Wrath (22 page)

“I think that guard…” I start, but Tim breaks in.

“Johnno saw the guard coming out of Aaron's cell when he was on the laundry shift. He snuck off real fast. Guards aren't meant to be in there with the doors closed. Who else could it be?”

I remember the day of the footy game and the way the guard had hovered around Aaron, touching his shoulder—too close to him, way too close.

“You're probably right. How about I say something to Mr Khan? If they do a blood test on Aaron, they'll know he's on something, and if I tell them where it's coming from, they'll stop him.”

Tim looks at me, a mixture of disbelief and panic in his eyes. “Man, you can't do that! They'll know it was you!”

“So what? Surely they'll get rid of the guard, and that'll be that.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “You just don't get it, do you? That guard will be supplying plenty of guys in here. They won't be happy if their supply dries up. But that's not the main thing; you'll be a dog, a rat.”

“What do you mean?” I burst out louder than I had meant to, and several heads swing my way. “The guard's the one doing something wrong, not me!”

“Doesn't matter. You never dob anyone in, even if it's a dirty pig like him.”

“But he'll be gone,” I persist, “and Aaron will be safe!”

“Maybe. But you'll get bashed, and the guards will all hate you. You never dob, no matter what.”

“Okay, I get the bit about the drugs drying up if he goes, but what's it to the other guards?”

“He's one of them, and that's that. He'll lose his job, and it'll be down to you. It's not Fairyland in here, Luca. There are rules you don't break, and the main one is you don't ever be a dog. No one will speak to you—no one. Even Archie.”

“Even you?”

“Even me,” he nods without hesitation.

Perplexed, I shake my head. “Well, I'll be out of here within the year. I'll be in prison.”

Tim shakes his head. “You don't reckon guards know other guards, crims know other crims? There's no network like the one in prisons. Then you'll really be in the shit. You'll get stuck in a cell with some filthy, violent pig, you'll get all the worst jobs, and the other guys will either keep away from you or give you a hard time. No one wants a dog for a friend in prison. They might be thought of as a dog too, so something gets said that shouldn't be said, and they get blamed along with you. Birds of a feather and all that.”

He's silent at last, and lunch finishes. “Just remember, if you think a juvenile detention centre is tough, you'll feel like you're going to die in prison. Don't make it a certainty. Keep your mouth shut.”

I'm the last to leave the table, and Archie raises his eyebrows at me as he pushes in his chair. “Lost in thought, Einstein?”

“Just thinking about Aaron.”

“It's a good thing he's in sick bay. They might get him off that crap now if only that scungy guard will keep away from him.”

The next morning, I cross to the cottage as soon as I've cleaned up and knock on the door. It's so quiet! I can usually hear the boys mucking around, clearing up their breakfast things and laughing and joking. The door swings open. It's Jason. He smiles at me in his shy way and motions me inside. The boys are on the cushions, eyes closed, legs crossed. I pull off my shoes, grab a cushion, sit down as quietly as I can and wait till my breath calms down, and then I start counting to 10 like Mr P showed us yesterday.

We hear the front door click, but nobody moves. We hear Mr P's shoes on the floor, and then he sits down and everything is silent once more. My breathing is slow, and my mind is soft, just floating on each breath. I have never felt so calm.

After a while, Mr P begins speaking. “Just let your closed eyes rest on a point somewhere in front of the bridge of your nose. Keep breathing slowly and let you mind be still now. No need to count. Just observe your mind. If a thought pops up, let it pass gently. Don't follow it. Just watch it go as if you were standing in a high window, watching a passing parade. A thought might intrude into your mind, but just let it pass. Keep breathing and watching for the breaks between thoughts.”

This is harder than counting, but it is so good to have that night start to replay in my mind as it's done thousands of times and to just let it go—just watch it dissolve while I'm sitting calmly, breathing quietly. It's gone.

“Okay, boys. Open your eyes.” We sit there, smiling. Once again, we talk about what it was like. Some boys say nothing. I'm one of them.

