There was an awesome follow, review, favorite response for one chapter of this, so thank you all tremendously. :) I do so appreciate the positive response and hope you all continue to enjoy. :) If you want to leave me some feedback, that's always appreciated. :)
Second note: I've awesomely dislocated my shoulder so the sport's season is done for me for this semester (yay?). As such, besides homework, I'm all yours. :p
Last note: Anonymous-reviewer 'hi', I'm not sure how you got that this was Schueberry because I never mentioned that it was. It's not (although they are both featured quite a bit). ..sorry to disappoint. If you're terribly interested, the next story I will be writing is going to lean towards that pairing. :p
Happy Thanksgiving!
* … * … * … * … * … * … *
June 7, 2011
Will,
The therapist thinks I should write you a letter. She's brought this shit up for our last few sessions and I think she's going to keep bringing it up until I actually write something. So...here it is...
This is stupid.
It's silly to write to someone who will never read it. You're dead. It's not like writing down my thoughts and feelings will make you 'not dead'. It's pointless. You made it pointless when you swan dived off of that bridge...asshole.
I guess I'll tell you...well, not really 'you'...anyway, I guess I'll write about what has been happening with everyone since you offed yourself. The therapist said I should write about the things or people that would interest you or any of the things that are bothering me. She said I should treat this like I'm actually talking to you...like that kid from the Sixth Sense except instead of seeing dead people, I talk to them.
I haven't gone back to school. My mother agreed that, at least for the rest of Junior year, I can be home schooled. I'm doing really well now that I don't have to sit in a classroom where everyone is constantly staring at me or whispering about me. I may actually even finish high school early if she allows me to finish at home. I haven't thought about what I will do after I graduate except that I know that it won't be with you.
It was supposed to be with you. I wanted it to be with you.
Mercedes, Kurt, and Tina still visit. We have movie nights – lounge around in our pajamas and eat junk. I love those nights. I can watch a ridiculous movie with my friends and pretend that I'm a normal teenager. I can pretend that I wasn't almost raped and murdered by a psycho. I can pretend that the man I will never stop loving didn't kill himself over a bottle of lemon pledge. I can smile and laugh and for a few hours pretend that I'm not blank or hallow on the inside. I'm good at pretending.
Tina and Mike are still dating. That's what normal high schoolers do, you see? They have boyfriends their own age and they eat at the same table at school and they go to the movies together. I sound bitter...I'm trying not to be. I'm happy for them, I really am. Mercedes hasn't found anyone yet but I guess that there is a new kid named Sam that she's kind of interested in. I hope it works out for her.
Kurt took your death really hard. He said that he knew that you weren't okay and that you should have been in a hospital under the care of professionals. He blames himself for not speaking up, I guess. I told him you would have done it no matter where you were. That fucker messed up your head too badly for you to get better even if it sometimes seemed like you were trying to act normal.
I don't want to talk about any of that right now though...
Anyway, Kurt met a boy who is helping him work through his guilt. Blaine is really sweet and fits into our group well and even though I normally hate strangers, I don't mind when Kurt brings him around. He is completely non-threatening in a Lance Bass sort of way. You would have really liked him...
Finn is still devastated. The morning after you left, after we had to go back to your empty apartment without you, he puked all over your couch. Twice. His mother put him into therapy but I'm not sure how well it's working. I haven't asked. I haven't seen him much because his mother doesn't allow him to go out but he calls every night. Sometimes he talks but most of the time we just watch TV with the phones pressed to our ears. It's nice knowing that he's there even if he's not in the same room as me.
I haven't seen Puck at all. He doesn't answer my calls and he doesn't return them. I know he needs time and space but it really would be nice to speak to him. I miss him.
...I miss a lot of things.
Santana comes over too. Not when everyone else is here but once or twice a week she'll knock on the window and pull herself in for a visit. I have no idea why she doesn't use the front door and I don't ask. We don't talk much actually, but we watch TV together and sometimes she'll lay next to me on the bed with her head on my shoulder. It's oddly comforting. She's oddly comforting. She officially dropped out last month and is studying for her GED. I offered to help her but she doesn't really do the help thing. I still don't understand the relationship you had with her or why she misses you so much...maybe one day I'll ask her about it.
