Chapter #4Confront your son by: Yote   It wasn't an idea so much as a realisation. Life had been on a downward trajectory even before the divorce. Now it was in free fall. Your performance at work had been in the dirt ever since she'd walked out on you - commissions had dried up and management were already making moves to fire you. Even this shitty flat, with its peeling, mould-encrusted walls, was more than you could afford. What little money Cassandra had left you with had been spent. In a month, you'll be out on your ass.
With a weary yet resolute sigh, you switched off the "documentary" and drained your beer. Until the time that you were super successful bikini model Kate Upton, sacrifices would have to be made. Sacrifices such as your son. How biblical.
Perhaps it would do him some good, kicking him out. Since the divorce he had done nothing but seclude himself in his room, appearing every so often only to eat your food and act like a hormonal, horny teenager. He had no job, no girlfriend, no drive. You loved him dearly, but making him land on his feet and fend for himself was in his best interests.
You pressed your ear against his bedroom door for signs of life. His music player was blasting out something godawful. You knocked loudly and gave him time to zip up his pants.
Nothing... You hammered harder. "Chris, open up, it's your father." No reply. "Chris, open the door, I want to have a talk." ..... "Fine. I'm coming in."
His room, when you stepped into it, was freezing. The window was wide open, curtains billowing in the cold wind. A stack of comic books had been swept off his desk and strewn about the room, pages flapping. His PC was lit up and playing its noise-music to an empty room.
Huh. You suppressed a smile at the idea that the little bastard had been sneaking out behind your back. Perhapss he wasn't as antisocial as you thought. "Just wish you could do it without wasting the heating and electric," you muttered, pulling closed the window and powering down the computer. As it shuts down, you catch sight of a text document and the words, 'Power Broker 117 graymalkin road dont forget!!!!'. With a last disapproving glance at his shelves of comics, you stepped outside.
Graymalkin road? you thought, returning to the living room. That's a rough part of town. What business could he possibly have there? God, please don't let it be drugs.
Kate Upton: A Beautiful Life was no longer running when you flicked the TV back on. Breaking news was plastered across the lower half of the screen and a newswoman stood against the famial backdrop of the city high-street. The red-blue lights of police cars illuminated the area.
"I'm standing live at the scene of where chaos broke out earlier when a mysterious individual attempted to steal millions of pounds from a high security vault in the bank behind me," the newswoman said. "Police are asking for witnesses and for anybody who can help them make sense of the following footage."
The screen shifted to grainy CCTV footage of the heist. It showed...  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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