Scene #5 — Fox's Den

Quick Note on the Previous Scene: I know the scene before, called "Life Behind Bars," was a little hard to follow. In case anybody found it too confusing, here's a quick outline of what happened: 1) Sean cries in his crib, 2) his mother goes upstairs and Aaron takes him outside, 3) the boys make chalk drawings on the sidewalk, 4) Charles drives up, so Aaron takes Sean to the backyard, where they hide in the toolshed for a while, 5) Sean cries because he's hungry, so Aaron carries him inside where he feeds, washes, and changes him, 6) Aaron puts Sean in his crib and gives him a pacifier before going to clean up the kitchen, and 7) Sean naps while Aaron gets beaten in the next room.

This next scene is a what-if scenario. If the situation in this scene had taken place, would it have prevented the events of Criminal Minds Season 1 Episode 7 and some of the events of Season 5 Episode 8? Depending on the answer to this question, this scene could break canon a little.

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Aaron flipped his exam sheet over so Haley couldn't see the big red D on the top of the page. He looked up and gave her a big, goofy smile to distract her. She beamed back at him.

He caught a glimpse of the A on her page right before she, too, flipped the sheet over. "Nevermind our grades," she whispered.

Aaron wished he could be so flippant about it. The worst part was, a note from the teacher told him to stay after class. As the noisy flock of students filed out of the room, Aaron tried to face away from them. He wished he couldn't be seen. Nobody else had to stay after.

Haley touched his hand. "I'll see you later."

He nodded. He didn't feel well.

Once everybody had finally left, Mr. Arnold crossed his arms and stared at the lone student among the crowd of desks and displaced chairs. The teacher had thick red hair and a mustache, and he looked tidy in his dark oxford shirt, slacks, and thick-framed glasses. But he didn't look happy.

"I'm surprised at you, Hotchner."

Aaron looked down at his exam. He wished he'd had time to study.

"You're slacking off in your classes," said Mr. Arnold, "and I think I know why."

Aaron didn't know whether or not to hope his teacher knew the truth. "So why aren't you sending me home with something for my parents to sign, like you would anybody else?"

Mr. Arnold came to the desk in front of Aaron and sat backwards on the chair with his wrists crossed on the backrest, facing him. "I don't think you really want me to do that, do you, Hotchner?"

Aaron sealed his lips and stared.

"Aaron. Tell me about this." Mr. Arnold leaned forward and gently pushed back Aaron's sleeve cuff to point out a burning red welt on the back of his wrist.

Without blinking or breaking a sweat, Aaron replied, "I tripped and scraped myself on a fence picket."

"Mmm." Mr. Arnold stood and slowly came around the chair. Two fingers pressed to the back of Aaron's neck, one of them pulling back his collar a bit. "And this one? Did you scrape your neck on the fence too?"

Aaron shivered. He hated the feeling of the man's fingers on his skin and felt very uncomfortable.

"Probably a tree branch," he said quietly. "Those low branches outside the front doors scratched me."

"I see." Mr. Arnold came around him and sat down again in front of him. He then fell into an uneasy silence.

He knew.

Some teachers knew, and they couldn't hide the fact that they knew. Some carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary, others whispered words of sympathy when they passed Aaron by. A few apologized and some just shrugged. But they all had an excuse. Either it wasn't any of their business or they were afraid of retaliation. Most of them just told him to hang on and keep coming to class — everything would turn out fine.

The only adult at school who Aaron didn't entirely resent for his inaction was the english teacher. This man would occasionally curve Aaron's grade so he didn't have to bring home a C or even a B-, and once he forgave an overdue assignment that required a parent's signature. This man was caring and offered extra tutoring, but he was also remarkably timid. He had once seen Aaron's stepfather smoking in his car in front of the school, waiting to pick Aaron up, and the teacher did not wish to get involved in the affairs of such an intimidating, strongly built man. Charles rarely came to the school, but that one time had been enough.

"If you ever need someone to talk to," whispered the small, wiry english teacher as he nervously fiddled with his spectacles, "I'm here."

Aaron thanked him, but he never took him up on the offer. He didn't want more useless pity.

When it came to Mr. Arnold, Aaron had no idea what he would do or say. An uncomfortable few minutes had passed before the biology teacher spoke again. "You missed class the day I handed out the study guide. Why?"

Because I was bleeding from both nostrils and my right eye wouldn't open.

"Because I caught the flu."

