DISCLAIMER AND LEGAL STUFF: Digimon: Digital Monsters and its universes are not mine; they are the property of Toei, Saban and Bandai. I've simply distorted them for my own evilishly evil designs, (bwa ha ha ha haaa! Ahem.) Also, this fic is AU, so be warned. I hope peeps like it. I like it, but then, I'm slightly biased, aren't I?
*Sorry I took so long to update, but I've had my plate full with another X-Men:Evo fic I've been writing (378 pages and counting now) Plus a little thing called exams. I don't know if anyone actually read this project when I first uploaded it, since there were no reviews to speak of. I'm not even sure if people will deign to read it now, but I'll post it anyway, because it's only hanging around my hard-drive gathering dust otherwise.*
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July 2002
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"Fate and Destiny" By Scribbler
Chapter Two ~ "When An Ally Is Found"
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"Advice is like snow; the softer it falls the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind." -- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Izzy ran along the corridor, feet slapping wetly on the shabby tiles. His breath came in short gasps, and his red hair was plastered to his head like a slick skullcap, dyed black by the water copiously impregnating it. With a slight skid he rounded the corner, nearly toppling over such was his alacrity, but righting himself and carrying swiftly on before his slender body had chance to overbalance. A single word reverberated inside his mind like a knell as he urged his legs to go ever faster along the stark school hallway.
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.
He was late. That meant the cane for sure, and Beastly Beesly had a penchant for making an example of Izzy in front of the rest of the class - much to his contemporaries' delight and entertainment. Usually it was because of the lack of parental-notage concerning his abundant illegal absences, but the youth suspected that tardiness would receive much the same punishment.
Izzy slewed to a halt, his unwieldy backpack knocking against his spine in the process. He winced vaguely at the short stab of pain, but was more concerned with what lay beyond the mock-wooden door before him. Taking a quick breath for composure, the slim boy slid the door open, peeking dubiously into the room and awaiting the verbal onslaught he felt sure must come.
Yet his ears remained unassaulted, and Izzy stared into the classroom with ill-concealed disbelief written plainly across his tired features.
Instead of the round face and bushy orange moustache of Mr. Beesly, his usual English teacher, Izzy found himself looking at a quite different visage. A youngish man stood at the front of the room next to the chalkboard, hand raised as if he'd been just about to write something with the white stick clasped between his willowy fingers, but been brought to cessation rather abruptly. Two blue eyes gazed at the panting boy standing in the gaping entrance from a canvas of tanned skin set beneath a mop of short spiky brown hair. The young man smiled, an action that caused several laughter lines to appear alongside his dazzling cerulean orbs.
"Good morning, Mr. Izumi. Raining, was it?"
Izzy just gaped. Where were the harsh admonitions? Where was the order to stand at the front of the class and hold out his palm? Where was the cane? Where was Mr Beesly, for that matter?
As if reading his thoughts, the smiling figure continued in a husky, rather soothing voice.
"Mr. Beesly's sick, I'm afraid, so I'll be taking your classes until his return. I hope that isn't a problem, Mr. Izumi?"
"N... no." Izzy stuttered. Beastly Beesly, sick? But that man had the constitution of a carthorse! He leaned on the swinging door dumbly, awaiting the command to come forward and receive his strokes for being late.
But the cheerful man simply cocked his head at the breathless pupil, a thoughtful expression present in those sparkling azure eyes.
"Are you coming in?" He asked mischievously, with a distinctly un-teacher-like edge to his tone. "Or do you prefer the doorway? You can listen to the lesson from out there if you wish, but I think you'll have problems when it comes to taking notes."
Jolted from his stupor, Izzy hurriedly entered the room, closing the door with a hollow click behind him. Many pairs of eyes watched as he tentatively made his way to his accustomed seat at the back of the room, silently anticipating - as was he - the decree to stop, turn around and be reprimanded for his belatedness.
Yet no such order was forthcoming, and the red haired youth sat down in his chair quietly and discreetly, until finally one of the boys near him could bear it no longer.
"Aren't you going to punish him?" The portly teenager cried indignantly, his voice harsh and incensed. Izzy cowered in his place, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
"Now why would I want to do that?" asked the teacher innocently.
"He was late!" The youth stated, jowls wobbling as he broadcast his infuriated feelings. The man nodded, but made no move to recall Izzy.
"I hardly think a little tardiness is worthy of punishment, especially not the kind I think you're insinuating. Mr Izumi appears to have forgotten his umbrella, so I think the weather has reprimanded him quite enough, don't you?"
"No." Grumbled the boy, sinking back down onto his bountiful rolls of flesh. "I don't."
The youthful educator, who seemed very unconcerned about the whole thing except at its possibility as a source of amusement, nodded with pseudo-gravity, a spark of mischief still dancing in his uncanny blue eyes.
"Very well then. Mr. Izumi, you will stay behind after school today and clean this chalkboard for me. There now, all settled. Now I'll go back to the lesson, if you don't mind." He swivelled round to face the pitch slab hung upon the flaking wall, raising one graceful hand once more to continue.
"That's not a real punishment." The boy adjacent to Izzy groused rebelliously to himself, unwilling to raise his voice and take on the teacher's decision head-to-head.
The entire congregation of youngsters murmured their disapproval of the lenient - by their standards - chastisement, and this maintained throughout the session as they protested amongst themselves the loss of their favoured sport and entertainment.
For his part, Izzy was as stunned as the rest of them. Never before had he gotten away from a crime without at least five strokes of the beloved cane Beastly Beesly kept in a case in his desk drawer. As if in memory of its previous whippings, his palms began to burn with residual agony at the thought of that thin wood slicing across his raw flesh. He shifted uncomfortably, pushing the unwanted memories away, whilst at the same time shooting several glances around him to gauge his classmates' reactions to this unexpected turn of events. They were not altogether encouraging, and the outcast youth collected many dirty looks that promised isolation and mental punishment later on if he wasn't careful. He noted their faces, tucking away the memorandum to avoid them in his mind, before turning his attention back to the class, and it's unorthodox teacher.
