Author's note: I'd like to say that there are disturbing themes in this chapter. It might be worht on 'R' but I'm not so sure about. Seeing the other Profiler stories I don't think it's that bad! Read and enjoy! And of course: please review - I really would like to know what you think about this one...
Chapter 3.
John didn't come back that day and in the evening Sam decided to call him.
"Hey, it's me."
"Hi."
"You didn't come back to the office and I…"
"And you wanted to know if I got into trouble." He cut in but he didn't sound upset or angry.
"No…" she knew it wasn't too convincing.
"I'm okay, Sam. We just chatted and it got late. I came home instead."
"By the way, who was that woman?"
"I see why you called me then!" he said and Sam knew that he was smiling. "She was my teacher at high school."
"Really? I bet she could tell a lot about your things!"
"She didn't teach me that long. Sorry, but my dinner is burning down…"
"Don't tell me, you cooked!"
"I'm improving!" he laughed. "Actually, I warm up what Grace brought me yesterday."
"Good appetite then!"
"Thanks. See you tomorrow!"
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
For the next few days Sam completely forgot John's strange visitor. They had a new case and life went on. On a Thursday evening she went to the library to make some studies about old Catholic rituals as one of their murder seemed to be obsessed with religion. She was reading a thick book at one of the desks when from the corner of the eyes she glimpsed a familiar person. She looked up to watch her closer. Yes, it was Mrs. Fletcher, indeed.
She could hardly see after two long hours of reading, so she decided to greet her.
"Mrs. Fletcher?" The middle aged woman turned back.
"Agent Waters, right?"
"Yes. How are you doing?"
"I'm all right. However, I'm still a little shaky. I guess I'm too old for such excitements…" she smiled, and Sam knew that she would like this woman.
"I'm sure it would go away soon. I'm glad you are okay, though." She wanted to turn back to her desk, but the woman stopped her.
"Excuse me, but… would you mind joining me for a coffee or a drink, maybe?"
First, Sam wanted to say no, because she should read a lot more today. But then she saw something in the woman's eyes… worry? Or rather need… the need to talk about something.
"Why not? I was finished anyway." She answered instead and Mrs. Fletcher seemed somehow relieved.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You are a good friend of John, aren't you?" Mrs. Fletcher asked after they had been seated and ordered two cappuccinos.
"Yes, I guess."
"How long have you known him?"
"Two years."
"Then you can maybe tell me… it might sound stupid, but… how is he doing?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked a little bit surprised. "You met him a few days ago…"
"Yes, but he didn't talk much about himself. He asked everything about me… what happened since we last met, and so on… What I'd like to know… what I need to know is: Is he happy?"
She probably read something in Sam's eyes, because she started to explain herself.
"I don't want to dig in his private life…I just… I taught him in high school and… well, that time… he had a lot of problems… and I…"
"I think I know what you're talking about. His father, right?" Sam saw that Mrs. Fletcher had trouble to say what she wanted so she tried to make it easier for her.
"He talked about it?" she asked surprised.
"A little bit."
"I sometimes wondered what had happened to him. I would have never guessed that he would be an FBI agent… however now it seems almost natural for him… He was a nice boy and I always wanted him to be happy…
"I think he is." Sam said. She knew that John had his problems, even demons maybe, but he loved his job, he had friends and Sam guessed if somebody had asked him if he were happy or not he would have definitely answered with a yes.
"It's good. I'm glad… I was afraid that I made a fatal mistake…" She looked up and Sam saw pain in her eyes, and something else… shame, maybe? "Would you listen to an ageing teacher's confession?"
"Do you think I'm the proper…" She didn't let Sam finish the question.
"I think you are. You know him… and it's easier to speak with somebody who I don't really know."
Sam thought about it for a moment and then nodded.
"Thank you." For a second she looked at her hands as if she were thinking about where to start. "I was 35 when I decided that I needed a change. I had taught at a private school in Chicago and I had a dying relationship with one of my workmates. I wanted to get out, I wanted challenge. I had on old friend in Boston, Dave Marker. His school was looking for a History teacher and I applied. I had never taught at a state-school before and I heard a lot of horror-stories about these outskirts-institutes but I was still excited when I started my work there…
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Eileen was nervous and excited. She waited a few seconds in front of the classroom door. Dave smiled at her encouragingly.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
He opened the door and they stepped inside. Twenty-six heads turned in their direction and the children stopped talking… more or less.
