Who: William Hayes & Olivia Shepherd What: Olivia meets her new informant. Where: Horatio Harris Park, Boston, MA When: Backdated to 11/19, noon. Warnings: TBD
It hadn't been easy, getting away without anyone noticing. There weren't any weekends off, in the Hayes gang. Not even Sundays, the way they had once, before his parents had gotten divorced and she'd left him and his brother there with their father. She'd taken them to Mass every Sunday, once. When they were small enough that their father hadn't been all that interested in them. He'd gone a few times a year. Christmas. Easter. Most of the time, he slept in, or worked in his office, while the rest of the gang got the day off to go to church, whether they wanted to or not. Will hadn't minded Mass. There'd been something comfortable in the ritual of it, in the droning of words in a language that he didn't understand, his brother blocked between his body and his mother's so that he couldn't wiggle away and escape. There weren't any memories like that, with Kait. Her mother hadn't cared about Mass any more than Will's father ever had. Will thought, sometimes, that some of the men who'd been around for as long as Will could remember missed his mother, sometimes. Then, they'd at least gotten a day a week off.
Will had planned it carefully, his escape, in the time that he'd had since he'd gotten Olivia Shepherd's email. He'd never hidden that he went to the library to them. What he looked at while he was there, that he'd kept more of a secret, but not by telling them nothing about it. Will had very carefully covered it up, with the sort of story that they'd all believe. They thought that he liked to go there for the children's storytime. That he liked listening to the woman in charge of the children's libary read. He'd said, loud and careful and more than once, that it reminded him of his mother when she read. It might have been true. Will's mother had read to him and his little brother, every night as she'd tucked them into bed, until their father had decided that they were too old for it and that she was making them soft. No one expected Will to be too old for anything, now. No one expected him to care that a grown man shouldn't be listening to a woman reading stories to children.
He'd started bringing home books, too. Not the sort of books he actually read, in the library. Books about law. About the process of catching criminals. About the kind of evidence that you needed to bring someone in. Will had read all of those, but only while he was at the library. When he brought books home, which he made a point of doing at least once a week, it was always children's books. Not just that, but young children's books. The kind with one or two words to a page. The kind that no one wanted to look at him reading, not really, because it made them uncomfortable. It made them uncomfortable, seeing a man his age, his size, reading a book meant for a tiny child. He made a show out of laboring over them, too, those books that he'd been able to read when he was four. Of being excited, proud, when he 'figured out' a word. He'd always made a point of, when he finished one, going back for another, too.
The library had been Will's only escape for a very long time. The only place where no one bothered to follow him, except Kait, sometimes. No one cared what Will did, at the library. The librarians saw the sort of books that he checked out, but he read the other books, the books that he was actually interested in, so deep into the stacks that he'd be surprised if anyone (even Kait, who turned into a ghost the moment she joined him in the library, disappearing into a book of her own) had ever seen him so much as touch one of them. It was fine, them thinking that he was stupid. Like everyone else. The librarians were kind about it; Will almost felt bad about deceiving them. Maybe, someday, he'd be able to let them in on it. Maybe not. Maybe he'd just find a different library, when it was all over, where he could check out whatever he wanted, and never have to talk to anyone for them to realize that anything was wrong.
He'd made a point, that morning, about having his book to read on breaks, and being close to the end of it. And then, when he'd finished it, he'd started throwing a fit about wanting to go to the library and trade it in. Niall had tried to put him off, at first, but once Will started throwing a fit, he backed down quickly. Just like everyone else did, thinking that Will didn't know better. That he couldn't control his strength, or his temper. None of them had known how to handle him when he was fourteen, already big for his age, a mass of flailing knees and elbows. No one was brave enough to try to take him on now that he was a full grown man, over six feet tall and almost two hundred pounds of muscle.
That meant he'd have to go to the library, before he went back home, but that was no problem. Will would just drop off his book and grab another off the shelves, no time for browsing. No time for reading things that he actually found interesting, that he actually wanted to read. He'd bought himself about three hours, with his story of wanting to go to the library. The park where he and Olivia were meeting was a little further away than his usual trip to the library, but he'd still have plenty of time to meet with her, speak with her, and then get back to the library to exchange his book before anyone got suspicious.
It was cold, that day. Barely topping fifty. The park wasn't crowded, when Will trudged there from the nearest bus stop. A good place to meet, if you had to pick somewhere that could provide privacy, this time of the year in Boston. They'd look like any normal two people, he thought, just meeting for a walk in the park. A date, even. They were far enough from Southie that no one would know who Doyle Hayes's son was. It was a nice change. He just hoped that Olivia was as willing to keep an open mind as he thought she'd be, once she realized exactly who it was that she was meeting with. He had an unfair advantage; he knew exactly who it was that he was looking for. He wondered if she'd realize as soon as she saw him. If she'd even recognize him, from their brief meeting. If she'd be able to reconcile the man who had written to her with the one who had spoken to her in that warehouse. He'd find out, soon.