Chapter 2

The Russell home

Reading the breakfast, Margaret watched her youngest son enter the room. His hair was long, creeping into his eyes. He failed to meet her gaze, instead seating himself quietly at the seat.

"J, how are you feeling?"

He mumbled a vague answer, instead focusing on the plate in front of him. He wasn't hungry and the egg and toast that stared back at him made him feel slightly queasy. Opening and closing his bandaged hand, he enjoyed the brief burn of pain.

He deserved it.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he involuntarily looked up into the worried gaze of his father.

"J, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

Looking down he noticed the blood that have slowly seeped through the plaster. It must have been the motion he had subjected to his hand. He watched almost in fascination as his father took his hand and started to redress the wound.

"J, look at me."

His eyes slowly rose, and met the gaze of his father. His eyes shifted down to his hand, trying to bring some normality into his actions.

"J, we need to talk. You need to see a specialist. We have asked Sydney to recommend someone."

Rising, he jerked his hand from his father's grip. He gave an angry look at his mother before shaking his head violently.

"No. I'm fine. I don't need to see anyone else."

Major watched his son grab his school bag, storming angrily out of the house. He turned towards his wife and wordlessly enfolded her in a comforting embrace; all the while telling himself that everything will work out and that soon they will be a happy family.

************

The Centre

The Centre was quiet this early in the morning. The only staff present were the early risers and those that came to the end of their night shift. Two people made their way through the corridors towards where the senior offices were located. The one or two staff members who saw them gave a curious glance before looking away. They ignored them, instead entering one of the offices. It had been refurnished, the smell still new that lingered in the air. The blond-haired man walked slowly around the room, a slight smile on his face. His hand touched the leather executive's chair, relishing in the feeling of power. He looked briefly at the other before he slowly slid into the seat. Both hands ran along the dark rosewood table, feeling the texture of money that had brought it to this room. He heard the door open and was aware that the other man was leaving. Leaning back into the softness of the chair, he enjoyed the feel of the leather beneath him.

He was back.

************

West coast

Flipping the pan, Jarod effortlessly slid another golden pancake on the growing pile sitting on the table. The windows were thrown open, allowing the cool morning ocean breeze to fill the room. The sun had risen a few hours ago, the morning promising to be perfect for some surfing later on. It was a pastime he had taken on, the exhilaration of the board on the crest helping him to forget all his fears and pain. It also helped with the strengthening exercises for his leg, molding the muscles that had atrophied under Lyle. Humming a new song he had heard on the radio, he finished setting the table.

"Parker!"

The master bedroom was awash in the morning light. The patio doors were thrown open, allowing the same breeze that wafted in the kitchen to enter the room. A body lay across the double bed, the dark hair spread on the pillows that was hugged close. The single sheet that covered her was enough to protect from the cool air, bringing comfort and a feeling of contentment. Taking a deep ocean filled breath, she kept her eyes close till the deep voice of Jarod carried through on the moving air and with it the smell of pancake and syrup. Groaning slightly, she decided that the offering of breakfast might be enough to placate her feelings of getting up so early. Rising, she pulled on a white silk gown before making her way to the kitchen. Sydney was already seated at the table, two pancakes stacked on his plate. Taking her seat, she noticed her own and then Jarod's. His was a mountain of four or five, the syrup dripping warmly down the sides.

"I see your metabolism is still intact." She commented dryly before dragging the coffee pot closer.

He smiled boyishly back at her, a naughty twinkle in his eyes. Taking a bucket of ice cream out of the freezer, he plopped a big scoop on his pile before offering the bucket to her and Sydney. She laughed at his pretended pouting when they declined the offer, her own eyes filled with happiness.

"Have you heard anything from your family?" she asked as she filled her glass with orange juice. She watched him take his seat, his features a bit more sombre.

"Yes, my dad phoned last night. J's nightmares and panic attacks are getting worse. He wants Sydney to suggest a psychiatrist that will be able to help him deal with his feelings."

Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it briefly, "I'm sorry, Jar. I'm sure we'll get someone that J will talk to." She looked at Sydney, and then back at Jarod.

"I'll phone some people I know this morning."

Allowing a small smile, Jarod nodded his thanks to Sydney. Shifting his worry for J temporarily to the background, he allowed the conversation and mutual jokes to pull him back from his feelings of guilt.

Sydney had helped him deal with it in a large measure, explaining again and again that Lyle was the one that had tortured them and that nothing he had done could have either prevented it or stopped it. Lyle would have found any excuse to exert his control and using J was one way of ensuring Jarod's cooperation as well as driving a wedge between them. In a way, their captor had succeeded. J wanted nothing to do with him. Every time he had tried to have a conversation with his younger self, he had been pushed away by angry words. J had given him a shiner the one time he had pushed to hard, prompting Sydney to suggest that they move to the coast while J dealt with his own dark memories.

