It was a picture. A figure was lying prone and unconscious in a hospital bed, barely discernible from the swaths of white and blue fabric and bandages around it. The boy from our English class. Between a wrap around his head and one on his cheek was a gash, highlighted in butterfly bandages. Red molded into blue and black around the wound. The rest of his body was covered with blankets, the other half of his face obscured with a breathing cannula, looking at home with a myriad of other wires and IV lines connected to him.

Even unconscious and in a picture, he looked to be in pain.

"What-" I started.

"I don't know. Let me read the comments."

I walked away from John a bit, still toweling my damp hair. Was he mugged? Was it-

"Oh my god," John got my attention. "He was beaten up."

"Obviously," I stated. "But by whom?" I cut off and began thinking while John filled me in. Facebook can be awfully pedestrian, but serves as an abundant source of information and gossip.

The boy was found in an alleyway close to John's favorite restaurant. He had been missing since the previous evening. His wallet was missing, an apparent mugging gone too far.

Or so they thought.

I sat on my bed, taking up my thinking pose, as John put it.

The boy, Derek Harrison I believe, was well off. A member of the rugby team. Or should I say former rugby player. He was the same boy that was outed a few weeks ago. I pulled up a mental picture of him from our last class together.

Nails showing signs of being bitten on, nervous habit. Hair sticking up oddly, concealer present to mask black eye. Downcast in general. When compared to others before of him, I could see a worsening pattern emerge. He was being terrorized; mentally, emotionally and physically, by classmates.

I felt bad for him.

I also felt a little guilty, I was the aspiring detective, was I not? Wasn't it my duty to help people? Solve mysteries and put the bad guys away?

Why didn't I notice sooner?

Derek would live, that I was sure of, but what of the people who did this to him? I was almost certain that it was the Trio of Idiots, probably bored or drunk or both when they stumbled upon poor, unsuspecting Derek.

Derek has been constantly terrorized by them since his secret got out. How that happened, I didn't know.

What I did know, however, was that the Trio needed to pay for this. No one at school bothered with disciplining them for petty fights and black eyes, but this was too far. Harrison was unconscious and severely hurt. But how to prove to the others that they did it?

I sat down, raising my hands beneath my chin, and proceeded to think.

"John, we need to visit Harrison. I need more data."

John nodded and went to find where exactly he was at.

John and I headed out several hours later. It was only a few days before the New Year, and the next semester was right around the corner. I had to solve this before we went back to school.

The ride into town was uneventful and before I knew it, we had reached our destination. The hospital was tall and old-looking, yet the interior was anything but. Sleek chairs lined the entrance and alien-like contraptions, called "art" by some, decorated various stations. A private, and very expensive, hospital.

The receptionist looked down at us from her imposing desk that looked like it should belong in an important law office.

"How can I help you?" she asked, not entirely kindly.

"Hi, we, er, we just want to-"

I cut John off. "We're here to see," I gulped in a show of being worried, "our friend, he- he got hurt an-" I wiped my dry eyes.

She believed the act. "Name?" she asked, in a softer voice than before.

I told her and she gave us directions to his room, gesturing towards the elevators.

Once inside, John looked at me. "That was brilliant, as always."

I snorted, looking away in a poor attempt to be modest.

"He was always so nice... Who would do this to him?" John sighed.

"I have my suspicions," I said to reassure him.

John smiled and brushed his hand with mine, wanting to hold it. I played dumb and instead just smiled back, wanting to focus my energy on the case.

The door to room 394 was ajar and, after lingering outside for a moment, I could sense no one but Harrison himself in the room.

He looked much like the picture online, still unconscious. Good. I didn't need his statement or his distraction.

John stayed toward the foot of his bed as I moved closer. I picked up a hand, sniffed his hair and examined his feet. Next, I looked at his bedside cabinet. Nothing of importance was on top, and in the drawer lay his watch and nothing else.

"John. Chart."

He looked up then reached for the chart hanging on the end of the bed while I went to look for his clothes.

"Erm, what do you want to know?"

I shot him a look.

"Alright then. Um, mild concussion, fractured cheekbone where the cut is. His wrist is broken and his face and eyes are badly bruised. His..." he flipped to the next page, "throat is bruised, consistent with being, oh god he was strangled. The rest of his body is spotted with bruises as well. He's on morphine for the pain and oxygen because of his throat."

I nodded, absorbing the information.

"Anything else?" John looked sad again. I didn't like that.

"No, just let me take a few pictures and we'll be out."

He nodded and I took out my phone. Two minutes later, we were walking back towards the elevators.

"What've you got? Anything?" he asked.

"Yes, I have a theory on who it was and a plan on how to prove it. I'd rather not divulge either in case of my being wrong." I said as we stepped in to the elevator.

"I'm sure you aren't," John stated.

Again, another in a myriad of hundreds, a smile found it's way onto my face using a path that John forged. I took his hand and squeezed and he looked at me in surprise.

The doors opened and he tried to let go of my hand, but I held on.

Suddenly, doubt sprang up in my mind. "Do you mind if we...?"

"No! Not at all, it's just..."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't like showing affection in public?"

"Not normally, no. However, I have had no one to show affection to."

He blushed and I made sure to hold his hand all the way to the street.

"So, where to?" he asked as I attempted to hail a cab. Blasted things, one day I will master the art of grabbing their attention.

"Your favorite restaurant, we will have a bite to eat then examine the crime scene. Unless you would rather go back?"

"No, I'm actually quite glad to be invited," he said. "Seeing you in case-mode is rather fascinating."

A cab finally pulled over and we got in, saving me from replying.

After our lunch, we headed just a few streets down to where Harrison was attacked. The alleyway was in between a Pet Store and a shady-looking pub. Light did not reach the interior of the alley and I was glad that John remembered to bring his flashlight. I always forget mine.

I quickly found the newest bloodstain and observed the rest of the area. Satisfied, I turned to John and motioned that we leave the damp place. He shivered, immediately flinching from the pain in his shoulder, amplified by the cold.

I placed my arm around his right shoulder, being careful with the left, in an attempt to warm him up. He looked up at me but didn't speak, mindful of my mind dissecting and storing the new information.

The cab pulled to the side more quickly this time.