Deviant- adj. Differing from a norm or from the accepted standards of society.

n. One who differs from a norm, especially a person whose behavior and attitudes differ from accepted social standards ).


The courtroom was so perfectly still that one could hear a pin drop. On a normal day in court, this might be due to the judge or some other courtroom official demanding "order" in the courtroom; but the reason for this had nothing to do with the respect for the judge, or for any other courtroom official. It had to do with a single statement brought about by the prosecution.

"Well, this is quite an interesting scenario, isn't it, Mr. Callahan?" the young lady prosecuting attorney said simply, her eyes drifting from the defense attorney to whom she had just spoken, to her client, and back again. "Seems almost as if we should just switch places and continue on with the trial."


Wesley Connor watched the victim as she sat in the interrogation room hungrily looking for signs of fear or uncertainty, but strangely finding none. His colleague, a detective named Bethany Noles sat with the girl, trying to calm her down.

That was the part Wesley found most strange: Though the girl was ranting and crying, she didn't really seem so much afraid as upset. The specific facial features that portrayed the trueness of fear stayed blank of her young form, but she remained convincing, even to him. Oh was she ever convincing.

Wesley's eyes stayed locked on the girl in the room until he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. He knew the pattern; knew how it was. Only one person walked that way, and that was another of his colleagues; the most short-tempered detective he had every met. Christian Anderson.

Glancing over, Wesley scanned the form of the "newbie," studying him for a moment, from his rebel-like appearance to his ever-brooding facial expression. He looked the same, as always: Shirt not tucked in, tie undone. With his arms crossed, he stared straight ahead into the interrogation room.

"Anderson," Wesley said, acknowledging the man who stood beside him. "I thought you had today off."

"I did," the man snarled, his eyes leaving the interrogation room to look at Wesley. He glared at the psychologist for a moment. "Got called in."

"I see," Connor replied, unsure of what else to say. Being around the man made him slightly uncomfortable. Running a hand through his wavy red hair, he smiled unsurely over at the young detective.

"This girl," Anderson said, nodding in the general direction of where the girl sat in the interrogation room, "what's she doing here?"

"Ah." What hint of a smiled Wesley may have had on his face faded quickly. "She arrived about twenty minutes ago, crying hysterically. I'm not sure how she even knows where our precinct is, but she stumbled in here and practically ran into Bethany's arms. Girl kept muttering something about her boyfriends' older brother."

"He raped her?" Anderson asked, his face contorting in disgust. He assumed rape, because, after all, he had been assigned to a precinct that specialized in dealing with sexually based crimes.

Wesley shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I can't tell."

Christian Anderson turned to fact the psychologist, his eyebrows raised in surprised. "What do you mean 'I can't tell'?" he asked incredulously.

"Just look at her," was the response. "She's either a brilliant kid with a textbook knowledge of how to play this out, or she really is hurt. Like I said . . . . I can't tell. We'll just have to wait for Bethany to come out and tell us the story."

"Why can't we just push the button that does that microphone thingy?" the young detective asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Because the girl wouldn't tell Beth what happened unless we promised not to listen in." Wesley looked over at Anderson. "I know it's not like Bethany isn't going to tell us what happened anyway, but the girl insisted. Couldn't very well just tell her no, now could we?"

Anderson made no reply to the question, which he assumed was rhetorical anyway. The man just shook his head and walked off leaving the psychologist to analyze the girl in peace. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked, seeing Wesley's back turned to him as the slightly older man stared once again into the interrogation room.


"Sweetie, just tell me what happened," Bethany Noles said as amiably as she could. She was beginning to lose her patience with the girl. Twenty minutes and all she had gotten out of the girl was hysterical crying as she muttered incomprehensible words.

But the girl just shook her head again. She had her knees drawn to her chest, her head on her knees, and her arms around her legs as she cried, rocking back and forth slightly. She was still muttering something about wanting something to stop.