That leaves Rachel. I should blame her for what you did. I should but I don't. I don't blame Ms. Pillsbury either. Maybe that's why everything is so hard...? The only person that I could blame, that fucker who locked us in that basement, is dead. I have no one to blame for any of this even though I really, really, want to blame someone. Even though I don't blame Rachel, I refuse to speak to her. She tries but I just can't. She insists that you're still alive. She has a website and everything where people can submit sightings of you. She emailed me yesterday to tell me that she's flying to Chicago because some girl claims that you saved her from being murdered by a pimp. That's...ridiculous. She's ridiculous. I'm not sure if she's doing all of this because she honestly thinks that you're alive or because she's desperate to get Finn back. Maybe it's both.
You would probably like to know that Sue also still thinks you're alive. She's offered a twenty thousand dollar reward for your return and she keeps track of Rachel's website. Who would have thought that it would be you to crack her icy heart? She's still coaching. She still does Sue's corner too except now at the end of each segment, she asks you to come home - "William, if you're listening, no one is angry. It's time to stop running and come home." I think you would hate yourself if you knew how badly she is hurting because you left. How badly we are all hurting because you left.
Honestly, I think both Sue and Rachel are delusional. I want you back more than anyone but that isn't going to happen. Some kid pulled your wallet out of the river last week. I don't know why it took them so long to find it but I guess it's to be expected since the cops in this town are all idiots. They think you jumped off the bridge and they're calling the wallet 'tangible proof'.
You're dead. You have to be dead.
If you were alive, you wouldn't stay away...not if you knew I was hurting this badly...
I'm done.
I love you,
Q.
* … * … * … * … * … *
May 23th, 2011
Will wants to go home.
He wants to go home so badly that it consumes most of his waking thoughts.
He wants to...but he can't.
His life has changed so drastically in the six months since he has been away. He's no longer a teacher. He's no longer a coach. He's no longer a son, friend, or mentor. He's no longer anything. His life is filled simply with the routine of surviving now. Surviving to live another day alone.
Every day is the same.
Wake up freezing in whatever abandoned car or building he managed to find the night before. Head to a gas station or fast food joint to use the bathroom and clean up as best as can in the sink. Buy something to eat if he has money – ward of stomach pains if he doesn't. Walk...and walk...and walk. A new street or a new town or a new city – some place, any place, where no one knows him. Find a park or a side walk to play his guitar for a few hours. Buy something to eat with the money that he has made. Hunt down a place to sleep for the night. Try not to cry as he struggles into unconsciousness.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
He's been in Chicago for a few weeks now. It's a big city filled with a lot of people – crowds in which to blend and get lost in. The police don't bother with the bums – there are just too many to spend any time on and they're not worth it.
He's not worth it.
Even still, he avoids the police at all costs. He knows that he's been reported missing. Seen the flier with his own face staring back at him at a bus stop in Dayton.
Missing Adult:
William Michael Schuester.
Missing Since:
November 20th, 2010 from Lima, Ohio
Height and Weight:
6'0, 165 pounds
Age:
31
Distinguishing Characteristics:
Caucasian male. Light brown hair, green eyes. Schuester has multiple scars on his back, chest, and torso as well as several previously healed broken bones. His hair was cut short at the time of his disappearance. He is fluent in both English and Spanish.
Medical Conditions:
Possible undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder. Possible selective-mutism. Schuester suffers from migraine headaches and mental blackouts caused by repeated severe head trauma. He may be in the need of medical attention.
Clothing/Jewelry Description: A plain black hooded sweater, dark jeans, a black baseball hat, a 24k gold chain with a gold cross, and a pair of size 11 brown boots.
Details of Disappearance:
Schuester was last seen at approximately 9:30 pm on the night of November 22, 2010. He had attended a movie with a group of friends. Upon return to his apartment, he had what has been described as a post-traumatic stress disorder related attack and fled from the building. He has not been seen since.
Schuester was one of two surviving victims of deceased serial killer Michael Hitchins, also known as the "Daylight Killer". Schuester and two other victims had been held captive for nearly three months and subjected to repeated, ongoing abuse by Hitchins. Schuester suffered severe head trauma during this period and doctors believe that he was not capable of making rational decisions at the time of his disappearance. Police do not suspect foul play and believe he may have committed suicide.
