Indigo Children

Written Statement #4 Thompson

I, Thompson Scott, make this statement of my own free will. I understand that I do not have to say anything but that it may harm my defence if I do not mention when questioned something which I later rely on in court. This statement may be given in evidence.

I'm legally protected from discrimination by the Equality Act 2010—did anyone catch the heist because that's gone, mate. Did someone rip that page out silently or what?

I'm not equally protected, am I? I wouldn't have a bust lip if I were. You told me to sit down, and I did. There was no need for the backhand.

Detective Julie, you asked me earlier if this was a game to me. Now I'm going to ask you a question, and I'll bet you think your status is above being honest about your knowledge.

Did you know that 85% of black people in the UK are NOT confident that they would be treated the same as a white person by the police? You should remember that number. I'm feeling sure that figure will rain down on you one day soon.

Did you also know that I know you can hold me for up to 24 hours before you have to charge me with a crime or release me? And you haven't done either, and that means you've applied to hold me for 96 hours because I'm a suspect of a serious crime.

So no, this isn't a game to me. It's scary. That's what it is. I'm worried to death with a familiar feeling growing in the pit of my stomach that Chase has done something foolish again.

I knew something was brewing with him. On Sunday, I left at midnight, you can check my dad's Ring doorbell, but those two didn't come with me.

For the past week, Chase and Quinn have been living in my little sisters Wendy house. My parents haven't the foggiest idea.

A few weeks back, Quinn and I went to the headmaster at school about the abuse she was getting at home from her dad. Let's just say she got put to the bottom of a very long list, and that's how she ended up in my garden.

She isn't safe at home, but that doesn't seem to be anyone's concern. In my mind, I thought the social services would whip her from her dad within seconds. We were worried about foster homes, but you learn something new every day.

Three days ago, she called the police about her dad. She was shivering and shaking, pressing the phone so hard onto her face that it left a red mark. Again nothing happened.

On Friday morning, she returned to the teacher she had spoken to earlier that week. Before Quinn knocked on the door that holds Headmaster in bold black writing, we overheard a conversation that edged our hope with rust. Hope is a tricky thing, and it takes a lot to keep it from slipping away, but I saw in Quinn's eyes that day she had let it go.

Two teachers were in that white and magnolia office—both respectable adults—both know better than to gossip. They were, without doubt, sipping coffee. I could smell the burnt beans along with tasting the twang of unjust words. They were justifying why Quinn could be telling tales between themselves and the four walls, so they thought.

Quinn is associated with Chase, and Chase is a thief. It's a simple equation based on three probable outcomes. She's probably lied a million times for him. They probably want to be runaway teens. They probably cause their own troubles. The probabilities are endless when you make assumptions based on opinions because that's easier than establishing the truth, yeah?

Let's cut out the assumption and state the facts. My head is on the chopping board here, so I have no reason to fabricate or divert opinions. Think what you will. Just remember, not everyone lives a conventional life. Don't damn too quickly.

Chase comes from a long line of heroin addicts. His home is full of people day and night. His life is the side of life that makes most of us feel squeamish. It's unclean, and smoke is the aroma embedded into every bit of fabric he owns. The windows are permanently closed, and the never-ending beat of house music plays straight through the night to the other side every day of the week.

The people his parents are friends with pinch things from his house. Chase takes them back. He's a thief thieving his own stuff from whatever person took them.

I'll admit Chase isn't the best at robbing. He isn't quiet about either, as every Bobby in this station knows. But in the end, he wants his things back, and for kids like Chase, who are pre-stamped with a bad reputation, well, things are what they are—rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

He's in a vicious circle, and yeah, half the time, he doesn't help himself much. But what options does he have?

His mum and dad are very well known for recreational drug use. Chase is a wrong'un through association like Quinn.

His folks are stuck in the golden age of 1966, but is that so bad? Certain things happened in their lives that maybe they couldn't come to terms with—wrong or right, it's their life. Who knows how we'd cope when things go wrong.

They have always been good to me, they show me love, and that's something I don't often see.

My dad has never put his arm around me. My dad is too much of a rigorous man with a clear view of my future in mind. Football is my way out, he says. I'm afraid to tell him my passion lies in poetry.

I told Chases parents that, and they thought it was beautiful and even gave me a valid reason why my dad only wants the best for me. They have two of my poems framed in their house, and man are they proud of them. I don't think there's an addict in Roseville who doesn't quote me on the street. I'll sing glory the day my dad frames a poem of mine, that's if he ever gets to know about them.

God knows his mum and dad would change a few things for Chase, but they've been living high for so long that it's normal. It keeps out their pain. That truth probably arrived violently for Chase, and that's why he makes it clear he isn't to be worried about by his parents. He looks after them, not the other way around. I'm sure Chase thinks he owes them for teaching him to love without fear.

They encourage him in ways that I've never seen before. When he speaks, they look at him with delight in their eyes. They hang from his words with a smile they can't hide. They look at him with disbelief at times that he's theirs. They cuddle, laugh and always tell each other how much they love each other.

Chase is the only person I know who gets excited to wake Christmas morning having his mum's stoking hanging off his bed knob with one orange and one out of date chocolate gold coin in it.

I want to think I'm a grateful young man but am I? Would I hold and cherish that tradition as Chase does? No! I'd throw a fit and demand my list be under the tree. I'll not be a pretender in this statement of honesty.

Quinn only knows half of Chase's home life. He doesn't want her to be around the parties and drugs, he keeps her out of everything possible, and that's where he takes on too much. He tries to look after everyone, and he can't.

I told him that on Sunday night over a bottle of Bud. It isn't his duty to catch all the apples, yet we both knew then and there if it wasn't him removing Quinn from that house, who would?

What does it take? What guidelines are worth a possible threat to life? Does someone finally do something when it's too late?

The fact I'm here and have been held for so long leaves me guessing this isn't good.

I'm not religious, but in desperate times, I'm praying Quinn is okay and Chase isn't in too much trouble.