Vengeance

by P. A. Rose

  “This is your fault, why did you abandon me that day? Why did you wind up my mum so much? Why did you stop being my friend?” he shouted with fist raging and the tears sprinkling off his face.

  He stopped and stared at me waiting for an answer, but I had no reasonable answer and just stared mouth wide open hoping words would tumble out on their own accord. He slumped and started stumbling away down the corridor, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his blazer, and the snuffling noise carried down the hall after he vanished around the corner. I knew it was the end of our friendship.

  The memory lingered with me for the rest of the day, pricking my conscience with guilt and embarrassment at deserting my best friend. I had nearly dulled the memory home alone again at night, with a few films and curry ready meal. It was nearly 11 pm. I cleared away the empty plate, turned off the DVD player and went to bed, dressed in my stripped boxer shorts and storm trooper t-shirt. I was drifting off to painful flashbacks of Giles crying when the sound of glass smashing snapped me out of my sleep. I bolted out of bed and ran onto the landing slapping the light on. The instant light forced my eyes to squint as I bashed open the door to the spare room at the front of the house. I clambered over the half filled cardboard boxes with scientific text books, and briefly pondered why my Dad had been packing, before remembering what I was doing and looking out of the window. There were a couple of kids in hoodies running off down the street. It was the O’Keefe brothers, I recognised the hooded tops and the way they ran. I clambered back over the boxes and ran downstairs to check the house. I pushed open the door to the living room in order to get sight of them out the window. I hit the lights inside the door as I entered, and a painful stabbing hit the bottom of my feet. I jumped backwards out through the door again. Glass lay scattered across the living room floor covering the carpet and sofa, and a brick sat in the middle of the floor in admission of guilt. The wind was blowing in through a hole where the glass once occupied, and the curtains were flapping around and had knocked over the picture frames on the window sill. The picture of mum heavily pregnant smashed to the floor. I hopped backwards swearing and hobbled into the kitchen leaving bloody footprints down the hallway. I grabbed the phone as I hobbled and crashed into a seat and called Dad. The conversation was brief, he told me to call the police, and immediately he left for home. I did. I then pulled the first aid kit out of the cupboard, bandaged my foot, and hobbled up the stairs to get dressed.

  I bandaged my foot, pulled my socks over it and carefully walked back downstairs trying to keep my weight off it. Outside were muffled voices and car doors clunking shut. I opened the front door and in large red letters across the front door, “grass,” was sprayed. The paint was wet still and I managed to get in over my hands and wiped it accidentally across my jeans. Outside in the dark winter’s night Dad stood next to a police woman who was making notes as the exchanged words. The radio in her car crackled, and muffled voices spoke to the empty vehicle. Her colleague, a man, walked down to the next door neighbour’s houses speaking into his radio as he went. The blue lights of the police car were flashing and reflecting off the windows of the nearby houses, filling the street with its taint. The curtains of neighbours twitched and they peered out taking in the spectacle. Dad pointed towards the front door where I stood, and then walked down the pathway and ushered me back inside. He briefly looked at the broken window from the outside and the red letters across the door. He opened the living door and looked at the mess on the floor, breathing in heavily and mumbling under his breath.

  “The police will be here in a minute to examine. Let’s go into the kitchen and have a cup tea,” he said shutting the door.

  “What happened to you?” he said, as I limped on in front of him.

  “I stood on the glass and cut my foot open. It’s okay I have bandaged it.”

  I pulled out a chair and lowered myself in, and Dad leant against the door frame.

  “I guess the gang has found you. They must know you are a witness in both cases,” he said matter of fact with his arms crossed.

  “I can’t go back to school, they will kill me.”

  “You’re right, I will try and sort something out.”

  I was surprised he agreed so readily. I felt I had been saved, as I knew I would be the next victim for Patrick and Dave if I returned to school.

  “I heard this evening from Giles’s Dad. Giles tried to commit suicide this evening. He slit his wrists in the bath.”

  I recoiled back from the news.

  “It’s my fault, if only I hadn’t ignored him,” I muttered trying to hold in the tears.

  “It’s the school fault. They should have looked after him, they promised,” he replied.

  It now made sense why he agreed so quickly for me to stay out of school. It would have been me next if I had returned.

  A police woman tapped on the door and walked in.

  “Hi, I need to examine the scene then take a statement,” she said, from the front door.

  “Okay help yourself,” Dad replied and pointed to the living room door.

  She came back out in a few minutes with the brick in a bag and walked into the kitchen.

  “Going to need a statement, as well. I hear you are giving evidence against the O’Keefe gang. You are very brave,” she said and placed the brick in the centre of the table.

  I didn’t feel brave and her statement made me realised there was truly something to fear. She took the statement and during it kept going on about the O’Keefes, saying it was time someone stood up to them. She told us stories of how others had changed their minds, and this wasn’t the first time they tried to harass the witnesses. It wasn’t encouraging. I want to tell her to shut up, as if things weren’t serious enough without her acting as their PR. She finally finished and wished us good luck, as we would need it apparently. Dad walked her outside and talked to her for a few minutes out of my ear shot. He walked back in and locked the door.