He ripped the poster down and ran. Left Dayton and spent all of his money on a bus ticket to get as far away as he could. He's been through a lot of cities since then but none of them offered the kind of anonymity that Chicago has had to offer. Plenty of places to find food and shelter. Plenty of places to hide.
The only thing besides clothes and her cross that he took with him when he left was his guitar. At the time, he couldn't bear to part with it. Music had always been his life. Now it literally means his life. He sits on the cold sidewalk or in the dewy grass of the closest park and plays song after song. At first he just played to occupy himself during the cold winter days on the streets. It was a week or so before a young woman who was working in a coffee shop that he was sitting in front of placed a small tin box next to him and placed a five dollar bill inside. He startled at having another person so close and she smiled sadly down at him in return.
He wanted to say thank you.
He didn't.
He hasn't spoken since the night he left his life.
He made more than forty dollars that first day. People dropping coins and dollar bills into his tin box until it was full. After a week of wandering around the city - Toledo at that time – he had about two hundred dollars. He was jumped by a drug head who stole his cash and winter coat and left him with a nasty bump to the head for a few days.
He hadn't fought back except to clutch on to the neck of his guitar so it wouldn't get swiped too.
He nearly froze to death in the back seat of an unlocked Buick that night.
The next day he played his guitar until his fingers ached. He used the money he made to buy another coat and a heavy sleeping bag from the Salvation Army. He learned to never hang on to more money than he could spend in a day after that – just enough for food and toiletries and occasionally a novel from the drug store. Anything extra that he did make he would leave at an altar of a church.
It's another day – chilly for May but too warm for his heavy coat. He stashes it and his large hiking pack behind the dumpster at a Burger King. He's much less likely to get mugged or jumped or approached by other people if he isn't carrying around a large pack and he's fairly certain that it will be safe there for a few hours. He slings his guitar and his small backpack over his shoulder and heads for the park. It's a long walk so he takes a shortcut up a thin alley between several large office buildings.
Mistake.
Another mistake.
He's half-way up the alley when someone up ahead screams. He stops but it's too late. She – a girl with tan skin and bleached hair – spots him and starts running at him full force. He doesn't have time to run. He doesn't have time to do anything except raise up his hands to block her attack. She's close enough for him to make out the imprint of a hand on her cheek when she leaps forward and flings her body against his, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck.
This tiny girl is going to try to choke the life out of him. She's going to try to murder him and take his guitar and rummage through his pockets and...and...
And she's shaking and crying and pleading for him to help her.
What?
"Man, let my bitch go. She ain't givin' nothin' out right now, you got me?"
Every sound in the alley rushes at him all at once. Every color, every smell, every detail assaults his senses. The large man in front of him isn't moving but his face is contorted in anger. He isn't looking at Will though. He's looking at the girl.
The girl.
The girl who is wearing a skirt that is much too short and boots that are much too high. The girl who is obviously not old enough to be living the life that she is living. The girl who could have been, in another life, one of his students. Another face at McKinley High.
He brings his arms up around the back of his neck and pulls her hands apart. She slides down his body until her feet hit the ground. She clings to his arm and cries harder but she's no longer pleading for his help. The snarling man in front of him starts to chuckle. "Girl, get your ass over here. I have bout half a mind to bust you up for pulling this shit!"
The girl lets go of Will's arm and takes a shaky step forward.
He could let her go. He should let her go. She's not his kid. She's not his student or his friend or his problem. The man is much, much bigger than him. He's supposed to be hiding. He's supposed to be avoiding people. He's...he's...he's...
Oh, fuck it.
He reaches out and gently grabs the girl's wrist. Stops her from going back to her tormentor. She turns her head and looks at him – snot and tears cover her pretty face and he has to shake his head to fight off the memory of a different pretty blonde who once looked at him in the same way.
"Man, what the fuck are you pullin'?!" The snarling man takes a step forward and Will takes a step backward in response. The girl trots towards him and hides behind his back. "Bitch, I ain't playin'! Don't make me beat this fucker!"
He wonders if the man will break his guitar if he slides the strap over his head and leans it against the wall. He doesn't want it to get smashed if he gets punched and falls on to it.
Might as well try.
He uses his free hand to pull the strap over his head and then leans the guitar against the wall. Drops his small backpack down along side it.
