder to get that idea OUT of his head. He usually spent so much time in the bath every night from there on out that he was quite shriveled by the time he crawled into bed. It was around this time, as well, that he stopped wearing pajamas. He’d found that the feel of the sheets on his nude body felt good, and that he liked it.

Don’t fault the boy for that one, now. God created man in His own image, and Cory was quite an image, if I do say so myself. The expression “Greek god” comes to mind, in fact – pardon the turn of phrase! He had begun to loose the soft look of a little boy, and his muscles were just starting to realize that something was up. And so were the two little items hanging between his legs – the time had finally come!

About a month later, the first pubic hairs began to sprout. I recall that he was quite pleased with those, checking their progress EVERY day, of course. He became even more moodier, and short with his Grandparents. The Grandparents knew that something was up, especially when Granny started finding the tell-tale stiff sheets and spots on the wall. They took it in stride, of course, giving him the seemingly infinite benefit of the doubt. His appetite finally increased, and he started eating better. He gained weight. His muscle mass improved. I thought that there might actually be some hope for him, after all.

Wrong again.

If my description of Cory’s childhood sounded like I had a hard time, that was NOTHING compared to what the almost-teenager got into when his testicles kicked into gear. Now, I have to confess, when I was a Human, I never had an orgasm. I never even got to puberty. Remember the Heretic thing? You can draw your own conclusions as to WHY I never experienced an orgasm in Life. And for the record, I DO NOT like experiencing them vicariously through my young Charges, either! Orgasms are bad. Period.

But back to Cory again. See how you let me digress AGAIN?!

He got back with his friends, old and new. They started getting rowdier, and my job started getting harder. Testosterone will do that, you know. But for Cory, it was simply not a good thing. He started getting into fights at school. His grades went down. He frequently got detentions, and notes that never made it home to his Grandparents. I planted the idea in their minds that something was wrong, but they had no chance of reaching him. The anxiety and mood swings were bad for him, but there wasn’t a thing that we could do about it. He wouldn’t talk, and was growing even more sullen by the day.

Sadly, it was at this point in time that I realized something very disturbing: I didn’t like Cory anymore.

Cory was becoming more and more concerned about how his peers perceived him, and very much more caught up in how HE perceived himself. Vanity can be a bad thing, too. But so can self-loathing. The only thing that seemed to matter to him was getting his own way, no matter what it did to others around him. It cost him a few friends, but somehow, kids like Cory always manage to make new ones to replace them. I didn’t really care for the sort he was attracting, however. In short, with the advent of puberty and raging male hormones, Mr. Adventure thought that he was just IT. He was a show-off, and he loved the limelight. I knew this, and I acted upon it.

One of the big things at the time for boys to do was skateboarding. Of course, Cory had the best skateboard of his gang, and he knew how to ride it. He had the shoes, he had the looks, and he had the clothes. And he did have some skills.

‘I’ had more, though.

It seemed that the lesson of the baseball cup had long been forgotten, along with his love of that game. Can’t really blame the boy, though, as the car crash happened on the way to a big game. Still, I had expected more of him. I hadn’t raised this boy for twelve, almost thirteen years, just to see him degrade into a self-centered little prick. He was just chatting up his friends about how good he was at ‘grinding’ on handrails on long staircases when I made my move.

Cory needed my help, I rationalized it.
I was losing him.
I’d never lost a Charge before.
And I wasn’t about to lose THIS one, even though I was ready to give him away to someone else!

Puberty was rapidly becoming his undoing. Testosterone was poisoning his already damaged Personality.

Therefore, it was only logical that I undo the puberty. No more testosterone, better outlook on Life for the boy.

I know what you’re thinking – you think that I said before that I couldn’t harm him. That’s true. I could not intentionally harm him. However, I could take ANY step that I deemed right to protect him. ‘Grinding’ on rails was dangerous – it could end up resulting in a broken bone, a head wound, or worse! I had to put a stop to that – to say nothing of doing something about his attitude!

Cory kicked his board up and said, “Fuckin’ watch this shit, guys!”

The swearing was beginning to grate on my nerves as well. ‘Fuck this’ and ‘fuck that’ all day long…

I moved in behind him as he got his momentum up for the jump. We coasted down the grade, and then he made his move. His feet stayed on the board as he took flight, the center of the board coming down on the rail as he slid. He was a bit off balance, I could see, and then I made “the move.”

My Counterparts still refer to it as “The Galen Maneuver”. It was that good.

All it took as a gentle nudge.

“I’m sorry, Cory,” I whispered in his ear, and he heard me! He jerked his head around, his concentration broke, and down he went! The board flipped out from under his expensive sneakers and banged his bad shin, but that pain was totally erased as his crotch came into full contact with the rail he’d been sliding down.

