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Secrets	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 974 -:- 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.
Secrets Chapter 3.
Slowly trudging home Holland found his thoughts wondering to Vic Mackey. Mackey might not have known who he was, but naturally Holland knew him. Mackey and his little gang were three years older than him, and were the coolest boys in the school. Everyone respected them, even Paul Jackson, and his moron friends, stayed out of Mackey�s way. Jackson and Mackey were the same age, but Holland knew from bitter experience that Jackson preferred to pick on those younger than himself. Lately, he thought miserably, that seemed to be almost exclusively him.
It didn�t seem to matter where he hid, Jackson would find him. A couple of days ago, when he�d tried to avoid them during the lunch break, he�d foregone his lunch and hidden in the science block toilets. Of course Jackson and his four fellow idiots had tracked him down. They�d teased him, as usual, circling him, calling him names and pushing him around. Then Jackson had looked into his backpack and found his geography paper. Holland had spent all weekend on that paper, had worked hard on it, and it had been due to be handed in during the next lesson. He�d tried not to look bothered when Jackson had pulled it out to look at it, but Jackson had known it was important to Holland. He�d sensed it with that sixth sense for detecting something to hurt him with that all bullies seemed to possess. Holland had asked for it back, but Jackson had just laughed at him, and when Holland had lunged forward to try and snatch it back, Jackson had smacked him in the face, knocking him down and making his nosebleed. Then Jackson had ripped his paper up, and dropped it onto the wet bathroom floor. Laughing they�d left him there. Left him to pick up the pieces of his ruined report, and try to stop the nosebleed with some toilet tissue. He�d locked himself into a cubicle, and tried really hard not to cry. Not long afterwards he�d heard the door to the bathroom open again, and he�d held his breath, afraid it was his tormentors returning for some more fun.
When he�d heard their voices he�d known it was Mackey and his friends instead. Although Holland had never heard of, or seen, them bullying anyone he didn�t want to take the risk, so he�d sat frozen trying to remain undetected. No such luck though, they�d realized he was there, and when Mackey had threatened to break down the door he�d resigned himself to more punishment. When he�d seen Mackey�s raised fist Holland had braced himself for the blow, but to his surprise it had never landed. Mackey had relaxed and dropped his fist while one of the others, Shane Vendrell Holland thought it was, dismissed him as a geek. He�d been relieved when they�d turned around, but slightly unsettled when Mackey hadn�t left to. Mackey had just looked at him, and Holland had felt panic welling up in his chest, he didn�t like people to look at him too closely.
When he�d offered him his hankie for his nose Holland had immediately been suspicious. People didn�t do kind things for you without a rea the they always wanted something for it. There was no reason for Mackey to care about him, so why would he want to be nice to him. There was going to be some cruel joke played on him, some cutting remark made at his expense. However, when he�d reached out and taken the cloth from Mackey, he�en sen surprised when nothing happened.
While he�d dabbed gingerly at his nose Mackey still hadn�t left. He�d leaned casually against the door jam, lighting his cigarette, looking at him making him feel uncomfortable. Then Mackey had surprised him by asking about the bruises, commenting they looked painful. Holland had felt his heart falter in his chest when he�d looked down, and seen that his sleeve had fallen back, and the bruises on his wrist could be seen. He cursed himself for being so sloppy. He was always so careful to keep the secret. Those bruises were part of the secret, they�d gotten there when he was held down, when his father� Holland felt a shudder go through him at that line of thought, and he quickly turned his mind back to his first meeting with Vic Mackey.
He�d tried to keep his panic off his face, out of his voice when he assured Mackey that they were nothing, and insisted he was late for class. Relief had flooded through him when Mackey had accepted what he�d said, and had stood aside to let him pass. He�d kept his head down, not looking at the other boys as he�d hurried past them, desperate to make it to the door, to escape. Just as he�d laid his hand on the cold, door handle he�d heardkey key call to him. Here it was, Holland had thought, here was the punch line at last. However, confusion had flooded through him when Mackey had simply asked his name. Vic Mackey, Mr. Super-Cool, wanted to know his name, Holland still couldn�t understand why someone like that wanted to know anything about someone like him. Of course when he�d answered Mackey�s friends had burst out laughing at him, and Holland had quickly fled, tired of being laughed at.
