by Nicola Haken
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” I said, straightening my back. “What if Martin’s there?”
“That piece of shit doesn’t scare me.” I’m sure I gasped a little at her determination. Like me, Sarah doesn’t swear often and so when she does, you know she means business. “I’ll never let him hold that kind of power over me.”
“At least let me come with you.”
“You don’t have to do that, honey. You have enough to deal with just now.” And she doesn’t?
“So do you,” I countered. “I want to come with you,” I said decisively. Smiling that sweet, motherly smile of hers, Sarah nodded her head.
“We’ll go tomorrow,” she decided. A brief silence followed and then Sarah gave me a questioning frown. I knew what she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth and I wasn’t looking forward to it. “Are you going to tell your brother why Dexter is in the hospital?” Yep. I knew it. I shrugged my shoulders like a petulant child. “I think you should.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I just don’t know how. I don’t want him to hate him.”
“You can’t keep covering for Dex, honey. He knows the situation he’s putting us all in when he scores himself that first bag. He has to deal with the consequences. Not everyone will love him enough to forgive him.”
Sarah’s words were hard to hear – even harder to accept. But I knew she was right. Dexter is a grown man and I know he wouldn’t expect or want me to cover for his mistakes.
“I will. I’ll tell him. I just need a couple of days to get my head around things myself first.” If you think I’m procrastinating… trying to put off the conversation… then you’d be absolutely right.
“Right,” Sarah said resolutely as she stood from the table. “Enough of the serious. Let’s enjoy dinner.” Smiling appreciatively, I stood up too and together we set about stirring, mashing and plating up.
“CHRIS!” I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth to make a megaphone. “DINNER’S UP!”
**********
The next morning Sarah decided she wanted to visit Patricia straight after breakfast, before we headed out to visit Dexter at the hospital. Although she refused to show it, I suspected she was just as nervous as me and she wanted to get it out the way. Using the excuse that we were going to pick up some essentials for Dexter, we left Chris chilling out on his makeshift bed on the couch.
“Sarah, there’s something I haven’t told you,” I confessed, staring nervously out of the window as we drove.
“What is it, honey?”
“It’s Martin and Patricia. They have a daughter – Dexter has a sister.” Sarah let out a long, purposeful breath through pursed lips. Then, briefly taking her eyes off the road ahead, she turned and flashed me a soft smile.
“That was always a possibility I guess. Poor girl.”
“She’s called Marianne. I haven’t met her,” I told her. “I don’t think Patricia is in a much better position that Dexter’s mum was.” Sarah was already aware of Patricia’s situation. I mentioned it when I first told her about the hefty cheque. What I went on to tell her however, I hadn’t revealed before today. “Martin gambles. According to Patricia he owes money to some very dangerous people. That’s why he changed his name and that’s why she helped him fake his death. I’m not excusing her, but I think everything she’s ever done to help him was done out of fear.”
Sarah nodded contemplatively but we both remained silent. It stayed that way for the rest of the fairly short drive. It was still hard to believe Dexter’s father has lived undetected right here in Ohio, practically spitting distance from his son for all these years.
When we pulled up outside the massive house, Sarah breathed the same disbelieving tut as I did the first time I came here, when the realisation hit that the man who has everything, left her with nothing.
After parking we climbed out of the car at the same time. Sarah bounded purposefully towards the front door like a woman on a mission and I trailed warily behind her. Patricia opened the door before we had chance to ring the bell – she must’ve seen us arrive.
“I can’t do this now,” she flustered, sweeping her blonde hair from her face. “Kevin’s due home any minute.”
“But I need to talk to you,” Sarah all but demanded.
“There’s a café on Mayfield. Michelangelo’s?”
“I know it,” Sarah nodded.
“I’ll meet you there in an hour. Please… just… you need to leave now.” Nodding in silent agreement, Sarah backed away from the door as Patricia started to close it.
“Do you think she’ll show?” Sarah asked me as we walked back to the car.
“Yes. I do.” Maybe I was being naïve, but a strong part of me truly believed Patricia wanted to help us.
Sarah drove us straight to the café, though after stepping inside I would class it as more of a fancy restaurant. We sat by the window at a mahogany table adorned with candles in little glass holders and leather-bound menus. We worked our way through two coffees mostly in silence. Patricia arrived just like she said, almost exactly an hour later.
I stood up when she entered the café and waved, drawing attention to us. Forcing a small smile, she ambled over to our table and we sat down simultaneously.
“I’ve been expecting you to get in touch,” she said, shrugging out of her leather mac. She looked better than the last time we met. No bruises – visible one’s at least. “I noticed you haven’t cashed the cheque I gave you.”
“It didn’t feel right,” Sarah said guardedly, assessing Patricia with her eyes.
“That money is from me. It has nothing to do with Kevin. I want you to have it. Think of it as payment for the house we took from you.”
“Kevin?” Sarah pressed.
“That’s Martin’s new name,” I clarified.
“Look, I’ve said this before to Emily, but I want to be clear… I don’t agree with what Kevin has done to you and your family. And… I’m going to try and put things right.”
