Behind the Tears (Behind the Lives)

by Hansen, Marita A.

  When she was calm enough, she went back into the passage and knocked on her bedroom door, hoping Ash wasn’t going to make her sleep in the spare room. Shuffling sounded on the other side, then the door pulled open. She entered the room as Ash got back into bed. After shutting the door, she undressed and slipped under the covers, cuddling against his bare back. She didn’t want to tell him about what Dante had done, plus he had much more important things on his mind, things she wished he’d confide in her about.

  “I’m sorry I forgot ’bout the parole hearing, but at least I didn’t forget to take tomorrow off. We can do whatever you want...” She hesitated. “Or we could stay home, and you can tell me more about what happened with your stepfather. It might help to talk about it, cos I know it’s been bothering you lately. You’ve been yelling in your sleep again.”

  His body tensed.

  “C’mon, Ash, please don’t keep me in the dark. Half the time, I only learn things by accident, like when Dante let slip ’bout your suicide attempt. I know it happened a long time ago, but I wish you had told me, not him.”

  “We’ve already been over this,” he said, sounding more exasperated than angry. “And I’m tired.”

  Tired of me? Upset, she removed her arm from around his waist and turned over, wishing he needed her like Dante seemed to. Even though Dante had been a right beep tonight, at least he didn’t ignore her. Sometimes she wondered whether Ash even loved her.

  Dante’s earlier words came to mind, ‘I do love you.’

  “I love you too,” she whispered. I love you both.

  2

  Dante

  Saturday

  Dante walked gingerly along the corridor that led to the parole hearing, wincing as he pushed through a crowd of noisy people. Every shove and shout reverberated up the back of his neck, reaching through to punch the shit out of his brain. Having had so many hangovers, he would’ve thought he could cope with them better, but no, experience didn’t weaken the effect of a pounding headache.

  He veered into the men’s toilets, his mouth drier than a used up whore. He stopped in front of a hand-basin and bent over to drink from the tap. When his thirst was satisfied, he glanced up, stopping when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot with dark rings shadowing them, making him look way older than twenty-three. He’d only intended on a few drinks last night, enough to take the edge of things, but what he intended was never related to what he did.

  He splashed water over his face, getting some on his good suit. He swore and wiped at it, then gave up, resigned that today was going to be crap no matter what he did. He headed out of the men’s and cut across the corridor, stopping in front of a policewoman, who was blocking the entrance to the courtroom.

  “I’m here for Chaz... I mean Charles Greenwood’s parole hearing,” Dante said, looking down at the paper in her hand, assuming it was a list. “I’m Dante Rata, his stepson.”

  The policewoman checked the paper then opened the door, indicating for Dante to enter. He headed inside, surprised by how empty the courtroom was. Except for two policemen standing in front of a glass barrier, the public gallery was unoccupied.

  Dante stopped in the middle of the aisle, and looked through the glass. On the other side, three people sat behind a long table, their suits and airs of importance suggesting they were the parole board. A voice caught his attention, someone calling out Ash’s name. Dante’s gaze shifted to a box on the parole board’s left, where a blond man in handcuffs stood with a guard. It took Dante a few seconds to realise the man in prison greys was his stepfather. Of course he knew Chaz was attending, but to actually see the man—a remote memory from his childhood—was still a shock, something that didn’t feel real.

  Chaz’s gaze bore into Dante, his expression almost happy. A scar ran down his right cheek, while two teardrop tats sat under his left eye. Dante stared at the tattoos, their meaning sickening him. They had been forced upon his stepfather by fellow inmates to mark him as a paedophile—an old New Zealand meaning, and something that Dante wouldn’t have known if Ash hadn’t told him. Since he was a fan of the rapper Li’l Wayne, he’d only heard of the American definitions, one of them symbolising the loss of a loved one through violence. And because he’d lost his mother, he’d wanted to get them done, but luckily he’d told Ash, his brother stopping him from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

  The middle-aged woman seated at the long table spoke into a microphone, “Please take a seat, the parole hearing will commence now.”

