Disclaimer: These are not my characters… the story is written for entertainment purposes.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to my beta readers, especially gaianarchy for the translations (I couldn't have done without her). And since so many people asked for it… here we go (well... and it's where the story's headed).
Chapter 10: Drowning
Jonathan woke early, too restless to sleep properly. Instead, he lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, brooding. How am I going to screw things up today? Just when he thought he was getting somewhere with Trip, he'd say something and the kid would fly off the handle again. Yesterday's reaction was way overboard. Yet… wasn't everything a life and death issue when you were that age? Can't you see I'm just trying to help you?
Maybe he could, and that was the problem. If yesterday's communication with home was any indication… then Trip was used to being the one asked for help, not the one receiving it. What was that childhood refrain? 'I wanna do it myself?'
'He wants to show you how smart he is… how capable he is.' Henry Archer's words crawled back into Jonathan's head. Yet there was more than that here, more than just a desire to impress. And not just pride… but genuine fear. What had Trip said about his coach? 'He rags on me all the time?' He'd had a quick word with Trip's teacher before the man left… just to make sure he did still have a Tucker in his cabin, and looking back on it…
"Yes, he's here. If there's one thing I'm glad of, it's that he's your problem, not mine, anymore." The teacher – Mr. Calvin – glanced down the path towards the cabins. "If there's one kid in my class destined to end up in prison, it's that one."
Jonathan laughed. "He can't be that bad… he's twelve, right?"
"Like I said… I'm glad he's your problem." The teacher turned and left, and Jonathan wondered what about a twelve-year-old could be so bad.
"Oh, kid…" If that's what Trip dealt with on a daily basis… no wonder he behaved so badly. What were those first words out of his mouth? 'My reputation spreads already?' You just give people what they expect, don't you? And because they expected trouble… that's exactly what Trip handed them. Until it came to the point where the kid didn't trust anybody… at least not when it came to his feelings. And I thought Malcolm was the one who knew all about hiding. But I'm willing to bet that 'sweetie' is closer to your true nature, isn't it? Because if he trusted anyone… it would be the one who wouldn't hurt him, because she wouldn't know how.
And here I always thought that 'inside every bad kid, there's a good one' was just a cliché. But Jonathan had seen that good kid, and Elizabeth's voice testified to the reality of that image. He'd gotten the impression that – unlike most kids – Trip hadn't been dragooned into looking after his siblings, that to Trip, the job was a joy. Dad had it pegged there, too. Trip was a sensitive kid…and perceptive enough to realise that sensitive kids got hurt.
'…how's he supposed to know that you're not one of the hypocrites?' When Malcolm asked, Jonathan hadn't understood. But I think I do now. Trip – like most kids – saw the world in black-and-white; with-us-or-against-us. And Jonathan had taken a moderate stance, one that Trip had interpreted as criticism. And he gets so much of that…
Aw, kid…Just when he'd been making headway too. I saw you laugh… and I know you were cracking jokes with me on the bench. You were really starting to come out of it, and I basically went and slapped you.
Jonathan sighed and sat up, blinking the tears out of his eyes. Hell, Trip hadn't even been speaking to Malcolm after that…I can only hope the damage isn't irreparable. He climbed out of bed and changed into some fresh clothing. I can't sleep…not like this. To make matters worse, he'd avoided Trip for the rest of the night. I can only hope he's still breathing. As the thought streaked in white-hot fire across his brain, Jonathan yanked the connecting door open and stared across at the far, upper bunk.
Thank you, God. Trip's chest rose and fell regularly, and one arm dangled over the side of the bunk. Jonathan crossed the floor silently and lifted up Trip's hand to take the pressure off the nerves. As he went to put it down on the boy's chest, he froze.
Oh, God. Blood crusted the palm, and some of it flaked away under Jonathan's touch. What have you been doing? He could see the cut, and it looked like it might have been self-inflicted. Quickly he scanned for any other signs of damage, but found none. It's not the wrist. Get a grip on yourself, Jon, it's not the wrist. He didn't doubt that Trip knew enough about the human body to know where the important blood vessels were.
He glanced down at Malcolm. One of his hands was bloody too, it bore a similar injury and similar smears. So that's it. A wild, romantic gesture of the type that kids were so fond of. I bet you believe in it, too. Trip would take stuff like that seriously. So. You've officially expanded your family. The two of them must have talked sometime late last night, and Jonathan had little doubt who would have instigated the conversation.
