A/N: So here it is. I decided to merge two chapters into one and the result is this horrendously long thing. It's the part which I've been imagining/raving about for weeks, and it has occurred to me that it would be a lot better if it was in film format. 'Twas rather difficult to write and hasn't turned out as nice as it could have done.
::put upon sigh::
DEDICATION: To Chelsea dearest, just for being herself and for leaving me such kick ass reviews.
WARNING: Before I forget again, I need to warn people that my story contains vile/inappropriate/rude/naughty/offensive/great words. The author apologises but recognises the fact that she herself is vile/inappropriate/rude/naughty/offensive/great, and knows that the plethora of swear words just can't be helped. Sorry. ::grins::
I hope you all enjoy this offering and forgive me in taking such a while to update. For once, it wasn't this story that was the problem, more like it was myself. I haven't been able to write anything, recently. Total block.
Hope you like.
It was Friday morning at Eden Hall. Nine o' clock. Assembly.
There had been a time at the old school when assembly had been looked forward to as the highlight of the week. A chance to celebrate school successes; an opportunity to commend individuals for outstanding deeds; a time when the troubles of the outside world could be put into perspective; a meeting to refresh the sense of community and harmony within the school's walls.
Not any more, though.
Times had changed. People had changed. And, in the twenty-first century world, teenagers could think of much more productive ways to spend half an hour of their free time. Generally through sleeping.
As the pupils spilled into the large, echoing hall, there was a loud hubbub of noise: chairs scraping backwards against the polished wooden floor; excited babbling of the younger, more enthusiastic, students; loud, prolonged yawns from the seniors who had been up all night studying; girls redoing their hair and gossiping; a couple of jocks play fighting and, above it all, the frustrated yells of the teachers, all trying desperately to maintain some sense of order in the sea of chaos that was high school.
Into this, the Ducks entered.
They were quiet, grim, moving as one tight knot through the crowd. Their eyes were fixed straight ahead, daring anyone to get in their way, their gaze occasionally flickering to the centre of the group, focusing on the one individual there, then looking swiftly away again.
Charlie pretended not to feel their scrutiny. Head bowed, cap down low, he stared resolutely at the floor, unwilling to meet any of his friends' significant looks, unwilling to show his face to the other residents of Eden Hall, desperately not wanting to be the subject of any more speculation.
The last fifteen hours or so had been a surreal, uncomfortable experience.
He hadn't slept much last night, Bombay's words replaying themselves in his mind, hammering into his consciousness. His old Coach's news – the revelation about Reily – had made him giddy with relief when he had first heard it. He had made Bombay repeat it all after he had finished, not wanting to have misunderstood any of it, wanting to make sure that the joy bubbling up inside of him, already making his heart beat louder and his hands shake, wasn't just some cruel joke. When it had finally sunk in that there was a possibility of escape, he had sat silently, eyes focused on some far away point, happiness engulfing him.
But then the questions had come. Questions about his face. Questions about what Reily had done. Had said. He hadn't wanted to answer them; had felt ashamed at the weakness he was showing in front of the man he considered to be the closest thing to a father he had ever had.
But Bombay had pushed. Had been sympathetic but demanding. Hadn't allowed him to mumble something incoherent and slip away. So Charlie'd had no choice but to tell him, the words tripping from his mouth in a broken, stuttering, unsure stream. And Bombay had held him close as the words slowly dried up and the sobs began. Had murmured soothingly in his ear. Had told him he was never alone. Had told him they would get the bastard.
Had told him that everything would be alright.
And Charlie had believed him. He had wanted everything to be like it had been before so badly that it was like a constant ache in his gut. They had walked to the ice rink together, Charlie slightly behind the other man, and had retrieved the important little device that had been left there that morning. Then Charlie had hugged his Coach and made his way back to the dormitories, not noticing Banks' uncharacteristical silence under the onslaught of his own thoughts.
The doubts had set in then, doubts which still hadn't left him, plaguing his dreams and preventing him from rest. What if something went wrong? What if Bombay was wrong? What would Reily do if he found out that Charlie was trying to get rid of him again…?
He had woken the next morning, his neck stiff and his mind clouded and foggy, his bruised eye throbbing. He had got dressed, slowly pulled his Ducks' jersey over his head, hiding himself in the enveloping folds, finding strange comfort in the material he had once found so much joy in. Shoving on a cap and pulling it down until it shadowed his face, hiding his eye as much as possible, he had looked at Adam who was sitting on his own bed, dressed and ready to go, their eyes locking for a long moment. Thoughts and feelings passed between them in dense silence. Then Banks had nodded towards the door, and Charlie knew it was time to go.
