Errrr, well, okay, so 'somewhen' doesn't exist? Hm...see, my excellent grammar/spelling program had no complaints 'bout it...guess I should have my dad install a new one...*g*
Anyways, glad that you still like the story and that you look so kindly over my mistakes. I'm already curious what you'll find this time. ;) Thanks for the reviews and well, enjoy!
Author's note: This chapter makes references to the DM episodes "Today is the Last Day of the Rest of my Life" and "Alienated". You don't need to know the eppis to understand the story, but it won't hurt either if you do.
***********
"You did what?!", Mark Sloan stared in wide-eyed horror at Brandon Dawn who stood next to him at the reception desk.
"It seemed to me as the most decent way to prevent any bad publicity during the current investigations...", Dawn repeated his statement. The calmness in his voice let grow Mark's disbelieve at the revealed news even more.
The doctor frowned, his disgusted look first meeting the administerator, then the nearby standing lawyer Mr Day. "It seemed as a decent solution to expell one of our most talented doctors?", he asked, glaring at both men while a strange feeling continued to crawl up his stomach. What had been there earlier that had infected his mind with doubts about Jesse's medical integrity, had now turned into a wave of anger mostly against himself. What kind of a friend was he that he hadn't been able to believe his friend when his judgement was needed most? What the hell had ridden him?
"Dr Sloan, you know the press is very eager about getting stuff like that on top of their headlines. We can't afford a scandal like this...", Brandon Dawn gave the attempt of an explanation, supported by his lawyer's reassuring nods.
"Oh shut up!", Mark icy voice cut through the air like a knife. As a matter of fact he didn't care about the loss of his more or less neutral tone. Somehow, he knew, he had to make it up with Jesse. And this was the least he could do. He threw Walter Day a reproachful look. "It was your idea, Mr Day, wasn't it?!"
Walter Day was in no hurry to answer. "Well, at the momentary state of facts I indeed recommended to Mr Dawn..."
"You 'recommended'?!", Mark almost exploded. "How dare you, you don't even have proofs!"
"Since you refused to talk to me doctor Sloan, I didn't have much of a choice", retorted Day, probably sensing what kind of effect that'd take.
For now Mark knew that it was pointless to contradict. He had refused to talk because he had guessed that Day would turn around his words when they were still inside is mouth. "I wasn't talking about opinions. I was talking about evidence, witnesses..."
At the confused look Mr Day threw him, Dawn started to explain:"You know, Dr Sloan's son is a police lieutenant, therefore..."
Day smiled smoothly. "Oh, I see...we are little criminologists..."
Mark remained cool. "I don't know what you are, Mr Day, I simply want to make sure that there won't be any injustice committed just to give you a comfortable place to sit on a pure theory..."
"Well, as far as I know, you are the master of crime theory...", Dawn chipped in now, happy to have finally found a nail to keep the stubborn doctor on ground level with.
That was like a slap into Mark's face and he was stunned with how much might those people were playing a game that hadn't even really started. Jesse had been right, all this had turned into a witch hunt from the moment he had signed the chart with the administered morphine and his name. They had found someone who was guilty enough in their eyes and now they were using all their power to fight against an invisible devil.
At Mark's silence the other men smiled artificially. Mark knew he had lost.
*************
Steve exited the elevator only a few minutes later to find his father still leaning at the reception desk and hiding his face in the palms of his hands. His son approached him carefully. "Dad?"
Mark turned around, facing Steve hazily. It seemed as though he hadn't recognized immediatly.
Steve grinned, but he felt slightly insecure. His father's condition was remarkable bad and a certain sign for something awful going on. Just like his father, also Steve had learned to interpret certain symptoms over the years. Mark was a balanced man, he usually didn't tend to be either hysterical or incoherent or –as now- totally jumpy. "Dad, it's me. Steve, you know, the guy who never washes the dishes..."
His attempt to lighten the situation failed, but he hadn't expected anything else. He just hadn't known what else to say.
Mark laughed wearily and ran one hand through his white hair. "I'm sorry, son. I think I'm having some problems here..."
Steve shook his head. "Oh, don't tell me it's true! They are really investigating against Jesse?"
His father gave him a puzzeled look. "How did you know?"
Steve nagged his bottom lip. "Harris' lawyer mentioned something like that when he was at the precinct to...release Harris on bail..."
