Thanks ya'll! I am so glad you were happy with the story. I am especially happy that FYH was happy too! I am always open to suggestions so have at it. This is my first "Writing Assignment" so I will be happy to ablige... ENJOY!

Chapter 2

Three thirty rolled around and Tom Hanson and Doug Penhall sluggishly made their way from their last period class and then upstairs and over towards the line of lockers. Hanson was quiet and seemed to be lost in his own world. He shlumped over to his locker and fumbled blindly with the combination lock. He then reached down and opened the door. He flung his ink pen notebook and various textbooks onto the tiny shelves and then slammed the door shut. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Doug Penhall rushed silently up beside him and let out a nearly whispered… "BOO!"

"Doug!" Hanson shouted coldly looking at his partner.

"Relax little bro… I'm just making sure you're fully awake for you detention." Doug replied coyly.

"Detention…" Hanson said the word as he wrinkled his upper lip. He watched absently as swarms of students continued to parade by. "I never got detention when I was in high school… dad would have shot me dead." Hanson responded blankly

"We'll, 'dad's' gonna kill ya you now. You're supposed to be back at the Chapel for a meeting after school."

"Crap! I'm supposed to meet mom after…" Hanson gasped turning and lightly banging his covered head against the roughly painted surface of the wall.

"Yeah… it's her birthday." Doug nodded slowly as a sly grin passed across his face.

"Double crap! Doug… you have to tell Fuller I'll meet him tomorrow so I can get to moms to take her out to dinner." Hanson pleaded with his deep soulful eyes.

Doug grinned sheepishly and then shook his head. "I'll do what I can and then I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Thanks… I owe you big." Hanson smiled. It was the first smile Doug had seen out of Hanson all day. "Off I go." Hanson let out a breath as he turned and walked down the long corridor towards his detention. His boots made a clipping noise as he shuffled along the smooth glassy surface of the long corridor.

--

"Ah… Mr. McQuaid. I expected you five minutes ago." Mr. Sullivan glanced down at the time piece on his wrist and then back up at the flustered Tom Hanson.

"I… uh had to have… Doug let my mom… our mom know I would be late."

"Sit."

Tom looked slowly up at Mr. Sullivan's cloudy expression. He had taken his glasses off and laid them on his desk. Tom made his way around the set of desks taking a seat as ordered. He wanted to respond to his rather abrupt demand defensively but found it better to just sit down and be quiet. He instantly clamped his mouth closed as the older man began to talk.

"What's your issue McQuaid? I mean I have a class full of students that I want to teach and you insist on making my life more difficult. Not to mention there are students in this room who do want to learn something." Mr. Sullivan leaned heavily against the metal and wood desk behind him. He crossed his muscular forearms in front of his blue striped shirt. He squinted his heavy green eyes as he watched Tom's lack of expression as he looked blankly down at the desk he sat in. Tom bit the side of his jaw as he looked back up at the older teacher. To Roger Sullivan the boy was a good looking kid who could easily have the world on a string. He just continued to make stupid mistakes. It would take to incredibly long for the kid to straighten around. There had to be something he could do to convince the kid he should do better job… be a better student.

"Maybe I hate school." Hanson blurted out the most high school answer he could come up with. He wanted to sound tough. To him he just sounded like an ignorant, arrogant kid. Besides it wasn't a lie… he had hated high school the first time around. The only thing good about this job is he didn't actually have to complete any assignments. If he did he just had Judy do them.

Just play the part Tom…

Mr. Sullivan wrinkled his nose as he let the words of a teenaged punk sink in. He remembered his days in the corp. If you didn't conform and your platoon got into trouble they had a blanket party for you. You learned quickly that you needed to adjust your attitude or become a martyr for your own cause. Mr. Sullivan wiped his fingers across the bridge of his nose. He shook his head in frustrated disbelief. He then picked up his glasses and put them back onto his face. He looked back down at Tommy McQuaid who had his own arms across his chest in spoiled defiance.

"You're some sort of tough guy aren't ya Tommy?" Mr. Sullivan interjected.

"Pffffff." Tom snorted.

Mr. Sullivan continued to size the kid up in front of him shaking his head angrily.

What a worthless waste of time. He hates school… I fought for this little "JD's" right to go to school and he just doesn't seem to give a rat's ass.

Mr. Sullivan could feel his blood begin to boil in his veins. He narrowed his eyes as he ran his long thick fingers through his salt and pepper hair. The term jarhead was the perfect description for him as he wore the haircut proudly. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he slammed his fist against the surface of the desk where Tommy continued to sit in utter disrespect.

"You need to adjust your attitude boy! I am making it my mission to get you on the straight and narrow. Now get out of my classroom and don't be even one minute late tomorrow!"

Tom jumped and looked up at the intimidating ex-Marine standing unwavering in front of him as he felt his heart sink a bit. He was behaving like a worthless thug. He had a reason for being in the school and for acting the way he did but here he felt like he was behaving like a careless ass. He had a job to do and he was gonna do it regardless of what the other students thought of him and what the teachers thought of him.

"Goodnight… Mr. Sullivan…" Tommy McQuaid waved with a cool confidence the teacher couldn't place.

Mr. Sullivan looked up at his student as he walked out of the classroom. He watched as the kid sauntered slowly out the door through the empty corridor. He was pissed. He was completely pissed off at the behavior of this kid in his classroom. He knew that the next day would bring another round of frustration and name calling. He was downright tired of ignorant self righteous pricks making the environment difficult for all of those students who wanted an education. Then there were all of the teachers who had to put up with rubbish. It was ridiculous. Mr. Trumble told him to just relax and try to understand the lives these children have.

