17. Chapter 17

17

“ T he last time I did papier maché was when I was ten,” Rory muttered.

Ollie snorted. “It’s better than being locked in your cell and doing nothing.”

“True. All I do is think about the mess of my life, and it’s depressing.”

“Well, you’re fun this morning…”

Mrs Mason clapped her hands for everyone’s attention, yet again no one listened, and it was the deep boom of the officer’s voice at the back of the room that shut them all up.

“Those that started last week, come and collect your balloons from the front.”

Ollie bolted out of his chair in a flash. He got his balloon, half covered in newspaper, and hurried back to his seat.

Ollie held it up to Rory. “I mean, you’ll need to blow up a bigger balloon than this one.”

“Why?” Rory asked.

“Your head’s massive.”

Rory elbowed Ollie’s side. “Arsehole. Surely there’s easier ways of making masks, you know…card and string.”

Ollie rolled his eyes as he took his seat. “Anyone can do that.”

“But slapping newspaper on a balloon is harder somehow?”

Ollie laughed. “It takes longer. Anything to eat away at time.”

“I guess…”

Mrs Mason started handing out bowls of paste. “Sebastian, can you mix up some more?”

He nodded and went to the front of the class. Rory noticed the bandana-wearing inmates were all staring his way, never letting Sebastian out of their sight. He tried to push the worry aside, but he felt the tension in the air. Something bad was brewing.

Rory wrinkled his nose at the bowl passed to him. “Looks like algae.”

“That reminds me,” Ollie said, sounding excited. “I beat Green at pool yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

Ollie nodded. “Jack says I’m getting good.”

“You’ve only been playing for a few days.”

“Endlessly playing at any opportunity,” Ollie corrected. “And Teddy’s teaching me poker, so I’ll be kicking your arse at that too.”

“What about chess?”

Ollie groaned. “No, thanks, but maybe in a few years’ time, I’ll change my mind. You know, when I’m ancient.”

Rory didn’t say anything back, and Ollie grinned.

“Still no replies to your letters?” Rory asked.

“No. My brother doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t blame him. Maybe when I get out of here, he’ll give me the chance to explain, but until then there’s not much I can do.”

Mrs Mason walked between the tables, handing out newspapers. She grinned at Ollie, and Ollie grinned back.

“You’re such a teacher’s pet.”

The insult made Ollie grin wider. “That’s literally the first time anyone’s ever called me that, and I don’t know why it’s a bad thing.” Ollie passed the newspaper to Rory. “You start tearing.”

“Yes, Officer Art Police,” Rory said before saluting Ollie.

“Teacher’s pet, I don’t mind, but art police…” Ollie scrunched up his face. “I’m not a fan.”

“Why not?”

Ollie shrugged. “The police, everyone hates them in here. I don’t want someone to overhear and think…”

“Think what?”

“I don’t know.”

Rory bit his lip, then dropped his gaze to the newspaper.

The blow to his chest was physical, punching the air from his body. His heart slowed, and his vision pulsed black in time with the stuttering beats.

“What the fuck,” he said on a breath.

Erica was on the front page. She was grinning ear to ear, looking like their mum at that age. Their father had shown them pictures, and it had pleased Erica that she took after her. She even had the same hair style, straight bangs long enough to hide her eyebrows and shoulder-length hair. Rory recognized the image, Erica’s social media picture, taken a year ago on her birthday.

The headline sliced straight into his heart. He bowed over the table, wheezing as a coil wrapped around his lungs.

“It’s not possible,” he murmured.

“Get ripping,” Ollie said, nudging him.

Rory closed his eyes, shook his head, then looked again, but she was still there. It was still her face grinning back at him next to a headline of horror. It was impossible. Rory rubbed his eyes and looked again, wanting the picture to change to something else, but it didn’t. It was still his sister. It was still an article detailing a fatal traffic collision that killed both the driver and the passenger. Rory didn’t recognize the other person who shared the page with Erica, but his gaze stalled on the name Danny.

“There’s no way.” He snorted without humour. “This is sick.”

He dragged his eyes off the page and looked at the neighbouring tables, all the same newspaper, all with Erica’s and Danny’s face on the front. Inmates tore right through her, and others tore around her and shoved her picture in their pockets for later.

Rory’s gut twisted, the breathlessness continued, and his heart skipped into overdrive.