  Dante took the first chair on his left, using his hand to lower himself down. Although he felt revulsion, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man who’d caused so much pain for his family.

  The woman, who he assumed must be the judge, resumed talking, “As you’ve been informed, it is unusual for victims and offenders to attend a parole hearing at the same time, but due to the request made by the Rata family and agreed to by Mr. Greenwood, we have decided to allow the proceedings to go forth in this manner. However, there are certain rules to adhere to, the main one, as stipulated in the information provided, is that no one is to interrupt this hearing, otherwise they will be escorted from the room. Now, let’s proceed.” She focused on Chaz. “Charles Andrew Greenwood, in the time you’ve served, do you feel you’ve been rehabilitated?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I...” Chaz’s gaze shifted back to Dante. “I’m truly sorry for what I did to my family. I’ve regretted it every day since that night. Not cos I was imprisoned, but cos I hurt the people I love.”

  Dante cursed under his breath, willing himself to stay seated. His stepfather didn’t love his family otherwise he wouldn’t have torn them apart.

  The door behind Dante opened and closed, but he kept his eyes fixed on Chaz, wishing he could bash down the barrier and attack the sick bastard. He’d yank him out of the box and kick him on the floor, not stopping until ribs popped and cracked, then he’d take a knife and stab him like Chaz had done to his mother. No, he wouldn’t just stab him, he’d gut him, making it as painful as possible, and drawing it out so his stepfather could understand a fraction of the pain he’d caused his family.

  As though he could read Dante’s mind, Chaz’s expression tensed. “I never meant to harm anyone, and especially not you, Ash.”

  “I’m not Ash, you sick fuck!” Dante snapped, unable to hold back at the mention of his brother.

  The judge leaned into the microphone. “Sir, please do not reply to any comments unless the parole board asks you.”

  Dante got to his feet. “Then lemme say my piece now so I can leave,” because he couldn’t stomach looking at Chaz a second longer. He thought he could handle it, but now understood why Ash had backed out.

  “This is not how things are carried out in a parole hearing.”

  “I only need a few minutes, or don’t victims have a voice?”

  “You’re allowed to speak, just at the appropriate time.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit here while he tells you lies.”

  The woman’s face softened, but her tone remained clipped, like a school teacher speaking to a naughty child who wouldn’t listen. “I understand your predicament, sir, but—”

  “Then don’t give him parole. Ten years is nuthin’ compared to what my family got. My mother is dead cos of him, that’s a lifetime for us.”

  “The rules—”

  “I don’t give a shit ’bout your rules!” Dante shouted, instantly regretting his outburst.

  The woman got to her feet. “Mr. Rata, please leave of your own accord or you will be escorted out,” she said, indicating to the policemen.

  When Dante didn’t make a move, the cops headed for him. He glared at them, furious they were touching their batons. He knew what they were thinking, that he was a gang-member, the Māori tattoo around his left eye most likely leading to their assumption. He wasn’t a victim in their eyes, but a perp just waiting to be arrested and put on the other side of the barrier in Ch
az’s place.

  Dante pointed at Chaz. “That bastard raped my brother, yet you’re looking at me like I’m the criminal?”

  “What?” someone gasped from the back of the courtroom.

  Dante’s head shot around, shocked to see his younger brother sitting by the door. He’d told Sledge not to come, because Ash hadn’t wanted him knowing about the rape. When the attack had happened, exactly ten years ago, Sledge had been staying with their grandparents. And since he’d been only eight at the time, all he’d been told was that their stepfather had killed their mother, the whys and wherefores too hard to explain to a child.

  Sledge got to his feet, his tall frame dressed in brown leathers. “Chaz raped Ash?”

  Dante headed for Sledge, dread and his hangover bringing him close to throwing up. “Yes.”

