Proxy

[pseudo]

Well, I wasn't going to post this here, but... I decided to :X. Proxy, the first (in timeline) of the Bejerot Trilogy--the homepage for the trilogy is bejerot.strawberii.net.

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Prologue - 26 November 1987

'You'll f*cking stay out here until--' the angry man shouted, his blue eyes staring wildly at the snow-covered landscape. 'Until I f*cking say you can come in the f*cking house!'

With a grunt, he tightened his grasp on the boy he had writhing behind him, making the boy thrash more as his hair finally started pulling out of his head. One yank forward and the man let go of him, letting him fall onto the snow. The boy laid there for a moment before the man bent over him with the back of his hand held up like he was going to slap him, but the boy stood quickly, rubbing his scalp with inadvertent tears stinging his eyes.

'Dad,' he said softly, tears running down his face. 'Dad, it's cold out here.'

'Jack, you'll stay in this place, and you won't move,' he said dangerously, shoving a finger into his son's face. 'And if you make a noise, any little f*cking noise, I swear to God I will kill you.'

Jackson's toes curled in the snow and he shivered against the cold as he brought his arms up to cross his chest. He watched his father's back retreat into the house as he started to lose feeling in his feet; when his father slammed the door, icicles went stabbing down into the fresh snow, and Jackson tipped his head forward with a dark look crossing his face. Willing his frozen feet forward, he crunched across the knee-deep snow with his eyes set on the wood-handled, rusty hatchet half-buried in a log underneath the stairs that led up to the second floor of the house. Wind blustered around him, sending up snow from the ground to meet with the newly falling snow at Jackson's face, but he was looking so intently at the tool that it didn't faze him.

He stood for several long moments, leaning against one of the support beams under the stairs as his eyes half-closed and his body reacted to the wind chill. His pyjama pants were soaked completely through and the t-shirt wasn't doing much better. Overcoming his body's reaction, he reached out with shaky hands and clasped frozen fingers around the wood. The snow melted quickly under his touch, and with a deliberate yank, he pulled it from the icy log. Looking slowly at the door, he hulked over to it and sent the blade of the axe through the glass, which elicited a scream from his mother and an angry growl from his father. Reaching through the glass, he undid the lock and pushed open the door, stepping back into the heat with a bloody arm and the other hand holding the axe laxly to his side.

'What do you think you're doing?' his father demanded, standing up from the table in the kitchen with a fork held menacingly in front of him. 'Get back into the f*cking yard, and put the axe back where you found it, you little piece of sh*t.'

'Michael...' Alice said, but her look seemed to contradict the sympathetic statement. 'Jackson Rippner, you heard your father. You're being punished.'

Closing the door softly behind him, Jackson took a few hesitant steps forward, cutting his feet on the shards of glass covering the floor as the wind blew in from the broken window. Michael was about to open his mouth again when Jackson looked up with wide eyes and suddenly swung the axe, connecting it with the left-side tendons of his father's neck. When the man fell, Jackson followed him to the ground, hitting him savagely and splattering blood all over the area despite his mother's terrified screams.

'Jack!' she screamed as she stood, pushing over her chair.

With an animalistic glint in his eyes, Jackson stopped with his arms held above his head and turned to look at his mother, who was backing up against the counter with a shaking hand over her mouth. She was grasping at the drawer pull to retrieve a knife, and that just enraged him more. He stood and walked around his father's mutilated body, slipping a bit on a pool of blood as he made his way over to his mother. After cutting her delicate fingers on a few blades, she'd managed to find the butcher's knife and was now brandishing it in front of her as her blood-splattered son made his way to her.

'I swear to you, I will--'

There was a spray of blood across the window behind her, and everything fell silent.

---

Please leave reviews at www.fanfiction.net/s/2645964/1/, where the story was originally posted !

[pseudo]

'No, Jackson's a good boy. A little quiet, not many friends, but he'd never do something like that...'

