The Little Things Give You Away [Sean]

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Language.” Sean’s tone wasn’t angry, merely admonishing. He also wouldn’t dwell on the casual use of profanity, as it had been one slip, worthy of a single reminder before moving on. He’d heard far worse from students in this office or elsewhere. Sean only engaged in mild use of profanity: primarily blasphemous words rather than true vulgarity, and more than the occasional usage was uncouth. Students needed to be reminded of that, lest their entire vocabularies descend into four-letter words.

He continued to shuffle the cards, making sure that their last hands retreated back into the middle of the deck, to allow for probability to take its course in the next hand. To double check, he pulled the first card off the top of the deck, to check whether it had been in the last hand; it hadn’t. With that, he dealt them each another five cards, face down. Setting aside the deck, he glanced at his new hand.

Sean had also taken an interest in the Holocaust, although it had been far more recent history when he had been Jesse’s age. He firmly believed in remembering the worst of what mankind was capable of, to avoid ever coming close again. “He committed suicide out of cowardice, rather than be left to the courts and have to pay for his crimes.” Or be left to the Russians, who would have dreamed up something worse than what the Italians did to Mussolini. Not that being executed and then strung up nude in the middle of the town square so the people could come and spit on your corpse was getting off easy, but Hitler deserved far worse than that. “His increasing paranoia was one of his many downfalls, fortunately.”

Sean believed in coexistence, because the only other option was genocide; everyone had to learn to share the same living space because that was living in a global community. That Jesse disagreed with this philosophy was not surprising; all the more reason to keep an eye on the boy. “I had to ask; ethics can get jumbled very quickly if we begin making exceptions.”

Studying his cards, he marked off three that he did not want and set them face down beside the rest of the deck. A long period of silence passed, before he asked, “Do you know November Adams? She’s a lovely young woman, sharp as a tack.”

[Jesse Adams]

The little reminder of manners didn’t bother Jesse all that much. He heard it enough in class, and in here. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about letting the bit of profanity slip. It made up the vast majority of his vocabulary. He might have been pretending to reform his ways with his power. He’d never made any promises to clean up his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He knew, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing it again.

In his opinion, the psychiatrist was taking far, far too long to shuffle the cards. He was getting antsy, because it was much harder to keep his thoughts under wraps when he didn’t have something to concentrate on. He kept his eyes on the cards, watching them move, and the moment he had cards in front of him, he snapped them up. It was a better hand than last time. He pulled two cards out to replace, tossing them on top of Sean’s carelessly.

With a different upbringing, it was anyone’s guess as to how Jesse might have turned out. As it was, he was stuck with the “guidance” his father had had to offer, and as a result, he was not the most stable teenager at Hammel. His interest in genocide and the more gruesome acts in history could have been chalked up to the fact that he was a teenage boy, growing up in the age of violent movies and videogames that glorified acts of war. But it was so much more. Shadowing Gabriel’s footsteps, learning his views of the world, things like genocide just seemed to make sense. The meta-protesters didn’t seem to have a problem killing all of them off. Why couldn’t it be the other way around? “Too bad. Maybe they’d have let him get gangbanged in prison or somethin’.” Still, even Jesse could see that the world was a better place without Hitler on the loose. If he was that much of a coward.

Ethics. Jesse wasn’t fond of them, and he didn’t like where this was going. “What exceptions? I got told to do it. I was supposed to find a bad memory, ask if I could erase it, and then do it.” He was scowling now, defensive, his arms crossed over his chest. Not happy? Definitely.
The silence unnerved Jesse. So much so he was finding it harder and harder to keep up his mental defences. His survival depended on keeping certain aspects of his life behind steel doors. But the question Sean asked seemed to come from left field. Though it startled Jesse, it managed to keep his face calm. “November? Dunno. Don’t think so.” He stayed quiet for a moment before looking up. “Wait. Is she that chick that hangs with those idiots Verax and Rixon and Richmond?” He roomed with Horus. He knew his friends. And he knew her. “What about her?” His heart was going slightly faster now. Why would Sean be asking about the November girl? Unless... he knew?

Oh shit.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Children suffered for the mistakes and the personalities of their parents; it was unfortunately part and parcel of growing up and rearing children. However, Jesse’s father had already made the mistakes during his formative years, leaving the rest of the world, and Hammel in particular, to cope with the teenage boy as he was. Because this was an important issue to Sean, he wanted to correct the young man, particularly because he in the same breath trivialized Hitler, the Nuremberg trials and minimized the impact of prison rape. “He would have been given the death penalty, as were several high-ranking Nazi officials. He committed suicide not to evade the ultimate punishment, but because to avoid due process of law.” If the Americans and Britain had gotten to him first. The U.S.S.R. had been an entirely different risk, as one did not break a bargain with Stalin and get off lightly; and death, to Stalin, was often lightly. Fortunately, none of them had to live in a world in which Hitler was anything but condemned by all but a small fringe.

“Good, then. So long as she told you to do so.” Sean cared about permission, and if Jesse had, in fact, been given permission to do so, then it was no different from what Sean did in his psychiatric practice. Of course, he’d have to verify that later, but there was time; at the moment, he had a greater concern since Jesse had been concealing a vary large matter, and it needed to get out in the open.