"What?!", Mark shouted, not bothered by the horrorfied glances he earned from the nurses and EMT's around. Nevertheless he lowered his voice after this sudden outbreak. "They released him? What kind of miracle happened to him?"
"The miracle has got a name..." Steve let his dad wait in anticipation. "James Barlow!"
"Mr Watergate?"
"In flesh and blood", Steve replied wryly, seeing his father's hands drumming onto the desk nervously. The question he had been about to ask earlier popped up in his mind again. "Dad...you know...no one really thinks that Jesse would make a mistake like that, do they?"
"Son, they don't think it was mistake...", Mark's voice trailed off, leaving it to Steve to guess what he didn't want to speak out loud again. The word had been used to often in the past hours and Mark was sick of it.
Steve gasped. "Oh no...what are you intending to do?"
Thinking about it, Mark had no idea. Everything was wrong and there was seemingly no oppotunity for him to set it right. But something had to be done. And coming to a quick decision, Mark knew where he would start. He had to talk to somebody. "Hey Steve, could you give me a ride?"
********
Jesse was reluctant to sit up, foreseeing the increasing of the throbbing pain that was sent out by his collarbone. There wouldn't be any difference between sitting and lying anyway, since he was completely surrounded by darkness ever since he had first opened his eyes. He lay on a wooden ground which he had only come to realize as he had shifted his body and thereby several splinters had bored into his arms and hands.
Not being able to see anything, Jesse had quickly figured that the attempt to pull the pieces of wood out of his skin would be of no success. But they hurt so much that Jesse didn't dare to move any more on the floor. Of course he could have pushed himself up, he had once tried it already, but by the same second a sharp pain had shot through is body, crossing his whole torso from the collarbone through the ribs down to the hips. Groaning he'd sunk back into the position in which he'd woken up an eternity ago. Lying on the site while his left arm was slowly getting numb under the weight of his own body was certainly not the most comfortable way of resting, nevertheless, it was right now the only way Jesse could prevent himself from putting his body under more physical pain than necessary.
The young doctor had lost his sense of time completely, even if there had been light in the room, it wouldn't have been of any help, since, as Jesse himself had noticed only some time ago, his watch was missing. Not knowing why he felt that sting when realizing that it was not there anymore, Jesse wondered if he would ever get to see it again. Probably not. The watch
was something special to him, though or–as he admitted to himself wryly- especially because it was a gift from his father. To anybody else the watch would never have looked the value it had for its owner for it was not even a very pretty or stylish watch. Jesse had often seen this watch as the only connection he had to his father, the only reminder that he did have a dad after all.
He hadn't paid attention to his movements, so, when he suddenly felt the throbbing pain again he gasped in both surprise and shock. He had known it would hurt, however, he hadn't expected that some simple thoughtless shifting of his arms would almost cost him the air to breath.
Jesse had no doubt that Harris was behind all this, even though the only time he had guessed to recognize the face had been as it was reflected in the window pane. Strangely enough, Jesse wasn't scared as much as he thought he should be. Earlier when he had been in trouble there had always been someone who had worried about him, people who, as he knew, would sooner or later come to help him because he mattered something to them.
He wasn't too sure if that was the case now. The only things that had always made his life enjoyable –his friends and his job- had suddenly left him. He had stopped believing in what he had so loved to do and therefore had destroyed the basis of a great friendship. While his breathing slowed down again and Jesse put his hand protectively over his upper body, he thought that he couldn't still expect Mark to believe him. Jesse didn't trust himself anymore, so why the hell was Mark supposed to trust him.
Lying there in the blackness, Jesse all of sudden felt that, no matter what Harris was up to, it wouldn't hurt more than the doubtful look in his mentor's eyes. That was the moment a door opened and the young man was blinded by a dazzling ray of light.
*************
Driving all the way to Venice, both Sloans had been untypically quiet. Steve had made some growling comments at other people's driving habits and Mark had only sat there. Even though he had leaned back comfortably, there was something about his dad's expressions that let Steve sense that his father wasn't feeling comfortable at all. The lieutenant was sure that the presented facts about Jimmy Harris' death, the current investigations and Jesse's expell didn't really state everything that had happened in the CGH in the near past. There was something Mark was keeping as a secret from him and Steve, hating it to be the last with the falling penny and naturally sensing some kind of danger for everyone involved behind every secret fact, was going to find out what it was.