Blue eyes scanned the Hudson River as the train rolled by it. The ground on either side of the river was covered in several feet of snow, and it had been relatively slow going on the trip, the tracks being relatively hazardous, but they were almost to their destination: Croton-on-Hudson.

'His father was never home. Well, until his business in New York City closed. He wasn't very friendly, never participated in school events. Neither did his mother though...'

The train had slowed again, and although Jackson thought it was because they were arriving at the station, there wasn't enough around them to warrant stopping. Leaning on his right elbow, the eleven-year-old tried to reach up to scratch his nose with his left hand, just to have the hand stopped after about a foot. The handcuffs that attached him to the armrest made a loud noise and he could hear his social worker lowering her magazine for a second in response.

'I lived next to them for ten years... my daughter used to baby-sit Jackson when he was really small. They started leaving him home alone when he was about five though, as soon as he started kindergarten. Well, no, we didn't call the police about it... is it illegal?'

Jackson sighed, his breath making a little fog against the cold window. In the reflection, he could see the social worker look down at the magazine once more, so he dropped his forehead against the window and sniffled a bit. With a quick movement, he leaned back in his chair and looked at the open, forgotten book on the tray table in front of him.

'When we got to the scene, the parents had already been dead for at least three days. Michael Rippner was on the kitchen floor next to the table with his face unrecognisable because of the trauma inflicted by the axe, which was found next to Alice Rippner. She had been hit on the side of the neck with the same axe, and bled to death rather than suffering from blunt trauma. We think she may have been awake for at least fifteen minutes after her son attacked her. The boy? He was sleeping upstairs...'

A voice over the loudspeaker let them know that it was going to be about ten more minutes before they'd reach the Croton-on-Hudson station. The social worker sighed, obviously ready to be rid of her charge. Slipping her magazine into the pocket of the chair in front of her, she leaned back and looked past Jackson to the icy landscape. For a moment, she was almost tempted to strike up some conversation with the boy, but quite honestly, she found him terrifying. He reached out with a pale hand and closed the book in front of him, a hard-bound tome called Hostages to Fortune.

'As the judge presiding over this case, after testimony from both sides, I believe that Jackson Rippner's parenticide was completely in self-defence, an eventuality caused by constant mental and physical abuse from his parents...'

There was something deliberate about every movement the boy made, she realised as she watched him. The psychiatrists who had been assigned to his case made a lot of mention of his obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but this was the first time she saw it in action. His pale hands brushed the cover of the book delicately as he worked on centring it perfectly on the table, and once it seemed to his liking, he stared at it and took off a dark hair that was clinging to the binding, smiling lightly until he noticed that she was looking at him. Turning slowly, he looked at her emotionlessly with those icy eyes, and she felt a chill run down her spine. No wonder all of the children at his school had taken to calling him Jack the Ripper.

'It is the decision of the court to release Jackson Rippner into the care of his aunt, Edith Liddell, of Schenectady.'

Jackson's handcuffs jarred loudly against the armrest as the train built up speed again, and he leaned over onto his elbow again. Folding down, the social worker started collecting a few things that were under the seat, looking over at Jackson's feet, which were dangling a good few inches off of the floor. Such a tiny boy, thin and pale, seemingly harmless and weak, and he'd managed to kill both of his parents. When asked frantically about what happened by his neighbours, he'd seemed more concerned with the state of the kitchen than the condition of his parents. The psychiatrists believed it may have had something to do with denial of his act, but his aunt assured them that he'd been that way all of his life.

'Hello, 911? This is Edith Liddell. I have an emergency. My... my nephew has a knife, and he's trying to kill my son! We're in a different room than him now, but my son is bleeding and we need help! Please, please send someone, fast!'

So now, on his eleventh birthday, Jackson was being transported from a home life in Schenectady to a supervised group home in Orangeburg at Rockland Children's Psychiatric Centre. Considered to be dangerous since the attack on his cousin a few days earlier, he was to always be restrained and was not permitted the use of silver cutlery. The psychiatrists at the centre were excited to hear of his coming, for they believed from reading about the boy that he could help them on their research regarding the effect child abuse has on the subject, dissociative identity disorder in children, generalised anxiety disorder in children, and obsessive compulsive disorder in children. In other words, he was 'a great find.'

