Perception

Chapter Eleven

   Chapter Eleven 

Never argue with a fool. People might not know the difference.

Unknown

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     The cop shop was a complete waste of time. I really don’t know why they even bothered to call us in. We sat at Mason’s desk watching as he stacked one horrifically graphic images on top of the other.

    Looking up at us, all he asked was, “Well?”

    What did he honestly expect me to say?

   “I don’t know.” I picked up one then threw it back on the table. “All miners look the same to me. It might of been him, it might not. I never saw his face and there’s not enough of his hands left to see his fingernails.”

     Shrugging Petra seconded. “I saw less then she did.”

   Mason muttered something about a DNA match and that was it. Petra had to use the toilet on the way out, so I took the opportunity to wash my face and fill our water bottles from their tap.

     We weren’t the only ones in there. When we first arrived, there was some tall anorexic looking blonde chick dressed in a three-piece dress suit downing some pills. Her green eyes met mine as I settled back against the counter.

    “You know here might not be the best place to take those,” I said, twirling my finger to indicate the fact we were in a police station.

   “They’re prescription,” she replied, briskly shoved the orange container back into her attaché case.

    “That’s what they all say,” I called after her as she exited.

    Petra finished and we left, heading up West Street as it had already been decided we would go and visit Matt today.

     Matthew Stanton had been my best friend in my old life. It had been to his house we had fled almost six years ago to escape our abusive Father before heading out into the big bad world. He had given us food and money while only asking that we kept in touch; I had made the promise even though I knew I was going to break it.

    The Stanton’s was the first port of call when Father had first come looking for us. For helping us, Matt was rewarded with a broken arm, four cracked ribs and a bruised collarbone. Through it all he never said a word.

     In some sick way Father actually saved or at least prolonged Matt’s life. It was during one of the X-rays that one of the doctors noticed a black shadow; Matt was dying from some obscure childhood cancers I couldn’t pronounce the name of.

    I hadn’t known any of this till I ‘bumped’ into him on the street last year. I almost had a heart attack when I saw his ID. There had been almost one hundred dollars in that wallet too, but my rarely functioning conscious wouldn’t let me keep it. Every week or so we go and visit him.

    “Petra, tell your puppy to go home,” I told her nonchalantly when a familiar shadow fell in behind us.

    “He’s not my puppy,” was her reply as she started to pull two garbage bags out of her backpack.

    Handing one to me, we turned into the laundromat on Braxton Street. Despite the loud whirling of the working machines, the place was empty.

   I looked up at her as I opened the first door. “I’ve told you time and again never to feed strays. Now we can’t get rid of him.”