A Loner Mentalist Pt. 03

"There never are," he repeated her sentence back at her as a question.

"Yes. The home hasn't had a bad report since... well, since for at least as long as they hired us, I suppose."

He stared at her incredulously. "Are you trying to tell me that the government is ok with the home providing those girls with zero chances of gaining an education, or becoming useful members of society? Are the authorities really content with the home denying the psychological assistance those girls desperately need and for which they are already budgeted?"

Chrissie responded to his incredulous look with one of her own. "Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on, Jack," she said and reached up to muss his hair. Jack brushed her hand away. "You can't really be that naive, can you? I mean, who's going to care about these girls? The inspectors? They answer to their bosses who are most likely getting kickbacks from the guy running the home. If they dare to report even the smallest irregularity, let alone the racket that's really going on, they'll be fired and unable to ever find another job that doesn't include the phrase 'would you like fries with that'."

"That is wrong," Jack adamantly said.

"It's the way it is, Jack. And there's nothing you can do about it."

"And you're ok with that?"

She looked at him with a profound sadness in her eyes. For a moment, he thought she was going to agree with him, but then she blinked the sadness away and just shrugged.

He shook his head at her and stalked off in disgust. Spot ran after him. They went to the car and Spot knocked the bundle of thank you notes off the seat. Jack picked it up and briefly considered the testimonials of gratitude on the palm of his hand. He had always felt pleased to have helped people with his work. He had never wanted, nor asked for any reward. He had considered it a way to honor White's sacrifice. A duty that he had discharged happily.

He drove up to a garbage can, lowered his window, and held out the bundle to drop it in. He couldn't quite reach, so he sighed in annoyance, undid his seat belt, and got out to toss the bundle. A flash of light caught his eye. He pulled a glitter-covered card from the bundle and inspected it. He ran his fingers along its edge, feeling the many cuts made by a very small pair of scissors. It was obviously hand-made. He could make out smudges along the edges of the glitter glue that spelled out Thank You, Jack! along the front of the card. He opened it.

It was from a nine year old girl named Andrea who wanted to thank him for training Rover for her daddy. She wrote of how much she loved the dog and how he's better than her brother, cause he finds the toys her brother takes from her room and brings them back to her.

Jack hung his head. He had spent time with her family as part of Rover's training. Andrea was a bright girl, wise beyond her years, but also full of exuberant energy. She wasn't quiet, like most kids who are called "old souls". If she had an opinion about something, she shared it with all who would listen. Jack had been treated to her lectures on style and grammar during his time with her family.

Andrea's father had been blinded in an industrial accident and her mother had left them, unable to deal with the disability. The insurance firm welshing on their obligations didn't help with matters. Jack had convinced his lawyer to consult on the case pro bono, but the contract had been carefully drafted to legally steal from those too poor to consult a lawyer before signing and there was nothing she could do to help them. Andrea's father provided for his family by tuning instruments and gathering donations online. Jack made a mental note to donate again.

He huffed and wiped the tear running down his cheek. He replaced the card in the bundle and put the bundle in a plastic bag. He stowed it in the trunk of his car, unable to look at it for the moment. He shot a glare at the garbage can before driving off.

Jack's early admission to college went through the next day and he was distracted from his many worries by settling all the formalities. The day after that, he found himself sitting in class, wondering what he was doing there.

He had no friends in the school. He belonged to no clubs. He had no obligations to anyone. The things he was tutoring Mia on, he had already learned some time ago. With the school year so close to ending and early admissions over and done with, even the most dedicated of teachers had given up on trying to teach the seniors. Jack still took a few AP classes, but he didn't need to complete them. He had been informed by all the students he had asked, back when he had taken tours of prospective colleges, that the first few semesters of college were repeats of AP classes. It was meant to refresh everyone's memory and give the kids who hadn't taken any a chance to catch up.

The only good thing about this terrible school was that they consistently ignored any truancy of the seniors that had gotten into college. Once a student's admission was settled, their only obligation to the school was to show up at graduation and receive their diploma. A few dozen others were already absent. Senior homeroom didn't even take attendance anymore. He had the grades to graduate. His presence at the school was no longer required. The time would be much better spent training himself to maintain his cloak.