'Yes, Mrs Liddell, we know exactly where to place Jackson. He'll be very safe and very happy, and he'll be no threat to others.'

The train finally stopped at the nearly snowbound Croton-on-Hudson station and his social worker quickly undid the handcuffs from the armrest and slipped one side onto her own wrist. Grabbing a meagre bag of Jackson's things from the overhead rack, she led him out to the platform where she knew orderlies from the Children's Psychiatric Centre would be waiting. Their feet crunched on fresh snow, and the social worker was surprised to feel Jackson suddenly grab her around the waist fearfully. Before she had a chance to look down and talk to him, however, a burly man walked up.

'Is this Jackson Rippner?'

'Yes,' she said, reaching down a hand to push him forward. 'He's an escape artist, so you better be prepared.'

'We are,' said the man with certainty as he led them to the edge of the platform and down a flight of stairs. Waiting in the car park was an ambulance, and as they came up behind it, another orderly jumped out of the driver's seat and walked around to open the back. The social worker was taken aback by the stretcher waiting inside.

'Is it really necessary to go that far?' she asked in a small voice. 'He may be really good at getting away, but he's only eleven.'

'State law,' the second orderly replied tersely as he helped them up into the ambulance. 'Anyone being transferred to a psychiatric hospital must be in restraint.'

For a split second after she removed the handcuffs, the social worker was convinced that Jackson was going to run away, but the orderlies were quick enough to grab him and lay him out on the bed that he had no choice but to stay with them. They swiftly closed the padded restraints around his wrists, ankles, and waist--all were nearly too big for the tiny boy--and then stepped out of the back, pulling the social worker with them before they slammed the doors shut on Jackson. After a short farewell, the two men got into the cab, and soon they were driving away, leaving the social worker standing in the snow alone.

---

By the time they arrived at the psychiatric hospital, snow had started falling once again. One of the orderlies carried Jackson from the ambulance and into the building; Jackson, still frozen from the cold of the back of the ambulance, didn't fight against the man's warm arms, and rather curled slightly into him as the blustery snow melted on his back. The man, who had a couple of children at home, felt sorry for the boy, but experience at the hospital told him that he was just the same as any other child who feigned innocence. Regardless, he just held him closer as the nurses opened the door for him.

'Jackson Rippner,' the orderly said as he kept a firm grip on Jackson.

'Dr Thomas is waiting for him,' said the nurse behind the counter, ticking off a box on her schedule. 'She's with the other new children in the games room.'

The orderly nodded and walked down the hallway, slipping Jackson onto the floor as they reached a door with tempered glass. Jackson--short for his age at four feet, four inches--craned his head up to look in the door, his arms tight across his chest. The man opened the door for him and led him to a middle-aged doctor with long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. With a smile, she bent down to him and put an hand on his upper arm.

'Hello, Jackson, I'm Dr Thomas. How are you today?'

Jackson stared at her for a few long moments, so she just made a little laughing noise and stood, pulling him to her legs with a hand on his chest as she spoke to the orderly. Looking about the room with a great amount of distaste, Jackson tried to size up the other children. There were seven others watching television on the other side of the room, three boys and four girls, and they all in general seemed to be hesitant to mingle with one another. A couple of nurses were sitting near the group of children, neither too concerned with the behaviour. As the orderly left, Jackson turned his attention to the door before he was pushed towards the other children by Dr Thomas. After turning off the television, she smiled at the group.

'Children, this is Jackson Rippner. He just came down here from Albany.'

'Jackson Rippner?' snorted one of the children. 'Sounds like Jack the Ripper.'

Jackson bristled and tensed against Dr Thomas's touch, but she kept him firmly in place. 'Patrick, that's not very nice. Apologise to Jackson.'

Patrick rolled his eyes. 'Sorry, Jack.'

