Crisis of Identity
Chapter 22

I was still seething when I arrived at our favourite watering hole for our Thursday night drinks.

Located on the outskirts of the city, the pub was a quaint little tavern patronized by city workers, taking a detour on their way home. There is never any trouble. The beer is always cold and the noise levels are low, allowing easy discussions over a quiet beer.

Mitch and the boys were well into their first round when I arrived. I said my greetings over the chorus of comments about always being last to arrive, or arriving empty handed.

I waved off their attempts at humour. ‘OK. OK. I’ll get the next one…’ I said and headed for the bar.

While I watched the young bar girl pour five schooners of the good stuff, Mitch approached. ‘Hey, bro… Thought you could use a hand… Five is one too many to carry… Don’t want you droppin’ any…’

‘Would’ve grabbed a tray…’

‘All good. I’m here now.’

‘Cheers, mate.’

‘So how was your day…?’ Mitch said. ‘Manage to keep out of that heat?’

I’m sure Mitch’s question about my day was rhetorical. Like when someone asks, “how ya going…?” The reality is, usually they don’t really care.

Due to the volcano bubbling inside me however, I took Mitch’s question literally. I answered it as a way to vent off steam. ‘I’ve had a prick of a day, mate…’ Mitch raised curious eyebrows, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. ’Turns out your friend and mine… Super cop, Dawes, paid my work a visit and told my employer I am that missing kid from twenty-five years ago and my parents are the ones who kidnapped me…’

‘You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me…’ Mitch shook his head. ‘This bloke is an absolute dog…’

‘I think they were gunna sack me, if I admitted it was all true…’

‘What happened?’

‘I just showed them my birth certificate and other stuff that proved I’m not him…’

We watched the last of our beers land on the bar. After a tap of my credit card we made our way back to the table.

‘And they were happy with that…?’ Mitch said.

‘Yeah. They were... But I’m not. This prick is trying to ruin my life.’ I exaggerated checking over both shoulders. ‘You don’t happen to know a reliable hit man for hire, do you?’

Mitch stopped walking. His jaw fell open as he glared at me.

‘I’m kidding…’ I said with an elbow nudge.

Mitch laughed off his obvious relief. ‘You had me worried, bro… What with that newspaper article and now him visiting your work… I was starting to think he’d broken you…’

‘Newspaper article…?’ This time I stopped walking. ‘What newspaper article…?’

‘Today’s West Australian… You know… The article about your family in… today’s… paper...’ Mitch glared at me as his voice trailed off. ‘Ah, shit. You haven’t seen it…’

‘I’ve been too busy to read today’s paper…’

Mitch unloaded the beers he was carrying. I did the same. He surveyed the bar room like he was looking for something. ‘Nah, you’re gunna want to read this, bro. Dawes did an interview with a journalist…’ He held up a finger, ‘Hang on…’ he said then made his way back to the bar.

After a brief chat with barmaid, she retrieved a copy of the newspaper from under the counter and handed it to Mitch. When he returned he handed me the newspaper. ‘Page two, bro…’ He quickly pulled it back when I reached for it. ‘Just be prepared… You’re not gunna like what you read...but you need to see it.’

I held out my hand. ‘Now you’ve got me worried.’

‘What happened at your work today is a cake walk compared to this.’ He handed me the newspaper.

I opened to page two. A half page article with the headline, “Perth Family Hides Secret to 1994 Missing Boy Mystery” jumped out from the page. My pulse rate quickened as I commenced reading the article.

It was trash journalism at its best. The journalist reported how Queensland police believe that missing toddler Jayden Evans, who disappeared twenty-five years ago, is alive and well and living in Perth, with his mother after his father recently passed.

The article reproduces an interview with Dawes where he told of his investigation that led him to me and my parents, who reside in Perth.

I was gobsmacked. My temple throbbed as I continued reading. In the article Dawes told how he has evidence that suggests my parents—whom the article named and shamed— unlawfully took me from my front yard on the Gold Coast, when I was three year old Jayden Evans and moved me here to Perth to start a new life as their only son, now known as Kade Miller. I lowered the paper as my eyes lifted skyward. I can’t believe they published our names.

The libellous story did nothing but defame my family with a litany of lies and unfounded allegations. I never expected Dawes would stoop this low.

I checked the by-line. Christine Gould. How can she write this trash without first speaking to me or my parents to verify it, or at least, seek our comment?

‘You good, bro…?’ Mitch asked.

I couldn’t speak… My words jammed somewhere in my throat. I shook my head. No wonder Peter wanted to speak to me… He too must’ve read this article and probably felt it corroborated Dawes’ story.

I jammed the newspaper between my hands then dropped it to the floor. I rubbed a hand across my forehead as I tried to compose myself. I glanced around. I felt as though everybody in the bar was staring at me, judging me. Paranoid…? Probably. Justified…? Definitely.

I suddenly lost my thirst. I didn’t want to be here while I process this. The whole of Western Australia now believes I am Jayden Evans and my parents—my biological parents— kidnapped me twenty-five years ago. Life as we know it… I cut my thoughts off. I didn’t want to think about it.

‘How do you think Vicky is taking this…?’ Mitch asked.

I too shared his concerns about my mum. ‘I gotta go, guys. I’m sorry, but… I gotta…’ I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder to the door as my words tapered off.

’Mitch stood from his seat. ‘You OK, bro…?’

‘No…No, I’m not, Mitch. I’m fucken’ pissed off. And I’m worried how mum is taking this. I gotta go and check she is OK.’

‘I understand, mate. Go do what you gotta do, OK. I’ll check in later.’

I stormed from bar without looking back.