White hot pain exploded up through his body. Several things happened all at once, just then: I shoved him down a bit, to insure that the rail did what I wanted it to do.
Then I grabbed him up, so that the fall wouldn’t injure him when he hit the concrete.
A split-second later, as the pain overwhelmed him, his left testicle burst.
I flicked the board up, and the tip of it caught him just as he came down on it, pulling his scrotum and remaining good testicle backward with it.
Cory screamed, a high-pitched and shrill sound that would have made dogs run!
His voice had been starting to change, but I’d just stopped THAT right in its tracks!
The tug of the board tore his right testicle loose from the cord, and he began to bleed internally.

“Call 911,” I hinted at one of his friends, who snapped out of his trance just long enough to pull out his cell phone and do that as my Counterparts applauded.

Then I eased him down onto the cement, where he curled up into a ball, gasping for air. He was crying silently, unable to get any more sound out of his mouth. His eyes were wide, but he wasn’t seeing anything. The only sense left working to him was touch, and all it could register was pain – pain like he’d never felt before. It was such pain that even his friends felt it, sympathetically. They KNEW what had happened to him. Cory’s hands clasped over his wounded groin more than told them the tale.

“Jesus-God, dudes, I think Cory busted a nut or somethin’!” One of them yelled.

What an understatement THAT was.

I know, and it saddens me, how he felt. I could feel it too, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I think our connection must have been weakened by then, and for just a moment, I pitied him.

I had hurt him.

I had hurt the boy that I’d been assigned to from birth to protect.

But I hadn’t, not really.
After all, this Cory wasn’t MY Cory.

MY Cory didn’t curse, disrespect his elders, hang out until all hours, lie about what he did, or get into such trouble at school. MY Cory was a good boy. The boy writhing on the concrete in exquisite pain wasn’t a good boy.

He’d gotten just what he deserved.

Still, however, I did take pity on him as he began to choke. I got him through that, eased him onto his side, but I did NOTHING for the pain. I let it flood over him in waves, whispering in his ear what a bad boy he’d been lately and how he deserved it. He cried, of course, and he was still crying when the paramedics came and took him away.

I followed them to the hospital, and I’ll never forget the look on the Attending’s face when they cut Cory’s clothes off of him. “Skateboarder vs. rail, looks like the rail won,” he commented, “Get urology on the line, NOW!”

Cory moaned, and someone gave him a shot. A few seconds later, he turned his head and I could swear that he looked right at me and smiled!

That was six months ago.

Cory had to stay in the hospital for two weeks, as there were complications. It was humiliating, and they didn’t tell him what had happened to him right away. Of course, he was in so much pain and so drugged up that he didn’t know who he was half of the time. The other half, he kept looking over at ME as if he were trying to decided if I was a drug-induced hallucination or not. I just smiled at him and smoothed his hair, doing what I always had done for him. It was wrong of me, I know, but I had laugh when he finally came to.

The first thing that he seemed to realize was that he was in the hospital. He slowly got his eyes focused on the IV in his arm, and then, about a second later, his eyes went very wide. It seemed that he’d recovered his wits, and he groaned in pain. Then he moved a hand down under the covers. His face paled, as he felt at the bandage that I knew was there. Of course, the sensation of the urinary catheter didn’t help him much, either. I’m sure the sensation of finding a few things missing didn’t do much for him, either.

I’d successfully destroyed both of my young Charge’s balls, but there had been (as I said) complications to the surgery to repair the damage. The doctors had removed his separated right testicle, and had had to make two inguinal incisions to chase down the bleeding cords which had drawn up into his body cavity. Of course, the left one was crushed beyond repair, and the mass of useless mush was removed as well. The cords were ligatured and sealed, and the incisions in his abdomen carefully stitched. Cory’s scrotum had been opened up as well, at the onset, and drained of the blood that had pooled up in it. Penrose drains had been installed, but unfortunately, they had become infected. Left with no other alternative, the surgeons had completely removed the infected scrotum as well.

As Cory laid his head back on the pillow again, he started to cry.

I have to confess, that I was not moved.

When the nurse came in later to check on him and saw that he was awake, I thought that the boy would die from embarrassment! She was very professional, however, and made a fuss over him. Cory seemed to like that. Some time later, with more gentle drugs in his system and fresh bandages between his legs, the urologist came in to talk to him. Cory’s Grandparents were also there. He couldn’t face them, it seemed, and I was glad to see that.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, son,” the doctor began.

“M-my balls,” Cory stammered, tears in his eyes again, “Whut…whut h-happened?”

“Seems you had a run-in with a stair railing, young man,” the doctor answered him, in a very matter-of-fact voice. “You fell on it, and smashed both of your testicles. As you already know, we had to remove them.”

