Chapter 8

After class, Callen was escorted to another previously unseen office, this time by Brown. They stood in silence outside the office and Brown rapped on the door.

"Come in," Woodley's voice sounded from within.

Brown opened the door wide and allowed Callen to enter, closing the door behind him. Callen stood still for a few seconds. In front of him was Mr Woodley, the centre's councillor, therapist, shrink or head doctor. They were all terms that were used to describe the same type of person; some busybody who thought they knew you better than you knew yourself, Callen thought, moving towards the only vacant chair in the room.

The office was small but cosy, with two green coloured arm chairs separated by a mahogany coffee table, which held centre stage. To the rear of the room were two matching low level bookcases, full of hardback books on psychology and child development, as well as scientific studies on criminology. Above the bookcase, a window provided a tantalising vista of the green fields and blue skies which lay beyond the confines of Southgate - a cruel reminder of the life which might have been or alternatively, a glimpse of hope of what life still may hold.

"Callen," Mr Woodley commenced, sitting down in the arm chair opposite Callen. "How are you today?"

"OK"

"Good," Mr Woodley said, grabbing a thick ring-binder file from the coffee table.

Callen could see his name along the spine of the folder and wondered where the second one was. He'd attended enough counselling and therapy sessions to know that Woodley had only half of his records.

"And how are you feeling about events over the past few days?"

"OK"

Woodley looked up from his file and smiled at Callen. "Now we've established that you're OK, I think we can move on. So tell me a bit about yourself?"

Callen stared at Woodley. He had his file open in front of him, he knew everything he needed to already.

Woodley read Callen's confusion and mistrust. "I mean, tell me what's not in the file, like your favourite sport, books, your favourite colour? What excites you?"

Callen shrugged. So Woodley had spoken to his social worker and was trying to play the positive card, focusing on the good things and then gradually worming his way around to saying that he was a good kid and circumstance and bad choices had led him to being at Southgate. Callen knew that he was the reason he was at Southgate. He was choosing a life of crime, and he actually enjoyed the excitement and adrenaline rush, from the planning stage, right through to the escape. He was only at Southgate because he had been caught, which was not a mistake he would be making again.

"Callen?"

"I like most sport, fiction stories and the colour grey," he replied with a neutral tone of voice.

"That's great," Woodley jotted a few notes on a lined writing pad. "Tell me about your favourite sport?"

Great, Callen thought, open questions. He knew it was basic psychology but he much preferred questions to which he could answer 'yes' or 'no'.

"I like basketball," he answered. Callen gave away the minimum amount of information possible. He realised it was a team sport; fast paced and physical, something which Woodley was bound to pick up.

"Ah yes, such a quick game. Thinking on your feet, trusting in your team and their reflexes. Any team in particular?"

Callen shrugged. He had never been to a professional game and didn't particularly have any allegiances, unlike football.

"And what about your favourite book?" Woodley asked seamlessly.

Callen shrugged again and then realised that his body language was becoming predictable, almost like a twitch.

"Well what about your favourite genre, or type of books. For example, action, adventure, thriller, spy, historical drama, romance..." Woodley smiled to himself as he watch Callen involuntarily shudder when he mentioned 'romance'. It was no surprise, he rarely encountered any male teen who admitted to enjoying romance books. If he had replaced romance with pornography, which he sometimes did, the reaction from the males was frequently one of embarrassed laughter.

"Adventure, I guess."

"Which author or series?"

Callen resisted the urge to sigh. "Hardy Boys, I read a few last year."

"Good, yes, they're quite popular with teenagers. What do you enjoy most about them?"

Callen stared at his hands. He had a feeling this was going to be a long and tedious session. "They solve mysteries."

"What else?"

"The danger and action."

"And what can you tell me about the family dynamics within the stories?"

So this is where Woodley was going with these questions, Callen thought before responding. "They're brothers, real close to each other and their family."

"And what do you feel when you read these stories, when you're emotionally invested in these characters."

Callen paused before answering. He knew he was providing Woodley with what wanted to hear, but it was still the beginning of the session - early days yet...

"Like I wanna be in the adventure with them, live their lives..."

"Ah yes, excitement and adventure with the permanent safety net of a stable family life." Woodley scribbled some more notes down. He shuffled through some papers, running his finger down a list, tapping the page when he found what he was looking for.

"I can understand why you enjoy those books so much - many girls and boys do. It provides them with escapism, a safe way to enjoy dangerous adventures, frequently without repercussions. Hmm, it looks like you've already experienced plenty of danger and adventures of your own, but have faced the consequences of your actions. Your social services record and police file require at least an afternoon to review."

Callen remained silent. There really wasn't much he could say, after all it was true.