A couple of the children laughed, pressing their hands against their mouths as they did so. Jackson glared at each of them in turn, which made of one of the laughing girls gasp. Dr Thomas squeezed Jackson's arm.

'Jackson, why don't you introduce yourself to the group.'

She pushed him forward and he stumbled a bit, which made the children laugh again, but he regained his composure quickly.

'My name is Jackson, and it's never Jack,' he said, coldness dropping of of each syllable. 'My parents are dead, and I was sent here today because my aunt decided she didn't want me in her house anymore.'

'How old are you, Jackson?' prodded Dr Thomas.

'I turned eleven today,' he spat, giving her a glare as he frowned.

'I wouldn't want you in my house either,' said one of the other boys smugly.

'She didn't want me there anymore because I tried to kill my cousin,' Jackson replied with a grin before Dr Thomas could intervene.

Silence fell over the group and the girl who had gasped earlier looked between Jackson and the boy before breaking down in tears. A nurse went over to her and led her out of the room without a word. A couple of the other children shifted uncomfortably in their seats, none of them looking Jackson in the face.

'I killed my parents too, but it was much more of a Lizzie Borden-like murder than a Jack--'

'Jackson!' hissed the doctor, her immense displeasure frightfully apparent in her voice.

'Sorry, Dr Thomas,' he said, turning around to give her an innocent smile.

The doctor looked over at the other nurse who was in the room before continuing. 'Everyone, please introduce yourselves to Jackson. Amy, why don't you start?'

In response, the Asian girl the doctor spoke to shook her head quickly, rubbing scarred arms nervously as she avoided Jackson's eyes. He laughed at her, and she looked up at him with tears stinging her eyes, which just made him laugh louder, even as Dr Thomas came up behind him and tried to cover his mouth with her hand.

'Stop it, you f*cking nut case!' said a tall, well-developed girl as she scooted over to Amy on the couch, putting her arms around the other girl.

'Paula!' said the doctor, pressing her hand hard against Jackson's lips as he continued laughing. 'Jackson, sit down.'

Immediately, Jackson fell silent and walked over to sit on the couch next to Amy, who scooted closer to Paula to get away from him. The children all looked at him unhappily, but it was one of the boys that spoke first.

'I don't want to room with him, Dr Thomas. Please don't make me room with him.'

'All of the boys will be rooming together,' she said, then pointed at the boy, who was opening his mouth again. 'No ifs, ands, or buts.'

The boy closed his mouth and gave Jackson a dirty look that was returned in kind.

---

Please leave reviews at www.fanfiction.net/s/2645964/2/ !

[pseudo]

'The kids from room eight haven't come down for breakfast,' a fidgety nurse said to the head nurse.

'Room eight?' the woman repeated. 'I saw Louis and Campbell.'

'No, the other two boys, Jackson and Patrick.'

The head nurse paused and stared at the other woman. 'Jackson Rippner's supposed to be under special watch, you know that. Why isn't there someone watching him?'

Without even waiting for an answer, Head Nurse Douglas left the nurses station and started out towards the building where their most famous inmate was being held. His fame really hadn't dwindled much since he arrived with double homicide and attempted murder painting his hands two years earlier. Although the psychiatrists had made him drop the early habit of head-butting anyone who made fun of him by calling him Jack the Ripper, at least twice a month he got into fights with other children or tried to escape, even if he was in a straitjacket. Soon after he arrived, he'd tried to kill a roommate by asphyxiating the poor boy with a pillow, so he'd lived in solitary for a few months. Unlike most of the patients, he was never a danger to himself, but almost constantly was a danger to others and show any remorse for his actions--he never even lied about doing them, which caused the lead psychiatrist to devote amazing amounts of time to the study of the boy.

She came to the door to Jackson's room and opened it almost hesitantly, jumping as she nearly ran into Jackson, who was looking up at her with a devious smile, those cold eyes amused by something.

'Good morning, Nurse Douglas.'

'Good morning, Jackson. Where's Patrick?'

