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» » Timothys Cure « «
Summary: A teenage boy has gotten in with the wrong crowd. Being arrested after stealing a car is the last straw. His mother seeks a cure that will change his behavior and make him a good boy. The trials and triumphs of his treatment and his new life are detailed within...
"Dude, get in quick! We gotta bail, NOW!" Doors slammed shut, as the two boys seated themselves in the Ford. Tires squealed and the engine revved. Far off in the distance, police sirens could be heard. The cool air coursed in through open windows, a sharp contrast to the heat being emitted from the vents. Suddenly, the tell-tale flashing of blue and red lights illuminated the interior of the sedan. The deafening mixture of police siren, engine and moving air intensified the situation. "Sean, they're right behind us! Come on!" shouted Timothy Hasbert, an ordinary looking 13 year old boy sitting in the passenger seat, to his friend. Fear was slowly creeping into the minds of both boys, but the road and all of it's hazards were occupying the concentration of the driver. Sean, only 5 months older than Tim, but already 14, had driven before, but never by himself. He was also driving faster now than he had ever done, and found it noticeably more difficult. Trying to round tight corners at such speeds would give the professional drivers in car commercials a bit of a challenge.
Necessity and adrenaline were the only things keeping Sean in control. Sean and Tim had been lucky so far, the streets were mostly deserted. A change in luck was not far off though.
"Patti, lets close early tonight. I just got a bad feeling, and I want to get home." The worry and concern of Rachel Hasbert's voice was easily detectable. "All right, hun. It's only half an hour till closing anyhow. I don't think anyone's here either." The two women went about their daily routine of locking doors, counting cash and receipts, and turning off the lights. Soon the women were leaving the bookstore, light-heartedly chatting as they parted ways for the night. Rachel, an attractive brunette in her mid-30's had been managing the bookstore for almost 2 years now. It was not a high paying job, but it provided enough of an income for her and her two children to live comfortably. As she turned on her car, the radio began it's familiar music.
She had this lurking bad feeling, but tried to push it to the back of her mind. "It's probably nothing," she thought to herself. She continued driving, the sound of the radio slowly causing the feeling to fade.
"KSFT, your number one light rock radio. Let's check in now with Dean and Laurie from channel 2 for our nightly news update. Our top story tonight: Police began a high speed chase just moments ago, after a man reported that two teenage boys stole his blue Ford escort from a gas station near 6th and Jewel. Watch channel 2 news at nine for all the latest details on this and much more."
Rachel's bad feeling resurfaced, but was soon replaced by thoughts of making dinner, and helping her children with their homework.
Sean had narrowly avoided three collisions so far. Whether it was his dumb luck, or the other drivers' skill, it was hard to say. He knew his luck wouldn't hold out much longer. Florida avenue was one of the busier streets in the city. Tim had already buckled his seatbelt, and Sean began to fumble with his. Then, the inevitable happened. There wasn't enough stopping distance between the Ford and the cars stopped at the red light. The brakes make a terrible noise when so much is demanded of them, but it doesn't mask the sound of metal and glass being crushed. So many things were happening at once it was difficult to sort them all out. Thought ceases and reflex takes over. The Ford rear-ended a stopped vehicle, and it's back end spun into another car. The air-bags deployed just as they were supposed to, allowing Tim and Sean to survive virtually unharmed, aside from being momentarily stunned. Before his mind recovered, Sean had already jumped out of the open window, and tried to run. Tim struggled to find his seatbelt buckle, and open his door.
Tim heard Sean's scream as he was opening his door.
The police officers are well trained to respond to situations like this. Before Sean even left the Ford, Two police officers were approaching it. When Sean tried to run, they were right behind him, and tackled him. That's the scream that Tim heard. The sound of his friend being overtaken and captured. Tim knew there was nothing he could do for his friend, he needed to get away himself. His panic must have blinded him, because he did not see the second pair of police officers rushing toward him. They had their guns drawn and were shouting to him. They might as well have been speaking Chinese, he couldn't understand them with all the commotion around him. The world spun and a whirling convection of sound and light descended on Tim. As he was laying on the ground, he then noticed that his pants were wet, and as he was rolled over on his back so the police could search the pockets on his jeans, he felt a warm sticky mass spread out over his buttocks. Then he noticed the handcuffs as well. The cold steel biting into his wrists caused pain, but the real pain came when he realized what he had done. In minutes he was in the back of a police car, sitting on the plastic seat, with the disgusting feeling of feces spreading over his butt and into his crotch. It was just after the policeman closed the door that the smell hit him, causing full realization of what he had done, and along with it, a fountain of tears and wailing. Soon, he was speeding off to the Peaceful Valley Juvenile Detention Facility.
Tim was too busy being concerned with his accident to notice much on the drive to Peaceful Valley. He was suddenly shocked back to reality by the chilly blast of air that stung him when the Police Officer opened his window to press the button on the drive-up intercom. Upon doing so, a large garage door opened before them, and the Officer drove his cruiser in. The door promptly shut when the car was inside, and the Police officer exited the vehicle.
The Officer opened Tim's door, and told him to step out. Tim did as he was told, hoping the officer wouldn't notice his accident. What he didn't know was that the officer had been well aware of it since the time of arrest. The large wet spot on the front of his jeans and the stench emitted from his rear was a dead giveaway. Officer Jordan led Tim into a moderate sized room, very sterile looking. The white painted cinderblock walls gave an institutional quality to the room. There was a sturdy plastic bench sitting against the wall opposite the door, about three feet high. Officer Jordan removed the handcuffs from Tim's wrists. "Go ahead and have a seat on that bench, and a nurse will be here in a few moments to give you a quick exam, before we book you in," Officer Jordan directed. Tim meekly sat down, and felt the mess shift in his pants. He was uncomfortable, but he didn't dare say anything out of embarrassment. Soon a nurse entered the room, pushing a steel cart. The cart had two doors on the side, and an empty trash bag hanging on the end. Neatly folded on top of the cart were several cloth items. Officer Jordan then left the room and closed the door behind him. The nurse opened the door of the cart, reached in, and pulled out two latex gloves. As she was putting them on, she started speaking to Tim. "Did you have an accident?" "Yes," Tim replied with a hint of a whimper in his voice and his eyes tearing up. "That's ok. Many people have accidents when they're in traumatic situations. It's a natural instinctive response to fear. Now, take off your pants, so I can clean you up." Tim hesitated, then bent down and began to untie his shoes. As he was doing so, the nurse was shuffling items in the cabinet of the cart. Soon she withdrew a plastic box of baby wipes and set it on top of the cart. As she was doing so, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Tim was hesitating again. "Don't worry, the bench is plastic. Just take your pants off and lay down. The janitor will be in here afterwards, and he can clean up the bench." Tim, having no choice and unwilling to disobey the nurse, unzipped his jeans and slowly let them fall. He withdrew his feet from the legholes around his ankles and pushed the pile of jeans aside with his foot. Then he slid his underpants off, being careful to avoid spreading the mess anywhere new. "Go ahead and lay down on the bench, I'll take your pants and underpants and put them in this bag to be cleaned." The nurse carefully picked up the items along with his socks and placed them into a plastic bag, then set it on the floor. She also picked up his shoes and put them on the cart. Tim laid down on his back on the bench, with his knees bent, trying to hide his penis with his legs and hands. He had not developed any pubic hair yet. The nurse turned her attention to him, and instructed him to move his hands away. She grabbed his ankles and raised his legs vertical. While doing so, she took baby-wipes and began to clean his butt off. The unfaltering professional attitude she presented suggested that this was something she was accustomed to. She was very careful and meticulous in cleaning him, and when he was cleaned to her satisfaction, she took another wipe and cleaned the bench. She gently let his legs back down to the position they had started in, and deposited the last wipe in the trash bag on the cart. Then she reached in the cabinet, and withdrew a rather thick white disposable youth sized diaper, and powder. She returned to Tim, generously sprinkled powder on his crotch and butt, then lifted his legs again and slid the diaper underneath him. As before, she gently let his legs down, but this time she separated them and pulled the diaper up between them. As she was doing this, Tim started softly crying. His sobs continued as she taped the diaper snugly around his waist. "I'm not a baby! Why are you doing this to me?" The sudden outburst startled the nurse, and startled Tim also. Up to this point, he had been very submissive and frightened, but being diapered violated his sensibilities. He began to cry louder, thinking that the nurse might get angry at him and punish him. The nurse finished with the diaper, and reached on top of the cart, grabbing a pair of white cotton pants with an elastic waist. "Here put these on." Tim grabbed them from the nurse and put them on. "What's your name?" the nurse asked Tim. Tim's sobbing quieted as he answered her. "My name is Tim." "Ok, Tim, please take off your shirt for me now." She put the stethoscope to her ears, then pressed the cold metal end against Tim's chest. The cold metal caused a slight shudder in Tim. The nurse returned to the cart, picking up a clipboard that was formerly hidden beneath the pants which Tim was now wearing. She wrote several things down, then picked up the other cloth item from the cart and handed it to Tim. He took the shirt from the nurse and put it on. "Tim, I know you're not a baby, but you've been through a traumatic experience and your body is in shock. The diaper will keep you from being embarrassed, if you have any more accidents, and it'll help you sleep better tonight." Tim gave a small nod of acceptance. This explanation seemed reasonable to him, after all, he hadn't messed his pants in almost 8 years, and he had no other explanation for it's cause. The nurse then picked up the bag of dirty clothes, twisted the top of the bag closed, and affixed a label over the twist. "Officer Jordan is going to take you out and fingerprint you now," the nurse said as she wheeled the cart to the door. "Have you had dinner tonight?" "No," Tim replied. The nurse left the room.