"Good morning, everybody!" Dave said loudly throwing a strict look at those who were still chatting. "I'd like to introduce your new World History teacher. Behave yourself and please don't scare her away on the first day!"
And with that he left her alone.
"Well, then… My name is Eileen Warren and as Mr. Marker told I'm going to teach World History. First, I'd like you to introduce yourself in a few words. Who would like to start?"
The children looked at each-other but nobody volunteered.
"All right, then let's start here in the first row." She pointed at the girl sitting at the desk on the right side. In the tenth minute of the lesson she found out that these children weren't really different of those who she has taught so far and she felt a lot more relaxed. They just finished the introducing when the door burst open and a haggard-looking boy stormed inside obviously out of breath. When he was inside he stopped.
"I'm sorry for being late Miss…"
"Warren. And who are you?"
"John O'Doyle, Miss."
"I hope being late isn't your habit."
"No, Miss."
"Then sit down!"
The boy took place in the second row. The girl sitting next to him looked at him questioningly and slightly worried but he only shook his head. After the short interruption everything went well, they talked about the English bourgeois revolution and the lesson was over in no time.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the afternoon Eileen was invited to the principal's office. In the waiting room she saw the boy – what is his name, John? – sitting on a chair.
The principal was a bolding, very strict man close to retirement. Eileen found him frightening in a way.
"Miss Warren, thank you for coming. Sit down!" His words always sounded like commands to Eileen's ears.
"Thank you, Mr. Harding."
"I was glad to hear that you accepted the task, arranging our library, as well."
"It would be a pleasure. I was librarian in my old school and I liked it very much."
"Great." His tone gave away that he found it anything but great. "I'll give a helping hand for you. Maybe you have seen Mr. O'Doyle waiting out there. He gets a detention for being late three times a week. I thought helping you would be useful. That's all. Tell him when you want to start."
With that he obviously finished the conservation as he went back to the pack of files on his desk.
So Eileen went out to the boy.
"I hear we will work together on constructing a beautiful and well-organized library for this school."
The boy jumped up when seeing her.
"Yes, Miss."
"I'd like to start tomorrow, if it's okay for you."
"Of course, Miss. I have training until 4 p.m."
"Half past four, then. See you tomorrow!"
"Good bye, Miss Warren…"
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The library was actually an unused classroom. The shelves were in pieces and the books in boxes. The school got them from a foundation. John turned up exactly at 4:15 when Eileen was standing in the middle of the room looking over the situation.
"Good afternoon, Miss Warren."
"Hi! Just drop down your backpack." She sighed. "I think we will have a lot of work with this."
John looked around.
"I think we will need some tools. I'll go and ask Mr. Rayne for them." Mr. Rayne was the warden of the school. He rushed out and ten minutes later was back with a foot-locker.
"Do you think, you can fix these shelves?"
"They don't look too complicated."
They worked on the shelves for three days, or more precisely three afternoons and during that Eileen got to like John. He was a quiet boy and very polite, especially for a fifteen-year-old. She found him also very disciplined. He worked hard here in the library. She found out that he belonged to the best students and he was in the football team and in the box-team of the school. She guessed that he was the girl's favorite because he was good-looking as well. Eileen could imagine that with his dark hair and blue eyes he will break a few hearts. Despite all of these he was shy which somehow surprised Eileen. Till now she found that boys like him were usually highly over-confident.
A week later they started to pack out the books and however she suggested John that he could find other afternoon-activity as his detention was over, he still was there almost every day.
The incident that changed everything happened on a Thursday. John was packing out books and Eileen went to make some coffee for herself. She slowly walked back to the corner where the boy worked, the hot mug in her left hand when she almost fell over a box that was casually dropped on the ground. She tried to save her coffee but in vain - it fell and the hot liquid spread over John's back. He jumped and to escape from the burning sensation instinctively slipped out of his jumper.
"I'm so sorry, aren't you…" then she trailed of in mid-sentence. "What happened to you?"
John wasn't wearing anything under the jumper and there was a huge bruise on his torso, covering the left side of his ribcage. The boy froze and covered himself quickly with the jumper – if he hadn't done this, Eileen might have believed his fast explanation that came after.
"I… got it during the training a few days ago."
She watched him suspiciously and John looked down on his shoes.
"It looks nasty." She said after a while. "Can I have a look at it?"
John hesitated.
"It's really nothing."
"I still would like to have a closer look."
He reluctantly let down the piece of clothes. It looked really bad, it was twice the size of Eileen's palm.
"Did somebody see it?"