Jackson's smile widened and he tipped his head a little at her. 'He's just... hanging around.'

'Jackson...' she said dangerously, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him deeper into the room with her. 'Oh... oh Jesus.'

Frantically, she pressed the nurse call button on the wall before wrapping her arms around the waist of the boy who was suspended from the upper bunk by one of Jackson's school uniform ties. Supporting him, she felt around for the knot only to find that Jackson had tied some terrible monstrosity of a knot that she couldn't determine the beginning or end of. At that moment, however, Jackson's doctor and a team of nurses appeared. Without a second thought, the thirteen-year-old walked over to his doctor and stood beside him, watching as the nurses fussed themselves over the unconscious boy hanging from the bed. One cut Jackson's tie and he sighed angrily.

'That was a good tie.'

The doctor put his hand on Jackson's shoulder and watched Nurse Douglas give the boy CPR until he coughed raggedly. Glaring up at the two of them, she spoke.

'Get Jackson out of here now,' she said, fury behind every word.

The man closed his hand around Jackson's shoulder and led him out of the room towards his office. The boy was silent the entire time, obviously still seething the entire time about his plan being foiled, but not showing it on his face. They came to a heavy oak door and the doctor pushed Jackson in before him, slamming the door and locking it behind both of them. Without a word, he went around and closed the heavy curtains, and the room was bathed in darkness until he clicked on his desk lamp.

'You're upset, Dr Greene.'

The dark-haired man came around the desk and sat in a chair across from Jackson, who was now sitting with his legs Indian-style with his elbows on his knees. 'It's one thing if you try to escape in the middle of the night, but it's another thing if you try to kill your roommate by hanging him from the bed.'

'I was going to just smother him with a pillow, but I thought that was a bit trite.'

Dr Greene pinched his lips together. 'Do you see anything wrong with what you're doing?'

'Should I?'

Inwardly, Dr Greene smiled, but he kept his professional facade. 'Killing isn't a craft for smart boys like you, Jackson.'

Amusement flickered across Jackson's face. 'That's an odd way to phrase that, doctor.'

Dr Greene leaned slipped forward on his chair and rested his elbows on his knees like Jackson. He stared at the boy, who slowly leaned in so that their faces were only about half a foot apart. 'You need to stop this behaviour or we won't be able to release you on time.'

'Release me in time for what?' Jackson asked, narrowing his eyes.

Breaking his gaze, Dr Greene stood and walked around his desk, settling down in the plush leather chair and rolling open one of the drawers. He pulled out a slightly battered envelope and threw it under the lamp so that Jackson could see the Michigan postmark. Uncrossing his legs, Jackson leaned forward and laid a hand on the manilla envelope, tipping it slightly towards him so he could read it.

'Leelanau School?' he asked before looking back at Dr Greene. 'What is this?'

'A boarding school in Glen Arbor,' Dr Greene replied, steepling his fingers. 'We send a lot of our prospectives there.'

Jackson took the envelope and slipped it into his lap, looking at the seal of the school -- a large L encapsulated in a double circle with oak and pine leaves tapping the crux of the letter. 'I'm afraid I don't understand, doctor.'

'You aren't meant to,' the doctor said, raising his eyebrows. 'All that you need to know is that you need to stop this childish behaviour soon.'

An extemporaneous laugh escaped Jackson's lips and he gave Dr Greene an incredulous look. 'Is that a threat?'

'Would you like it to be?'

Jackson's eyebrow twitched and he ripped open the envelope. 'What makes me a prospective to go to this school?'

'Everything is according to a psychological test administered by myself and some of the nurses,' he said. 'A Swiss test.'

'Swiss test,' Jackson repeated, pulling out the school information and scanning it over. 'I'm not going to get any more information, am I?'

'I don't trust you that much.'

His bright eyes flittered up to Dr Greene for just a moment before he went back to reading. The high school was indeed different, focusing more on individual strengths rather than straight teaching subjects. What was most important, however, was that the entire day was scheduled to the minute. He could see what Dr Greene was attempting here; the doctor knew that any unused time was time that Jackson could use to, say, hang his roommate from a bed with his private school tie.