Izzy contemplated the youngish man whilst he scribbled down what was written on the board into his battered notebook, crisp and dried out in places where it had been carelessly thrown into a puddle not long ago. Mr. Hogan had joined Odaiba High in September with the start of the new term, about the same time Izzy did. However, unlike Izzy, the young lecturer hadn't had any trouble settling down. His handsome appearance had made him a hit with almost all the girls, and additionally his easygoing manner had won over the majority of the boys too. With a well-timed word and flash of his startling blue eyes, Mr. Hogan could retrieve himself from any sticky situation with ease - whether dealing with faculty or students alike.
The remainder of the lesson passed in a blur. Mr. Hogan was primarily a science teacher, but judging by the plentiful notes he'd accumulated, Izzy ascertained that he was also well trained in literature too. When the bell rang, it seemed as if only a few minutes had passed since he staggered in through the door, such was the interest the spiky haired tutor had created in what had previously been dusty and yawn-inducing subject matter.
The unusual educator darted a knowing grin in Izzy's direction as the boy dutifully filed out of the classroom, struggling slightly as he was roughly jostled whilst attempting to fasten the zipper on his bag.
"Don't forget, Mr. Izumi. After school, this chalkboard and you have a date, and I think she'll be very disappointed and hurt if you stand her up."
The adolescent simply gave a wan smile, before bolting down the rapidly filling hallway ahead of his rather hostile contemporaries. Mr. Hogan watched him go with interest. In the back of his astute mind something stirred faintly. There was something about that boy. Something particular. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn't work out what it was. Sighing resignedly, the young-looking man gathered his papers and set off back towards his laboratory on the other side of the school. He hadn't originally wanted to leave his beloved science block and cover Beesly's lesson, but now he was glad he had. The extra effort it cost him to return in time for his next class had been worth it, if only to stir his curiosity. Perhaps....
But the train of thought was cut off before it could fully bloom by a pair of students who suddenly decided that now was a good time to start a fight. Mr. Hogan soon became embroiled in breaking up the ensuing tussle, all thoughts of Izzy Izumi driven from his gifted cranium with the flailing of fists and traded curses turning the air a spectacular shade of blue around him.
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The school seemed quiet without any pupils in it. Silence itself echoed down the austere hallways and reverberated off the walls, twisting quiescent fingers into every nook and cranny it could find and making the structure its own. Diaphanous tendrils swept down the passages in a tide of pure, unadulterated hush, their only accompaniment memories of bustling times long past.
A sudden clanking perforated the all-consuming stillness, as a short figure carrying an ancient metal bucket hove into view down the vacant corridor. Water sloshed out of the archaic container, leaving a trail of soapsuds and frothy liquid behind it as the slender individual struggled to transport the unwieldy coffer to its destination. He stopped at the wooden door leading into a classroom, readjusting his load and turning to push the door open with his back. Footsteps resonating hollowly as he crossed the threshold in reverse, clutching the dented pail with some difficulty to his chest.
Izzy swung round and gratefully set his burden down on the floor. Slender fingers flexed with relief, appreciative to have been relieved of their antediluvian yoke at last. A small sigh escaped his lips, and he dumbly set about the task he'd been set that morning. Dipping a half-disintegrated rag - the only thing he'd been able to find in the caretaker's cupboard that even remotely qualified as a sponge - into the tepid, lathery water, he slapped it against the chalkboard and began to vigorously clean it. The red haired boy had a sneaking suspicion that his classmates, deprived of their usual sport, had been responsible for the complete absence of cleaning materials in the storeroom save for this cloth and the antique bucket now dribbling its contents onto the floor tiles. Not that he really cared. This was peanuts compared to some of the things that had happened to him during the course of his didactic career.
The rag beneath his fingers squeaked as it was dragged across the pitch surface of the board, leaving a wet track behind it. Izzy bent down and immersed it again, wringing out the superfluous fluid before once more continuing with his chore. At least this was better then a caning. He could understand why the government had reintroduced its practice, but he suspected that none of them had been alive when it was last in place, and had never experienced the stinging sensation of rattan across bare skin.
A dull click and faint displacement of air blowing against the back of Izzy's neck signalled that the door to the room had just been opened. An accompaniment of the distinct tapping of shoes also indicated that a person had come in. Izzy swivelled round to see Mr. Hogan striding into the classroom, briefcase in hand and that ever-present mischievous grin grafted to his tanned face. If possible, his smile became even wider as he saw the boy obediently employed in washing the chalkboard.
"Ah, Mr. Izumi. Glad to see you." He speedily crossed the room to the desk in the corner, glancing back to throw a careless comment over his shoulder. "I'm not checking up on you, I just forgot a few files when I took your class today. I won't be moment, I promise."
Izzy watched, and true to his word, the willowy man scooped up a folder from off the counter and proceeded to stuff it into his already bulging attaché case. The folder, however, had other ideas, and flatly refused to fit. Izzy looked on with quiet amusement as the teacher tried in vain to force it in, eventually relinquishing the endeavour and flipping the case shut again, whilst positioning the errant file in the crook of his other arm. He turned, catching the youth's eye.
"Too much work and not enough space, I'm afraid. Apparently you can't be hard-working and modish at the same time when you're a teacher."
Izzy gave a half-hearted smile at the joke. A trickle of water made its damp way down his wrist, and he shook it off ahead of dousing the rag again.
Mr. Hogan quirked an eyebrow at the curious youth before him. It was true - he hadn't been planning to check up on Izzy's punishment. For some strange reason, unlike with any of the other pupils, he trusted this boy to carry it out without supervision, despite the fact that he had no concrete evidence to suggest this. There was just something about the boy, some mysterious aura that demanded immediate trust and confidence. Mr. Hogan shook his spiky haired head; he was getting soft in the brain. And yet.... it was hard to deny that there *was* something unusual about Izzy Izumi. Something that set him apart from the rest of his classmates, regardless of the fact that he consciously avoided drawing attention to himself at all costs.