"Dad, I understand that you worry about Jesse, but he'll be fine. He knows that he can rely on us and we will prove all Mr Days and Barlows on this earth that there is nothing behind what they say...", he tried to lighten up the mood of his obviously discouraged father.
Mark closed his eyes for a moment, fearing to reply anything. But he knew that Steve expected him to say something. "It's not only that...", he started cautiously with an unusual amount of reluctance in his voice.
"Don't say...", Steve mumbled, sounding somewhat bitter.
His father took a deep breath. "Jesse thinks that I don't believe him."
That mere sentence forced Steve's attention away from the road, he simply had to look at his dad who sat in his seat and motionlessly stared out of the window at the houses filing past.
The lieutenant shook his head. "How the hell did he come up with that?"
"Because at that moment...", Mark waited a second before he continued, "...at that one moment it was true."
"What?!?", Steve shouted, glaring at his father. His look clearly told Mark that he didn't know what to think anymore. Finally there was a red traffic light and Steve was forced to stop the car and sort his mind. "Why...Dad...", he gasped, no idea of what he could say. That didn't fit to his father at all. Mark usually put his hands into the fire for his friends.
The older doctor wasn't sure if he should tell Steve that he'd try and explain it to him. After this revealing confession he didn't know if his son was in the state of listening to him. Mark waited until the traffic lights became green and Steve started the car again, before he started to talk. "You know what happened when your great-grandmother died...", he began softly, his memories passing the pictures that were on his mind. Far away. Long ago. "Who helped her dying...", he became more specific.
"Yeah..", Steve murmured, his eyes suddenly focussed on the road steadily. He knew how his great-grandmother had died. His father had told him some years ago or, to put it more directly, had confessed it. His great-grandmother had been ill before and his father had done what he had thought had been the best for her.
Since that day Mark had never lost a word about it again and Steve had never asked. He had realized that even his father, his loving, caring, good-natured dad, his friend, his idol, wasn't perfect or free of any regrets.
Mark sighed, before he slowly spoke. "I thought it was right what I did then. Your great-grandmother was very ill, she suffered and I was young, idealistic and I had the power to draw the line. So I did. It seemed to be the right decision then and some people would even say that it was the right thing to do. But that doesn't change anything. Doctors heal, they don't kill..."
"I don't see, what Jesse has to do with it...", Steve answered, though that was only partly true. He saw his father's grief and he had an, however slight, idea of what his dad wanted to tell him.
Mark shook his head, if in sudden realization or disappointment, Steve wasn't able to say.
"You are right, son, that's the point, Jesse has nothing to do with it. I had an argument with him before Jimmy Harris died and Jesse made a remark, saying something like he was sorry that he rescued the boy...", Mark played the scene over in his head again and nagged his bottom lip. "I could understand that he was frustrated, I should've listened to him...instead I totally lost it. And then, he accused me that I wouldn't believe him and I...for a moment I saw me, standing there, having just made a wrong decision...so I didn't deny it. I judged him for something I did. I thought I would be doubting him, but I only..."
"...mistrusted yourself.", Steve ended the sentence for him. He had been listening in pure astonishment to what his father had said. Apart from the fact that there was again a sign of weakness in Dr Sloan's normally so indestructable attitude, he also for the first time noticed how much his father projected himself into his young charge.
While his son was silent Mark added a small, regretful sentence. "What kind of a friend am I to treat him this way? I can only pray that Jesse will be able to forgive me..."
***************
Jesse wasn't really surprised, once his eyes had got used to the light and he saw the broad, threatening stature of Mr Harris coming over to him from the door. It wasn't the first time he could watch Harris from this perspective, lying helpless and numb with pain on the ground, but the mere appearance of Jimmy's tall, scaring father sent a shudder down his spine.
He couldn't get up himself, it hurt too much. Only the slight attempt of forcing is elbows to push his torso upwards was enough for the straining wave of hurt to return with even greater strength than before. This time Jesse had the feeling as though a flash had hit him and was rushing through his body, shaking it and then leaving it as Jesse sank, groaning and shivering, back onto the hard floor.
Harris stood still and peered down on his hostage. He would seek his revenge and he would get it. No one would accuse him of killing his own son. He hadn't done it, but he would make this "doctor", as that little rat called himself, make confess it. "Get up!", he commanded.