Smiling at a remark from Parker, he shifted his thoughts back to the present, enjoying another day without the Centre looming close.

************

Red bridge High School

His right fist connected solidly against the other boy's jaw. His knuckles stung from the impact but he didn't allow that to deter him. Shifting his stance, he moved in closer to the reeling boy. Swinging his left fist, his put all his muscle behind it as it sunk into the soft flesh of the solar plexus. He was about to bring in another hit when he was pulled from the bleeding boy. Growling, he twisted, trying to get rid of the tight grip on his arms.

"Enough."

The dark voice brought him to his senses although his anger still simmered underneath the surface. Standing still he watched with satisfaction as the other boy was helped to his feet. He could see the red markings on the face of the boy he had hit, and it filled him with a sense of pride.

No one can touch him.

Smiling in mockery, he gave a wink to the fear-filled face before the boy was led away to the infirmary by one of the teachers. Turning, he kept his gaze on his feet before defiantly raising it to the PE teacher that had stopped the fight.

"What is wrong with you? You could have seriously hurt him."

His sweaty hair hung in his eyes, obscuring his vision slightly. Shrugging, he stared back at the older man. He saw the anger in the other man when he dismissed so casually the violence he had dispensed. His arm was grabbed and he was propelled towards the football field.

"Four laps. Now."

Smirking he started a slow jog. It wasn't as if he couldn’t do this in his sleep. He was rudely awakened when a push sent him stumbling. He glanced back and saw the teacher grinning on his heels. Narrowing his gaze he increased his pace. Again he was pushed. His anger and irritation was increasing and he ran faster. Another push. He nearly tumbled onto the grass before he got his feet under control. Running full pace, he raced around the field.

The teacher that pushed him was forgotten. He raced his memories and dark thoughts. He raced his feelings of helplessness and rage. He raced his fear until he ran out of breath. Stopping, he leaned on his knees, his breaths coming in high pitched wheeze. The white sneakers of the teacher filled his vision, his sweat dripping onto the turf.

"Take a shower. I want you on this field straight after school. Am I clear."

He thought about ignoring the command and then decided against it. It wasn't as if he had the greatest social life in the school. Nodding, he turned and silently made his way towards the showers.

************

The Russell home

"Thanks Paul."

Putting the phone on its cradle, Major Charles turned tiredly to his wife.

"J had another fight at school. One of the other boys had apparently been taunting him and he lashed out. The boy wasn't hurt much, more his pride and Paul said that he had punished J by sending him a few times around the field."

"What are we going to do if he doesn’t want to talk to anyone? It's eating him alive and there is nothing I can do to make him feel better."

Stepping towards Margaret, he gently hugged her close.

"I know. He doesn't want to deal with what happened and in the process he's hurting others."

They stood like that for a while, trying to understand why J was closing himself off from those around him. Kissing his wife, Charles led her towards the living room.

"Paul had suggested that he takes J in the afternoons. Maybe a physical outlet will help to release some of the anger and frustration. Let's hope that Sydney finds someone."

Seating themselves on the couch, they continued to talk about their son and trying to find ways to help him cope with his dark past.

************

West coast

He sat on his board behind the break line, watching the surf rush towards the beach. The sun was warm against his tanned back, the water cool against his hanging legs. Closing his eyes he drank in the rush of water and the boom where the white foam crashed against the rocks to the left of him. He felt his board and body bob in long amplitudes on the crest and fall of the water beneath him.

"You do know this is your fault…"

Swallowing, he opened his eyes. A distant look centered on them as unwanted thoughts tore through his mind. He wanted to help J but every time he thought about what had been done to the boy because he failed to obey Lyle, he felt his guilt increase. It wasn't fair that he had Sydney and Parker to help him over the worst of his nightmares. If it hadn't been for Sydney he didn't know how he would have survived. He was his sounding board, the one that helped him deal with his feelings of helplessness and guilt. Parker was his compass, helping to keep him steady. Between them he had managed to deal on one level with Lyle's torture while the boy the boy had furiously refused any help from Sydney, ignoring the psychiatrist's attempts to help him deal with his feelings and memories. Instead, he had closed himself off to all those around him, telling everyone repeatedly that he was fine. He didn't believe J but he couldn't force the boy to face what had happened. He had to give him time and allow J to come to that decision himself.

