Tomas was tired. It was nothing new, really. Ever since he'd arrived in Chicago his energy levels had been low. It was as if the city itself was sapping him of life. Of course, maybe it was just part of the mourning. He had lost both his Abuela and his mother within two months and, while each woman meant something different in his life, each had been important. The double loss was like a huge snake nesting inside his chest, causing pain whenever something woke it up and eating any other emotion he could've felt.

The "episodes" and the subsequent nightmares weren't helping either. Back in Mexico he used to have friends. Back in Mexico, even in a small stuffy apartment he shared with his strict Abuela, he had been happy. There were barely any episodes, he had soccer practice and the church choir could be fun too, especially when they managed to sneak into Father Abrego's office and "borrow" some altar wine.

Tomas was trying to keep his head above water, for Olivia if nothing else. He knew that his giving up would hurt her so he tried everything in his power to pretend. Pretend that he was doing alright, that he had friends or at least had tried to make some. Pretend that the nightmares weren't destroying his soul piece by piece and that he wasn't using the library as his sanctuary to get some sleep here and there. These days, Tomas felt there was nothing of him left, just the pretense. Worse, it didn't even scare him anymore. He just went with the flow, hoping that sooner rather than later all of it would go away and he would feel normal again. Maybe if he worked his ass off at school, he could get a scholarship and leave this city behind.

Tomas rested his head in his palms on top of his desk, hearing students chatting around him before the start of Latin class. He caught his name, that familiar adjective they liked to use to describe him, and a chuckle. He ignored it all, even though he felt the snake inside his chest curl up just a bit tighter.

The class hushed, which meant their new teacher just arrived. Tomas raised his head. He wondered who it would be and if they would at least teach at a faster as opposed to the deathly slow Mr. Andrews. Tomas wouldn't have minded someone a bit more upbeat. Their Latin class was at the end of the school day and Tomas often found himself having trouble staying awake to the droning of Mr. Andrews.

That wouldn't be a problem this time, Tomas quickly realized as he spotted their new teacher. He was a young man, much younger than Mr. Andrews. He had a buzz cut and a moustache that should've looked weird, but didn't. The man walked in with a swagger and Tomas heard the girls in the class go silent in appreciation, then let out a collective, awe-filled sigh. The boys paused in whatever they were doing, and somehow grudgingly settled in behind their desks.

The teacher walked up to the chalkboard and wrote: Marcus Keane.

"For anyone curious, it is 'Mr. Keane' or 'Sir' for now. We might get to 'Marcus' if you survive this month," the new teacher announced with a grin, his British accent clear as day, the voice carrying with some indefinable strength. Tomas saw the air shimmer with each syllable and he had to make an effort to focus on the words. The snake inside Tomas's chest that was constantly there gave one harsh squeeze then became still. It was like the warmth emanating from 'Mr. Keane' put the snake to sleep and the sudden relief from the pressure caused Tomas to take in a surprised breath.

"Because it's my first day with you, I'd like to take attendance. Your principal gave me this very nifty list, so just wave when you hear your name."

Marcus Keane started calling out students and one by one they waved and said "here", until he reached Tomas's name.

"Tomas Ortega?"

Tomas couldn't move. His eyes were glued to the man in front of him who was shining with such a bright light that it made Tomas squint. His mind was in turmoil and he was probably looking ridiculous with his mouth slightly open, but Tomas couldn't care less. The man before him emitted such warmth that Tomas felt some of the Chicago's chill melting away from his bones, just from his presence in the room.

"Tomas Ortega. Is he missing?" Mr. Keane repeated his question.

Tomas was pulled out of his trance when an eraser hit the back of his head. "Hey, freak, that's you. Wave and stop staring!"

The hiss came from the seat behind him and Tomas winced. He managed to wave his hand and croak out: "Here, sir."

The teacher's eyes narrowed and Tomas felt a pang of regret that he had once again messed up. That was, until he realized the teacher wasn't glaring at him but at the student sitting right behind him. The one who had called him a freak.

"Let's make one thing clear, Mr. Jones. There will be no name calling in this class. If you want to swear at your fellow students, I expect it to be in perfect Latin, preferably with a two page essay explaining the origin and meaning behind the word. Is that understood?"

Mr. Keane said this calmly with a smile on his face, yet the class went silent, as the warm blue eyes went icy. Tomas swallowed and Andy Jones behind him stuttered an apology. Mr. Keane grinned, the ice relenting as though it had never been there in the first place. Tomas could almost see the wave of relief rushing through the class.

"Perfect! Let's continue then, shall we? Nadia Rishnewski?"