Jesse remained on the floor, still fighting against the aftermaths of his last motions which were threatening to take away his consciousness. As much as Jesse simply wanted to flee from the pain and rest in the dark, he knew he couldn't pass out. Staying awake was probably his only chance to stay alive for some time at least. He felt sick, he hadn't been scared some mintues ago, but he was now.
As Dr Travis didn't get up, Harris became impatient. If this doctor didn't see the necessity of getting to his damn feet, he would make him see it. "Damnit, get up!!", he shouted, noticing satisfiedly how Jesse winced.
Jesse indeed felt the urge to press his hands onto his ears, but he was frightened of the pain. It would come back as soon as he moved. So he listened to the shout, how it stroke his ears, almost like the bang of a gun, sudden, loud, air-tearing, causing a vibration in the room. The bald walls and the obviously high-built room took the words and shot them back at Jesse, so that they echoed in his head, penetrated his ears over and over again. His head ached, he felt sick from the steady sound of furiosity around him, a sound that only slowly vanished. Jesse let out a shuddered breath, hoping that it would take away some of his sickness.
Also Harris seemed to be amazed by the effects his voice had taken because he remained where he was for a moment, only watching the young man, how he shivered, moaned and writhed through the different sorts of pain that affected his body. Harris liked the sight of helplessness. Nevertheless, he was getting tired of that game and he had realized that Travis would never get to his feet himself.
Jesse had been waiting for something to happen, he hadn't expected Harris to be happy with yelling at him. But he hadn't been waiting for that. A strong, cold hand suddenly wrapped around his neck, this time it didn't even touch the collarbone, but was directly placed under his chin, pressing so heavily against his respiratory tracts and his aorta that Jesse could feel his blood pulsing through it. He struggeled to breath as the hand pulled him up.
This time Jesse wanted to scream, it hurt so much. It wasn't even to be compared with a flash, the throbbing pain that was tormenting his body was something far beyond pain. But the loss of oxygen didn't allow him to give a single loud away, the scream that burned inside of him never reached the air. The tears that formed in his eyes as he was pressed against the wall and still held by the fingers around his neck were not about to flow. Not yet.
The pain slowly became less intense, was still there, but bearable. And even the hand around Jesse's neck loosened a bit. He took a deep shaken breath, struggeling for each single bit of oxygen that was able to reach his lungs through the still tight, but not choking, grib.
"How does it feel, doc?", Harris asked, cruelity and desperation equally flackering in his eyes when he looked at Jesse.
"Why...are you doing...this?", Jesse asked back, more gasping and rather surprised that after this ordeal he was still able to speak at all.
"That is what the law does with killers. Kill them!", Harris answered.
"I...I didn't kill your son!", Jesse said, putting as much force into those words as he was able to give.
He heard something wizzing through the air and by the time he had an idea of what it was, it was too late to protect himself, in case there had been an oppotunity to do so. Jesse was already seeing stars when he finally felt the shattering pain. Harris had hit him with his fist right into the face, as he pulled his hand back there was blood on it, blood that was freely running from Jesse's nose down his chin and dropped onto his shirt. Jesse only noticed that he was bleeding when he felt a thin stream of liquid on his lips and when he opened his eyes he saw the fresh blood on Harris knuckles as the man was aiming for the second punch.
"Don't deny it, little bastard!", he yelled.
"No, really I didn't do it!", Jesse repeated loudly, at the same time closing his eyes. He knew there were more blows to come.
**************
Mark and Steve had reached the floor on which Jesse's apartement was and knocked on the door. They hadn't spoken much for the rest of the ride, until they had entered the apartement house.
At their first knock, no one opened up. "Maybe he's still sleeping!", Mark suggested.
"Jesse? Jess, are you there!?", Steve asked, raising his voice, careful not to cause too much attention among the usually curious other parties of the block. Again father and son got no answer.
"He has to be there, his car is in the parking lot!", Steve mumbled, but also his third attempt was of no success.
"So...", Mark turned to his son, "I think we will make use of the spare key..."
Steve shrugged. "Okay, go ahead and open up!"
Mark looked at him with a mix of astonishment and confusion. "Why me? I thougt you'd have the spare key..."
Steve shook his head. "No, I thought you were having the..." He trailed of, meeting his dad's eyes for a moment, both of them ready for a smile, something easing they had been looking for so desperatly through the last hour.
Mark hung his head in playful sadness and turned to go. "You try again and I'll go and look for the landlord."
