"Mr. Jones?"
Killian Jones looked up from the computer where he was entering the attendance for his third grade class. Henry Cassidy was standing in front of him in a familiar posture; one of embarrassment and defeat.
"Good morning, Henry. What can I do for you?"
"I, uh, I didn't get my homework finished last night," the boy stated flatly.
Killian hit the key to send in his attendance, and brought up his grade book on the computer. After glancing around the room quickly to make sure none of the students were being disruptive, he clicked on Henry's name.
"That's the third time this quarter and we're only two weeks into it, Henry," the teacher said, with no heat in his voice.
The boy dropped his head further until his chin rested on his chest. "I know. I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"Is there a reason why you didn't complete your work?"
Henry looked up to briefly make eye contact and opened his mouth to reply, but before he got any words out, he clamped his lips together and shook his head. "No, sir."
Killian knew his student wasn't being honest with him. He had taught Henry for over half of a year and he could tell when the boy was uncomfortable, which usually meant he was hiding the truth. Killian had a sinking feeling he knew why Henry was often unable to do his homework, but so far, he didn't have enough information to truly suspect neglect on the part of the boy's father, something he was obligated to do as a teacher.
When Killian examined his new students' records prior to the beginning of the school year, it was Henry's which stood out the most. His mother died when he was five years old, and his kindergarten teacher noted that the event had been 'very traumatic' for him. His grades were good up through second grade, but his previous teachers noted that his father 'wasn't very involved or interested' in his son's education. He hadn't shown up for the Parent/Teacher conferences for the current school year and any attempt to contact him had been met with short, dismissive responses, or none at all.
Henry had seemed a bit unkempt from the beginning of the year. His clothes and shoes were ragged and appeared to be too small, his hair was shaggy and always hung in his eyes, and he often went several days wearing the same clothes without them, or Henry himself, being washed. He brought a sack lunch every day, which usually consisted of a bag of chips and can of soda, and occasionally a sandwich - not nearly enough to fill the stomach of a growing boy.
He started the school year lacking most of the required supplies, and the ones he did have were used or broken. Killian noticed right away and made a trip to the office to collect new supplies for the boy from the cupboards filled with donated items. When he privately presented them to Henry before class on the second day of school, the boy was extremely excited and thanked his teacher over and over. Killian felt like it had gotten their relationship off to a good start, showing Henry that he was a teacher who cared about him and could be trusted.
Killian had been teaching third grade for twelve years now, after having switched careers from being an editor of a sailing magazine. He never wanted to be a teacher as he was growing up, and hadn't chosen it as his vocation when he studied at Uni in England. But after a traffic accident when he was twenty-six killed his fiancée and necessitated the amputation of his left hand, he decided to move to the United States, took online college courses in Education and completed his student teaching, earning his Bachelor's degree and teaching license in less than three years.
He had taught other students like Henry and his heart always went out to them. That was the main reason he applied to become a foster parent several years ago; he wanted to be available to give lost girls and boys like Henry a safe place to live. However, the last boy placed in his care had caused him to have second thoughts about his decision.
Rufio was one of his former students who was suddenly left without a home or family at the age of sixteen when his father killed his mother in a fit of rage. Killian took him in and did his best to provide the young teen a stable, caring environment, which included therapy, but Rufio's emotional wounds ran too deep. He became a habitual runaway and, even though Killian did his best to prevent it from happening again, every time Rufio was found and returned, the boy always found a way to escape.
The final time he fled, Rufio made it all the way from their small town of Storybrooke, Maine to Boston, Massachusetts, where he became a member of a violent, drug-fueled gang, and eluded the Child Protective Service agents trying to look out for his safety, never to be heard from again.
Killian couldn't help feeling like he failed the boy, and because of that, was hesitant to open his home to any other children. He didn't know if he would be able to handle the heartache, guilt and despair he went through with Rufio again.
Drawing his gaze back up to Henry, Killian took in the lackluster look in his eyes, and the dark circles underneath them. The boy was bright, inquisitive and his writing was some of the best Killian had ever read in the many years he taught. Lately, however, Henry's work hadn't been up-to-par and there had been numerous occasions when Killian had caught him daydreaming or even falling asleep in class.
"You can catch up with your homework during study hall, but I'll have to dock ten points for being late" Killian said.
Henry sighed and dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly. Then he pivoted and went to his seat.
Killian pushed himself to his feet and cleared his throat to get the class's attention, ready to get the school day started.
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"Henry, wake up," Killian said to the boy, who had fallen asleep at his desk again. Hesitantly, he reached out to nudge Henry when calling didn't do the trick. The second his hand pushed at Henry's shoulder, his head shot up, his eyes looking around wildly and his arms automatically coming up in front of his face in a defensive position.
"I didn't…" he started, before realizing he was in his classroom. He dropped his hands and his face reddened in embarrassment.