For his part, Izzy circumvented looking at the teacher, who - despite having done what he came to do in the room - seemed reluctant to leave. The reticent youth quietly wiped the chalkboard, making no attempt to initiate conversation. Why didn't he go away? Did he enjoy watching a punishment in action? No, Mr. Hogan wasn't like that. He wasn't like Beastly Beesly; else he would've caned his charge in the lesson in full view of everybody. Still, that didn't explain why the man was still there, scrutinizing him like one of his numerous laboratory experiments.
Eventually, after several minutes of this, Mr. Hogan broke the uncomfortable silence with his husky baritone.
"You're not like other kids, are you?"
Izzy looked up, startled. What had prompted such an atypical comment? He stuttered for a moment, not quite sure how to answer.
"I... I don't know what you mean, Mr. Hogan, sir."
The elder male waved his hand dismissively, momentarily distracted from what he was saying. "Don't bother with the whole 'sir' thing, you make me feel old. What I mean is, you don't act like other kids your age."
Izzy simply stared at him. What were you supposed to say to something like that? Mr. Hogan placed his briefcase and folder down on the desk, before perching himself deftly on the corner. He gazed at the boy, blue eyes filled with curiosity.
"I'm sure you think I'm strange asking you a question like that." He chuckled. "It's just that.... well, you just seem quite over-mature for your age. How old are you, Izzy?"
Momentarily startled but the familiar use of his first name - teachers aren't meant to be friendly, are they? - Izzy verbally stumbled.
"I.... sixteen, si- Mr. Hogan."
The tutor nodded sagely. "And yet you act more like an adult than I do. Not that that's a difficult feat." He swung his legs up to sit Indian-style on the bureau. Izzy practically gaped at the conspicuously un-teacher-like action, noting absent-mindedly how ridiculous it looked for someone in a navy suit and red tie to be balanced on the edge of a desk like a naughty schoolboy.
He was snapped from his thoughts when Mr. Hogan spoke again.
"I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you don't seem to connect very well with the rest of your contemporaries, and I was wondering if I could help. Tell me, Izzy, when was the last time you went out with your friends?"
Izzy's dark eyes slid to the floor, and he self-consciously shuffled from foot to foot, all thoughts of cleaning the chalkboard driven from his mind by the well meaning, but rather indiscreet science teacher.
Mr. Hogan gazed at the uncomfortable youth, wondering after the cause of his caginess. Then it hit him, and he mentally slapped himself at his tactlessness. The boy didn't go out, because he didn't have any friends.
"I'm sorry." The willowy man apologised hastily. "I didn't mean to - "
"No, it's OK." Izzy cut him off. "You didn't mean any harm, it's just.... it's a sore topic, is all."
I can imagine, mused the teacher. Poor boy, just moved here and the kids won't even consider accepting him. Wonder why that is? What is it that they don't like about him?
Izzy stared at his scuffed shoe as if it were the most riveting sight in the entire world. He wasn't used to people asking him things like this. He wasn't used to people even making the pretence of caring how he felt or what he thought about anything, much less apologising for hurting his feelings. Maybe.... maybe he could confide in Mr. Gennai, this man who breezed in ostensibly without a care in the world, the first person to treat him like human being and not just an extension of his parents.... or a target. Maybe....
"I..." He began, and then stopped, irresolute. Was he making a mistake? Should he speak of such personal things aloud, or should he simply keep them inside, in that little alcove beside his heart where they'd always resided? The silence that followed his hesitant commencement was intense and all consuming, and crowded into his ears like a nauseating fog of timidity.
Mr. Hogan watched him, willing the boy to speak what was obviously preying upon his mind.
Eventually, the red haired youth heaved a great sigh, and appeared to have come to a decision in his mind. He kept staring at the floor, not meeting the tutor's eyes, and when at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse and soft.
"I.... I don't know why people don't like me. It was the same at all my other schools - my parents, they move around a lot, you see. I'd turn up on the first day and hope that this time, it would be different. This time, I'd be accepted. But it never was, and they never did - accept me, that is." His words came in a mad rush, as if afraid that if they didn't exit his mouth as quickly as possible, then he would bite down on his tongue and prevent them from escaping at all. "I tried everything I could think of to get people to like me, but nothing worked. The kids all just saw me as some sort of target, and the teachers.... well, the teachers all seemed to think I was some punching bag they could vent their frustration on because there was never any comeback from me or my parents against them. My parents would move after a while - they always did in the end, but never because of me - and I'd switch to another new school, and the whole thing would be repeated over again."
Mr. Hogan looked on in taciturn sympathy, quietly noting the boy's shuddering shoulders. It was obvious that he was trying to hold in tears - probably, this was the first time he'd vented these feelings to anyone. His parents didn't sound like the most communicative of people. The educator tentatively cleared his throat, unwilling to put his proverbial foot in his mouth again.
"Have you spoken to your parents about this? Perhaps they could help."
"Pah!" Izzy virtually spat, scornfulness clearly evident in his voice. "Like *they'd* listen to anything I said. Unless it's beneficial to either them or their new law firm, they just aren't interested. They never have been!"
The passionate derision in his voice struck a chord in Mr. Hogan, and he sensed that there was some other reason behind its presence in the youth's tone than simply inattentive parents. A faint wisp of sensation stirred in the back of the man's incisive brain, calling to him in a near ethereal whisper, but he swiftly silenced it. No, he wouldn't deal with this in that manner. This required some basic level of human judgment - not exactly his forte, but he'd give it a go anyway.
"You know, Izzy, you can always talk to me if people are bothering you at school. You don't have to suffer in silence if things are happening. It's not mandatory."
Izzy raised his eyes, surprise at the kind gesture mixed with gratitude swirling in those twin dusky pools, so unused to this type of benevolence. He stared at the teacher for a moment, expression descending once more into the unreadable as their gazes met, until Mr. Hogan worried that he'd insulted him. However, these fears were quickly shelved when the corners of Izzy's mouth suddenly twitched and curled into a rarely seen, thankful smile.