Tim heard the jingling of keys outside the door of the exam room, followed by Officer Jordan entering the room, carrying a pair of sandals. "Tim, put these on and come with me to the booking area. I need to take your fingerprints, then we'll get you something to eat." Tim slid the sandals on his feet and reluctantly followed Officer Jordan to the booking area, all the time wondering if the policeman knew that he was wearing a diaper. It seemed to Tim that it was plainly visible to the whole world, even though it was totally covered by the white prison-issue pants and the long white prison issue shirt. A tell-tale soft rustle could be faintly heard with each step that Tim took, but Officer Jordan made no indication of awareness. The short hallway outside the exam room terminated in a large open room, with offices and various other rooms branching off from every wall. It had the same white painted cinder-block walls as the exam room, with drab grey doors. In the center of the room, there was a circular console, in the middle sat two more uniformed officers. Officer Jordan lead Tim to a machine along the wall, and picked up Tim's right hand by the wrist. "Hey, Jim, is that the boy from the car chase?" asked one of the officers seated at the console. "Yeah, this is the passenger," Officer Jordan responded as he methodically pressed and rolled each of Tim's fingers on the glass plate in the center of the machine. After capturing a complete set of fingerprints with the machine, Officer Jordan lead Tim to a chair at the counter on the outside of the console. "Sit tight for a few, and I'll go fetch you some dinner, Tim" Officer Jordan proceeded to go through one of the grey doors. After a few minutes of uncomfortably looking around the plain room, Tim noticed the grey door open again and Officer Jordan appeared, carrying a small plastic sack with food in it. Tim eagerly ripped the sack open, his hunger finally catching up to him. He voraciously ate the two bologna and cheese sandwiches, the orange and the dry brownie. All of this was washed down by a small carton of milk. Officer Jordan was conversing with the two policemen behind the console. As he was eating, Tim overheard one of them say "We're gonna need a room in special management for this big guy." When he was done eating, he was led by Officer Jordan through one of the grey doors, down a dimly lit hallway, through another grey metal door into the special management module. There were twelve cells with doors accessible from the special management module. Each of the doors had two windows in them. They were painted in the same grey color as all of the other doors in this place, each having a white number painted boldly across the bottom half of the door. Tim was taken to cell 7. Officer Jordan unlocked the door, motioned for Tim to go in, then closed the door behind him. Inside, there wasn't much space, but it was well used. There was a stainless steel toilet/sink combo attached to one of the walls, a plastic chair, and a steel bed bolted to the floor. A thin vinyl covered foam rubber mattress was placed on top of the steel bed, with sheets, blankets and a pillow arranged neatly on top. Timothy sat down on the bed. He felt tired, exhausted from the day's ordeal. He soon found himself asleep.
Rachel Hasbert arrived home. It was only a 15 minute drive from the bookstore to her home, but tonight it felt like an hour. She did not know the reason for the uneasy, sinking feeling that had been in the back of her mind since she closed the store. She figured that it would all be forgotten when she got home and ate dinner with her two children. As she stepped through the front door, she called out, "Mommie's home." Her eleven year old daughter, Carrie, came down the stairs and hugged her. Rachel began the usual mothering. "How was school today, Carrie?" "Fine. Today in art class I painted a picture of a unicorn." "Did you bring it home for me to see?" "No, it's not finished yet." "Where's Tim?" "He didn't come home today." Suddenly, Rachel's uneasy feeling became a snarling monster, infusing her with fear. "Has anyone called?" she asked. "No, mommie," Carrie replied, wondering at her mother's strange reaction. This wasn't the first time that Tim hadn't come home till late. It was only 7:45, Tim had been known to stay at friend's houses playing nintendo and the like till late, but he usually called. Visions of the horrific possibilities invaded Rachel's mind, each one worse than the last, each one sending a wave of fear coursing through her body. She began to call some of Timmy's friends, hoping he was at someone else's house. As she called Timmy's friends, she popped TV dinners into the microwave and cooked them. By the time she had cooked two dinners, she had called all of Timmy's friends that she knew. Her fear became more real when none of them had reported having Tim over that afternoon. Rachel and her daughter ate in silence. Rachel kept trying to convince herself that Tim was just out at a new friend's house, and would be home any minute, despite the sense of dread that had developed back at the bookstore. It took all her concentration to try to bury memory of recent events involving Timmy. Two weeks ago, he and his friend Sean had set fire to a small field. The fire department determined that the two boys had been playing with gasoline. She had a stern talk with Tim, and had given him a good spanking. Thoughts of her being a bad mother, and Timmy running away crossed her mind. Finally, after eating the TV dinner, which seemed to have no taste, no texture, almost as if it were a dream, she was able to calm herself. "Timmy's just at a new friends house. He'll be home any minute now. I don't need to worry," was the mantra she repeated to herself. The calm was an illusion, but an illusion was better than the very real fear. "Carrie, did you finish your homework?" "I didn't have any homework tonight, mommy." "Do you want to go take a shower before bed-time?" "Okay mommy." Carrie quickly scrambled up the staircase to the second floor. Shortly, Rachel heard the water start running. The usual sounds of any normal day. A small comfort, helping to enmake the illusion of calm. Then there was an unexpected sound. The doorbell reverberating through the house. Relief washed the fear, and the illusion of calm from Rachel's mind. "Timmy must be home," she thought. When the mind is looking for reassurance, little things are often overlooked. Timmy wouldn't use the doorbell, he lived here. He had his own key. This did not matter. Someone had come to the door, and it could only be Timmy, she reasoned. Answering the door proved different than she expected. Standing outside was a policeman, dressed in a very neat pressed navy blue uniform. Polished badge and nametag on his breast, radio microphone clipped to his shoulder. "Mrs. Hasbert?" "Yes?" Rachel's eyes began to tear up. "May I come in?" "Y-yes, officer. Please come in and have a seat." She was near a breakdown. "Is this about Timmy?" The policeman entered the room, closed the front door, and took a seat on the couch in the living room. Rachel sat on the chair opposite the coffe table from where the policeman sat. "Mrs. Hasbert, I'm Jeff Daniels with the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department. Earlier this evening, your son was involved in an accident with a stolen car." The uneasy feeling became terror in Rachel's mind. It brought back memories of years ago, when her husband died. She feared the worst. It never occured to her that Timmy might have stolen the car. "Is Timmy all right?" "Yes. Timothy was unharmed due to the airbags, and his wearing a seatbelt. After the crash, he tried to run, but was safely apprehended. He's being held at the Peaceful Valley Juvenile Detention Facility. Due to the nature of the crimes he has commited, we can't release him to you. He's going to stay under county supervision until he's been formally charged and had a bond hearing." The shock of this news took hold of Rachel. She sat quietly, retreating into herself. This situation hadn't ever entered her mind. She was almost in a trance, her head clouded with bewilderment. "Did they have the right person?" she wondered. "Can I see him?" "No, Mrs. Hasbert, There's no visitations after 5:00 p. m. Timothy's scheduled for a court appearance inside the detention facility tomorrow at 10:00 a. m. You can visit him tomorrow. Here's a pamphlet with details about the detention center. I've also got one here from the Red Cross about coping with traumatic situations. I think you should take it as well." "W-W-Why Why did Timmy get arrested?" Rachel said as some strange make reached her arms out to take the pamphlets. The idea of Tim commiting a crime was as absurd to her as the idea of elephants wearing tutus. "Your son was in the passenger seat of the stolen vehicle when it crashed into several other vehicles at a traffic signal." Suddenly, the news headline from the radio when she was driving home popped into her mind. "Who was the other boy?" Rachel asked. "His parent's haven't been contacted yet, so I can't release any information." Rachel's blank pale face displayed the severity and shock of the news. "If you have any questions, you can reach me at this number," said Officer Daniels, as he took one of his business cards and underlined a phone number on it. He promptly stood up, exited the home, and securely closed the door behind him. To Rachel, the whole conversation had a dream-like quality. "It wasn't real, it couldn't be real," the thought kept racing through her mind. "Mommy, who was that?" The trance faded at the sound of her daughter's voice. "That was a policeman, honey. Timmy's going to spend the night at a friend's house." "How come he gets to spend the night on a school night?" "Are you ready for bed honey?" Rachel's voice had that "don't argue with my, missy" tone to it, so Carrie did not push the issue. "Yes mommy." Rachel proceeded up the stairs, and into her daughter's room. She hugged Carrie extra long, she kissed her an extra goodnight kiss, and tucked her in twice as gently. All the while, whispering "I love you so much, honey" Rachel's mind was a mess. Things didn't make sense. So much was going on, she couldn't comprehend it. Somehow, without realizing it, she had gone through her usual nightly routine of locking the doors, turning out the lights, and changing into her nightgown. She descended into a fitful sleep, full of nightmares, followed by waking up to the same dreamlike state that had engulfed her during the conversation with the policeman.
