Chapter Two

 

 

The all-too-familiar itch returns promptly at the beginning of my 6:00 a.m. shift. The sensation of bugs crawling beneath every layer of my skin until they scatter over defenceless flesh has me squirming once more. Why did I even bother showing up to work today? Removing a set of industrial gloves and tossing them onto a far table, I head towards the pouring rooms where I previously left Alan to distribute the last batch of heated liquid into piping moulds. This kid can be a procrastinator at times, but he’s a kid, only just turned fifteen. As my hand catches the door handle, I wonder if Alan’s parents have even a clue where he is right now or where he’s been going for the last six months. My guess is probably not an iota. Someone had to help this kid out, and I’m not sure why I felt responsible to do so, but by putting him on Mr Horton’s payroll, I figured I might just keep him out of trouble and away from the gangs in Hoffman. Hopefully, if things keep going as well as they are, and if Alan continues to take my lead, he will earn his trade ticket and steer clear from a life dealing drugs.

Hoffman is a place of two classes: rich and poor. It’s a matter of black and white—no grey area.

“Tank, I’m … please—”

“Alan, what’s the problem?” I say, looking at the job list hung by the door.

“Tank.”

I turn in his direction. His hand quivers. My Adam’s apple reaches the back of my tongue. “Shit, mate, are you okay?” It’s now I shift my eyes to his paled cheeks and dehydrated lips. “Alan!”

“The liquid. I lost my …” He stops talking mid-sentence, and as I grasp his hand, he begins to dry-retch.

“Where are you hurt?” My stomach knots before it flips, causing me to become nauseous from the sounds he’s making.

“My leg. Tank.” His body goes limp, and I’m quick to catch him in free fall before his head hits the concreted ground.

“Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ, kid.” I shouldn’t have left him alone so soon with this task. He wasn’t ready to do this job unsupervised yet. Why do I keep pushing him? This is my fault. I glance at his leg, but turn my eyes away when I first see his exposed bone, and then some of the material of his pants stuck to his charred flesh. I swallow franticly to prevent my need to vomit from the sight.

Alan is all limbs and lacking meat to his bones—malnourishment will do this. Thankfully, his slender physique makes it easier for me to throw him over my shoulder to carry him out. The stench of burning flesh causes my stomach to roll in a furious manner, and within a second, the need to regurgitate the oats I ate for breakfast becomes strong. “Hang in there, kid,” I mumble through pinched tight lips before smashing my free hand to the red emergency button located by the door. An alarm sounds immediately, and by the time I clear the doorway there are silhouettes of many workers running in my direction. “Call triple zero now and someone get the hose on—we have a liquid burn.” I’m following procedure to a T.

Flashing red and blue lights appear in the distance and with their impending arrival, I shout, “Someone find Roxie and keep her out of trouble until I get back. I’m going with the kid.”

The ride is bumpy on the way to the hospital, and as I hold my head in my hands, Alan screams. It’s bloodcurdling. This kid is in a world of hurt, one I predict won’t be ending anytime in the foreseeable future. Why did I leave him unsupervised?

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” he roars.

“You need to stop thrashing,” the paramedic, riding in the back of the ambulance with us, instructs.

“Tank.” Alan grimaces.

“I’m here, bud. Just do as you’re told … you hear me?”

“Just cut it off. Cut my leg off. It hurts bad.”

“Come on now. Man up,” I reply sternly, still cradling my head. I don’t want to see his wound again; it’s foul. “Can’t you give him more drugs?” Lifting my head, I search for the hazel-eyed ambo’s gaze. It’s a mistake to do so, because I’m greeted with a look of intense worry.

“I’m going to sedate him. I really wish I didn’t need to do this because it’s actually going to be worse for your friend in the long run, but he’s struggling against these binds I placed him in before leaving the worksite.” He points to the straps around Alan’s wrists, the ones securing him to the stretcher. “At this point, we’ve no choice. Tank, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“I’ll need your help. If you could give some extra support by holding him down for me I might be able to get a drip in.”

“Sure.” Standing hunched in the small space, I curl at my mid-section and slowly lower myself until I’m laying my chest on an angle over Alan. Holding his face on either side with a tight grip, I try to shake away visions of his ghostly expression, but I can’t.

“Tank, you’re too heavy.” Alan strains to speak.

“You’re going to sleep now, bud, okay? I’ll be there when you wake. I won’t leave you. Do you want me to call your parents?”

“Noooooooo!” He follows this muzzled scream with a winded pant.

“Okay, I won’t call them.”

Surgery takes six hours and I absentmindedly pace the maze of corridors, hoping Alan comes out with his right leg still attached. Much to my relief, he does. I’m guessing he doesn’t have the full amount of flesh once previously there, but I spy his toes poking out of thick bandaging, so it’s a positive start. It feels wrong for me to be sitting by his bedside instead of his parents, but I keep my word and refrain from making any calls. Instead, I’m left to watch Alan sleep while I begin prioritising a future for the both of us. First step is to get the fuck out of my shitty apartment and into a decent house. It’ll have to be big enough to accommodate Tessa and now bloody Alan, because I can’t have those two left here on the west side. They both need a chance at a decent existence or in Tessa’s case, a chance to die somewhere nice and peaceful.

