Wrath. Part 15

After all the long build-up, the exams are over in a matter of days. I think I did okay, except I could have written so much more in the English exam. I've lived with Raskolnikov for months, and I think I'm able to understand and identify with him, but I don't really write that fast.

Now I just have to wait. I've applied for the same degree course in Maths and Science at four different universities, although I don't really know what I want to do and part of me doesn't even want to think about it. I feel a bit lost now with no study. I miss the cottage; I miss Mr P; I miss Archie.

Mr Robinson peps up the sport a bit, and we play cricket every weekend. It's not really for me, but just being outside is worth all the slowness of the game. Geez, I'd shovel horse manure all day if I could be outside in the sunshine. Mr Khan asks us all to organise a concert for Christmas. Some of the guys sneer at first, but some guitars and drum kits get dragged out from somewhere, and there are auditions. It starts to be fun. We have some singers, a band and a play that's pretty stupid, but gradually, more boys start hanging around and the guards get involved too.

I read a lot now-the Buddhist books and the Bible. I can't believe they are really saying the same thing: love one another; have compa.s.sion for one another. Same message. The Buddhists spell it out pretty clearly. They have these four basic ideas: the Four n.o.ble Truths. Basically, they're saying life is difficult. They got that right. The reason it's like that is that we crave satisfaction. It's true. We're always wanting something other than what we've got.

I was once so desperate for a bike that I thought if only I had one, I'd be happy forever. Within a few months of getting it, however, it was getting rusty because I dropped it on the ground instead of putting it carefully away, and it started looking old. Then Gary got a brand new racing bike. Mine looked so c.r.a.ppy next to his, and all I could think about was getting one like his and comparing my bike to his. We lurch along all the time like that-always wanting something bigger, better, newer.

The third thing that leads on from this is that there's a way out of this endless trap for everyone. Just stop all this craving for things, this constant greed. I'll have to think about that one. Even if I'd somehow got Karol as my girlfriend, would I have gotten sick of her down the track? Found fault with her and wanted a prettier or smarter girl or whatever? People always seem so happy on their wedding day-as though they've got everything they want-but just look at how many get divorced.

The final step is a big one. It says there is a way out of all this: living a life of virtue, wisdom and meditation. Well, I haven't got much of the first two with the way I've stuffed up my life, but I love meditation. Mr P says the word comes from the same base as the word medicine'-they are both connected to healing, and some part of me feels like I'm healing.

Back to the Buddhists. Once again, they break it down for you-a real road map to follow. They call it the Eightfold Path. Basically, you don't look outside yourself for someone to wave a magic wand and make life happy; instead, you look to yourself. Jesus says the same thing: the Kingdom of Heaven is within you and available to everyone.

Anyway, I'll shut up now before I bore the c.r.a.p out of you. Just read some of those books and learn how to meditate. Think before you act. Unless, of course, you've already got it all together. But I doubt it.

I don't know how to tell you. I've sat down half a dozen times to write, but I just can't believe it, and I end up staring at the wall in amazement while my mind goes over everything again. Here goes.

Mr Khan called me in a few days ago and said that Dad wanted to see me but first wanted to make sure that I was willing to see him! I sat there, stunned. I let happiness wash through me, but there was something niggling at me. Of course. It would be like when Katy came. She can't forgive me for what I've done, and Dad will be the same. He loved Mum so much... but I have to see him. I'm prepared for everything he has to say; he won't be saying anything I haven't said to myself a thousand times.

I nod speechlessly to Mr Khan. He smiles and says, "Good. He's waiting in the visitors' room for you. You'll have it to yourself."

"Now?" I gasp. "He's here now?"

"Yes. He's been with me most of the morning." Mr Khan stands up.

"Thank you," I say stupidly and leave. I don't remember how I get down the corridor; my heart is hammering so hard, and then I'm through the door, and it's Dad-oh Jesus, Dad-and his arms are around me, and we're both laughing and crying like a pair of fools.

He steps back at last, and we look at one another. He hasn't changed a bit, except that there are a few flecks of grey in his hair and he's put on a bit of weight. I drink him in, every feature: his dark eyes, crinkled at the corners; those little white lines where he squinted into the sun and those bits haven't tanned; his big, bony nose; everything. At last we sit down.

"You've grown so much, Luca! You're nearly a man."

