Trying To Heal

Chapter Eight

SONG: John Newman - Love Me Again

❀

Derek Matthews

On an L-shaped sofa, Harlow is reading Hunger Games. She slides in the bookmark, and rapidly closes the book, sprinting to Parker.

Parker hugs her, slightly stumbling. "Hey, you alright?"

Harlow steps back, realising she should be angry. "Where were you?"

"I was out."

The forced nonchalance in Parker's tone trembles Harlow's lips. She swamps a pungent clog, and storms out of the wide space, thundering the creaking staircase to her room. A nun observes her, then shoots a displeased, unspoken message to Parker.

Parker watches Harlow's retreating figure, sharply exhaling. "I'm a shit brother."

"At least you know."

Parker scowls at me. "I never signed up to get dissed by you."

"That is a worry."

"Why are you even here, man? Like, why do you care about us?"

"I plan to help this place. Perhaps modify it into something more tenable. You have time to improve, Parker. Just remember to be conscious of your conscience. Set straight your priorities that are worthwhile. Not drugs and shit."

I hold out a hand. Understanding, he groans and sighs loudly, like a child throwing a tantrum, whacks out his packet of weed blunts, and hurls it at me. I catch it fluently, inspecting the entwines.

"This is not real. Where did you get this?"

"Some girl at school gave it to me." He shrugs. "I don't know, I don't care. All I know is that I can't get those good grades. I'm shit at school, too."

"That is fine. Grades are not relevant, anyway."

"That's exactly what a rich twat would say."

"Grades determine knowledge, not intelligence." I hold out the gift bag. "Happy birthday."

Parker hesitates, timidly accepting. It is heavy, and he inspects the inside, his mouth falling open in surprise. "You got me a phone?"

"My Aunt did. Harlow said your current one is crap. Marlene also got you a laptop, too, for school. Uh, keep it out of the children's reach."

"You shouldn't have got me this. This stuff is expensive."

"It is not expensive for Marlene Everston. Just keep it."

Parker was about to respond when the door opened. A slim man of ivory skin, a round slitted gaze, a fine-curved nose, and a neatly-trimmed scruff. He surveys Parker, and instead of a warm-hearted greeting, the priest arches his fine brows. "What a stunt you pulled, disappearing into nowhere. Head to bed, boy. I will talk to you in the morning."

Parker glimpses at me. I nod. He flickers to the priest, grappling his gift bag harder, mumbling a farewell to me, and ascending to his room.

Once we hear the hard slam of his door, the priest shifts to me. "Derek Matthews." He holds out a palm. "We have not properly met before. I'm Father Stychel."

"The new priest."

"Yes. I have heard a lot about you. The kids here have a liking towards you. It seems you have a liking for them, too. May God bless you. I have been waiting for us to converse for an exceptionally long time. You see, Derek, I have useful information—" He halts, swiftly analysing the environs. Closing into me, he whispers, "I know about your family's sex trafficking ring."