Roger was sitting on Miss Ginny's lap as they read a book together. When she first brought up this idea, he rejected it because it was so young and childish. But after she begged him to just give it a try, he realized he didn't mind it so much. It was comforting, having someone hold him as he turned the pages to a book. Even at twelve years old, Roger was still enchanted by the grip that love held over him when someone showed him that much kindness. The general idea of doing this activity was to get Roger to speak sentences and words strung together instead of just short bursts of conversation. She would have him read a random sentence aloud to her, making sure he said all of the words and understood the sentence. It was a kind of speech therapy that she'd concluded he would be better off having. She figured it would speed the process of his recovery, simultaneously preparing him for the real world.
Roger knew that she was trying to accustom him to touch again - trying to get him not to flinch every time there came a sudden sound or sensation on his skin. He knew that exposing him to gentleness first would therefore open him up a bit to whatever would come. He knew that she wanted him to speak like a civilized little boy again. He knew that all Miss Ginny was trying to do was to adjust him naturally, rather than the way that horrible doctor proposed to do it. She rocked him gently as he read the words on the page. He felt completely and peacefully at ease.
There came a knock at the door, causing Roger's head to snap up, but his body didn't give its usual twitch. Miss Ginny proudly noted this little achievement in her mind. She shifted him off her lap and climbed off the bed. She opened the door slightly. After a few seconds of deliberation between her and this mystery person, Roger heard someone enter the room. Miss Ginny approached him again. "You have a special visitor today," she whispered, trying to sound excited so he would be too. Roger weakly pawed at her, as if asking her to stay near him so he would be protected from whoever this 'visitor' was.
When Jack Merridew walked into the room, Roger was absolutely stunned.
Miss Ginny kissed the top of his head. "I'll be waiting right outside the door, alright sweetie? You call me if you need me." she assured. Miss Ginny stepped lightly outside and shut the wooden door. Jack seemed just as speechless as Roger. He took a seat in the metal chair near the counter and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His foot tapped anxiously. Roger found 'the thing' and began twirling its feathers in his fingers to soothe himself. He could feel his heart beating a million beats per minute. A long silence passed. A very long silence. Then, Jack spoke. "Hi, Roger." he said. Roger just studied him. His ability to speak and make sentences - all that speech therapy he'd undergone with Miss Ginny - had flown out the window.
"I told you I wouldn't forget about you." the redhead continued. Roger looked away.
"We miss you in choir. The boys and I, that is. We started up again just this week. Oh, we all went back to school last Wednesday. Everyone in class calls us heroes and stuff - it's kind of a nice feeling."
Jack laughed. Roger frowned and looked up at him. How could he possibly enjoy being called a hero, when really they were all murderers? When Jack realized Roger's lack of reciprocation, he cleared his throat and went back to silence again. Roger decided it was maybe time to speak for himself. "Call you heroes?" he asked.
"Yes, that's right. All the boys do. Everyone in class. Sometimes even the teachers do too. They ask to talk about our survival in class sometimes, and everyone loves the stories."
"I bet you don't tell all."
"…W-What?"
"You don't tell them about the warpaint or the chants. You don't tell them that two boys are dead - that one of them was in your choir. You don't tell them that we, you included, killed him. You don't tell them that one of us is locked up behind a door, hidden from society, because he's an absolute monster. He's dangerous. He's insane. No. You only talk about the bravery of hunting pigs for survival. You only tell them about the marvelous inferno you created - the one that got us all rescued. You only tell them about the conch, and the chiefs, and the meat, and the fire, and shelters, and the beauty of that island, because that's what makes you a hero. But you don't tell the whole truth. You don't tell them about me. Or Piggy. Or Si- …or him."
Jack stared at Roger with an open mouth. The dark-haired boy could tell that he didn't know what to say. For once, Roger wasn't the speechless one. He went back to stroking 'the thing tenderly', as if it were the only thing that mattered. He didn't know why he was angry at Jack, but he was. Maybe it was because he came in blatantly talking about the island - something Miss Ginny never allowed anyone near Roger to mention due to its sensitivity. Maybe it was because he was back to his old ways of exemplifying himself to everyone because he was so bloody self-centered. Maybe it was because Roger just saw it all for the first time with clean eyes. At the time he was stranded on the island, he was troubled; things were bad at home, he was hurt a lot, ignored, teased, rejected. He was desperate for anyone that would just set him free and show him friendliness. Which is what Jack Merridew had done: he'd taken him under his wing right off the bat and gave him kindness. And when Jack ran off to start his own tribe, Roger was afraid of being alone again. So he'd followed. Like a puppy. He wasn't anyone's puppy anymore.