"Tough guy, huh!? Just let me have my whore and I ain't going to hurt you, man!"
Will gently pulls his arm away from the girl. He's going to need both of them. The man's face contorts in rage and he rushes forward.
Turns out, it doesn't matter how large you are, when you get kicked in the testicles, you drop. And okay, it wasn't a fair move, but Will didn't have much time to contemplate how to take the guy down before he started charging.
He slings his guitar and backpack back over his shoulder, grabs the girl's hand, and runs back in the direction he came from. The girl is still crying and her hand is shaking terribly. She has every right to be afraid. He has no idea what the hell he is doing or where the hell he is going. That man is only going to stay down for so long and then what?
He gets to the end of the alley. He'll disappear into a crowd with the girl and then come up with a plan. He'll get her a bus ticket or a train ticket or...
The blue and red lights stop him in his tracks before he can turn the corner out of the alley. The girl drops his arm and runs the short distance to a police officer who is standing next to his parked patrol car. She's crying and heaving and trying to explain what has happened to her. She points towards the alley and Will knows that he should run but once the officer's eyes land on him, he's rooted in place.
They're going to send him back.
Panic starts to set in and he can't breathe.
The officer is yelling – sounds, words that don't make sense. He raises his gun and points it forward, toward Will.
Will raises his hands because he doesn't want to get shot. The girl screams. The cop is still yelling...The muffled sounds form into words, "Get down!" He's yelling at Will to 'get down".
Why?
Something hard hits him from behind and he falls to the ground, landing painfully on his hands and knees. He turns his head to face his attacker but his jaw explodes in pain before he gets the chance.
The girl screams again. The officer is still shouting. The man behind him is speaking – filthy words and threats that don't make sense. All the sounds merge together and make Will's head spin. He leans forward and rests his forehead against the cool pavement to quell the sick feeling in his stomach. Attempts to block everything out in order to protect himself.
There is a hand on his shirt pulling him up and then a loud pop. The hand lets go and then a crushing weight lands on his back, pinning him to the ground, knocking his head into the concrete.
And then he knows nothing at all.
* … * … * … * … * … * … *
Will wakes up slowly - an IV in his hand and a throbbing headache are both there to greet him as soon as he opens his eyes. His first instinct is to pull the wire from his hand and run. His first instinct is always to run.
The white-haired nurse milling about in the corner is the only thing that stops him.
It's only a few seconds before she notices his eyes are open and she turns fully to regard him with a kind smile, "Hey, sweetie pie. You had quite the scare, huh? That man did a bit of damage to you when he fell on you after the officer tazered him, but you're a strong one, aren't you?"
He swallows hard otherwise doesn't respond. As she moves to the bed and checks the readings on the monitors, he darts his eyes around the room. His guitar and backpack are sitting on a chair in the corner. So are his clothes.
Oh, God. She's seen the scars.
He squeezes his eyes shut and bunches the thin blanket in his hand. The nurse must sense his discomfort because she pats his knee and sits on the corner of the bed. "You were a bit dehydrated but this IV here is going to make you feel much better. You have a nasty bruise on your jaw from where that creep hit you but nothing is broken. A few scrapes and bruises, nothing to worry about though. You've been out cold for a few hours. It can't be easy sleeping out there, right?" She pauses and he looks up at her, "Want to tell me your name or are we sticking with Mr. Doe?"
Apparently his blink isn't much of an answer as she sighs sadly and stands up from the bed.
"I can tell by your pack that you probably think that you don't have a home to go to - that or you just like to carry around toothpaste and shampoo, huh?" She smiles but when he doesn't return it, she lets it fade and continues, "Sweetie, what you did for that girl was very kind and that's really something because I think it's been a long time since anybody has been kind to you. She's going to be okay – that girl. Her parents came and picked her up and they're getting her into therapy and back into school. She ran away a few months ago and got caught up in drugs and life on the streets. You know how that is, right?"
Not quite.
"She wanted to say 'thank you' but well, you were sleeping and I didn't have the heart to wake you. She left her name and number if you want it though. Do you want it?"
No.