“Nooo,” Cory whimpered, shaking his head and refusing to believe it.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. We also had to remove your scrotum as well, as it was badly infected. I’m afraid that this leads us to the problem of complicated skin grafts and reconstruction, if you want to have prosthetic testicles installed later on, to make you look, ummm, more normal,” he added.

I felt something go out of Cory just then. It was as if all of the fight in him had just died. He slowly shook his head.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, “Don’t like it.” Then whimpered softly, “I wanna g-go home!”

“Well of course it hurts, boy,” his Grandfather growled at him, “I just hope you learned something from this!”

The old man sounded very disgusted, and he had every right to be. After all, the boy hadn’t been treating them very well lately.

“I suggested the implants just to give you something to think about,” the doctor clarified, “I mean, what with showering with other boys at school, and given his age, you know, children can be pretty cruel sometimes. He’ll probably be teased unmercifully.”

Cory’s Grandmother made an indelicate sound.

“They’ll tease him, no doubt,” the old man mused, “Boy with no balls, that’ll be somethin’ to see, won’t it?”

Cory started crying again.

“I have to inform you, I don’t think the insurance will cover that kind of reconstructive surgery, as it’s considered cosmetic,” the doctor went on. “It’s liable to be very expensive.”

Cory sighed and turned his head away, and I had to move to his side. Something was so very different just then, and I have to admit, that I liked it – whatever it was.

“He’ll look different, yes,” the doctor agreed, “And the other boys will probably give him a hard time about it, what with just his little penis hanging there all alone. It’s ultimately up to him, though. As for the side effects…”

“WHAT side effects?” Cory piped up, sounding rather shrill. “I don’t have to have this tube up me forever, do I?”

I laughed. I had to.

“No, that’s just to check the progress of blood in the urine. The tube can come out as soon as you’re ambulatory. However, there are some things you should know, Cory.”

I heard his Grandfather snicker. I knew that he knew what was coming next.

“Cory, you’re a boy. You just don’t have testicles anymore. Now, without those, your body won’t have any male hormones. That’s what you’ve been dealing with lately, puberty and all, isn’t it?”

Cory nodded. And he’d not been dealing with it too well, either.

“Voice was changing, you were starting to fill out, getting erections a lot?”

Cory blushed and nodded.

“Well,” The doctor explained, “With no testicles, and no hormones, you won’t be getting erections anymore, Cory. In fact, your penis will probably shrink up quite a bit and remain quite tiny for life. If you were masturbating,” (again, the boy blushed deeply), “You probably won’t be able to do that anymore either. You can’t have children of your own, now, son, since your balls are what make sperm as well. You’re sterile, and you’ll probably be impotent. I want to wait a bit to start you on replacement hormones, shots, or HRT as it’s called.”

“I HATE SHOTS!” Cory exclaimed, cringing in his bed.

His Grandparents looked at him with something bordering on sympathy. It was clear that they still loved him a great deal, but that they were very tired of how he’d been acting.

“Well, with no shots, then,” the doctor explained to him, “You wont’ have erections. You’ll lose your desire to ‘play with it’, as it were, and you won’t grow any body hair. In fact, we had to shave what hair you had to operate on you. It probably wont’ grow back, son, and you’ll not grow any more on your body. You’ll never have to shave your face, either, because you can’t grow a beard now. You’ll also have to watch your diet and exercise, so you don’t get fat. I’m afraid that you’ll never be able to build up much muscle mass, either. A boy’s body depends on hormones for all that to happen, when he becomes a man.”

Cory finally managed to look at them, with a little help from me.

“I’m…I’m not really a b-boy anymore, am I?” He asked dismally. I always said he was a smart kid!

“You don’t have to have balls to be a boy,” I whispered in his ear, and he seemed to relax a bit.

“Technically, you are now what we call ‘a eunuch’,” the doctor said, “But you’re still a boy, really. You’re just a…a castrated boy.”

“Oh,” Cory mumbled, his eyes drooping a bit as the drugs kicked in.

“Let him sleep,” his Grandmother said, “He’s been through so much, poor thing.” Despite the stiff sheets and endless griping about chores, food, house rules and the lot, the old lady still loved him. Such is the nature of love, I suppose, and I was pleased with her.

His Grandfather snorted again. “That boy’s been impossible, here lately. If’n it’s anything like a dog, or a bull, havin’ no balls might settle him down some,” he mused. “Probably do him a world of good!”

At this point, I was literally jumping up and down and wishing that someone could see me!

“It will,” the doctor agreed, “The lack of testosterone in his body will affect his mind as well. He’ll be more docile, more tractable and agreeable. The aggressiveness, you’ll find, will soon wash out of him with the rest of what hormones he has left. I’d give it another two to four weeks at most.”

