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Authors: C David Ingram
Tags: Crime Fiction
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feeling hopelessly old. It used to be that selling sex was the lowest one could fall, and now this girl, this child, was telling me that it was nothing more than a life-style choice.
âThey love you,â I repeated, my voice lame.
âStop telling me that they love me!â
The other two girls looked up briefly; the fat businessman was too busy enjoying himself. Susan lowered her voice. âI donât care if they love me! I donât care! I tried to talk to them, I mean really tried , but they didnât listen.â
âWhich is why theyâre sorry now.â
âJesus Christ, you donât get it, do you? How can I go back? How can I face my parents after this? How can I tell them that I once let a guy pee on me for two hundred pounds?â
âYou donât. Tell them what you want. They wonât care. All they want is to know is that youâre safe. When your dad came to hire us, we told him that you could be doing anything. We told him that you could be dead, that you could be working in a place like this. You want to know what he said?â
She nodded.
ââIt doesnât matter. Sheâs a good kid, and a smart one. Sheâll do what it takes to get by.â Bonnydoon is two hundred miles away. Itâs not as if youâre going to be running into people that youâve met in Glasgow every day of the week. And the guy that paid to. . . you know. . . you think heâs going to tell people what heâs into? You think heâs proud of the fact that heâs such a weirdo that he has to pay someone to be a part of his sick little fantasy?â
Whatever I said, I felt that I wasnât going to get through to her. Still, I kept trying. âLook, you can sit there and pretend that youâve been there, done that and bought the fucking T-shirt, but the truth is that you donât know shit. You might at the time have thought you had a good reason to leave, but you know now thatâs a load of crap. You know that your parents love you but, rather than admit that, you have the nerve to sit here and pretend that youâre the one thatâs the victim in all this. Can you imagine all the worry and hurt you caused them?
Can you understand how their lives stopped the minute you went missing?â
I reached into my wallet and took out a business card and a pen, scrawling my home number onto the back before placing the card on the table in front of her. âLook, if youâre scared about facing your parents, call me first and Iâll talk to them for you.â
She just sat there, shaking her head as if by doing so she could discount everything I had said. I stood up, angry. âFuck it. I said I wasnât going to tell your parents where you were, but I think I will.
Because maybe then youâll see. Theyâll keep looking for you. Theyâll come down here and ask questions, so unless you decide that you can handle it, then youâre going to have to move on. But wherever you go, theyâre going to keep looking because, for whatever reason, they love you and will forgive anything. . . anything . . . youâve done. You canât run forever.â
Chapter 2
Friday November 14th, 2008
2.1
Take Control: Glasgow operated from a small grey building on Paisley Road that had originally been a doctorsâ surgery. Four years ago, a new health centre had been built a couple of hundred yards away, and the doctors had lost no time in decamping to the upgraded facility. Take Control lived up to their name and took control, turning the examination rooms into small offices that were ideal for one-to-one counselling. Everything â the reception area, the private rooms, the coffee bar â was painted in soothing earth tones: harvest browns and spring yellows and forest greens. Pamphlets covered every available surface in the reception area â Coping With Loss, Dealing with Depression, So You Think You Might Be Gay?
âThey love you,â I repeated, my voice lame.
âStop telling me that they love me!â
The other two girls looked up briefly; the fat businessman was too busy enjoying himself. Susan lowered her voice. âI donât care if they love me! I donât care! I tried to talk to them, I mean really tried , but they didnât listen.â
âWhich is why theyâre sorry now.â
âJesus Christ, you donât get it, do you? How can I go back? How can I face my parents after this? How can I tell them that I once let a guy pee on me for two hundred pounds?â
âYou donât. Tell them what you want. They wonât care. All they want is to know is that youâre safe. When your dad came to hire us, we told him that you could be doing anything. We told him that you could be dead, that you could be working in a place like this. You want to know what he said?â
She nodded.
ââIt doesnât matter. Sheâs a good kid, and a smart one. Sheâll do what it takes to get by.â Bonnydoon is two hundred miles away. Itâs not as if youâre going to be running into people that youâve met in Glasgow every day of the week. And the guy that paid to. . . you know. . . you think heâs going to tell people what heâs into? You think heâs proud of the fact that heâs such a weirdo that he has to pay someone to be a part of his sick little fantasy?â
Whatever I said, I felt that I wasnât going to get through to her. Still, I kept trying. âLook, you can sit there and pretend that youâve been there, done that and bought the fucking T-shirt, but the truth is that you donât know shit. You might at the time have thought you had a good reason to leave, but you know now thatâs a load of crap. You know that your parents love you but, rather than admit that, you have the nerve to sit here and pretend that youâre the one thatâs the victim in all this. Can you imagine all the worry and hurt you caused them?
Can you understand how their lives stopped the minute you went missing?â
I reached into my wallet and took out a business card and a pen, scrawling my home number onto the back before placing the card on the table in front of her. âLook, if youâre scared about facing your parents, call me first and Iâll talk to them for you.â
She just sat there, shaking her head as if by doing so she could discount everything I had said. I stood up, angry. âFuck it. I said I wasnât going to tell your parents where you were, but I think I will.
Because maybe then youâll see. Theyâll keep looking for you. Theyâll come down here and ask questions, so unless you decide that you can handle it, then youâre going to have to move on. But wherever you go, theyâre going to keep looking because, for whatever reason, they love you and will forgive anything. . . anything . . . youâve done. You canât run forever.â
Chapter 2
Friday November 14th, 2008
2.1
Take Control: Glasgow operated from a small grey building on Paisley Road that had originally been a doctorsâ surgery. Four years ago, a new health centre had been built a couple of hundred yards away, and the doctors had lost no time in decamping to the upgraded facility. Take Control lived up to their name and took control, turning the examination rooms into small offices that were ideal for one-to-one counselling. Everything â the reception area, the private rooms, the coffee bar â was painted in soothing earth tones: harvest browns and spring yellows and forest greens. Pamphlets covered every available surface in the reception area â Coping With Loss, Dealing with Depression, So You Think You Might Be Gay?
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