You're a better man than I am, Malcolm. It was hard to concede that to a ten-year-old, but the evidence spoke for itself. Malcolm had been willing to stick his hand in the fire that was a wounded Trip Tucker – and Jonathan hadn't. And the kid must be some sort of miracle worker, because he hadn't been burned.
On the other hand, this takes things to a whole new level. If Trip had been protective of Malcolm before, God only knew how much more assiduous he'd be now that he had another younger brother. Just, please, take my advice and stay away from Jones and Kendricks. I like you, kiddo… I don't want to see you getting arrested. Despite his teacher's assessment, Trip was not a kid who belonged behind bars. But he'll end up there, if nobody stops him. Or worse. The big question was: how to stop him?
# # # #
There's no help for it. Unlike Trip, Malcolm had no grounds to refuse a shower. Still, even if the blood washed away, there'd still be the cut to remind him. I have a brother. The words sounded strange, even inside his own head. Even odder were Trip's words from last night: He messes with both of us. The thought gave him courage… he wasn't alone. It's a natural phenomenon: the pack instinct. Even the shyest, most gentle of dogs could be a vicious killer in a pack. Even if I'm not the Alpha. No, Trip and Jonathan were still fighting over that role… but Trip was the nastier fighter. Malcolm glanced over at Jonathan, who seemed to be ignoring him. You're like me, though. You worry about hurting people. He knew what Trip meant, now, during that conversation in the woods. He wasn't capable of being that nasty… he didn't have it in him to go for the throat. But Trip could. Even Jonesy stopped short of going in for the kill, preferring torture over death. But Trip… I know why Jonathan wants you to stay away from him. When Trip felt the need to protect a pack-mate… He'll make sure you're dead, then tear apart the pieces.
"Hey, look who's here. Can't stand the smell of yourself anymore?" Dutretre's voice cut into Malcolm's thoughts, and Malcolm looked up in time to see Trip strolling through the door.
Trip made a half lunge at Dutretre who shrank back. Trip laughed, but there was a nasty edge to it. "Shee-it, boy, if I can stand you, I can pretty much stand anything." The accent was stronger – Malcolm could hear the deliberate sound of ignorance. He could also see the anger behind it. He's trying not to do something.
"Oooh, wow. Listen to the redneck." Dutretre tried to imitate Trip's accent, and failed miserably.
"That's cracker, boy. You might wanna learn the language 'fore you go tryin' to use it. Now, I can see where you'd make your mistake… bein' such an ignorant contortionist an' all."
"A what?" Now Dutretre looked totally lost.
"Well, how in the hell else you manage to get your head so far stuck up your ass, boy? 'Cause that's the only explanation for a brain so stupid and a face as ugly as yours."
"God, you are cranky in the morning." Jonathan stepped between the two combatants and gave Trip a significant look. "I should let you sleep in past noon."
"Fuck off, dickhead." Trip pushed his way past Jonathan – who looked as though he expected the brushoff – and headed into the toilets. Moments later, they heard the sound of retching.
Oh, no. Not again. No wonder Trip had been so miserable… if he was getting another migraine. Malcolm saw the concern move into Jonathan's face, and knew the counsellor had the same thought.
"Okay, guys, let's move. Get your stuff back down to the cabin, and your selves on up to breakfast, okay?" Jonathan reacted first, herding the others out of the building. "I'll handle things here." He didn't seem to notice Malcolm slipping away from the group, or maybe he didn't care.
But I'm not going to breakfast if Trip's sick again. Instead, he hovered outside the bathroom stall, not wanting to get too close, as he remembered the nurse's comments about sensitivity to people.
Jonathan caught his eye, then gestured at himself and the stall. He then tapped forefingers and thumb together, indicating that he wanted to talk to Trip, and clearly wanted to talk to Trip alone. He then mouthed a single word. Please?
He's worried. Malcolm knew Jonathan wasn't trying to kick him out, but also knew there had been some serious problems between Jonathan and Trip. He doesn't want to embarrass Trip. Neither did Malcolm, for that matter. He nodded, and moved away to wait outside.
# # # #
"Hey, kiddo, you okay?" Jonathan opened the stall door to reveal Trip sitting on the floor beside the toilet, his head pressed against the cool tile. "Stupid question, huh?"
"Go away." Trip mumbled. "Leave me alone." He scrunched himself closer in between the wall and the toilet, not caring what else was in there with him.
