🛸🛸🛸

Carter slammed the bloody front door behind him and sent his bag flying along the corridor all the way to the freakin' stairs. He flinched at the dull thud -- the camera! Inside the bag! Oi, to fuck with it! Carter thought. He shook off his jacket and threw it roughly in the same direction as the bag.

He walked past the double door to the living-room, and caught a glimpse of a faint stripe of light on the wooden floor, coming from the kitchen portal. He saw two dark silouettes, mum's wild gestures, followed by dad's deep baritone, "Maxine, darling. You've got to calm yourself down, alright?"

Carter caught his breath, his heart pace acccelerated. Dad was sober. It's been ages since Carter heard him talk in that calm and centered voice. It worked like a teleport to the sweetest loveliest childhood moments. They used to spend plenty of time together, he and dad. When dad would teach him about photography. They'd stroll about in the park for hours, taking pictures of every bird and every bug in every bush, every shivering leaf, sunlight-pierced emerald heaps, trembling in the wind. They'd come back home and lock themselves together in the dark room, developing the pictures of their found treasures, until mum came up hammering on the door, demanding they both leave the room at once or else. . .

Carter still kept all of them silly wasteful pictures, a reminder of those happy days. As much as Carter wanted to lose himself in a daydream, those times were gone, and he couldn't allow it. Carter knew it in his gut: his parents were talking about him. Very quietly, he took off his sneakers. His white-socked steps perfectly soundless, Carter tiptoed through the living room. He hunched behind the armchair and tried not to breathe.

"What if they won't believe him, Andy?" mum wailed.
"They will," dad spoke almost too gently. "The boy can lie like he's been training with bloody MI-6. They'll believe him."
"You don't."
"That's different. I'm his father," dad chuckled. "Besides, I've been through some training myself."
"You sound like it's a trivial thing!"
"That's cause it is. Max, listen to me: they're not pressing any charges, OK? They couldn't care less about Carter an' his lil business. They want the bigger fish!"

Oh, fuck, Carter almost cried. He pressed both hands to his mouth and kept quiet as a corpse. Johnny! The cops want Johnny, and they're going to question Carter about him. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"Uh-hum," mum sobbed. "They've got to leave him be. His just a kid!"
"That's exactly what I'll be telling them. Do whatever you need, but leave my kid out of it. But you've got to let me handle things my own way, Max. Which means, you can't be here when the officers arrive."
"No way!" she cried. "I'm not leaving you!"
"Max, listen," said dad. "Carter and I will be alright. But you are a fucking tell."
"Don't you dare talk to me like that!"
"Sorry, hon. But you've got to do as I say."
Mum tsked, but stopped arguing.
"Now," dad continued, "you're gonna act as if it's a minor misundertanding. Which it is. So you're going to put on some make-up and nice clothes, alright? Then you're gonna drive to the city and do some shopping at the mall. Buy yourself a dress, grab a cup of tea, watch a movie. Will you do that for me?"
"Alright," mum sighed.
"Good. I'll handle the rest."

Carter tasted blood. He'd bitten the insides of his cheek and barely even noticed. His heart was racing. If the police crack him, he's done. Hell, even if they don't!
Dad will.
Whatever happens, he's fucked. Big time.
Fuck!
Fuck!
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

🛸🛸🛸

#StarpunkAlphaCentauri
#StarpunkWriting