Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
L evi
Giving my statement has drained me, and exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me as I drive back to the village. All I want to do is sleep for a week and for once I’m glad I have a day off. Yesterday I moved out of the pub to lodge with Marina, so I drive past the pub and further into the village. Darla had me deep clean the room I’d been renting and prepare it for guests, and I was glad of the money, but it was tiring. I much prefer bar work.
On good days I wonder if I could do a college course in hospitality, and increase my chances of finding a decent job somewhere managing a large bar or club. Not that working for Darla isn’t good—she’s tough but fair and she gave me a break when most wouldn’t—but it’s never going to pay me enough to rent somewhere of my own, or to buy a house, or even have my own bar. All long-term dreams, but I have to think they’re achievable or what’s the point. I’ve spent my whole life drifting and existing, and I’m tired of it. I want some permanence, somewhere to truly call home.
On bad days, I know that people like me don’t get that sort of a life. I know I’ve done wrong, but I’ve done what I needed to do to survive. I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, or taken from anyone who needed it more than I did. But once you’ve been inside it becomes a brand that follows you around and becomes part of your identity—a label that people see instead of you. Ex-con. It doesn’t matter what the reason was, people don’t see past the headline. I might as well have been a murderer for the way I’m treated once people know my past. On bad days, I feel like it’s useless to even try; I might as well be the person everyone thinks I am. When I was inside, I met many guys who were on their third or fourth sentence, and I vowed when I got out that would never be my story. But I understand. The constant judging and trying to prove yourself to be something, to be better... It’s exhausting. Prison might be hard, but at least you don’t have to spend your life with people looking down at you, thinking they’re better than you. You don’t have to worry where your next meal is coming from or if the landlord you’re renting a dingy room full of cockroaches from will find out your history and kick you out so you get to spend another night on the streets. Keeping moving, trying to outrun your past brings an emotional fatigue that’s hard to see round the edges of. On the bad days I think it might be easier just to give in.
Today is one of those days.
Marina, distracted by entertaining her knitting group, thankfully accepts my weak excuse of why I just want to go to my room.
“You do look a little grey, love.” Her warm brown eyes are full of concern. “If you feel like it later, how about I make you some soup?”
I mumble an answer. I can’t stand her kindness right now. I just want to be alone with the pain lodged in my chest.
I kick off my shoes and lie down on the bed, pulling the knitted blanket of brightly coloured squares over me and closing my eyes. Darkness crowds round me, and its shadowy tendrils chase my thoughts as I try to withdraw into myself.
I’d really wanted to leave the time I spent in the young offenders institution behind, so when I was eighteen, I walked into the station for my last visit with my probation officer looking forward to a fresh start... But then that prick Winstanton showed up. I remember how he managed to get the officer to leave so he was alone with me. His power and influence meant people didn’t question him, even if it went against policy. The lowest form of scum as far as I’m concerned. A lot of the people I’ve met over the years might be dangerous, but they aren’t manipulative liars.
I don’t know what made me decide to give a statement against Winstanton, probably because back then I was silenced and he got away with it. His arrest gave me an opportunity for a voice, maybe even for closure. It might even start an investigation into similar offences. I can’t be the only one; he was too practised at it for it to be a one off.
But I didn’t realise how hard it would be to drag up the memory of that day, of how he made me feel. I didn’t know how difficult it would be to speak the words aloud. And what’s worse, I had to do it in front of him .
The other detective was nice. I was surprised she knew about cars, and to give her credit she didn’t flinch when I told my story.
I curl up tighter, as if it’s an adequate defence against the memories that, now I’ve had to bring them up, won’t leave me alone.
Of Winstanton putting his head round the door.
“Ah, there you are Patterson. The chief superintendent is looking for you; he says it’s urgent. I’ll look after this young man for you while you pop along and see him.”
He stalked towards me, his eyes predatory. I don’t think I’ve ever been creeped out as much as I was by what he said next.