The room swayed, and the noise of the classroom distorted, then sharpened, making him dizzier.

“Rory…newspaper,” Ollie said, no longer teasing but sounding impatient.

Rory couldn’t breathe. The room was crushing him from all sides, and the sound of tearing paper shuddered down his spine. Erica smiled at him. She looked just like their mother.

It had to be a joke; it was the only explanation that kept his heart beating. An evil, vindictive joke, but still a joke. Not real, fake, make-believe, pretend. It couldn’t be true. But no one was looking at him waiting to see his reaction, no one smirked or laughed at the emotional bludgeoning he’d just received. Everyone in the room was clueless.

“Are you okay?”

Ollie tried to take the newspaper back, but Rory pressed his forearms down. One on either side of Erica’s face. He stared down at her and started to shake. The page blotched, and he realized tears were escaping his eyes, but he didn’t feel them. They dropped around his sister, silently soaking the page. He was crying even though it wasn’t true; the joke had hit home, had landed with effect, and he was shaking, trembling as he tried not to draw attention to himself.

Whoever had done this, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing it had got to him.

Erica wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.

“What is it?” Ollie asked, grabbing Rory’s arm.

“I’m ready to wake up now,” Rory whispered. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

“What can’t be?”

“I want to wake up now.” Rory knocked the heels of his hands into his head. “Why the fuck aren’t I waking up?”

“You are awake,” Ollie said softly.

“I can’t be.”

“Do you know that girl?”

“She’s not dead,” Rory hissed. “If I’m not asleep, then this is a lie, she’s not dead, and this is a joke, a sick, fucking joke.”

Ollie pried the newspaper from under his arms, and Rory stared down at the table where Erica’s face had just been. He was breathing hard, trying not to pass out on the spot.

“Car crash,” Ollie whispered. “Almost three weeks ago…”

“It’s a sick, fucking joke. Who the hell would do this? Who the hell would pretend she was…”

“I’m sorry.”

Rory curled back his lip. His chest hurt. “Don’t say you’re sorry, don’t fall for it, it’s a lie. I don’t know who, and I don’t know why, but this isn’t true.”

The coiling sensation around lungs relaxed, and a tidal wave of anger rushed through his body. She wasn’t dead, but someone wanted him to think she was. Someone got pleasure out of tricking him, deceiving him, and he wanted them to pay.

“Come on,” Ollie murmured. “I’ll ask if we can go back to the wing.”

“I don’t want to go back to the wing,” Rory growled. “I want to know what bastard has done this. Who the hell is trying to get to me?”

“I don’t think anyone is.”

Rory snapped his head up. “Yes, they are!”

“Calm down, sweetheart.”

Rory forced a savage laugh. He squeezed his eyes shut in a long blink. “Yeah…I should’ve guessed it was you, Pauly.”

“Rory…” Ollie warned, grabbing his hand. Rory shook him off. There were eyes on him, so many, but he could only see Pauly.

“Me, sweetheart? It’s all about me.”

“You sick bastard!”

Rory launched out of his chair and rushed at Pauly. They tumbled to the floor, and the classroom exploded into noise and chaos. Rory rained his fists down at Pauly’s face, and he unleashed everything he had. The anger and the adrenaline surge kept his punches brutal, kept him focused on the man underneath him.

He couldn’t stop, despite being dragged about and struck by other inmates, he kept swinging his fists and his legs, whatever connected with the evil people that tried to remove his heart. Pauly and his group of bandana-wearing inmates must’ve been behind it, and Rory was going to punish them all. He wasn’t the only one fighting. Teddy and Sebastian were with him, and the officers ran forward, adding to the brawl.

Arms closed around Rory and dragged him back, out of the madness and the violence, but they couldn’t save him from his own whirling mind.

“Enough, Rory,” Sebastian said. “Stop.”

He struggled free. “No.”

Rory went for Pauly again—Pauly on the floor not moving, Pauly covered in blood.

Pauly who knew he had a sister.

Pauly who had somehow faked a newspaper article to destroy him.

Pauly who wasn’t going to get away with it.

Officers slammed into Rory, taking him down to the floor where he was pinned. He weakened, and the fight left him as quickly as it had come. They dragged him out of the room, down the corridor, down endless dark tunnels until he ended up in a concrete box on his own.

Only then did he scream.