Jack nervously shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry, Roger. I didn't realize that you were still sensitive about all that." he murmured.
Sensitive to that?! Jack, I'm in a bloody mental institution! I'm sensitive to everything that threatens me! I feel safe with Miss Ginny. She protects me from the evil while still making me aware of its presence, so that one day I can do the same all on my own! What we did on that island was devil's work, Jack. You may be feeling like a hero since you were the one that got us rescued, but I may never forgive myself. Sure, I'll learn to live with it and move on with my life. But it won't go away. I'll never forgive myself."
"…Roger…you…talk like your being here is a bad thing - "
"What is it, then?! I'm unstable, Jack! I can't control my emotions at all! I'm unpredictable! I can't even identify what I'm feeling! I don't know the words to describe it! Jack, I couldn't even speak when I first got here - I would only moan and grunt and make savage calls because I just didn't know how to be civilized! I still can't do anything by myself. I'm completely dependent on another person because I have such deep, serious trust issues! You think it's good that I'm here?!"
Roger started crying. He knew he was overwhelmed with emotion, but what kind? Anger? Sadness? Devastation? Disappointment? Jack held the silence for a long time again. It was nearly ten minutes before anyone spoke.
"Roge, if it makes you feel any better…I'm seeing a therapist."
Roger looked up through teary eyes. Jack nodded gravely. "It's not like I just put it behind me without a care. I cry every single night. I have nightmares. Sometimes I can't even uncurl myself from my sheets in the morning to actually go to school, because I'm terrified something's going to get me. It left a toll on all of us. You're not alone. And don't think…" It was Jack's turn to get tearful. "Don't think that we…don't think about you in choir rehearsals. Before we start…every day…we pray for you. That's the truth." Roger looked down. Nobody ever prayed for him before. He heard Jack stirring, and suddenly felt a weight settle on the bed beside him. Jack wrapped his arms around the small boy's body. "It was so…hard…to have everyone move down in their rows to fill Simon's spot. It was even harder to readjust them to fill yours." he whispered. Roger squeezed his eyes closed at just the mention of that name. He heaved in a big sob. Both boys sat there, holding each other, crying in complete devastation.
Jack held Roger away for a moment and studied him with wet eyes. "Look at you," he sniffled, trying to smile. "Look at how good she's taking care of you. That's why you were put here. So you could see that people do care about you. Everyone does. We…miss you." Roger cradled the thing in his arms again. "I don't get any toys," he whispered. "Anything that has buttons or plastic or something hard on it, we can't have. Because they're afraid we might hurt ourselves. Miss Ginny says that if I start showing improvement…she'll sneak me some things to play with during the day."
"And look at you - you're doing better. You're talking now. When I first came in, they told me you were only starting to make sentences. But see? You've talked to me in complete sentences this whole time without even realizing it. Pretty soon you'll have a whole roomful of toys."
"I feel so…young. So little. I have to have an adult do everything for me; get me food, bathe me, clothe me, brush my hair, put me to sleep, rock me, teach me - it feels strange."
"It's called being a child, Roge. You never had that even when you were little. You…had to grow up fast."
Roger felt a chill rush through him at those words. He realized it was true. He didn't have a childhood. Once again, Jack Merridew was right. He threw his arms around the redhead again. They stayed like that for a long time, hugging and crying. In fact, it was so long, Miss Ginny reentered the room to check on them. Jack let go of him and patted his head. "I'll be back again. I promise. I didn't forget about you before, and don't think for a minute that I ever will." he whispered. Roger nodded. His face was complete soaked with tears, and the whole front of his shirt was damp. Jack left the room.
When Miss Ginny reassumed her position on the bed, she hugged her little boy. "So," she said cheerfully, yet with a hint of uneasy in her voice. "How did it go?"
"Well," Roger whispered, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Very well,"
Miss Ginny kissed the top of his head. She opened up the book where they'd left off and read to him instead, knowing that she was doing her job correctly because from her place listening through the wood of the door, she'd heard him speak in full and complete sentences the whole time he had his visitor.