"Here, sir."

Once the attendance was taken, Keane paused to look over the class, taking in all their faces. Tomas wasn't sure but he thought that the teacher paused a moment longer when looking his way, though that might've been just his imagination. Or sleep deprivation. The class was strangely silent and Marcus Keane didn't seem to be bothered by it at all. He picked up the book they were studying, opened it to a random page, then with a grimace snapped it closed and put it back on his desk.

"Okay, seeing as this is our first class together, let's give the book a rest. No tests today, no quizzes. Just talk. I want to learn what you know. So tell me few things about yourself, hobbies, pets, name of your current crush." At that he winked and several of the girls giggled. "Use the vocabulary you already have."

Marcus Keane sat on the top of his desk, long legs dangling, hands playing with a pen as if he couldn't be still for even a second.

"Let's start with you, Nadia, shall we?" he said with a smile. Nadia, in the first row, cleared her throat and struggled to find the right words.

Tomas wasn't paying attention to her botched Latin. Instead he focused on his new teacher. Now that he had a chance to breathe he could tone down the light and the colors surrounding the man. He still enjoyed the warmth and, every time the teacher spoke to correct Nadia or ask her a question, Tomas felt a bit calmer. Which in turn helped him to focus on what was going on around him.

He noticed the sound of a phone buzzing at about the same time as Mr. Keane. Tomas didn't turn, didn't have to. He knew which of his classmates constantly left their cell phone on to text with his girlfriend. Marcus Keane either had great hearing or he was paying much more attention to the class than he appeared to; even at a low buzz, the phone was audible to him. He jumped off the table and made it across the classroom to the boy sitting at the last corner desk before the boy could even try to hide his phone. The man swiftly plucked it out of his hands and put it in his pocket.

"You'll get this back at the end of the class. Now you can stand up and introduce yourself," Marcus said with a smile.

The rest of the hour passed quickly, too quickly for Tomas's liking. For once, he truly enjoyed the class and he worried that the moment he left the room, the crippling depression would awaken and take him again. But there was nothing he could do about it. When the class was dismissed and Tomas was passing by the teacher, for a second it looked like the man wanted to speak to him. Tomas swallowed, slowing down a bit, barely hiding his sudden anxiety. It must've shown on his face, Tomas thought and just like that, the moment passed.

"Goodbye, sir," Tomas muttered and beat a hasty retreat as soon as Marcus gave him a returning nod. He could feel the warmth of a curious stare on his back all the way home.


It was nearing the end of the lunch break and Marcus was stretched out on his chair. He had spent the last half hour reading up on the materials for the special study group and felt like he would get cross-eyed if he had to stare at the page any longer. His next period was luckily free but then he had back-to-back classes that he was already cringing about. There were tests to be given, which meant he had to walk around the class and monitor for cheating. Piece of cake in this age of modern technology, Marcus thought with a snort. After the tests were collected, he would, of course, have to grade them, which meant no free afternoon and coming home maybe later than Peter.

With a sigh, Marcus rose from the chair and walked towards the open window. It seemed spring was finally in full force in Chicago as this was one of the first warm and sunny days in a long time. Marcus looked down at the school grounds, his eyes perusing the little clumps of kids, some eating, some staring into their cell phones… some trying to hide a smoke behind a tree. He was about to turn back and maybe grab some food from the cafeteria as well, his stomach grumbling, when he spotted a lonely figure by the basketball court. Then, not so lonely, as two more boys approached. Marcus gritted his teeth at the unprovoked tousling; it went on until Tomas adopted a fighting stance and his two attackers decided they'd had enough fun.

Maybe he could get some fresh air before lunch, Marcus thought, and headed down towards the court. Tomas Ortega was indeed an enigma to him. So far, Marcus had had the pleasure of seeing him in three classes. Twice in Latin and once for Spanish. Of course Tomas didn't really need the Spanish class; he could've slept through it and still gotten the credit. And maybe that had been his original plan, until Marcus had walked into the room.

Marcus had been watching the class from behind the door for a minute before making his entrance and even though he had other things to focus on, he saw the difference in Tomas's attitude the second he stepped into the room. The boy blinked and squinted, as if fighting off a headache, but after a moment his face went slack and his shoulders relaxed. As the hour progressed, Marcus noticed how Tomas paid uncanny attention to every word that left his mouth, even though the boy must've known the subject by heart. The small smile on the boy's face when they finished made Marcus's own heart feel warmer. Tomas seemed to linger, just as in the previous classes, but the second that Marcus opened his mouth and was about to ask him a question, Tomas beat a hasty retreat

That made it just a little bit difficult to start a conversation about possible tutoring. Roger had mentioned it again in the faculty break room, but Marcus had made it clear that he wanted to find his footing first.