"I work out a bit, Dad." It feels strange but so good to be saying that word again. There's so much to talk about, but we fall silent. That heavy sense of sadness weighs me down, and I sink into a chair. Dad grips my wrists.

"I didn't think you'd see me, Luca."

"I thought you'd forgotten all about me," I whisper huskily.

"Never! Never! You've never been out of my thoughts." His voice catches, and he stops for a moment. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"What for? You and Mum broke up. You left. It happens all the time."

"What for? I abandoned you. I thought I was doing the right thing by getting out of the way. I was just thinking of myself! I saw that when...it happened. I just couldn't stand seeing you every now and then, being a part-time father. I couldn't separate you and your sister, and she couldn't leave her mother. I drove back past the house one afternoon, and Katy was with him, holding his hand and skipping along beside him, and they were both laughing away. I just a.s.sumed you felt the same way."

"No, Dad! I hated him!"

Silence.

"I know that now. I didn't know then. I didn't even think of it." Dad shakes his head. "What a terrible thing I did to you, Luca. Look at what my stupidity caused." He covers his eyes.

"No, Dad. It wasn't you. I did it."

Dad shakes his head sadly. "Katy told me what really happened. You were doing what I'd always taught you to do: trying to look after your family. Great one I was to say it. I didn't look after you at all." He lets out a long, shuddery sigh. "Can you ever forgive me, Luca?"

He's been suffering just as much as me. He blames himself for all of it. I grip his arm, feeling the strong, sinewy muscles I know so well. "Of course, Dad; of course."

His body sags for a moment, and then he sits up straight. "I've seen your lawyer and told him all that Katy told me. He took a statement from her before she left."

"What do you mean? What does it matter what I said to Katy?"

His eyes light up. "Don't you see, Luca? This changes everything."

"Nothing's changed. I killed them...both."

He sighs. "But you never explained what happened that night. It seemed like a random, vicious, drug-fuelled attack, but it wasn't. You were provoked. You thought Reid was abusing Katy, and you-a 15-year-old-ran at him in your anger, and he punched you. What you did next was self-defence."

"But I was on drugs, Dad!"

"Certainly that was a factor. The thing is, Luca, almost anyone would have acted the same way."

"But I was wrong, Dad," I hung my head, "so horribly wrong and... Mum... That shouldn't have happened." The tears are running freely down my face now, but I don't care.

Dad nods slowly. "No one acts rationally when they're filled with wrath, with rage. Your mum was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

We sit there for a long time. I hear the noise in the dining room as the boys get ready for tea. I just want to keep sitting here.

"The thing is, Luca, Mr Bloom is sure you can leave here and come home with me into my care. I've spoken to Mr Khan, and he only has good things to say about you. But it's not just up to him. There'll be a hearing..."

"Court again?" I break in.

"No, nothing like that. They'll hold it here. Maybe they'll keep you here till you're 18-I don't know-but then, Luca, then," his eyes twinkle at me again, "you'll come home."

A thrill runs through me, but at the same time, I think, Where's home? Katy had said that Dad was remarried now, but just the thought of leaving here takes my breath away for a moment. I haven't allowed myself to think about it as something that would actually ever happen, but just for this little time, I do.

"You'd need to speak to a counsel or or a psychologist, Mr Khan said, but there's a good chance, Luca; there's hope. Who knows, you could be out by the time you turn 18."

Two warring feelings are battling away inside me. I could be out in just a few months! But then that word I hate: hope. That's just fantasising, imagining something's going to be different from what you've got right now. I will myself to calm down, and I begin to breathe slowly for a few seconds till I hear the door open behind me.

"Time's up," the guard says, and Dad and I stand.

"Whatever happens, Dad, thanks for coming."

Dad bows his head. "I'll be back on Sunday. I won't desert you a second time, son." He reaches across and grips my hand, and we stand there for a moment, like two people just being introduced, and then I turn and go.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Later that night, I'm lying on my bed in that weird half-awake, half-asleep state when Aaron whispers, "You awake?"

I jerk fully awake. "Am now. What's up?"

"Sorry. Do you think I could have the other one?"

"I'll get it in a sec. Can I talk to you first, before you're off the planet?"

There's a silence for a few heart beats, and I'm just about to say, "Don't worry about it; here's your stuff," when Aaron says, "Sure."