“How?” Sarah snapped, slamming her fist onto the table. My back involuntarily snapped straight up. I’d never seen her so angry before. “How the fuck can you put anything that bastard has done right?”
“Sarah, calm down,” I pleaded gently, placing my hand on her stiffened shoulder. People were staring and I couldn’t exactly blame them. There was a sour-faced lady making up sandwiches behind the counter keeping a watchful eye on us. I suspected she was waiting for an opportunity to throw us out.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah uttered on a long exhale.
“I’m setting plans in motion to expose Kevin.”
“But… you’ll be exposing yourself too. You’ll go to jail,” Sarah interjected, folding her arms across the table.
“I’m hoping it won’t go that far. Kevin knows I’m capable of falsifying evidence… he knows I have contacts. But so far he’s always trusted the belief that I’m too afraid to use my skills against him. And up until now… I have been. But not anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t destroy any more lives. I can’t take any more beatings. And I sure as hell can’t continue letting my daughter grow up in the middle of all this.
“All I want is a free life with my daughter. I’m not interested in punishing him; I just want him to leave us alone. I think if I convince him that I’m prepared to go all the way with this unless he does that… he’ll go.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I said.
“Then it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I don’t want my daughter anywhere near him. If that means she has to learn to live without me too, then so be it.”
“I think you could be right,” Sarah agreed. “Martin’s a weak man… he wouldn’t need to beat on defenceless women if he wasn’t. He wouldn’t last a day in prison and he knows it. Still… that’s an awful big risk. You could lose everything.”
“I know that. But it’s time. I’ve waited too long. I can’t live with this guilt anymore.”
“”I don’t know what to sa
y,” Sarah mumbled under her breath. I didn’t know what to say either – which is why I stayed quiet.
“There’s nothing to say. This isn’t your fight. Take the money… move on. Forget he ever existed.”
“And your daughter? Don’t you think she and Dexter deserve to know about each other?” Sarah sounded upset… offended even. “If this plan of yours goes wrong, he might be the only family she has left.”
“I…I…” Patricia stuttered. “I’ve not planned that far ahead yet,” she admitted. “Look, Sarah… I don’t know how this is going to go. I’ve not worked everything out yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to do it. All I can do at this stage is say I’ll keep you informed. But please… don’t risk my daughter’s safety by telling Dexter. If he decides to come and find her before-”
“He wouldn’t,” Sarah interrupted. “But right now, I agree. I don’t think it’s the best timing for either of them.” They both nodded in silent agreement. “How old is your daughter?” Sarah asked curiously. Patricia sighed and fixed her gaze on the table.
“She’s twelve.”
Twelve? That means she was two the day Dexter and his mum’s lives were destroyed.
“Just how long have you been with Martin?” Sarah asked in an accusatory tone.
“Fifteen years,” she admitted guiltily.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked, seeing no reason to continue that conversation between the two of them. However wrong it was of Patricia to have an affair with a married man, she’s paid the price by the man in question being a controlling and violent bully.
I dragged in a deep breath feeling utterly bewildered. This whole conversation was so unexpected. I thought… well I don’t know what I thought.
“I’ll call you. Give me your number. But please… don’t call me. I promise I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Sarah and I both nodded, then Sarah scribbled down her mobile number on a scrap of paper from her handbag. “I hope you and your family can get past this. I appreciate my apologies can’t change anything, but I’m sorry all the same.”
“I wish the same for you and yours,” Sarah said, offering her hand. After shaking hands, Patricia gathered her mac and handbag from the back of her chair and left. Sarah and I stared after her until she was completely out of sight.
“It doesn’t seem enough,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That he just gets to walk away.”
“I don’t care anymore, honey. All that matters is he’s not ruining any more lives.”
“I hate him,” I spat.
“Dexter’s the important thing now. Your love for him is greater than the hatred you feel for his father and that’s what you need to focus on.” I nodded feebly – knowing she was speaking the truth but struggling to accept it. “Come on, honey. Let’s go see our boy.”
Chapter Twenty
~Dexter~
How the fuck is she affording this? That’s what I thought when I walked into the ginormous lounge of The Springs substance rehabilitation center. I’ve never been anywhere like it. The place is fucking huge and filled with an abundance of fine furniture and impressive technology.
I was told yesterday that Aunt Sarah had arranged my stay here. I know it’s not going to work – been there, done that… twice. But at least when I get out of here she will finally see that there’s no hope left for me. I’d tell her myself if I could face seeing her. She and Emily have been calling everyday but I refuse to speak to them. They turned up at the hospital a few times too but after witnessing the pain I’d put in Emily’s eyes last time I saw her I decided enough is enough. I won’t keep putting her through that. And if I’m honest, I’m too damn selfish to want to go through it again myself.
“Follow me,” a lady in a sharp gray pantsuit wielding a clipboard said to me. “I’ll take you to your room.” She had ‘the voice’. You know the one. The one doctors use when talking to children. Patronizing and sickly sweet.