"It's really nothing." He repeated.
When she looked closer, Eileen glimpsed other strange marks. There was a fading bruise under the collarbone and a scar on his stomach and on his left upper-arm other blue spots that definitely looked like the marks of fingers. Fingers that roughly gripped the boy's arm.
"Who did this to you, John?" She asked, but John suddenly pulled away and put on the jumper.
"Nobody. It happened during the training…. I have to go now."
He didn't wait for an answer but walked out of the library.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"I wanted to ask you about one of the students."
Dave and Eileen were sitting in a small pub that became their regular hangout in the last few weeks.
"Shoot it…"
"There's a boy in my class and I think he has problems at home."
"Who is it?" Was there suddenly cautiousness in his eyes? Eileen wondered.
"John O'Doyle."
She couldn't help it, in the last few days she had to think about the boy all the time. Everything she hadn't understood before made sense now. Why he was so shy and quiet, why he wore long-sleeved jumpers though it wasn't cold at all outside. Why he was so reserved and disciplined. She liked him and decided that he would help him somehow.
"Uh…" Dave definitely looked as if somebody has just kicked him in the stomach.
"Is something wrong?"
"Actually, yes. You should let it be…"
"Let it be?" She thought that Dave really cared about the children. "You didn't see it! His torso looks like a map…"
"I know." He talked quietly and for the first time she didn't just see the fear but also the pain in his eyes. "Everybody knows. But we pretend… that those are just sport-injuries or accidents and you should do the same."
"But why?" Her voice lost all of its former sharp tone.
"Do you know who his father is?"
"If he does this to his own son then I think he's a bastard…"
"Yes, probably. But he's also Patrick O'Doyle. The right-hand man and good friend of Brian Conelly."
"You mean…?" She remembered reading about him in the newspapers. He was accused of leading the Irish Mob on the East-Coast but managed to escape imprisoning somehow.
"Yes. So you better do not intervene."
"I don't know if I can do it…"
"If you do anything, nobody will help you."
"Have you ever looked into John's eyes?"
"If you want to know: I haven't. At least not in the last few years! And yes, I often feel ashamed! But I have a family, Eileen. I try to help him in small ways, but I can't do more than let him rest in trainings when I see that he needs it." The bitterness almost fired from his voice.
"Is he really that dangerous?" She somehow couldn't believe it. Of course, she didn't know anything about the Mob, only what she saw in movies but still… this was real life, not a film"
"Yes. It's said that he has killed at least twenty times in the last few years. And I mean personally. Not to mention those who he got killed…"
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
After their conservation with Dave, Eileen thought a lot about John and his father. A few days later, in the morning he glimpsed John in front of the school. He walked with a bad limp and when she went closer she saw that he had a nasty bruise on his left cheek.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
John tensed first but then answered without hesitation.
"I had a box-match."
She knew that he lied however he did it with practice. He has already turned and started off the stairs. Eileen however grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. She regretted it though immediately when the boy gasped in pain.
"John, this can't go on… Something must be done."
He turned again but watched his shoes instead of her.
"I injured during a box-match…" he repeated again.
"Yes, I heard. And I don't believe it. John, what your father does, is wrong! I'll call the social service…"
"No!" He almost shouted and looked up at last. Eileen was taken aback when she saw tears in his eyes. The boy looked absolutely exhausted and this just strengthened her decision. "Please, don't…" he repeated then more silently.
"I have no other choice. You are my responsibility" she said determined.
John turned and practically ran away without another word.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The social worker was a man in his forties. Eileen talked to him earlier and found him very nice and very capable for the job. Even if John was everything but cooperative.
At the moment they were sitting in the waiting room to Mr. Rogers' office. She brought John here – in school-time, so his father couldn't know about it – but John didn't say a word during the whole ride. He was now sitting on one of the plastic chairs staring at his shoes.
"Miss Warren?" called them the young secretary. "Mr. Rogers is waiting for you."
"Let's go John!" The boy followed her without looking up. Eileen was surprised that he didn't fell over in something.
"It's nice to meet you in person, Miss Warren!" Mr. Rogers welcomed them. "John! Ms. Warren told a lot about you."
"I can imagine…" he mumbled under his nose.
The adults pretended as if they didn't hear him.
"Sit down." Mr. Rogers nodded at the chairs. "Would you mind if Ms. Warren stayed here while we are talking?"
John just shrugged which the social worker obviously took as a yes.
"In this case, we can start. Well… your name is John O'Doyle, correct?"