“Hello, pretty boy. You might not remember me, but I know you. You were my lad’s friend. Used to come to his birthday parties when you were kids. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The same cold dread pools in my stomach, just the same as it did that day, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I must say you’ve grown into a promising young man,” he said, his voice oily. “You’ve been in just enough trouble to be sent to a juvenile detention centre, but not so much that you’re going to be on the radar of the force. I like people like you. You’re useful.”
Then he changed to a more neutral voice. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do next, Levi?”
I hated that he used my name. He didn’t deserve that familiarity.
“I’m going to get a job,” I said defiantly, hating him completely for his next words.
“A job?” he barked. “Doing what? Who’s going to employ a teenager with a record? No one, that’s who. People like you don’t walk into jobs. What’ll happen is, you’ll be jobless, homeless, and resort to the same petty crimes you’ve committed for the last few years. And now you’re an adult, the courts take a harsher view of those crimes, especially as you have previous form.”
The sad thing is, as he was speaking it, I knew it was the truth. I’d seen it before with the other kids I’d met at the institute. At least half of them were now adults who were serving sentences. I didn’t answer. What could I say? I just glared at him as he came closer, half sitting on the corner of the desk in front of me, forcing me to look up at him.
“So you have two choices. You could become like everyone else and see what breaks you get in life, knowing it’s only going to be a matter of time before you’re right back where you started, struggling to stay out of prison.” He reached out and touched my cheek, and everything inside me screamed to pull away, but I didn’t want him to see how much it affected me—I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. But the gleam in his eyes told me he knew. I didn’t even flinch as he ran his fingers down my jaw. I just clenched my teeth to keep the nausea from bubbling up, hoping the other officer was going to reappear any minute.
“I know about boys like you—pretty boys who like to suck cock. Prison would be a tough place for you, believe me. I can offer you a much better option. Come and work for me. I can protect you. Work for me and you’ll be untouchable by the law. It’s a privileged position, and. . .” He rested two fingers under my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “The only cock you’d have to suck is mine. I think you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, for a comfortable place to live and steady work? You can have a taste of it now.”
I watched, frozen in horror as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. He pulled out his cock—hard and angry, barely inches from my face—and in that moment I realised the officer wasn’t coming back. There was no way he’d do this if there was a chance of him getting caught. He’d make sure he’d had enough time. So the only way out of this was to save myself. I wrenched myself back out of his grasp and twisted away.
“You’re a fucking pervert!” I shouted. He didn’t even look sorry or hastily tuck himself away, he just left it there, fucking hard as fuck, getting off on being a manipulative bastard. He even smiled and wrapped his own hand round it.
“My offer stands for one week, Levi. You’ll soon see this is the better option.”
I couldn’t think straight; I just needed to get out of there. I heaved the door open and ran, and I kept running until I’d made it down three flights of stairs and out into the car park. I stood there, my chest heaving, scared at what had happened, but relieved I was out in the open where he couldn’t do that again. I was also high on adrenaline from having escaped, and then I saw his car. I knew it was his. That was the only fact I knew about him—that he liked flash cars and no one else would have a car like that. The idea to steal it was not my brightest, but I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to make him pay for what he’d done. Breaking into cars happens to be one of my skills, so it only took me a minute or two to get into it. I even did a doughnut of squealing tyres in the car park before driving off, just so he knew my answer to his proposal.
What’s worse than having to relive the experience twice in one day, though, was having Detective West know my secrets. I saw the pity in his eyes when I passed him on my way out and it nearly broke me. I don’t want his pity. It shouldn’t matter. What’s one more cop’s poor opinion of me? But for some reason it does, and I hate it almost as much as I hate him.
When the tears prickle behind my eyes, I don’t force them back like I normally do. I let them roll down my face. It’s not even like that’s when my issues started; they began way before. The last time I allowed myself to cry was on the worst day of my life, nearly ten years ago, the first time I learned that people can’t be trusted to keep their promises. I’ve trusted no one ever since. I’m certainly not going to trust someone like him.