Tim thought he would never be able to get to sleep that night. Being in such a strange place, and wearing such strange clothing unnerved him. His conscious mind told him that wearing a diaper was almost painful. At the same time, there was a comforting feeling to it. It's like getting hugged and kissed by your mother in front of all your friends. It's extremely embarrassing, but at the same time, it's full of love and comfort. The feeling of the thick mass between his legs every time he tried to squeeze them together brought back memories of better times long past. He knew he would never soon forget this experience. Tim woke up several times during the night, just long enough to see the faint rumors of flourescent light streaming in through the windows in the door of the cell. Awake barely long enough to be reminded that he was not in his own bed, not in his own house. There was another sensation. He couldn't identify it. It stirred memories and visions of when his father died, of when he started wetting the bed again. His recurrance of bedwetting lasted two months after that tragic event, but he became dry again. Out of concern that he may have wet the bed again, he sweeped his arm down to his side, and felt the sheets. The place where he had been laying was warm to the touch, but it was not wet. The impending possibility of embarrassment lifted, and he fell alseep again. Three times during the night this happened. A loud sound awakened Tim. It was like a heavy new hardcover textbook being dropped on a concrete floor. The sound echoed from the cinderblock walls of the room outside the cell. It happened again, and again. Soon, Tim understood the source of the sound. Each cell door had a hinged metal panel about mid-way up the door. It could be unlocked and dropped down so things could be passed through the door without opening the whole door, and allowing a chance of escape. Something stopped the panels at a 90 degree angle to the door, in effect, forming a small table. "Breakfast time!" came the emotionless shout from the policeman.
As Tim sat up in bed and turned so his legs hung off the edge of the steel bed, he felt an odd feeling between his legs. He remembered he was wearing a diaper, but there was a different feeling about it this morning than what he remembered about last night. It felt squishier. As he stood up, a very faint smell of urine passed by his nose. He looked down and saw that he was dry, but as a precaution, he pulled back the blankets and inspected his bed again. The policeman came by, and placed a large plastic tray with a plastic top over it onto the little table made by the panel in the door. Tim took the tray, removed the top and placed the top back on the little table. The smell of unflavored oatmeal tinged his face with disgust. He sat down in the plastic chair in his cell, setting the tray on his lap, and began to mechanically eat the oatmeal. It was extremely unappetizing, but he was hungry, and there was no alternative. Soon the policeman came by again, this time leaving a plastic mug filled with milk on the passthrough in the door. Tim quickly finished the oatmeal, half an orange, and two slices of buttered toast provided for his breakfast, and drank down the milk. Time dragged by. There was nothing to do inside of this jail cell. Eventually, the policeman came by again and collected up the tray and its top, and the mug, checking the tray to make sure the plastic spork was returned. There was a click, then a voice emanating from outside the cell announced, "Timothy Hasbert, please come out of your cell." Tim cautiously stood up again, and walked to the door. He peered out, saw no one, and gave the door a gentle push. To his surprise, it opened. Ever cautious, he stepped out of the cell and looked around. He saw an open doorway, with a male nurse standing in it, beckoning for Tim to come to him.
Tim did so, and was led out through the hallway, into a small room, very similar to the exam room from the previous night, except smaller. Again, it had a plastic bench against one wall. This room had a counter piled with various cloth items, a sink, and beneath it all, three cabinet doors. The nurse directed Tim to have a seat on the bench, and take off his pants. A wave of embarrassment surged over Tim, but he did as he was told. The nurse went to the counter, reached in a box on the countertop and began to put on latex gloves. After doing so, the nurse shot a glance in Tim's direction, specifically at his diaper. Tim hadn't noticed it last night, but there was blue printing plainly visible on the outside of the diaper. It said in bold blue letters, "Medium." The nurse reached into the cabinet in the middle, grabbed something and set it on the counter. The nurse then retrieved the powder and the baby wipes from on top of the counter and carried them over to the bench where Tim was now sitting, in only a shirt and diaper. "You go by Tim, or Timothy?" the nurse asked. "Tim" "Okay, Tim, go ahead and lay down on the bench for me." Tim did so, unwilling to provide any resistance, for fear of being punished.
Tim didn't know how they might punish him if he were to disobey, but he imagined that it would be some terribly painful way. The nurse untaped the diaper, and peeled it away from Tim's skin. The air washing over Tim's diaper area felt colder than the air against the rest of him. "I see you wet your diaper last night. Have you ever wet your bed before?" It was a truth Tim could have done without hearing. It made sense of his feelings last night though. The cold touch of the baby wipes didn't ease his present discomfort. "No, I'm not a baby. I don't wet the bed." "You've been through a traumatic experience. Sometimes the body regresses to help deal with the stress. I need to know if you've ever wet the bed before so I can determine if you're getting sick or not." A dilemma presented itself to Tim. If he was sick, they might give him shots, and do other bad things to him. If he told them that he wet the bed, they might keep him in a diaper. He didn't want either. The undeniable but distant feeling of comfort that the diapers gave him made the decision easier. "I used to wet my bed after my daddy died," Tim answered in a small voice. The nurse walked to the counter, and grabbed the item he set there before. He began unfolding it as he walked back to the bench. Tim realized that it was another diaper. Tim had already been prepared for this, almost expected it. The nurse asked Tim to raise his but, and Tim did so. With speed and efficiency, the nurse finished the removal of the old diaper, the powdering, and the replacement of the new diaper. Unlike the used diaper, the new diaper did not have blue writing down the middle of it.