  “You go back to sleep Jon. I am going to tidy up and work out what to do next,” Dad said from the hallway.

  I didn’t argue and went back to bed, and listened to the noises downstairs of the hoover. I was scared and relieved. Scared that I was now the target of the O’Keefe gang and to giving evidence against the O’Keefe’s at the trial, but relieved I didn’t have to face them again at school. I wouldn’t have to go through what Giles went through. I tried to sleep, but I kept waking all through the night at the slightest sound, scared they had returned, but it was just the noises of my Dad tidying up.

  I slept in late, having only fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. Dad was still up and I heard him walking about downstairs. I laid in bed and felt like my world was coming to an end, and thought about how we could get out of this problem. I knew I would have to stand up in court to give evidence against the O’Keefe’s, and there was no way they would let this end easily. I would spend the rest of my life living in fear they would come after me for revenge, and I knew I could never stop them.

  The time was 11:47am and I slid out of bed, wrapped my dressing gown on, and wandered down stairs. The radio was on in the kitchen, and Dad was whistling along to folk music and tiding up from the sounds of the cluttering of crockery and glass. I opened the living room door and the floor was clear of glass and the window was boarded up. The rest of the room was clean as well, the old dirty mugs had been cleaned away and the whole room had been tidied and dusted. The picture of mum was back on the window sill minus the broken glass. I was surprised and shut the door, then shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast. The bloody foot prints in the hallway were gone and the kitchen floor was clean, and there was no noise from it sticking to my slippers.

  “Morning, sleep okay?” Dad asked cheerfully, smiling as I entered the room.

  “Eventually,” I said looking at him suspiciously.

  “You fancy a cooked breakfast son?” he asked.

  “Yes.. er please.”

  Dad set about oiling the pan and turning the ga
s on. Orange Juice and a pot of coffee were already on the table and I poured myself a cup of each.

  “I’ve good news,” he said briefly glancing around.

  “I guessed,” I said, and took a gulp of coffee to wake up, trying to prepare myself what could be classed as good news..

  “I called work this morning to tell them what had happened and I would need time off,” he said, as he dropped the sausages sizzling into the pan.

  “They made us an offer. I think you will like.”

  “Okay,” I replied, unsure what it could be. How could my Dad’s work possibly help?

  “They have a house we can move into temporarily, plus they will get a tutor for your home study as long as I keep working,” he added.

  “Why?” I asked, it all seemed too good to be true, there must be a catch.

  “When your exams are finished they want us to move to London for a new job. My research is very important apparently. They can’t afford to have me away from work.”

  I was stunned and sat in silence for a while trying to understand. I drank more coffee trying to wake up and process the information. I had no idea Dads work was that important. I never really thought about it before and I knew not to ask as it was for the government. It sounded like a perfect solution, protection from the gang, and a move to the other end of the country where they would never find us.

  “So what do you think?” he asked, as he threw the mushrooms into the pan.

  “New life and safety, or fear, there is no choice. Anything is better than this let’s do it,” I answered.

  “Good, I thought you would say yes. Let’s eat up and then pack. We can move in today they will send someone around to help us,” he said.

  “Excellent,” I replied and poured the rest of the coffee into my mouth.

  It was surreal. I had woken up in complete despair of what would happen next, but Dad’s work going to rescue us completely and all we had to do was move to London. There was nothing for us in Leeds anyway, I lost my best friend and Dad’s work was the only thing important to him. I was happy to get as far away from the gang as possible.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was my first day at the college, and my first year of A-level studies. I had somehow been able to pass my exams and was able to carry on into further education. The time hiding away and home study had helped, as there was nowhere else to go or anything else to do. Studying helped take my mind off my problems and helped me forget. In maths and physics the answer is right or wrong, working to fix problems gave me something to focus upon and gave me control over my life. I refused to let the O’Keefe’s win and passing my exams felt like the only way I could fight back prior to the trial.

  The temporary house was on an army base, the research centre where my dad worked. It was about safe as you could get. The tutor was the base commanders wife, Joanna, and she had guided my through my studies and even taken me to my exams. During this time, I discovered the real world without the constrained ideas of teachers and authority. Joanna had given me a leather jacket, and other clothes from the army lost property. In the jacket pocket was an ipod and I jacked it into my stereo. The music was strong and dark with aggressive thrash metal bands, gothic and rap. I had heard of artists like Marilynn Manson and Eminem, but never listened to them before. The music and lyrics shared my life experiences. I could understand their lyrics and what it meant even although I had never been to an American high school or grown up in a Detroit trailer park. I grew my hair as never been allowed as the school had a strict hair length policy. I changed being away from school. I started dressing differently and changed my image wearing lots of black and grunge clothing, but I also became a recluse. I rarely left the compound. I occasionally walked around to the local corner shop five minutes outside to buy magazines and bits of food. I was always looking about for the first sign of trouble, knowing it was a short run back to the army gates and safety. At home was best listening to my new music and studying.