When the detective could take no more, she let out a heavy sigh and stood up, pushing the chair back slightly as she did so. All this and she hadn't even gotten the girl's name. Bethany had no idea what she was supposed to do; the girl had given her nothing to work with.

Turning, Beth walked out of the interrogation room and back into the main hall of the precinct she worked in, shaking her head as she walked out.

Wesley's eyes were locked on her, and, for a moment, he contemplated asking her how things went. But when he saw he facial expression, he no longer needed to ask that question. "That bad, huh?"

"You try," Bethany said tiredly, rubbing her eyes despairingly, having to mover her frameless glasses out of her way to do so.

"Me?" Wesley yelped. He too had been assigned to the precinct, and didn't particularly enjoy trying to calm crazy teenage girls down from hysteria. It was one of many reason he had never had children. He didn't think himself good with kids.

Hearing a snort from behind him, Wesley turned to see Anderson standing there. "Come on, you are a psychologist after all. Shouldn't you be able to handle this?"

The redhead looked into the interrogation room where the girl sat, still crying, and felt his head sink. The poor thing. He just couldn't comprehend how anyone would want to hurt someone so innocent looking.

"All right," he whispered, his back still turned to his colleagues, his eyes still on the girl. Reluctantly, he began to back away from the one-sided window. He headed for the door, opened it, and stepped in, feeling his heart rate increase almost instantaneously.

"Hello," the man said nervously, sitting across from the girl. He straightened his black tie and then rested his elbows on the table, trying to give off the impression that he cared but was still being very, very professional about his work.

The girl bought it, looking up at him as she sniffed pitifully before rearranging herself slightly. She looked at him for a moment, feeling a heavy weight on her heart. Well, she had to tell someone, right? This man looked like he would understand. "Hey," she replied in a raspy voice.

"I'm Wesley Connor. What's your name?" He smiled sadly at the girl, wondering how her parents were going to take the news that their little girl had been harmed. He already knew what she was going to say, but it was a matter of getting her to say it. Psychoanalysis didn't count as evidence in court.

"I'm A-Amanda Regal." The girl, appearing nervous to Wesley, reached out her hand, inviting him to shake it. She didn't even pull back or flinch slightly when he reached out to take her hand. He shook it softly for barely a moment before letting go. Something about her unnerved him.

"Would you like to tell me why you came here?" Connor asked as sweetly as he could. "Not many people know the specific location of our precinct."

"I was just looking for a police station that was close by. They say girls have to wait in line for an hour just to report a rape in other places, so I wanted to find one that was less crowded." The girl shrugged her tiny shoulders softly, her water filled eyes never leaving Wesley's.

"So you were raped?" Wesley asked softly, suddenly feeling as if the room were too small.

Amanda immediately turned her head from him and started to cry softly, again hiding her face from view. "He tried. I didn't mean for it to happen. I-I just wanted to talk to them about F-F-Franklin."

"Just wanted to talk to whom?"


Wesley Connor stepped out to the room about a half hour later, feeling as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Having been transferred to this precinct only a year ago, he still found himself unusually affected by the stories of the victims. The feeling never went away until the conclusion of the case, at which point, all of the criminals had thus far been put in jail and or prison for their crimes.

Bethany and Christian, with the addition of their captain, Nathan Davis, all stood in front of the window, looking into the interrogation room at the girl named Amanda Regal.

"Captain," Wesley said shyly, looking up at the large man, wondering what he was going to say.

"What happened in there, Connor?"


Seven miles away . . .

"Ed?" a black-haired boy with a Mohawk and black-framed glasses stood in the doorway of his kitchen and stared at his brother, who simply sat at a buffet table, his eyes downcast. The black-haired boy walked into the kitchen curiously as well as worriedly, pushing his black-framed glasses up on his nose as he did so.

"What do you want, Franklin?" Ed asked miserably, peering over at the small form of his eighteen-year-old brother, not knowing what to do or say.

"What's wrong?" Franklin asked sympathetically, taking a seat beside his brother.