But a week had passed now. Maybe it was the right time.

Marcus proceeded to the school grounds, his eyes instinctively seeking the boys who had harassed Tomas. When he found one of them necking with a girl behind the trash bins, he was more than happy to grab him by the scruff, pull him off and send him right to the principal's office. Usually he would have just separated the two love birds and went on his merry way, .but he didn't like bullies and he couldn't shove nettles down their pants without being accused of harassment, so the principal's office seemed like the next best choice.

Tomas was still by the basketball court, absentmindedly kicking the soccer ball against the nearby wall. He didn't seem to notice Marcus until he had walked up behind him.

"Nice leg work." Marcus spoke casually, hoping not to startle the kid. No such luck. Tomas spun around, eyes a bit wide and his right hand curling into a fist.

Marcus held out both hands and smiled.

"Hey, I mean no harm."

Tomas flushed.

"Sorry, I was just surprised."

Marcus nodded towards the ball.

"I haven't seen anyone play football around here before. I loved it back in England."

A look of surprise passed Tomas's face.

"You play football?"

"I used to… haven't kicked a ball in some time now, though. It's not exactly a popular sport here in the States."

Tomas snorted in agreement.

"Yeah. If it's not American football or baseball, it's not worth mentioning."

"Mind if I join you? We still have some time before the break is over and I need to stretch my legs. All that sitting behind a desk is murder on the back."

Tomas raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched, but he managed not to smile outright. Marcus didn't wait for an answer; his feet took the ball and he started dribbling it on his knee. However, he was obviously out of practice as he quickly lost the ball and this time Tomas laughed openly.

"Not too shabby for a Latin teacher," Tomas muttered and Marcus glared at him good-naturedly even as Tomas took the ball and started showing him how to do it right.

"Show off," Marcus said and Tomas smirked, but still didn't let the ball touch the ground. "You seem to be good at sports. Do you play anything else?"

Tomas's smile faltered a bit and he shook his head, kicking the ball towards Marcus.

"Nah. I came here in the middle of the season... too late to join a team. I'm not allowed to do any contact sports anyway." Tomas paused, as if waiting for the barrage of questions, but Marcus just nodded and kicked the ball back to Tomas. They started rallying it back and forth, ignoring a few curious looks from the other students.

"You played at your old school?" Marcus wondered, trying to keep Tomas talking. He wanted to get to know the kid, to get a bit familiar with him before broaching the subject of tutoring. Somehow, Marcus had a feeling that this was the best approach. In any case, there was also something about Tomas that had intrigued him from the first moment. The way the boy watched him, the way that the tension seemed to leave his body every time Marcus was around. It made Marcus wonder what had made Tomas so tense and nervous in the first place. His gut was telling him something was the matter, something more than the "health problems" that Roger had mentioned, and Marcus had learned a long time ago to listen to his gut. His Instincts—and God—were the two things that had often saved Marcus's hide.

"I miss my old team in Mexico," Tomas admitted after a minute. "I miss my old friends." There was sadness in his voice and Marcus had a feeling Tomas wasn't talking just about his friends but about his whole life, about the family he'd lost. Marcus could relate to that quite well.

"You were allowed to play football back home?" Marcus noted with a frown.

"Yes," Tomas answered, looking confused by the question. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Isn't it a contact sport too?"

This time Tomas blushed, kicking the ball with a bit more force. Marcus caught it in his hands, and inclined his head in question.

"It's not... it didn't use to be this bad," Tomas finally admitted, shrugging, then nodded at Marcus to pass the ball back to him. Marcus did.

"I bet the stress of moving to a different city and school didn't help," Marcus acknowledged and Tomas nodded, jaw clenched and a lost look in his eyes. Marcus cursed internally. He didn't want to bring the kid down at the expense of some bonding. Tomas had been looking almost relaxed just a few minutes ago.

"It will get better," Marcus said, trying not to sound patronizing. "I mean... I know what it's like. I had to move around a lot when I was a kid. But time usually helps."

"How did time help?" Tomas asked doubtfully.

"Either I got used to people and they got used to me…or I was off again. New places, new chances. You just have to believe it works out in the end."

Tomas still didn't look convinced, but Marcus was a teacher and he probably didn't want to argue with him. Marcus sighed. Sometimes it was easier to be a priest... or at least to be perceived as one. Something about the collar made people reveal their thoughts much more easily.