Leaning forward slightly, he dipped his hands in the water. The feel and texture calmed him, bringing a sense of peace. Ignoring Lyle's voice in his head, he started paddling towards the beach. Maybe catching a good wave in will help him forget all about his long gone captor. After all, Lyle is dead.

************

The Russell home

"Care to explain why you felt the need to beat up another kid."

"He asked for it," came the angry reply from J. His face was flushed from the afternoon's running, and he wanted nothing more than to have a shower and hit his bed. Now he had to deal with his father's anger at his actions.

"That is no reason to retaliate with violence. What did you do it?"

J couldn’t even bring himself as far as to feel sorry for the guy he fought with. "He asked for it," he repeated underneath his breath, looking at his shoes. He heard his dad sigh and then felt his heavy hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he briefly made contact with his father's concerned eyes before shifting them sideways and staring just over his shoulder.

The silence increased between them while J wrestled with his rebellious thoughts and the major waited for him to acknowledge what his actions did.

"J," the soft words shifted his eyes back to his father's and it held him fast, "you know that we love you, don't you?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about what those words meant to him. He wanted nothing more than to have a normal life with a normal family. He wanted those words to mean something to him, to bring him out of the morass he found himself stuck in. The more he tried to free himself, the deeper he was sinking, disappearing and he had no idea how to get out.

"J?"

Again the soft question, forcing him to focus his thoughts back on his dad. Tears started to flow and he leaned slightly towards his dad. His father took the invitation, smothering him in a tight hug. Relaxing, he allowed himself to be comforted.

They stood like that for a few minutes. Leading his son to the kitchen table, he took out the carton of milk from the fridge. Taking out the hot chocolate, he spooned in powder in two mugs. J was silent where he sat by the table. Pushing the mugs into the microwave, he warmed the milk before finishing the drink by placing a marshmallow in each.

"Thanks, dad."

Placing his hands around the mug, he enjoyed the warmth that crept through. He watched the marshmallow start it's slow dissolve, wondering if that was happening to him.

"I want you to talk to the Dr Brown. We have an appointment for Saturday morning at nine."

Holding his breath, Charles waited for the normal outburst that came with each suggestion that his son see someone. None came and he watched his son battle with some unseen enemy. His shoulders slumped and he wiped his eyes before giving a barely perceptive nod. He thanked God silently for his son's agreement, hoping that J would keep it. They talked about J's afternoon and everyday things till the mugs were empty and his son's eyes started to close. Gathering the mugs, he sent his son to bed while he cleaned the cups, hopeful that his son might be on the road to recovery.

************

J's room

He had a good shower, washing the sweat and grime from his body. He felt clean and he wondered if his agreement to see Dr Brown wasn't maybe a reason for it. He was tired, his body relaxed as he snuggled underneath the sheet. He didn't want his dad to worry and he wanted to have a good night's sleep for once. He looked over to his nightstand, at the drawer that held his answer. He had promised the last time that it would be only that once. He wrestled with his conscience; wanting the dead sleep the pills would provide against his intellect that he didn't need a crutch.

I'm just going to look at them, he thought while he opened the drawer. His hand trembled slightly when he took out the pack. He didn't want to wake his parent's again with his nightmares. He didn't want to relive his last days with Lyle when he was held in the warehouse. He didn't want to think about the girl and what Lyle did to her and to him.

He wanted to sleep.

************

The Centre – next morning

"Here's the report you wanted, sir."

He looked up from the paperwork he was busy working on, thanking the technician for the report. The man didn't leave, instead shuffling nervously from foot to foot. Annoyed, he put his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

"Anything else?"

He lifted an eyebrow; his light blue eyes staring soullessly back at the nervous man before him.

"Sir, I want to point out that the search parameter in my report is based on old data and it might not produce the results that you wished for."

He fingered the file that the tech had dropped, pursuing his lips in thought.

"Why did you run it then?"

"I…I thought that any answer is better than none."

He picked up the folder and casually dumped it into his bin. Moving around his desk he walked up to the now sweating tech.

"How loyal are you to the Centre, Mr…"

"Mr Heath, Sir. Very …uhm …loyal, Sir."

"You are aware what the price of failure is?"

"Y…yes Sir."

"Then bring me an updated result by the end of the day."

Dismissing the trembling tech, he turned towards his big windows that overlooked the bay. He heard the tech open the door, and he stopped him with one last warning.

"Don't disappoint me, Mr Heath."

The tech's answer brought a slight smile. Allowing it linger, he continued to watch the surf break on the beach. It felt good to hear his designation again. It was meant to be that way, to be called by his title. He closed his eyes and imagined the shaky words again, only this time in the deep baritone of his nemesis.

"I'll get it done, Mr Lyle."

TBC

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