"Thanks." He said simply. "I appreciate it."
Satisfied by this apparent success, but noting that Izzy seemed unwilling to talk more at present, Mr. Hogan hopped down off the desk. Gathering his things together and stacking them - albeit unsteadily - in his arms once more, he proceeded to head for the door. Izzy watched him for a moment, and then switched his attention back to the task at hand - namely, washing the black slate in front of him.
However, as he reached the exit, the boyish teacher abruptly halted and turned back to the curious redhead. Izzy appeared unaware of this pause until he spoke, voice tinted with rarely seen wisdom and gravity.
"You're special, you know. Unique. Never forget that, no matter what happens in the world around you. You're your own person, and you're special."
Izzy's head jerked up at these words, but the unusual educationalist was already gone. Izzy stared at where he'd stood, pondering those parting sentiments. Him, special? Nobody had ever told him that before. Freakish, yes. Dangerous too. But special?
For the second time in as many minutes, Izzy's face curled into a smile, and as he dunked the wet rag back into the soapy water, he decided that - despite his eccentricities - he liked Mr.Hogan.
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It was already dark by the time Izzy finally got home. His punishment had meant he'd missed his usual bus, consequently missing the appropriate changes as well, forcing him onto a later vehicle, but causing him to be quite behind schedule in the process. As he made his way tiredly up the long driveway to Bluebird Hall, he sighed exhaustedly. It had been a rough day, although not as rough as it could have been, given the circumstances.
The dilapidated house he called home loomed out of the darkness, tall and imposing. In the growing dusk it was hard to tell how run down the place actually was, and one could easily imagine it in all its former glory of days gone by as it hid its shabbiness in shadow. Izzy paused for a moment, his fertile imagination creating scenes of glamorous parties and gaudy decorations as he stared at the ragged structure. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see the twinkling lights and hear the joyful music of company filtering through the French windows and doors. Vaporous figures ostensibly floated past, making their way to a shindig that had long since ended.
Izzy shook his head, a cold breeze buffeting his face and ruffling his unkempt hair. The unseasonable warmth of the day still hung thick in the air, but a biting chill had sprung up even as he hiked up the lengthy gravelled drive. It cut against his cheek like a knife, and the youth shivered before jerking up his collar and commencing his brief journey once more.
But Izzy never made the short trip to his front door. As his feet crunched over the pebbly ground, he became aware of an odd noise. Footsteps - or rather, crunching that sounded distinctly like footsteps on gravel - coming from a few feet away. The redhead stopped, and the noise stopped also. He started off again, and sure enough, so did the anomalous sound. Izzy called over his shoulder to where he thought the footsteps emanated from.
"Mom? Dad? Is that you?"
No answer.
His parents' cars stood parked in their usual positions up ahead, polished hides gleaming in the moonlight. They were home then, and inside, judging by the sliver of light leaking through the living-room curtains. But then, what was that strange crunching behind him?
Over-active imagination creating grisly scenarios of muggers and murderers, Izzy quickened his step. His breathing also involuntarily accelerated, and thin chest constricting slightly as he strode purposefully towards his domicile. The boy forced himself not the look back, lest he see something he would rather not. Images flowed through his brain like an unchecked torrent, manifesting a core of fear in his stomach that only appears when one is alone in the dark with something unknown.
He'd almost reached the roofed porch when it happened. Izzy stretched out with slender fingers for the door-handle, when suddenly he felt something strike the back of his head. Stars exploded inside his skull, and he stumbled backwards at the unforeseen blow. What the hell was that?
Mind reeling, the intellectual youth was unexpectedly aware of two figures detaching themselves from the gloom. They were tall and well built, muscles patently obvious on their wide frames even in the murky dimness. Izzy staggered back a few steps, shaking his head to rid himself of the multitude of bright spots that now insisted on crowding into his vision.
Loud roaring perforated his hearing, filling his ears until he believed his brain must burst from the sheer volume and intensity of it. He raised his hands and clapped them over the sides of his head, fruitlessly trying to stifle the thunderous clamour. He half expected to feel the sticky wetness of blood oozing from his lobes such was the unreserved concentration of his discomfort.
A gruff voice filtered through the haziness and pounding of blood in Izzy's temples.
"I thought you said one crack would knock 'im out!"
"I was wrong then, wasn't I. Best give 'im another to lay 'im out cold. Careful - remember - he's one of them lot. We dunno what he c'n do."
Them lot? Do? Izzy's mind whirled at these strange words spoken by alien voices. Who were these people? Why had they attacked him outside his own house in the middle of nowhere? What did they want with him?
His head ached with these unanswered questions, and he lurched backwards, vaguely aware that he should try and get away from these assailants before they hurt him again. However, the ground suddenly seemed to be made out of rubber, and his woozy feet couldn't seem to get a good purchase. The boy tripped over his own legs, sprawling onto his spine with a faint 'oomph'. The world spun, a twirling myriad of stars and pitch night sky, which made him feel somewhat nauseous. A groan escaped his lips as the air was driven from his lungs, and he lay prone on the ground.
A shadow fell across him, and one of the brusque voices cut through the cloying haze fast encircling his senses.
"Apparently one good hit *was* all it took to lay 'im flat."
"Don't speak too soon. Look, he's still awake." Cautioned the other voice.
"Ah, they're not so tough. Dunno what we need to be so careful about. Watch this."
Izzy was vaguely aware that his parents were within the house only a few feet away, probably beavering away on some lawsuit on their laptops. Why couldn't they hear what was going on outside? The rushing blood in his ears made it difficult for him to tell just how loud his attackers were being, but surely Mr. And Mrs. Izumi could discern the noise of their own son being tormented on the gravel of their driveway?