"Callen, you've admitted you enjoy quick-paced team sports and reading adventure books that have a strong familial theme. Even without asking you anything else or reading more than the summary pages of your records, I can tell that you're a smart kid, and one that's fiercely independent. But deep down you want to belong to a family. You've lived in over thirty different foster houses and children's homes, so plenty of opportunity to find that connection. Why do you think that none were successful?"

Callen forced himself not to shrug. He had no real answer to the question, which was one he had asked himself time and time again.

Woodley closed Callen's file and threw it on the coffee table. He crossed his legs and studied the teenager who sat in front of him.

"Come on now, you must have an opinion?"

Callen slowly looked up and met Woodley's eyes. "It's a bit hard to connect with families that only pretend to give a shit when the social worker visits."

"So you're telling me that all those homes were bad?"

"No," Callen reluctantly admitted. "But a lot of them were."

"If they were all so bad towards you, why did a number of families request that social services remove you from their home and place you elsewhere?"

Callen remained silent and stared out of the window. Some families had wanted him to leave as he was a disruptive force on the other children, or because of his violent behaviour - although most of the violence had been due to him either standing up for himself or for others. In all honesty, he had no idea how some of the families were allowed to foster children in the first place, let alone why someone had seen fit to place him in homes they must have at least suspected were abusive. However, social services also seemed to have moved him whenever they wanted and for no discernible reason.

"It seems that quite a few placements ended due to your aggressive attitude and temper. Is there a trigger for your rage? What makes you angry, Callen?"

You, Callen thought, you make me angry, and the bastard cops who arrested me...And people who are paid to help but only want the money. The education system, law and order and social welfare and everyone in authority. His thoughts wandered to the personal and Callen considered his family. They made him angry - his parents - for hating him so much they abandoned him to any hell hole the Government seemed fit to dump him in.

Woodley observed the brief flash of anger that sparked in Callen's icy blue eyes. There was nothing else in the boy's body language that gave away his emotions, and that fascinated Woodley; Callen was clearly a very interesting child.

"Care to verbalise any of that, Callen?"

Callen visibly started and snapped his eyes from the window to meet Woodley's. This time they narrowed in hatred of the psychologist and he remained silent. If he opened his mouth then all of his anger would pour out and that would leave him open and vulnerable. To protect himself, this time he had to maintain control.

"What about your mom and dad?" Woodley asked. He was met with silence and so rephrased the question slightly. "How do you feel about your parents?"

"I don't know, I've never met them," Callen answered in a steady, even tone.

"But you've clearly met your mother, after all, she's the one that brought you in to this world,"

"Yeah, and then left me alone," Callen replied bitterly, before he could stop himself.

"Indeed," Woodley nodded in serious agreement. "Abandonment, the inability to form long lasting bonds and the anger which comes at the resentment you bear towards your family and yourself. It's painfully obvious that you have a huge amount of rage inside you, and if you don't learn to control it, you'll end up in a lot more trouble than this," Woodley gestured with his right arm to indicate that he meant here, at Southgate.

Callen twisted his fingers which were clasped together in his lap. He could feel his temper rising; his heart was beating faster and his breathing had became shallow. He really didn't like Woodley, but even more worrying, he really did not like himself at the moment. He knew he could play the game and tell the shrinks what they wanted to hear, but Woodley or this place, was getting to him, putting him off his game. But then nothing he had experienced in Southgate could be considered 'a game'.

"There are a number of ways to gain control of your temper, and I want you to attend the group sessions I hold weekly on anger management. It's not easy being a teenage boy with hormones coursing through you, let alone with the situations you and many of the other youths in here have experienced." Woodley paused to smile, attempting to reassure Callen that some of his emotions at least, were common to most teens.

Callen did not smile back and inwardly shuddered. One on one therapy was bad enough. Group therapy was even worse.

"This afternoon I also want to touch on how you perceive yourself. I find it most interesting that your favourite colour is grey. That's a colour associated with a lack of emotion and feelings of isolation. You try stay in control of your emotions, shutting them off to avoid being hurt, like you have been in the past with your parents, foster families and other adults. By distancing yourself from people that might genuinely care, you avoid the risk that they too, might abandon you. In a similar way, you don't really have any friends. Sure, you can relate to your peers and socially interact with them, for example through team sports such as basketball, but you rarely open up to anyone and keep to yourself. Ironically, although grey is a neutral colour for those that don't like to seek attention, it's almost in direct contradiction to your behaviour. Your violent episodes invite attention, although maybe more of an invitation for others to punish you for the guilt you feel. Your lack of ability or maybe lack of desire to engage your brain and mouth again invites attention, frequently leading to trouble. But most interestingly, when you do engage your brain, you have this talent to fabricate some of the most convincing lies I've seen in a while."

Woodley had continued to observe Callen throughout his speech. He noticed how Callen's fingers stopped rubbing against each other as he began to listen to how much of his character could be read through the simple admission of his favourite colour. He knew he had piqued his interest; after all, one of the skills of a successful liar was being able to read situations and people.