Mr. Arnold leaned forward with a sad smile. "Are you a chronic liar, Aaron?"

That caught Aaron off-guard. He looked up and stared. "No, sir."

His teacher gave a short, dry chuckle. "I think you were playing hooky. It's this kind of trouble that makes my job, and that of your parents, so much harder. I can tell your parents are desperate to straighten you out. Why don't you listen to your parents and try harder at school?"

Aaron literally bit his tongue.

"Yours are the extra firm type, aren't they?"

Aaron could nod to that.

Mr. Arnold nodded right back. "Good. So am I. We need more of those."

Aaron couldn't hold his pencil steady, so he set it down. "Pardon?"

Mr. Arnold pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I said, the world could use more parents like yours. You're slacking off because you're such a lazy student, and it's important to have parents who try their hardest to keep you on track."

Aaron started shaking. That usually meant he was scared or angry, and right now he was very indignant. "With all due respect, sir, I disagree."

"How so? And don't tell me you're the rebellious type."

"I hope that nobody has parents like mine."

Mr. Arnold looked at him long and hard. "Do they make you listen? Do they correct you when you're wrong?"

"Yes, but not only when I'm wrong. When I'm right too."

"Who are you to decide the difference?"

Aaron felt a rush of anger run through his head. "I know the difference."

Mr. Arnold sighed. "I have a son named Karl. Younger than you. He goes to school over in Maryland where his mother lives. Whenever he's with me, I am always amazed at how children can be so wrong, even when they're right. They think they know everything, but really they need all the correction they can get. I know, because I'm an excellent father."

"Mr. Arnold." Aaron's low voice shook a little. "Promise me you don't hurt your son."

"Would it be wrong if I did? Is that what you're saying, Aaron? You think you know more about parenting than all the adults around you?"

"I don't know how to parent. But I do know how my parents make me feel."

Mr. Arnold raised his chin, nodding him on. "Tell me about that."

Aaron took a deep breath. "At first it felt like I had some kind of deadly disease. This disease made them hurt me, because there was something wrong with me. Soon I found out I was the disease. I live like some kind of illness walking around unwelcome. They isolate me. They fight me. I'm no better than the germs in the dirt."

Mr. Arnold shook his head. "It can't be that bad."

Aaron refused to respond. Instead, he continued: "They make me feel worthless, deep inside. They make me feel like I would be better off dead. At their worst, they make me feel no better than an animal."

"You're exaggerating."

Aaron shook his head, trying not to show how angry he was. "Once, I came to dinner late, and they made me eat off the floor. Rice and peas. Burnt too. They sat above me at the table, absorbed in their world, and I picked tiny grains off the tile to eat. When they decided I'd had enough, they swept up and threw away the rest, forcing me to forage at the bottom of the waste bin. There was week-old rotting trash in there. I picked through it all for just a few bites, even though they beat me for making them waste food..."

Aaron paused, suddenly realizing how upset the memories made him. As he tried to gather his thoughts, a word came to him. "Trash. That's what they make me feel like. I feel thrown away and forgotten, and it makes me angry too. My biggest fear is harboring that anger too long and then lashing out at someone. I could really hurt them, the way they always hurt me."

"I don't believe you," said his teacher calmly. "You're making this up, aren't you, Aaron? You're trying to make me go easy on your grade."

"Why would I make this up?" Aaron almost yelled. "They make me miserable. I only find refuge in prayer, and in friendships. But always the pain is there. I can never stop thinking about that for a minute. If anybody touches me, it feels like an axe goes through my shoulder. And it's always there. Always. Reminding me I'm somebody else's piece of trash to throw away again and again."

Mr. Arnold stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You know, sometimes a parent needs to be forceful. You don't know how hard it can be to handle a kid."

Aaron felt exasperated. "Not so hard that the kid should get beaten within an inch of his life nearly every single day!"

Mr. Arnold shrugged. "Everybody's different. You're not a great student, Aaron, but maybe you're not such a bad kid. I don't know how someone could be harsh with you. But not all children are such easy learners." He eyed Aaron carefully. "You say you're getting beaten a lot? Maybe I should report this, but then I'd be a hypocrite. Besides, I don't really know what you're like at home, do I? Your parents are the ones who live with you; they know best."

For a few seconds, Aaron felt paralyzed. Then he came to life, enraged. "How can you say that?" he shouted, springing to his feet. "You want to see what they do to me? I'll show you!" Without warning, he pulled his threadbare gray shirt off over his head.