John, Rob and Steve were wait-listed by the Ivy League schools they applied to as their first choices, so they were still attending school. Neither Jack, nor they, had blown the lid on the fact that he wouldn't lift a finger if anyone was to hurt them, so they were still safe on school grounds. He was tempted to announce to everyone that he wasn't their friend and protector, but he had already lashed out at Steve and felt bad about it. Especially as Steve's face bore witness to his revenge.

Jack decided to pack up his locker and go home, never to return to the school, except to pick up his diploma. He'd stop by Steve's place on his way home and undo what he had done to his dad. Despite coming to a firm decision, he stayed seated in Ms. Abramowitz's class. He didn't want to insult a decent teacher by leaving halfway through a lecture. Before the bell could ring and announce his freedom, the PA system was activated.

"Jack Watts, please report to the principal's office," said the school's secretary. "Jack Watts, please report to the principal's office."

Jack rolled his eyes and grinned bitterly, but didn't move a muscle. He detested the timing of the summons. Not twenty minutes after he had made his mind up about quitting school, it came to make it look like he was being tossed out. Ultimately, he didn't care about what anyone thought. He had bigger fish to fry and he was definitely leaving. He was even tempted to do something outrageous in the principal's office before he left, just to mess with the old bastard.

Ms. Abramowitz said, "Well, Mr. Watts? You've been called to the principal's office."

Jack gave a dismissive wave. "He can wait. I'm much more interested in what you're saying about Coelho."

Ms. Abramowitz smiled. "Thank you for saying that, Mr. Watts, but I'm afraid you really should be going."

Jack sighed unhappily, gathered his things, and left the class. He went to the principal's office, curious as to what the old man could possibly want with him. "I'm Watts," he said to the principal's secretary. He went to sit down and wait to be called in.

"Please go inside, Mr. Watts," she said, making him freeze in mid stride. "They're waiting for you."

Jack frowned and gave her a questioning look. Students were rarely summoned to the office and for one to come here of their own volition was practically unheard of, but the thing that always happened was that the principal made the student sit and wait for ten minutes, or so, before calling them in. It didn't matter if the meeting had been prearranged, or if the principal had called someone over the PA system, like Jack just now. Always, the student had to cool their heels.

The secretary nodded at the door and Jack went to it. Whatever was going on right now, it wasn't the usual nonsense.

The first thing that drew Jack's full attention was the man sitting on the corner of the principal's desk. He was in his late twenties, wearing a leather jacket and had an air of intensity about him. He was chewing gum with an open mouth, emitting loud, wet smacks. The principal was sitting calmly behind his desk and ignoring the man's behavior, making Jack truly confused as to what was going on.

The vice principal was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk and he indicated the other one, saying, "Please, come and sit down, Mr. Watts!"

Jack walked over and sat. He now found himself looking up at the man on the desk. The man smiled at him and Jack didn't like the smile. "So, you're Jack Watts," he said.

Jack looked at the principal and vice principal, who made no comment. "Yes."

The man on the desk nodded knowingly. The principal said, "Mr. Watts, we pride ourselves on teaching our students not only the prescribed curriculum, but also the things that truly matter in life. Things like upstanding behavior and truthfulness." Jack raised an eyebrow at hearing such brazen lies. "We have no doubt that you will extend your full cooperation in this matter."

"What matter? What's going on?"

"Jack," the vice principal said and gestured at the smiling man on the desk, "this is detective Fuller. He's with the Sheriff's department. He's here to ask you some questions."

"Questions? What questions?"

Fuller stood up and paused in his chewing long enough to softly say, "We know, Jack." Jack raised both eyebrows at the statement. He couldn't believe that the cop was trying to pull such a blatant bluff on him. "And we understand. We've been there before, you know." He gestured at the principal and vice principal. "We've all gone through what you're going through, right now. Those same issues you're dealing with... we've been through them, too. You're not alone, Jack. You've got people you can talk to." He spread his hands. "We're right here. And we're listening, Jack. You can talk to us."