"I might only have half your file on the table here, but I have read both sections. You've told some quite outrageous lies about foster families, and you've been caught out - but maybe that was the intention. I will admit there are some instances that indicate you could become quite the con-artist as you grow older. It fascinates me, how you are more than capable of establishing the fundamental emotions of trust and empathy with someone, and then steal from them. Tell me about the charity scam." Woodley threw out the last sentence, gauging Callen's physical and verbal reaction.

"It wasn't a scam," Callen said defensively, his face open and honest.

"Well in that case, just talk me through what happened. I want to hear what happened from you, not from what I read in the police and social services reports."

Callen sighed and dropped his shoulders in resignation, preparing to relive the events from nearly two years ago.

"I was placed with a family called the Smiths who did loads of charity work. They said I should do something good so I went to a local charity store that helps orphaned children. I told them I had no parents and was living in foster care with the Smiths, and that I wanted to help raise money to help other kids like me. They said I was too young so I came back with my foster mom. They talked about the charity and then agreed I could do the collections. In the morning I went up and down the street, knocking on doors, and then I stood in the mall all Saturday afternoon. When I was walking back home some kids pushed me into the alley, beat me and stole the money." Callen stopped and looked at Woodley, trying to work out if he believed him. Woodley's expression was one of professional interest, Callen decided, and he had no idea if Woodley thought he was lying. "I went home with no money, a split lip and a black eye and they called the police. Said I'd stolen the money and hit myself. Why would I do that?"

Callen shook his head slightly as he asked Woodley the question, almost daring him to answer.

"Why indeed," Woodley commented. He would park that one until later. The police report had been unable to prove that Callen had stolen the money and the relationship between Callen and the foster family had deteriorated within days, and he had been returned to the group home. Despite the honesty and simplicity of Callen's story, Woodley was not convinced of his innocence.

"I did find it quite amusing that when you were seven, you were in trouble at school for scamming another child by asking him to give you ten dollars each week, so you would give him fifty back five weeks later. And you repeated that for two months before you were caught. The parents of the other child even called the police to the school." Woodley smiled as he summarised the story for Callen.

Well, Callen thought, he had pretty much dared Woodley to respond to his charity story and he had, with an event that basically confirmed he thought he was guilty. Callen now despised Woodley even more. He had no idea that he could be read so easily. Sure he had scammed some rich brat in second grade, although at the time, he had no idea he was doing anything wrong. He had also deliberately taken the charity money, splitting the proceeds with the boy he paid to hit him. The Smith's did not embody the ethos that charity starts at home. So apart from offering him a roof over his head, he had been pretty much neglected and figured he had deserved the charity money. After all, he was an orphan, he'd been neglected and abused - the charity had even admitted they kept twenty percent for administrative costs. The police investigation had found no evidence of Callen's guilt, it was all circumstantial and no charges were ever laid. Woodley had just established, without actually saying as much, that Callen was a liar and a thief.

"Why did you lie to the director?"

Woodley's words cut through his thoughts and brought Callen back to reality. Without knowing to which lies he was referring, Callen thought it best to remain silent.

"Callen?"

"What?"

"Why did you lie to the director?"

How he phrased his answer would be crucial. Callen had no idea whose side Woodley was on. He clearly spent a lot of time at Southgate, but none of his questions or insights seemed to indicate that he was in cahoots with the Correction Officers. Callen might not like Woodley, but he did appear sincere and seemed to be working with Lorna Williams, his social worker. He could not be one hundred percent sure though, and that put him in a dangerous predicament.

"I lied because I was real angry at everyone here. I hated being in isolation and I never started the fight at the pool table," Callen wove a few truths in with his lies. "And Jessop kept showing me up in front of everyone."

"Why did you think your lies would be believed?"

Callen refrained from rolling his eyes. Christ, he thought, surely everyone knew this place was a hell hole. He'd been hearing horror stories about Southgate for years.

"There've always been rumours about this place," he answered. "On the street and in the group homes, they're used to scare kids so I thought I'd turn it to my advantage."

"Any other reasons why your lies about abuse here would be believed?" Woodley asked, catching Callen's eye.

Callen broke eye contact and studied his fingers, wondering why he should make Woodley's job easy. Woodley already knew the answers so why was he even bothering to ask the questions. Silence ensued for several minutes and Callen was determined not to be the first to break.

"How about the lies you told eighteen months ago about the Sampson's?"

Callen remained silent.

"Callen, you persuaded your social worker at the time that the Sampson's were physically abusing you. You went to hospital with a broken arm and bruises on your upper body. It was only after one of the girls at your school came forward to say she saw you fighting after school, that you were caught lying. And your reasoning was?"

