The Stolen by T. S. Learner Read Free Book Online Page A

English in his wide-brimmed black hat, his dark eyes twinkling beneath it, the moustache and gold tooth gleaming from the smile that was as real as the pen in her hand, exotic yet familiar. She’d tried to ignore him. It had been then that she’d asked permission to use the toilet.
    Half an hour later she was at the Autonome Youth Centre, at the back of the main train station, where she knew she would find Wilhelm, her boyfriend, and where she could score. Her timing, as usual, had been impeccable. Wilhelm turned up five minutes after her; more importantly he had money.
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    The front door was closed but unlocked and a trail of muddy footsteps encrusted by dirty snow led into the house. Matthias tensed. He pushed the door open; music blared out and the open-plan living room was a mess: a leather jacket tossed on the floor, a half-drunk bottle of whisky in front of the fireplace and a half-eaten cheesecake next to an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The Ramones boomed out from the stereo while an episode of Liliane’s favourite show,
Tatort
, played out on the muted TV screen. Where was the housekeeper? Matthias spun round, despairing at the chaos, then remembered it was her day off.
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    Liliane let Willi roll the sleeve of her school shirt up. She liked the feel of his guitarist’s callused fingertips on her skin, his large-knuckled hands firm in their intent.
    â€˜Cool school uniform,’ he told her, grinning. ‘Kinky.’ He pulled the tourniquet tight and tapped for a vein on the inside of her elbow, his head with the letter X shaven into the scalp bent over her. She could smell him, could smell herself on him: their lovemaking, cigarette smoke and his cheap cologne. She loved the danger of him, so raw, so unobtainable. Son of an Italian cabdriver and older than her by a good five years, he was her portal to a world that pushed up against the edge of life, one that promised to keep her sharp and alive. But right now she just wanted to make her ghosts disappear.
    On the stairs leading up to the bedrooms Matthias found an abandoned bra, then a pair of black stilettos. As Liliane’s laughter burst from her bedroom, Matthias’s chest started to tighten in the nausea of expectation. He raced down the corridor and tried opening the locked door; in seconds he’d kicked it open. Liliane was lying on the bed, half-dressed, a rubber tourniquet around her upper arm and, kneeling over her, a half-naked, rake-thin youth with a shaven head and a used syringe in his hand. Matthias hauled him off then threw him against the wall.
    â€˜Papa!’ Liliane cringed on the bed.
    â€˜Okay! Okay! Mister, there’s no need to freak!’ Willi shouted, struggling to get into his T-shirt, the track marks in the creases of his arms clearly visible.
    â€˜Get out before I call the police!’ Matthias lunged again.
    â€˜Papa! Don’t!’ Liliane, the heroin now flooding her body, tried to stop her father, but didn’t have the coordination.
    â€˜I’ll have you prosecuted for dealing and statutory rape!’ Matthias shouted in the young man’s face: all pimples, his pupils black pinpricks.
    â€˜She’s eighteen!’
    â€˜She’s
fifteen
, moron.’
    Willi swung round to Liliane. ‘You told me you were eighteen?’
    Liliane ran over and grabbed his arm. ‘I can explain…’
    He shook her off. ‘I have to go, he’ll have me arrested.’
    â€˜Get your hands off her!’ Matthias swung a fist towards the youth, who ducked just in time.
    â€˜You know where to find me,’ Willi told Liliane then made for the door.
    â€˜Don’t go!’ But the youth grabbed his battered leather bag and bolted, the door slamming after him. Seconds later Matthias helped the weeping Liliane to her feet.
    â€˜Don’t touch me! You drove him away! He’s my boyfriend…’
    â€˜He’s a thug and a drug addict.