The shadow spread across his face, followed by the indistinct form of a man leaning over him. Izzy couldn't move, couldn't get away. The obscure individual raised what could have been his arm above the boy's head, and then brought it swishing down in an incongruously graceful arc. Then there was only blackness.
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*To Be Continued....*
*Sorry I took so long to update, but I've had my plate full with another X-Men:Evo fic I've been writing (378 pages and counting now) Plus a little thing called exams. I don't know if anyone actually read this project when I first uploaded it, since there were no reviews to speak of. I'm not even sure if people will deign to read it now, but I'll post it anyway, because it's only hanging around my hard-drive gathering dust otherwise.*
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July 2002
___________________
"Fate and Destiny" By Scribbler
Chapter Two ~ "When An Ally Is Found"
___________________
"Advice is like snow; the softer it falls the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind." -- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
___________________
Izzy ran along the corridor, feet slapping wetly on the shabby tiles. His breath came in short gasps, and his red hair was plastered to his head like a slick skullcap, dyed black by the water copiously impregnating it. With a slight skid he rounded the corner, nearly toppling over such was his alacrity, but righting himself and carrying swiftly on before his slender body had chance to overbalance. A single word reverberated inside his mind like a knell as he urged his legs to go ever faster along the stark school hallway.
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.
He was late. That meant the cane for sure, and Beastly Beesly had a penchant for making an example of Izzy in front of the rest of the class - much to his contemporaries' delight and entertainment. Usually it was because of the lack of parental-notage concerning his abundant illegal absences, but the youth suspected that tardiness would receive much the same punishment.
Izzy slewed to a halt, his unwieldy backpack knocking against his spine in the process. He winced vaguely at the short stab of pain, but was more concerned with what lay beyond the mock-wooden door before him. Taking a quick breath for composure, the slim boy slid the door open, peeking dubiously into the room and awaiting the verbal onslaught he felt sure must come.
Yet his ears remained unassaulted, and Izzy stared into the classroom with ill-concealed disbelief written plainly across his tired features.
Instead of the round face and bushy orange moustache of Mr. Beesly, his usual English teacher, Izzy found himself looking at a quite different visage. A youngish man stood at the front of the room next to the chalkboard, hand raised as if he'd been just about to write something with the white stick clasped between his willowy fingers, but been brought to cessation rather abruptly. Two blue eyes gazed at the panting boy standing in the gaping entrance from a canvas of tanned skin set beneath a mop of short spiky brown hair. The young man smiled, an action that caused several laughter lines to appear alongside his dazzling cerulean orbs.
"Good morning, Mr. Izumi. Raining, was it?"
Izzy just gaped. Where were the harsh admonitions? Where was the order to stand at the front of the class and hold out his palm? Where was the cane? Where was Mr Beesly, for that matter?
As if reading his thoughts, the smiling figure continued in a husky, rather soothing voice.
"Mr. Beesly's sick, I'm afraid, so I'll be taking your classes until his return. I hope that isn't a problem, Mr. Izumi?"
"N... no." Izzy stuttered. Beastly Beesly, sick? But that man had the constitution of a carthorse! He leaned on the swinging door dumbly, awaiting the command to come forward and receive his strokes for being late.
But the cheerful man simply cocked his head at the breathless pupil, a thoughtful expression present in those sparkling azure eyes.
"Are you coming in?" He asked mischievously, with a distinctly un-teacher-like edge to his tone. "Or do you prefer the doorway? You can listen to the lesson from out there if you wish, but I think you'll have problems when it comes to taking notes."
Jolted from his stupor, Izzy hurriedly entered the room, closing the door with a hollow click behind him. Many pairs of eyes watched as he tentatively made his way to his accustomed seat at the back of the room, silently anticipating - as was he - the decree to stop, turn around and be reprimanded for his belatedness.
Yet no such order was forthcoming, and the red haired youth sat down in his chair quietly and discreetly, until finally one of the boys near him could bear it no longer.
"Aren't you going to punish him?" The portly teenager cried indignantly, his voice harsh and incensed. Izzy cowered in his place, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
"Now why would I want to do that?" asked the teacher innocently.
"He was late!" The youth stated, jowls wobbling as he broadcast his infuriated feelings. The man nodded, but made no move to recall Izzy.
"I hardly think a little tardiness is worthy of punishment, especially not the kind I think you're insinuating. Mr Izumi appears to have forgotten his umbrella, so I think the weather has reprimanded him quite enough, don't you?"
"No." Grumbled the boy, sinking back down onto his bountiful rolls of flesh. "I don't."
The youthful educator, who seemed very unconcerned about the whole thing except at its possibility as a source of amusement, nodded with pseudo-gravity, a spark of mischief still dancing in his uncanny blue eyes.
"Very well then. Mr. Izumi, you will stay behind after school today and clean this chalkboard for me. There now, all settled. Now I'll go back to the lesson, if you don't mind." He swivelled round to face the pitch slab hung upon the flaking wall, raising one graceful hand once more to continue.
"That's not a real punishment." The boy adjacent to Izzy groused rebelliously to himself, unwilling to raise his voice and take on the teacher's decision head-to-head.
The entire congregation of youngsters murmured their disapproval of the lenient - by their standards - chastisement, and this maintained throughout the session as they protested amongst themselves the loss of their favoured sport and entertainment.
For his part, Izzy was as stunned as the rest of them. Never before had he gotten away from a crime without at least five strokes of the beloved cane Beastly Beesly kept in a case in his desk drawer. As if in memory of its previous whippings, his palms began to burn with residual agony at the thought of that thin wood slicing across his raw flesh. He shifted uncomfortably, pushing the unwanted memories away, whilst at the same time shooting several glances around him to gauge his classmates' reactions to this unexpected turn of events. They were not altogether encouraging, and the outcast youth collected many dirty looks that promised isolation and mental punishment later on if he wasn't careful. He noted their faces, tucking away the memorandum to avoid them in his mind, before turning his attention back to the class, and it's unorthodox teacher.