"I didn't like the family or the school and social services refused to move me. They never listen."

"Well they listened this time and called the police. Mr Sampson was arrested for child abuse and even though the charges were dropped, he almost lost his job."

Good, thought Callen. He might not have been abused there but the man had been an idiot. The local school had been worse; Callen was already behind the rest of his year and had been placed in a special group for those requiring learning assistance. The class consisted mainly of children with special needs and behavioural difficulties, and that had led to Mr Sampson treating Callen as though he were retarded. He had no support and nowhere to turn. He could have run but he had already been warned that if he was caught again, he would be detained by the police and sent to juvenile halls, so he complained to his social worker and remained with the family.

An older school boy had picked a fight with him after school later that week, accusing him of being a poor, inbred, trailer-trash orphan, unwanted due to his stupidity. Callen had seen red, thrown the first punch, and then lost the fight badly when he fallen awkwardly from a vicious punch to his face. It had left him with a rather painful broken arm, so he had made his way to the local ER alone. Apart from providing them with his name, Callen had naturally turned mute when the doctors asked how he had sustained his injuries. His medical records and a call to social services, confirmed he was a ward of the state, a vulnerable child and had previously been admitted for instances of abuse. Before he could even make up the lies, the medical staff had put two and two together and made five.

"The doctors that started the lies," Callen half-heartedly defended himself.

"But you let them run away with that. At what point did you realise it was wrong?"

Callen thought for a few moments. Even now, he didn't really think he had done anything wrong. After all, he did not start the lies, and no one was really hurt. He was removed from the Sampson's for good and his broken arm had mended - and the Sampson's got rid of their problem child. It was what he would call a win for everyone.

"A lie by omission is still a lie, Callen." Woodley said.

"What?"

"By failing to correct the doctor's story, you lied. By making a few carefully selected comments you encouraged everyone to believe your foster father had attacked you. So you can see why we knew you lied about the abuse here. Your lies are another way that you draw attention to yourself in a very negative manner. Maybe you should consider a change of direction and become the class clown instead. You might find you make friends that way, rather than pushing people away."

"I'll remember that next time I lie to myself about who I really am," Callen responded. He'd already tried that personality change and had quickly realised it required too much effort and brought him too much attention. But it had been a useful exercise, and good to know he could pull it off if required. At the end of the day though, it was not who he was.

"Callen, how you behave and the decisions you make, affect who you are now and who will become in the future. Only you have the power to change yourself. I can only help point you in the right direction. Anger management is a great start, and when you feel yourself getting angry, try to remove yourself from the situation or think of something that makes you calm..."

Callen was already able to transport himself to his calm place, it helped him block out bad memories. He had just never used the technique to defuse his temper - he preferred fight to flight, unless the situation warranted it. He wondered what Woodley would say if he admitted he fantasised about being stranded in splendid isolation on a desert island, with nothing but the sound of waves crashing on the shore to keep him company. That fantasy was a pipe dream and he knew it. The closest he would ever get would be sleeping on the beach or under a pier. He instead pondered his latest fantasy, one that had permeated his dreams for the past few nights - razing Southgate to the ground. There was no psychoanalysis involved in deciphering that, Callen thought. He wanted to destroy this place and all the evil it contained. He considered why he said his favourite colour was grey and realised it was because he thought it embodied being nondescript and therefore safe. How wrong was he on that one. His second favourite colour was black, and he was glad he didn't admit that!

"Can I go now?" He asked Woodley, hoping desperately that his session would be cut short.

"Yes Callen," Woodley replied. "I hope you've found this useful. I look forward to our chat next week, when we'll talk about identity and the self."

"What? You mean self identity?" Callen never understood why shrinks did not just say what they meant.

"Something like that," Woodley smiled, in a last attempt to reassure Callen he was not the enemy, despite the accusations made during his speeches throughout the latter part of the session.

Callen stood and opened the door. Woodley was right about everything. He was a thief, a liar, a con artist and full of rage. It wasn't circumstance that led him to Southgate, he managed that all by himself. Callen suddenly felt exhausted. His night time visit from Wells and Pollack and now the mind games with his shrink were wearing him down at a time when he needed to remain strong.

"And don't forget your anger management session, first one is tomorrow afternoon," Woodley called after him.

Thank you all for continuing to accompany Callen on his journey through Southgate. This chapter is a very last minute addition as I had never actually planned to write the therapy session. A review from Janice made me think that such a chapter would actually provide further insight in to my favourite character, and so a week later - here we are (so forgive all the typos!). A further two more to go, and I plan to post ch 9 mid next week and the final ch next weekend.

Please carry on reviewing as I'm finding all the comments very interesting and extremely encouraging. Clearly I am doing something right! And as some have pointed out, this is not really an easy read. It may have been easy to write (as in quick etc.), but the content has been rather difficult!