Dante didn't look up as Alex approached him. Alex ignored this undesireable reaction and slowly took the seat opposite him. Closer to Dante, Alex could observe his physical features a great deal easier. Dante's dark eyes were still diverted down, focusing on his book. But they weren't moving. His face was calm, emotionless. Alex blinked. "Dante?" When Dante didn't answer he continued. "I need to ask you something. If I do, will you answer?"

Dante glanced up from his book and slowly proceeded to close the novel. He set it gently on the table and folded his hands in his lap. "You're new right?" He asked. He had a deep voice, a simple voice that could easily be forgotten. It had a touch of condensicion that Alex wasn't sure he liked. "I'll let this slide as a warning. Now get away from me."

Alex found himself wanting to do just that. "No," he heard himself say, just as surprised as Dante was to hear such confidence in his unusually calm tone.

"What?" Dante asked. "Random nobodies don't have the right to address me," he started, his deep voice turning hard. "Random nobody, go away now. While you still can." Dante glanced over Alex's shoulder. Alex didn't need to follow his gaze to know that he was staring straight at Bart. He wasn't what Bart would do though. Would he return his gaze or look away? Maybe Bart knew better than to be looking in this direction in the first place... "Is that your girlfriend? That weird kid that you're always with."

"You been watching me?" Alex asked, slightly annoyed with the suprise in his voice.

Dante shook his head, a begrudging smile betraying his underlying amusement. "I've been watching that kid," he said quietly, nodding in Bart's general direction. "I hear he's been asking about me. Why so interested?"

"I told you," Alex stated. "I have a question," He added, trying to appear calm. He feared, however, that all he appeared to be was a lost fourteen year old boy. At least he would never be mistaken for a spy.

"Alright, nobody," Dante sighed. He had sank back in his chair and waved his hand casually. "Out with it."

"You know what this school is doing here, don't you? Alex asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly, gently resting his hands on the table before him.

Dante gave a short laugh. "They tell me that it's education; but like you, I am not convinced," he answered, his Italian accent slipping through slightly. Alex suddenly realized that Dante had been speaking with a British accent before his slip and he narrowed his eyes but Dante ignored his reaction.

"You know that's not what I mean," Alex responded calmly, taking the hint and thus ignoring the slip for the moment. "I hear that you see everything that goes on here, so evidently you would be the one to notice whether or not something illegal is going on."

Dante didn't laugh this time but he didn't look compelled to answer either. "Even if I did know something, what makes you think I'd tell a nobody like you something like that?"

"You'd only answer like that if you did know something," Alex concluded. Dante remained silent. "Okay look, I can't convince you. I get that. I guess I'll just have to find out some other way," Alex sighed, rising quickly to his feet.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Dante asked, suddenly interested.

"That's none of your concern," Alex said promptly and turned to leave. He smiled to himself when he heared the frustrated sigh behind him.

"Fine," Dante sighed. "There's somebody I think you...and your girlfriend over there would like to meet."

"Why?" Alex asked, after turning to face Dante once more.

"Because I don't want to be liable for whatever happens to the pair of you. Because I don't infact know everything that is going on. Because the information you are searching so fruitlessly for is death on a platter, and I refuse to take part in that. Do you want to meet him or not?"

Alex forced himself to ignore Dante's precaution and to nod. "Yeah," he stated in a calm voice.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Donnie Parkens was seventeen years of age. And he sat huddled in a corner in the farside of a large empty room. The room was cold and emotionless and heavy with recycled air. Donnie's clothes were large on him, even though physically he was filled out and tall. His hair was disheveled, long brown curls hiding his wild eyes. He was grasping at the air, rocking back and forth, his eyes staring straight ahead at the ground before him, his mouth moving quickly, soundlessly.

"Donnie?" Dante asked uncertainly. He approached the boy slowly, his hands before him in a form of surrender. "Donnie, you remember me? It's Dante." His voice sounded unusually kind, reassuring. He stopped just before Donnie and lowered himself to his knees. The ground was cold concrete. Dante tried to catch Donnie's eyes. "Donnie?"

