Chapter 3: Quarrels, Friends, and the Drawbacks of Eavesdropping
Harry absolutely dreads going to his first session with Sister Peter Marie. She seems nice enough, of course, but she would ask questions, try to fix him—and that would be the worst mistake of all. There were some wounds in Harry that shouldn't try to be healed. They should just scar over. It wasn't what he was afraid to tell her that was the problem; it was what he'd remember without wanting to. Harry plagues himself with the worrying thoughts from the moment he's informed of the session the night before. He broods on it as he walks to the showers, almost missing his chance to eavesdrop on Beecher and Keller.
Lucky enough, he does notice their voices as they speak under the stairway. They're trying to keep their voices low and failing miserably. Beecher tries to put as much venom in his voice as possible when he says, "Fuck you, Keller. I may have needed you and O'Reily to begin with, but now I own Andy Schillenger's ass, and the rest is up to his dad and me. You've served your purpose."
Keller speaks softer, and Harry can't make out what he says. Beecher replies, "You did it for us? That's touching, but bullshit. Do you honestly think I would trust you again? Be that vulnerable again, so you could slip in and break something else?"
Silence, then, "What are we gonna do about Schillenger?" Keller asks.
More silence, and then Beecher gives in. "Motherfucker says he's got a plan to mess with us? I've got a plan of my own that involves Andy sticking a shank in ol'Vern. Let's see who comes out on top."
Beecher suddenly pops out from under the stairs and sees Harry, crouched down to better eavesdrop. Slowly, he steps closer to the stricken boy. "Meet me in the library tomorrow, three o'clock."
Beecher limps away, leaving Harry with his heart caught in his throat. Luckily, Keller doesn't notice him, and walks away to the computer room. Harry forces his feet to move him to the shower room.
He doesn't make it there without eavesdropping again, and this time completely unintentionally.
"…heard he whacked his whole family: aunt, uncle and cousin. Then he mutilates the bodies, hacking them to pieces, and he's got this wooden bowl that he uses to collect the blood for some fucked-up voodoo magic…"
The world around Harry seems to dim around the edges. Before he can faint, he makes his way to the showers and as soon as he's through the door he curls up in a ball under the sink.
"Didn't, wasn't me, wasn't me, I, I, I—it wasn't me, sword didn't cut through the flesh, no, no—didn't get the blood, blood didn't set me free, not free, why didn't it work?" Harry mumbles very softly, jittering away like a bird, and he's slightly rocking and shivering. Some sane part of his brain realizes what's going on and his ashamed that he can't better control himself. But those memories of the Dursleys, they're stronger than any other memory he tries to repress. Sometimes he swears he can almost remember the taste of the blood and bitter herbs.
"Hey there, English," Ryan O'Reily greets as he enters the room, then stops and does a double take. Tilting his head, Ryan asks, "Are you alright?" Harry doesn't answer so Ryan comes closer and crouches down to get a better look at Harry. "Hey man, whatever it is, it's going to be ok." Ryan reaches out a hand to Harry's shoulder, but the boy flinches and Ryan slowly draws his hand back. "Alright, no touching. But if you need anything," he pulls a small bag with white powder out of his pocket, shows it to Harry and then pockets it again.
"Ryan!" Cyril, Ryan's brain-damaged brother, calls as he walks into the room.
"Cyril," Ryan says as he stands, "maybe you want to talk to this nice guy here. He's from England, you know."
"Wow," Cyril says in his slow, dampened speech. "Is England very far away, Ryan?"
"It sure is, it's right next to Ireland."
"Ryan, we're Irish! He's like our neighbor!" Cyril get on his hands and knees and peers at Harry like he's a puppy. "Hello neighbor!"
"H-Hello," Harry stutters out. He looks from the beaming Cyril to his smirking brother. What was he up to?
"I gots to take a shower now. I was training real hard, I'm gonna be the champion. Aren't I, Ryan?" He looks back over his shoulder.
"You sure are. Now, I've got some business to do, so you stay here with your new friend, and try to cheer him up. He's very sad."
Ryan O'Reily is an insane man. Harry wonders what it is about himself that makes people trust him and protect him, even ones as devious as Ryan and Keller. Harry tries to comfort himself with the fact that he's been manipulated into babysitting Cyril, but it just doesn't seem to work.
Cyril has gotten up, and Harry moves away from the sink and stands up. He nods to Ryan, who smiles and leaves.
"Why are you so sad?" Cyril asks him.
"I-I hurt people, and I feel bad about it." A simplified version of the truth, but it would have to do.
"I hurt Doctor Nathan's husband. I feel really sad about that. When I meet him in Heaven, I know just what I'm gonna say to him," he recites like he's said it a hundred times.
Cyril and Harry both take off their shirts, then begin pulling off their shoes.
"What are you going to say, Cyril?"