"I already did that." Jonathan sat down against the opposite wall, practically having to fold himself double for his long frame to fit. "And it was stupid, I shouldn't have."
Whatever. Trip kept his eyes closed, and pretended not to notice that Jonathan was still there.
"I just don't want to see you getting into more trouble than you can handle, kiddo. And I know you think there's no such thing… but there is. I know it's not news to you that there are people in this world who aren't very nice…"
Trip opened one eye to stare cynically at Jonathan. No shit, Sherlock.
"… but you can't take them all on. I'm not saying you're wrong in wanting to protect people… but you've got to think about how you're going to do that. Because… damnit, there's enough people out there who think you belong in jail already. Do you want them to win? You're twelve years old, Trip… in some states that's old enough to be legally charged. And don't kid yourself that it won't happen… because somebody will." Jonathan's voice shook, and he sounded like he was close to crying. "You're a good kid, Trip. I heard you on the phone with your sister… but the problem is… nobody believes it. You won't let anybody believe it."
Why should I? Nice kids got hurt more. Look what happened with Malcolm all the time… and he saw enough of it back home, too. Besides, he wasn't a nice person. So stop lying to me. Stop acting like I'm stupid.
"In fact… I don't think you believe it any more. Because it makes it easier, doesn't it? Until it's too hard to take…" Jonathan's voice trailed off, and he laid a light hand on Trip's shoulder. "Remember when I said I don't like seeing a kid in that much pain? I was talking about Malcolm, but the same thing applies to you, kiddo."
"Close your eyes then." Trip clamped his shut even tighter, to keep in the tears. "Go away and stop looking at me."
"No. 'Cause no matter how much it hurts… I'm not going to do that to you. It's what you're used to, isn't it, though? I talked with your teacher before he left… he seems to think you're well past the point of hope."
"That's his problem." Why couldn't Jonathan just go and leave him alone? What was with him needing to care? Does it make you feel like a better person? Hell, all this camp stuff was probably in prep to do social work or something.
"Yeah, it is his problem… but it becomes your problem too. Because I hate to say it… but he's the one that people respect. If it ever comes down to his word against yours… it's the same with Kendricks and Jones. Aside from you and Malcolm… Jones is proving pretty popular around here…"
"Psychopaths always do." That should throw this bleeding heart. Psycho. Universal Pictures, 1960. Anthony Perkins and Vivian Leigh. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock and – even now, Trip took pride in his movie trivia – made on a bet. Not that Norman Bates had been a psychopath… he was definitely psychotic. The Thomas Crown Affair –The Mirisch Corporation, 1968, with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway – now there was a psychopath. And people say movies teach you nothing.
"You know, that's a description most people would apply to you. You're the one who seems like an unapologetic criminal." Jonathan didn't move – he didn't even take his hand away.
"Then I am beyond hope. Psychos can't be changed." Trip tried to pull farther into the small gap. Couldn't Jonathan get it? What was his problem anyway? Why do you care?
"I said most people, kiddo. I know there's more to you than that. A psychopath wouldn't be so worried about his family, or people like Malcolm. And I don't think your criminal behaviour – and yeah, kiddo, it is criminal – has malicious intent behind it. You could have done a lot more than you have… what did you steal, in all the time you've been here? A six pack of beer and some cigarettes, neither one of which should have been here for you to take in the first place? And you didn't really take most of the beer… you just dumped it down the sink, right? Oh, and probably some laundry soap and stain remover, right? Hmn. Yeah, that sounds like the behaviour of a dangerous criminal to me."
"Go to Hell." How was he supposed to believe people cared, when they pulled shit like this? 'I care about you,' followed up by a serious mocking. 'Isn't he just soprecious?' So he didn't steal things… how did that make him any less dangerous? "Just go to Hell and leave me alone." He knocked Jonathan's hand away. Damnit. Can't you see I'm in pain here? Do you have to add to it?
"I'm sorry, that's not how I meant for it to come out." Trip could hear the dry sarcasm in Jonathan's tone. "I'm not trying to say you're not capable of it, Trip, I'm saying that you don't do it. Most 'trouble kids'" the quotation marks clicked in audibly around the words, "are out to hurt people. You might drive people crazy, but I don't see you hurting them without a reason. But even smart people have their blind spots… and yours is you. You really think other people are somehow worth more than you are, don't you?"
What? Despite his pain, Trip opened his eyes to stare at Jonathan. What the hell crazy kind of idea was that? He shook his head, which hurt even more. "Fuck off."