Izzy contemplated the youngish man whilst he scribbled down what was written on the board into his battered notebook, crisp and dried out in places where it had been carelessly thrown into a puddle not long ago. Mr. Hogan had joined Odaiba High in September with the start of the new term, about the same time Izzy did. However, unlike Izzy, the young lecturer hadn't had any trouble settling down. His handsome appearance had made him a hit with almost all the girls, and additionally his easygoing manner had won over the majority of the boys too. With a well-timed word and flash of his startling blue eyes, Mr. Hogan could retrieve himself from any sticky situation with ease - whether dealing with faculty or students alike.
The remainder of the lesson passed in a blur. Mr. Hogan was primarily a science teacher, but judging by the plentiful notes he'd accumulated, Izzy ascertained that he was also well trained in literature too. When the bell rang, it seemed as if only a few minutes had passed since he staggered in through the door, such was the interest the spiky haired tutor had created in what had previously been dusty and yawn-inducing subject matter.
The unusual educator darted a knowing grin in Izzy's direction as the boy dutifully filed out of the classroom, struggling slightly as he was roughly jostled whilst attempting to fasten the zipper on his bag.
"Don't forget, Mr. Izumi. After school, this chalkboard and you have a date, and I think she'll be very disappointed and hurt if you stand her up."
The adolescent simply gave a wan smile, before bolting down the rapidly filling hallway ahead of his rather hostile contemporaries. Mr. Hogan watched him go with interest. In the back of his astute mind something stirred faintly. There was something about that boy. Something particular. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn't work out what it was. Sighing resignedly, the young-looking man gathered his papers and set off back towards his laboratory on the other side of the school. He hadn't originally wanted to leave his beloved science block and cover Beesly's lesson, but now he was glad he had. The extra effort it cost him to return in time for his next class had been worth it, if only to stir his curiosity. Perhaps....
But the train of thought was cut off before it could fully bloom by a pair of students who suddenly decided that now was a good time to start a fight. Mr. Hogan soon became embroiled in breaking up the ensuing tussle, all thoughts of Izzy Izumi driven from his gifted cranium with the flailing of fists and traded curses turning the air a spectacular shade of blue around him.
___________________
The school seemed quiet without any pupils in it. Silence itself echoed down the austere hallways and reverberated off the walls, twisting quiescent fingers into every nook and cranny it could find and making the structure its own. Diaphanous tendrils swept down the passages in a tide of pure, unadulterated hush, their only accompaniment memories of bustling times long past.
A sudden clanking perforated the all-consuming stillness, as a short figure carrying an ancient metal bucket hove into view down the vacant corridor. Water sloshed out of the archaic container, leaving a trail of soapsuds and frothy liquid behind it as the slender individual struggled to transport the unwieldy coffer to its destination. He stopped at the wooden door leading into a classroom, readjusting his load and turning to push the door open with his back. Footsteps resonating hollowly as he crossed the threshold in reverse, clutching the dented pail with some difficulty to his chest.
Izzy swung round and gratefully set his burden down on the floor. Slender fingers flexed with relief, appreciative to have been relieved of their antediluvian yoke at last. A small sigh escaped his lips, and he dumbly set about the task he'd been set that morning. Dipping a half-disintegrated rag - the only thing he'd been able to find in the caretaker's cupboard that even remotely qualified as a sponge - into the tepid, lathery water, he slapped it against the chalkboard and began to vigorously clean it. The red haired boy had a sneaking suspicion that his classmates, deprived of their usual sport, had been responsible for the complete absence of cleaning materials in the storeroom save for this cloth and the antique bucket now dribbling its contents onto the floor tiles. Not that he really cared. This was peanuts compared to some of the things that had happened to him during the course of his didactic career.
The rag beneath his fingers squeaked as it was dragged across the pitch surface of the board, leaving a wet track behind it. Izzy bent down and immersed it again, wringing out the superfluous fluid before once more continuing with his chore. At least this was better then a caning. He could understand why the government had reintroduced its practice, but he suspected that none of them had been alive when it was last in place, and had never experienced the stinging sensation of rattan across bare skin.
A dull click and faint displacement of air blowing against the back of Izzy's neck signalled that the door to the room had just been opened. An accompaniment of the distinct tapping of shoes also indicated that a person had come in. Izzy swivelled round to see Mr. Hogan striding into the classroom, briefcase in hand and that ever-present mischievous grin grafted to his tanned face. If possible, his smile became even wider as he saw the boy obediently employed in washing the chalkboard.
"Ah, Mr. Izumi. Glad to see you." He speedily crossed the room to the desk in the corner, glancing back to throw a careless comment over his shoulder. "I'm not checking up on you, I just forgot a few files when I took your class today. I won't be moment, I promise."
Izzy watched, and true to his word, the willowy man scooped up a folder from off the counter and proceeded to stuff it into his already bulging attaché case. The folder, however, had other ideas, and flatly refused to fit. Izzy looked on with quiet amusement as the teacher tried in vain to force it in, eventually relinquishing the endeavour and flipping the case shut again, whilst positioning the errant file in the crook of his other arm. He turned, catching the youth's eye.
"Too much work and not enough space, I'm afraid. Apparently you can't be hard-working and modish at the same time when you're a teacher."
Izzy gave a half-hearted smile at the joke. A trickle of water made its damp way down his wrist, and he shook it off ahead of dousing the rag again.
Mr. Hogan quirked an eyebrow at the curious youth before him. It was true - he hadn't been planning to check up on Izzy's punishment. For some strange reason, unlike with any of the other pupils, he trusted this boy to carry it out without supervision, despite the fact that he had no concrete evidence to suggest this. There was just something about the boy, some mysterious aura that demanded immediate trust and confidence. Mr. Hogan shook his spiky haired head; he was getting soft in the brain. And yet.... it was hard to deny that there *was* something unusual about Izzy Izumi. Something that set him apart from the rest of his classmates, regardless of the fact that he consciously avoided drawing attention to himself at all costs.
