“Arkin?”
Momentarily distracted from the show, Neriah peers at the doorway. Arkin is gone. She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, ‘that’s strange.’
“Hey, kids,” Dad says, distracting me from the growing unease as he enters the living room.
I stand up. “What happened to Arkin?”
Dad visibly flinches before he schools his expression and looks back at the hallway. It’s empty. Arkin is upstairs. Something is wrong.
“What happened, Dad?” I ask again.
I swear to God, if he doesn’t tell me soon, I’ll lose my damn mind.
Dad runs a hand through his short hair. I’ve never seen him look so haggard before, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “We had a meeting in town after his therapy session.”
“And?” I probe.
“His uncle is up for parole.”
I’m stunned into silence. Parole? Did I hear that correctly? That can’t be true. It’s only been a couple of years. But then I think back on other abuse cases. Lengthy prison sentences are rare.
Neriah is listening now too, having turned away from the TV.
“How can he be up for parole already?” I ask.
Dad shrugs helplessly. “He got ten years. This is Britain, son. He’ll be out in half that time with good behavior. The wife paroled last year.”
My eyes bug out. “What?”
“I’m just as frustrated as you.”
“How is that bitch out already?” I don’t know the details of what happened, but she should be locked up for several more decades.
“Language,” Dad admonishes. “She’s out on parole with strict instructions to stay away from Arkin and his siblings. If she comes anywhere near them or tries to contact them, she gets sent straight back to serve out the rest of her sentence.”
“She shouldn’t be out at all.”
Mum joins us, rolling the wedding band on her finger, a sad expression on her tired face.
“I agree,” Dad says. “That’s the legal system for you. It’s not fair. But at least we’ve done everything we can for Arkin.”
“Have we though? You’re sending him away to Scotland of all places, to live with relatives no one knew existed until recently.”
“Don’t start this again,” he pleads. “Arkin is a grown man. We agreed to house him temporarily because it was the right thing to do, but the young man can’t live with us forever.”
Shaking my head bitterly, I scoff. “So much for your Christian values, huh?”
His jaw hardens, but one pleading look from Mum and he turns to exit the room. I walk after him, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You think your God will approve of this? That you’re turning your back on Arkin?”
Dad spins around, cheeks blotchy red. “Watch your mouth, son. Arkin has family out there. Relatives who want a chance to get to know him. They’re what’s best for him right now. Not us. Don’t you see that God has offered Arkin a second chance?”
Frustration slams into me like a freight train. “This is England, Dad. Look around you, for fuck’s sake. No one believes in God anymore. Your God”—I do quotation marks—“doesn’t care.”
“Zachary!” Mum’s sharp voice rings out behind me. Dad and I remain locked in a stare down for a moment longer, and I almost tell him there and then that I’m into guys, just to rub it in his fucking face and destroy his hopes of a perfect family. But I can’t do it. I can’t do that to Arkin. I can’t take the best thing that’s happened to me and weaponize it against my father because I’m angry and scared. Instead, I storm upstairs, taking the steps three at a time, and slam the door shut behind me.
Screw my parents.
After a few moments of banging the back of my head against the door while muttering curses, I scan my empty room. Where’s Arkin? Confused, I push off the door. The one to my bathroomis closed, so I cross only to find it locked. I rattle the handle. “Arkin, open up.”