He had felt sick.
The Ducks, unexpectedly waiting outside his dorm door, had not made his rebellious stomach quieten down. Had made it worse, if possible. Their serious, curious eyes had immediately focused on his face, and the aghast silence that followed told him that it had probably been a good thing that he had spared himself the trouble of looking in a mirror that morning.
They had slowly gathered around him, hands clenched into angry fists, eyes still wide with shock, closing their flanks about him as if protecting him from some outside, unseen enemy. Portman had stopped in front of him, teeth gritted, hand reaching out as if to touch the abused flesh of his Captain's right eye, then had growled and dropped his arm, face contorted into a furious scowl. A heavy hand dropping onto his shoulder had made Charlie start slightly, and he had turned to stare at Fulton who was looking at him with intense, dark eyes.
"You should have told us," he had murmured quietly.
And Charlie could do little more than nod, his eyes burning, throat dry, unable to utter a word as they slowly made their way through the corridors, passing through the school traffic, down one flight of stairs to the ground floor, then onto the hall and the awaiting assembly.
They shuffled inelegantly into their seats, some of the team in front of Charlie, some of them behind, Adam and Julie next to him. A ring of protection. He stared at the floor, abjectly wishing the whole nightmare away, wanting little more than to just curl up into a tight ball and shut everything out.
He wanted to talk to Bombay – needed the man to reassure him that everything would be alright. He wanted to talk to Banksie, sitting stiffly beside him – wanted to tell him what had really happened between Reily and him. He needed human contact so badly – human contact of his own age – and regret welled up like bile in his throat, choking him. If only he could have forgiven Adam. If only he hadn't pushed him away. How much of this hurt could he have been spared? How much had his stubbornness cost him, yet again?
He needed his best friend back. He needed him back more than anything.
He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep, shuddering breath, then turned and opened his mouth, ready to say something to the other boy. Anything. Not really caring what words came out, just so long as they were enough to ease the overwhelming misery and loneliness that consumed him.
"Banksie, I…" he paused, his mouth suddenly dry, as the other boy turned to face him, sad, blue eyes watching him worriedly.
"What is it?" Adam asked softly, concern apparent in just those three small words.
"I…" Charlie trailed off, past events flashing through his mind. Adam moving away from him when he was hurt. Adam saying he'd do it again if asked. Adam being more concerned about hockey than his best friend…
He paused for a long moment.
"Nothing. Sorry." He turned in his seat again, hurt flaring to life within him once more.
How could he have forgotten?
Adam frowned slightly. "Are you…" but he was interrupted by the sudden silence that descended as Dean Buckley stood up on the stage, ready to speak.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he called exuberantly, somehow always managing to appear excited about the tedious thirty minutes stretching before him. "We have a little bit of a treat in store for you today. A rather unexpected one for us all. It is my pleasure to welcome back to Eden Hall a man I am sure all of you have seen in the news at some point. I know many of the hockey enthusiasts out there hold this man in high regard, some even aspiring to follow in his footsteps." He paused, enjoying the suspense and the sudden interest his words had brought about, not used to soliciting such attention. "Allow me to introduce the creator of the Ducks legacy, the Minnesota Miracle Man, the coach who brought ice hockey back to America during the Goodwill Games: Gordon Bombay!"
The Dean gestured eagerly to the back of the hall, the double doors swinging open to admit one man.
The applause was deafening as Bombay himself walked up through the aisles of seats. Gordon Bombay was the closest thing to a celebrity Eden Hall had ever produced, and they were proud of it. It seemed as if the assembly wouldn't be as bad as they had all been gloomily expecting.
Charlie just sank lower in his seat.
Bombay reached the stage and slowly climbed up the steps. He nodded at Buckley who beamed at him, then sat back down, the applause dying down slowly as he did so. The Coach stood up to the podium and smiled grimly at the sea of expectant, upturned faces before him, his eyes lingering on one brown, curly haired, hat covered head for a moment, before roughly clearing his throat.
"I need to apologise to you all, the Dean especially. I went to him yesterday and told him that I would love to take an assembly and talk to you all about what to expect of the upcoming Goodwill Games." He paused, face entirely serious. "I lied."
