The Rat

by Louise Collins

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

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

  “Why?” Rory asked.

  “Your head’s massive.”

  Rory pinched Ollie’s thigh, and he jumped out of his chair. “Asshole.”

  “Surely there’s easier ways of making masks, you know … card and string.”

  “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 sights. he tried to push the worry aside, but he felt the tension in the air. Something was brewing.

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

  “That reminds me—I beat Green at pool yesterday.”

  “Yeah?”

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

  “You’ve only been playing for a week.”

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

  “What about chess?”

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

  Rory didn’t say anything back, and Ollie grinned, and a soft laugh left his lips. “The way I see it, is I can either sit around, thinking about how my life turned to shit, or I can keep as busy as possible, and not think about it.”

  Rory lowered his head. “Still no replies?”

  “None. 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.”

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

  “Such a teacher’s pet.”

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

  “Yes, officer Art police.”

  “Teacher’s pet I don’t mind, art police, I’m not a fan of.”

  “Why not?”

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

  “Think what?”

  “I dunno.”

  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.

  Erica was on the front, and the headline sliced straight into his heart.

  He bowed over the table, panting for breath. Someone had dealt him the killer blow, and inside he was hemorrhaging, bleeding out.

  He closed his eyes, shook his head, then looked, 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. He wasn’t bleeding out, someone had cut around his heart, and yanked it from his chest. Some invisible force squeezed it, making it struggle to work.

  “There’s no way,” he murmured, clutching his chest.

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

  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.”

  He couldn’t breathe, the room was crushing him from all sides, and the sound of tearing paper shuddered his spine.

  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.

  “You gonna tear it up or what?”

  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 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. Erica wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m ready to wake up now.” Rory whispered.

  “What?”

  “I wanna wake up now. Why aren’t I waking up?”

  Ollie gripped his shoulder, and he hated that he could feel it.

  “You are awake.”

  “I can’t be.”

  “Do you know that girl?” Ollie said close to his ear.

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

  Ollie pried the newspaper from under his arms, and Rory stared down at the table where Erica’s face had just been.

  “Car crash, three weeks ago…”

  “No, it’s rubbish. Some evil prank by someone in here. There’s no way.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Rory curled back his lip. “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 his heart released, 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, 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.”

  “Yes, they are!”

  “Calm down, sweetheart.”

  Rory forced a savage laugh. “Yeah, I should’ve guessed it was you.”

  “Rory…” Ollie warned, grabbing his arm.

  “Me, sweetheart? It’s all about me.”

  “Yeah…”

  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 on 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, they 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 guards 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, stop.”

  He struggled free. “No.”

  He went for Pauly again—Pauly on the floor not moving, Pauly covered in blood. Pauly who had somehow faked a newspaper article to destroy him. Pauly who wasn’t going to get away with it.

  Guards slammed into Rory with riot shields, and batons struck him. 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, then he fell silent.

  ****

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

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “We thought it was for the best.”

  Rory tipped his head back and released a laugh. It hurt his throat and crackled as it left him, and he closed his eyes and relished the throb of agony.

  “You didn’t tell me my sister had died.”

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

  “You sat here last time, told me my dad would be proud, that I was doing a great job, and you knew she was in the morgue. You didn’t say a thing.”

  “Rory—”

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

  “I didn’t know you were in solitary.”

  “I asked to speak to the governor, but the guards ignored me, and I went crazy in that room.”

  Rory flexed his fingers, bruised and split from lashing out at the wall. They warned him repeatedly he had to stop or they’d put him in the jacket.

  “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.”

  “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.”

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

  “Both.”

  Rory leaned forward. “You can shove your apology up your ass. It’s not gonna 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, you’ve the whole police force, we’re your family.”

  “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?”

  “Right thing? There’s no right thing.”

  “Your career?”

  “The one I cheated my way into, and then you 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, the self-hatred. You know … I haven’t looked in the mirror for weeks. I hate what I see.”

  “You’re still in shock. When you’ve had some time to process, you’ll realize it was all worth it. I’ll help you.”

  “I didn’t focus on the end result, or whether it was worth it. I thought of Erica, despite whatever goes on in here, whatever I have to do, the bad person I become, she’d always look at me the same. She’d always be there, she wouldn’t judge me for any of this, and like that … she’s gone. 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.”

  “I want these cuffs off my wrists.”

  Hamish gestured to the guard outside the window, and he came inside the room.

  “Can you get these cuffs off him?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Now, please,” Hamish said firmly.

  The guard sighed, then reached for Rory’s hands. As soon as the cuffs were removed, Rory rubbed the skin they’d been pressing on, and marveled at the indents.