John nodded. He clearly decided not to say a word.
"You are fifteen?"
He nodded again.
"And you live with your father?"
Another nod.
"What is with your mother?"
This was a question he couldn't answer with a nod but his voice was barely audiable.
"She died."
"When did this happen?"
"Last year."
"Would you tell me how it happened?"
"She had a car accident."
"I see. I'm really sorry."
He gave a cough after John hadn't react to his words at all.
"I guess, you know why we are here, don't you?"
"I have no problems" he said determined.
"Where did you get that bruise?" He pointed at the blackish bruise, still visible on the boy's face.
"In a box-match. I'm in the school's box team."
"Really?"
The social worker glimpsed at the teacher who shook her head.
"I have here some medical files." Continued Mr. Rogers. "In the last year you were in hospital… seven times. A broken leg – you fell with your bicycle. A broken arm – happened during a football match. Concussion – in a box-match. Three broken ribs and another concussion – you said you fell down the stairs. And so on, and so on… The year before you were treated in different hospitals… how many? …twelve times…"
"I'm clumsy."
"I don't think so. In your trainer's opinion you are a talented football player. Sportsmen usually aren't clumsy."
"Maybe I'm an exception…"
"Listen… what your father does to you is against the law. As I see it the evidence is convincing enough, so I'm going to start further investigation. I will have to talk to your father. I'll write the requisition and will ask Ms. Warren to give it to your father."
"This is a huge mistake…" John said quietly.
"What do you mean? Is somebody else who beats you?"
John shook his head.
"You don't understand…"
"Then explain me! I know that you might feel obligated to protect your father. You might even think that you deserve the punishments but nobody deserves to be treated like this… whatever you did."
John just shook his head again and after that he didn't tell another word. They waited until Mr. Rogers wrote the requisition and then left.
The back-ride was no more chatty than the way to the social service.
"I'll take you home" Eileen said after a long silent period. "Do you think that I find your father at home?"
John just shrugged again. It seemed that shrugging became the top of communication for him.
"O.K. If he isn't at home, I'll wait with you for him." She declared. But she didn't have to, as Mr. O'Doyle opened the door for them when they arrived.
"I'm Eileen Warren, John's teacher." She introduced herself.
O'Doyle was a tall man with a powerful aura and Eileen had to admit that he was handsome with his dark hair and grey eyes. Actually, John couldn't have deny that this man was his father, they were too similar.
"Did my son do something wrong?" he asked.
"No, John is one of our best students. Actually, I came to give you something." She gave the letter over and waited until O'Doyle opened and read it. Then he looked up: his face composed but Eileen saw anger in his eyes.
"I see, Ms. Warren. I'll be there."
He waved his son inside and closed the door without another word. For a few moments Eileen just stood there staring at the closed door. Did she do the right thing? O'Doyle seemed everything but scared… but maybe she can show him that he isn't untouchable either.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
John didn't show up at school the next day and Eileen couldn't drive out of her head that something happened to him. By the end of the day she was full of worries so she decided to visit him
She has knocked on the door for a long time until at last she heard some moving from inside.
"John? Are you there?" She called loudly.
"Go away!" She heard from the other side of the door.
"No, I'd like to talk to you! I won't go away unless you open this door!"
There was a long silence, but then she heard him rustling with the key. When the door opened, Eileen gasped. The teenager looked like hell. His left eye and cheek was dark blue almost black and swollen. His lip was cracked. His right hand was put in a home-made splint.
"Oh, my god…" she whispered involuntary.
"Are you satisfied?" John asked in a bitter voice.
"I didn't want this to happen… I'm sorry… But.. this can be used against him… let's go to a hospital…"
"No" his voice was like an old man's now. "You still don't understand! Do you think he would do this if he were afraid of your social worker!?" The last sentence was shouted just like the rest of his words. "Do you really think that I don't talk because I want to protect him?! Do you think that I love him?! Just for your information: I hate him more than you could imagine! But you can't help me! Nobody can!"
When he finished his shouting he leant against the wall and started to cough. For a moment Eileen was taken aback by this outburst of pure emotion. When she recovered again she helped the boy into the living room, to a couch and made him sit down.
"Are you injured anywhere else?" she asked quietly.
"I'm fine."
"I still would like to take you to a doctor."
"I'm not allowed to leave the house. And I'm fine. It had been worse…"
The next moment he glimpsed at the clock with a concerned expression.
"You should go! He will arrive soon."