He gasped as Jonathan suddenly stood up and jerked him to his feet. "Come on." Jonathan pulled him from the stall and dropped him down in front of the sinks. "What do you see there?" Jonathan's finger stabbed at the mirror over the sink and at the two of them reflected in it.
Trip didn't answer, just dropped his eyes. Nothing.
"Because what I see? I see a smart kid, a very smart kid who's not just smart, but he's creative. A kid who's willing to figure out how something can be done, rather than whining away about how it can't. I see a kid who's willing to invest more time and effort in something he's interested in than most people twice his age…"
"Yeah, and who's that standing in front of him?" Trip tried to twist away, but Jonathan held him too tightly. He winced with another wave of pain, but this one was weaker… slowly, the migraine was receding.
"Damnit, Trip." Jonathan shook him, not too roughly – but enough to hurt in his current condition. "You know damn well who I'm talking about. You think I don't know how much talent and time it takes to learn how to throw a knuckleball? You think I was joking when I said you had a good grasp of strategy? But that's not going to mean a damn thing if you let your temper and your impulsiveness push you into something too big to get out of. Your motives are good, Trip… especially with what you did yesterday… and yeah, I have decided that it was on purpose… but what you do isn't always the best course of action."
"You're right. I should be perfect, like you." Trip didn't even try to hide his bitterness. Why did this jerk have to do this to him? Can't you see I'm miserable enough as it is, without rubbing it in? Of course he was smart… that was half the problem. Smart enough to be told I have a learning disability. That had been a riot… grade one teacher telling his parents that Trip couldn't read. Mom and Dad had to fight that diagnosis… and the stupid bitch had to apologise when Trip tested out on a grade five reading level. I just didn't read like I was 'supposed to.' It probably hadn't helped that his handwriting skills were non-existent… but whoever said reading and writing were the same thing is just stupid. The label stuck, however… and I've been Number One Problem ever since.
"I'm not perfect. I am far from perfect. You said it yourself… I can't even protect a little kid. But I also happen to know that vigilante justice isn't going to work either."
Trip said nothing, just forced the muscles in his shoulders to relax and create enough room to slip out of Jonathan's loosening grip.
"You tell me I'm smart, like it's a good thing." With Jonathan between him and the door, Trip found himself trapped.
"Excuse me?"
"You tell me I'm smart, like it's a good thing." Trip spun around and faced Jonathan, his eyes blazing. "I would rather be stupid, because then I wouldn't know it was supposed to hurt when people treat me like I am. You think smart's so good? Look at Malcolm. He's probably smarter than both of us put together… and he's got to look in every shadow for something that'll beat him up. All smart means is different and people don't like different. And when you're smart… you can figure that out, real quick. And… and I'm so blessed to be an athlete… it's…it's…this gift that means I get to be even more different." He could feel the words jamming up behind his tongue and his jaw locking around them. This was why he didn't talk too much when he was extra-mad… because it brought out the one big thing that people really pounced all over. "You…you haven't got the…slightest idea how…wonderful it is to be smar…smart." He spoke slowly, trying to get the words out in one piece. It's not a stutter –, it's a stammer. Stutterers had trouble with initial consonants, stammerers repeated words, or paused in the middle. It's a different problem. "You… you've always been the… popular one, ri.. ight? You've never been…never been the freak." He didn't tell that part to Malcolm… that the kid he'd made fun of had been in his Speech Therapy class. Like I could talk. Besides, nobody'd believe he had ever been in Speech Therapy – not since now he could talk a blue streak, when he wanted. But it's how I learned Spanish. Funnily, when he switched languages, the problem disappeared.
"I'm sorry." Jonathan sagged against the sinks. Trip could see the shock in his eyes, had seen it grow with every hesitation. "I didn't realise it was so rough."
"Yeah, well it… it is. So… don't go…pretending that you know me…that you know how I feel… because you haven't…you haven't got a fucking clue." With that he pushed his way outside, to where he knew Malcolm would be waiting. At least he knows what it feels like.
Except… Malcolm wasn't there. Don't tell me you left on me, kid. His eyes dropped to the dirt, to a pair of short lived scuff marks – like someone had been dragged away from the steps, then lifted off of the ground.