"D-Dante," Donnie stuttered uncertainly. "I remember you."

His answer was almost calm. Dante nodded and rose to his feet again. He turned and addressed Alex. "This is my cousin, Donnie. He has some mental disease. Like schizophrenia or something. There's nothing wrong with him, with his intelligence he's just a little...off. You know?" Alex nodded but he wasn't sure if he completely understood it. Dante glanced back at Donnie. "Donnie, these are some friends. They want to ask you some questions. Is that okay?" Dante had dropped the Italian accent altogether and shared his British accent with his cousin.

"No," Donnie answered quickly. "There's too many." He shook his head, staring hard at the ground, rocking feriously back and forth. "T-too many. Just too many," he muttered.

Dante glanced back at the three students behind him. He shrugged slightly. "He doesn't usually get this many visitors. It's usually just me. Or --"

"Them," Donnie answered for him, his gaze sharpening slightly. He was glaring at the ground before him, shaking his head mournfully. "They come in threes. With sticks." Donnie hugged himself tightly, clenching and unclenching his fists that clutched his arms despertely.

"Baseball bats," Bart confirmed quietly behind Peyton. "These are the rooms they take the kids that are too far gone for classes. The kids that were shipped off for disciplinary reasons."

"Kids that won't be missed," Peyton added, concerned about where Bart learned his information.

Dante glanced from Donnie back to Alex. "Only one person can stay," he commented. "Who --"

"You," Donnie interrupted. His voice was strong, certain. Dante turned to glance down at him and for the first time since they entered the room Donnie wasn't staring at the floor. His eyes were focused and staring forward, at Peyton. But once the group had locked eyes with him his eyes seemed edgy, unfocused and once more they returned to the floor.

"Okay," Alex said. "You alright with this?" He asked Peyton, who seemed unusually quiet. "You don't have to be alone with --"

"Not dangerous," Donnie said loudly, but his eyes remained on the floor, his knuckles white as his fists grasped the sleeves of his shirt. "I-I'm not," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm fine," Peyton reassured Alex. "You guys can just get lost. Go find that spaz Oz and see why he flaked out."

"Alright," Alex said quietly even though he wasn't planning on searching for Oz. Whatever Oz did on his own was of his own concern. Peyton watched Bart, Alex and Dante recede, the door closing soundly behind them, before she turned back to Donnie.

"So," Peyton began, slightly uncomfortably. "Uh, my name's Peyton," she said quietly.

"Peyton," Donnie repeated, nodding shakily. "Pretty."

Peyton felt herself smile. "Thanks," she added. "Do you know the questions we want to ask you?"

Donnie shook his head. "N-no. I can't read my minds," he added.

Peyton found herself smiling and lowered herself to the ground so that she and Donnie were eye-to-eye. "Dante says that you've witnessed some pretty bad things at this school," she commented.

"I-I'm not supposed to talk about this," Donnie said quickly, his shaking quickening.

"No, I know," Peyton said quickly, trying to calm him down. "You're not supposed to mention this to 'them'. But we're friends. All of us, we're the good guys. We would never hurt you."

"I don't know that. How could I know that," Donnie asked quickly. "Everybody wants to hurt me. That's all they do. That---that...That's all they do," he said sadly.

"Donnie," Peyton said quietly. "You're scared. Just...just tell me why. What freightens you so much?"

Donnie lifted his gaze to stare straight at Peyton. He was quiet until Peyton began feeling a bit uncomfortable. "Why," he repeated, his voice quiet, incredulous. He rose quickly to his feet and crossed the room quickly. He reached the door and quickly glanced out the small square to see if anyone was outside the door. There was no one there and when Donnie turned back to Peyton she was standing as well. He crossed the room quickly and approached Peyton so quickly that she subconsciously felt herself take a step back. Donnie was taller than her and towered over her. "They're killing people here," he whispered quickly.