I owe the both of them. Alan, because it’s my fault he’s in this fucking hospital in the first place, great mentor I turned out to be. And Tessa, well, Tessa, because she deserves the moon served up to her on a golden platter. That woman is a saint.

Taking my phone from my dirty jeans pocket, I scroll through real estate agencies online until I find the number for Burns Brokers. A picture of Haldon Burns with his fake-arse crooked smile irks me. Haldon is such an arsehole. I’ve seen this jerk hanging off Mr Horton’s coattails like a blowfly the few times he’s come into the steel mill. Skinny, four-eyed posh git. But upper-class property listings are ninety percent of Haldon’s dealings, so I’m left with no choice but to press down on the link to call Burns Brokers.

I get the message bank.

 

“Good day, you’ve reached Haldon Burns of Burns Brokers. I’m currently unavailable. Please leave a message and I’ll make contact in a timely manner. Alternatively, you can call our office on zero-three-four-eight-seven-three-three-three-three-three. Thank you and have a nice day.”

Beep.

 

Deciding not to leave a message, I terminate the call and attempt to slide the phone back into my pocket only to startle from the generic ringtone sounding unexpectedly.

“That was fast,” I say, placing the phone back to my ear.

There’s no reply.

“Hello?”

“Finlay, I’ve just been informed of the incident. Where are you?”

“Mr Horton?”

“Yes. Finlay, where are you?”

“Hospital, boss.”

“Well, you’re needed here. Come back immediately.” His tone is clipped.

“Nah. I’m going to stay with Alan. He’s had a rough—”

“I’m not asking you, Finlay. I’m ordering your return.”

“Isn’t going to happen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“Son, I think you need to remember who gives the orders around here. Return immediately, or I’ll send a car to collect you.”

“Mr Horton, Alan is pretty messed up. He’s just a kid. I’m staying with him for now.”

“I’m sending a car. We’ll talk about your misconduct when you arrive back.” It’s a deep clipped tone filled with authority.

“I’m not going anywhere. You know what …? Stick it. Stick your job where the sun don’t shine, you pompous piece of scum. A kid got injured. It’s more important I stay with him, you piece of—”

“Finlay Crossley, don’t you dare speak another word or you won’t be in my employ.”

“Are you deaf, you old geezer? I don’t want your shitty job. Jam it.”

Hanging up before Horton can speak another word, I clench my fist and punch it hard into my thigh, growling in anger. Leaning back in the chair, I press my fingers into my forehead and take deep breaths to calm myself. It doesn’t seem to work. The image of Horton’s neck being rung by my hands fills my mind, and the need to strangle him only increases. Rich prick.

Knock. Knock.

Tilting my shoulder back, I twist my head to spy the door. Two guys in business attire breach the doorway and press forward until they’re standing within reaching distance. “Hey.” I flick my hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Finlay Crossley, isn’t it?” a man with jet-black hair and a styled goatee inquires.

“Yeah. But just call me Tank.”

“Mr Crossley, I’m Doctor Lancaster,” he continues, completely dismissing what I said. “This is my attending, Doctor White.” He points at him like I’d be unsure whom he was referring to. I shake my head.

“So, what’s the verdict with Alan?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Crossley. First, I must ask, are you a relation of Alan?”

“Nope.”

“Well, we can’t discuss his condition with you.”

Standing from the chair, I tower over the both of them. Doctor White gulps loudly enough for me to hear. There’s a reason people call me Tank, and it’s not because I’m a twig and of short stature. “Well, I’m the only one here, so …”

“Family, only, Mr Crossley.” White’s voice shakes on his delivery.

“Whatever. I don’t have time for this shit. I’ll be back later to check on him. Don’t call his parents. He doesn’t want you to, and it’s probably best they don’t come anyway. I’ll be back.”

“We have already notified his next of kin.”

“Of course you have. Shit.” I turn my back to the pair of them and try desperately to rein in my displeasure.

“Mr Crossley, for now we’ll have to ask you to leave. You’re welcome to come back in visiting hours, which are—”

Nudging past the both of them, I don’t give Lancaster the chance to continue speaking and exit the room with an obvious huff.

“Fuck you. Family. Pffft! You don’t know shit about what family is,” I mutter on my way to the elevator I don’t remember coming up in to begin with. It arrives quickly.

It’s a short ride down and as the ground floor draws nearer, I retry the real estate agency, however, the call doesn’t connect due to poor service caused by being inside a heavy metal box.

It’s a quick walk through the foyer and in no time, I’m standing in the carpark with not only the sun stinging my eyes, but the realisation I don’t have a means of transport to go anywhere. “Shit!”

“Are you okay?” It’s a sweet sound.

“Sorry.” Turning on my heel in the opposite direction to the one I was facing, I see a silhouette.

“Are you okay? You look lost.”

The sun shines brightly and I squint to see, my hand shielding my eyes.

“Sorry, let me just move over here. Is this better?” She has such a chirpy voice.