Then out it comes. I tell him about what happened today and how good it was to see Dad. He interrupts me every now and then to ask me things like why Dad hasn't been to see me before and who Katy is so that, before I know it, he gets the whole story.

When I finish, he's quiet for a bit then says, "Do you think you'd have done it if you weren't high?"

"I'll never really know. I think maybe I'd still have tried to hurt him in some way, but the thing is I would have been aware of what I was doing; I would have seen Mum, or realised that it was her, and I would have also realised the damage I was causing. The way I was, I was just in some strange vacuum where I knew I was doing things, but I was disconnected from them. It was like they weren't real. I might have heard what Katy was saying or maybe that first belt in the face might have stopped me, but I was in a bubble, and I think that was probably the drugs." I stop. "That's why I hate drugs so much. They take your brain away. They make you like some sort of animal, really-functioning and feeling but with no control. Mr P once said to me that there is a steering wheel to your mind and you've got to be the one with your hands on the wheel, not the drugs."

"Being on drugs is like driving with no hands on the wheel," Aaron says. We lie there for a while, and then I swing my legs out of bed and go over to my desk, picking up my notes where the pill is hidden.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Not really, but I have to try sometimes. Trouble is I have tried before so many times, but I can't keep it up." He laughs drily. "I'm a weak p.r.i.c.k, Luca. I'd really like to get off it, but it seems to be the best thing in my life at the moment, and that's pretty hard to give up. But, hey, that's such good news about your Dad and everything."

We don't say anything more, and in a few minutes, I hear his breathing become even. How's he going to make it on the outside? I roll over to go to sleep, frowning a little at the thought, but the day has been too good for me to stay worried about anything tonight, and I go to sleep with a smile on my face.

Aaron's looking better. He's started taking an interest in sport again, and though I'm still getting him drugs, he's cut right back. I praise him for trying so hard but say nothing when he asks me to get him more. That's why I feel so shocked when I go into our cell one afternoon and all my books and notes are on the floor. Someone's trashed all my stuff, and the pages where I hide the drugs are ripped open. s.h.i.t. It can only be Aaron. I've never actually hidden where I'm keeping them from him, but he always asks me to give them to him. It's some sort of manners he has, I suppose, because I buy them for him. I sit there, feeling really p.i.s.sed off. Even the spines of the books Mr P gave me have been cut open to make sure there's nothing been stuffed down there.

I hear someone stop outside in the corridor. The door's still open, and turning, I see Owen. I smile at him, but he averts his eyes.

"Mr Khan wants to see you." He says and steps back, waiting for me to come out and stand in front of him, something he stopped doing ages ago. We usually walk together now, but today it's back to how it was when I first came in here.

Mr Khan looks just as severe. What the h.e.l.l? He motions for me to sit down.

"You've disappointed me, Luca. I'm not very often so wrong in judging the boys in my care, but you've certainly fooled me." He sees the puzzled look on my face and continues. "Too late for the innocent look. Drugs have been found hidden in your cell." He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, waiting for me to speak, but what can I say? The moment stretches on agonizingly, and finally, he breaks it. "I remember you sitting right there, Luca, and telling me you'll never take drugs again." Still I say nothing. To speak is to betray Aaron.

"Well, I'm not the only one disappointed. Your father will be also. He has been in constant contact with me-as has your lawyer, Mr Bloom, who has been working on your behalf-and you do this." Mr Khan is silent again, and when I still say nothing, he adds, "I was very impressed with your desire to help your friend, Aaron, but now I can see that you were only thinking of yourself. No doubt he is able to get drugs for you and that was behind your request to get him in with you."

My throat is dry, but I manage to croak, "I don't take drugs. Blood test me, Mr Khan. You'll see I'm telling the truth."

"If that's true, the only reason you're hiding them in your cell among your things is that you're dealing." He shoots a disgusted look at me. "So handy to have one of your customers in the bunk above you. No wonder you wouldn't tell me who was supplying your friend with the drugs even though you clearly knew."

I can't meet his eyes. I must look like such a liar, staring at that gold leaf pattern on the desk with my jaw clamped and nothing to say.

Mr Khan stands and opens the door, where Owen is waiting. As I leave, he says, "Things were looking very promising for you, Luca. All destroyed by this stupidity."