"Okay. But promise me that you call me if something happens! I think after the hearing…"
"There won't be one! He made it clear! Please go away!" He shouted again, almost hysterically which scared Eileen more than everything else. So she decided that it would be the best if she really left.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
John came back to school on the third day after Eileen's visit, the signs of the beating still visible on him. It was the day before the hearing, but Eileen didn't have the opportunity to talk to the boy about it. Then the day came and in the afternoon she called Mr. Roger's office to hear the news. She knew something was wrong in the moment a sobbing secretary answered the phone.
"Mr. R-rogers had an… accident yesterday. He's in critical condition…" the secretary explained and Eileen felt numb when she put down the receiver. She was just sitting there in her office for a long time that seemed to be hours – and it probably was true because when she glimpsed out of the window it was already dark outside.
She shivered. Was it really an accident? Or was Dave right? Maybe she shouldn't have intervened…
She quickly took on her coat and left the school building hurriedly. She couldn't repress the bad feeling in her stomach that told her: Mr. Rogers' car accident wasn't a coincidence.
The street was dark and empty… she knew it was empty! But still she looked behind herself again and again. I'm like those women in the bad horror-movies! She thought and tried to laugh about her own stupidity but somehow she didn't manage.
At last she arrived at her apartment and almost sighed in relief. What did she thought? There was no conspiracy! She opened the door…
The next moment somebody jumped at her from behind and she was pushed inside. She was swung around and found herself face to face with a man who looked like a real gangster. Probably because he is one! Her thoughts were absolutely confused. She took a breath to scream but the man expected it and huge hand landed on her mouth choking every voice inside.
"I have a message for you, lady! Don't mess up with Mr. O'Doyle…"
He tore her away from the wall and slapped her hard. Then pushed her into the corner. Eileen landed on the ground. She saw stars and her eyesight went blurry – partially because of the blow but partially because of the tears. She blinked a few times and when her sight cleared a little bit she found that the man was kneeling over him.
"The boss said I could play with you for a while… and you are a curve!" he was breathing heavily and started to undo his trousers with one hand. With the other he pressed Eileen to the ground. She tried to move but the man was practically sitting on her by now.
"Yes… let's see…" he mumbled and tore her coat and blouse open.
Eileen screamed out… but it deserved her another blow in the face. She almost blacked out…
Suddenly the door burst open.
Eileen excepted one of the neighbors… or maybe the police, but none of those arrived. It was John.
"Stop!" He might have shouted, but her ears were ringing and she heard the word as a whisper.
The man looked back over his shoulder in surprise.
"What the hell…" He trailed of when he glimpsed the gun in the hand of the boy. It was aimed at him. Where he could get it was beyond Eileen's imagination, but it didn't count at all.
The attacker stood up and Eileen pulled herself away, in the farthest corner of the hall. She watched the scene almost mesmerized.
"Let her alone!"
John trembled as if he had high fever but amazingly enough his voice didn't waver and his hands were steady.
Eileen had only one though in her mindt: we both will die… She couldn't imagine that this giant would be scared away - gun or no - by this pale and shaking teenager.
"Your father won't like this…"
"I don't care! Go away!" and he armed the weapon.
The man took a step forward, but he looked definitely uneasy. John pulled the trigger. He aimed at the wall but the man could certainly feel the wind of the bullet. Eileen shuddered hearing the banging noise.
"I think the police will be here soon…" John announced.
Without another word the man stormed out of the flat and banged the door behind himself. John as if in slow motion sank to the ground the gun falling from his hands and for some long moments he was just sitting there as if he wasn't able to move anymore. Eileen was lying in the other corner almost in the same manner.
Then John stood up and stepped to her.
"Are you all right?"
She just shook her head. The boy bent down and tried to help her up but she pulled away.
"Go… away…" Even she was surprised hearing how cold her voice sounded… And John looked at her as if she had kicked him or something….
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"I sent him away…" Mrs. Fletcher said, slightly sobbing. "I sent him away as if it was his fault… The next day I quit from school and left the town. I moved back to my parents for a while. I tried to forget everything, but … I never could forget his look… I don't know… he looked ashamed… and hurt… I think I hurt him more than his father ever could….
"I don't think he would say the same." Sam said and squeezed the older woman's hand.
"Thank you…You might be right" She wiped her eyes that were red from the tears. "I'm glad that he's happy. And I thank you that you listened to me. This was a story even my husband doesn't know about…"
"I hope you feel better now."
"Actually, yes. I didn't think this could happen, but somehow I feel… relieved."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx