Mrs. Van Horn was the cheerleader coach at the school, grooming good-looking, affluent young ladies like herself to preen and flounce before the crowds. It was a position that took a few extra hours a week to perform. I suppose it was her little way of paying back the System that produced fine young thoroughbreds like she had been.

I headed out of the school, back to the foster home where I lived. I wasn't feeling all that randy yet. I bided my time, helping the McGwire's with the chores around the house. They loved me, and gratefully extended total freedom to me, never asking where I was going or what I had been doing. They were sorely overworked, having received ten boys to care for, and they were appreciative of any effort to help them.

A long about Wednesday evening, it was time to head back to the Van Horn's. After helping Mrs. McGwire with the dishes, I headed out. It was less than 2 miles to the Van Horn residence, and the evening was pleasantly cool. As the shadows increased on my purposeful walk, I noticed a white Ford Expedition following me. It was Ed Van Horn, tailing me to see if I dropped an incriminating letter into a mailbox to be mailed should I fail to return home. Typical movie bullshit. I was somewhat startled though. I thought Ed's beating and the promise that I might stop tormenting them would have curtailed any attempt to get the better of me. I was highly disappointed and somewhat upset. He certainly wasn't very good at surveillance. I decided on a plan of action on the spot.

I ducked into the Public Library, my sanctuary when I needed to get away from the chaos at my home. I was fast becoming recognized and welcome there--I spent a lot of time reading--and I was a quiet, respectful boy. I borrowed a sheet of paper, an envelope and bought a stamp from the small dispenser there. I typed a short note and placed it in the envelope, which I addressed to the Police Department. I placed the stamp on the envelope and walked out. Ed Van Horn was parked farther down the street, probably congratulating himself on his inconspicuousness. I walked into his subdivision, so that he would have no doubt that I was heading to his home to rape his wife. One street away from his home, I stopped in front of a homeowner's mailbox. Looking around theatrically, I placed my envelope in the mailbox and strode energetically around the corner onto the Van Horn's street. I listened as I walked. I heard the Expedition moving up and stopping. Seconds later, I could hear the Expedition squeal away. I was on their street, so Ed had go around and come home from the other end of the street to avoid passing me. I broke into a run. I didn't want Ed to have time to open that letter before I got to his house.

It worked perfectly. As I strode up the driveway to their secluded home, Ed pulled up in the Expedition, staring grimly at me as he pulled into the garage. He jumped out of the car and approached me. I could tell by his bearing that he was pleased with himself. I noted that he had stopped using the cane and neck brace routine.

"Well, if it isn't young Mister Damien North, coming over to my home uninvited again. Come in, come in." Ed opened the back door and ushered me into the home.

"I'm sorry, Cindy's not home yet. She'll be along soon."

"That's fine. I can wait." I said simply.

"I've just been checking the mail. I've got a letter right here."

Ed pulled my letter to the police out of his shirt. He stopped and stared at the envelope.

"Wait a second--this isn't addressed to me...this is addressed to the Police Department". He glanced at me triumphantly.

I did my best to look like I was at a loss for words.

"I wonder what it says?" Ed's words were charged with sarcasm, the lowest form of humor. "I guess I'll just have to open it, won't I?"

I said nothing. The letter had one sentence. As Ed ripped open the letter and read it, I inched closer to him. As his brow furrowed in puzzlement, I prepared myself.

"Read it out loud," I commanded him.

"This letter entitles the bearer to one free ass kicking...", his words trailed off as he finished. He lowered the letter to look at me in sudden consternation. It hadn't been what he expected at all. My foot connected on a roundhouse swing with his stomach. Ed made a nice whoofing sound as his dropped to the floor, the letter fluttering in the air as he fell. I followed up with a second drop-kick as he rested on his hands and knees. Another nice whoofing sound and Eddie threw up. I bent over and slapped the glasses right off his face. Eddie curled up into a fetal position, expecting to become the recipient of another nice beating. He had lost again and had given up hope. I pulled his belt off him forcibly and laid into him, striking him hard with the thick leather, making him cry out when the belt struck his back and neck. He curled tighter and tighter. His initial beating went quickly because I was tiring. I tossed his belt aside and pulled his shoes off. Reaching in, I undid his pants and pulled them off. His underwear was dry this time. I ripped the shirt off his back and pulled his socks off. Edwin Van Horn was reduced to a naked, sobbing, short, bearded guidance counselor. One with some nice welts forming......(cont)