Jack looked from one face to the next in confusion and then flatly said, "Talk about what?"

Fuller rubbed his jaw. "You're a smart kid, Jack. We can all see that. There's no need for this kind of thing to ruin your life. You can still make the right choice here, pal. You already made the right choice, I just need you to make another one so you can put this whole thing behind you."

Jack relaxed in his seat and adopted his most bored expression. Whatever this cop was trying to bluff out of him, he wasn't going to get it. "I still have no idea what this is all about," he said.

Fuller bent down and softly said, "I traced the letter back to you, Jack. We found the piece, right where you said it would be. You've done the right thing, Jack. You had a... a crisis and you thought that shooting some people would fix things for you. But that's the loser way and you're not a loser. You're smarter than that. You thought it through and you gave it up. You hid the gun in that house and sent us a letter telling us where to find it."

Jack made no reaction that the deliberate falsehood was meant to elicit. He was very grateful for all the years of meditation and practicing manipulating his own emotions. He couldn't believe that the letter had been traced back to him. He just couldn't. He had done everything possible to make sure there was no forensic evidence tying him to it. He wanted to drop his cloak and look into the man's mind for the truth, but he quickly decided against it. He was glad to finally know what the talk was all about, even if he was a little dismayed that the cops thought he had intended to pull a Columbine, for some reason.

Fuller seemed briefly disappointed at a lack of Jack's reaction. "That was smart thinking. It was well done. Now, I just need you to tell me where you got the gun from and we can put this whole matter to rest, ok?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jack said.

Fuller straightened up. "Look, Jack, no one's against you. You did the right thing. We want to congratulate you for what you did, we just need to know where you got the gun in the first place, ok? That's all I'm here to find out."

Jack spread his arms. "Seriously, you've got the wrong guy. I have no idea about this gun you're talking about. Or any letter, for that matter. Who sends letters anymore?"

Fuller crossed his arms in front of his chest and chewed loudly, while staring at Jack. Jack looked at the principal and vice principal and then made to get up. He said, "If that's all-"

"Sit down, Mr. Watts," the vice principal said.

"If you wanna do this the hard way, Jack," Fuller said. "The stupid way? We can arrange that. I read the micro tag on your letter and it led me straight to the printer you used here in school."

Jack wasn't sure if he managed to keep his shock from showing up on his face. He had heard about all printers made since 9/11 being programmed to leave tiny marks on every paper that went through them, but he had thought it an urban legend, up until now. If there was anything that could lead back to him, it would be that.

"I've got a witness that says you were the one that printed it," Fuller said.

Jack now knew Fuller was full of it. There had been no one to see him going in or out of the computer lab, let alone to see him printing. He had made absolutely sure of that. He had used administrator access to the computer when he had typed up the letter. Rob had shown him how and half the school knew how to do it, as it bypassed all the safe search settings on the school's computers. If anyone was to be suspected of printing up that letter, it would be the school staff. Jack glanced at the principal and vice principal. He could hardly believe that they would admit to having half the kids in their school be able to pull off such a feat, right under their noses, but he guessed it was much better than having their staff interrogated.

"Well, whoever's your witness is your guilty party," Jack calmly said, "cause I never printed a letter on any of the school's printers. Case closed, Sherlock!" He stood up, but Fuller put a hand on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going," the detective said, menacingly.

"Wherever I want," Jack firmly said. "Just ask my lawyer!"

"Sit down, Mr. Watts," the principal said.

"No," Jack replied. "I'm not gonna sit here while you try to frame me for something I didn't do. If you want to talk to me again, you go through my lawyer."

"Shame," Fuller said, his tone of voice condescending. "I had hoped we could settle this in a friendly manner. All I want is the name of the guy you bought the gun from. Now I gotta give the gun and letter over to the forensics guys and that means a paper trail. That means that I'm going to get DNA and fingerprint results that prove you had that gun and sent that letter. And with that kind of paperwork on file, the DA is going to have to prosecute you." Fuller's tone of voice became friendly again. "This isn't some kind of lark, Jack. This is serious business. You could lose your place in college over this. You could even go to jail, Jack."