  “Better?” Hamish asked.

  “Not quite.”

  Rory sprung over the table, and punched Hamish in the face. He was knocked to the floor and grunted as he clutched his nose. Rory didn’t fight the guard grappling with him, he held up his hands for the cuffs, and allowed himself to be dragged out of the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rory loved watching horror movies as a kid. He loved bragging at school about seeing the latest one. They thought he wasn’t scared, had nerves of steel. The boys were impressed and the girls thought he was brave.

  He didn’t tell them the first time he watched the movies he had all the lights on. He had the controller in his hand and pressed pause when he jumped out of his skin. He didn’t tell them that Erica sat next to him, pretending to read, but really keeping an eye on him. Horror movies were exciting, a shot of fear in the safety of your own home. You could turn them off, or laugh at the poor quality, or the god-awful acting, or grab your sister’s hand when you needed to.

  When he stepped into the morgue at the hospital, and tracked his eyes along all the metal doors, he realized that real fear wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t a shot of adrenaline that left him breathless. It wasn’t something he could stop and push to the back of his mind. It was never going to leave him.

  “I’ll give you a few moments,” Morris whispered.

  Hamish hadn’t come with him. He was probably elsewhere in the hospital getting his nose fixed. Rory took another step inside, but refused to look at the trolley in the middle of the room. He wrinkled his nose, noted the room smelled clean, fresh, not giving away its purpose at all. The walls were painted white and the metal doors were polished to a mirror shine.

  The morgue didn’t fill him with fear, but the trolley did. There was no creepy groaning, or shadows, or wolves howling, or people screaming.

  This horror was real, and Rory took a deep breath before finally looking.

  When their dad died, they stood side by side, hands linked. Rory’s fingers twitched, needing that connection, but no one was there to hold him.

  True horror wasn’t screaming, bloodshed, and fear. It was silence, and no movement. It was seeing someone you loved, there in front of you, but gone. It was holding your breath to hear someone else’s, and hearing nothing. Or pressing your fingers to their wrist for a pulse and nothing tapping back. It was touching someone and expecting their warmth, but shivering at the cold.

  Rory held Erica’s hand and watched, expecting it to curl round his like it had when they were kids. When the movie got too much, and he reached for her, and she reached back.

  Her hand was cold, and when Rory took a step closer, then lay a kiss to her forehead, she felt even colder. He backed away fast and slipped down the wall.

  ****

  At some point someone wheeled Erica away, put her back behind the mirrored door. Rory didn’t look up, he sat with his back to the wall, picking his nails down to the hilt. He thought he’d cry, or scream, and a part of him was ashamed he hadn’t. The overwhelming emotion was emptiness, a huge endless cavern in his chest where his grief-poisoned heart had fallen.

  “Rory…” Morris whispered.

  “What?”

  “Here…”

  She handed him a coffee, and he wanted to hurl it, to shout at her, to cry tears into the c
up and make it even more bitter, but instead, he took what Morris offered, and gave her a brief smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “She looked peaceful.”

  “She did.”

  “Is there someone I can call?”

  “I don’t have anyone. I’m on my own.”

  “I can get you a cab.”

  Rory glanced up. “Where would I go?”

  “Home.”

  “What home? I have no home. I have no one. The only people I’ve got left that mean anything to me are inside that prison, and that’s where I want to go.”

  Morris frowned. “You can’t go back there.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “Sebastian’s out next week. It’s over, you played your part—”

  “I still have a week of feeling something, before it all goes dark.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “That’s what I want.” Rory snapped. “I can’t process any of this.”

  “Being in prison won’t help.”

  “Yeah it will, and I’m sure Hamish won’t protest.”

  “Rory—”

  “That’s what I want. Take me back.”

  ****

  Morris cast him worried looks the whole drive back to the prison. He snorted at the window, if she was worried about him, he must’ve looked bad. It was dark, and the streetlights flickered like they did in horror movies.

  “Rory, you don’t have to—”

  He got out of the car before she could finish, and she hurried after him. She grabbed his bicep and walked him to the door to reception.

  “What do they know?”

  “You were identifying the body of a friend, that’s what Hamish told them.”

  Rory nodded, then ducked inside the first door. Morris didn’t leave his side, and he hissed at her to go.

  “Wait…”

  She took him aside by the infirmary door. “This is crazy. You’re in shock.”

  “You think I need my head checked?” Rory snorted, and tapped on the door.

  “I think you need to stop, take everything in—”

  “This…” Rory gestured to the corridor, and the metal bars at the end. “This is home.”

  “Take a minute, think about what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t want to think.”

  “You are not a criminal, you are not in here for drug charges, you’re a police officer.”