"Roger they're latchkey kids. They have no mom or dad. Their parents are divorced and working multiple jobs leavening them to raise themselves. You have to try and understand where they're coming from. Just try… okay?"

The words still angered him as he thought about them. Trumble was so far removed from the classroom that he had no clue. He was a teacher when the students still cared. They wanted an education back then. He had taught in an upscale neighborhood and never had to deal with thugs and gang bangers.

"Understand them… ha! Trumble… you have no clue what you're dealing with."

--

Tom Hanson made his way to the front of the school and realized he had left something in his locker he needed for Fuller in the morning. He decided he had better go back and get it as Fuller was already going to be pissed about having to reschedule his meeting. Hanson sighed loudly as he turned around and headed back up the stairs to the third floor. He rounded the corner towards his locker when the lights all flipped off. He stopped suddenly aware of the dark. There weren't many windows in the hallway in fact there was not a light source near to there. He waited a moment letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. He then walked over to the wall and let his fingers wonder across the slick painted bricks of the inner wall. He could smell the sanitary spray used to decontaminate the restrooms. He took a deep breath and let it out as he began to walk forward again.

"Great…" Hanson mumbled as he finally found his locker in the darkness.

He let his fingers fumble across the surface of the locker until he found the combination lock and began to spin it carefully. He then decided it would be easier if he stooped down to attempt to see the numbers in the darkness. He breathed another loud sigh as rolled the lock around finding the numbers on the black dial. He had begun to spin the lock again when he heard a noise to his right. He cocked his eyebrow as he looked over his right arm in the direction of the noise. There was nothing. He could see small streams of daylight dancing in the distant hallway. He let out a sigh again as he turned the knob again.

"Window'd be nice… got'cha." He whispered.

He started to stand up when something rigid slammed forcefully against the base of his skull. He grunted loudly as his head snapped forward so unexpectedly that his forehead and nose collided with the smooth metal surface of the locker in front of him. Hanson's legs turned to rubber buckled under his own weight. His body sank heavily to the ground. He fumbled to find something to hold tightly too. A hand grasped the bandanna on the top of his head pulling it off to reveal his messy locks. His long bangs fell across the front of his face matting in the blood dancing across his cheeks. The large hand then easily grasped his hair slamming his face cruelly into the locker again.

"UGHHHHH!" Hanson cried out. He thought he heard something move as he tried to drift off into unconsciousness. His body sank onto his left side. He lay still like a discarded ragdoll. His mind wandered over to whoever had attacked him. He wandered if he was finished and going to leave when a silhouette appeared against the dimly lit doorway.

"H-HELP… ME…" Hanson struggled with his words. His face felt like it was completely misshapen. He reached out as the silhouette turned and walked back towards him. He could hear something jingle as Hanson started to reach his hand out for help. His efforts were fruitless as who ever had attacked him was coming back.

"NO… Please…" Hanson shouted holding his hand up in the air in a feeble attempt to stop his attacker. The assault was brutal as one kick after another punishing kick rained down on him. Like fire from heaven the ache in his body intensified until he was fully engulfed with throbbing pain. Hanson struggled to curl into a protective ball only to feel a violent kick to his already bleeding head. He then tried to cover his head with his hands as the kicks returned to his vulnerable midsection.

To his own dismay Hanson remained conscious through the entire excruciating attack. He had hoped that Doug would think he had forgotten something and come back to the school. Maybe Fuller would show up with his mother to pick him up from detention. Just as soon as the beating started it had stopped. Hanson was left bruised and bleeding on the cold white tiled floor in front of his locker. He tried to find the strength to push himself up from the tiles only to fall forcefully back onto his stomach. The pain from the sudden jarring movement brought a choked cough from his lips as his ribs began to throb agonizingly. He closed his eyes and lay completely still on his side moaning softly as he waited to pass out or until someone found him.

--

Hanson opened his eyes to see a completely dark building. No light… nothing reflected in the doorways. He was stiff and sore from lying on the cold hard floor. His head was thumping mercilessly as he tried to raise his head from the ground. He coughed again. With the violent spasm came the splitting torture of his ribs threatening to explode from his sides. He clamped his eyes shut as he tightly wrapped his right arm around the trunk of his body. He groaned loudly as he struggled to find a way to his feet again. He lost his balance and came crashing down on his painfully damaged side again.

"OH GOD!" He shrieked through his clinched teeth.

It was a useless. There was no way he was going to rise from the surface of the cool floor without help. He sucked in a sharp breath through his lips. He then tried to breath through his nose only to find that he couldn't.

Bastard broke my nose.

Hanson touched the surface of his face gingerly only to feel the explosion of pain all along his sinuses. He could feel the blood as it oozed across the surface of his fingers and than ran like a small river across his cheek and onto the floor. He was a mess and needed help as he felt himself swimming in water that wasn't there. He could taste the bitter liquid as it flowed freely from his lips. Wave after wave of vertigo washed over him as he laid his head uncomfortably on the floor waiting sickening for the felling to subside. He could feel the tiles of the floor chilling the warm skin of his left cheek as he lay on his left side. Honestly it felt good as Hanson's face was on fire and full of swelling.

Hanson could feel his eyes drifting shut. He knew that he should try to stay awake as he was sure he had a concussion. He knew from his limited medical training that you keep people with head injuries awake. He knew he should… someone should have told his eyes that they shouldn't just close as he was soon drifting out of consciousness again. He wanted to leave, to go home. His mother… her birthday… he had missed it.

"...mom…" he murmured as he closed his eyes and drifted off to the velvety cocoon of darkness.

Read and Review me please.