Dead man. Adrenaline fuelled his stress-ridden legs and instinct propelled him towards the lake. He prayed he wasn't too late… that they weren't that far ahead. This time I am going to kill him. When he spotted who it was, he ran even faster. His speed might be useless in baseball – where he couldn't hit – but a quarterback who couldn't make decent speed over a hundred yards was worse than useless. I'm going to kill all of them. Jonesy, Dutretre, and Hong manhandled Malcolm between them down the dock. He could see Malcolm trying to fight back, but terror made the younger boy's efforts futile. He was close enough to hear Jonesy laugh when they threw Malcolm into the water. They were already on their way back when Trip's sneakers hit the dock and he saw them bracing for an attack. Where's an offensive lineman when you need him? Robbed of anyone to block for him, Trip weaved, dodging past them like he was on his way for a touchdown. They seemed surprised when he didn't attack, but he had more important things to worry about. I'll kill you later. Now…
He threw himself into a shallow dive, unsure how deep the water was here. The shock of the cold took his breath away, and the weight of the water soaking into his clothes pulled him under.
Okay, you're panicking. That's natural… get some air. He'd learned that, first day diving. Not 'don't panic' but 'you will panic.' Panic was the body's natural response to lack of air. The trick was to recognise it… and deal with it before you inhaled a lung full of liquid. He kicked hard for the surface and sucked down a deep breath as soon as his head broke through. Then he dived down again, keeping his eyes open and searching for Malcolm's form. Thank God for small mercies. This was fresh water, and flowing enough to keep it clear. It means I can keep my eyes open. He spotted a familiar head of dark hair and swam hard toward it. The drop-off in this part of the lake was fairly steep – that was why the camp didn't allow swimming here. Malcolm sank quickly, not even struggling. Shit. Kid was probably unconscious, which meant he had breathed in water.
Trip reached out and snagged the collar of Malcolm's shirt then kicked towards the surface again. He could feel his chest burning and pain returning to his head. I am not going to let Malcolm die here. If Trip drowned… that would be one thing… but Malcolm didn't deserve to. He is a good person. He gasped, the moment he felt the air on his face, then pulled Malcolm close in a life-saving grip and struck out for the dock. Hang in there, Mal. I'm here for ya, kid. Hang on. Heaving, he managed to boost Malcolm's limp body onto the floating wood, but didn't have the energy to climb up after him. You have to… he's not breathing… he's going to die. Desperation lent him strength, and he hauled himself up in one move, then crawled up to Malcolm's head. Breathing heavily, he checked the airway like he'd been taught, then pinched Malcolm's nostrils hard and lowered his mouth.
Breathe. He felt for a pulse on Malcolm's wrist and barely found it. But it's there. It's there. He's still alive… he just needs to breathe. He forced more air into Malcolm's lungs, hoping it would get past the water. Where the hell is everybody? I thought you said you cared, Jon.
# # # #
Oh, man. I think I deserved that. Jonathan watched Trip storm out, then turned and leaned his head against the mirror. I wondered how I could screw it up further… How was he supposed to know that Trip's intelligence was one of his sore points. You kept showing it off… yet he could see – now – where the problems came in. Because Trip's intelligence wasn't normal. Not that he's a genius…but he puts things together in ways other people can't. Maybe it was it's own form of genius… not school smarts, but world smarts.
And that stammer. Poor kid looked like he was fighting a war with himself just to get the words out. Hell, he probably was. I bet you've taken your share of shots over that, too. Jonathan sighed. Trip was wrong on one thing – Jonathan hadn't been Mr. Popular… but he hadn't been one of the marginalized either. I was just normal. A little geeky with my starship obsession… but nothing overboard. His athletic grace had been a blessing… but I was never that good, that early. No wonder the kid was in so much pain… what did he say about wishing he was too stupid to understand?
Remind me never to make judgements like that again. He'd always envied the really smart kids… had never realised that it carried some pretty heavy burdens. He looked at himself and found that he was a little disappointed in what he saw.
"Some starship captain you're going to make. You can't even handle eight kids… how do you expect to lead an entire crew? And how can you say you'll have the diplomatic skills when you can't even hold a conversation with a twelve-year-old without ripping his heart out? Jonathan Archer… you are a serious fool."
Sighing again, he pushed himself away from the sink and headed outside. Neither of the boys was there. Maybe Malcolm will figure out something to say. So far he was doing better at it than Jonathan.
He was about to turn to head for the cabin when he spotted a gang of three coming up from the lake. Oh shit. Dutretre, Jones and Hong… all of them laughing at a shared joke.