"I would strongly urge you to get those forensic tests done, detective Filler," Jack said.

"Fuller."

"Because the results will prove that I had nothing to do with what you're talking about. Now, any further discussion on this matter will have to be made with my attorney. Good day, gentlemen!"

Jack stepped around his chair and made for the door. "We haven't allowed you to leave, Mr. Watts," the vice principal said.

"Don't make me call my lawyer," Jack said. He focused on the image of the office door, before opening it and stepping through. He immediately dropped his cloak and availed himself of his power. The image of the door gave him an in into the detective's mind and he converted some of the fear the interrogation had managed to instill him with into the kind of frustration he must be feeling at not getting his man. Jack slid into the detective's mind.

Jack was angry with Watts' impertinence and frustrated that he wasn't the culprit. The bosses were terrified of a school shooting taking place and they demanded he find out who sold guns to high-schoolers, ASAP. His first step was to identify who had given up the piece and the principal and vice principal had painted this Watts kid as the prime candidate. He was a loner reputed to torture animals and be obnoxious in general. Jack had deferred to their assessment and Watts was called in as the first one to be questioned on the matter. Unfortunately, he turned out not to be the guy. Jack calmed down and consulted his list to see who was next in line.

Jack snapped back into his own mind and quickly reestablished his cloak. A weight fell from his shoulders at learning that the cop dismissed him as a suspect. He gave the secretary a jaunty wave before going to his locker and packing up his things. Leaving the school that day, he felt like singing out loud. He was finally free of the institution of oppression.

He stopped by Steve's house on his way home. No one answered his knocks, despite Steve's dad's car being parked in the driveway, so he walked around to the side to look in the windows. Steve's dad was sitting on the sofa in the living room, staring at the carpet. Jack knocked and the man looked up. His eyes went wide and he jumped up to stumble out of the room.

Oh, yeah, Jack remembered, I made him fear me.

Jack walked around the side of the house and climbed the drainpipe to get to Steve's room, just like Steve usually did when he was grounded. Once inside, he tiptoed down the stairs and across the hallway where he had seen Steve's dad run. He heard him sobbing before he saw him huddled in the corner.

Jack bit his lip. If I get sensed by the cloaked figure for trying to undo what I did to this piece of garbage, I will fucking kill myself.

He crouched and mimicked the man's hug around his knees to slide into his mind by the shared sensations. Once inside, he quickly undid his work, except for the part where the man was scared senseless of him. He straightened up and paused, listening to the man's sobs slowly subside. He snuck out of the house the same way he came in and went home.

His days weren't made up of lazing and loafing around the house, though, no matter how much Janice berated him for it. He would have moved out of the house and away from Janice, but he had made a promise to Mia and he intended to keep it. He didn't want to risk sabotaging her efforts at school by putting her through a move, though it would probably be only a small hassle.

Besides, he preferred to spend all his free time meditating and working on his cloak. He was making great progress and could now spend the majority of the day cloaked. He didn't have the time to go house-hunting around town, especially in light of the fact that he was going to go house-hunting in the city as soon as Mia graduated. Janice kept her tirades away from Mia's ears, so he just ignored Janice and worked with Mia.

He got up every morning to drive Mia to school and he had to go and get her after each school day. There was less than a month of school to go and Mia had yet to secure her own graduation, so he would spend a few hours of each afternoon tutoring her. His assistance was gradually becoming less and less needed in that regard. Her grades were definitely improving and she was growing in intellectual ability and confidence with each passing day. He felt proud of her accomplishments since he had made them possible.

While she was at school and Janice was off at work, Jack would enjoy the peace and quiet before working on his meditation exercises. He was tempted to explore his newfound ability to shut off pain, but all his efforts were firmly rooted to the cloak. He let the pain-manipulation aspect of his power slide to the back burner and solemnly promised himself to return to it, as soon as he mastered maintaining his cloak on at all times. While he was working on that, he saw no reason not to tackle the group home issue. He contacted every paper that could possibly be interested in writing about the situation.