I was happy to be home; he was morose. I tried everything in my power to make him happy, it failed, miserably failed. It had been failing a lot, which was frustrating, but we were 'home' to get help. Surely things were about to get better. Hopeful thoughts.
We were welcomed back at staff meeting, got to share through our jet-lag some of what we were transitioning into. It was a good job, there was meaning and purpose.
After the meeting we had another meeting, which was customary. The directors asked us to their office. Our friends, who I'd literally known my whole adult life. Had built homes with, toiled and prayed were asking us some serious questions. The FBI had come to the facility the day we'd landed in country. They'd asked about us and our character. Do you know why? I was completely clueless. The FBI?
There was that trip to that African country that seemed a bit sketchy, not sure an American should've been at those meetings, or in that location... was that it?
It was tax day, but no way, I did send the payment, and the FBI wouldn't be after that....
We got in the car. Our friends said the FBI would meet us at our 'house'. I asked him if he knew why, he said maybe it was something with the internet, and then stopped and would say no more.
The house was a double wide trailer; in the middle of no where. All our belongings were in transit from England, so the house was bare except for a pile of mattresses in the corner, a broken chair and the couch leftover from the '70's.
They did pull in. It was 3 vehicles, there was a plume of dust, and he went out to meet them. They instructed him to wait on the porch.
So I'm introducing myself to the FBI agents, badges are out. I offer coffee, it's about all I have in the house and I'm going to be hospitable. I sit on the couch as they explain they need to ask me some questions. The folding chair does a bit of a bend and the agent has to shift to keep from falling out of it. I'm surely able to answer whatever they want. Mr. Chavez opens up his legal pad and asks me my name, my social, did I know my husband was a bisexual.
The room went kind of funny at that point. It was like I was in a tunnel hearing things I didn't think were possible. There were pictures of boys, chat room conversations, names of potential victims. VICTIMS, I heard that word. They were investigating my husband, and were asking if I was also involved. ME, involved? I'd given my life to giving others life, how could I be involved. I was not a wolf... but I'd been married to one.
It was crushing; my heart was racing. I had married a good man, he was a good man, how could any of this be true. The Elder agent looked at me as they were about to leave 'you need to think about how you're going to protect yourself and your son from this very dangerous man'. I heard myself say 'ok' and nod. 'No, listen, you need to protect yourself and your son from this DANGEROUS man'. I knew he was speaking the truth. I knew in my knower that he was right and my perception was wrong.
They walked out over an hour later, took the laptop, drove away. I was now with this dangerous man. I turned to talk to him; he put his hands out to block me and said I should go away.
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