Hello everyone! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.
"How are you feeling?" Frank asked.
He was walking down the street with Joe, keeping closely in step with his brother. It was Joe's first session of art therapy and Frank was determined to ensure it wasn't a big thing despite the fact Joe had been forced into attending because of his outburst at the wrestling competition. They'd spent the morning hanging out at the arcade before Frank had offered to walk Joe to his session before he headed home.
"It's just painting a few pretty pictures," Joe shrugged.
He was nervous, Frank could tell. He supposed it was understandable. Dr Miller had been introduced to Joe as someone who was meant to help him settle in. This new therapist had basically been introduced as something of a punishment, perhaps even a trap set in his way to make him slip up so they could ensure he lost his chance with the Hardys. Frank guessed that sort of trap was what Joe had come to expect from the adults in his life while living in New York.
"It'll be fine," Frank said. "Miller wouldn't have suggested someone he didn't think would do you some good."
Joe nodded.
And suddenly they were there. Frank studied the building closely. It wasn't normally an art therapist's office, rather it was a studio in a local community art project that had offered to let them use the space. The therapist they had brought in was a world-class artist who owned several galleries over the country. Frank wasn't naïve enough to think that the man had volunteered to take on Joe's case – commuting from his home in New York to Bayport for the sessions – out of the kindness of his heart. Rather, Frank believed he was hoping the publicity of taking on a 'charity case' would bolster his public image. Still, Frank was trying to have an open mind. If just one of the things the artist suggested helped Joe express himself, he would be grateful.
Frank reached up and knocked.
The door opened almost instantly. Standing before them was a tall, wiry man with slicked-back black hair. He was wearing a large artist's smock that looked to Frank a little bit more like an old nightgown than anything meant to protect from paint.
"Ah, the Hardys, I take it? Yes, I was warned you often came in pairs. I am afraid I only set up for one."
With Joe settling into silently sizing up the man before him, Frank explained that he had just been walking with Joe and then he was going to head home. The artist nodded and smiled. He turned his attention to Joe.
"So, do you prefer Joseph or Joe?"
"Joe."
"A pleasure to meet you," the artist said. "I am Jason Regenbogen. Most of the people I work with know me as Regenbogen."
Joe nodded. He glanced past Frank into the room beyond. Frank patted his brother firmly on the back, assuring him everything was going to be fine.
"Want me to wait outside?" Frank asked.
Glancing toward Regenbogen, Joe shook his head. He gave Frank an unsteady smile before stepping inside.
The Bayport Community Art Project had a small gallery on the ground floor and various studios on the ones above. Regenbogen led Joe through the gallery, asking if there were any pieces of work that caught his eye. Joe said nothing, barely looking.
"Art was never really my thing," Joe admitted.
Regenbogen sighed and nodded. He began to lead Joe toward a set of stairs in the corner of the room that led to the studios above.
"I take it you never stole any art in New York," Regenbogen asked.
"Art's hard to sell," Joe shrugged. "Hard to carry away without a vehicle too."
Regenbogen nodded. He produced a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the door to Studio 3.
Studio 3 was not a large room. Joe guessed there was space for five people to work. A large, paint-spotted table, stood in the centre of the room. Cabinets full of art supplies were set up around it. A few pieces of work were hanging up on the walls but Joe didn't like the look of them. They were all dark, intense impressionist pieces.
"First things first, I have a selection of CDs on the tabletop over there. Pick whichever one you want to listen to," Regenbogen said, gesturing toward a table at the back of the room.
Joe nodded. He moved over to the table, glancing back at Regenbogen. The artist gave him an encouraging smile.
"Is this some sort of test?" Joe asked.
"A test implies the possibility of passing and failing. I am interested in your choice, of course, but-"
He was cut off as smooth jazz music began to fill the air. He quirked up an eyebrow at Joe as the young man shrugged.
"It was the top of the pile," Joe said.
Regenbogen nodded, disappointedly, but recovered quickly. He signalled for Joe to join him again at the art table.
"I have planned a simple exercise for today. I would like you to make a self-portrait. All of the tools in this room are at your disposal. Perhaps you could take a wander around and..."
Joe only needed a quick glance around the room to see he was perfectly happy using the pencil and paper on the table before him.
Creation was not something Marsden had encouraged. Joe had been expected to be imaginative and innovative, of course. It helped when coming up with ways to break into a building or get away with a certain crime but actually creating something new...
Joe thought it would be far easier to go for something simple than make it seem like he was trying too hard and ending up humiliating himself in front of his new art therapist.
He took the page and began to draw.
There were no mirrors in the room for him to study himself. Joe guessed that was part of the exercise, a way for Regenbogen to see what parts of him he remembered best.
Joe found it difficult to look into mirrors. He wasn't sure he completely liked, or even sometimes recognised, the young man who shared back. But he knew him and Frank had the same nose. Everyone remarked on it. And he knew he had Laura's eyes and Fenton's jaw. He was pretty sure he could make something akin to an e-Fit from the parts of his family he knew he had inherited.
"Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself and your friends and family?" Regenbogen asked as Joe drew.
"Uh... Well, my name is Joe. I am fourteen years old. I have a brother, a mom and a dad."
"And do you all get on well?"
Joe looked up at Regenbogen. The artist nodded. He said he wouldn't push Joe if he didn't want to talk but that he was trying to create a safe space where Joe could talk about anything going on in his life.
"I don't think Fenton likes me very much."
"Oh?"
"I think I disappoint him."
"And what on Earth makes you think that?"
Joe shrugged, sitting back, pencil abandoned on the desk.