Killian's class was at recess, so the room was empty. He turned the chair at the desk in front of Henry and sat down to face him. "Henry, talk to me. What's going on? You haven't been your usual self since before Christmas break."
"I, uh, I...don't want to miss recess," he deflected.
"Your classmates just left, so there's still plenty of time remaining."
They sat in silence for over a minute and Killian could tell the gears were turning in Henry's head. Finally he mumbled, "Nothing is going on. Everything is fine."
"I'm sorry, Henry, but I'm afraid I don't believe that. You're coming to school exhausted, not doing your homework, and you're distracted during class. Is everything okay at home?" Killian asked gently.
He could see Henry's body tense as he pulled his hands into his lap to knot them together tightly. "Yeah...it's just…" He was clearly torn about whether or not he should say anything.
Killian waited patiently for several moments, then when it became clear Henry had decided to stay silent, he said, "I hope you know I care about you and I'm here if you need to talk."
Henry chewed his lip. "I...I know, Mr. Jones. Can I go now?"
Killian sighed. "Of course, but Henry," he added, stopping the boy as he headed toward the door, "my offer stands. Anytime you want to talk, I'm willing to listen."
"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Jones. See you after recess," he threw over his shoulder before shuffling out the door.
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Later that day, Killian watched Henry carefully while he had cafeteria duty. Most students were sitting at tables in groups, joking and talking while they ate, but Henry sat by himself, as usual. Killian was aware the boy had very few friends. The other students avoided him, probably due to his disheveled appearance and unclean odor.
Killian had lunch duty every day for fifteen minutes and always thought it was a shame how much uneaten food was thrown into the garbage cans. Most kids were picky about what they ate, and if it didn't meet with their approval, they tossed it away at the end of lunch. Meanwhile, Henry devoured the meager meal from his lunch bag like he was starving. Sometimes, Killian would see him approach other students and hesitantly ask if they were going to eat something, heading back to his table with a smile when they handed him a sandwich or offered their fruit or vegetables. Even though trading food was against the rules, Killian never stopped Henry from doing it because the boy was obviously hungry.
Of course, Henry's insatiable appetite could be attributed to him being a growing boy, but somehow Killian knew Henry wasn't getting enough to eat at home. He was thin and lacked the energy of a typical third grader.
A month ago, when Killian became more suspicious about Henry being neglected, he began keeping careful notes about his observations. He knew he would need them if it ever came to the point where he had to make a report to the Office of Child and Family Services. Speaking with other staff members who worked with Henry, he found out they were concerned as well, and were also keeping notes.
He discussed his suspicions with the principal, guidance counselor and school nurse, and they all agreed that, while there was cause for concern and careful observation, there wasn't enough proof to make a report.
Killian was determined to figure out what was going on with Henry before the end of the school year. The thought that his student was in an unsafe situation gave him a sick feeling, and if necessary, he was going to do whatever he could to help him.
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Study hall was the last period of the day, and many students got passes to work with other teachers or go to the library, so Killian rarely had more than a handful of students on any given day. Today, he had four kids besides Henry, and they were working on a group project together in the corner of the room.
He sat at his desk attempting to grade some essays, but his eyes kept wandering to the lone figure sitting in front of him, working feverishly to complete his work from the day before, and get a headstart on the current day's homework. Henry kept glancing at the clock above the door, and Killian assumed it was because time was moving too quickly for the boy to finish, instead of him being ready for the school day to be over.
When the dismissal tone sounded, Henry's shoulders slumped. He gathered his papers and walked up to place them on Killian's desk without comment, then sullenly stuffed his books into his bag, swung it onto his back and started toward the door. Almost as an afterthought, he tossed a, "See ya tomorrow, Mr. Jones," over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowded hallway.
Killian blew out a heavy sigh and grabbed his coat from the corner cupboard to get ready for his dismissal duty. He couldn't help but wonder what would be waiting for Henry when he got home.
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"Hello, Minnie," Killian greeted his shepherd mix rescue dog, who eagerly met him as he walked in the door. He tried to dodge her tail as she whipped it back and forth, excited to see her owner after being alone all day. He knew from experience that she could cause bruises with that tail.
He adopted the dog four years ago, when he moved into his house and finally had enough room for a pet. She was already named Minerva when he got her and decided not to change it, but he shortened it to Minnie the majority of the time.
As he moved through his living room, he stopped to look out the picture window at the calming view of the bay. Being close to the water was one of the biggest selling points of this house, along with the nice-sized yard and no neighbors in close proximity. He valued his privacy and mostly kept to himself, except when he was with his colleagues at school.
He walked into his bedroom, removed his tie, and hung it neatly in his closet. Retrieving a pair of sweatpants from his dresser, he glanced at the picture sitting on top. Even after sixteen years, seeing the image of Milah and himself smiling happily in their engagement portrait created a pang.
