Stolen Pasts

By Charles Stanley Wiltshire

Two men, one a father the other his son. The father has spent time in prison for badly beating his mother and son. Since then he has become a homeless drug addict and an alcoholic. Now with just over one year to live he lives in a hostel and he can barely remember anything about his past.

The son has grown up hating his father and most of his mother’s boyfriends. Now a university graduate with his first career job and his first flat he decides it is time to confront his father and ask him why he treated him and his mother so badly.

When they meet the encounter does not go to plan and the outcome is not what either of them expected. How will they survive as their pasts are exposed and the truth is not always as clear as they once believed it was?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Stanley Wiltshire
• Release date: Jul 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649997722

Charles Stanley Wiltshire

My name is Charles Wiltshire and I hail from Hampshire in England. My work experience is based around the IT industry but on my heart I have always wanted to be full time Author. I love creating stories and building fiction worlds. My other loves in life are cooking, running and motorbikes.

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Stolen Pasts

Charles Stanley Wiltshire

Copyright © CS Wiltshire

The right of CS Wiltshire to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.7

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First Published 2020

Chapter 1

The surge of intense pain that ran through his fragile and ravaged body reminded James Moth that he was awake and that another day of pain and boredom had begun.

Oh damn it, so I am still alive was the first thought that ran through his mind as the harsh reality of another day kicked in.

Still extremely tired after yet another restless night of poor quality sleep and unsettling dreams he forced himself into a sitting position on his bed and grabbed the collection of pills from the bedside table.

James was a lonely, dying man who was suffering from severe liver damage and HIV.

The liver damage was the result of many years of heavy drinking whilst the infection of HIV was down to his drug habit and the use of dirty, infected needles. He knew that there was only a couple of years left in him and at this point in his life James no longer cared or desired to live much longer.

His only regret on the matter was that he was not strong enough to end it all now and he would be forced to slowly wither away painfully until the final day when his body would simply give up and release him from this life which had become his prison.

He was a man with nothing to live for or look forward to. James could not remember any of his family members or friends from his younger days. In fact he did not even know if his parents were still alive. Years of drug and alcohol abuse had simply left him a sad, empty shell of a man that once existed.

Quickly he swallowed his morning collection of tablets and then washed them down with a cup of water. Now feeling slightly more relaxed James lay back down in his bed and tried to grab a couple more hours sleep.

It was only seven in the morning and, as with every morning, he did not have anything urgent to get up for. Also the longer he slept then the sooner another day would end and the closer he would be to the ultimate release.

So James fell back to sleep and he probably would have remained in that state all day had the pain within his body not woken him four hours later.

With a loud groan, he opened his eyes and checked the wall clock. It was now just after eleven in the morning and so he gave up trying to sleep his life away and grabbed a fresh batch of tablets which were washed down with the remains of his glass of water.

Then he struggled out of bed and limped over to the kitchen area of his hostel room where he washed and brushed what remained of his teeth. Feeling a little more human he then put the kettle on before dressing in fairly clean clothes.

Food was the next matter of concern and a quick check of the fridge revealed nothing of any interest, including milk.

Black coffee it is then he muttered to himself as he checked the food cupboard. Here there was also little of interest but he did find some dry and edible bread.

Thank god today is Monday and my payday, He said while placing two slices of bread in the toaster. James did not actually work for a living, what he really meant by payday were his monthly disability and social payments. Because of his failing health and HIV infection he was no longer expected to find work and his payments were guaranteed until he passed away.

He glanced around the room that would probably be his home for what remained of his natural life. In one corner was his bed, it was small but also clean and comfortable. Next to the bed was a small table and then his single wardrobe. On the next wall was the single window and in front of that stood two single arm-chairs which faced the wall mounted television. Next, there was a small kitchen area which was fitted with a tiny cooker, fridge, sink and microwave. There was also the usual kettle and toaster.

Last but not least there was a door which led to his small but private toilet and hand basin. Most days he would wash there but once or twice each week he would also use the shared shower room which was situated just along the hallway. Then came his front door and access to the communal hallway and the outside world.

The room itself was warm, comfortable and reasonably clean. James had very little in the way of personal belongings, just like the memories of his earlier life there was not a lot to show for such a hard, long and pain-ridden life.

With his coffee firmly in his shaking hand James walked over to the wall mirror and looked at himself.

It was not a pretty sight.

James was forty-nine years old but he looked sixty. His face was drawn and scarred while what was left of his hair was now a dull grey. He had also lost just over half his teeth and he looked a very short, frail old man.

