"Should we wake him up or something?" asked Mush nervously.
"I wouldn't, he probably has a knife under his pillow or something," answered Kid Blink.
"Well someone should wake him up, he's probably hungry or something," Mush said uncertainly.
"Your too nice for your own good Mush. If he was hungry I'm sure he could wake himself up," spoke up Racetrack.
"Race, you gonna get undressed or something. Its bleeding hot out," cut in Blink.
"Not when you make it sound so dirty," Race said sarcastically. Blink was right though. It was awful hot to be sleeping in a hoodie.
"What's up with you Race, you've been tense all day," spoke the youngest of the Mixner children, Les.
"I'm about to sleep in the same room as that," Race motioned towards Spot's still form, "I say I have a right to be tense."
"Well I don't think he's that bad, once you get to know him," spoke the youngest of the group, Split.
"Split, having one conversation with him doesn't count as knowing him," interjected David. David always corrected people.
"Well I think we should wake him up too," Split retorted indignantly.
"He seems to have managed just fine so far, I say we leave him alone," answered Blink.
"Dude, have you seen the tattoo on his wrist? It's all freakish, I've never even seen that kind of gang sign," spoke up Pie Eater.
"Well I've seen it," Race said quietly, but loud enough to be heard.
"So have I. But I don't think it matter. Here's here now, so he'll just have to drop all that tough bastard shit and play by the rules, just like all of us," interjected Jack.
"It's a good thing he can't hear you through those headphones, cuz otherwise he'd prolly shank you in the face," said Split with a yawn as he crawled into his bed.
"I can hear you," spoke a voice that startled everyone. The voice belonged to Spot Conlon. "First of all, I'm not in the habit of shanking people in the face little dude," Spot said as he stood up and pulled off his headphones.
"Second, Hackie-boy, I'm not a bastard. I may be the son of a whore, but it was my father who claimed me, who owns me. Pop's real good with making sure he get's what's his." Spot pulled off his t-shirt.
"And thirdly, Higgins, I don't like Italians too much either."
Whether the audible gasp was because of Spot's knowledge of who Racetrack was or because as he turned around his back showed, no one will ever know. But on his back, the toned muscles were covered in a scrawling black design. Between his shoulder blades in thick gothic lettering was the name "Conlon".
Without a word Spot lay back on the bed and replaced his headphones. He proceeded to lay there with his eyes shut till all the boys has silently gotten into bed and turned off the lights. It was at least another hour before Spot sat up and reached under his bed for his messenger bag. Only one small boy witnessed what he proceeded to do.
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A bright light shined into Spot's eyes. His fist whipped out only to be stopped by a hand catching it. Spot's eyes then proceeded to snap his eyes open.
"Fuck," he moaned as slammed his eyes shut again, hoping what he saw was just a side effect of the drugs.
When the hand that had grabbed his fist began squeezing unbearably hard, Spot knew that he wasn't. He sat up and used his newly released hand to rub his temples. It wasn't until he swallowed the pills that had been handed to him that he looked up.
"I thought you were in jail," Spot said to the young man who had awakened him.
"I got out two weeks ago," replied his older brother.
Spot nodded his head, "And you came to see me?"
"Yeah," spoke the 19 year old, "a good thing too. I tracked down your last social worker, asshole, like all of 'em" Spot smirked at his brother's comment. "Anyways, he gave me the number to this place. The dude on the telephone told me you'd been asleep for near 30 of the 36 hours you'd been here. Good thing I showed up, they found what you had in your bag. They were ready to cart you off to a detox hospital."
Spot's eyes went wide. "They looked through my shit!" he yelled, leaping off the bed.
"Calm down little dude. He's not gonna take anything," his brother spoke in a calming voice as he held Spot's shoulders.
"Like hell he's not gonna take anything! They all take it, and they're all to shitheaded to realize that I can't just stop the shit!" Spot braced against his brother's hands.
"Bristol, chill! I talked to the man. He hasn't taken any of it. Hell, I saw it, where'd you get some of that shit? I've got half a mind to take it from you."
"Fuck right Caden!" answered Spot.
"Bristol, go clean yourself up," Caden ordered sternly.
"Go screw your mother Caden," spat Spot, only to gasp in pain as Caden grabbed the metal spike running through Spot's right nipple, twisting it sharply.
"Kid, I don't know what you think you are, but it seems as if you've forgotten your place in life. You have been away from the crew for too long. Hm Spotty-boy? When's the last time you visited Him? Shower. Now," Caden released Spot and shoved him towards the doors to the showers.
Spot reached under his bed and grabbed his bag before turning away from his brother.
"When your done we'll talk and I'll decide whether I'm gonna give your sorry excuse for an ass the beating it deserves," spoke Caden after him.
Spot flicked him the bird without turning around. Caden, without changing the calm expression on his face, slipped off one of his leather boots and chucked it at Spot, hitting him on his right shoulder. Spot stopped in his tracks and a foul curse eased loudly out of his mouth. However, he simply rolled the sting out of his shoulder and walked into the shower room, slamming the door behind him. The five pairs of eyes that were in the room turned to Caden, to see what he would do. He simply sat down on Spot's bed and started chewing on one of his lip rings, the same nervous habit Spot had.