Jonathan ran, his long legs carrying him down the path far ahead of the other three who had turned back for more entertainment, no doubt.
Oh, no. No, no, nonononononono. Malcolm lay stretched out on the dock and Trip breathed into the smaller boy's mouth.
"Look. Isn't it sweet. Kisses." Jonathan heard Dutretre laughing behind him, and resisted the urge to turn back and smack the kid.
If he's dead, I'll strangle you with my bare hands. Jonathan dropped to his knees beside Malcolm and looked at Trip.
" 'bout fucking time." Tears glittered in Trip's eyes but didn't fall. He bent down and blew another breath into Malcolm's lungs.
Malcolm coughed suddenly, spewing water from his mouth. Trip and Jonathan turned him over so he could clear his chest.
Thank, God. Jonathan looked up at the other three who'd gathered to watch. "Hit that damned alarm NOW!" He screamed it at them, not even thinking that they wouldn't obey.
Dutretre moved quickest, running over to the lifeguard station and pressing the button for the remote alarm.
"They…they…" Malcolm's voice was weak, but at least now he was conscious.
"Shh. Don't try to talk. Just relax. You're going to have to go to the hospital… they're going to have to check you out."
Malcolm shook and began to cry. "I…I…"
Jonathan looked over at Trip who climbed slowly to his feet. All the Southerner's attention was focused on the trio onshore.
"Hey." Jonathan reached up and grabbed Trip's arm. "No vigilante justice."
"They… nearly… killed… him." Trip shook too, even though the rising heat should have warmed him. His eyes burned cold, and Jonathan realised that lack of warmth wasn't the problem.
"I know… I know… but you can't help him like that." He watched the other counsellors come running and stood up. "Now… he has to go to the hospital… they can't touch him there. And believe me… this time I'm doing something."
"Too little, too late," Trip spat. "I want to go with him."
"I can't let you do that. He'll be in good hands, Trip." Jonathan kept a grip on Trip's arm as a couple of the others loaded Malcolm onto a stretcher and began carrying him back towards the main buildings.
Trip snarled and tried to break free, but Jonathan held on tighter. "No, hotshot. I'm having the final say on this one, okay? You want to hate me for it, that's fine. But I'm not letting you go. I am not letting you go." He knew if he did… I don't care how young you are…you won't get away with murder.
Trip clawed and kicked, and Jonathan winced as they connected. The kid was looking to do damage and was willing to do it to any target that presented itself. Trip pulled at Jonathan's fingers, then hammered on his hand, trying to break the grip. "Let me go, you bastard!" In a final desperate move, Trip twisted and sunk his teeth into Jonathan's arm.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Reflexively, Jonathan pulled back and let go: Trip had bitten deep enough to draw blood. As soon as his grip relaxed, Trip squirmed out of it and took off up the path.
"Hey!" Jonathan started after him, but realised that even his longer stride wouldn't compensate for Trip's speed and head start. I'm not a sprinter… and he is. He looked down at his arm. Among his other attributes, Trip apparently had good teeth. A horseshoe of dents and punctures decorated Jonathan's bicep… and it was already beginning to throb.
"I hope he's not rabid." Kendricks came up beside him and looked clinically at the arm. "That's a pretty good…"
Jonathan grabbed Kendricks' shirt and slammed him into a nearby tree. "Your boy just tried to kill one of mine… don't go telling me that Tucker's rabid. If it wasn't for him, we'd have a death on our hands instead of a near drowning." A haze settled over his vision… but he found himself thinking more clearly. I told Trip no vigilante justice… but I'll take a little for me. He felt the pain in his arm and fed off it, using it to drive him forward.
"I already talked to him, Jon, and he swears he had nothing to do with it. And your boys back him up. I believe him, Jon… aside from that first day, I haven't had a bit of trouble with him. He gets along with everyone. Not like Trouble."
"Yeah, I hear psychopaths are good at that." Jonathan leaned in, using his height to his advantage. "You keep him away from my kids… you hear me? I hear either of them even spotted him in the distance, I will be taking it out of your hide, understand?"
"Jesus, Jon, what's wrong with you?" Kendricks looked scared and defensive. "How long have we been friends? What do you think you're doing?"
"Too damned long, obviously. But that ends now. Keep him the fuck away, got it?" Jonathan gave him a shake then let him go.