Marcus kicked the ball back at Tomas and was somehow surprised to see it pass right by his legs. Tomas didn't even try; he let it roll off the court and onto the grass. He stood frozen, head slightly downcast as if he was trying to find an ant trail on the ground, but there was nothing to look at.

Marcus frowned and moved closer to Tomas, until he was standing right in front of him. He had to squat a bit to get a proper look at Tomas's face. He had already figured that Tomas was having one of his episodes, so he was expecting to see an unfocused look or even the eyes rolled back into his head. But the look on Tomas's face was different and it made Marcus take a step back, shocked.

There was an unnatural whiteness in the wide open eyes, the hitched breath and facial muscles twitching in response to images no one else could see. Marcus knew that look. He had seen it in the eyes of a woman who let a demon speak through her; he had seen it on a painting of the prophet Jeremiah. Marcus felt fear clutching at his innards as he saw the same white film covering the eyes of this fifteen year old boy.

"Tomas?" he asked in a choked voice. "Come back."

Reaching out, Marcus laid his hand on Tomas face. In that moment the white film disintegrated like clouds being blown away, giving way to the boy's normally brown eyes.

Tomas blinked, taking in a hitched breath, and swayed."Que pasó?"

He seemed confused and unsteady and Marcus led him towards a nearby bench, pushing him down to sit. Tomas followed without complaint, until Marcus grabbed his face with one hand and tilted his head up to check his eyes again. Tomas pulled away, startled.

"Qué estás haciendo?" It seemed Tomas didn't realize he was speaking in Spanish, which made Marcus's frown deepen.

"Dime tu nombre?" Marcus asked, his voice barely hiding a tremble.

"Tomas Ortega," Tomas said, then looked around as if just waking up from a dream."What's going on?" he asked and Marcus let out a relieved breath.

"I'd really like to know that too," Marcus said. "One minute we were kicking the ball, the next you just... froze. Then your eyes went white."

"Oh," Tomas said and looked away, one hand rubbing at his eyes as if trying to brush away something he was still seeing.

Marcus put a hand on Tomas arm."Do you remember any of it?"

Tomas shrugged off the arm and shook his head, his posture suddenly stiff and closed off. Something was telling Marcus that the boy was lying, but he couldn't push. They had just met a week ago and had barely exchanged more than few words. It really wasn't the ideal moment to start an interrogation.

Sighing, Marcus ran a hand through his cropped hair. "Are you okay? Or do you need to see the nurse?"

Tomas looked at him quickly, perhaps with relief that Marcus wasn't going to keep pushing.

"No, sir. I'm fine."

Marcus didn't believe him. Tomas's hand, clutching the bench, was slightly shaking and his face was flushed, though Marcus wasn't sure if it was from a raised temperature or shame. The slumped shoulders suggested the latter and, as Tomas quickly rose, the embarrassment and fear became quite evident. He grabbed his bag and the soccer ball, clearly fighting for some composure even as he stumbled over his own feet. Marcus rose from the bench just as quickly and put a steadying hand on Tomas's arm, to which Tomas reacted with a flood of words.

"I'm sorry for acting like a freak. I can't... can't stop it. Lo siento. I... I need to go back to class."

With that Tomas pulled away and ran inside the school.

Marcus didn't follow. He stood on the now empty playground, his mind whirling. When he had accepted this job, it was supposed to be just a temporary fix, a favor to one of Peter's old friends. Marcus had expected to teach Latin, maybe pester a few kids to stop bullying some other kids. He hadn't expected to be confronted by his old life... by his calling. Suddenly he remembered the conversation he had with Peter the morning before his first day.

I think I would rather face a demon than a bunch of hormonal teenagers.

Now his words had come back to bite him in the ass it seemed. Annoyed and put out, Marcus looked up at the sky.

"Damn you. I didn't mean it literally."

The only reply he got was the whoosh of the wind and the sun happily shining down on him.

o-o-o

"Estúpido, tan estúpido!" Tomas cursed himself even as he was running away from Marcus. He was supposed to be going to class now, but instead he headed towards the boys' bathroom, happy that at least recess was over and the hall was clear. Taking shelter in one of the stalls, his hands fumbled with the lock. He slammed the toilet lid closed and sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands.

Violent images flashed behind his eyelids and sick taunting sounded inside his head. Swallowing, Tomas fought back the nausea. This wasn't how it usually went.