  Looking both stunned and horrified, Sledge’s gaze shifted to Chaz. “Now it makes sense. The way Ash acts, why he’s so violent. You did that to him,” he said to Chaz.

  Chaz screwed up his face. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Dante spun around, furious at Chaz’s excuse. “Bullshit! You drugged him. He wuz so sick he had to be hospitalised.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the parole board being shuffled out of the room, while the prison guard opened the door behind Chaz.

  “I didn’t know the roofie would do that,” Chaz said.

  “You’re not sorry at all,” Dante barked. “You only regret gettin’ caught. You should never be let outta prison, cos you’d do the exact same thing to some other kid.”

  “I’m not a paedo—” Chaz’s words were cut short as the guard forcibly removed him through the doorway.

  Dante went for the other door, desperate to escape his past, present—everything. Panic throbbed in his chest as he entered the corridor. There were too many people blocking his path, slowing him down. He needed air, space, hated being surrounded by people, pushed against, unable to get free. People started to veer out of his way, his swearing no doubt scaring them, although it was something he couldn’t control during an episode. He shot through the entrance and jumped down the steps, cursing himself for not having taken his bipolar meds, something which usually stopped him from losing it. He needed to calm down quick, to find something good to centre his mind on before it fractured apart... Beth, think of Beth.

  Someone grabbed his arm from behind. Dante spun around, ready to slam his fist into whoever it was, but stopped short when he saw Sledge. He tapped his brother hard on the forehead, still too amped to control himself, even though guilt instantly hit him back for doing it. “Don’t you ever listen? I told you not to come.”

  Sledge batted his hand away, his hard features looking close to cracking. “I have every right to be here, he killed my mother too!”

  Dante put his hands to his head, the pain in his brother’s voice making him feel even more ashamed. “I’m sorry, I can’t handle this.”

  “And you think I can?” Sledge said. “Why the hell wuzn’t I told ’bout Ash?”

  “He didn’t want cha knowing.”

  “I have a right to know just as much as you do.”

  “You were only eight at the time.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore. It’s been ten years for fuck’s sake.”

  “It’s too hard for Ash to talk about.”

  “Then you should’ve told me.”

  “I understand you’re upset, but I promised to keep it a secret. He hates people knowing—”

  “And he hates me.”

  Dante frowned. “No, he doesn’t. Why would ja say that for?”

  “Cos it’s true. He’s always treated me differently, like I’m not part of the family. That’s pro’bly why he never told me ’bout the rape.”

  “That’s a load of crock and you know it. He’s looked after you for the past few years, put a roof over your head, fed you, but you never acknowledge any of that.”

  “Well, I ain’t ever living with him again, cos he’s a violent sonofabastard.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “He bashed the living shit outta me!”

  “Cos you and Tama viciously attacked his friend.”

  “I wuz defending my mates.”

  A flash of something in Dante’s peripheral vision made him stop talking. Dante’s gaze shifted to the court building, the stone walls as formidable as the two cops watching them from the entrance. He hadn’t noticed them standing there before. He wondered what they’d heard, and whether anything he’d said could get Sledge arrested.

  Sledge’s upset gaze followed Dante’s, the look on his face now afraid. “I’ve gotta go.” Sledge spun around and took off across the car park, heading for his motorbike.

  Dante thought about going after him, but instead walked to his car, knowing Sledge needed some time to process everything—and for him to do the same. He got into his Holden and backed out, dreading telling Ash about what had gone down.

  After a short drive, Dante turned into his driveway and parked next to Beth’s pink Volkswagen. He remained behind the wheel for several minutes, just staring at her car, wishing for things to be different. Exhaling, he pushed open the door and trudged across the lawn, getting mud all over his good shoes. He kicked them off at the front door, then unlocked the house and headed for Ash and Beth’s bedroom.

  “Ash, are you awake?” he called out, giving the door a knock.

  Voices started up on the other side, too soft for him to make out.