Then there had been his humiliation in class when he�d been the only person there without a report to hand in at the end of the lesson. Mr. Howe had expressed his disappointment in him. Holland had considered telling him what happened, but really what was the point, nothing would be done, and when Jackson found out he�d told it would only make it worse on him the next time. So he�d bitten his tongue and said nothing expecting a detention, or an extra 2000 word report on some meaningless subject like "Why Homework is Important." However, that wasn�t what Mr. Howe had in mind, he�d already been annoyed that Holland had been late to class, and now having no report to hand in, well that called for special punishment he�d told Holland. When he�d then told him that he was going to go to the teacher�s lounge, and call Holland�s father, and ask him to discuss his son�s lack of respect for authority, Holland had thought he was going to puke all over Mr. Howe�s shoes. He�d wanted to fall on his knees and beg him not to, he�d wanted to let loose all the terror that welled up inside him, making him feel light-headed, at the thought of how his father was going to take that phone call. Jesus, "respect for authority" was one of his father�s favourite subjects. He�d often shown Holland exactly how much he himself should be respected by his son, and he�d delighted in showing him exactly what happened when Holland failed to show him the proper level of respect, or failed to show it quickly enough. However, he hadn�t puked, or begged, or fainted, he hadn�t done anything, he�d just stood there staring as Mr. Howe left the room and went to make the call. He�d been like an automaton for the rest of the afternoon, just going through the motions of normality, unable to think of anything but what would await him at home. He�d hoped all the way home that day that Mr. Howe had just been making an idle threat and hadn�t really called his father at work to discuss his attitude problem. However, he�d known that he had when he�d seen his father�s car parked at the end of their drive, when he�d finally reached home. Christ, he�d hardly been able to walk to the front door he�d been so afraid. His father must be so mad at him to have come home early from work to punish him.
Holland shivered despite the warm weather as he remembered his punishment. The only visiblen ofn of which was the bruise on his face where his father had backhanded him the second he�d come through the door. After that his father had been in control of himself enough not to mark him anywhere that would show. After the physical punishment there had been the other kind of punishment his father was so fond of. Holland could still hear his voice as it had whispered huskily in his ear, as he�d tried to stop himself from sobbing, "Seeing as I had to come home early because of you, wasting my valuable time, we might as well make it worth my while. Get upstairs to your bedroom and wait for me there. I need to make a couple of calls first."

Mackey had asked him about that bruise his father had left, earlier when he�d finally plucked up the courage to give him back the handkerchief he�d lent him. It had come out of the blue and taken Holland by surprise. However, the well rehearsed lie had left his mouth automatically, just as it always did when anyone bothered to ask him how his latest injury had happened, not that anyone actually did bother to ask very often. He actually had a little stock of ready-made excuses that he just rotated to fit the injury. He�d fallen and hit his face/shoulder/arm/chest/back on the edge of a table; he�d fallen off his bike and hurt his arm/hand/back/leg; he�d stumbled down the stairs and hurt his arm/head/leg/chest/back; he�d fallen out of a tree and hurt his head/face/arm/leg/chest/back. Whatever the injury he had an example of his own clumsiness to explain it away. He�d just choose the one that seemed the most appropriate, or that he hadn�t used for a while, and everyone would tut over the fact he was such a clumsy boy, and then they�d leave him alone. However, when he�d selected the table story for Vic Mackey�s benefit something about the expression on his face told Holland that he hadn�t bought it for a second. Panicked Holland had tried to leave telling Mackey he had to get home, and then Mackey had asked him if he was all right. The whole thing had confused him, people just didn�t do that. People accepted what he told them, and looked no further. Holland had never been sure if they just turned a blind eye and moved on, or if they really couldn�t put two and two together. He rather suspected it was the former, after all surely people couldn�t be that blind, that stupid could they? People were always eager to tell him how lucky he was to have a father like James Wagenbach. A successful lawyer, a member of the country club, on various charitable committees, a pillar of the community. How Holland longed to be able to tell them what their "pillar of the community" demanded from his son when he crawled into his bed at night. However, he never did, after all that was all part of the secret. The all-important secret that Holland had been keeping for as long as he could remember. No one must ever find out, no one must ever suspect, what went on behind closed doors at the Wagenbach house. That was the most important rule in Hol�s l�s life, and always had been. If the secret was ever discovered Holland wasn�t entirely sure what would happen, but he knew, had always known that it would be the end of the world. So he kept it locked and buried deep inside himself, never telling, never hinting, never giving anything away, and no one had ever looked closely enough to notice. No one until Vic Mackey that is. He�d asked Holland if he was all right, if everything was ok. Holland had found himself looking at Mackey�s face trying to see if he could trust him, trying to figure out just why he seemed to care. For one insane moment Holland had wanted to tell someone, he�d wanted to open his mouth and let the secret come flying out. In fact he�d been just about to do just that, in the school corridor, to the coolest boy in the school, who he�d only ever spoken to twice in his life. It had been on the tip of his tongue, he�d been ready to admit that, no he wasn�t all right and everything was far from ok. Then Shane Vendrell had appeared and called out to Mackey and Mackey had turned away from him. Released from that intense, concerned gaze Holland had thankfully come to his senses and fled.
Looking up Holland found he�d reached home. He paused and looked up at the silent house, and he could almost feel as if some malevolent force was in there looking back out at him. How he hated that house, he hated every brick, every shingle, every window, and every blade of grass in the immaculate lawn. Noticing the empty drive he was at least relieved that his father wasn�t home, maybe if he were really lucky he�d have to work late preparing some case or something. At least that way Holland wouldn�t have to see him at dinner or during the evening, and if he were really lucky perhaps he�d come home late, and be too tired for any late night visits. Crossing his fingers, and offering up a quick, silent prayer Holland began walking up the drive towards the front door.
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Secrets