Rachel gently shook Carrie's shoulder. "Time to get up, honey child." Upon waking, Carrie received a long hug from her mother. "Get dressed, and then come downstairs. I made bacon and eggs for breakfast." With that, Rachel left the room and went back down the stairs to the kitchen. She pulled the newly browned slices of bread from the toaster and smeared butter across them. Soon Carrie came down the stairs, wearing a Tigger T-shirt partially covered by overalls. She sat at the kitchen table, and was presented with a plate heaping with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Rachel sat down at the table across from her. "Say prayers, honey." They each bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and folded their hands. "God is great, God is good, and we thank him for this food. Amen." As soon as Carrie finished with the blessing, they began to eat. When the meal was done, Carrie rushed up the stairs into the bathroom to wash her hands, and brush her teeth. She had been woken up late this morning, and it was almost time to leave for school. Rachel cleared the dishes from the table. When Carrie came back down the stairs, Rachel hugged her again. "If you need to call me, use my pager. I won't be at work today." "Okay, mom." "Have fun at school today, and don't get into any trouble." Rachel knew that Carrie was a good student, and didn't cause trouble, but thoughts of Tim's arrest made her blurt out the warning. Carrie put on her shoes, and rushed out the door, grabbing her backpack along the way. Rachel moved to the window in the living room, and watched as Carrie walked down the street to the bus stop. The bus came, picked up everyone at the bus stop, and only then, after the bus left, did Rachel leave her post at the window. She immediately went to the phone in the kitchen and dialed her assistant manager of the bookstore, Patti. "Hi, Patti." "Hi, Rachel, what's going on?" "Oh, Patti, can you run the bookstore today?" "Why of course, Rachel, what's wrong?" "Timmy was arrested last night." "Arrested, you're joking, right?" "No. A policeman stopped by last night, and said they arrested Timmy, and he's being held at Peaceful hills or something like that." Rachel's voice choked up, as tears welled in her eyes. "Oh my God! Is he all right?" "They said he wasn't hurt. I'm going to go see him today." "How are you holding up?" "I couldn't sleep last night, worrying about him. I've got to call an attorney now too, and find out what's going on." "Dear, don't worry about the bookstore. I'll take care of it." "Thanks Patti." "Bye-bye now, Rachel" Patti's friendship and willingness to step in helped calm Rachel. She regained her poise, and began to search for the number of her business attorney. "Here it is... French, Dewell & Mathis." She quickly dialed the number, and was greeted by a receptionist. "French Dewell and Mathis, Attorneys. How may I help you?" "I need to speak to Mr. French." "May I tell him who's calling?" "Rachel Hasbert" "Please hold" There was no hold music, but the wait was not long. A booming male voice soon picked up the other end. "Rachel! How are you doing?" "Jerry, my son got arrested last night." "Did they release him to you after the arrest?""No, they're holding him someplace. He's got a trial or something at 10 this morning." "Okay. Can you come down here right away?" "Thank you so much, Jerry. I just don't know what's going on..." "Ok, Rachel, just stay calm. We'll get it straightened out." As Rachel was hanging up, she heard the muted mumbles of Jerry French talking with his receptionist, probably checking the day's schedule. Rachel wasted no time in readying herself to leave the house. Within 45 minutes, she was out the door, in her car and driving to the attorney's office. When she arrived, Jerry French was standing at the reception desk, and ushered her into his office. "I called the DA's office while you were on your way over here. Timothy is going to have what's called a bond hearing, and filing of charges, at 10. The bond hearing is where they set the bond. Depending on the amount, you can either pay cash, or go to a bail bondsman to get the money. They're not charging Tim with car theft, they think he was just an accomplice. Usually something like this is difficult to guess at, but since he's a child still, the bond most likely won't be set over ten-thousand dollars." Rachel gasped at the figure. "I usually specialize in business and real-estate law, Joe Mathis has much more criminal law experience. Joe is out of the office today, so I'll be more than happy to represent you at the hearing." "Thank you so much, Jerry." "It's getting close to 10:00. I'll drive you to the detention center." Rachel willingly accepted the offer, and together they walked out to Mr. French's Subaru Outback. Jerry French had a folder with several papers in it, one of them containing directions to Peaceful Valley. As he seated himself in the driver's seat, he set the directions on top of the folder. It was a twenty minute drive to Peaceful Valley. As they approached, Rachel noted how it didn't look at all like prisons she'd seen in movies. From the outside, it was a beautifully architectured building, with immaculate landscaping. It bore quite a resemblance to a school. There was even a playground, with a tall chain-link fence surrounding it. Jerry French and Rachel parked near the main entrance to the building. They walked quickly up the concrete walkway, and up the three steps to the main doors. The striking contrast between the barren insides of the center and the colorful, almost cheerful outside became apparent when they opened the main doors. Inside the doors, they found a sparsely decorated lobby, a few plastic chairs sitting against white cinderblock walls, and a reception window. They walked directly to the reception window, and were greeted by a woman wearing a police uniform. "Sign in on the clipboard," the policewoman grunted, in a slightly nasal voice. As Jerry and Rachel were signing in, the officer walked over to the reception window, reached under the counter, and pushed a button, allowing the gray metal door next to the reception window to open. Jerry and Rachel proceeded through, and were escorted by the policewoman to the courtroom.
After finishing the diaper change, the nurse took Tim back to his cell. The boredom of being in a cell all alone caught up with him before long. To pass the time, he stood on the bed, and looked out of the window. The window was about three-quarters as wide as the wall against which the bed rested, but was only four inches high. The vibrant colors of the grass, flowers, trees, and rising sun caused a pang of homesickness. The view outside only drove off the boredom for a few minutes. Tim ended up sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging his feet. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There were no clocks in sight. The only measure of time was the slow filling of Tim's bladder. He barley noticed it happening. Every once in awhile, Tim heard someone walking, then pausing, then walking then pausing then walking again. As the footsteps approached his cell, he caught a glimpse of a police officer staring in at him. As quick as he had come, the police man started walking away to the next cell. It could have been every 10 minutes, or only once an hour. Tim had no clue. After seeing this routine six or seven times, a new event took place. Instead of walking to each cell, the policeman went directly to Tim's cell, and opened the door. The large man stepped inside and told Tim to stand up. Tim did so, and the officer approached him. The officer placed handcuffs on his wrists, but handcuffed his hands in front of him instead of behind him. "It's time for court. Go out the door, to your left, and into the hallway." Tim silently followed the orders, all the while feeling the imposing presence of the police officer behind him. "Make a right here," the officer directed him. "Right here, and all the way to the end of the hall." The highly polished tile floors reflected their images as they walked. "Stand with your back against that wall," the policeman bellowed out as they reached the end of the hall. Tim could hear an electric motor run briefly, then the officer opened the door. Inside, the walls were different. They were wallpapered, using a very conservative pattern. It was plainly obvious that this was a courtroom. There was a large wooden desk sitting on a raised part of the floor in one corner of the room. Behind the desk, there was an empty tall-backed leather chair, a large state seal hanging on the wall, and two flags. A closed door on one of the walls behind the desk opened, and an older woman stepped into the courtroom. She was wearing a white blouse, and a long navy blue skirt. The woman was carrying a stack of papers, which she sat on the judge's desk.
The policeman directed Tim to a table sitting before the judge's desk, facing it. Tim sat down. To his right, there was a podium, and to the right of that, at a right angle to the table he was sitting at, was another similar table. After setting the stack of papers down, the woman organized them, picked several up again, and walked over to the other table with them.
There was a clock on the wall, it read 9:50. After soaking in his surroundings for a few minutes, Tim began to relax. The door behind him, the one he had entered through, opened again. A short black-haired police woman entered, followed by a man in a suit, and his mother. Tim did a double take. Rachel rushed over to Tim, picked him up and gave him big hug. A few tears escaped her eyes. Jerry French went and shook hands with the woman in the navy skirt. He chuckled a bit, and talked to her for several minutes. When he returned to the table where Tim and Rachel were, he explained that the woman was from the D. A.'s office. Jerry further explained that Ashley Canbury had been a legal assistant of his, before she became a D. A. The policewoman who escorted Mr. French and Rachel quietly slipped out of the room. The policeman who had walked Tim to the courtroom was still in the room, seated in a chair near the door. A second woman entered the courtroom through the door behind the judge's desk, and moved to a desk beside the judge's, facing Tim. The woman promptly announced, "All rise," then almost immediately afterward, "Please be seated." It was comedic, how quickly it had been done, but that's all the time Judge Farnstock needed to enter the room and seat himself. During the brief instant when Tim had begun to stand, he noticed the fullness of his bladder.
Judge Farnstock had a deep, grumbling voice. "Okay, First order of business this morning..." he said as he shuffled papers on his desk. "The people vs. Timothy Hasbert," he continued. The D.A. stood up and started speaking. "The first item this morning is the filing of charges regarding people vs. Timothy Hasbert." She handed a document to the secretary sitting beside the judge's desk. The secretary in turn handed it to the judge. Ashley also handed a copy of the document to Mr. French. As Judge Farnstock was glancing over the document, Mr. French moved to the podium. "Your Honor, Jerry French, Bar 7202, on behalf of the defendant, Timothy Hasbert. We'd like to waive reading of the charges." Judge Farnstock looked up at the D. A. She looked back at him, then looked down again. "Okay, the reading is waived. Ms. Canbury, do you have a recommendation for the bond amount?" As the D. A. began speaking, Tim felt his ever filling bladder begging to be emptied again. It was extremely uncomfortable, and he unconsciously began bouncing his knee up and down, trying to relieve the pressure. "Yes, your honor. I would ask that a bond in the amount of 50,000 dollars be set, with the conditions that Timothy be released to a parent or guardian, and that he have no contact with the accomplice. I also recommend that he be evaluated by a behavioral psychologist." Jerry French immediately rebutted. "Your honor, this is an unreasonable request. Timothy did not actually commit the alleged crime, he is just being charged as an accomplice. His mother, who is present today, is an active, involved parent, and has been manager of a prominent bookstore in town for the last 2 years. We do agree to the conditions specified by Ms. Canbury, though." Ms. Canbury started again. "Your honor, Timothy was an accomplice to car theft, and contributed to a crash involving two other vehicles. He also was involved in an altercation about two weeks ago where a field was set on fire with gasoline." "Given the fact that Timothy is only being considered as an accomplice, I think 50,000 is unreasonable. Bond for an adult in the same position would only be half that." At that instant, Tim couldn't hold the pressure of his bladder back. He began to pee into his diaper. A worried look pasted itself on his face. No one else seemed to take notice. "The recommended bond for a juvenile involved with a crime of this type is 15,000. In light of his mother being present, willing and able to take custody of him, I believe a bond of ten thousand would be appropriate," the judge continued. Ms. Canbury shot a glance to Mr. French. "Bond is set at ten thousand dollars cash surety, with the conditions that Timothy cannot leave the state, and shall have no contact with the alleged accomplice, Sean Dunham. Timothy is ordered to undergo an evaluation by a state certified psychologist, with results to be submitted to the court, sometime before his arraignment. Let's set this case for an arraignment on, Hmmm," the judge flipped the page of a notebook, "uhmmm, Tuesday, March 13, at the district courthouse." Jerry French thumbed through his planner, and browsed the schedule for March 13. "Before noon on the 13th?" he asked. "March 13, 10 a. m. will work," announced the legal secretary, as she scrambled to write the date down. "Okay. Tuesday, March 13, 10 a. m. at the justice complex. Court dismissed," bellowed the judge as he stood up and left the room. Tim continually hoped that no one had noticed him wetting his diaper. He knew it shouldn't have happened. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but his diaper was more comfortable after he wet in it. "Tim, time to go back to your cell." The policeman had moved behind Tim undetected. "I'm going to get you out of here as soon as I can, Timmy," Rachel cried out as she hugged him one last time. The policeman then led Tim through the door in the back of the room, back down the hall, and to his cell. Jerry French instructed Rachel on the intimacies of posting bond as they drove away from the detention facility toward Mr. French's office and Rachel's car. Mr. French also indicated that he wanted to have a meeting with Rachel and Timothy, after his release. As Tim and the policeman were walking to the cell, the faint odor of urine followed Tim. Had there been anything to occupy a person's concentration while walking down the empty hall, it might have gone by unnoticed. After securing Tim in his cell, the policeman left and informed the nurse. Tim heard the click from the door of his cell, and the voice on the loudspeaker instructed him to come out. He did so, only to see the male nurse standing at the doorway to the hall, motioning to him. Tim followed the nurse to the changing room. When the door of the changing room was closed, the nurse instructed Tim to take off his pants. As Tim pulled down his pants, he noticed blue writing down the center of his diaper was visible. "Just as he thought," the nurse silently muttered. The nurse again donned latex gloves, reached into the middle cabinet and withdrew a diaper. With the same speed and efficiency as the earlier diaper change, he proceeded. In a matter of minutes, the task was completed. Timothy was silent, beginning to accept the routine. He was returned to his cell for another long wait. The loud clang of the passthrough being dropped down signaled lunch time. Lunch was served in the same manner as breakfast, in large plastic trays, with a plastic mug of milk on the side. Today's lunch consisted of a boiled hot dog with a soggy bun, a scoop of potato salad, and a square of chocolate cake. Timothy sat in the plastic chair with the tray on his lap and started to dress the hot dog with the packets of condiments provided. He munched slowly on the meal, enjoying the flavor. The blandness of breakfast was erased by this meal. Afterward, Tim laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He saw the officers on patrol once, twice, then one came and unlocked his door. "Time to go home, Tim" Tim's heart leapt with joy. He sprung out of bed and eagerly followed the policeman. There was no cautious reluctance in his actions as there had been earlier. He was taken to a room with his jeans, T-shirt, socks and shoes in it. The mess had been cleaned from his clothing, and each piece was neatly folded. The officer told him to change back into his clothes, and put the detention facility clothing in the sack hanging on the wall. Then the officer closed the door. Timothy pulled down the prison pants, and threw them into the sack, then removed the shirt and did the same. He reached to untape the diaper, but something stopped him. The muscles in his arm slowly relaxed, and he moved toward the chair where his folded clothes lay. He slipped his underpants on over the diaper, pulled up his jeans, zipped and buttoned them, and put on his shirt. Socks and shoes came next. As he was tying his shoe, someone knocked on the door, and asked, "Are you ready to go yet Tim?" "Just a sec. I'm putting on my shoes." The door opened, and the policeman stood watching Tim finish off the knot. Soon, Tim and his mother were reunited. That moment lasted an eternity. Rachel lifted Tim slightly off his feet while hugging him. She kissed his forehead numerous times. "Oh, Timmy, are you all right?" "Yeah, mom, I'm fine." "You didn't get hurt did you?" "No, mom." "Oh, Timmy, I'm just so happy to see you again." Tim enjoyed the warm embrace of his mother, and did not struggle even though it lasted forever. Like all good things, it came to an end. "Did they give you lunch, Timmy?" "Yeah, mom. I had a hot dog, and a brownie." "Did you get enough to eat?" "Yeah." The conversation continued as they walked out of the detention center, Rachel asking many questions about her son's experience in the detention center. As they drove away, Tim was silent, absorbing all the sights around him, as if seeing them for the first time. Having his freedom taken away, even for such a short time, had quite an impact on him. "Timmy, do you remember Mr. French, the lawyer?" "Kind of. Why?" "He's going to help us out when the trial comes. We're going to go talk to him now." "Okay." The interior of Mr. French's office was full of darker colors. Mr. French sat behind a rather large polished wooden desk. The desk stirred memories of the one the judge had been sitting at. Behind Mr. French a tall bookcase sat, filled with many indistinguishably different volumes. The items on top of the desk were neatly organized. When Rachel and Tim entered the office, Jerry French immediately stood, and offered a handshake to Tim. "Hi, Tim. I'm Mr. French." "Hi," a weak voice maked out of Tim's lungs as he shook hands. He had met Mr. French before, at a Christmas party or something, but barely remembered. "Have a seat." As Mr. French sat down, he picked up a yellow legal pad and a pen from the center of his desk. "Tim, I want to let you know that you can be perfectly honest with me. Whatever you tell me, no one else gets to know. I'm going to help you, but I need to know everything that you did. If you did something wrong, don't be afraid to tell me. I'm not going to be angry, and your mother isn't going to be angry. But I need to know the truth, you understand?" "Yes, Mr. French" Tim's mouth was becoming dry. The words barely creaked out. "Okay, Tim. Tell me a little bit about what happened after school yesterday." Tim began the story of the events leading up to his arrest, at first attempting to cover up his part in the events, while Mr. French furiously wrote notes on his notepad. Little contradictions arose, and the more questions Mr. French asked, the clearer the story became. Tim was quick to realize that he couldn't hide things from Mr. French, and gave up trying. It had been Tim's idea to steal the car, Sean was driving because Tim had no experience. Concern filled Mr. French's face as the details were made clear. "I understand you were involved in an incident about two weeks ago, a field burned down?" "Uhmmm... Sean and I were playing with a can of spray paint and a lighter.