She's silent for a long while as she writes things down on his chart. He vaguely wonders what it says but it doesn't really matter. Too many people have seen him and now he needs to leave. A new city, new strangers. It'll be good for him. A nameless chart at some Chicago hospital won't be tied back to him. She's quiet for so long that when she does start speaking again, he jumps slightly. Her voice is very soft, "I want you to know that I can tell that you don't want to be found and I haven't told anyone who you are but I know."
Well, fuck.
She continues without pause, "My sister lives in Columbus. Every summer, I spend a week visiting her and her children. I'm supposed to take the kids out to the amusement parks and museums but mostly I just lounge around watching TV and eating like a slob. Your face is still all over the TV there, sweetheart."
He drops his head and she pats his hair gently. It's no comfort. He has no idea what to do. He can't run this time. He's out of options.
"I'm not going to give away your secret but honey, you need to go home. Your friends, your family, they're hurting. They've been looking for you even though the police say that you're dead. You can't walk ten feet without seeing one of those posters hanging and I've see your mother on the news more than once asking for you to come home. She said that no one is angry with you – they just want you back."
Mom? That doesn't make sense. She never cared before, why would she now?
"Do you understand what I'm saying to you? William?"
He nods then. It's been so long since he's been called by his name – called by any name actually. It's kind of...nice. Terrifying but...nice.
"Stay here and rest up for a few more hours before you take off but please think about it? You saved that girl and now you need to save yourself."
He doesn't look at her again but she pats his cheek gently before she leaves the room. If he saves himself...if he goes home...who is going to save his family and his friends from him? Who will be there to save Quinn if he loses control? Then again, he hasn't blacked out or attacked anyone since he's been gone...
Maybe it is time for him to go home...
* … * … * … * … * … * … *
May 29th, 2011
It takes four full days after he leaves the hospital to make enough money for the trip back. A bus ticket to Columbus and then another to Lima. It's past midnight when he steps off of the bus. He keeps the ball cap that Sue bought for him months ago tucked low over his eyes to hide his face but it doesn't much matter right now. There are no people on the street and he is the only person who gets off the bus downtown.
It doesn't take long to realize that nothing has changed.
The buildings, the streets, the smell – it's all the same. Everything is the same except the posters pasted in the front windows of nearly every store front. Posters of his own smiling face staring accusingly at him.
He tucks his hat lower and starts walking.
He walks behind buildings and down alleys to avoid being seen. Sticks to the shadows and avoids any place where large crowds might converge – the movie theater, the coffee shop, the school. Carrying around two packs and a guitar slows him down tremendously but he doesn't want to stash anything and have to come back for it later. If people are this interested in getting him back, once he is back, they probably won't let him out of sight for a while.
He isn't sure how he feels about that thought.
He contemplates going home to his apartment but since he hasn't paid rent in six months, he's sure his landlord has probably tossed all of his stuff and rented the place to someone else by now. He heads in the direction of Sue's house instead.
The closer he gets, the harder his heart starts thumping and his breathing quickens.
Ten blocks. Eight. Six. Five...four...three...
"Hey, buddy, hat guy, hey!"
He stops and turns at the sound of the voice. He's behind one of the churches, walking along the wood line. No one has a reason to be back here but apparently someone has found one.
"Hey, hey, buddy, spare any change?" A shaky voice calls from the back steps of the church. Will recognizes the voice. He also recognizes the shoes on the man's feet. It's the homeless man that stopped him the night that Quinn tried to commit suicide last November. He asked Will for change and Will gave him his sneakers instead.
Everything is the same.
He pats his pockets and shakes his head 'no'. He feels badly but the only money he has is a twenty dollar bill that is hidden inside of his guitar in case of emergencies. He doesn't want to give up the last of his money just yet.
The man waves his head dismissively and Will turns to continue his walk before the man's voice stops him again, "Nobody has any change these days. I ask and ask and every time it's a 'no'. I don't believe you people! No one wants to help out the less fortunate! Greedy assholes, that's what you all are!"
The man stands and takes a few wobbly steps closer. Will can smell the liquor on him – vodka or whiskey, something strong – and his nose wrinkles at the scent. It reminds him of his mother. The homeless man's face screws up in anger, "You got a problem with the way I smell, buddy!? We can't all be as privileged as you, Mr. I'm-too-good-to-help-a-guy-out!"
Will looks from the man to the street that leads to Sue's house. He wants to run for it but the man is quickly moving to block his way.