That’s the best I can do he muttered to himself while walking back to the toaster.

While eating his toast James walked over to his radio and tuned into the local radio station. Next, he walked to the window and gazed outside.

It was a sunny spring day and judging by the lack of coats being worn by those walking along the pavement it was also fairly warm. This pleased James, these days he felt the cold a lot and keeping warm was always a big challenge.

As he stared out of the window there was a knock on his door, James knew who was there and also the door was unlocked.

It’s open Steve He shouted without looking around.

Steve Hanson was his neighbour and the only real friend he had in the world. Steve was forty years old and just like James, he was also an ex-convict with drink and drug related issues. Unlike James however, he was not dying and would hopefully one day return to full time work and what would be a much happier and rewarding life.

Steve’s term in prison had been down to burglaries and stealing from shops and there had never been any violence in his actions, this was where Steve and James differed.

Steve was a tall man at six foot four inches and also lean and muscular. His head was shaven and on his right cheek was a two-inch scar, the result of a prison knife fight. Like many of the residents currently living in the hostel, Steve was missing a good number of teeth and his body and oral hygiene left room for improvement.

How you doing buddy, replied Steve as he walked into the room, I thought that was your radio I heard?

James turned around and smiled.

I am okay thanks, he replied, how about you?

Did not sleep very well, shrugged Steve that stupid, loud bitch on the other side kept screaming at someone on her mobile phone. I banged on the wall and she simply called me a pedo and told me to fuck off

Have you told the staff?

Yeh, but they will do sod all about it, they never do. It is a bloody shame that Serge cannot work twenty-four seven

James nodded a reply, this was very true. Unless an actual fight broke out the night staff would do very little actual work, they were there for the pay and nothing else. Serge was one of the few that cared but he was rarely around in the early hours.

What about you buddy, you still getting those weird dreams?

Yes, confirmed James still the same dream and nearly every night

Odd, but you do not know who this person is?

Not a clue, all I am sure is that it is not me, I was never that clever, handsome or rich

In these extremely vivid dreams, he would always play the part of a highly trained computer programmer who had graduated from university with a first-class honours degree. This person was now a highly paid and well-respected professional with a large house, sports car and beautiful wife.

For this young person, life, the universe and everything was going so well and the world was well and truly his oyster. Every night the dream would follow the same theme, there would be minor differences but the plot was always similar, especially the end.

These dreams would always end in the same way. This hardworking and very highly skilled programmer would lose his grip on reality and kill everyone in his office. Then he would kill himself by jumping out of a window.

James had no idea who the person in these dreams was but they were so vivid and disturbing that his social worker was trying to arrange counselling sessions for him in an effort to discover what was causing them. Until that could be arranged he would simply have to continue trying to guess the reasons.

So are you coming out? Asked Steve

Yeh, why not, Responded James, there was nothing on the television worth watching and besides which he also needed to go shopping. Therefore he grabbed his jacket, keys, wallet and mobile phone and followed his friend into the corridor.

Not another word was spoken as they both walked to the lift and waited for its arrival. They both lived on the fourth floor and neither felt the urge to run down the stairs, in fact such levels of exertion would have made James pretty ill and he would probably then spend the next two days in bed recovering.

Once out in the open street, they walked together with their heads slightly bowed. Neither liked making eye contact with other people, especially youngsters. Both had discovered to their cost that on occasions such eye contact would lead to abuse and even physical conflict.

As a direct result of these fears they both tried to avoid such encounters by keeping their eyes down, life was a lot less painful that way.

The first stop for them was the closest cash machine where they both verified that they had indeed been paid. Relieved to know there were funds for food and other essentials they then undertook the short walk to the closest supermarket.

James hated being out in public, especially on dry, bright days such as this. The local area was always busy with office workers and students. The people he hated most was the university students, while the vast majority would simply ignore him or just look down their noses in his direction a very small minority would take things further.

Often it would be nothing more than a quick shove out of the way. But on more than one occasion in the past, he had actually been thrown to the ground and even punched

What he had noticed most about those that showed such violent tendencies was that they tended to be foreign students and the majority were from the Far East.

At first, James had struggled to understand why this was so but he was soon advised by support workers and friends that it was a cultural issue and in other countries, people like him were simply left to beg and die on the streets.

So as a result of this realisation he quietly walked along the busy road with his head looking down until they reached the supermarket.

