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Five Years Later
Days and nights, nights and days, I don’t know what’s real anymore.
I’ve been locked in solitary confinement now for a hundred, or maybe it’s two hundred days? I really don’t know. I don’t mind the quiet. It’s here where I can lose myself to fiction, a life where I live happily ever after.
I barely remember their faces anymore, the faces which shaped my past. I cling onto small memories, my fragile mind filling in the blanks because I haven’t seen another human being in months. The door whines open, blinding me as the light fractures the darkness.
“Get up and shower,” an officer demands. “Someone is here to see ye.”
I try to speak, but no words come out. Maybe I’ve lost my voice. The scratching on the walls I made with my fingernails is the only way I communicate; it was the only way I could speak all those years ago. Chief Constable…I’ve forgotten his name, forbade me to have any paints. He said a murderer doesn’t deserve any luxuries, and he’s right.
When I think I can speak, I hoarsely utter, “Just leave me be.”
Letting prisoners “out” for an hour a day for exercise, access to showers and phones, and receiving visitors is seen as the officers respecting us as human beings, but when they remember, we’re made aware that they’re doing us a favor—a favor they’ll call in on in one form or another.
But this officer is different.
I’ve forgotten his name, but he’s different because he cares.
“Come now, ye surely don’t want to see yer sister lookin’ and smellin’ the way ye do.”
Sister?
“Will ya do me a kindness and tell her to fuck off?”
He laughs, standing in the doorway as I curl myself into a ball on the hard floor. “We’ll get ya sorted. Come on.”
This arsehole won’t take no for an answer, but I don’t want to see Babydoll. She is the last person I want to see.
“Tell Camilla—”
“Camilla?” he says, interrupting me. “She says to me her name is Hannah.”
Hannah? This is the first time an officer has told me who’s come to see me.
But Hannah is a chile. Why would Fiona allow her to come here?
Confusion pounds at my temples, but I push past it because Hannah can’t be anywhere near these animals. I know what men in here would do to a wee girl like her.
Coming to a shaky stand, I use the walls as support as I stumble out. The officer helps me stay upright as he leads me down the long corridor. I suddenly miss the confines of my cell. It’s too open…too real. I don’t want real.
The officer tosses my arse into the shower where I clean myself, scrubbing the filth from my skin. Once I’m dressed, I look at my reflection in the mirror, looking over my shoulder because the reflection I see isn’t mine.
This aul’ lad…is this me?
My hair is long, as is my beard. There are creases around my eyes, probably from constantly squinting in the dark. I don’t recognize this man, this man who looks so much like the man I killed.
“Ya feelin’ all right?” the officer asks.
“Happy days,” I reply, prodding my cheeks.
“We’re away to the visits room,” he explains like I’m supposed to know what that means.
Once he cuffs me, he leads me through the prison while I keep my head down. I’m not interested in knowing where I am. I just want this done and over with. Once we get to a room surrounded by bars, he stops and goes to uncuff me.
“Naw, leave them on,” I say. I don’t trust my hands. I don’t trust they won’t reach out and throttle Fiona for bringing Hannah here.
He nods and unlocks the door.