"I just did something very, very stupid."


Back at the precinct . . .

Wesley fidgeted nervously, biting his lip and taking a deep breath before he started to explain what the girl had told him. "I didn't get too much," he said miserably.

"More than I did, I'm sure," Bethany muttered, crossing her arms over her chest much like Anderson always did, though she had more of a good nature to it. She smiled at him. "Give yourself some credit, little man. You have a way with getting people to trust you. Why do you think you were assigned to this particular precinct?"

"Little man . . ." Anderson muttered from behind Wesley, a slight smile on his features. He reached out and ruffled the redhead's hair a bit.

Wesley smiled back at Bethany, but only slightly and only for a moment. "Her name is Amanda Regal, from what she told me. And basically she said she was raped by her boyfriend's older brother and his best friend."

"Get their names?" the captain, Nathan Davis asked, glaring down at the slightly petite form of the psychologist.

The redhead shrugged a little. "Not exactly. She only knew one of their names for sure, and that's probably only because it's her boyfriends brother. She said his name was Edward DelRose. The other one she said she thought his first name was Kyle or something like that."


Earlier that day . . .

Milton High School.

1:24 pm

"So does he have a nice ass or what?" Franklin asked his friend Jeff toward the end of the school day, making sure that the boy he was talking about wasn't in earshot.

"Can't argue with that one, baby." Jeff grinned. "But since when have you ever fallen for a preppy boy like that?"

The black-haired boy shrugged. "Since today, I guess. Damn, he's so effeminate too; perfect feminine body structure; facial structure of a doll. You just can't go wrong looking like that."

"Guess not."

Franklin leaned back against the row of lockers, smiling up at Jeff with a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. "I feel like I could write a million songs now."

"Good. You've been slacking lately, and Scott's getting pissed. He hates having to sing the same three songs over and over again because . . . oh, what was that? Oh, right. 'Just because DelRose can't find inspiration for some new songs, I'm stuck singing the same three every single time we have a fucking gig. I'm sick of it, man.'"

Franklin laughed. "Yeah, that's Scott for you, though. High maintenance as all hell. He's probably the reason I've never been really interested in dating chicks. That boy has PMS hardcore."

"Who has PMS?" a girl close by asked. She looked up at Franklin and batted her contact-blue eyes, making his mind instantly revert to thinking about the little blonde boy he had a crush on.

"No one," Jeff replied angrily, glaring at her as if he felt that she should not be there.

The girl merely raised an eyebrow at him. "And just who do you think you're talking to? I know you didn't just speak to me like that!"

"Actually," Jeff started to say in a falsely sweet voice, "I did."

"Well, why don't you just go away and find some little boy to molest, you stupid faggot? Franklin and I have things to discuss that don't involve you being here. So, shoo."

Franklin and Jeff exchanged glances.

"Right, and who are you again?" Franklin asked, staring at the girl as if she were crazy.

"Amanda Regal, duh! I'm like the head cheerleader and stuff. I'm totally popular."

"And we're not, so if you don't mind, would you go back to your 'popular' friends and bug them instead?" Jeff asked.

"How about you just shut up? Don't you realize that you aren't good enough to talk to me?" Amanda said, putting the palm of her hand up to silence Jeff.

"Alright, cut to the chase," Franklin said, glaring at the girl.

"We're going out on Friday. I need someone hot, who's in a band, to be my escort to this really cool party that this Ed guy is throwing at his house." The girl smiled at Franklin, who just stared.

"Yeah, I know about that. Ed's my brother. How'd you get invited to his party?" he asked, pretending to be curious.

"Duh, didn't I already tell you that I'm popular? You simpletons are so cute sometimes!"

"Right . . ." Franklin said, completely in awe of how clueless the girl was. "Well, I'm sorry, but I've already got a date there."

"So ditch her," Amanda said firmly.


"Fine!" The girl turned around, flipped her hair, and walked haughtily away.

