My name is Keegan and … 2For the story so far
My name is Keegan and it is surprisingly easy to pretend you have a family, even when you don’t. Here I was enrolling into another school.
“One of your carers need to be present at the enrolment interview,” the Deputy Principal had commented to me.
“Mum’s got cancer, she finds it hard to leave the house. You can call her, but she was sleeping when I left so I’d prefer it if you rang around lunch. She’s normally awake then.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Perhaps I should have felt bad about lying to the man. He’d proceded to enroll me in the school, aided by the fake reports I had made from an independent school in a different state. It was really hard to track enrolments and I was not too bad on the computer. Adding in a false record was chicken feed for me and a device called Raspberry Pi. I did not feel bad about lying though. My life had been hectic for more years that I could count. My Mum had died of Cancer and I knew more than a man needed to about the ins and outs of caring for someone ill. I also knew that there were plenty of child carers who no one cared about. They were too busy surviving to misbehave at school and too busy running a household and nursing their parents to get into any sort of trouble outside of school.
Quiet students slip through the gaps all the time. I could do quiet, I could do well behaved and I could do enough school to get a certificate of education properly, without hacking. I also knew that deputy principals were notoriously busy people and that even if the man did manage to ring my fictitious mother, he’d leave a message on the spare mobile and he’d leave another. She’d “call” him back after school hours and after a while, he’d give up. I needed access to certain libraries and whilst I had hacked their systems, I hadn’t the skills I needed to understand any of the files except for the fact that three of the artifacts I wanted to look at had not been scanned. I had to go there and to get to the location, I needed to be a student at the university. To do that, I needed another year of school. Thus, a different town, different last name, forged documents and back to being a school student.
Six months ago my father had been murdered, his heart ripped from his chest when he was still alive. They hadn’t told me that bit, but I knew, just as I knew that eventually, they’d come for me. What I did not know is who they were?
When I had run, I had run to my friend’s house for a couple of nights. One long night where I could hear so many sounds. His mother’s breathing machine, the rhythmic shallow breathing reminding me of my mother’s last weeks. I heard the phone call three houses down of a woman walking out on her family. I heard someone sharpen a knife in the next street. By morning my hearing was ordinary but it hadn’t stopped me hearing echoes of my father. That had seriously freaked me out. I mean shit, he was dead and no matter what I had wanted, fuck. He’d told me to run, told me that they were coming for me and told me that I could not let them get me. He’d told me that I wasn’t human but he hadn’t told me what I was, who I was or who in hell they were that were trying to rip my heart out of me.
I’d been petrified. I’d been alone. I couldn’t lay that sort of shit upon my only mate who’s mum was weeks away from her own death. I’d split. Split work, split school and started riding.
Now I was ready to start again.