Rocked to Death by Louise Collins

 

 

The tight armsand pointy elbows choked the air from Stone’s lungs. He responded with his own rib-crushing embrace until someone’s back clicked. It might have been his, but more likely Rick’s fragile spine had interrupted their moment.

Either way, it made both of them snort and loosen their hold.

Rick rested his hand on Stone’s shoulder. He didn’t squeeze. Instead, he leaned forward to catch Stone’s eye. “Now. Remember everything I’ve taught ya.”

“Why?”

“In case it comes in handy.” Rick raised his eyebrow and looked pointedly at his hand on Stone’s shoulder. Still, he didn’t squeeze, but Stone could tell he wanted to curl his fingers tighter. Gripping a knife, fork, toothbrush, and even a comb was what he used his remaining strength on, not reassuring touches to the shoulder, not when he still had power in his biceps and pointy elbows to hug with.

Stone reached up, laid his hand on top of Rick’s and squeezed for the both of them. Rick didn’t school his wince in time. Stone caught it and scrunched his face up in sympathy.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare.” Rick turned away and gestured to the bag of belongings on the bottom bunk. “Now get on with it.”

Stone snorted and slung the bag over his shoulder. He’d saved his most intimate goodbye for the darkness of his cell. Even though he’d got along with everyone, it was Rick he’d miss the most.

Rick opened the cell door wide, and Stone stepped out under the buzzing bulbs for the last time. The whole wing had gathered. They always gathered whenever someone left, but Stone’s eyebrows rose at the smiles and nods directed at him. Usually, jealousy twisted their faces, but not for him. They knew what this meant. It was the end of Stone’s self-torture.

He glanced up at the landing, running his gaze along everyone, acknowledging their silent well-wishes. One of them getting out, particularly after a lengthy sentence, was considered a win for the wing.

A goal against the prison system.

He just happened to be a particularly satisfying one.

Prison officer Jenkins opened the gate and beckoned him to follow. It wasn’t as if Stone was about to bolt back into his cell and hide under his bunk; he wouldn’t, although that had happened twice in the time Stone had been there.

Some men weren’t ready to be let loose in the outside world.

“Stone.” He paused at the man rushing towards him. Darren flung his arms around Stone and whispered in his ear, “Please.”

“Fine.”

He tensed at Darren’s hand slipping down his waistband. The letter scratched Stone’s skin. Darren tugged Stone’s T-shirt to cover it. “Thank you. Have a few beers for me on the other side.”

“I will,” Stone promised.

He moved away, avoiding more mad dashes from the other inmates. One letter cutting his skin was enough.

The gate clunked shut behind him, and the separation between him and the wing set the prisoners off chanting. They yelled his name. They clapped and stamped, but despite the ruckus, Stone managed to pick out Rick’s voice.

“I don’t want to see your ugly mug again!”

Stone turned to Rick and snorted at his cellmate. The wiry white hair, the untameable eyebrows, his clothes sporting stains from breakfast, and his elastic-waisted trousers that flashed a grey nest of pubic hair.

“I’m the ugly one?”

Rick lifted his hand and forced his fingers to bend. It cost him. Stone could tell by his brow twitching with pain and the way his nostrils flared, but he succeeded in curling all his fingers back, all except his middle one.

He grinned, focusing more on his finger than on Stone behind the gate. “Fuck you!”

“You’ll regret that come lunchtime,” Stone said.

A hand curled around his shoulder, guiding him towards the next set of gates. The calls of his name died down, leaving the prison to rumble with stamping feet and clapping hands. They kept it up, giving Stone a drumroll before he disappeared from their view.

He heard the cheer, though. It blasted his ears and brought a smile to his lips. They celebrated his release, and it would put them in a good mood for the rest of the day. It would only hit them later that he was gone. It would hit him too. His comfort blanket of the prison routine was over.

“They’re going to miss you,” Jenkins said.

Even he was smiling, but Stone imagined the twist to his lips came from relief.

“And are you going to miss me?”

“No. Not one bit.”

Jenkins walked him to reception, through more gates and doors until it was only one, already propped open, that separated him from the outside world. Another bag awaited him on the counter, beside a clipboard.

“Paperwork,” Jenkins said.

The officer behind the counter beamed at him. She’d been given the nickname Eye Candy by the prisoners, and her flirty behaviour with one of them in particular resulted in her being confined to desk duty.

“Long time no see.”

Emma sighed. “Tell me about it.” She smiled, tapping her finger on the clipboard. “Scribble where I’ve put the crosses, and you can be on your way.”

Stone nodded, signing all the boxes. He didn’t bother reading them; he barely kept his eyes on the page. Someone yelled from the corridor, and Jenkins stepped out to investigate.

“I’ve got a letter for you,” Stone whispered. He kept his back to the camera in the corner and slipped it from his waistband.

“From Darren?”

He nodded and attached it beneath his forms on the clipboard. Emma beamed. She took it from him and hugged the board to her chest.

Something glinted in the bag on the counter. Something he’d been wearing the day he’d arrived at HMS Brixton. She spoke, but the crinkling bag muffled her words as Stone shoved his hand inside. The watch weighed down his palm.

“Now that’s a beast.”

Jenkins was back, leaning over Stone’s shoulder. He whistled at the watch. “Worth a few quid, I imagine.”

Stone had worn it in the dock while he waited to know his sentence. Seven years. He’d stood with his hand clasped over it, covering the face. It’d comforted him. That heavy, solid weight had kept him calm.

Stone rolled the watch over in his hand and scratched his thumbnail over the engraving.

To my firstborn from your proud dad x

It had been their secret. No one else knew about the engraving, not even Mum. Stone had puffed up with pride at the message, and the secret between him and his dad.

“So?” Jenkins asked. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you’re out of here?”

The sound of the hammer deciding his fate faded.

Stone blinked himself back to the present.

“A beer? A nightclub? A steak?”

“I’m going to find my brothers.”

“Ah.” Jenkins pressed his teeth together. “That might be…difficult.”

Stone didn’t answer. He jigged the watch up and down in his hand before turning to Jenkins. “You like it?”

“What?”

“The watch.”

“Of course I do.” Jenkins snorted. “It’s real, right?”

He nodded. “It’s real.”

Stone chucked it up in the air with no intention of catching it. Jenkins startled into action, cupping it to his chest. “What the hell, Stone?”

“It’s all yours,” He grabbed the other bag from the counter.

“Is…is it stolen?”

Stone shrugged. “No idea. Am I good to go?”

Jenkins studied the face of the watch. “Huh?”

“Can I leave?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. You’re a free man, Stone.”

He tipped his head forward at Emma and moved towards the door, but Jenkins’s voice stopped him on the threshold to freedom. “Good luck.”

Stone frowned and twisted back to Jenkins. He’d flipped the watch over and no doubt read the engraving on the back, but there was no mockery on his face, no scrutiny that Stone could detect.

Jenkins gave him a small smile. “I hope you find them.”

Stone took a deep breath.

“Me too,” he said, stepping out into the sunshine.