"We need to talk," he said to Denton and Jeremiah Mixner.
"Boys, clear out, you can tell everyone that everything is fine," spoke Jeremiah, who everyone referred to as 'The Old Man' using the Navy's term for ship admirals. David, Jack, and stalking behind them, Skittery, all left the cabin silently.
"You think we'll break him?" Jack spoke to David when they reached the afternoon sunlight.
"Who, Skittery?" David asked, starring at the hunched figure walking towards the girls cabin.
"No, the Conlon kid dumbass," said Jack.
"Ha, I don't know why we're even trying. Look at his brother. And Denton says that one has the least scarred record of the whole family except for the real little kids," answered David.
Meanwhile, Skittery walked around the girls cabin and knocked on one of the windows. Bookey slid it open for him and he crawled though. It was only occupied by Bookey, Scamley, and a girl called Irish. Autopilot Off was emitting from a stereo next to Bookey's bed.
"So did they get him up?" asked Irish.
"Yeah, you should a seen it, it was fairly entertaining," answered Skittery.
"Skitts, the only thing you find entertaining is snogging with my sister," spoke up Bookey.
"Shut it, that's not the only thing we do, I told you yesterday," argued Scamley.
"Whatever," interjected Irish, "its getting so sickening that I have to force myself to remove you from my line of sight. Which means I have to go where other people are, which makes me angry."
"I hate people," agreed Bookey.
"You hate everything," said Skittery.
"Dude, look who's talking. You must be taking crazy pills again," Bookey playfully argued.
"Bookey dearest, you're the only one in this room who takes crazy pills," said Scamley matter-of-factly.
"Whatever, Skitts is a wanker, end of story," said Bookey, her opaque blue eyes lighting up.
"What! You little shit!" said Skittery incredulously.
"Whoa, whoa!" cut in Irish, "How the hell did we get on the subject of what Skittery does when he's alone?"
"Who says he has to be alone?" asked Scamley while Skittery just sat on a bed with his mouth hanging open.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" yelled Bookey covering her ears and switching her gaze between Skittery and Scamley.
"You brought it up!" laughed Scamley.
"Dude! You're my sister! I don't wanna hear that! That's just wrong! Not even kosher! AAAHHH! I'm just gonna leave now, you kids need to find some supervision or something!" Bookey continued to mumble about how disturb she was as she got up and left the room.
Irish and Scamley meanwhile could barely breath for laughing, while Skittery sat sulking, wondering how on earth he had become the subject of such conversation.
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Back in the boy's cabin, Caden had started a little chat with the men who were now in charge of his little brother's life.
"Thank you for coming," spoke Jeremiah, "we really were at a loss for what to do. Its natural for the children who get sent here to be resistant at first, but we've never had something like this happened."
Caden laughed inwardly. His brother was far from being a "child".
"I'm not surprised really," said Caden, "In fact, I probably would have pulled the same thing."
"Why?" was all Denton asked.
"It's simple really. He's scared. Of course, he'd never admit that to you, but he's completely out of his element. This isn't Us, this isn't Juvie, and this certainly isn't the regular run down foster home that is so scared of him they can't even look him in the eye. From what I can see, you people could care less that his name is Conlon."
"Wait," cut in Denton, "What do you mean 'This isn't Us?'"
"Us, the family, his brothers, his cousins, his uncles, our father," answered Caden.
Denton continued to stare at him skeptically as he went on.
"He's been stuck through hundreds of homes ever since he got taken away from Us, and they all gave up on him. Gave up on him pretty damn quickly. Of course, I suppose he gave them good reason, little piece of hell that he is. But see, what I want to know is why, for some godly reason, you people have decided to give him one last chance?"
"He's only sixteen years old, hopefully it won't be his last chance," spoke up Jeremiah, "Our philosophy here is that with love and understanding, even children who have been given nothing, can be made into something."
"Well if you think you can do it, props to you mister, but let me tell you something, you can't just pull this kid into a hug. He's never had one and he doesn't want one. He's a special kid though, and if you want to try and 'fix' him or whatever it is that you do here, be my guest. I couldn't stop you if I wanted to," finished Caden.
"I'm not sure if 'fix' is the right term," said Jeremiah, "but we will try to help him. And we can help you too. You said you just got out of jail, do you have any place to go?"
"Oh I'll figure something out, I'm not here to discuss my future."
"Well, maybe you could stay here. We could give you a job, there's plenty to do. And you can help us with Bristol, I'm guessing you know him better than anyone," offered Jeremiah.
"Oh no, I wouldn't say I know him best, that's Dax's department. He's grown up so much, he's not the same kid who I used to make steal cigarettes for me," a hint of nostalgia played across Caden's face and his voice grew quieter, "no, things are different then they used to be, but I'll stick around if you want, at least until I find something else."
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So people, what do you think? It's September and I'm back! (Yeah, yeah September's almost over…….I'm sorry)
I got a couple characters in, and there will be even more in the next chapter. And this stands for all future chapters….if I'm portraying your character wrong, PLEASE TELL ME!
And review! I love you all!