Blinking, I manage to get a blurred vision of the woman before me and watch as she picks at her fingernail.

“Are you okay?” She speaks slowly as if I’ve some sort of mental defect.

“Yes. Well, no. I don’t have a car here. I came in an ambulance with my mate.” I’m forced to shield my eyes once more when the sun shines into my eyes from shifting cloud cover.

“Oh. I see. Do you need a lift or something?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Where are you heading?” She tilts her head.

“Hollaway Street.”

“It’s on my way. I’ll give you a lift. Follow me.” She steps forwards before continuing swiftly, passing me.

“Pardon,” I call after her.

“If you want a lift, I’m heading home now, so you better get a move on.” She doesn’t turn back to look at me, and I’m stunned into silence watching her blond hair bob up and down with each landing of her foot to the pavement. Wow. So kind. “Are you coming?”

“Yes. Sure. Thanks.” I jog a few steps to play catch-up and continue to walk in her shadow. Her very petite shadow.

The kind stranger stops by a grey station wagon and dips her hand inside a handbag dangling from her shoulder. As she fumbles around, she contorts her mouth. “They are in here somewhere,” she mumbles.

My eyes roam from her head to her toes and back up again. Hmm. She’s wearing a uniform. “You’re a nurse here, aren’t you?” It’s a mindless question given she’s dressed in a nurse’s uniform.

“Yes.” She smiles with lips I can now see are freshly glossed before swinging a set of keys from her finger. “Told you they were here. See? Handbags are like Bermuda triangles.” She smiles at me once more.

“Are you sure you want to give me a lift? I mean, I can catch a cab. You don’t … Actually, I don’t think it’s a wise idea to be offering strange men a lift home, do you?”

“Men! Firstly, you are just one man. I can’t see a line of the opposite sex busting to clamber into my car. And secondly, fine, don’t take the lift. Have a good day.” She dips her shoulder, and with a gentle click the door is unlocked. There’s a slight screech when the door is opened wide.

“No. I’ll take the lift … if it’s still on offer, that is.”

She climbs into the driver’s seat. “Well, hurry up. I don’t have all day to do this.”

“Thanks.” Walking around to the passenger side, I grab the door handle and slink down to look through the window as she reaches across the passenger seat and pulls up the lock so I have access.

“Hey, thanks for doing this.” I smile, pulling the seatbelt across my chest.

“No worries. I’m Lesley,” she blurts out when she turns over the key.

“Tank,” I reply.

“Tank. That’s unusual.”

“Yeah,” I mumble as she reverses the car out of the park.

“So, Tank, where am I taking you, again?”

“You can drop me on the corner of Hollaway and Greet, if you don’t mind.”

“Hollaway and Greet it is.” Fiddling with the knob controlling the radio channels, she locates a station she seems happy with before relaxing back into the chair. Lesley shifts her gaze in my direction, only momentarily, but it’s long enough for me to process the baby blue eyes she has been blessed with.

“Long day.” I try to at least be polite by starting a conversation as we travel through moderate traffic.

“Sure.”

“Okay.” I’m oddly uncomfortable as I turn my eyes to the lock Lesley pulled up for me to gain entry. Old car. Chirpy nurse. There must be a topic of conversation here. “You don’t like central locking or—”

“Can’t afford it. This is my dad’s old car. He bought it the year I was born, he says.” The corner of her lip tugs upwards as she keeps her eyes firmly planted to the road.

“Nice,” I counter without thought.

“You know, Tank, one day I’m going to win the lottery and buy a sail boat and sail around the world.”

“Sounds pretty neat.”

“Oh, it will be. Could you even imagine all the secluded places you’d find along the way?” Her voice heightens with excitability, or is it contentment? I can’t be sure.

“Never really thought about it like that.”

“It’s my dream. I love helping people, I do, but what I wouldn’t give to leave this awful town and explore and just ...” She stops mid-sentence, and I watch as she bites down on her lip.

“Cool.” And it dawns on me in this one moment what my life could be like.

Pulling over to the gutter, Lesley projects an innocent smile in my direction before she says with a little giggle, “That will be twenty-three dollars, sir.”

“Oh. Okay. Ummm …” I pat at my pockets. “I don’t actually have my wallet on me. I left it at the workshop it seems. It was a bit of an emergency my leaving, but if you give me your number I’ll ring you and hand deliver you twenty-three dollars.”

“So how would you have caught a taxi?” She snickers.

“Exactly—I wouldn’t have been able to. I’ll double your twenty-three dollars. It seems like the reasonable thing to do here.”

Her giggle grows stronger as she shakes her head. “I’m yanking your chain. Have a good night, Tank.”

“Okay,” I say, offering a wave and exiting the car. She doesn’t offer any other form of goodbye in return, driving off without another glance.

That was fucking strange. Lesley turning up out of the blue right when I needed a hand. Fate never works in this way for me. Who was that woman? And why did I enjoy being in her company? I kick at a discarded bottle littering the footpath and can’t stop myself from smiling.

She wants to sail around the world, hey? I mean, it’s a possibility. Anything is.