Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character from Angel the TV show. They all belong to the wonderful and talented Joss Whedon.
The next day. . .
"Shit, come on," the boy swore as the ball remained in the bushes. Why had he even mentioned it to his parents the night before? Maybe if he had kept his mouth shut his father wouldn't have griped at him over breakfast, telling him that it was his responsibility to get the ball before it was lost.It's not like he even really cared about it that much. He had four more in the garage.
"Damn ball," he said, thinking that he should probably go find that janitor, just as it finally came rolling into his arms. Sitting back, hewas wipingit clean when the late bell rang. "Damn, damn, damn ball," Spencer swore, standing and sprinting towards the school building, hoping to make it in time to use the excuse that his locker had jammed. Of course, luck was not on his side and he soon found his spirits and his body on the wet, morning grass.
Rolling over, winded and tired, he felt like giving up. Maybe he should just skip school today. Of course, Jamie would run her mouth that he had, seeing as they both had lunch together. What did he care though? What did his parents care? He hadn't missed a day yet that year.
Then, a thought occured to him. The thought of his father's voice yelling at him when he was busted. No, skipping school would not be a good idea. Standing and brushing his pants off, Spencer walked warily towards the school building. Maybe his Mrs. Walker was feeling generous that day and would only give him a detention, instead of calling his parents.
Entering the school, he made his way quickly to his locker, and found that he did have an excuse for being late. It was jammed. "Can this day get any worse," he asked himself, and immediately regretted it, "great, I've jinxed myself."
Heading towards the office, he dragged his feet as he approached the secretary. "May I help you, dear," she asked, eyeing the grass stains on his shirt. "Yes, ma'am, my locker's jammed. Number 728," he replied, hoping she didn't inquire about his appearance. "Okay, I'll get a janitor, you go wait for him," was all she said, thankfully.
Feeling a little bit better as he headed back to his locker, Spencer didn't even mind having to wait ten minutes, seeing as he was getting to miss his least favorite class. Seeing the janitor approach, he didn't pay much attention but rather stood from his sitting position next to his locker.
"Uh, thanks," he said, collecting his backpack and soccer gear from the floor. "No problem, kid," the man said in a gruff voice that caught Spencer's attention. Forcing himself to look at the man only reaffirmed his terror. It was the same one as yesterday. He hadn't imagined it. He had to get out of here, he had to flee. Turning on his heel, the boy took off at full speed towards his class room hearing the man calling after him, his heart pounding madly in his ears, and the scene he couldn't forget playing over and over in his mind.
Opening his classroom door, he slammed it shut when he was inside, hoping to make everything stop. "Spencer," his teacher said sharply, looking up at him from her desk, but then stopping as she took in his appearance. He seemed frightened, as if he was close to tears. Approaching him, she opened the door and motioned him into the hallway, but he shook his head and instead took his seat, surprising her.
Spencer had always been a quiet, obedient boy, so this was very out-of-character for him. "Well, then, do you have an excuse for being l. . .," she started, but was cut off, "no." Surprised at this, Mrs. Walker made a note to have him called down to guidance later. For now, she decided to continue on with the lesson as planned.
Turning her back, she started to copy the day's notes onto the board, occasionally throwing a glance in Spencer's direction. Leaning over to him, Josh, his best friend, felt concern for Spencer, "hey, man, are you alright," he asked going to put a hand on Spencer's shoulder but having it brushed off. "I'm fine, Josh," he replied, turning his back on his friend, something the usually warm and happy Spencer would never do.
Not caring about the notes on the board, the lesson, or even what his friends were thinking about him, Spencer focused instead on how isolated he felt. No one understood what he was going through. What was he going to do, now? This was still the question on his mind an hour later when the bell that dismissed class rang. "Remember, the whole worksheet is for homework! Oh, Spencer, would you mind staying after. . .," Spencer heard as he drifted out the door.
He didn't feel like listening to her ask him questions and try to figure out what was wrong with him. He knew what was wrong with him, he just didn't know how to fix it. He felt so scared, and now mad, all at once. Why should that man walk free after he ruined his life so much? Why should he get to have a normal existence when Spencer still had that horrible scene in his head?
Knowing what he had to do, what his three-year-old self had not been able to do, Spencer made his way to the cafeteria. He calmly purchased a drink from the machine just as the bell rang again. He didn't hear it though, he was too focused on what he was about to do. Maybe this is the way that man had felt before he had completely ruined Spencer's life eleven years ago. Then, again, Spencer doubted he had much of a conscious.
Walking through the halls,not caring if he was caught skipping class or not, Spencer finally found what he was looking for, the janitor's closet. Taking the cap off his drink, he dumped it on the floor in front of the tiny closet, then crouched in a corner, where he couldn't be seen, and waited.
After what seemed like forever, the man finally showed up, mop in hand ready to clean up the mess Spencer had made. Of course, Spencer was ready to confront the man about the mess he had made. . .of the boy's life. Stepping out of the shadows, Spencer looked the man up and down. He hadn't changed that much, maybe a prison tattoo here and there, but he was still his biological father.
Turning the man looked at the boy. "Oh, I got your locker open, kid. Guess you were really late, huh," he smiled, then went back to mopping. "I hate you," Spencer heard himself say as the man looked up again, taking in the boy's appearance. Dropping the false cheeriness, William fixed him with a glare, "you're not the only one you know."
Next thing he knew, Spencer found himself against a locker, pinned. He had swung his fist, but the older, stronger man had anticipated it and not only deflected the blow, but also kneed the boy in the stomach. "What's wrong with you, eh? Mommy and daddy not buy you a new car or something," the man asked.