Kendricks straightened his shirt, but wouldn't look directly at Jonathan. "You are out of control, Jon. You've let that kid get to you…"
"Go to Hell." Jonathan turned and stalked away. Maybe 'that kid' has got a point. You think it's okay for them to push each other around? Try being on the losing end sometimes. He stormed up the path and headed for the main cabin, ignoring the blood running more quickly down his arm with movement. Hell, you seem to think it's okay for you to push them around. And I am stupid, because I never saw that before. But Kendricks had clearly been out to humiliate Trip during the ball game… all because Trip had had the temerity to use his brains.
In the main cabin he grabbed a pad and began filling out some forms. Because there is no way…
"Jon. I heard…" Dino pushed through the door behind him. "Ouch." He looked at the form Jon was working on… "So you're finally sending him home, huh?"
"Not him." He finished one set and began working on the other. "A couple of the other two."
Dino raised both eyebrows. "Really."
"You know Malcolm? Shy kid, spends all his time hanging out with Tucker?"
Dino nodded.
"They just tossed him in the lake. Kid can't swim. If they stay here… I'm going to kill them. I cannot have them in my cabin."
"So that's who they took… then how…" He gestured at Jonathan's arm.
"I told Tucker he couldn't go to the hospital with Malcolm. He didn't take it very well."
"I wouldn't say so… you're going to need stitches for that, Jon. Probably a tetanus shot, too. You've got to go to the hospital, too."
"Not until I've made sure those two are gone. I'd get rid of the third one too… but Kendricks thinks he's an angel."
"Yeah, well Kendricks is an ass. I'll take care of him, Jon." Dino pulled the pad out of Jon's hand. "And I'll make sure these two are dealt with as well… but you've got to go to the hospital for that. I'll drive you down… then I'll look for the little demon for you." They both looked up at the sound of tires on gravel, and saw a white car with a horse and rider logo pulling up the drive. "And three guesses…"
Jonathan stepped outside and stared at the car for a moment before walking towards it. He could see the small form sitting stiffly in the back seat, locked safely behind the grill.
The uniformed driver stepped out of the car, and gestured towards the back seat. "Is this one of yours?"
Jonathan nodded. "Thank you. He's…"
"I picked him up about three clicks down the road. He kept saying that his friend was in the hospital… but you guys get a runaway every year, don't you?"
Jonathan didn't disabuse the constable of his notion. It's easier than getting into the details.
"You his counsellor?" The constable looked at Jonathan, easily spotting the injury. "You should go to the hospital and get that taken care of."
Jonathan nodded again, keeping his eyes fixed on Trip. He still had blood smeared around his mouth – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that he was responsible for Jonathan's wound. "I'll go, as soon as he's taken care of." No way was he going to avoid Trip now… he could see the all too familiar despair settling over the kid's features. I told you, I'm not letting you go, kiddo. The cop opened the door, and Jonathan held out his hand. Trip ignored it, and slid out of the car, not looking at either of them. The cop shook his head and closed the door before climbing back into the driver's seat and pulling away.
Trip stared after the car for a moment, then looked at Jonathan's bloody arm. Without a word, he tore a piece out of his shirt and folded it, before pressing it against the bite.
Jonathan winced, and then nodded. "Thanks." He reached his own hand around… a better fit to put even pressure on it.
Trip shrugged and turned away again, still not speaking.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not a good person. Out of all the people who'd seen the damage… the only one who tried to fix it, was the guy who caused it in the first place. World smarts. Like figuring out that a bleeding wound needed a bandage. And any other kid would have done what they were supposed to do: sound the alarm. And then waited while Malcolm drowned. Oh, there was sense behind the rule: no sense two kids dying instead of one; but thanks to this crazy, trouble kid, that total lay at zero.
You're my hero, kid. He wanted to say it, but didn't dare for fear of setting off another explosion. Still… there had to be something he could do to pay – even partially – this debt. And as soon as I figure it out… I'm going to do it.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Well, it's not like he did it maliciously. Jonathan watched the doctor stitch up his arm, knowing the man was irritated by Jonathan's refusal to say what had happened. He just wished the guy would hurry up, so he could get back to Trip. I bet you're driving Dino nuts with your silent game… aren't you? Maybe not… provided Dino didn't try asking any questions. Instantly Jonathan felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn't a game, this time. Had it ever been?
Finally they let him go, with a tetanus shot and a prescription for antibiotics. Apparently, between the origin of the wound and the questionable condition of the bandage, the chances of infection were pretty high. I don't care. He escaped gladly into the waiting room, only to find it bereft of either counsellor or kid.