  It was a shock when we eventually moved to London, as I didn’t know where to go or where to avoid. I stayed at home not wishing to adventure out in case I walked into the wrong neighbourhood or crossed the wrong people. Eventually I knew I needed to leave the house as the first day of college was looming. Now it was here. I was walking along with the Headmaster to the sixth form college ready to start a fresh. It was a new place, new people and I decided it would be a new me, as well. I wasn’t going to discuss with anyone what happened in Leeds. I didn’t want everyone thinking I was a grass or the sort of person that got bullied. I wanted a new life, a chance to leave the old fears behind and start a fresh. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to be able to sleep at night without worrying about glass shattering or being attacked. Be able to walk around during the day without fear of being beaten up and mugged.

  The headmaster was in a rush, first day of the term, and lots to do I imagined. He walked quickly taking long strides with his long legs, and the smell strong coffee on his breath blew out as he puffed down the hall ways. Students parted the ways as we moved quickly towards the sixth form college. The college was attached to the state school, “St Luker’s”, and most of the students had come straight from the school completing their GCSE’s, and into the sixth form college to do A-Levels.

  “Don’t know why you’re so special I have to take you,” he said to me as we walked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, unaware that any special arrangements had been.

  “I have lots to do you know,” he said, he stopped and pointed at a boy who had deliberately just pushed a girl over.

  “Pearson, go and stand outside my room and wait for me,” he shouted.

  The boy trudged off and the other students laughed at him. The girl’s friends helped her up and shoved him as he walked past and flinging insults at him.

  “That’s enough, I will deal with it,” the headmaster said.

  “Come on Harker, don’t stop,” he said and walked off again down the hallway.

  We entered sixth form common room to the noise of my new class mates, some seated on a number of black sofas and chairs posted around square desks. Most of them chatting and discussing the summer’s events, and what classes they were doing this year. It was obvious most of them knew each other from being at school together at St Luker’s in the previous year, or was in their second year of sixth form. A few students searched through the book shelves against the walls looking for text books for their new subjects, trying to get a free book. Around the rest of the walls were motivational posters like “Challenge” and “Success,” of people climbing to the top of mountains with some pop psychology statement underneath. Someone thought they were funny and had stuck a fake de-motivational poster under it, “Failure”, of someone falling off the same mountain. A few more students were at the far end in the kitchen area cutting up toast and pouring hot water into cups making tea and coffee. The students were all dressed in their best clothes trying impress on their first day in the college, trying to make a positive first impression on the others in the class. Their new designer clothes neatly ironed and bought by their mother’s only days before. I thought it was sad and shallow. I’d taken another route. I was dressed in my darkest and blackest clothes trying desperately to send a different message. I wasn’t trying to make friends or impress people. I wanted people to leave me alone and think I was hard. I wore frayed and cut denim jeans, black army boots, and an old roughed up black leather jacket. Underneath I wore an old black t-shirt with, “Motorhead,” written across it in silver letters.

  I scanned the room, looking at some of the attractive girls and noting gangs of boys to avoid, when one of girls caught my attention. Her hair was red, flame dark red and she sat quietly with a girl with short dark bobbed haired over the far side of the room on a black sofa under the window, across the room from where I had entered. She stood out in the room in contrast to the other clones of dyed blonde girls, all heavily plastered in make up. She had attracted the attention of a n
umber of other admirers, a group of guys sitting at the table next to where I stood with the Headmaster. They were taking glances and then whispering to one another. A few of the girls in the class looked over at her, noses wrinkling in disgust and contempt, and whispering to one another. They seemed unhappy that she was getting all the attention of the men in the room. She was older than the rest of the students in the common room, her figure seemed more mature and face gave the appearance of being more experienced. Her matured figure only contributed to the attention she was receiving as her fashionable clothes were accentuating her figure, working in tandem with her long wavy red hair flowing down her shoulders and on to her chest. She was impossible not to notice. She must have been aware of the effect she had on all the men in the room, yet she sat there curling her hair in between her fingers, checking her nails and then talking with her friend. She seemed to be utterly oblivious to the admiring glances, and the disgusted glares, either that or didn’t care I thought. I was attracted to her almost straight away and I also knew straight away she was way out of my league. I thought I would be lucky even to get to talk to her. The stark reality of the situation made my shoulders sink with feeling of hopelessness, and I tried to focus on getting on with the school year. Even the headmaster stopped and stared at her for a while, rubbing his white unkempt beard, before remembering his position and getting everyone’s attention by clapping his hands together.

  “Hi, everyone this is Jonathan Harker, please make him feel welcome,” he announced quickly and said hello to the teacher, Miss Goodwin. He looked over at the flamed haired girl once more, then shook his head and sighed, then strode out of the room.

  Miss Goodwin smiled, she was friendly looking and I guessed she couldn’t had been that long out of University.

  “Hello Jonathan. I have arranged some guides for you today.”

  Everyone had gone back to his or her conversation after quickly looking over from the introduction. There was no sign of the unlucky person who was going act as my guide. Miss Goodwin placed her hand on my arm and took me over to the far side of the room and directly in front of the flamed hair girl.