'We're going to go ahead and place you in a single room,' Dr Greene said, interrupting Jackson's reading. 'You've already tried to kill two roommates, so--'

'I had my reasons.'

Dr Greene twisted a pen in his hand. 'That's not the point.'

'Pacta sunt servanda,' he said softly, not looking up from the school catalogue.

The man froze, looking at Jackson with wide eyes. 'What did you say?'

'Pacta sunt servanda,' Jackson repeated, looking up at the doctor. 'Agreements--'

'--must be honoured,' the doctor finished. 'I'm very familiar with the phrase.'

Jackson rolled his eyes before looking back down. 'Then why ask me the meaning? You know, I don't think I've noticed anyone else being sent to this school.'

'Whose agreements are you honouring?' Dr Greene said, leaning hard on his desk.

'You know how it is...' Jackson said, closing the catalogue and then slipping it neatly back into the envelope. 'You're a professional. We take everything in confidence.'

Almost as if it had been prearranged, there was a loud knocking at the door and Greene gave Jackson a surprised look as he just smiled contentedly. Greene stood and crossed the room, watching the unmoving Jackson as he went to the door. The knocking continued until Greene unlocked the door, revealing a frantic nurse.

'Doctor, we need you immediately,' the nurse said, shifting from foot to foot. 'We were unable to stabilise the patient, and we're having to take him off to the hospital. He...'

She looked beyond the doctor to the back of Jackson's head.

'Oh, sir, I didn't realise that you had a patient...'

Jackson turned around to look at the doctor and nurse with smugness. 'You heard her, doctor. Best be getting on now.'

Greene clenched his jaw. 'Nurse, please take Mr Rippner to solitary confinement. I'd like him in a Posey until I have a chance to talk to him.'

The woman looked at the calm boy and then back at the doctor questioningly, but she had no choice but to take the head psychiatrist's demands. 'Yes sir.'

Dr Greene left the room, and within a couple of minutes, two orderlies showed up with a straitjacket. Jackson didn't fight them until he was completely bound, at which time he started laughing and had to be carried to his confinement.

---

It was nearly lunch time when there was finally noise outside of Jackson's room. His stomach was growling and he was vaguely regretting the timing of the morning's incident. At first, he thought it was just a nurse coming to check on him, but soon Dr Greene's familiar face appeared in the slot, his eyes look absolutely enraged. The slot cracked shut once he saw that Jackson was seated on the other side, and within moments he stepped in the room, crossing quickly to pull Jackson up by the front of his straitjacket.

'This isn't a time for your f*cking games, Jackson,' the man hissed, shoving Jackson up against one of the padded walls. 'How are you going to explain that you killed your roommate?'

'I didn't kill him,' said Jackson, his lips moving very deliberately with each word.

'What the hell do you mean?' the doctor said, pressing him harder to the wall.

'I arranged the entire operation, but I didn't kill him,' Jackson said with a self-indulgent grin.

Dr Greene dropped the slight thirteen-year-old and backed up a couple of steps. Jackson tipped his head to the side a bit, but the questioning look didn't spread beyond that. He seemed vaguely proud of himself for a successful job, but other than that, nothing else seemed to register. He didn't even appear to be afraid of the consequences of his actions.

'What's wrong, Dr Greene?' he asked, leaning forward a little with a demure smile. 'Won't this improve the results of your Swiss test?'

Greene frowned.

'I've seen my files,' Jackson murmured, and there was a pop as he dislocated his shoulder and started making his way out of his straitjacket. 'The results of my little test. Unable to make meaningful relationships with peers, a non-ability to trust others, yet incredibly bright and manipulating. What exactly is La société mondiale des investigateurs privés?'

