Rage

 

Author: Six

 

Rating: PG

 

Summary: A teenaged murderer poses a puzzle for Laurie and Nick

 

 

--+--



The sullen teenage boy had a Goth look to him. Black hair, black
eyes, white skin, black clothes, silver medieval jewelry. A black
teardrop tattoo in the corner of his left eye. Mascara.

He sat at the table in the interrogation room at the police station.

Laurie, the social worker, sat at the table too, as did Nick, but
Nick made sure he was between the boy and the woman in case the boy
went postal again.

He had just killed his father with a shotgun an hour ago and walked
to the station to turn himself in. Blew the man's brains out while
he was asleep. The mattress and blankets absorbed all the blood, but
there had been splatters on the headboard.

"Freddie," Nick said loosening his tie a bit, "I knew your dad. He
was a professor of mine. A good man. Why would you want to kill
him?"

Freddie sat slumped forward, his head way down, hands between his
knees like he had shrunk since the incident. He hadn't said anything
since his confession of, "I killed my father," with bloodstains on
his hands from the gunshot blast.

"Freddie," Laurie tried, "You haven't had it easy since your mom
died. And you don't have any brothers or sisters. If you won`t talk
to Mr. Fallin, then at least talk to me. We`re trying to help you."

The kid didn't answer. He had had Gothic posters and gargoyles and
books on magic and voodoo in his bedroom. The music he played was
Marilyn Manson.

"Everyone has a motive," Nick told him, already trying to find a
defense for his young client. "Why did you do this? Are you in a
cult? Did someone tell you to do it? Were you yourself when you did
it?"

Nick knew he was planting tiny defense seeds in the boy's head, but
that was the idea. It was his job to defend his client. And if
anybody needed a good lawyer right now, it was this kid.

Freddie still kept his eyes on the table. Wrapped in a cocoon of
darkness. A doomed soul. Destined for an eternal wasteland.

Then Laurie saw the back of the kid's neck, the tip of a red lash or
mark just barely visible.

"Freddie, what's that on the back of your neck?"

What seemed like eternal stillness…

Laurie saw the mark, and so did the lawyer.

"Kid," Nick said moving closer to him, "let me see that."

The kid was like a black stuffed bird. Not moving. Not speaking.

"May I?" Nick asked reaching toward the boy' s shoulder, then the
back of the kid's collar.

Freddie sat perfectly still while Nick pulled the t-shirt material
down.

Laurie and Nick both stared when they saw the bloody gash. Then
another one. Then, when Nick raised the kid's shirt up, dozens of
them. Lashes. Gashes. All fresh and bleeding. Looking like they came
from a whip or a belt or a strap. Looked like the kid needed medical
attention.

"Who did this?" Nick asked when he finally found his dry voice.

Freddie didn't speak.

"Did your father do that to you?" Laurie asked.

It took a long time, but Freddie's head eventually gave one small
nod.

"Is this the only time?" Laurie asked.

He shook his head no, and Nick's eyes confirmed it.

"Old scars," the lawyer said in a half-hoarse voice as he looked at
Laurie. A sheen of perspiration glistened on is upper lip. He then
looked at the kid. "He's been doing this for years, hasn't he?"

The kid went back to black silence again.

"Didn't you tell anyone?" Laurie asked.

No reply.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Nick asked.

And then the kid just fell sideways as he passed out from the final
strapping he'd received at the hands of his father.

Nick caught him before he hit the floor, and gave Laurie a look,
which said two things: One: This kid's been through hell. And two:
I think we got our defense.

End