Steve nodded his okay and saw his father heading off, then continued to knock against the door. Maybe, it crossed his mind, Jesse didn't even want to open up. After all, he couldn't hold it against him. And remembering the last time, he had gone into Jesse's apartement without announcing his entering – the time when he had almost had a fatal meeting with a baseball bat- the lieutenant thought it was the best thing to be a bit smarter this time.
"Jesse?", he called again, louder than before. "Jesse, I know you probabaly don't wanna see me or anyone else, but you have to open up. It was a misunderstanding, you have to believe me. Jess, please, open up and we can talk, okay?", he got still no answer. "I won't discuss this with you through the door, please open up!", he hammered against the door again, but then, slightly cursing he let go. He could as well wait for the key.
Looking around, he suddenly became aware of an elder woman he was standing in the door frame of the apartement oppsite to Jesse's. Steve didn't know how long she had been watching and the slight grimace on her face made him feel uneasy. "Oh", Steve suddenly blushed as he thought of what the woman probably had heard. "Urm...that wasn't what it sounded, you know, I...he is just a friend of mine, a good friend, uh...not how you might think...", he tried to explain, stuttering while she continued to watch him.
"I have the key!", Mark shouted, coming up the stairs.
"God bless you...", murmured Steve as his father stuck the key into the lock and raised an eyebrow. "Viola...", whispered, not wanting to startle Jesse, in case he really hadn't heard them knocking.
They entered the apartement which seemed left. The kitchen hadn't been used, but the unopened mail lay on the counter. The AM light was blinking, Mark knew that at least one message was from him. "Jesse?", Steve called into the emptiness of the living-room. No answer.
Steve and Mark made their way, over to the bedroom door. Mark knocked carefully and only when he got no answer after a long time, he cautiously peered into it. He had been waiting to find Jesse, probably sleeping a drugged sleep which a pill of valium was able to give. But the bed was empty. Mark now fully opened the door and Steve was right behind him as he entered the room. The bed didn't even look as though it had been used, there was no sign of their best friend having spent the past night here
"Now that's weird...", Mark mumbled.
"Any idea where he could be?", Steve inquired, looking around for something like an evidence of anything, as he was lieutenant that was his way to find out what was going on.
His dad shook his head. "Not the slightest...", he answered, rubbing his hands together because he was freezing. His head jerked up and he went over to the window. It wasn't closed, only leaned. Mark first threw a glance outside, then examined the pane for any sign of violence having been vent on it.
Steve came closer. "That isn't like Jesse! He wouldn't leave his apartement with the window being open. He could as well nail a shield on the door 'Feel free to rob me!'"
Mark shook his head. "Someone broke the lock, even if Jesse had wanted it, he wouldn't have been able to lock it. It snaps open again, you see...", he father demonstrated it and Steve nodded and frowned at the same time.
"But it doesn't look like a robbery...nothing is missin'...", all of sudden the realization kicked in as Mark and Steve noticed that something –or someone- was, indeed, missing.
"Damnit!", Steve slapped his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. "He's got him!"
"Who has got him?", Mark asked, seeing how his son pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.
"Harris!", explained Steve.
"You don't know that for sure!"
Steve took a deep impatient breath, eyeing his father with a hint of anger in his gaze. Anger that adressed him, Mark thought, though feeling oddly happy to see it, almost as though his own furiosity at himself now had some sort of a mirror, which made it more intense, yet, more explicit and so less scaring as well.
"Harris is out on bail. He is angry. He wants revenge. Jesse is nowhere to be found. I bet when that smart-ass Barlow told him Jesse's name, he was already flipping through the yellow pages."
Steve paused, his voice suddenly becoming thin.
"I know it, dad, I knew he was planning something from the moment he left the interrogation room. How could I miss that? He has attacked Jesse once already, I was obvious...I'd bet both of my arms for this, this was Harris!"
Mark closed his eyes while Steve called Tanis at the precinct. If it was really true and Harris had got Jesse, it would all be a nightmare. And Mark had no doubt that Steve was right.
***********
Jesse sat leaning against the wall, his left arm clunched heavily around his chest where he still felt his ribs cracking.