Over the years, he had come to grips with her death, but at times, he felt the familiar regrets rise back up to the surface again. If he hadn't insisted on watching the end of the football game, before they left to go to the store. If they hadn't taken the busy highway on that rainy day, instead of taking back roads, as usual. If he would have been paying closer attention, instead of arguing with Milah about their plans for the evening.
As it was, when the large truck in front of him swerved at the last second to avoid the stopped traffic Killian had been unable to see, he had very little time to react. When he jammed on his brakes, his car began to fishtail on the wet pavement and he lost control of it, hitting the vehicle in front of him broadside. The car behind them wasn't able to stop either, and hit the passenger side with a sickening crunch he could still hear reverberating in his head, along with Milah's piercing scream, which lasted only a second, before she fell silent.
Killian realized he was badly injured from the excruciating pain he felt in parts of his body, especially his hand, which was crushed between the steering wheel and the car door; but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart when he turned his head to look at his fiancée. As he took in her unblinking eyes and the arm laying limply beside her, no longer reaching for him, he knew she was gone.
He'd had to wait nearly forty minutes for paramedics to make their way through the wreckage of the twelve car pile-up to cut them out of his vehicle, in more physical and emotional pain than he ever imagined possible.
Shaking off the sad memories, he changed into casual clothes, then clipped Minnie's leash to her collar and headed out the door for their daily walk.
After preparing a casserole, which would provide leftovers for his lunch the next day, he spent the remainder of the evening catching up on a new episode of a television series he watched every week, and grading papers.
He liked to save Henry's work for last, because it was usually well-written and a breath of fresh air, after reading several sub-par assignments. Today, however, he was disappointed in the quality and content of the paper. Sighing, he moved his pen over it, suggesting corrections that needed to be made, while once again wondering what was going on in Henry's life to cause the decline in his schoolwork.
He got ready for bed at ten o'clock and tried to read a couple of chapters of a novel laying on his nightstand, but gave up after a few pages. Reading two dozen essays written by third graders soured him on reading anything else that night.
He removed his prosthesis, turned off the lamp, and reached over to pet Minnie, who was stretched out on the bed beside him. "Goodnight, girl. See you in the morning," he yawned, then turned onto his left side.
His life was solitary and predictable, and as much as he might claim he was happy, he couldn't deny the fact he was lonely. Having Minnie helped, but he longed for human companionship. At forty-two years of age, however, he knew his chances of finding love again were diminishing.
Killian spent almost a half-an-hour tossing and turning, trying to clear his mind of jumbled thoughts, before he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.
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"Ugh! People suck!" Emma Swan groaned, as she dropped down onto the bar stool and signaled for Jefferson to bring her a beer.
"Oh, Emma, you shouldn't be so pessimistic," Mary Margaret chirped. "Not all people are bad, just a small handful!"
"Yeah, well, that handful is all I ever get to see. And trust me - they suck!"
"You just need to get out more. Getting together with your friends once a week is hardly enough socializing when you're trying to meet someone special. There's a lot of good in the world, if you would just open yourself up to it."
"That's easy for you to say. You're surrounded all day by five-year-olds who think you're some kind of fairy tale princess. Plus, you get to go home to Prince Charming every night. My world isn't full of rainbow kisses and unicorn stickers like yours."
The bartender set a beer in front of Emma. "Thanks, Jeff," she said, and took a couple of healthy chugs before continuing, "The scum I had to investigate today gave a whole new meaning to the word deplorable."
"She's not shittin' ya," Ruby Lucas agreed, plopping down on a stool beside Emma. "They were the worst." She caught Jefferson's attention, and when he brought her drink, Ruby leaned over the bar and thanked him with a very public display of affection.
"Geez, Rubes! Get a room already!" Emma complained.
Ruby broke off the kiss and licked her lips, continuing to look lecherously at her boyfriend. "Oh, we will, as soon as Jeff is off work, won't we, Hon?"
"Your place or mine, Ruby Red?" Jefferson asked with a grin.
"Yours. I haven't washed the sheets since the last time we were at mine, and that was an all-nighter."
Emma did a spit-take of her beer. "Dammit, Ruby! TMI!" Jefferson laughed and started wiping up the mess her spray created, while Emma commanded, "After you clean that up, just...go...somewhere away from here, before Ruby throws you on the bar and has her way with you!"
"Oooh! Now there's an idea! We haven't christened the bar yet, Jeffy! Maybe tonight is the night!"
Emma rolled her eyes, grabbed the towel out of Jefferson's hand, and threw it at his head as he retreated, laughing loudly and wiggling his ass.
"Seriously, Rubes. Do you have to keep flaunting your sex life in front of those of us who don't have one?" Emma asked, slouching down on her stool.
"Whose fault is that, Emma Swan? You could have any man you want, but you seem to have chosen a life of chastity for some unknown reason."