Franklin and Jeff just stared at each other for a moment before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my god, who does she think she's kidding?" Franklin asked, gasping for air before he started to laugh again.

"I have no idea! But that was hilarious."


Present . . .

DelRose house . . .

"Well," Franklin said nervously, "I take it from the way that crazy Amanda girl stormed out of here that things didn't go as planned?"

Ed just shook his head softly, not even looking over at his brother when he replied. "Go to bed, Frank. You've got school in the morning."

"You didn't even stay outside long enough for my band's performance," the boy said sadly.

"I know. I'm sorry, kiddo. I meant to be right back, I swear." Ed reached his hand over to ruffle what little hair his brother still had. He smiled unenthusiastically at the boy.

"Ed, what's wrong?" Franklin asked in a half-demanding voice. "I'm your brother, remember? You can tell me."

"She freaked out on me when I told her that you would never be interested in dating her," Ed started in a monotonous voice. He frowned deeply, thinking back on the events of the night. "She just kept ignoring me and going on about how hot you are and shit. And I got pissed 'cause, well, you know . . ." Ed looked over at his brother, who blushed slightly.

"Did you tell her?"

"No, I didn't. I don't think she would have believed me if I had anyway. Girl is fucking crazy," Ed muttered.

"I told you she was."

"Go to bed, Frank," Ed repeated, standing up. He put his hand lightly on the younger boy's shoulder and led him up the stairs and to his room. "I'll clean up. Just do me a favor and don't say anything to Mom and Dad. If they find out we had a party, you know we'll both be literally screwed in the ass. Um . . . no pun intended there, by the way."

"Whatever, you asshole!" Franklin laughed good-naturedly, sticking up his middle finger at his brother.

"Love you too, Frank. Night."

"Yeah, night."


At the precinct

12:30 am . . .

Wesley sat down with Bethany, looking over the FBI files that he had obtained about Edward DelRose, and finding them to be extremely favorable, all in all, which wouldn't help their case against him in the least.

"Nothing." Wesley sighed. "This guy doesn't have so much as a misdemeanor on his record."

Bethany shrugged her small, girlish shoulders. She had taken off her business suit jacket and high heels long ago "Doesn't mean he didn't do it."

"I know, but it makes it even more difficult for us to make a case against him, seeing as Ms. Regal absolutely refused to have a rape kit done." Wesley smiled sadly. "I really don't blame her though. I think she's had enough humiliation for one night, if you ask me."

It was well after working hours, but the two wanted to try to string something together by morning so that they could head off the investigation with relative ease and get something done about this attacker.

"Hey, Beth," Wesley said softly after a few minutes of silence, watching the woman who sat across from him, looking incredibly thoughtful.

"Hmm?" she asked without looking up from her computer screen. She was researching cases similar to that of Amanda Regal's.

"What in the world are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? I'm doing the same thing you are—trying to figure out how the hell to go about this." The woman looked up for a moment, just to give Wesley a skeptical glance. "Why do you ask?"

The redhead shrugged, even though he knew she wasn't looking at him to see the gesture. "Well, you're young. Shouldn't you be out with your friends or something?"

Bethany looked up and stared at Wesley. "I guess so."

Connor smiled sadly, wanting to say more, but understanding from the point of a psychologist that from the lack of a real explanation, the subject was well off-limits. He sighed softly and returned to his research.


Later that morning

The DelRose household . . .

Franklin woke up with a massive headache: A result of his late-night partying after one of the best performances his band had given to date. His brother had thrown it for him, celebrating the fact that the band, Deviant, had been invited to play at a local hot spot on the weekend.

But now he wasn't too sure that the party last night had been worth the hangover this morning. Sure there had been a lot of people there, and the party had been relatively awesome (save for that Amanda girl being there,) but this headache . . .

Getting up, the black-haired boy walked down the hall and into the family bathroom, going straight to the white, mirrored medicine cabinet that hung on the wall just above the sink. He opened it slowly, but not before eyeing his reflection with slight distaste, wishing that he were as good-looking as the lead singer of his band, Scott Thompson. He always got all the girls.