Harris had soon stopped beating him into the face, since Jesse hadn't even groaned because he had been concentrated on staying awake. After all, the young doctor was bleeding out of his nose and his mouth, the blood continued to stream down his face and had by now wettened a good third of the front of his shirt. The third blow had been the worst. That was when Jesse's tongue had accidently happened to be between his molars and by the time the beat had hit him, he had felt how his teeth had pierced the flesh almost to the middle. The bitter taste of iron and cutting hurt had made Jesse grimace, however, he hadn't dared to open his mouth and gasp for air. He had feared that the next blow might hit his teeth then.
When Harris had suddenly taken his hand away from his neck, Jesse had found out in a hard and painful way, that his legs weren't able to support his body and he had slumped back onto the floor, his fall only slowed by the wall he was leaning against. Jesse had landed heavily on his site and his right elbow. The smash up on the wooden ground had forced another splinter into his wrist, very deep this time and Jesse had been able to see for a moment how the light wood had been soaked with his blood as well as his shirt.
"Say it!", had Harris commanded. "Say that you killed my son!"
"I didn't!", Jesse had repeated. He had repeated it again and again, and as often as he had done it, he had been hit.
"Don't lie at me! I know you did it! I didn't kill Jimmy. It was you!", Harris had shouted, it sounded almost pleadingly. He wanted this doctor to admitt it. To be honest, Mr Harris had wanted it to be over as much as Jesse probably did. Harris wasn't someone to torture people because he was having fun. He wanted revenge. And the fact that it didn't feel as good as he had thought, scared him and made him even angrier.
So the calm steady repetition that came from Dr Travis lips had always made him furious enough to beat the young man again. And again. Harris had almost prayed to God that Travis would finally make a confession.
"I didn't kill your son!", Jesse had said and cried out as the kick had hit his chest. When he had opened his mouth a flood of blood had escaped, a sight that had been so disgusting for Harris' eyes that he had put his foot back to his earth, instead of kicking his victim a second time.
Jesse had coughed out the blood that had been collected in his mouth and came from his swollen tongue. Somehow he had managed to keep himself backed up on his elbow all the time, so he wouldn't end up in a comepletely defenseless position where it had been easy for Harris to torment both his body and his face with kicks. But Harris hadn't kicked him anymore. The sight of his victim spitting out red thick liquid had disgusted Harris somehow. He had decided that he needed a break.
"You'd better think about what you say! I'll be back!", he had said, kicked Jesse once more, however, not as hard as the first time, and headed off.
Jesse still couldn't believe it had suddenly been over so fast. He had no explanation for it. But that didn't matter right now. For the moment he could rest. Slowly he had sat up and leaned against the wall, wincing and groaning with every motion until he was sure he had enough support to be able to hold himself upright.
One hand pressed against his ribs and the other one over his mouth, switching between coughing, breathing and sobbing, each of those single actions caused his ribs to crack and sent waves of sharp pain though his limp form. As much as he wanted it to stop hurting, he couldn't stop moving. He needed to cough since his mouth was heavily flooded with blood from his tongue and he also wasn't certain if some of this blood was actually coming from his lungs or stomach. Harris first kick had been well-aimed directly into the chest, but the second had been less placed and had hit his stomach, yet, not as heavy as his chest before. But Jesse wasn't sure if his organs had been really affected, his whole body was a whole mass of pain, throbbing, burning, sharp, dull, steady sorts of pain, he couldn't localize the part that hurt most. His mouth and nose were bleeding, his torso was aching, his arms were burning and bleeding a bit as well – at least the wrist with the huger piece of wood in it- and his legs were numb, he was sick.
Oh yes, Jesse had all reasons to breath as well. After all, this was the only thing that assured him that he was still alive. Awake and alive, though the attractive unconscioussness was slowly getting the better part of him.
Jesse sobbed. He knew he shouldn't, but he simply had to. Sometimes a tear escaped from his eyes, rolled down his cheek and dropped onto his shirt where it mixed with the drying blood. He cried, he didn't want to, he knew it was even increasing the hurt, but he couldn't prevent it. He was sore, he was scared and he was alone. He was punished for something he hadn't done. He had thought about it, damnit, yes, he had thought of killing Jimmy. But he hadn't.
Even if it didn't matter to them. They judged him, they expelled him, they beat him. 'They won't listen to me', Jesse thought. 'Dawn wouldn't listen to me, Day wouldn't listen to me, not even Mark would listen to me. Why should Harris be listening?'
Jesse sighed and felt a tear sliding down his cheek. It was the truth. He could as well give in.