For his part, Izzy circumvented looking at the teacher, who - despite having done what he came to do in the room - seemed reluctant to leave. The reticent youth quietly wiped the chalkboard, making no attempt to initiate conversation. Why didn't he go away? Did he enjoy watching a punishment in action? No, Mr. Hogan wasn't like that. He wasn't like Beastly Beesly; else he would've caned his charge in the lesson in full view of everybody. Still, that didn't explain why the man was still there, scrutinizing him like one of his numerous laboratory experiments.
Eventually, after several minutes of this, Mr. Hogan broke the uncomfortable silence with his husky baritone.
"You're not like other kids, are you?"
Izzy looked up, startled. What had prompted such an atypical comment? He stuttered for a moment, not quite sure how to answer.
"I... I don't know what you mean, Mr. Hogan, sir."
The elder male waved his hand dismissively, momentarily distracted from what he was saying. "Don't bother with the whole 'sir' thing, you make me feel old. What I mean is, you don't act like other kids your age."
Izzy simply stared at him. What were you supposed to say to something like that? Mr. Hogan placed his briefcase and folder down on the desk, before perching himself deftly on the corner. He gazed at the boy, blue eyes filled with curiosity.
"I'm sure you think I'm strange asking you a question like that." He chuckled. "It's just that.... well, you just seem quite over-mature for your age. How old are you, Izzy?"
Momentarily startled but the familiar use of his first name - teachers aren't meant to be friendly, are they? - Izzy verbally stumbled.
"I.... sixteen, si- Mr. Hogan."
The tutor nodded sagely. "And yet you act more like an adult than I do. Not that that's a difficult feat." He swung his legs up to sit Indian-style on the bureau. Izzy practically gaped at the conspicuously un-teacher-like action, noting absent-mindedly how ridiculous it looked for someone in a navy suit and red tie to be balanced on the edge of a desk like a naughty schoolboy.
He was snapped from his thoughts when Mr. Hogan spoke again.
"I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you don't seem to connect very well with the rest of your contemporaries, and I was wondering if I could help. Tell me, Izzy, when was the last time you went out with your friends?"
Izzy's dark eyes slid to the floor, and he self-consciously shuffled from foot to foot, all thoughts of cleaning the chalkboard driven from his mind by the well meaning, but rather indiscreet science teacher.
Mr. Hogan gazed at the uncomfortable youth, wondering after the cause of his caginess. Then it hit him, and he mentally slapped himself at his tactlessness. The boy didn't go out, because he didn't have any friends.
"I'm sorry." The willowy man apologised hastily. "I didn't mean to - "
"No, it's OK." Izzy cut him off. "You didn't mean any harm, it's just.... it's a sore topic, is all."
I can imagine, mused the teacher. Poor boy, just moved here and the kids won't even consider accepting him. Wonder why that is? What is it that they don't like about him?
Izzy stared at his scuffed shoe as if it were the most riveting sight in the entire world. He wasn't used to people asking him things like this. He wasn't used to people even making the pretence of caring how he felt or what he thought about anything, much less apologising for hurting his feelings. Maybe.... maybe he could confide in Mr. Gennai, this man who breezed in ostensibly without a care in the world, the first person to treat him like human being and not just an extension of his parents.... or a target. Maybe....
"I..." He began, and then stopped, irresolute. Was he making a mistake? Should he speak of such personal things aloud, or should he simply keep them inside, in that little alcove beside his heart where they'd always resided? The silence that followed his hesitant commencement was intense and all consuming, and crowded into his ears like a nauseating fog of timidity.
Mr. Hogan watched him, willing the boy to speak what was obviously preying upon his mind.
Eventually, the red haired youth heaved a great sigh, and appeared to have come to a decision in his mind. He kept staring at the floor, not meeting the tutor's eyes, and when at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse and soft.
"I.... I don't know why people don't like me. It was the same at all my other schools - my parents, they move around a lot, you see. I'd turn up on the first day and hope that this time, it would be different. This time, I'd be accepted. But it never was, and they never did - accept me, that is." His words came in a mad rush, as if afraid that if they didn't exit his mouth as quickly as possible, then he would bite down on his tongue and prevent them from escaping at all. "I tried everything I could think of to get people to like me, but nothing worked. The kids all just saw me as some sort of target, and the teachers.... well, the teachers all seemed to think I was some punching bag they could vent their frustration on because there was never any comeback from me or my parents against them. My parents would move after a while - they always did in the end, but never because of me - and I'd switch to another new school, and the whole thing would be repeated over again."
Mr. Hogan looked on in taciturn sympathy, quietly noting the boy's shuddering shoulders. It was obvious that he was trying to hold in tears - probably, this was the first time he'd vented these feelings to anyone. His parents didn't sound like the most communicative of people. The educator tentatively cleared his throat, unwilling to put his proverbial foot in his mouth again.
"Have you spoken to your parents about this? Perhaps they could help."
"Pah!" Izzy virtually spat, scornfulness clearly evident in his voice. "Like *they'd* listen to anything I said. Unless it's beneficial to either them or their new law firm, they just aren't interested. They never have been!"
The passionate derision in his voice struck a chord in Mr. Hogan, and he sensed that there was some other reason behind its presence in the youth's tone than simply inattentive parents. A faint wisp of sensation stirred in the back of the man's incisive brain, calling to him in a near ethereal whisper, but he swiftly silenced it. No, he wouldn't deal with this in that manner. This required some basic level of human judgment - not exactly his forte, but he'd give it a go anyway.
"You know, Izzy, you can always talk to me if people are bothering you at school. You don't have to suffer in silence if things are happening. It's not mandatory."
Izzy raised his eyes, surprise at the kind gesture mixed with gratitude swirling in those twin dusky pools, so unused to this type of benevolence. He stared at the teacher for a moment, expression descending once more into the unreadable as their gazes met, until Mr. Hogan worried that he'd insulted him. However, these fears were quickly shelved when the corners of Izzy's mouth suddenly twitched and curled into a rarely seen, thankful smile.