Shrugging in response to his thoughts, the boy opened the medicine cabinet and scanned the shelves, looking for something powerful that would last. He found over-the-counter pain relievers of all kinds, as well as a few prescription medications. So much for finding some good headache medicine . . .

Franklin grabbed two pills from a random bottle of over-the-counter medication and left the bathroom in search of something to drink, and that something was definitely going to be nonalcoholic.

Heading down the stairs of his two-story home, the black-haired boy walked to his kitchen and opening the fridge in search of something that actually looked appealing. Sticking his head inside, he looked around to find a variety of sodas and some milk.

"Hangover?" someone said from behind him.

Franklin, startled, jumped up and smacked his head off the roof of the refrigerator; letting out a loud yelp when he realized his head had met the hard surface.

"Ouch!" the boy whined, removing his head from inside and turning around to come face-to-face with his twenty-two-year-old brother. "Don't sneak up on me like that, damn you!"

The older male laughed and grinned at his sibling. "You okay, kiddo?"

Franklin eyed his brother. "Fine. You?"

"Living," his brother, Ed, replied, winking playfully at him. "So, you gonna make a move on that pretty boy or what?"

"I can't wait until you go back to college," Franklin growled, not being entirely truthful.

"Oh, I'm so hurt!" Ed said dramatically, covering his heart as if he had just been shot.

"Go to hell!" Franklin retorted, turning his back to his brother, returning to his search for something to drink.

"Go to school!"

"Oh shit, I forgot about that. I'm late again, aren't I?"

The black-haired boy gave up on his search to find something appealing to drink, grabbed a random brand of soda, and shut the fridge. He walked over to the cupboard to get a glass, poured some of the soda in, and before he took a drink, he threw the pills that had been clamped in his hand into his mouth.

"Put this away for me, would ya?" Franklin said, motioning to the soda bottle. "I need to go get a shower and get dressed."


Christian Anderson stretched his tired limbs and stared out jadedly into the parking lot of Milton High School, cursing his luck at somehow getting himself assigned to having to talk to all of Amanda Regal's friends.

Captain Davis had made a phone call previously, explaining that he would be sending a detective over to question a couple of the students, namely anyone closely associated with Amanda Regal, especially her boyfriend, Franklin DelRose.

As Christian stepped out of his car, nearly every girl standing outside stopped to stare at him, their mouths agape. He knew he was hot, but that didn't stop him from being annoyed. He just walked on by, trying hard to ignore their loud whispers as they pointed at him. He wasn't a morning person in the least. Even the guys, who looked at him as if he were the coolest person that ever walked into their school, were getting on his last nerve very quickly.

They must have thought he was a substitute teacher or something, because from the moment he stepped foot into the school building, random girls started walking up to him and asked who he was "in for."

Christian merely glared at him, his gruff demeanor only making the girls squeal and giggle with excitement. He really didn't understand it; what made them so fascinated. He thought to ask Wesley when he got back to the precinct, but right now he really wanted to get this over with so he could get out of this place. He had always hated high school.

Walking to the office, Anderson stepped in as the principal himself opened the door. He glared over at the man, his arms folded over his chest, and his aura giving off the overall impression that he had had a bad night.

Without so much as a word, the detective paused in the middle of the office and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The principal just stared at him as he lit up and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke rest in his lungs a second before blowing it out.

"This is going to be one hell of a day," Anderson said, smirking at the principal, as if daring him to say something.


Jinx- So this is the first chapter done of my new story. I hope it wasn't too tedious to read! ;; But anyway . . . Review and tell me if I should A.) Continue 'cause I'm cool like that or B.) Hide under the desk because I just suck.

PREVIEW: Christian gets to question some of Amanda's friends, and gets to meet Franklin for the first time. Not to mention he gets some alone time (hint, hint) with one of the precinct members. Plus some other fun stuff and lots of yaoi hinting (which comes in full-blown later!)