We tried to make a flamethower with a squirt gun." "How did you make the flamethrower?" "I filled the squirt gun with gasoline." "Go on..." Tim continued with all the details, ending with the fire department showing up to put out the blaze. Rachel filled in details as to the magnitude of the emergency response. Rachel hadn't know that it was Tim's idea to use gasoline. Tim had told her that it was his friend's idea. This dishonesty disturbed her. She had always though that her son was an angel, incapable of serious wrongdoing. "Okay, Tim. I appreciate your being honest with me. Are there any other things you did that I should know about?" "No." Mr. French stood up, walked around from behind his desk, moving toward the door. "Come with me, Tim." Tim looked at his mother, who gave a nod. Tim stood and followed Mr. French out the door. Mr. French showed Tim to a chair in the waiting area, and a dish filled with candies sitting on the reception desk. "I'm going to talk with your mother for a while. You wait here. We'll be done soon." Mr. French returned to his office, and closed the door. "Rachel, I'm very concerned with what I've been hearing from Tim." "He's always been a good boy. He's never done anything like this before. He told me his friend got the gasoline." The tone of her voice clearly conveyed the sense of betrayal she was feeling. "These are very disturbing patterns. The court ordered a psychological exam, but even if it weren't ordered, I think it would be appropriate." "They aren't going to take him away from me, are they?" The pain was evident in Rachel's voice. No amount of betrayal could overcome her love for her children. "No, no, they won't do that. First they'd have to find cause to believe that you were negligent as a parent, and I don't think that's the case. Tim may need therapy, though. I know a psychologist, he's been a good friend of mine since college. He's got a practice over in the Burning Tree professional building. I can schedule an appointment for Tim, if you like." Mr. French pushed a button on his phone. The speaker became active. "Mary,
can you set up an appointment for Tim this afternoon with Dr. Scovill?" "Sure, Jerry." The speaker became silent again. Mr. French began some idle conversation to try to lighten the mood. He cracked a joke, and Rachel was giggling when the speaker sparked to life again. Jerry, I've got a 1:30 set up for Tim at Dr. Scovill's." "Thanks, Mary," he replied to his receptionist, then hit a button to silence the intercom. "Rachel, do you know where you're going?" "Yeah, I've been taking my kids to another doctor in the same building since we moved here." "Okay, you better get going, there's not much time." A quick goodbye sent Rachel and Timothy on their way to the Burning Tree professional building in search of Dr. Scovill. It was a ten minute drive, and another three minutes to find a parking place. As they entered the reception area, A cheerful young receptionist greeted them. "Hi, you must be Timothy. Dr. Scovill is ready to see you. Just have a seat for one second, while I go get him." Rachel and Tim sat together on a couch. There was quite a selection of magazines sitting on the coffee table before them. There were several modern art paintings gracing the walls of this cheerful third floor reception area. The vivid colors and odd shapes of the paintings captured one's attention. A man emerged into the reception area. "Hello Mrs. Hasbert, Hello Timothy. I'm Dr. Mark Scovill." Rachel stood up to shake hands with the tall, handsome, dark haired man. He reminded her of her late husband. He had an air of friendly professionalism about him. "Well, Timothy, let's get started. My office is back this way." While Tim and Dr. Scovill were in the office, Rachel received a clipboard from the receptionist, and filled out the paperwork upon it. Then Rachel read magazines. She read through several magazines, cover to cover. She was a quick reader, but it still occupied her for more than an hour. Timothy came bounding back into the reception area. "Mom, Dr. Scovill wants to see you. I'll show you where he is." Rachel followed Tim to Dr. Scovill's office. "Tim, you can wait out in the reception room. I need to talk with your mother for a bit." Tim bounded back out to the reception room. For whatever reason, he was full of energy, and in a very good mood. Rachel closed the door of the office and had a seat. "Mrs. Hasbert, Timothy showed a couple of warning signs that I'm very concerned about. On the outside, he's a very well adjusted, likable young man. I gave him a psychological profile test, which indicated that he's having trouble dealing with some of his emotions. This could be a very serious problem if it continues into his adulthood. He's already been arrested once, and it could be the start of a pattern if it's not treated now. I think a type of behavior modification program would be effective for Tim." "What kind of treatment?" "The standard treatment for difficulties such as Timothy's involves a prescription medication and weekly behavior modification therapy. These therapy sessions would typically continue for two to three years, with the medication probably continuing into adulthood. There is also another type of behavior modification, but it is very rare." "Behavior modification sounds so severe, so harsh." "Let me continue. This second form of therapy is more of a re-training. Almost like letting Tim grow up again, to develop the tools to cope with his negative feelings. This second form of therapy only works for a specific type of individual with strong support from family, but it has a overwhelming success rate. I think Tim is an ideal candidate who would exceed with this type of treatment." "What is this other treatment?" "It's known as behavioral regression. It's a newer therapy, but it's been used in a substantial number of cases across the U. S. over the last five years. It has a remarkable success rate. It does take a lot of time and dedication from the family though." "Please, tell me more." "Behavioral regression is essentially returning Timothy's mind to an earlier stage of development, before his problems started. Through the course of the treatment, he is allowed to ‘grow up' again, and develop constructive methods of dealing with his feelings. The full course of the treatment would last for a year or more, but he wouldn't be on medication for the rest of his life." "This is a big decision. I need time to think it over." "By all means, take your time, Mrs. Hasbert. In the meantime, I think Timothy should be scheduled for another session tomorrow afternoon." Arrangements were made for Tim to visit Dr. Scovill again the next day after school. Soon, Rachel and her son were driving home. When they reached home, Tim parked himself on the couch facing the TV, and began watching cartoons. "Timmy, honey, why don't you go upstairs and take a nice hot shower, then I'll fix you a special snack." The mention of a shower caused Tim to notice that he hadn't had a shower in two days, and was kind of dirty. He marched up the stairs and into the bathroom. He undressed himself, and tossed the worn clothing down the laundry chute. Standing naked except for his diaper, he looked into the mirror. He liked the way it looked on him. It stirred echoes of a carefree time in his life. He slid the diaper slowly and carefully down his legs, afraid that untaping it would destroy it. He set it on the counter by the sink, and jumped into the shower. He quickly cleaned himself, then turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. He toweled off with a soft fluffy towel, then slipped the diaper back on himself. He didn't know why he was doing it. It made no sense to him. He didn't need the diaper. He kept on telling himself that he didn't want the diaper. Something else was controlling him. The urge was too powerful to resist, so he went along with it. He pulled the diaper all the way up, and stood for a few minutes, enjoying the look and feel of the snug diaper between his legs. Minutes later, the trance wore off, he wrapped the towel around his waist to hide the diaper and went to his bedroom. He closed the door to his bedroom, and propped the chair from his desk against the door, with its back just underneath the door knob. He tossed the towel aside, got down on his hands and knees and crawled around on the floor. He knew it was babyish, and that he'd die of embarrassment if he got caught, but he had to do it. He quickly regained his senses, and dressed himself. Tim remembered the special snack he was entitled to, and hurried down the staircase. He saw his mom on the phone, talking to someone. She handed him a package of Hostess cupcakes. With lightening speed, Tim's hand reached out and grabbed the package. He tore off the plastic wrapper and tossed it in the trash. As he fished the first cupcake from its plastic tray, he wandered back to the couch and sat to watch TV again. Hostess cupcakes were his favorite dessert, especially the chocolate frosting on top. The afternoon was uneventful. Rachel took her two children to McDonalds for supper. Bedtime came, as on any other day. Tim changed into his pajamas, keeping the diaper on underneath. He knew it was a huge risk to keep wearing it, but the temptation was too strong. It was a part of him now. He didn't want to give it up. Rachel came in, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight, all without noticing the hidden secret. Rachel's gentle shaking woke Tim up. The events of the previous day lingered in his mind, with a dream-like quality. "Wake up, honey. Breakfast is almost ready." Rachel left the room to wake up Carrie. Tim flipped the blankets off, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Wetting his diaper in the detention facility suddenly sprang to his mind. With fearful hurriedness, he tugged the blankets off the bed, only to find the bed completely dry. Relief washed over him, and he began to fish clothing for the day from his dresser drawers. He removed his pajamas, tossing them to the corner. The first thing Tim noticed about his diaper was that it wasn't wet. This presented a difficult decision. The diaper was still wearable, but the ridicule of being discovered wearing a diaper at school would be unbearable. Reason won the debate, and Tim carefully slid the diaper off. He hid the diaper beneath several pair of underwear in his dresser drawer. He quickly dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Today was like any normal day. The events of yesterday were all but forgotten, for the time being. Carrie and Tim got ready for school, then left the house to catch the bus. Rachel used the time to catch up on laundry that hadn't been done yesterday. She folded and sorted clothes, stacking them neatly. She took a pile of Tim's clothing and carried it up the stairs into his room, setting it on the bed. She then proceeded to place the items in appropriate drawers of the dresser, starting with the underpants. As she pulled the drawer open, an unexpected item peeked out from behind several pair of underwear. Rachel set the clean underwear in the drawer. She stared at the plastic material lying there in the drawer, stumped as to what it could be. It slid out from beneath the pairs of underwear when she tugged at it, and presented itself in all its glory. Rachel immediately recognized what it was, but the size of it dumbfounded her. She had never seen a diaper this size before. "Its big enough to fit Tim," she thought to herself. She guessed that he must have worn it, there was no other explanation for it being taped already. This was a jigsaw puzzle in her mind, with many pieces still missing. She set the diaper on the bed, and finished putting away the clean clothes. The mystery of the diaper would remain in her mind for the rest of the day. On her way out the door to go to work, Rachel stuffed the oversized diaper into her purse. Rachel sat in her car outside the school, scanning the emerging students for her son. She had left work early so she could pick Tim up, and get him to Dr. Scovill's in time for his appointment. It took her a minute to find him in the crowd. Tim strolled along, busily chatting with friends as they all mingled outside the school. Rachel honked the horn. Through the bustle of students outside the school, Tim heard the horn and was made aware of his awaiting ride. He departed his friends and walked to his mother's car. Tim was used to riding the bus, but was always grateful to have a comfortable ride home. The scheduled appointment escaped his mind for the moment, soon to return when they arrived at the Burning Tree professional building. The receptionist was just as cheerful as the day before. Dr. Scovill was in a session when Tim and Rachel arrived. A short wait, and Dr. Scovill emerged, ushering his previous patient to a parent in the waiting room. Dr. Scovill called out to Rachel. Rachel went, leaving Tim in the waiting room.