Scream until his throat spasmed with agony.

He clawed his head, sobbing with spittle on his lips.

It couldn’t be true, and yet, a little voice in Rory’s head told him it was.

Rory had his hands on the desk, and for the first time, they were cuffed. He stared at them instead of looking at Hamish.

“You didn’t tell me.”

His voice came out hollow, distant to even his own ears. He hadn’t slept in at least two days and had cried his eyes dry. Dehydration beat in his head, but he couldn’t drink, eat, or sleep. He wanted the pain, the droning headache and the sting in his eyes.

“We thought it was for the best,” Hamish said.

Rory tipped his head back and released a laugh. It hurt his throat, and the manic smile cracked his dry lips. He closed his eyes and relished the throb of agony. Erica was dead. She was gone.

“You didn’t tell me my sister had died,” he said slowly.

Hamish looked away. “You were doing so well. I didn’t want to—”

“You sat here two weeks ago, told me my dad would be proud, and let me call her, knowing she wouldn’t pick up. Knowing she was in the morgue. You didn’t say a thing.”

“Rory—”

“And I find out in an art class, three weeks after in the cruellest way possible…and then I’m locked in a concrete box for two days.”

“I didn’t know you were in solitary.”

Rory flexed his fingers, bruised and split from lashing out at the wall. They had warned him repeatedly he had to stop or they’d be forced to sedate him. It had been tempting, but he wanted to confront Hamish.

“And now I feel nothing, absolutely nothing.”

He hurt, he ached, his knuckles throbbed with fire, but he was emotionally dead. His heart still beat, but it had been poisoned with grief.

“You were doing so well with Sebastian Claw, and there was nothing you could’ve done for your sister.”

“Nothing I could have done?”

“She and her partner died instantly in the crash.”

“Danny, his name’s Danny.”

Hamish sighed. “It was a tragic accident, and she was placed in the morgue for when you got out.”

“Is that your idea of a welcome-back present?”

Hamish hung his head. “I really am sorry, Rory—”

“Sorry that she’s dead or sorry for not telling me?”

“Both. I didn’t know what to do.”

Rory leaned forward. “You can shove your apology up your arse. It’s not going to bring her back, is it?”

“No.”

“I love my sister. She’s all I’ve got in the world, and now she’s gone, and I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me, Morris. You’ve got the whole police force. We’re your family.”

Rory shook his head. A bitter laugh escaped him. “You don’t keep massive secrets like that from people you care about.”

“You do when it’s for the best.”

“Best for who? Me? It wasn’t best for me, but you, you lied so I’d keep spying on Sebastian, see what he had planned for you, but you know what, I don’t care what he’s got planned for you anymore.”

“You don’t care that when he gets out, he might start making bombs or weapons? Selling them, killing people?”

“No. I don’t. All I care about is my sister, and she’s dead. There’s nothing else.”

“What about knowing you’re doing the right thing? That counts for something.”

“The right thing?” Rory snorted. “There’s no right thing.”

“Your career?”

“The one I cheated my way into, which you then used to blackmail me into this prison.”

“This was a good opportunity. I was helping you.”

“No, you weren’t. I thought the hardest thing would be the physical side, being hurt, stabbed, but that was a breeze compared to the emotional side of being here. The constant betrayal, the guilt, the self-loathing. I shouldn’t be here, I should never have been here, I should’ve been out there with Erica—”

“She still would’ve died.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re in shock. When you’ve had some time to process, you’ll realize there was nothing you could’ve done for your sister.”

Rory grimaced. “She is what would’ve got me through this. She’s always been there for me, never judged me, and like that …she’s gone. I…I want to see her.”

Hamish bit his lip. “I’m sure we can arrange that, but, Rory, I know you’re hurting, but she would’ve been proud of you, just like your dad would’ve been.”

Rory closed his eyes. “I want these cuffs off my wrists.”

Hamish nodded and picked the key off the desk.

As soon as the cuffs were removed, Rory rubbed the skin they’d been pressing on and marvelled at the indents.

“Better?” Hamish asked.

“Not quite.”

Rory sprung up and punched Hamish in the face. Hamish hit the floor with a thud and called out as he clutched his nose.

The door burst open at Hamish’s shout.

Rory didn’t fight the officer grappling with him. He held up his hands for the cuffs and allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and back to the segregation unit.