There was an uncomfortable silence, pupils and teachers giving each other confused glances.
Bombay continued, however. "I'm here to talk to you about something much more serious than hockey; an atrocity that has happened here, in this very school." He waited, allowing the words to sink in.
"This year, the school hired a new coach to teach hockey. A coach by the name of John Reily," he spat the name out, grimacing as if it had left a horrid taste in his mouth. "A couple of weeks ago, a member of the hockey team contacted me and told me there was something seriously wrong with the new coach. The individual told me that Reily put them through unorthodox practices, imposed new, senseless rules that seemed to have little reason other than to make the team's life as miserable as possible and was, quite simply, quote and unquote: 'a sadistic bastard'."
Bombay sighed heavily and rested his weight on the speaker's stand. "I'm very protective of my Ducks, as I'm sure you all know, but even I found these allegations difficult to swallow. Whatever may be the general belief, hockey coaches aren't meant to be the spawn of the devil. But I checked it out anyway. Asked a couple of my lawyer friends to see what they could come up with…"
The Dean, who had been looking on in some sort of paralysed daze, suddenly shook himself and stood, a small, confused smile on his face "Gordon, I don't know whether it's such a good idea to talk about John without his permission, but if this is a joke I'd strongly suggest…"
Bombay turned and fixed the man with a hard look. "This is no joke, Dean," he said, quietly. "And I would appreciate it if you would let me have the thirty minutes you promised me. This is something you will want to hear."
The old man nodded slightly, still bemused, but sank back down into his seat.
Bombay turned back to the school, forehead crinkled for a moment as he tried to remember where he had been. Then it smoothed out. "It was a lot more difficult to find anything about a hockey coach called John Reily than it rightly ought to have been. Almost impossible, you could say. And it was that fact which finally got me suspicious. I broadened my search to hockey in general and one name kept on popping up."
He paused. "I'm sure some of you hockey followers have heard about a man called Jonathon Reily, who played for the Boston Bruins in the early ninety's. The man whose illegal check shattered Farren Klark's right kneecap and tore two of his ligaments, effectively destroying all of the NHL hopes for Klark, who had been dubbed the next Gretsky."
Bombay sighed heavily, perhaps reminiscing on what could have been for him, the audience waiting impatiently on baited breath for him to continue. After a couple of moments, the man did.
"This Jonathon Reily then disappeared into thin air. The gossip at the time was that one of the many death threats coming his way after the incident may have actually found its target. But that wasn't true. What was kept out of the tabloids was that Jonathon Reily, after he had been kicked out of the NHL, had actually been put into some sort of protection program, to keep him safe from any maniacal fans out for his blood. He changed his name and became Jonathon Wilson, who then became a high school hockey coach in Canada."
He reached down to the floor and produced his briefcase, opening it swiftly and bringing out a couple of legal looking papers. "Jonathon Wilson, a couple of months into term, was then arrested for physical child abuse against one of his players. The case was never taken to court though, as the victim refused to testify against the man, the detective leading the case alleging that the boy was too scared to."
There was a deafening silence throughout the hall.
"Wilson then disappeared from all records, but a couple of years later Jonathon Reily reappeared in the form of John Reily, who then applied for a teaching position at this school and was granted it. John Reily, of course, had no child abuse staining his record, that misdemeanour having died along with his alias in Canada, making it possible for any background check for teaching qualifications to be all clear."
Slowly, Bombay turned and held out the documents to the Dean who had gone extremely pale, staring wide eyed at the man before him.
"John Reily is Jonathon Wilson. I suggest you call the police immediately."
Buckley took a deep breath and stood, ignoring the proffered documentation. "I suppose you have good proof for this, Bombay? These are the most serious allegations you can accuse a teacher of. This story you've just told seems extremely far-fetched and I can't help but wonder if perhaps your love of your old hockey team has made you jump to a few rash conclusions."
The Coach looked at him for a moment, head slightly inclined to one side, then moved to the sound system at the edge of the stage, hand groping for something in his pocket as he moved. Bringing out a tape, he swiftly turned the machine on and inserted it into the open compartment and pressed play.
Static filled the air for a moment, then the recording begun.
A door opening, feet entering a room, then silence. Suddenly, a strange flapping noise began, making the receiver crackle and buzz, getting louder and louder.
Over the interference, a voice could be heard. A boy's voice, soft, quiet. "Kick me out the team, and this all stops."