Dr. Scovill handed a small stack of colorful glossy brochures to Rachel. "Dr. Scovill," Rachel hesitated, "This is kind of embarrassing." "Don't worry, Mrs. Hasbert, I've seen it all." The reassurance in his voice spread to Rachel. "I found this diaper in Timmy's dresser this morning. I don't know where he got it from, I didn't even know there were diapers in his size." "This is an ironic finding, Mrs. Hasbert. I didn't mention it yesterday, but one of the treatments we discussed would involve Timmy wearing diapers again. It helps enmake the regression. It's a fairly common practice for juvenile facilities to diaper individuals who show signs of weak control. Timothy told me about being diapered at the detention center during our session yesterday. It's really nothing to worry about." "It just comes as such a shock to me. I've never heard of such a thing." "As you'll see when you get a chance to look over the information I've given you, behavioral regression involves putting Timothy back in diapers, and re-training him to use the diapers. It helps enmake the mental regression.
This is the part of the treatment that requires an immense commitment from the family, specifically the parents. When I talked with Timothy yesterday,
I saw several warning signs that could indicate that his abnormal behaviors will intensify as he grows older, unless treatment is begun immediately. I did some more research into the behavioral regression therapy, just to be certain that it would help Timothy. He fits the candidate description to a T. According to the studies done so far, he will benefit immensely from this type of treatment, moreso than from conventional treatments." "It just doesn't sound reasonable. Putting him back in diapers. What is that going to do?" "Mrs. Hasbert, you've got to understand. It's much more than putting him back in diapers. During the first few months of the treatment, he will have weekly therapy sessions with me, in addition to being put on medication to help his physical regression. Take a minute and browse through the papers I've given you." Rachel did so, perusing each document with scrutiny and disbelief. They were very informative, giving an in depth discussion of the processes involved in the treatment. The whole concept seemed so absurd to her. The idea of having a baby around the house again brought maternal instinct to the edges of her mind though. "Does this treatment really work?" "Yes, Mrs. Hasbert, it has been proven in numerous case studies around the U. S. during the last five years. I must stress that to be successful, it requires a deep and thorough commitment on your part." "Does Timmy know about this?" "I haven't mentioned it to him yet. If he's formed an attachment to wearing diapers, it should be easy for him to accept the therapy. The key to getting him to accept it is to continually enmake the fact that it's a therapy, not a punishment. If he feels that it's a punishment, he's likely to resist it, which makes the whole process more stressful for everyone involved and it takes longer." Rachel sat in silence, thoughtfully considering the ramifications of such a therapy. Timmy would have to quit school. She would have to quit her job, or find a baby-sitter that didn't mind changing a 13 year old's diapers. She was having an unbelievable debate in her mind. To put her 13 year old son back in diapers or not. Images of Timmy sitting in a stroller with a pacifier in his mouth popped into her head. The image continued as her dearest friends walked by, looked in the stroller, and commented on how cute the baby was. She had visions of when Timmy was little, and still in diapers. She and her husband had been so happy then, with a newborn baby, and a loving marriage. "Yes," she blurted out, "If you think this therapy is going to help Timmy, I want to do it." "There's no rush to decide, Mrs. Hasbert. But keep in mind that this can't be started on a trial basis. Either we commit to the therapy, or we don't start." "I don't want Timmy to grow up to be a criminal. If this is the way to help him, I want to do it." Dr. Scovill perceived the true concern for Timothy's well being in her voice, and the finality in it. "Let me explain a little bit more. The thing that makes this treatment truly successful is the dependency formed as a result of the regression. The star of the show is a drug called Xenical, which was developed a number of years ago as a diet drug. The drug acts by preventing absorption of fat into the digestive system. The excess fat in the stools causes unpredictable bowel movements, in other words, you can't control when you poop. With one element of toilet training removed, the brain is confused, and more susceptible to the regression. Timothy would also be receiving a weekly injection of a slow acting muscle relaxant, to decrease his bladder control. He would be wearing and using diapers full time again. This would continue for the first two months. After two months of these medications, the bladder and bowel muscles will have atrophied enough that Timothy will have no control, even without the medication. It's at this point that I begin teaching Timothy how to deal with his emotions in positive constructive ways. When he exhibits sufficient capacities for dealing with his emotions, he begins toilet training again. The whole process should last about a year." Dr. Scovill's therapy still sounded barbaric, but the appeal to Rachel's maternal instinct was strong. Timmy would be completely dependent on her again, just like when he was a baby. The thought filled her with a strange happiness. "Yes, Dr. Scovill, I want to do this for Timmy. I'm sure of it now." Dr. Scovill's deep penetrating gaze pierced Rachel's soul. She sat motionless, allowing him to read her thoughts. Dr. Scovill drew a deep breath. "Well, Mrs. Hasbert, I'll contact Timothy's school, and inform them of the situation. I'm going to write a prescription for Timothy, I want to get him started right away. I think he should also be diapered before he leaves the office today. Being diapered here will help ease the shock, and help him accept the necessity of diapering. I'm also going to give him a dose of the muscle relaxant today." Dr. Scovill scribbled on a notepad, then tore the sheet off and handed it to Rachel. He then called Timothy into his office. Rachel went to the waiting room. Timothy wasn't really interested in talking to Dr. Scovill today. He fidgeted and squirmed in his chair as Dr. Scovill was talking. A half a minute passed lazily by. Timothy knew this session would last forever, would keep him away from his diaper as long as possible. He tried not to think about wearing the diaper, but vivid memories were always invading from the edges of his brain. Suddenly, a word from Dr. Scovill caught his attention. "...diapers." Timothy went numb, and all sounds except Dr. Scovill's voice became silenced. "I know it sounds very odd, Tim, but I think it will help you. I've already discussed this with your mother, and she has accepted it, and is willing to help you. Your mom and I are going to arrange for you to be ‘home schooled' for the next year, so you won't be embarrassed by the treatment. You're going to need to wear diapers for a year." Each time Dr. Scovill said the word, it echoed louder in Tim's mind. Diapers. Paralysis took hold. Tim was overcome with a secret joy, but his stunned state prevented him from showing it. It took no thought to know that he wanted to wear diapers. He tried to think how to say yes without disclosing his eagerness. "Why do I need to wear diapers?" As soon as he said the words, he knew they were too resistive, to defiant. "No one's going to make you to wear diapers, Tim. Your mother and I both thought this treatment would be best for you." Dr. Scovill understood Timothy's fear. He was, after all, a pediatric psychologist. "I'm not asking you to LIKE wearing diapers, I'm not even asking you to be happy wearing diapers. I just want you to agree that you'll wear them as part of a therapy program." This was the break Tim needed. Now, he wasn't saying that he liked or wanted to wear diapers, only that he would because his psychologist wanted to. Still, he hesitated. Dr. Scovill opened a desk drawer, and pulled something out. "Do you want to try a diaper, just to see what it feels like?" Tim's response came hesitantly, his desire for a diaper overcoming his doubts. "Okay" As Dr. Scovill moved the item he held into view, Tim got a feeling of deja' vu. "There's a restroom outside my office to your left." Tim took the diaper, hiding it under his shirt as he proceeded to the restroom. When he had the door securely locked, he looked the diaper over again. It looked so familiar to him. It was already taped. Tim wondered if it was the right size for him. He quickly slid his shoes off, then his pants and underpants. The diaper eased on, fitting perfectly. Tim was engulfed in bliss. Tim enjoyed the feeling a few moments, then quickly slipped his clothing and shoes back on. The bulge of the diaper was only slightly visible beneath his jeans. If you didn't know to look for it, it would never be noticed. Tim closed Dr. Scovill's door and sat down again. "Is it uncomfortable, Tim?" "It's weird." Those were the only words Tim could find to mask his pleasure, yet not seem resistant. "Would you be willing to wear diapers as part of a treatment plan?" "Yes." "Okay, Tim. Let's go talk to your mother." Rachel followed Timothy back to Dr. Scovill's office. She looked at Tim, and had a feeling that he accepted the idea. "Timothy has agreed to the treatment we discussed. I'm going to have you go downstairs, to Dr. Galinski, and get a muscle relaxant shot. You can also stop by the pharmacy on the first floor. They should be able to fill the prescription right away. You can also pick up the other supplies you'll need there." A look of horror filled Tim's face at the mention of a shot. Before he could say anything, Rachel was leading him out of the office, on the way to Dr. Galinski's office. Dr. Galinski's waiting room was less cheerful looking than Dr. Scovill's. Rachel and Tim didn't have to see it for long, They were quickly in an exam room with Dr. Galinski. Dr. Galinski had an aged face, and wavy blond hair. She wore a white lab coat, with a stethoscope hanging around her neck. "Tim, take your pants down and lay face down on the exam table." Her demanding voice controlled him. He didn't question how she knew his name. He was just about to comply with her order, when