“Yes, those are November’s friends.” Her choice of companions was a bizarre notion to most of the faculty, given that November was mild-mannered, intelligent, a high achiever and a gentle spirit. Nobody blamed Horus for his narcolepsy, but it didn’t win him points with most teachers and did nothing for his class performance. Then Samuel and Vincent were Samuel and Vincent; their reputations preceded them and were often worse than rumor suggested. Yet they cared for her, and one had to be loyal to friends. “I assumed that you might know one another, given your rooming situation, and that you have the same last name. Perhaps you were forced to sit together in homeroom.”

Sean dealt Jesse two new cards and dealt himself three, before setting the deck down again. He glanced down at his cards, but didn’t try to make a combination just yet. Instead he continued, speaking in a tone of mild instruction but not one of trapping the boy, not quite. “Her friends behavior aside, she’s a very trustworthy, very gentle young woman, and I’m rather fond of her.” The psychiatrist set down his cards, showing a flush in hearts. “You can imagine my concern when she told me about her altercation with you.”

[Jesse Adams]

If Jesse’s mother had been left to her own devices to raise their children, maybe Jesse would have turned out more like his sister. Calm, sweet, loving. Nothing like the sadistic creature his father had raised him to be. He couldn’t imagine being any other way. Following for so long in his father’s footsteps, learning in his shadow, how could he not have turned out this way? The only thing he’d never quite mastered was what Gabriel was teaching him now. How to act. His father’s acting had always been a little transparent, a little weak. Easy to see right through. At least for Jesse. He needed to be better than that. And who better to teach him than the chameleon himself, Gabriel Underwood. “I’ll have to remember that for the next history test. At least I know why he offed himself. Fucking coward.” If there were more criminals out there like Hitler, the world would be a bleak little place. There was something easier than killing yourself to get out of trouble. It was so much more simple. Don’t get caught.

“Yeah, she did. She was happier after I got rid of it.” Not that he hadn’t stopped and smelled the roses, so to speak, studying the memories at length before removing them. His teacher would tell him exactly the same story. He’d been asked to ask a classmate if he could remove a bad memory. Case closed.

Jesse didn’t really understand the whole concept of friends. Especially a group like those idiots. There was the gothic freak show that took money for performing moronic stunts, the pyrokinetic that could barely walk in a straight line without setting something ablaze, Horus (he just plain didn’t like Horus), and then November. The bright one. The girl. The one he’d so thoroughly messed up in the courtyard. “They’re morons,” he muttered softly. “An’ I don’t really know them. Just seen ‘em. Horus brings them over sometimes and they watch stupid movies in the common room.” Was that his mask slipping? The look in his eyes wasn’t so calm anymore. It was defensive.

He didn’t even look at his new cards. He was too busy trying to keep his thoughts to himself. Too involved in trying to keep up his slipping mask. But the way Sean was talking, he didn’t like it. And it only got worse when he finally said it. Jesse’s back went rigid, his cards forgotten in his hand. “She’s lying,” he blurted quickly. “Whatever she said, it’s a lie.” It wasn’t the best way to plead innocence. But he felt like he was being backed into a corner, and he didn’t like it.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

From the young man’s description of November and her friends, Sean had to assume that he either didn’t know them very well and had chosen November randomly, or that he was lying about that true, and his motive was to bother his roommate and get some revenge on a girl he didn’t like for a variety of reasons. In the end, it didn’t matter the specific motivation because neither was acceptable.

Jesse was being backed into a corner, and this was one of many reasons for which Sean was happy to possess the degree of patience that he did. The teenager had nowhere to run, and he had no excuses to offer beyond accusing November of lying. Of course, Sean knew that November hadn’t lied to him, because he’d seen the honesty in her thoughts, he’d seen how upset she was which she wasn’t able to fake as she wasn’t much of an actress, her details were too accurate for how a mental attack, particularly how an attack using Jesse’s powers would function, and because he knew Jesse’s history.

Additionally, the young man was growing nervous, such that his mental shields were slipping. Sean didn’t even have to probe to find the truth of the matter: confirming that Jesse had in fact been responsible for tormenting November and that he felt no remorse for that. The first was concerning, the second more so, and this is why the psychiatrist needed to intervene now, before Jesse could do any more harm, as the boy wasn’t self-correcting as Sean had been at his age, with that same ability.

The psychiatrist set down his new hand, slowly, deliberately. He then folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward in his chair, just a bit, just enough to slowly encroach on Jesse’s space and provide that physical feeling of being trapped, as opposed to merely the realization that boy had walked into this himself. “I don’t think she was lying, Jesse. Do you know why?” The psychiatrist paused just enough to let the boy make a short guess, if he so chose, before answering the question for him. “It’s difficult to lie to a telepath. We do have a tendency to verify information when we talk to people.” Sean leaned ever closer, and his face was hard, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “Now, I’m sure that I gave you a warning about persisting in this behavior that involved having to call on Miss Vasiliev and Mister Kilbourne.”

