Page 71 of Twisted Heathens

Who could have possibly come forward after all this time?

“I need to know,” I say, breaking Mum’s little spell.

Her momentary relief soon fades as her face falls. “There was one person missing from the police interviews, Kade. One person that didn’t talk and fill in the gaps.”

“I don’t understand… I thought there weren’t any witnesses? Hudson was the only one there.”

“That’s… not exactly true.” Mums hesitates, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “We went with that story to make things better for Hudson. The lawyers figured the whole thing, made it sound like our only option if we wanted to avoid life imprisonment. Who can prosecute when there’s no one to testify as to what happened but a dead corpse?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, battling with my temper. “So someone was there that night? Someone saw what Hudson did… to him?”

“That’s why Hudson got off lightly.” Mum nods in confirmation. “His voice was the only one that was heard. She just acted like the whole thing was a bad dream, and we used that to our advantage. Pretended like she wasn’t even there that night. The woman was drugged to high heaven, it didn’t take much convincing. But now… his account is being challenged.”

The penny drops and I want to be sick. It’s an ugly realisation as I cast my mind back, recalling the weeks of anxiety as they analysed crime scene data, taking accounts from Hudson, us, his friends and fellow college students. Piecing together the mind of a man broken by childhood circumstances, enough that he felt the need to sneak off from his ideal life with us back to a crackpot mother that abandoned him for drugs instead.

He wanted to save her, but he destroyed his life instead.

“It’s his mother, Stephanie,” I say distastefully.

Mum nods.

Stephanie was there that night. All this time, I’ve been fed a big fat lie. That Hudson snuck home and she was gone, leaving her abuser behind who didn’t take too kindly to Hudson’s return. It was self-defence, or so I thought. That was the story I was fed. Or more accurately… the lie.

“She saw the whole thing, Kade. Just refused to acknowledge it until now.”

The image of Hudson’s drug-addled mother swims in my mind. I’d only ever seen pictures, the little snippets that I could glean from my traumatised brother who refused to acknowledge the childhood abuse that warped his mind.

“And now?” I press, knowing the worst is yet to come.

“Stephanie wants to testify. Against her own son. She’s threatening to bring the entire thing down on us. What really happened that night… she’s going to expose it all. ”

All I can do is stare into Mum’s pain filled eyes, the weight of responsibility on my shoulders slowly crushing me to the ground. All this time, I was fighting to protect Hudson from himself. I couldn’t see that the real threat was just waiting in the wings, embroiled in lies and ready to strike at the opportune moment.

Hudson killed for her, a truly pathetic excuse for a parent.

And now she’s going to bury him for it.

Twenty-Five

Brooklyn

Dark Signs by Sleep Token

I stand in the long queue outside the nurse’s station, waiting to pick up my morning meds. All around me, zombie patients sway and stumble, lining up for their next dose of sedatives to get them through the day. I’m just as bad, my hands shaking and body sweaty.

“Elijah Woods!” the nurse calls from her hatch.

I look up, finding Eli in the crowd. He skulks forwards and accepts the little paper cup of pills, swiftly knocking them back before sticking his tongue out for inspection.

“Clear. Move along.”

Eli tosses the cup away as he leaves, heading straight for the cafeteria. I watch every step he takes, leg muscles pronounced through his tight jeans, well-honed from running. The guys flash through my mind again, playing my body like a fine-tuned instrument as I was sandwiched between them at the weekend.

“Brooklyn West!”

Forcibly dragging myself out of the daydream, I retrieve my meds from the grey-faced matron and swallow the numerous pills. Choking them down without gagging is near impossible, but I’ve had a lot of practice over time.

“Tongue,” she demands, eyebrow raised in challenge.

---