Sighing, Jonathan crossed to the desk. "I'm looking for the kid that was brought in earlier… the near drowning?"
The nurse looked him over, taking in his bloody shirt and exhausted appearance. "Are you from the camp?"
"Yes… I'm his counsellor." Technically that made Jonathan legal guardian… and qualified to visit.
"Room 305. They're keeping him for observation." The nurse consulted her records then turned away to the next person.
Observation. That means he's okay. He headed for the elevator, with no doubts as to where he'd find Trip.
Malcolm looked even smaller and more vulnerable than usual, but he was awake and worried. Surprisingly, Trip was nowhere to be seen, nor was Dino. "How's Trip? Is he okay?" His eye caught sight of Jonathan's sleeve. "What happened?"
What a pair of kids. One risked his life to save the other… and the one who nearly died was concerned more about his rescuer than himself. "It's complicated. I'll be fine."
A bout of swearing from the corridor solved the mystery of Trip's whereabouts. Both Jonathan and Malcolm smiled before Jonathan stepped out to find Trip tearing a strip off Dino and a nurse.
"I'm sorry, but you can't go in there…" The nurse tried to explain hospital policy while Dino held Trip by the collar. "It's…"
"He saved the other boy's life." Jonathan said, softly. "Can't you bend the rules a little and let them see each other?"
"Visiting hours are between six and eight, and…"
Jonathan nodded at Dino who let Trip go. Trip dodged past the nurse and into Malcolm's room. The look from the nurse was meant to kill, but Jonathan ignored it. Hell, I've dealt with the master of those looks, lady. If that kid hasn't dropped me by now… He glanced over at two heads bent together, deep in conversation. Good luck.
Realising she couldn't win, the nurse turned away, muttering under her breath. Jonathan watched her go, then sat down against the wall.
"You know there's not a hell of a lot we can do. We can't prove those kids tried to drown…" Dino leaned against the wall opposite Jonathan and began fiddling with his cigarettes.
"What the hell else would they be doing?" Jonathan's patience snapped. "What the hell else could you call a stunt like that? Jesus, how many more kids have to die before people take stuff like this seriously? If it hadn't been for Trip, Malcolm would be dead. Those three were walking away when I saw them… they didn't even bother to press the alarm. They were willing to let him die. I know… I know. They're too young to prosecute, right? Which means it's the responsibility of the adults… which for two of them means me. Fine. I'll accept that… it is my fault and my responsibility." The full weight of it caught up to him, and he could feel himself cracking under the strain. No wonder Trip can't handle this kind of guilt, I can't handle this kind of guilt… I signed on to protect these kids, and now I've put them in danger…
"They're old enough to fucking know better." The edge in Trip's voice caught both counsellors' attention. He closed the door behind him, and moved down the hall. "Pero siempre se le inculpa por ellos, entonces se los libra encharle disculpa." Jonathan and Dino both blinked, wearing twin expressions of non-comprehension. Um… in case you didn't guess, kid… I don't speak Spanish. And I don't think he does either.
Trip clenched and unclenched his fist in the manner Jonathan was learning to recognise as a sign of frustration. Jonathan remembered hearing how some people used other languages to deal with a speech problem. Is that your trick? "Um… Yo no hablo Español, amigo."
Trip winced, and shot Jonathan a look that said No shit. On the other hand, being able to redirect some of his hostility seemed to allow the kid a chance to gain better control of himself… at least enough to speak English. "I said everybody takes the blame for them. They're so used to being 'special' and 'privileged' that they don't fucking care anymore. Hell, my baby sister's old enough to know better than that. The problem is that everyone says 'they're just kids…' but I'm a kid, and I know I'm not supposed to do stuff like that." He rounded on Jonathan. "I know you pretty much did dick-all to stop it, but unless you told them to do it, it's… it's their choice, the.. their responsibility." He stopped for a moment and took several deep breaths. "So don't you dare say they're too young… don't you dare say this is something that happens… or they didn't know what could happen." Tears brimmed in his eyes, but wouldn't fall.
You blame yourself, too, don't you kiddo? The truth was written all over Trip's face and Jonathan could see the 'if onlys' running through the boy's head. If only you hadn't left him outside… if only you'd been there to protect him. The same ones chased around Jonathan's brain, growing with every revolution. He reached out to Trip, but wasn't surprised when Trip ignored him, turning away. Yeah, Jon… one hell of a captain.