As we walk silently back to the cell, that pig of a guard who started all this comes over and speaks to Owen. As he walks off, he grins at me-an evil, self-satisfied grin-and I know that it wasn't Aaron who went through my stuff at all. The guard must have figured out Aaron was getting it somehow and taken the gamble that it was stashed somewhere in the cell. Well, he was right, and he won.

I sit at my desk, too shattered to do anything about the mess, when Aaron bowls in. "s.h.i.t, what's gone on in here?"

I tell him, my voice dull and lifeless. He's apologizing to me-I can hear him-and I'm murmuring that it's not his fault, but I don't want to talk. Closing my eyes, I turn away and lay my head down on the top of my wrecked books.

A few minutes later, the siren goes for duties. I get slowly to my feet. Aaron's already left, so I pad down to the library and start going through the books that lie waiting to be marked off and returned to the shelves. It's mechanical, mindless work-all I feel capable of, even though I usually like it, flicking through the books and putting aside anything that looks good. For the first time, I really feel the urge to drug myself out, wiping out my thoughts-especially the look I can imagine on Dad's face when he finds out about this. Looks like Ray Reid was right. I may as well be zonked out under a bridge.

It's because I let myself hope. How stupid. Haven't I learned anything?

Aaron isn't at tea that night. I hear the others ask about him, and I tell them I don't know anything, but I can guess he's figured out there'll be no more stuff from me now with our cell under constant surveillance, so he's gone off looking for some other source-the well's dried up as far as I'm concerned. Maybe he even wants the drugs so badly that he'll go and talk to that guard. Winners are grinners. Whatever made me think I could do some good for someone? I'm just a dirty little killer; no point pretending anything else.

I'm in my cell later that night when Owen comes in. He doesn't say anything, but the hard look's off his face. "Just getting your mate's clothes," he says, and he opens the cupboard and drawers and bundles up Aaron's few things. "He says you can have the posters." Then he's gone. Aaron must have asked for a new cell. Yep, he's done a deal with that guard for sure. Everything I tried to do has come to nothing.

I start cleaning up my books. A torn page flutters to the floor from one of the Buddhist books Mr P gave me. There is a quote on it from some Buddhist saint, All the happiness there is in this world comes from thinking about others, and all the suffering comes from preoccupation with yourself. I can't keep the sneer off my face as I screw the sc.r.a.p of paper up and throw it in the bin. That worked out really well for me; I did all I could to help Aaron, and look where it got me.

Life isn't worth living. What's the point? The thought keeps echoing in my head as I sit there, and I know that there's only going to be one way out of this for me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

I wake up in the middle of the night. How can I do this? I need to do it well and finally, not stuff it up like Aaron did. This is no cry for help'; I want out, permanently. I feel so totally alone-even the tossing and turning from Aaron in the bunk below me is gone for good. I know that Dad won't give up on me now, no matter what, but what's the point? I'll just bring him trouble. He has a new wife, a new life. I lie there trying to think clearly, and then I feel my ears tickling. You sad piece of s.h.i.t, Luca. Your tears are running down the sides of your face and into your ears. I stop myself laughing. I can't afford to let any emotion out; who knows what might happen? Some crazy outburst like with Mr P that day?

I'm dreaming. Katy and I are playing chasey in the back yard. She's laughing and running away, and even though I know I'm faster, just when I put my hands out to grab her, she's gone! I hear a noise, and she's behind me, still laughing. I turn and try again. Each time, she disappears. Finally, I grab her shoulders, but an awful noise is coming from her. Stop, Katy! My eyes fly open, and it's the siren blaring. I blink a few times, disoriented for a moment, and then everything comes back to me. I close my eyes again, and then the door opens.

"Up you get, Sunshine. Mr Khan wants you." It's Owen, but he looks quite chirpy. Just an act, obviously; it's all an act. He waits outside while I wash and dress quickly, and then when I go to fall in behind him, he strolls along beside me.

Mr Khan is having a coffee and toast when I come in. "Thank you, Owen."

What the h.e.l.l is going on? I haven't even had any breakfast, and my stomach growls.

Mr Khan laughs. "I won't keep you long. Here, have a piece of toast."

I'm so shocked I take it and look at him uncomprehendingly. He nods, and I wolf it down while he munches his toast and drinks his coffee deliberately and slowly. He says nothing while he eats. One thing at a time, I guess-no talking to people with a full mouth and all that.