  “Ash, I needa talk to you,” Dante said, putting his ear to the door. He could just hear Beth say, “It could be good news.” He wished it was. “Please, Ash, it’s important.”

  When no one answered, he headed for his own room, feeling exhausted and wrung out. He pulled off his jacket and threw it onto the bed, then unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Dante?”

  Dante turned around. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Ash stood in the doorway, his body as rigid as a statue. “Did Chaz get parole?”

  Dante shook his head.

  Looking relieved, Ash ran a hand through his messy black hair. “You had me goin’ there for a sec. With your expression, I thought he’d been given it for sure.”

  “I don’t know if he got out or not. I got asked to leave.”

  Ash dropped his hand. “Why?”

  “I yelled at Chaz and unintentionally insulted the judge.”

  “Bloody hell, Dante, I did tell ya not to go.”

  “I had to, plus...” Dante cringed at his next words. “...if I hadn’t gone, Sledge would’ve been there alone.”

  “Sledge?” Realisation flashed across Ash’s face. “You—”

  Dante cut him off, desperate to explain himself. “I didn’t know he wuz there until it wuz too late.”

  “You promised to keep him away!” Ash yelled, his expression telling Dante he was beyond reasoning with.

  “I had no control over what happened.”

  Ash’s jaw flexed, the anger in his eyes making Dante nervous. “Calm down, Ash, Sledge doesn’t think any less of you cos of it.”

  “He fuckin’ hates me.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Dante said, not knowing whether it was true or not.

  Ash lifted his hands to his head, then before Dante knew what was happening his brother rammed a fist into the wall. Beth screamed in the passage, causing Ash to freeze, then he spun around and headed for the bathroom.

  Dante followed, stopping in the doorway as Ash got into the shower fully clothed. Ash turned on the tap and slid down the wall, tilting his head backwards. Water cascaded down his cheeks like a curtain of tears.

  Dante closed the door, blocking Beth from getting in. “He needs to be left alone.”

  “No, I wanna be with him,” she said, looking distressed.

  Dante gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Give him a bit of space. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

  “What happened?”

  “He’s upset over Sledge being at the parole hearing.”

  “Why? Sledge
has a right to be there.”

  “Just go back to your room and wait for Ash,” Dante said, unable to tell her more, because Ash had also kept the rape a secret from her too.

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Cos it’s got nuthin’ to do with you.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “Everything to do with Ash is my concern.”

  “Not this, its family stuff.”

  “I’m part of the family now.”

  “No, you’re not, you’re just a girlfriend.”

  She shoved him. “And you’re just an arsehole!” She stormed into her room, slamming the door so hard it rattled on its frame.

  Wincing, Dante returned to his room, his head still pounding. He closed his door and pulled open the top drawer of his cabinet, surprised when he couldn’t find his new meds. Stuff it, he’d look for them later, and anyway, he needed aspirin more. He stripped off his clothes, changing into jeans and a singlet, then headed for the kitchen, stopping at Beth’s door as she poked her head out of the room. He went to say sorry, but got the door slammed in his face again. Frustrated, he leaned his head against the wood panelling, again wishing for things to be different—and for someone he couldn’t have.

  3

  Sledge

  Sledge steered the motorbike into his driveway just as his mate got out of a battered blue Ford. He’d been driving around for the past hour, trying to get himself under control. God, Ash had been raped! That had blown him away, making his stomach twist up so bad that it physically hurt. He’d felt nothing but rage at what his stepfather had done to Ash. But as he neared his new home, his sanctuary away from Ash, the bashing his brother had inflicted upon him filtered back in, making him feel like he shouldn’t give the bastard any sympathy. But how could he not?

  Sledge removed his helmet and got off the motorbike, trying to pretend that everything was alright, that he wasn’t hurting inside. His mate didn’t need to know, Corey had enough of his own problems to contend with. Corey walked towards him, self-consciously tugging at his beanie as though the wind was going to whip it away. Due to chemotherapy, Corey rarely took it off, too embarrassed over his hair falling out.