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Revelations	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 1041 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Shield, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: -I don�t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Revelations Chapter 2
Holland lay in his bed staring up at the dark ceiling of his room. He�d tried to sleep, but had merely ended up tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable, unable to stop his mind from thinking. In the end he�d given up the pretense and had flopped over onto his back, kicking his too heavy and too warm covers off, and gazing with unfocused eyes into the surrounding darkness.
Two weeks had passed since he�d returned to school after his suicide attempt, and fortunately he wasn�t the focus of all the gossip anymore. Cheryl Fisher had found out she was pregnant, and wasn�t sure if the father was her boyfriend or some married guy she babysat for. If that wasn�t enough she then made the mistake of telling her best friend all about it in the strictest confidence. Of course by the end of the day the whole school knew, and his little brush with the Grim Reaper was old news. Thank goodness for teen pregnancy and infidelity, Holland thought wryly.
It had also been two weeks since he�d spoken to Vic Mackey. Thankfully Mackey seemed to be doing as he�d asked and keeping away from him. Although there had been times at school, like in the corridor or the canteen, when he�d felt the weight of the older boy�se one on him, and he knew Mackey was watching him. Holland would rather things went back to the way it used to be when Vic Mackey didn�t even know he existed, but since that wasn�t possible the situation as it was would have to do.
He hated the thought that someone knew. That Mackey and probably Vendrell both knew what he was. When he�d woken up in the hospital the police had been there, and Holland had just known that Mackey had told. The woman officer, Claudette she�d told him to call her, had assured him that he wasn�t in any trouble, but had said that she needed to know what had been so bad that he�d tried to kill himself. Shtoldtold him that he could tell her anything. She�d told him that she could help him. She�d told him that he would be safe, and no one would hurt him again. He�d been confused, unsure of what to do. He�d already been stupid, careless. He�d let Vic Mackey guess the secret. However, telling the police that was different. What would happen to him, to his father if he did? Everyone would know. All his father�s friends and colleagues, all the kids at school, Mrs. Feilden, the neighbours, the guy who worin tin the grocery store packing people�s bags, the whole town. Everyone would know what he�d done, what had been done to him. They�d know, and how would they feel � would they be sorry, or disgusted? They�d stare and whisper behind his back. Some people would probably laugh at him and say he deserved it. Then there�d be people like Paul Jackson who would think that maybe he liked it, and would do what Jackson had, and try to do those things to him as well. Holland�s mind had been spinning, and the police officer had seen his indecision, and had reached out telling him it would be okay. She�d put her hand on his as he�d clutched his sheet tightly in his fist, and at her touch he�d suddenly known what he had to do. He�d known who would make all of these people go away.
Holland could feel himself redden with shame as he remembered how he�d called out for his father. He�d pulled his hand out from under Claudette�s hand and he�d turned away from her, and the male cop, and the hovering doctor, and had shouted for his dad.
It had worked; the cops had left him alone after that, his father had seen to that. His father had smoothly and efficiently taken over. He�d explained to Holland about the bullying, and had asked him to tell him who had given him the bruises and the welts. It had been the most surreal moment of Holland�s life. The man who had given him nearly everyone of those marks on his body expressing his concern, and asking who could�ve done such a thing. Holland had found himself mesmerized by his father�s performance of outraged parenthood, and swept along with i�d f�d found it easy to name Jackson and his gang. In a way it had been somewhat true. Some of his latest injuries had certainly been caused by Jackson, and years of experience at living a lie, and denying reality, had made this lie seem more real and easier to say everytime he�d told it.
Jackson and the others had been expelled, and to be honest Holland really didn�t feel all that guilty about it. They�d been getting away with their bullying for years, and had only been dealt with in the end because Principle Burton had wanted the whole distasteful business, as she called it, forgotten about as soon as possible.
Holland sighed and turned over to lie on his side, and stared out at the stars he could see where his curtains didn�t quite come together in the middle. He�d had his chance to escape and he hadn�t taken it. He was trapped. He knew now that killing himself wasn�t an option. That had been stupid. Christ, he was only fourteen and he most definitely didn�t want to die. Besides, he thought, maybe things really would be better now. It had been three weeks since he�d come home and his father hadn�t raised a hand to him, and certainly hadn�t done anything else to him. So perhaps things could just bemal mal now, like everyone else�s families.
Holland turned that possibility over in his mind for a while, before snorting in derision, he was deluding himself and he knew it. Vic Mackey was right, what was it he�d said, "�if you think he�s suddenly changed, man you�re either a liar or an idiot." Well truth be told he was both, so whatever happened Holland guessed he�d deserve it.
In a way Holland almost wished it would just hn. n. It seemed perverse to be almost wishing for a beating, or for his father to crawl into bed with him, but the anticipation of it was like torture. He found himself constantly walking on eggshells around his father. On the one hand afraid to upset him, on the other hand wishing he had the courage to do something that would make his father lose his temper with him just so it would be over with. It felt like one of those too warm, too humid August nights when everything felt heavy and oppressive and still, and a good thunderstorm was needed to clear the air. The whole atmosphere of the house was heavy with a foreboding that was stifling, and Holland knew it wouldn�t be long before something gave.
Lost in his melancholy thoughts Holland jumped when he heard the front door slam. His father had been to a Law Society dinner, and from the volume of the door slam was either drunk, or mad, or both. The cliché "careful what you wish for" suddenly flashed through Holland�s mind, and he quickly reached down for his blankets and pulled them up, burying himself in them. He relished for a moment the feeling of security they gave him and he wished he hadn�t learnt long ago that it was a false feeling. He curled up into a ball, his back to his bedroom door, and squeezing his eyes shut he held his breath as he strained his hearing to try and discover what his father was doing downstairs. He could barely hear anything over the thudding of his heartbeat and the blood rushing in his ears. Suddenly his mouth was bone dry and as his stomach cramped Holland briefly wondered if a fourteen-year-old could get an ulcer. Unable to hold his breath any longer it rushed out of him and caught in a sob when there was no mistaking the sound of his father climbing the stairs.
Just minutes ago he�d been thinking that it would be a relief for the waiting to be over. Now he was repeating an all too familiar litany in his head,
"Please make him go to bed, please make him go to bed, please make him go to bed�"
Holland didn�t know whom this almost-prayer was meant for � the God he didn�t really believe in any more, or perhaps a Fate that always seemed determined to be cruel. What he did know was that he�d whispered this little chant in his head more times than he cared to remember, for more years than he cared to think about. Sometimes it worked, more often than not it didn�t.
Tonight it didn�t.
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Revelations