“He wont’ be … be able to, you know, do it,ever, will he?” Grandmother asked, very much embarrassed, it seemed.

“The boy’s got no wood in the rod anymore, Marge, so no, he won’t!” The old man chortled. Then he looked thoughtful. “He won’ be bringin’ no girls home knocked up, neither!”

“No more stiff sheets then,” Granny sighed blissfully, and Cory very nearly died of humiliation right then and there!

“No,” the doctor agreed. “The orgasms and ejaculations are now a thing of the past. Now, I can set up a schedule of injections, which would do the best for the boy. No one has to know he’s a eunuch. It’ll restore everything, except for the ability to procreate. HRT Gels and patches aren’t usually prescribed in cases of…,”

“Why don’t you hold that thought, Doc?” Grandfather said, as I watched them close the door and leave. “Give him some time to recover.”

Like I said, that was six months ago.

Cory came home, and just as the doctor predicted, the testosterone left his body in a few weeks. Of course, he played with his penis as usual every morning, but after the first week, when it failed to rise for him, he seemed to lose interest in it. Since then, it’s shrunk up to hardly a small nub of a head that the boy only uses for peeing. Baths didn’t seem to take as long, and for some reason, he found comfort in sleeping in his flannel PJ’s again. He even slept through the night without so much as one toss or turn. He went back to school, and although he was now very quiet and somber, he didn’t seem too worse for wear.

I noticed right off that my job seemed to be suddenly very much easier. The skateboard went into the dumpster, and Cory took to things like his computer and his homework. His grades even went back up!

I worked hard to keep him cheerful and out of trouble. I was very afraid that he’d get depressed and just give up. My Counterparts worked on his old friends as well, and soon, Cory was hanging around with them again as if nothing had happened. A couple of them even hugged him after they found out what all had happened to him, and they defended him when anyone who saw his condition tried to make fun of him. Of course, this led to a few fights – but they were the good kind. In the end, it was them who kept him from depression – not some silly little pill.

We were taking the trash out one evening when we saw a package marked Pfizstere Pharmacy in the dumpster. I took a quick ‘peek’ inside the sealed box, and was startled to see syringes and bottles marked “De1po-testosterone, injectable.” It seemed that someone had made Cory’s HRT decision for him.

I put an arm around his narrow shoulders and kissed his cheek. “You don’t need that stuff anyway, do you, Cory?” I asked him, and amazingly, he jerked his head around in every direction, his gray eyes wide. “Who’s there?” He cried. Then he sighed. “God, I’m hearing voices,” he said.

“I certainly HOPE so,” I agreed. “It’s about time!”

Like I said, sometimes I hate my job. It can be hard to do, you know. I’d like to see YOU do better.
But just look at him. Right over there, that’s Cory! The slim boy in the white hoody, you see him? Cory Alvin Wood, my boy. My Charge. My Mission.
The boy with the spikey blonde hair and earrings? See him? We used to call them beautiful boys in my day, those boys who’d never grow a beard or have a deep voice. You don’t see too many of them nowadays, I know. But like I said, I have plans for this one. He’s been through a lot this last year, but he’ll be OK now. He’s a boy after my own heart.

He’s such a good boy, you know.
He’s got a family, a home, friends, money, and a future. And he’s loved. So many boys aren’t, and that’s a sad thing. But Cory also has the ability to love in return. And that’s a RARE gift for a boy. Oh, he still has his faults. He still abuses hair gel, and he leaves the toilet seat up. Balls or not, he can still pee like a ‘real’ boy. He tends to leave the lid off of the toothpaste, and he’s way too addicted to video games. He oversleeps a lot, too. He’s a bit plumper now, but it’s not that bad. I keep him pretty active, really, and he takes it all in stride. I think he’s even used to the fact that he’s a eunuch as well. He certainly is much happier, now. And I know I am, too.

I know that one day, I’ll have to leave him. Someday he’ll grow up, and he’ll no longer need a Guardian Angel to watch over him. But for now, he’s only thirteen. There’s more important things to do, like play baseball, ride bikes (with helmets!), hang out at friends’ houses, and help out his Grandparents around the house. Yes, Cory rediscovered his love of baseball this summer. He’s even joined the Boy Scouts.

Like I said, he’s such a good boy.

I’d write more, but I just got a memo from the Boss. It seems that there’s a boy moving in next door to us with his Uncle, and he’s just about Cory’s age, a bit younger and somewhat sickly. He’s not had it so good in Life, and they want me to take over with the both of them! Word is, they’re going to spend a lot of time together and this new kid really needs a friend.

I’m sure Cory’s up to the task.

I’m just not sure if I am, though!