Before coming to Chicago, the episodes had been scarce and far between. Tomas never remembered them, not right away. At night, his mind would open to the images and they would return with a vengeance in form of nightmares. Tomas would wake up covered in cold sweat, his heart beating wildly. But there was his Abuela, a soothing presence by his side and Tomas would fall back into dreamless sleep to the sound of her muttering quiet prayers, bringing rest to his soul.

Now she was dead, and the episodes were much more frequent and violent, the nightmares often sending Tomas rushing to the bathroom and expelling whatever food he managed to eat. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he felt such a lack of energy lately. Instead of growing and gaining weight as he should, he was losing it. It was just a matter of time before Olivia noticed he was getting scrawny and that would just mean more stress for her. Tomas was already feeling guilty for being such a burden to her; he wasn't going to add another problem. So far pretending everything was okay and keeping the increasing number of fits to himself was working, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up. Sooner or later something was going to give.

Tomas shook his head and took in several deep breaths. It wasn't ideal, being in the boys' bathroom, but he needed to calm down.

"Estúpido," he muttered again, angry with himself. It just had to be his bad luck to have an episode right in front of the one teacher whose good opinion he wanted. Even in the one week, Tomas had grown to like Marcus Keane and it wasn't just for the effect his presence had on Tomas physically. He couldn't explain why or what it meant that, amidst all the darkness, Marcus was the only person in a long time who shone with such bright light. There were always people who stood out of the bunch; Tomas saw those people every day, passing them on the street. People with smiles on their faces, with hearts of gold and good intentions.

At least that's what Tomas thought his sight meant. It had taken him a good while to figure out that what he saw wasn't common and after several instances of ridicule he'd learned to keep it all to himself. Tomas supposed that it was a part of his "illness" that it had something to do with the episodes. Yet while the episodes never brought anything good, this sight never let Tomas down. The colors didn't lie and Tomas did well to keep away from people whose colors were turning bloody red or black.

That was why he was so set on not driving Mr. Keane away. Mr. Keane was clearly something good in Tomas's life, not least because the teacher had somehow managed to cut the episode short.

Tomas still couldn't believe that Marcus's touch had had such an effect on him, but the memory was clear. One second he was listening to Marcus talking about his own past, the next Tomas was pulled into the darkness. All he could hear was the angry shouting of a man, his voice thick and slurred as if drunk. Then came the scream and the sick sound of a crushing blow breaking bone. The sounds gave way to images that emerged from the darkness. The man was swaddled in black, the air around him thick and dangerous, brandishing a hammer. The woman was backing into a kitchen counter, her colors swirling from fear to pain, and then the coldness of death as the hammer hit its target. Tomas had wanted to look away but he couldn't, his eyes catching on the red and grey of the deadly wound. He had wanted to scream but couldn't catch his breath; it was as if his own lungs had stopped working. But the scene wasn't finished; the dark man was still attacking, this time trying to hurt someone much smaller. Someone shining brightly, so brightly Tomas had to squint and that was when he felt the touch on his face and the light surrounded him, enveloping him. He was yanked out of the scene. The last thing he saw was a small boy, reaching for a gun, and then he was swaying like a drunk, feeling as if his mind was still stuck somewhere halfway out of his body.

Tomas couldn't remember much of what happened after. He never could after an episode; the memories came later, during the night. But he saw the look of concern on his teacher's face, the sudden change of the colors. There was worry and... fear. Tomas didn't know if it was fear for him, or of him... he didn't want to stay around and find out in any case. As soon as his legs felt just a bit steady, he grabbed his things and ran like a coward.

He wasn't sure why he reacted that way; it wasn't like Mr. Keane didn't already know he was a freak. Hell, the whole school knew it by this point, there was no reason to hide. Still, Tomas wanted at least one person to accept him. It was nice being able to talk about Mexico, about the mundane stuff he missed and not automatically receive pity. And Tomas really did miss his old home. The friends who didn't judge, and no one really cared if he was thrown to the ground during a football practice, because the episodes came maybe once or twice a year. Not being regarded as something frail and strange. He just wanted this teacher to think of him as normal for as long as possible, but it seemed like that was already over.

With great effort, Tomas pulled himself back together. He pushed the images he had seen deep into the back of his mind. He knew they would plague him tonight but it didn't matter. Olivia had a night shift, so he could scream his head off in the apartment and no one would care. Sniffling, Tomas ran his hand under his nose, got off the toilet seat and unlocked the stall. He went to the row of sinks and ran the cold water, washing the sweat from his forehead, then rubbed his face dry with scratchy paper towel, successfully rubbing some color into his skin.

Taking in one more deep breath, Tomas straightened up and stepped into the hall, ready to face the world again.