[Jesse Adams]

The problem with Sean’s logic was just that. It was logical. It wasn’t that Jesse didn’t like November. He was more or less indifferent to her. And, while he didn’t like Horus, he wasn’t out to get him either. His reasoning for targeting her was so simpler than petty dislike. She had just been there. A perfect target to practice on. Gabriel had said to practice. Jesse had obeyed. What he hadn’t expected was the sudden time jump, courtesy of November’s surprise. Nor had he expected the ill effects afterwards. And he certainly hadn’t expected her to be thick enough to tattle. But she had. She had, and it did not bode well for the little blond.

He didn’t like this feeling. Like the walls were closing in around him. This had to be what a criminal felt like when he was caught. Funny, considering that Jesse was a criminal in training. He should have known better. He should have known November would go crying to the staff. He should have run sooner. Instead of gloating on the phone last night, he should have been asking Gabriel to help him escape. It was all too late now. Why didn’t he think? Of course November wouldn’t lie. Of course Sean would take her side. He was screwed. And to make matters worse, he could tell his mental shields were crumbling. If he wasn’t careful, he’d expose his connection. To Gabriel. To MSAD. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to bite down on those thoughts and memories until he was far, far away from the telepath.

The teenager watched Sean put down his hand. Even Jesse knew that the game was over. His gaze was far from the careful, shrouded look he’d worn earlier. He was defensive, angry. When Sean leaned closer, he automatically withdrew, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He didn’t even respond to the question. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth at this point. He just stared back, his jaw set and his gaze defiant.

The straw that broke his control was when Sean leaned ever closer, and managed to utter the threat. Jesse twitched, looking like he was about to throw a punch. But even he wasn’t that stupid. He just locked his gaze with Sean’s for one moment, letting go of one tiny image in his mind. Gabriel.

It was a bold move, but a stupid one. Even he knew that. The connection was made, and now he had to bank on Sean’s surprise. He was small, and he was fast. He was across the room in a moment, out the door the next. His retreat was not well planned, but it was a start. Either he’d go down in flames, or he’d succeed. As he ran, he flipped out his phone and shot a frantic text off. Abort mission. Fucked up. On the run. HELP. And then he sped around the corner, his mind blank. He had to keep Sean in the dark just a little while longer.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

That disregard for other people as people, seeing them instead as obstacles to be overcome or as props to use however he wished was concerning to Sean. It was indicative of pseudo-sociopathic tendencies, as the psychiatrist did not like to apply psychological disorders to bad conduct without proper diagnosis. He had tried to diagnosis Gabriel, which was why he had no qualms applying the “full” sociopathic title to the puppeteer. This behavior, apart from being concerning to Sean as a psychiatrist and a decent human being, also concerned him personally because he saw shades of young Gabriel in Jesse’s behavior. He did not want the blond boy to go down that path; he wouldn’t lose another one.

Of course Sean took November’s side. He had verified her story through her behavior and a quick mental scan, and Jesse’s mental shields were slipping. The teenager had let himself fall into the psychiatrist’s trap, and he felt no remorse for backing him against the wall. He had brought this on himself, and any punishment he received – and discipline would be necessary – was for his own good. He had to learn why mental attacks were so dangerous, to prevent them in the future. Both Jesse and society as a whole would benefit from that lesson.

He continued to make eye contact with the boy, who perhaps from pride, met his gaze, staring back. That pride and confidence was limited, however, as Jesse withdrew from him, shrinking back like a scared animal. Sean had no intention of hurting the boy, but he had to put an end to his behavior. That involved invoking Chase and Anya’s names, and later their powers, to help keep the boy in line.

What took Sean by surprise was the sudden image he received, of Gabriel Underwood. His worst fears were realized: Gabriel had made contact with at least one student at the Institute, and unfortunately, that student’s powers were potentially formidable and his ethics in using those powers were lax. He had an even bigger problem on his hands now, and for this connection, he couldn’t let Jesse slip away; the telepath was all the more resolved than he had been a minute ago.

He hadn’t been prepared for the student to make a run for it; the students were never so stupid as to think that they could avoid punishment by running, since eventually they would be caught and the punishment would be compounded for the escape attempt. However, Sean realized as he bolted up and went after Jesse that in making this attempt, the boy was also declaring that he had no intention of returning. The psychiatrist had to catch him now, before the opportunity was gone for good. If only Sean possessed telekinesis or mind control or terrakinesis, anything that would allow him to trap the boy or prevent him from slipping away. His abilities weren’t useful in this particular situation, and he had to depend on basic “regular” human physical capabilities to catch him.

Unfortunately, Jesse was small and fast, with a low center of gravity, whereas Sean was large, and although his legs were longer, he carried more weight; the lunch dates with Anya didn’t help. His knees ached from running because he was thirty-six years older than Jesse was, and he didn’t have gym classes helping to keep him fit.

Soon enough, Jesse was out of sight, and Sean was still trying to catch up with him. Leaning against the stairway to catch his breath, he sent out the telepathic equivalent of an all points bulletin, calling for the security guards to search for Jesse and retrieve him, before he got too far. Don’t let him get off the grounds!