"We were talking about this hitman I knew of. And I… I didn't stop him from killing this woman. I saved her daughter but not her. And I probably could have. I could have at least tried. He went out that night, I heard him go out and come back. He came back late. And he's been acting different ever since. Like… Like he doesn't trust me, like I disappoint him."
Joe let out a long, tight sigh. He focused very intensely on the self-portrait on the page before him, hoping not to meet the artist's eye.
"And you think your father is disappointed in you because you weren't able to stop a hitman?" Regenbogen asked.
Joe shook his head.
"The more I do, the more I can handle... I think he's wondering why I didn't do more earlier. Why I didn't stop hitmen like Vinnie or report people to the police? Why I didn't investigate who my real parents were sooner? I don't think he cares about whether or not I can do something. But he cares about the fact I could do it and I didn't. If I had been a scared, weak child, he would be far more proud of me because he thinks I could have intervened far sooner than I did."
"And do you think you could have intervened?" Regenbogen asked.
Joe paused, choosing his next words very carefully.
"There were times I could have intervened and Marsden wouldn't have killed me for it. He would have been angry. He would have hit me. But he wouldn't have killed me. I just... I didn't want to upset him. I didn't want to disappoint him either."
Looking back down at his drawing, Joe deliberately ignored Regenbogen's next questions. He was done discussing it. He had come to a conclusion he supposed he had always known deep down and yet was still horrified to fully realise it.
He was thankful when the art therapist didn't attempt to pry any further. Instead, Joe was allowed to focus on the page before him, finishing up his drawing.
Only once he put the pencil down did Regenbogen speak once more. He asked if he could look at the page but took it before Joe had a chance to answer him. Expertly scanning the drawing, he hummed approvingly.
"I don't think I have a career as an artist ahead of me," Joe said.
"This isn't about producing masterpieces," Regenbogen said. "It's about you finding a good outlet for yourself, a way to communicate your feelings while doing something constructive."
"I had wrestling," Joe returned. "That was a good outlet."
Regenbogen raised an eyebrow, asking if Joe really thought it had been good given how things had ended up. Joe said that hadn't been his fault.
"I was provoked," Joe said. "Or is my self-portrait telling you I'm some sort of violent thug?"
"Of course not. You didn't draw a background," Regenbogen said.
"You asked for a self-portrait."
Regenbogen nodded. He placed the drawing back in front of Joe, asking him to draw a background. Raising an eyebrow, Joe drew a horizon line behind him and a rough drawing of a window with a view of a hill before sliding the paper back to him.
He scowled as Regenbogen silently studied the drawing, not giving anything away. There wasn't even a flicker of emotion on his face.
"You know, Miller tells me what he's interpreting," Joe said.
"To satisfy your curiosity or calm your nerves?" Regenbogen asked.
Joe frowned at the question. He pointed toward the drawing, saying that Regenbogen was meant to be using that, not having a conversation.
"I am trying to understand why you have made certain choices. You failing to draw a background originally could mean you are a very lateral thinker, you follow instructions to the letter. What I know of you means I doubt this. Rather I think you did as much as you believed would satisfy me without exposing too much to interpretation. That will be something of a barrier I am afraid. Being worried people will disapprove of what you want to express or use it against you does not help you develop healthy patterns of expression. I take it this background is too simplistic to be a real place, just a generic background so you didn't have to give anything away. Interesting that you chose to add detail to the world outside the room. Would I be right in saying you feel a little trapped?"
Joe said nothing but his expression answered by Regenbogen's question immediately.
"Do the Hardys make you feel trapped?" he asked.
"No," Joe replied, firmly.
"I didn't think they did, after all, the clothes you draw yourself wearing, they're new. In fact, I believe this is a Bayport sports jacket."
He tapped the jacket Joe's sketch was wearing. Joe scowled at the slip-up.
"You want to belong with the Hardys, you might even be beginning to feel like you do belong here. But you still feel trapped. By your past?"
"In a way," Joe said.
"I'm from New York. I have some knowledge of those criminals you might have interacted with. I can't imagine any would be willing to go toe to toe with your father, especially after he only just got you back."
Joe paused. He chewed on his lip.
"If I give you a name, you just have to nod or shake your head. And if you don't know him, you can't go asking about him. No one can know I told you. But I think, if I don't tell you, you're going to keep asking and you'll get yourself and possibly me and my family killed."
Regenbogen swallowed hard. He shifted in his chair.
"I think that's enough about that for today," Regenbogen said. "How about you colour in your drawing and we can discuss our plans for our next session?"
Regenbogen took a scan of Joe's drawing and said he could take the original home. Joe was beginning the trudge back when he heard a voice calling his name. He turned, seeing Fenton was leaning out of a car parked a little down the road.
"Thought you might want a lift," Fenton offered.
Smiling awkwardly, Joe approached the car. He climbed into the passenger seat, placing his drawing on his lap, page facing downwards.
"How was it?" Fenton asked.
"I don't think he wants to hear what I have to express," Joe admitted.
Fenton frowned, suggesting maybe he needed time.
"After all, the things you have been through. They're hardly typical teenage experiences."
The detective's eyes passed onto the sheet of paper on Joe's lap. He raised an eyebrow.
"Care to satisfy a detective's curiosity?" Fenton asked.
Joe took a moment to understand his drawing had caught his father's attention. He wasn't used to the things he had created being noticed unless he purposefully drew attention to them.
"It's just a stupid drawing that-"
As Joe spoke, he turned the drawing over. Fenton's face lit up at the sight.
"Stupid drawing? No way. That is going up on the fridge."
Joe laughed.
"I think I'm a little too old for-"
"Please. I want to be a proud dad and show off your work."
Joe turned his gaze down to his picture. Then he nodded.
"But you can't do it to everything I make," Joe said.
"I can if they're all that good."
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