With those words, the students of Eden Hall all turned to regard the Ducks with new found interest, all now knowing that it had to be one of their number. The team just stared right back at them, hard, cool glares, making even the most curious pupils turn back in their seats, feeling slightly embarrassed.
The tape played on.
Heavy breathing could just be made out over the other, unknown, commotion. Then suddenly a slight gasp of surprise and a muffled thud, as if the unknown boy had just been thrown against something solid.
The flapping got louder, more insistent, until it was finally stopped by a loud crack. A sharp intake of breath, loud, as if it was right next to the recording device, then a muffled hissing and what sounded like quacking, getting more frenzied, then slightly quieter and, finally, stopping altogether.
A door being quietly shut, the smooth click of a key being turned. A pause. Then footsteps moving closer, nearer to the microphone.
"Trying to manipulate me now, are we, Conway?" A heavy voice, unmistakeably Reily's, asked softly. "Trying to get yourself chucked out the team?"
Charlie kept his gaze fixed firmly on the polished surface of the floor, his sight unfocused, as he heard the rustle of clothes shifting as people craned around to look at him. Felt his cheeks burning in humiliation as their eyes studied him, judging him. He reached up with one hand and pulled the cap on his head down lower, shielding his face, not wanting them to see his eye, knowing it was useless because they would know soon enough anyway.
"Your games won't ever work as long as I'm in charge, Conway. You're mine and you will learn, once and for all, that you have no choice but to obey me." Reily's voice was dark, undercurrents of menace running through the words as he spoke.
A loud, pained gasp, then the sounds of a desperate struggle and pained, choking gasps.
"Do you understand?" Spoken slowly, with relish.
A long, drawn out silence.
"I said, do you understand me?" A growl.
Then another short, sharp gasp, louder this time. "I understand you." The words rasped, full of pain.
"Good."
A dull sound as a body fell to the floor, then loud, uncontrolled, panicky breaths, magnified and distorted slightly by the recorder.
Then soft footsteps moving away.
Charlie screwed his eyes tight shut, not wanting to listen to the bit he knew was coming next. Desperately not wanting all the preppies at the school knowing his fear and humiliation. The words had been bad enough when they had only been addressed to himself, but for the whole school to know what had happened in that room was unthinkable. What if they agreed with Reily?
He shuddered in his hard, wooden seat, moving his arms to wrap around his aching, exhausted body. Why he had agreed to allow Bombay to do this, he had no idea. How he had thought he could sit calmly and relive it all again, was beyond him. Never had he felt so unbelievably exposed.
His eyes burned as his pain and weakness was broadcasted for everyone to judge him by, the recording continuing, regardless of his thoughts and feelings. The cold, slightly mechanical drawl of Reily filling the hall once more.
"You're pathetic, Conway, you know that? Absolutely fucking pathetic. You know how I knew it was you who was pulling all those stunts?"
A heavy pause.
"Because I knew only you could be such a little kid. You disgust me, Conway. You're lucky you piss me off enough that I won't let you ever leave the team. Hell knows your game isn't much to go by and you'd never get in anywhere else. You're a failure; a stupid little boy who thinks he's clever. Try growing up and being a man for once."
One quiet, uncontrollable, sob.
Charlie's eyes burned as he listened to the hateful words for the second time, reliving that day, that room in a swirling conflict of emotion.
Suddenly, a hand grasped his shoulder from behind and squeezed gently. Reassuring him. Comforting him.
He wasn't alone this time.
Reily's voice held unconcealable malicious delight. "Look at you. You cry baby. Can't take the truth, can you? And you wondered why Bombay and Orion were so eager to leave you. You wondered why your mother remarried…"
"Fuck you." Barely more than a whisper, the microphone only just picking it up, slightly distorting the words.
A slight gasp rippled through the assembly. The whole hall went deadly still, hearts racing, ears straining despeartely to pick up the slightest of sounds from the loud speaker, dreaded anticipation at what the man's reaction would be swirling through their veins.
Footsteps again. Coming closer.
A pause.
Then a scuffling, the sound of a struggle, harsh breathing. Then all was quiet again.
Never speak to me like that again." Reily's voice held deadly fury.
A dull, sickening smack, like a piece of blunt metal hitting into a piece of meat, and a sharp cry of pain, jerked off by a muffled thud.