"I don't have a mom thanks to you," Spencer spat back as the man's eyes widened and he forced the boy into the closet. Closing the door behind them, the man looked Spencer up and down carefully. "Spencer," he asked no one in particular as the boy nodded, then lunged at him again. "You killed my mother,"he yelled, but the man pinned him to the wall again. "You don't know the full story," the man tried to reason while the boy struggled.
"I know enough. You came in, you shot her, you left me," the boy replied, still fighting. He didn't care what it took. He was going to get his revenge on this man. "You don't know why though! I was young, only a little older than you. . .," he started but Spencer kicked him, "shut up, I don't care what your excuse is! You're my father, you should have cared for us more!"
With that, Spencer had the air knocked out of him as he wasforced into the wall, "listen here, I am not your father. I never was and never will be. Your whore of a mother forced you into me. If you want a dad, go to Greg!" Tears welling up, mouth wide open, Spencer looked at the man before him. This man who wasn't his father. "What do you mean," he asked slowly, trying to process it all.
"I mean what I said. You're not my son. Greg's your father. Now get lost and don't ever bother me again," the man growled,throwingthe boy to the floorand disappearinginto the hall, closing the door on his way out. He had said it plain as day, but Spencer was still having a hard time processing it. The man who he thought was his father, the man who had shot his mother, was not his father. The man who was a father-figure to him for years, the man who had shot him, was his father. It was all too much!
Standing shakily, he didn't let the tears hit him until he was outside in the park area by the school. Forget it. He didn'tcare how much his parents yelled at him, he wasn't going back in there ever again if he could help it.
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Sighing as he enteredthe lab to find Fred and his youngest son, Wesleyexaminedthedrawers at Fred's desk. "What's wrong," Fred asked, reading his body language. "Spencer's skipped his last three classes and lunch," he said, now looking for his car keys, "first the principal called me, then Jamie, which reminds me, she's not supposed to be using that cellphone in school, is she," he added knowing Fred would ask.
"He's skipping his classes," she stopped focusing on the potion in front of her for a moment, though kept Henry's hand in hers to make sure he wasn't playing with it. "Yes, he is, and I'll bet I know what he's doing," Wesley replied, stalking off without a goodbye kiss. He was furious at the moment. He knew he should have given Spencer a more stern talking to the night before. Now, he was probably home or behind the school bleachers doing only God knew what with his girlfriend.
Not for long, thought Wesley, I'm going to find him wherever he's at, and when I do he's in for it.
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Having sped home through Los Angeles traffic, Wesley didn't bother parking his car in the garage, but rather just left it tosit in the driveway. He could see that someone had gone through the back gate since he had locked it that morning, and the only ones with keys were the older kids, Fred, and himself. Storming through it, he stalked past the pool and through the unlocked back door, glad that he at least didn't find clothes strewn all over the place. Maybe he was a little wrong, Chris was the more mature, knowledgeable one when it came to girls and what went on when parents weren't looking.
Nevertheless, he was mad that Spencer was skipping his classes, "Spencer, get your arse in here now, I know you're home," he yelled, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his arms folded. After a minute of not hearing anything, he decided that it was too long and took off for the stairs, nearly running headlong into the object of his frustration at the top.
"What the hell do you think you're doing skipping school," he half-shouted, getting ready to argue with his middle son, though halting when he saw his tear-stained face.Trying hard to wipe the tear stains away, Spencer turned for a moment. "What's wrong," Wesley asked, hoping that his excuse wasn't that his girlfriend has broken up with him, but knowing that Spencer was smarter than to get so upset about something like that.
Shaking his head, he didn't know how to phrase it. His father wasn't his real-father? The man who shot him also fathered him but never found it important enough to mention? "M-my father, who killed my mother, isn't my real father," Spencer finally managed after Wesley had steered him towards a seat on the couch and given him a glass of water.
Sitting opposite him, Wesley felt his heart leap into his throat. How much did Spencer know? "Spence,how do you know that," Wesley asked, calling his son by his nickname. "He told me. He's a janitor at my school," Spencer replied, leaning back on the couch then continuing, "he said that she was a whore and that Greg's my real dad. He shot me, and he's my dad."
Spencer couldn't quite come to grips with this, "he didn't even stop afterwards, Dad, he just ran." Wesley nodded looking at the floor. He had known all along that it would be hard for Spencer to accept this. That's why he and Fred had promised each other to never tell him. Perhaps it was wrong, but it prevented things like this from happening. "He taughtme to steal and then he abandoned me, twice," Spencer continued as Wesley put a hand on his shoulder.
Hoping he was doing all right at acting surprised, Wesley didn't know what else to do. Would telling Spencer that he and his mother knew all along be the right thing? The boy would be furious. He wouldn't understand that at the time it seemed like the right thing to do since he was already able to accept that his 'father' had shot his mother. Why put him through the shock that his real father had shot him and not thought twice about running away.
"I hate him," Spencer finally managed to find words for all the emotions inside of him, "I really, really hate him! He didn't even tell me he was my dad!" Looking up at Spencer, Wesleyshook his head, "hate doesn't help anything, believe me. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe you should," thinking hard for a moment, then deciding it was the right thing to do, he continued, "talk to him."
"No! I don't want anything to do with him. It's his fault my mom got killed! He should have taken responsibility for me! He's not my dad, you are," Spencer stood, "besides, where would I talk to him? Jail?" Not knowing what to do or say, Wesley knew that talking to Fred that night would help. They could come up with a way to approach this together and tell Spencer the truth. With some careful explaining, he would eventually be able to accept that it had been for his well being.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Or would he? Poor Spencer is in for a surprise in the next chapter! Please review.