Peyton straightened up. "Really? How do you know this, Donnie?"

Donnie was pacing quickly now, in front of Peyton, back and forth but never any closer to the door. "I-I had this friend. Friend. But he wasn't very smart. He...he always made them mad. He--he would say these things. Just to piss them off. And they would punish him but it never helped. He never stopped. So they took him downstairs...to-to one of these rooms. These big empty, useless rooms. And they strapped him onto a table. And they killed him."

"They strapped him onto a table --"

"Ye-yeah. With these restraints. His arms and legs," Donnie clarified.

"How did they kill him?" Peyton asked, her eyes easily trailing Donnie's quick pacing. "I mean like...with a knife or a gun or --"

Donnie shook his head quickly. "No. No. Nothing that obvious. Had to be accident. They just left him there. For days until he finally died. And then they told people t-that he just s-starved himself and no...nobody could do anything about it." Donnie ran both hands through his hair, clenching the hair between his fist. "That's why I'm here, don't you understand? In this room. It's because I saw them and they know it. They want to kill me but they know how suspicious it would look. Two murders in the same month. How peculiar."

"Donnie," Peyton began. She reached a hand, ignoring Donnie's visible flinch. She gripped his arm firmly but gently and pulled him to a stop. "Please stop pacing, you're making me dizzy."

"You don't believe me, do you?" Donnie asked, hugging himself again. He was rocking on his feet, too much energy within him to control. "Noone - noone ever believes me. Noone ever -"

"Donnie, stop it," Peyton said quickly. "I believe you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe you."

Donnie seemed to go completely still, his eyes staring straight into Peyton's. "Really? You really believe -- Well what does this mean exactly? I-I mean. How did you know? Why are you here?" Donnie paused, breathless. "What does this mean exactly?" He repeated.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Peyton asked. She wasn't sure what compelled her but she felt this white hot need. She had to be honest with this kid and she wasn't sure why. Donnie nodded vigorously, but somewhere within his intense gaze she saw doubt. This was a kid who had been fooled time and time again; caught, beaten. He was a broken toy with the prospect of being fixed. He wasn't sure if he should surrender all dignity just to be whole again. "I'm American," Peyton stated. But she hadn't bothered much with an accent so she wasn't expecting Donnie to be surprised.

"I was sent here by a man I never knew before to find out everything I can about this institution," Peyton told him quietly. Donnie smiled and shook his head but Peyton wasn't smiling. She wasn't yelling 'Gotcha ya.' Her gaze was intense. Serious.

"You're lying," Donnie concluded, his gaze turning hard. "Why?" He asked, shaking his head. "Why do you people always do this to-to me. What did I ever --"

Donnie had began pacing again, receding further into himself, shaking his head and mumbling to himself, his fists clenching and unclenching vigorously. "No, Donnie," Peyton snapped. "I'm not lying; not trying to fool you. I'm seriously not like that."

"You think I-I'm easy," Donnie argued. "J-just because I-I'm like this. You think because I'm wrong in the head that I'm easy to get a laugh out of. Just a walking joke, am I?"

"What?" Peyton asked, momentarily taken off guard. "No," she answered quickly. "Look," she said firmly, gripping Donnie's arm tightly and forcing him to stand still. Donnie's eyes were unfocused and even while he stood in one place he was trembling slightly. "I know I'm just some random stranger to you, Donnie," Peyton assured him quietly. "But I assure you, one way or another, I am going to get you out of here. It's not safe in here, and I do not belong here. Nor do you."

Donnie nodded his head. "Will you come back?" He asked suddenly, forcing his eyes up to meet Peyton's. "You don't need me anymore, but will you come back anyway?"

"Donnie," Peyton murmured sadly. Donnie almost resembled a child. His face expectant, even though deep down he already knew the answer. Always the same answer. Peyton lifted her hand to touched Donnie's arm but he shrank back. She sighed. "Sure," she said quietly. "I'll come back."