he remembered the diaper. As if in response to Tim's unasked question, Dr. Galinski barked out again. "Don't worry about the diaper, just pull your pants down." This shocked Tim. The shock made it easier for him to act without thinking, without objecting. Soon he was belly down on the paper covering the exam table, his diapered rear end facing up for all to see. Dr. Galinski took items from a drawer near the door, and stood at Tim's side. She untaped the diaper like an expert, being careful not to rip the plastic. She folded the back of the diaper down, exposing Tim's butt. Dr. Galinski placed a gloved hand on Tim's buttock, stretching the skin. With her other hand, she wiped the stretched area with an alcohol wipe. The contrasting sensations of warm hands and cool air on is behind caused his penis to stiffen. Tim felt a momentary pinch on his buttock, then the diaper was being re-fastened. As Tim rolled over and sat up again, he felt a soreness in his bottom where Dr. Galinski had pricked him. "That's all for today, Tim." Tim was already standing, with is pants up again. "The exit's to your left. Charges will be billed to Dr. Scovill," Dr. Galinski said as all three exited the exam room. Strange sensations were creeping through Tim's diaper area. A slight tingling coupled with numbness. His awareness of his internals was heightened, but at the same time, numbed. He could still feel the diaper against his skin despite the effects of the shot. This whole experience passed quickly, and soon was just a memory. Tim became accustomed to the strange internal numbness, forgetting it as he entered the pharmacy on the first floor of the medical building. Rachel and Timothy proceeded directly to the rear of the shop, to the druggist's counter. An older moustached gentleman wearing a white lab coat greeted them. Casual banter ensued as Rachel handed Dr. Scovill's prescription to the pharmacist. He disappeared momentarily, humming as he went about his work. He returned with a white paper sack, top folded over and stapled, and handed it to Rachel. "You can find lotion and wipes in aisle seven, I'll carry this box up to the front counter for you," he said, loading a large brown box into a nearby cart. Tim noticed the lack of labelling on the box, which sparked his curiosity. He wondered if he was dreaming or if the box might actually contain the thing he lusted for. Diapers. As Tim stood contemplating the situation, Rachel wandered into aisle seven, picking up several items. The sound of his mother's voice broke his trance, allowing Tim to rejoin his mother at the checkout counter. The brown box was there, in addition to the white bag with the prescription, baby wipes, powder, and lotion. The full reality of what Tim had agreed to still evaded his consciousness. He was on the brink of realization, but the actuality remained subdued. The warm feeling around Tim's groin was a surprise. Definitely not a bad surprise, it was comfortable, but it was entirely unexpected. Timothy hadn't felt the need to urinate, but he knew what the growing wetness between his legs meant. Fright took hold of his mind, as it dawned on him that he wet his pants. But it wasn't his pants that were wet, it was his diaper. This was the key that unlocked his mind. He realized what he had agreed to. He was going to wear diapers, and use them. He didn't know for how long, or why. He just knew that he was going to need diapers. Tears streamed from his eyes as he and Rachel left the store. He buckled himself in to the car, sobbing wildly, as Rachel loaded the box of diapers and the other supplies into the trunk. As quickly as it began, his sobbing stopped, transforming into a hushed whimper. Rachel was hugging him, his head buried in her bosom. She stroked his hair, comforting him and quieting him. "Mommy, am I gonna have to wear diapers?" Tim choked out. "Timmy, honey, I thought you wanted to," Rachel replied in a gentle voice. With Tim now regaining his composure, Rachel closed his door, walked around, and seated herself. As they drove home, Tim tried to resolve his feelings, fears and desires, and tried to make sense of the situation. "Mommy, everybody at school is gonna make fun of me." "No, Timmy, you don't have to go to school anymore. I'm going to teach you at home. Dr. Scovill made all the arrangments. Nobody is going to make fun of you." Tim had neglected Dr. Scovill's involvement during his thought. The knowledge that he wouldn't be going to school anymore was a great weight lifted from his mind, but fear lurked. He couldn't see any of his friends anymore, not while he was wearing a diaper. If they saw him, they'd laugh at him. They'd make cruel jokes, taunt him until he cried, they laugh at him some more because he was crying. The flood of emotion was too much for him to handle. "Mommy, I hate diapers. I don't wanna wear diapers. I don't need diapers," Tim exploded. Timothy's pleading tortured Rachel. She didn't want Tim to feel bad, but at the same time, she didn't want him to grow up to become a criminal. The treatment seemed cruel, but it was recommended by Dr. Scovill. Her whole concentration was devoted to rationalizing the treatment to herself, making her unable to ease Timothy's mind. The remainder of the trip passed in silence, punctuated by the occasional choked sob from Tim. By the time they arrived home, Tim's diaper was very soaked, making him uncomfortable. He was greatly embarassed. Even though his mother had full knowledge that he was wearing a diaper, and that he had a shot to make him incontinent, it did not detract from his embarrassment. The embarrassment far outweighed his discomfort. The soggy and sagging diaper disrupted his movement as he walked into the house. Rachel noticed this, and suspected its cause. When the front door was closed, Rachel spoke up. "Timmy, is your diaper wet?" Tim figured he would never overcome the embarrassment of wetting his diaper.
He didn't know how long he would be wearing a diaper, he didn't want to think of it. It was like an addiction, with horrible side effects. He enjoyed wearing the diaper, even when it was wet and uncomfortable, but the mental anguish was always present. He knew it wasn't normal, and that everybody else knew it wasn't normal. Despite his embarrassment, he answered in the affimative. "Let me go get a towel, then I'll change you here on the floor." Rachel promptly sprang up the staircase to the second floor, grabbed a fluffy white towel from the linen closet, and brought it back down. She neatly laid it flat on the living room floor. "Do we have to do it right here? Everybody can see." Timothy's complaint was valid. The curtains on the front window were open, allowing a clear view from the street into the house. "Just close the curtains, dear," was Rachel's practical answer. Tim did so, then laid himself face up on the towel. Rachel tore the tape off the cardboard box, and opened the flaps. Inside, there were two plastic packages, labelled "Medium Disposable Briefs." She pulled one package out, and slit the top open. The briefs were very similar to the one Tim was wearing at the moment, a plain white exterior, with a faint scent of baby powder. Rachel proceeded to Tim's side with the clean brief, the baby wipes and the powder. Tim had not bothered to take down his pants, or even unzip them. Rachel unzipped Tim's pants. "Lift up, honey." Tim knew what she meant, and lifted his hips off the floor. With a fluid motion, Rachel tugged his pants down his legs, letting them bunch around his ankles. Memories of diaper changes when Tim was a baby floated into her head, as she untaped the used diaper. She tenderly cleaned his diaper area, and sprinkled powder about, but remained silent. Tim was silent as well, not knowing how to interpret this experience. His mother's tender touch was very comforting. It brought about good feelings. It wasn't like the diaper changes in the jail. This was gentle, tender, full of love, not efficient, mechanical and sterile. He was showered with attention by his mommy, something he liked a lot. The diaper change was done soon. The feeling of the clean dry diaper against his skin made him happy. For a few minutes, he forgot that he was 13, and that he shouldn't be wearing a diaper at that age. "All done. You can get up now, honey." Rachel's words interrupted his bliss. As he pulled his pants up over the new diaper, he noticed that it was thicker than the previous one. It was more noticable under his pants as well. "Timmy, do you want a snack?" "Yeah, mom," Tim readily agreed, hoping that he would get cupcakes again. To his surprise and delight, he did. He also got a pill. An oval-shaped pink pill. "This must be the prescription," he thought. Nobody had told him what the prescription was for, but he trusted the doctor. He swallowed the pill down, then devoured his cupcakes, frosting first, as was his custom. As he sat eating his snack, Rachel was busy moving the changing supplies and diapers to Tim's room. She was making a list of things she'd probably need for Tim, a list which included a changing table and a diaper pail. Not long afterwards, Carrie came in through the door. The afternoon proceeded rather normally, leading into a family dinner of pizza. After dinner, Carrie worked on her homework. Because Tim had not been to school, he had no homework, allowing him to spend the evening doing one of his favorite activities, playing video games. Just after defeating the level 3 boss on his favorite game, he had a very strong urge to poop. He paused the game, and shot up out of his chair. As he did so, he felt a warm sticky mass spreading out across his rear, and the urge to poop was gone. He didn't have to guess at what just happened. Pooping his pants for the first time since he had been potty trained scared him. He was stunned for a moment, then called out, "MOM!" "I'm upstairs in my room," came the reply. He quickly ran up the stairs into Rachel's room. "What's wrong honey?" Tim closed the door, not wanting his sister to hear what was going on. "I think I pooped in my pants," he whispered, with a touch of fright in his voice. "Okay, honey. We'll get you changed right away. You don't need to worry." Rachel opened her door, leading Tim down the hall to his room. The towel he was changed on earlier was laid out on his floor. Rachel opened his dresser drawer to get the changing supplies and a clean diaper, while Tim closed the door, dropped his pants and laid down.
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