"Aaron—" Mr. Arnold held up a useless hand.

Aaron turned, knowing the myriad of painful marks would speak for themselves. He sat on his desk with his back to his teacher and buried his face in his hands. This was a peculiar time to feel ashamed. Suddenly, he felt entirely worthless and wanted to hide his tears lest somebody laugh at them.

He didn't hear anything at all until Mr. Arnold spoke softly behind him. "Aaron. Put your shirt on."

Aaron obeyed and then sank as low as possible into his chair. The man had seen Aaron's shame. Now he, too, would trample on what remained of Aaron's dignity. Aaron kept his face hidden and his head bowed.

Mr. Arnold was watching him. "Tell me again how your parents make you feel."

Aaron spoke in a deflated voice. "They make me feel like the worst person in the world. Sometimes I hate myself."

Mr. Arnold silently walked over to Aaron's desk and sat on the chair beside him. "Aaron, look at me."

People were always telling him what to do. He didn't have a choice. So, against his will, Aaron looked at his teacher. The man had tears in his eyes.

"Why are telling me all this? Showing me all this?" asked Mr. Arnold.

"Because, sir, you said that you treat your son like my parents treat me. I'm doing this for him."

"Have you ever met Karl?"

"No, sir."

"He's up to no good."

"Neither am I, sir, half the time. We're teenaged boys."

"What about the other half of the time?"

"I just try to survive." Aaron's eyes clenched shut against the tears.

"All those things you said..." Mr. Arnold tried to collect himself. "Feeling like an animal, feeling like trash. Is that true? You really feel that way?"

Aaron nodded.

"Do they... love you?"

"I don't know anymore. But the way they treat me... that is not love."

Aaron thought about Karl and wondered if he felt the same way. He prayed that Mr. Arnold would heed his words and change his parenting style. He wished that somebody would tell his own parents about the damage they caused.

"That's not love," Mr. Arnold repeated, very quietly. "Then what is it?"

Aaron thought for a minute. He had heard the term abuse before and thought it applied to his situation. He wasn't sure if Mr. Arnold was even familiar with that concept. "It's hate," he said. "It's the worst sort of hate."

Mr. Arnold put a hand to his face. He looked paler than usual. "Do you suppose Karl thinks I hate him?"

"Yes, I do, sir."

Mr. Arnold got abruptly to his feet. "He's never told me this. I've never seen... Oh my word." His hand ran continuously over his face and his forehead glistened. "I never thought about how he felt."

Aaron's heart drummed hard. He hoped he was getting through.

Mr. Arnold reached out. "Give me your exam."

Aaron did, and his teacher balled up the sheet in both hands. "Forget your grade. We're done here." He returned to his desk and gathered up his books and shoulder bag.

Aaron watched him. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to make things right with my son. As for you, I am going to call for police assistance."

"I appreciate that, but it would really be better if you didn't."

Mr. Arnold stopped and looked up.

"I want help, but if the police come, my little brother will suffer."

"Just what are you saying?"

"We've been threatened. I can't get outside help."

Mr. Arnold looked flustered. "Then I don't understand why you've told me all about your parents."

"I told you why. For Karl."

Mr. Arnold gave him a long, bemused stare. "Get out, Aaron. You're dismissed."

Aaron grabbed his book and headed for the door.

"And Aaron?"

He stopped.

"Thank you."

Aaron nodded and left the classroom. A heavy mixture of relief, regret, and shame hung over him. He wanted so much to get help. More than anything, he wanted his parents to change the way Mr. Arnold had after such a simple conversation. But he knew they never would. Their violence was not simply a method of especially harsh parenting — it was a mindset of tangled delusion and projected guilt. It would never go away.

Mr. Arnold never came back to school. From then on, a new biology teacher took over the class. Aaron never saw Mr. Arnold again, but he heard that he had moved back to Maryland to be closer to his family. He couldn't help thinking about Karl and wondering if he was faring any better now.

When she found out the new teacher wasn't just a sub, Haley leaned close to Aaron. "What in the world did you do in here with Mr. Arnold?"

Aaron sighed and looked away. "With any luck, saved a young boy's life."

Little did he know, he may have saved up to eight families. He had also saved himself the grim discovery of a box full of stolen wedding rings and the horrible agony that he would have felt staring down a lost unsub sometime in the future.

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What do you think of this what-if scenario? Please leave a review if you know who Karl is, and to let me know what you thought!