“Don't just keep this for here. If you wake early, sit on the floor on your pillow. Even five or ten minutes, if you can.”

As we start getting up from the floor, Norbert says, “Sir, it's good to sit quietly, but what is really the point of it?” We stand still, and Mr P waves us to our seats.

“Good question. Can you keep it till tomorrow? There's one more step to this that might help answer that question.”

We start work quietly. We've all got a fair bit to do now—revision, checking notes, going over old exam papers. Not all the boys are doing exams, but the year is coming to an end, and they have modules of work to finish for their courses.

*

That afternoon, in the gym, Owen comes over to Archie and me and says, “You've got permission to see your friend.” We put down the weights and follow him down the corridor. We sit on the bench outside the sick bay door while Owen goes in.

“He must be pretty right if they're letting us see him,” Archie says. He looks happy, but his right leg is twitching fast, up and down, up and down.

Owen sticks his head out of the door. “In you come.”

Archie goes through first, and I hang back. I glance around, remembering the room well from the time after the football game. Now, there's a boy of about 13 in one of the beds, his head thrown back, mouth wide open, snoring softly. There are some posters on the wall about not smoking, not taking drugs and treating people with respect. Captive audience, I suppose. Another boy, one I know, lies back in his bed, reading a car magazine. He looks up and smiles at me, putting the magazine down.

“Hi, Ben,” I say. “What're you in here for?”

“Nothing much,” he says, his hand brushing unconsciously across his forehead, where there is a blue-green bruise. “Just slipped in the shower and hit my head.” I nod. We all know about that one. He's pissed somebody off for sure. “Kinda' nice in here, though.”

I wander slowly to where Aaron is sitting on his bed, knees crossed, pyjama top undone, gazing listlessly at Archie.

“You'll be out of here soon after me. Just hang on till then.”

Aaron shakes his head. “Listen, Arch, I don't want to get out of here. What makes you think it's so great out there?” He stops and frowns. “Why didn't they just leave me alone? They had no right to pump my stomach. It's my life and my decision to end it. None of their business, interfering arseholes.”

Archie gets up from the chair beside the bed. “I'm not listening to this crap,” he says and strides off to the door. Neither of us say anything for a minute, and then Aaron shrugs and says, “You know what I mean, don't you?”

I panic for a second. What's the right thing to say? Don't rush. Think. I breathe slowly, and then it comes to me.

“No, I don't, Aaron. I've taken the lives of two people—one I loved—and the thought of another person I think a lot of dying as well is just more than I can take.” My voice breaks, and I close my eyes for a moment. Breathe. Just breathe. I feel a grip on my arm. I open my eyes, and Aaron's staring intently at me, his brow furrowed. There's no vagueness in his look now.

“That's heavy.”

“Don't try it again, Aaron. Archie's right. You'll get past all of this.”

“There's no one out there for me, Luca. My mother has her own life. She never wanted me in the first place. I don't even know who my old man is. Some loser, I guess. The only thing that's ever made me feel good is drugs. Oh yeah,” he grins, “and sport.” His smile fades, and his eyes go dead again. “I can't do without drugs, and I can't do… I can't do what I have been doing to get them. Not anymore. I'd rather be dead.” He grips my arm again. “You get that, don't you?”

I nod. “I get it, but listen; I meant what I said. I can't take another person around me dying. I haven't got anyone out there either. No one. Will you just hang around for a while? For me?”

He smiles sadly. “I'll die without drugs anyway.”

“I'll get them for you!” I hiss. “I've only spent a bit of the money in my account. I'll get the word out, and you'll have what you need.”

“But there's still the guard. Nothing will stop him from coming into my cell.”

“I think I've got a way to stop him.”

Alarmed, Aaron sits up. “Don't say anything, Luca, or you're dead meat.”

“I know all about that. I can do it without telling them anything they don't already know. Promise me you won't do anything stupid till I speak to you again.”