Jackson managed to get the buckles of his straitjacket to the front of his body and started to unbuckle it with his teeth. Dr Greene watched him nervously, obviously trying to decide whether he should leave and alert the nurses or stay with Jackson, but as he moved to the door, Jackson stopped immediately and let out a low growl. Greene's hand stopped right before he rapped on the door, and he turned around to look at Jackson, who was looking his most malicious.

'You didn't answer my question, doctor,' he growled, snapping his shoulder back into place before throwing the straitjacket to the side.

'That's not for now, Jackson. Now what we need to worry about is finding a way to get you out of this mess,' he said, leaning back against the door, attempting to look calm as Jackson gave him a terrifying look. 'You have to tell me who made you do this. In the future, you can subscribe to professional secrecy, but at this point, you have no support structure to get you out of your punishment.'

'What does it matter if I get caught up in punishment?' he asked, leaning back against the wall egotistically. 'Punishment has never actually punished me before.'

'You're being c*cky. Think logically.'

Under Dr Greene's hazel glare, Jackson reviewed outcomes. Stay silent, and he could be institutionalised for many more years without a hope for parole or release, but he would also gain the trust of his employer. But what was the use of the trust of one woman if he had no chance to build his résumé outside of a state-run children's psychiatric facility in southern New York? His eyes clouded, and Dr Greene saw that he could announce the victory.

'Jackson,' he said softly, walking over and bending down to his eye level. 'Who hired you for this murder?'

---

'It was Martha Webster, Patrick's mother,' said Jackson to the court.

The courtroom was mostly empty, the proceedings being slightly hush-hush because of the persons involved. In fact, there was a hesitancy to do any sort of court case until it was announced that Jackson would be considered a witness to the plaintiff, Patrick's father William. Shortly after Patrick's death, Jackson had given a statement, which was signed by Dr Philip Greene to establish legality, that said he was paid by Martha Webster to arrange for her son's death through any means possible.

'And how did you manage to arrange this murder?' asked William Webster's barrister, pacing in front of the stand.

'Manipulation,' Jackson answered, but after a moment of silence, he realised that he was expected to give a fuller answer. 'I convinced one of the boys down the hall to give me a dose of the codeine he keeps hidden under his bed, and in return, I promised not to tell the nurses about it.'

'And you used this codeine to...?'

'I dropped the codeine into the medicine cup the nurses brought around every morning for him. It looked a lot like one of the pills he always took, so I was able to switch them out relatively easily,' he explained. 'It of course made him tired, so he thought he was sick and went back to bed.'

'I see,' said the barrister, putting a hand to his chin. 'Now, Mr Rippner, how is it that you didn't kill Patrick Webster?'

'I had the same boy hang Patrick from the bed.'

'But Patrick Webster didn't die from asphyxiation.'

'No, he didn't.'

'Will you tell us then how he died?'

'Certainly,' Jackson replied with a creepy little smile. 'When the nurses all rushed in, one of them was the one I convinced to inject him with the fluid that ended up killing him. As she held him up, she stabbed a syringe into him.'

'So Sharena Douglas was the murderer?'

Jackson rolled his eyes. 'No, don't be stupid. Nurse Douglas can't be swayed to do anyone's bidding. She won't even allow for five extra minutes before lights out.'

The judge laughed lightly.

'The nurse was Lauren Gates.'

'Lauren Gates,' the barrister repeated, seemingly for the court reporter's sake. 'How were you able to manage to convince her to do that for you?'

The same little smile came over his face. 'I promised that I wouldn't tell Dr Greene about our illicit affair.'

---

Please leave reviews at www.fanfiction.net/s/2645964/3/ !

[cgoddess]

mmm, delicious. Little Jackson is so evil.

Or just...sociopathic. Either way. <3

[Pukkina]

Wow. Kinda makes me scared of little boys. And not just because they look like chickens, either.

[mrsscarecrow]

oh god, today i've just finished reading all proxy and started part #2 of the trilogy...THAT'S AMAZING!!!! I DO REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVE IT!!! you are a genious, no doubt!!!!
I'm gonna leave a comment on fanfiction.net as soon as possible