"Thanks." He said simply. "I appreciate it."
Satisfied by this apparent success, but noting that Izzy seemed unwilling to talk more at present, Mr. Hogan hopped down off the desk. Gathering his things together and stacking them - albeit unsteadily - in his arms once more, he proceeded to head for the door. Izzy watched him for a moment, and then switched his attention back to the task at hand - namely, washing the black slate in front of him.
However, as he reached the exit, the boyish teacher abruptly halted and turned back to the curious redhead. Izzy appeared unaware of this pause until he spoke, voice tinted with rarely seen wisdom and gravity.
"You're special, you know. Unique. Never forget that, no matter what happens in the world around you. You're your own person, and you're special."
Izzy's head jerked up at these words, but the unusual educationalist was already gone. Izzy stared at where he'd stood, pondering those parting sentiments. Him, special? Nobody had ever told him that before. Freakish, yes. Dangerous too. But special?
For the second time in as many minutes, Izzy's face curled into a smile, and as he dunked the wet rag back into the soapy water, he decided that - despite his eccentricities - he liked Mr.Hogan.
___________________
It was already dark by the time Izzy finally got home. His punishment had meant he'd missed his usual bus, consequently missing the appropriate changes as well, forcing him onto a later vehicle, but causing him to be quite behind schedule in the process. As he made his way tiredly up the long driveway to Bluebird Hall, he sighed exhaustedly. It had been a rough day, although not as rough as it could have been, given the circumstances.
The dilapidated house he called home loomed out of the darkness, tall and imposing. In the growing dusk it was hard to tell how run down the place actually was, and one could easily imagine it in all its former glory of days gone by as it hid its shabbiness in shadow. Izzy paused for a moment, his fertile imagination creating scenes of glamorous parties and gaudy decorations as he stared at the ragged structure. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see the twinkling lights and hear the joyful music of company filtering through the French windows and doors. Vaporous figures ostensibly floated past, making their way to a shindig that had long since ended.
Izzy shook his head, a cold breeze buffeting his face and ruffling his unkempt hair. The unseasonable warmth of the day still hung thick in the air, but a biting chill had sprung up even as he hiked up the lengthy gravelled drive. It cut against his cheek like a knife, and the youth shivered before jerking up his collar and commencing his brief journey once more.
But Izzy never made the short trip to his front door. As his feet crunched over the pebbly ground, he became aware of an odd noise. Footsteps - or rather, crunching that sounded distinctly like footsteps on gravel - coming from a few feet away. The redhead stopped, and the noise stopped also. He started off again, and sure enough, so did the anomalous sound. Izzy called over his shoulder to where he thought the footsteps emanated from.
"Mom? Dad? Is that you?"
No answer.
His parents' cars stood parked in their usual positions up ahead, polished hides gleaming in the moonlight. They were home then, and inside, judging by the sliver of light leaking through the living-room curtains. But then, what was that strange crunching behind him?
Over-active imagination creating grisly scenarios of muggers and murderers, Izzy quickened his step. His breathing also involuntarily accelerated, and thin chest constricting slightly as he strode purposefully towards his domicile. The boy forced himself not the look back, lest he see something he would rather not. Images flowed through his brain like an unchecked torrent, manifesting a core of fear in his stomach that only appears when one is alone in the dark with something unknown.
He'd almost reached the roofed porch when it happened. Izzy stretched out with slender fingers for the door-handle, when suddenly he felt something strike the back of his head. Stars exploded inside his skull, and he stumbled backwards at the unforeseen blow. What the hell was that?
Mind reeling, the intellectual youth was unexpectedly aware of two figures detaching themselves from the gloom. They were tall and well built, muscles patently obvious on their wide frames even in the murky dimness. Izzy staggered back a few steps, shaking his head to rid himself of the multitude of bright spots that now insisted on crowding into his vision.
Loud roaring perforated his hearing, filling his ears until he believed his brain must burst from the sheer volume and intensity of it. He raised his hands and clapped them over the sides of his head, fruitlessly trying to stifle the thunderous clamour. He half expected to feel the sticky wetness of blood oozing from his lobes such was the unreserved concentration of his discomfort.
A gruff voice filtered through the haziness and pounding of blood in Izzy's temples.
"I thought you said one crack would knock 'im out!"
"I was wrong then, wasn't I. Best give 'im another to lay 'im out cold. Careful - remember - he's one of them lot. We dunno what he c'n do."
Them lot? Do? Izzy's mind whirled at these strange words spoken by alien voices. Who were these people? Why had they attacked him outside his own house in the middle of nowhere? What did they want with him?
His head ached with these unanswered questions, and he lurched backwards, vaguely aware that he should try and get away from these assailants before they hurt him again. However, the ground suddenly seemed to be made out of rubber, and his woozy feet couldn't seem to get a good purchase. The boy tripped over his own legs, sprawling onto his spine with a faint 'oomph'. The world spun, a twirling myriad of stars and pitch night sky, which made him feel somewhat nauseous. A groan escaped his lips as the air was driven from his lungs, and he lay prone on the ground.
A shadow fell across him, and one of the brusque voices cut through the cloying haze fast encircling his senses.
"Apparently one good hit *was* all it took to lay 'im flat."
"Don't speak too soon. Look, he's still awake." Cautioned the other voice.
"Ah, they're not so tough. Dunno what we need to be so careful about. Watch this."
Izzy was vaguely aware that his parents were within the house only a few feet away, probably beavering away on some lawsuit on their laptops. Why couldn't they hear what was going on outside? The rushing blood in his ears made it difficult for him to tell just how loud his attackers were being, but surely Mr. And Mrs. Izumi could discern the noise of their own son being tormented on the gravel of their driveway?
The shadow spread across his face, followed by the indistinct form of a man leaning over him. Izzy couldn't move, couldn't get away. The obscure individual raised what could have been his arm above the boy's head, and then brought it swishing down in an incongruously graceful arc. Then there was only blackness.
___________________
*To Be Continued....*