I just want to go home.
"You ain't talkin'!? Wait...wait...you ain't talkin'! Shit, I know who you are! The guy from the posters! You gave me these shoes! Well, God damn! You know how much money that Sylvester bitch is offering up for you! I could be rich and then I wouldn't have to be beggin' on the streets like a dog! Let me bring you to her house and you can tell her...well, nod or something...but tell her that I was the one that found you!"
He doesn't want to show up on Sue's door with this man. He doesn't want her to think that he's been drinking or doing drugs or hanging around with dangerous people. He wants her to keep what little respect she might still have for him.
He shakes his head 'no'. His heart thumps harder. He feels like he's going to vomit.
The homeless man's face contorts in rage. "You greedy, son of a bitch! You can't keep that money for yourself! Let someone who needs it have it!"
Will looks around frantically for an escape. The only thing he can do is take off into the woods and hope that the man is too drunk to follow after him on uneven terrain. He can cut through the trees, run a mile or so up the road, and end up just off of Sue's street.
I just want to go home.
He tightens his grip on his backpack straps and backs up a few feet. He needs to put space between them so that the man can't reach out and grab on to him when he turns to run. The man must sense that he's going to run because he suddenly charges forward on his wobbly legs. "I'm bringing your dumb ass to that rich bitch if you like it or not!"
Shit.
He turns quickly but the packs weigh him down and his legs can't take off quickly enough. The man tackles him to the ground from behind and then his hands are everywhere – grabbing at his arms, pulling at his backpack, tugging at his clothes – trying to get a good grip. Will tries to scramble away but the man is too heavy on his back and he can't buck him off. He tries to pull his arms free from his packs and guitar but he can't do that either.
Open your mouth! Scream! Someone will hear you! They will help you!
Don't struggle...don't struggle...it'll hurt if you struggle...
He shakes his head to clear it. He's not in the basement...he's not in the basement! Monster is dead...dead, dead, dead...dead in the ground with his head caved in.
Just scream!
He cries out but can't manage to form any words. The man on top of him stops pulling at him but doesn't get off of his back, "Don't cry, man! Just let me get the money and then we can be friends!"
I just want to go home.
He forces all of his strength into getting the man off of his back. He manages to make it to his knees and then snaps his head back as hard as he can. The impact of his skull against the man's mouth causes his vision to blur and his head to swim with vertigo.
...but the man has let go.
He scrambles to his feet but his eyes land on the man before he begins to run. He's laying on the ground, his mouth covered in blood, his eyes closed.
He's not moving.
Oh, God. No...no...no, no, no, no...
He drops to his knees next the prone figure. He's clearly still breathing but he's still otherwise. Will's eyes tear up as he shakes the man's shoulder but receives no response.
He never should have come back. He never should have considered the possibility that he wasn't dangerous. Never should have thought that he could be around Quinn or Sue or the Glee kids or his family without hurting them again.
He stands, turns, and runs. Through the woods, away from the homeless man and away from Sue's house and away from Quinn. He doesn't stop running until he reaches the bridge that runs across the river in town. He stares down at the water and tries to catch his breath and calm the panicked feeling coursing through his body.
It doesn't work.
He needs to get away. He can't let any of them any where near him. He's dangerous. He'll hurt them. He'll kill them.
He climbs up over the railing and stares down at the water rushing below him. It's a fifty foot drop. If he let go of the railing, he'd surely die. He made Quinn promise not to hurt herself though. It feels like a lifetime ago, sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand, forcing the words out of her. She'd see his as a hypocrite if he jumped.
He can't do it.
He can't jump when the confirmation of his death might mean that she would take hers as well. He needs to disappear again. Needs to get so far away that he can't even come back and hurt anyone.
He pulls himself back over the railing and digs through his large backpack. Pulls out his wallet and stares down at the brown faded leather. He never carries it around just in case he gets picked up by the cops or mugged...he doesn't want anyone to be able to easily identify him. He's contemplated throwing it away many times over the past six months but could never bring himself to do so. Could never bring himself to completely give up hope of returning to his hold life.
He reaches back as far as he can and throws the wallet into the river. Turns and runs along the same route he took to leave town six months ago.
He's not coming back this time. He can never come back again.