I followed the woman who continued to talk to me like I was three years old through the lounge with the small backpack of stuff Aunt Sarah left at the hospital for me slung over my shoulder. She led me through some double glass doors and down a long hallway with a view of the grounds. Holy freakin’ shit – they’ve got a pool! An actual full-length pool surrounded by reclining chairs and potted trees. This place is like a five star hotel. There has to have been some kind of mix up. I’ve no insurance and I’m pretty sure a week stay in here would cost Aunt Sarah three years of her shitty salary.
“Get yourself settled and someone will be along to give you a tour and talk you through things soon,” Mrs. Condescending said with a saccharine smile after opening the door to my room.
Jesus. I was greeted by a double bed covered in expensive-looking maroon bedding. The walls were lined with fitted closets and in the corner there was a full-size armchair with plump cream cushions and a padded footstool. A freakin’ footstool! Dumping my bag on the bed, I walked to the other side of the room and pulled open the heavy maroon drapes. Wow. Hidden behind them was a floor-to-ceiling window which opened out onto a small balcony overlooking the extensive gardens.
There has to have been a mistake here.
Pushing that thought aside, I opened the only door that wasn’t the one I just came through and found the bathroom. The shakes had stopped but the cold sweats were still very much seeping out of every pore in my body, saturating my clothes. Turning on the cold tap I bent towards the basin and splashed bountiful handfuls of water over my face. I groaned satisfyingly into the cooling spray that was bouncing off the ceramic and splattering onto my flushed forehead.
I still feel like utter shit. It’s lasting longer than I’ve ever experienced before and I’m starting to wonder if it will ever go away. Of course, I know of a guaranteed way to make it stop… but I’m keeping that idea on hold.
For now.
When I rose back up, letting the droplets of water linger on my face and drip down onto my neck, I met a face in the mirror. I stared into its hollow eyes. They were dark… lifeless. Who was I looking at? An addict? A murderer? A lost cause?
Yes.
I was staring at myself. And I am all of those things.
“Dexter?” I spun around to the sound of my name and nodded towards a man leaning causally against the doorjamb. He was dressed in jeans and a black hoody, and his smooth black hair contained more girly hair shit than the entire cast of Hairspray.
“Jeff,” he stated, offering his hand. I walked over to him and shook it warily. “I’m the lucky bastard who’ll be overseeing your treatment while you’re here.”
Fuck. Off.
Did he expect me to believe that? He can’t be that much older than me – ten years max. He was dressed like he was heading out to a rock concert and he spoke to me like I was one of his friends. Do they treat the nutjobs here too? They must.
“I can show you my papers if you need reassurance,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. It was then I noticed an I.D. badge clipped to the side of his pants. I didn’t bother to read it. It looked official enough. “Come on. Let me show you around your home for the next few months.” He turned to leave and I didn’t realize I was just standing there like an imbecile until he looked back and said, “you need to hold my hand?”
“I’m good,” I replied, summoning my most sarcastic smirk.
Hmm. This is gonna be different…
Jeff took me on an in depth tour of The Springs. As well as a gigantic pool… they’ve got a gym, library, a TV room and a garden that must take up half of Ohio. He showed me his office where I’m required to take my daily counseling sessions with him (sounds fun huh?) and despite me knowing the damn thing by fucking heart, he talked me through the 12 step program.
“Right. 10 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late,” Jeff ordered as he shooed me out of his office. He’s got a fucked up accent that I couldn’t quite place and seeing as I refused to allow myself to think of… well I won’t say their names because I’m not think
ing about them… I thought about where his accent originated instead.
**********
“It’s been three days, Dex. If I’m honest I’m getting a little bored. How ‘bout you have a bash at actually talking today.”
I shrugged like a petulant child. Most people in this place treat me like one so fuck it, might as well act like it too.
“You’ve stopped shaking,” he noted.
Silence.
“You plan on scoring again when you get out of here?”
No. Maybe. Probably.
Jeff opened his mouth to ask another pointless question no doubt, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. After shouting ‘come in’ Mrs. Clipboard came waltzing in. I’m still not sure what the point of her is. But seriously I’m starting to think she’s accidently glued that clipboard to her hand and is too embarrassed to tell anyone.
She went on to mumble something about his ‘2 o’clock’.
“Champion. Cheers, pet,” Jeff replied, seeming satisfied with whatever she came in to say. Remember that fucked up accent I was telling you about? Turns out he’s from Newcastle back in the UK. I took a shot at Liverpool and he told me not to insult him like that again if I ever wanted to get out of here. He’s weird like that. Jeff is like no doctor or shrink I’ve ever come across. I’m not sure who the hell gave him his license, but I’m pretty sure they were wasted at the time.
“Emily called again,” he informed me. He does this on purpose I know he does. I think the sadistic bastard enjoys watching me squirm. “Wanna know what she said?”
“No.” I gave the same answer he’d heard for the last three days, all the while staring at the gold fountain pen he always keeps next to the phone.
“Do you wanna talk about her?”
“No.”
“You wanna talk about anything?”
“No.”
“Well you know I’m gonna ask you stuff anyway.” I huffed in frustration. A huge part of me wanted so badly to open up to him. But I couldn’t tell him the truth so what was the point? I’d been there before… doctors and counselors trying to lure me into spilling with those monotone voices they all have.