He smiles. “I can't promise you I won't do anything stupid, but I can promise you I won't neck myself just yet.” Just for that moment, the old Aaron is back.

Minutes later, I'm outside, where Archie is waiting for me. He's sitting on the bench with his head in his hands. “Luca,” he says. “I'm gonna have to stop that guard. I was trying to keep clean till I got out, but what sort of friend am I if I don't help Aaron? He's going to be dead if I don't do something.” He laughs hollowly. “Not much point being out there free if I've left a mate to die.” He gets heavily to his feet.

“Archie, don't do a thing. I have a way.”

He stops and turns. “What way?”

“Just don't do anything yet, okay?”

Archie nods, puzzled.

Owen wanders across. “How's the patient?”

“Not bad. Do you think I could see Mr Khan?”

“Sure. Let's see if he's busy.”

We start back up the corridor, but Archie pulls me back. “Don't do it. Don't say nothing.”

“I won't, Arch,” I say and lope off next to Owen.

Five minutes later, I'm sitting opposite Mr Khan.

“What can I do for you, Luca?” he smiles. “Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Nothing that you can't help fix, sir,” I say confidently, although I'm feeling a bit shaky inside. He waits, and I take a deep breath. “My friend Aaron is in sick bay. I guess he'll be out in a day or two, and I want to stop him from hurting himself again.”

He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Are you going to tell me where he got the drugs from?”

“Sorry; I can't help you with that.”

“Then what can you do?” Mr Khan frowns.

“I'd like Aaron to move to my cell, sir. A double bunk can go in there, and then I'd be able to keep an eye on him, keep him off the drugs.”

Pursing his lips a little, Mr Khan says, “You could be sure of it if you found out where he was getting the drugs from.” I say nothing. “Most boys prefer their own cells. It's very unusual to give up a single cell.”

I have to convince him. “I know that, sir, but he's been a good friend to me, and if someone's there with him all the time, he won't get the opportunity to do anything.”

Mr Khan sits there for a moment, rolling the pen on his desk back and forth. “Well, if you're sure about this, I can move you both to a shared cell and someone else can have your single ones.” I feel a pang. My cell has been my cocoon—where I've written to you in my journal so often—the only place I could be myself. “That'll be great, sir.”

He smiles at me. “Not for too long, though. Your new cellmate gets out soon.”

*

I pack up my few things, and Owen takes me to my new home. It's a bit bigger than a single cell, but I know once Aaron's in here, it'll be pretty squeezy. I set up my desk—my journal on the bottom so Aaron doesn't see it—and my clothes, and I take the top bunk. Later that night, while I'm studying, Aaron wanders in, his arms full of his stuff.

“What's the deal, dude?”

I wait till the guard leaves and closes the door. “No one's going to be coming in here without my knowing it. You're never going to be alone in here. He's not going to do a thing while there's a witness.”

Aaron purses his mouth. “I feel like a little kid, though, with you watching me all the time.”

“Don't you think you need it?”

He frowns for a second and then slowly nods. “Guess this is my bunk.”

“Yep. All you have to do is shut up when I study.”

“No big deal.” He potters around, sticking posters up over the walls and stacking his clothes away while I finish, and then we both hit the sack. We talk for a while and then say goodnight. I'm just drifting off when Aaron says, “Luca?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“No worries.”

The day before Archie leaves, we have a bit of a party. The boys on kitchen duty even make him a packet cake and cut it into the shape of a key like they do for people's 21st birthdays. Archie's face is just glowing. That's the only way to describe it.

“I'll see you soon, anyway,” he says, and then he frowns and glances at me.

I shrug a little. “We know, Arch.”

Next morning at breakfast, everyone whistles and cheers when Archie comes in wearing a checked shirt and jeans, his hair wet and brushed back but with some of his curls pinging back down his neck and above his ears already. He waves like the champion he is, and Tim even gets his breakfast tray for him. We laugh and joke, but breakfast is over too soon, and he'll be gone by lunch time. The boys troop past him, and just Aaron and I hang back. I step up to Archie and hug him.