"I'm too busy with work," Emma mumbled, realizing her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.
"That's bullshit and you know it!" Ruby fired back. "I'm just as busy being a caseworker as you are being an investigator, but it hasn't affected my sex life, because I don't let it!"
"I agree with Ruby, to a certain extent," Mary Margaret spoke up. "You can't use your work as an excuse to avoid dating, Emma. I just know there's a nice guy out there who would be perfect for…"
"I'm gonna stop you right there, Marg. I don't want to hear about a nice, perfect guy for me, because there is no such man. And don't," she hurried to add as she saw her friend beginning to open her mouth again, "start spouting off about how there's someone for everyone. You may have found your Prince Charming, but there are no Fairy Godmothers to grant any of my wishes."
Mary Margaret closed her mouth and dropped her eyes, causing Emma to feel guilty for talking to her best friend like that. She laid her hand on Mary Margaret's arm. "I'm sorry, Marg. I shouldn't have been so short with you. I just...I don't want to think about guys or dating right now. The last thing I need is to have my heart broken again."
"Oh, Emma, I know Walsh hurt you badly, but that was over four years ago. You have a wall built around your heart now, and while that wall of yours may keep out pain, it may also keep out love."
Emma swallowed another mouthful of beer before answering, "If you saw what I do every day, Marg, you would lose faith in humanity real fast."
Just then, Mary Margaret's husband David walked over from where he had been throwing darts with a buddy, and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Hey, Emma, Ruby! When did you get here?"
"Hours ago. You've been neglecting your wife," Ruby snarked, grinning widely.
"Yeah, like he would ever do that!" Emma threw in.
"I would never neglect my lady love," David assured them, leaning in to share a sweet kiss with Mary Margaret.
"Okay, that's it," Emma said, finishing her beer and tossing some money on the bar. "I've had all the lovey-dovey stuff I can stand for one night. See all of you later."
Mary Margaret hopped off her stool to give her friend a hug. "Goodnight, Emma. Drive safely."
David hugged her next, uttering the same advice.
"See ya bright and early in the morning!" Ruby shouted, just before the door closed behind her friend.
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After maneuvering her yellow Volkswagen through the streets of Augusta, Maine, Emma entered her condo and tossed her keys on the counter. She could hear scuffling sounds coming from the laundry room and headed in that direction.
"Hi again, Baby!" she greeted her small, white Maltese, Coconut. The dog was standing on his hind legs with his front paws against the baby gate blocking the doorway, wagging his tail so hard, his whole body shook. Emma quickly unlatched the gate and pulled it aside to let her pet scramble out, jumping and dancing around her feet until Emma picked him up, trying to control the wiggling ball of fur until she could snap his leash on.
She had come home briefly after work to let him out, but he hadn't had much of a chance to run around and release his pent-up energy.
"Were you a good boy, Coco?" she asked, walking toward her back door. "You were, weren't you? You're always a good boy!"
Once they were outside, Emma set Coconut down and followed him around the small patch of grass behind her condo, while he sniffed for a place to relieve himself. Once he had gone and Emma cleaned up after him, she circled around to the sidewalk in front of the building to take him for a walk around the block.
When they returned, Emma filled Coco's food bowl and freshened his water, then searched through her freezer for a microwave meal. While her container of chicken fried rice heated, she went upstairs to her bathroom and removed her make-up, washed her face, pulled out the band holding her ponytail, and brushed her hair.
"Alright, alright!" she shouted at the microwave, which kept beeping to let her know her food was ready. On her way to the kitchen, she detoured into the laundry room, unhooked her bra, yanked it out through her shirt sleeve and tossed it in the hamper.
Finally flopping down on the couch with her dinner, she mindlessly flipped through channels on the TV until she found a cooking contest show. She rarely cooked, but she liked to watch other people do it. She usually ate at the bar on Thursdays when she met her friends, but she wasn't in the mood tonight. After investigating a heartbreaking child abuse case all day, then being surrounded by people in love, she just wanted to go home.
If she was being completely honest, she would admit to being lonely, which is why she adopted Coco from the animal shelter two years ago. At least she had someone to greet her when she came home from work every day.
She dozed off on the couch and woke up over an hour later. Sighing deeply, she put her dirty dishes in the sink, took Coconut outside again, and dragged herself up the stairs to her bedroom. After undressing, she applied moisturizer, brushed her teeth, and put on flannel sleep pants and a long sleeved T-shirt.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand next to her bed showed it was only nine-thirty. "I must be the most boring twenty-eight year old person ever," she murmured. Then she checked to make sure the alarm on her phone was set, and slid between the covers.
After laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling fan for several minutes, she rolled onto her left side and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. "Goodnight, Coco," she said to the little dog settled in his bed beside her dresser. She heard him snuffle adorably before she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
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