Everyone sat in shocked silence, disbelief written across their features, none of them wanting to believe what they had just heard. The sounds had been unmistakable, though. They all knew what had happened.
They turned to look at the boy the majority of them had only known as "Captain Duck"; sad, sympathetic eyes taking in his hunched posture, his quivering form, his head bowed down as low as possible.
And, in that moment, Eden Hall was united in one mutual feeling. The hatred of one man. Reily.
"Defiance is a hard game, Conway. Especially when you're playing against me."
The sounds of movement and another small cry of pain.
"Remember that. I will win. Always.
Then more footsteps, moving away, the sound of something being dragged, muffled scuffling.
Then the click of a door being shut.
Silence.
The tape whirred slightly, then ground to a halt.
No one moved for a long, drawn out moment.
Then the Dean stood up shakily, glanced at Bombay, then slowly made his way off the stage, down the steps. He walked down through the centre aisle as if in a daze, hundreds of pairs of eyes watching him, then stopped and turned, moving through the chairs until he stopped by a specific one, his gaze riveted on the boy sitting stiffly in it. Reaching out a hand, he gently touched the boy's shoulder.
Charlie flinched slightly, thoughts running through his mind, paused, then took a deep shuddering breath and raised his head to look at the old man standing over him.
A gasp rippled through the hall.
Dean Buckley blinked, taking in the abused, green and purple bruising flesh of Charlie's right eye without comment. Then he swallowed, slightly, his eyes filled with intense sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, hoarsely. "Oh God forgive me, I'm so very sorry."
He turned then, his eyes flashing, his teeth gritted.
"Call the police," he ground out. "Now."
A/N: ::sings:: One more chapter to go… One more chapter to go… ::beams happily::
xXxSarahxXx: Thank you for your review. Hope this was angsty enough. ::worried glance at aforementioned chapter:: It was angsty in my head. Honest.
Katie: I think I've got people paranoid that I will never return. Lol. Rest assured, I'm going to finish this damn thing, even if it kills me. And that was a lovely review, dearest. Made me smile in unabashed joy. Thank you.
Banksiesbabe99: I think you'll like the next chapter. Is that an Adam/Charlie reconciliation I see in the distance? Lol, quite possibly. Thank you for your review, dear.
Poopy the Window Sweller: I love you. Blip. Hope you enjoyed.
udontknowme: Thank you!
Angel Spirit: Well, I hope this is revenge enough for you, lol. I was gonna have Bombay go all kung fu on Reily's ass, but then decided to make my story at least somewhat believable. Emilio Estevez isn't the biggest guy out there after all. Lol.
To the all mysterious "me", otherwise known as "Kate" but not the Kate I claim a vague acquaintance with: I am truly flummoxed by the coincidence. Truly. It's very odd. Anyways, thank you for your review. I rather liked the penguin line as well. Lol.
Chelsea: It's true. I fear Kate (not the all mysterious me) has upped and vanished. I do rather like your conspiracy theory of the black abyss in Kansas. I blame the worms. ::nods:: Eating all that soil… I hope you got my email, dearest. Your reviews are the highlight of the fandom and I look forward to them rather like Christmas. Seriously. ::tackle hugs::
Sloane Miette: Hurrah for polite society! Where would we be without it? Probably eating with our fingers and not replacing the loo roll. ::grins:: And I'm extraordinarily happy that you appreciated that last chapter. I really was rather annoyed with it for being difficult. A new pair of sneakers sounds rather delightful, btw. Thank you.
Red: Oh dear. I just know I should be apologising when people send me more than one review. Thank you, dearest. I need a kick up the backside now and again, and your second review certainly provided one. Unfortunately, I was gonna have Bombay go all kung fu on Reily's ass, but then decided to make my story at least somewhat believable. Emilio Estevez isn't the biggest guy out there after all. Lol. I hope you found this method of revenge ok, though. hugs And I'm hoping all the drastic methods you threatened me with only entail the second review… ::is slightly worried::
Ice Cube: !!! ::squeals happily:: You're back! Oh happy times! ::is rather noticeably excited:: I hope this was worth the wait and I find you rather amusing high on energy drink. Lol. ::hands you high sugar drink inconspicuously::
Hockeyluvva: Your four year old cousin? I feel the need to coo adoringly. That's so sweet! I hope you censor all the bad words, though. Lol. And thank you for your kind words, dear. This story is far from fantastic, but if people can believe that it is, there's hope yet.