"It was...bad. It was pretty bad."
"Did you show it to anyone?"
"No, god no."
"Do you think--"
"I just...got rid of it."
"You just threw it away?"
"No, I...I mean, someone could find it--"
"That's what I mean."
"--So I just...I ripped it all out. All the wires and things. And I burned them."
"You burned his computer?"
"What else could I do?"
"Still, Mom--"
"It was bad. It was..."
"Okay, okay. I just...fuck."
"Richard."
"Sorry. I...So...what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do we do now?"
"I'll talk to him."
"Oh...kay."
"What?"
"What else?"
"I'll...see if I can...find a doctor or something. A therapist."
"A therapist? You're going to send him to therapy?"
"Well, Richard, he needs help."
"No, I know. Clearly, he needs help, but--that just seems--kind of...minor. I mean, for what this is."
"I should have sent him to therapy after your father left anyway. That's probably where a lot of this stems from."
"Mom, this doesn't stem from divorce. I'm, you know, I don't..."
"I know."
"And neither do a lot of other people whose parents got divorced, so--"
"I'm just saying, he could have used some help. Clearly."
"Yeah, clearly."
"So, we'll get him help."
"But, don't you think, I mean--"
"What?"
"Don't you think we should tell someone?"
"We are going to tell someone. A doctor."
"But I mean, like, someone official. Like--"
"Like what?"
"Like a policeman, or something?"
"Oh my God, why would we do that?"
"Because, Mom, he might have--I mean, what if he hurt someone?"
"Richard, he's fourteen-years-old."
"Mom, he still could have--"
"Could have what? He had some stuff on his computer. So--"
"Stuff? Are you kidding me?"
"Richard--"
"Are you kidding me? Stuff? Mom, you said--"
"I know what I said."
"--You said it was--"
"I know what I said, Richard."
"--You--"
"I KNOW WHAT I FUCKING SAID, RICHARD, ALL RIGHT?"
. . . . .
"I saw it, Richard. You didn't. I know what I saw. Okay?"
"Okay."
"So we can just...for the moment, can we just--?"
"What? Drop it? Is that what you're asking me to do?"
"No."
"Drop it?"
"No. I just--we talked about it. I'm going to talk to him. We're going to get him help. We talked about it. We came up with a solution."
"Mom, there is no solution here. There's no solution to a problem like this. It's not like he has this thing that can just be cured, you know? He's fucked up."
"Richard--"
"Mom, he is. Okay? He is. And you know that. If he wasn't your son--"
"But he IS my son, okay? That's what you need to remember. He is my son, and he's your brother, and you need to remember that."
"I know that, but it doesn't change--"
"Richard, I'm tired, okay? I'm tired of this. I had a long day. Burning a computer up isn't easy."
"Are you cracking jokes?"
"Richard, what do you want me to say?"
"He could have hurt someone, okay? He could have already done that. And if he did, we need to know about it."
"So I'll ask him."
"You'll ask him? You'll ask him if he's hurt someone?"
"He doesn't lie to me."
"Mom!"
"He doesn't lie to me!"
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"The Gelle kid. The one who went missing."
"What about him?"
"They lived two houses down."
"Richard, please, that was four years ago."
"They never found him."
"Richard, your brother would have been ten. He had nothing to do with that."
"Mom--"
"The Gelle kid was thirteen-years-old. Three years older than your brother. And he was twice his size. Your brother had nothing to do with that."
"You don't know that!"
"I know my son!"
"NO, YOU DON'T! I'm sorry, but clearly, you don't. Maybe today you do, but yesterday, you did not. And even now you're--you're--"
"I'm what?"
"Denial, in this case, is understandable. It's--"
"I'm not in denial."
"Mom--"
"But what am I--"
"Mom--"
"What--"
"Just--"
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Go to the police. Get him fingerprinted. Find out if he's done anything that could--"
"Listen to you! This is your brother we're talking about!"
"People could be dead, Mom. Kids. Kids could be dead, or--"
"Not my kid."
"I'm sorry?"
"Your brother is my kid. And you, you're my kid. That's all I was given to worry about in this life. That's it. Just you and your brother. You can't ask me to worry about everybody else's kid."
"Are you hearing yourself right now?"
"What about Scott?"
"What about Scott?"
"Wouldn't you do anything to protect him?"
"He's a two-year-old! He's an innocent child!"
"And so was your brother once."
"Yeah, but not--"
"I have to do what I have to do--as his mother. You don't get that. I know you're a father, but being a mother is different. It's not something you could ever understand."
"I'll tell you what I can understand. I'm not bringing your grandson into this house anymore with him here."
"Don't talk like that."
"I'm serious. It's dangerous."
"It's not danger--"
"Mom, he's a ticking time bomb. Okay? That's what we have here. A bomb--ready to go off. And you're not going to do anything about it?"
"If you're asking me if I'm going to turn him into the police, and have them try to use him to solve every missing child case from the last five years on him, then no, I'm not going to do that."
"You're as bad as he is."
"Don't you dare say that to me!"
"For a second there, I didn't you'd appreciate the weight of the insult."
"I appreciate what we're dealing with here, Richard, but I can't just abandon my son."
"Nobody's asking you to abandon him. But you're right when you say he's our family. He's our responsibility too. That means we have to take responsibility for him and who he is and whatever it is that he's done, which might be, you know, nothing, and--"
"It's not nothing."
"What?"
"I don't...There were things...on the computer. Things I didn't tell you about."
"What kind of things?"
"I'm tired, Richard."
"Mom, what kinds of things?"
"Things we shouldn't talk about. But I'll talk to Michael about them."
"Mom--?"
"Then I'll talk to a doctor. And then..."
"....."
"...I'll talk to the police."
"Mom, what was on the computer?"
"I don't want you to know, Richard. You're my son too. You're supposed to--I'm supposed to protect you from things."
"Mom, I'm a dad. I have a son I--"
"I know."
"I need to--"
"That's why I can't tell you. You shouldn't know, Richard. I don't want you to hate your brother."
"What was on the computer, Mom?"
"I can't tell you, Richard. I can't ever tell you."
"Mom...?"
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