They were both relieved that on this day there had been no incidents and once inside the shop they managed to relax a little.

Have you got much to get? Asked Steve.

The usual, food and milk. Also, I need some new socks, getting low on those. How about you?

More or less the same, need coffee so I cannot afford socks

James grinned and considered the irony of it, coffee or socks, were they really that poor?

The answer was of course yes they were.

One hour later they were back in Steve’s room. Both lots of shopping had been stored away and they had also topped up on their tablets and painkillers.

Refreshed after a hot cup of tea they considered what to do for the afternoon.

How about a walk along the beach, offered James it is a nice day and walking is free

Steve nodded his head, today he felt energetic enough for a walk and he had learned to enjoy the good days while they were there.

James had also learned to think the same way. There were days when he was simply too ill to even leave his bed and others, such as today when he had the energy to spare.

What remained of his life was now too short and precious to waste.

So together they set off towards the resort area of Portsmouth which was known as Southsea and the seafront. The first place they reached upon arrival was the recently renovated south parade pier. While still nowhere near its original glory days the pier was at least a vast improvement on its recent decline and closure.

James admired the pier as they walked past and he could not help but feel he had spent plenty of time there in his earlier days but like most of his past life these memories and experiences were lost from years of alcohol and drug abuse.

He also seemed to remember a group of nightclubs that used to exist across the road from the pier. He was not sure if this was real or just a dream because where they would have stood there was now a block of modern flats built for the over fifties age group and a large supermarket.

James then gazed out across the water towards the large island called the Isle of Wight. This was another view he appeared to remember from his childhood and one that was never likely to change at all, not even Portsmouth council could knock down an island he thought.

The stretch of water between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight was known as the Solent and it had always been a very busy and crowded area for shipping.

First, there was the large container ships and cruise liners going in and out of Southampton, then there was naval and cross channel traffic in and out of Portsmouth harbour. All of this and the large collection of small private yachts and boats meant that there was always a lot of nautical traffic in the area. It was a view that James always found peaceful and relaxing and for brief moments in time this helped him forget the pain.

He stared at one of the cross channel ferries as it headed out from the harbour. He also noticed a few brave, hardy, early season swimmers, this sight made him shiver slightly for although it was not a cold day it was also not what he would call swimming weather and the water did not look particularly warm.

Slowly they moved on along the promenade and eventually they reached Southsea Castle. This was a location that always impressed James. He was also pleased to see that Southsea castle still appeared to be in a good state of repair, this old and impressive fortress was nearly five hundred years old and he somehow had the impression that it would have been a very frightening place when he was a child. There had always been stories about it being one of the most haunted locations in England and while this no longer worried him as a ten year old schoolboy it would have been a big deal.

As they strolled past the castle James looked up past a young couple and took in the view of a group of yachts racing through the water.

What the fuck are you looking at you fucking wanker?

James froze in horror at the sound of those words and the anger with which they were spoken. Steve did likewise and they slowly turned to face the source of the abuse.

They found themselves face to face with a tall, thin, tattoo-covered man who appeared to be in his twenties and in need of a good dentist and hairstylist. Standing next to the man was an equally angry looking, blonde haired woman who was also in her twenties.

She was equally heavily tattooed and her body was also covered with tacky piercings.

James knew what was coming next but he decided to try and avoid the confrontation.

Sorry, what’s up mate? He asked in a soft, meek voice.

You have been eyeing me fucking bird up geez Growled the man as he took a menacing step towards them.

A wave of fear ran through James and he glanced at Steve, it was obvious his friend was feeling the same. They both stepped back.

I was not looking at your girlfriend, replied James with a shaky voice I was looking at the boats on the water

So what you fucking saying then geezer, growled the angry man that those fucking boats are better looking than me fucking tart?

Just fucking do the cunt will you Vinnie, Added the woman in an equally angry voice do the fucker really good

James sighed, there was no way of winning this confrontation, one way or another Vinnie was simply looking for a fight and unless something unexpected happened that would be the outcome.

At that moment a group of young women stopped and watched the confrontation and for a brief time, Vinnie did not seem so anxious to start a physical fight. His tone softened a little and he backed away slightly.

So, he continued you gonna fucking say sorry to me fucking bird or what?

James glanced at Steve and then gave Vinnie a confused look.

I do not understand what you want me to apologise for He then said.

At that moment the woman, who went by the name of Chelsea, turned to the watching group of women and offered them some advice.

"Fuck off you bunch of nosey