Back at Lance's house,
As she placed the last dish for dinner on the table, Janine called out, "Lance, dinner is ready!"
Hearing no response, she walked to his room, knocked gently, and opened the door—only to find him fast asleep on his bed. A soft smile crossed her face as she stepped inside to check on him, just like she used to when he was a little boy.
When she saw the sticky notes on his desk, she smiled again.
There was a time when their only form of communication was through sticky notes—she'd still be asleep when he left for school, and by the time she got home, he'd already be in bed. Those times were difficult, but they had pulled through it.
Her eyes glanced at Lance's right arm. Her son used to sleep on his right side, but after what happened to him that year, he had been sleeping on his right side.
######
Flashback
That year had been incredibly tough, and Janine found herself unable to meet the payments. After 3 missed payments, Mr. T and Scar had paid a visit to their small house to collect the money.
"Janine, we had an agreement," Mr. T said, his voice calm but cold. He glanced at the young boy peeking nervously from his room. "If word gets out that I let this slide, I lose my reputation. You know how this works."
He leaned forward. "Really now, your life would be so much easier if you just handed him over to me. I'd make sure he gets everything he needs."
"Never!" Janine snapped. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself then. Even so, she couldn't help trembling as she pulled her wedding ring off and slid it across the table.
"I… I have my wedding ring. Can you take that as payment for now?"
Mr. T raised his brow. "I'm surprised you are still holding onto that."
Her fingers tightened on her pants as tears welled up in her eyes. "There's no point holding on to it anymore… He's not coming back."
It was the last piece of her jewelry—and the most important piece. As the man across the table reached for the ring, memories surged through her like a tide: their laughter on the day he proposed, the warmth of his hand in hers, the vows they whispered, and the ache of his sudden disappearance.
"If this is real," he said, squinting at the stone, "it should cover around twenty grand. That's four months of payment."
Janine turned her face away, jaw tight.
But not everyone could look away.
Young Lance burst from the hallway, eyes locked on the ring. Before anyone could stop him, he lunged for it—small hands reaching desperately.
Scar moved faster.
"Behave, kid!" he growled, lifting Lance effortlessly off the floor. "Go back to your room!"
"Leave him alone!" Janine snapped, stepping forward.
"Fuck you!" Lance shouted, twisting in Scar's grip–then sank his teeth deep into the man's arm.
Scar barked in pain and, without thinking, slapped the boy hard across the face.
Janine screamed and rushed forward. "Don't touch him!"
Scar shoved her back violently. Unable to catch her footing, she stumbled and fell, crashing to the floor with a thud.
"Mum!" Lance cried out, panic flooding his voice. Then, in one wild motion, he pulled something from his pocket—a small pocketknife—and slashed it across Scar's face.
"ARGH!" Scar howled.
Blood sprayed in a vivid arc–a bright red gash splitting his face from cheek to jaw. It poured down his neck, quickly soaking the collar of his shirt.
"Hank," Mr. T said evenly, without raising his voice, "let the boy go."
"He needs to be taught a lesson," Scar snarled through clenched teeth. His eyes burnedwith fury. Then, before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Lance's arm and twisted until the sickening crack of breaking bone echoed through the room.
There was a sharp, sickening crack–followed by the child's piercing scream.
Janine froze, horror etched across her face. Her mind screamed, but her body wouldn't move – until it did. She snatched a glass from the table and hurled it at Scar with everything she had.
However, Mr. T moved fast—faster than anyone expected. He caught the glass mid-air before it hit Scar. When she lunged forward with the pocketknife that Lance dropped, he intercepted her wrist, yanking her back with cold efficiency.
"Stop," he said, voice like ice. "Do not piss me off."
He turned, slowly, to Scar, his face unreadable.
"Did I say," he asked calmly, "you could hurt the child?"
Scar's chest rose and fell, his face twisted in pain and rage. Blood continued to drip steadily from the gash on his face, pattering onto the floor every time he moved.
"He started it," Scar spat, finally dropping the sobbing boy like a rag doll.
Lance crumpled to the floor, sobbing, as he clutched his broken arm. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where the slap had landed. His body trembled, and when Scar made a sudden move, Lance scooted away, pressing himself against the wall, like a cornered animal.
Then, without warning, Mr. T choked Scar and lifted him up effortlessly even though the latter was a few inches taller and weighed more. "It seems that I have been too kind to you boys. What did I say before?"
Scar looked at him, fear in his eyes, as he tried to voice out the word. "D-don't. Move. w-with – without your or-orders."
"If I hear you went near the boy without my order," Mr. T warned, his voice cold and sharp, "something else will be cut."
Scar nodded vigorously.
Mr. T smiled gently and released him. "Now go get your face fixed. You have dirtied my hand with your blood."
Scar cast one last venomous glance at Lance, then turned and walked out..
Mr. T took out a handkerchief, and as he wiped the blood off his hand, he looked down at Lance and sighed. "You'll do very well in my world, boy."
Lance didn't answer.
The boy sat slumped against the wall, his small frame trembling, one arm cradling the other in a protective clutch. His breaths came in shallow pants, but his stare was unwavering—sharp, full of heat, and unblinking. His pupils were wide, and the whites of his eyes seemed to shimmer with something raw and dangerous. There was rage there. And defiance.
They have the same eyes, Mr. T thought as he tossed the bloody handkerchief to one of his accompanying men. He then crouched down in front of Lance and reached for the broken arm. The boy jerked back with a hiss of pain. "D-Don't touch me," he spat, though his voice trembled.
Mr. T didn't stop. Didn't scold. He pressed his fingers against the fracture with clinical efficiency, watching the way the boy tensed, fought back a scream, but refused to look away.
"Don't you touch him!" Janine yelled at Mr. T as she grabbed onto his arm tight. Her voice sharp and raw, fury blazing in her eyes as she prepared to do whatever it took. "Let him go!"
Mr. T glared at her. His icy gaze that had scared men into pissing themselves had no effect on the woman before him.
After a few seconds of impasse, he released Lance and stood up.
"You'll be fine. Good thing that you are not a musician." He then looked at one of his men. "Send the kid to the hospital."
Without waiting for anything else, Mr. T said, "Janine, make sure you don't miss the payment again, or I'll be back."
####