Nikki Owen - Spider in the Corner of the Room

The volume turns up. ‘…Because if you go this way,’ the guard is instructing, ‘you can be with your barrister before you exit. He wants to see you.’

I tilt my head at the guard, fight the urge to poke her, check if she is real.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ I say, finally, wiggling a finger in my ear. ‘Yes.’

She tuts. ‘This way.’

We walk along a basement corridor where the lights blink and the walls are grey. Passing changing rooms with lockers and police kit and showers, we then halt at a door painted blue, and the guard says, ‘Here you go.’ And, as the door swings open, I see Harry and Balthus.

They immediately stand.

The door shuts. The room is cold. There is a table and three chairs and folders and water. Harry takes a step towards me and holds out his arms. ‘Come here.’

I blink at him. I try to focus, but my eyes are wet and it is hard to see. I let Harry’s arms wrap around me, feel the heat of him, smell the fug of a shirt dried in a machine, as he closes his hands around me and lets me rest my head on his shoulder.

‘It’s over now,’ he says. ‘It’s over.’

I close my eyes. And push all my black thoughts to one side.

After I breathe, begin to focus again, we sit. Harry and I talk, but I do not relay to him my doubts. How can I? He is a good man, a kind man. Would he think so much of me if he knew that, deep down, I was a cold, trained killer? That, in reality, I think I may have killed Father O’Donnell after all?

Balthus leaves and returns with hamburgers ten minutes later, the hot stink of processed meat and fat and salt penetrating the air. He hands one to each of us. Slowly, I take it, inspecting the packaging, picking out the lettuce that wilts inside. It is the first hamburger I have eaten in over a year.

‘What do we do now?’ I say, swallowing a mouthful of meat. ‘If they were after me in prison, what happens now I am out? I need somewhere to stay.’

Balthus lowers his burger. ‘You can stay with me.’

‘Is that possible?’ Harry says.

He nods. ‘I have a place, an apartment. No one knows about it. I needed some space a few years back when things between me and Harriet were getting difficult.’

‘Is it far?’

‘No. Just ten minutes from here.’

‘Good,’ Harry says. ‘We need Maria out of the way. That CCTV tape just turned up. If the Project has anything to do with this, if they released that tape to us in court, they have done it for a reason. They’ll be looking for her. We need to be quick now.’

Balthus looks at me. ‘What do you think, Maria? You can stay there until everything calms down, then Harry can meet us and we can plan what to do next, who to contact.’

I murmur a response, but keep my eyes down. The CCTV tape. Was it false evidence doctored by the Project? Am I indeed guilty? Slowly, I raise my eyes as Balthus repeats his accommodation offer. It has come to this, staying at other people’s places, my own apartment long gone after my conviction, my assets temporarily frozen. My old life dead, resurrected with a new one I do not recognise yet. I pick up the burger then pause, the meat hovering, dripping with ketchup. I feel scared, unsure of what’s ahead, of why people do and say what they do. But most of all I feel a gaping hole inside me, at a loss, a death, a savage murder, at lives taken.

‘We have to find out what Project Callidus is,’ I say finally.

Harry looks at me, nods. ‘Yes.’

Balthus sits, stares at the table. Harry sighs, leans back, wipes his chin. ‘Okay,’ Harry says after a while, gathering food remnants then closing his files. ‘Best not waste any more time. Let’s go.’

‘Are the reporters all out there?’

He looks at me. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. A full team of press and photographers on the court steps. It will be loud. I can do all the talking, if you like.’

The door opens, warm air whooshing through. Harry’s solicitor enters. He takes Harry’s documents for him then exits, leaving the door open. We all stand.

I look at Harry. ‘Can you…’ I pause, the thought of her, of my friend making everything seem more real, somehow, more urgent. ‘I need you to do something for me.’

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘I require a pen and a piece of paper. Do you have them?’

‘Hmmm? Oh, yes. Yes. Hang on a tick.’ He fishes out a pad and pen and hands them to me. I scribble down my name and the address of my villa in Spain for Patricia. I add a small note telling her to come and visit me and stay as soon as she can when she gets parole.

Folding the paper, I hand it to Harry. ‘My cellmate, Patricia O’Hanlon, is due to leave Goldmouth soon. Could you pass this note on to her?’

‘Of course,’ he says, and he slips it into his top jacket pocket. ‘I will help in any way I can, my dear.’

‘Ready?’ says Balthus.

The three of us proceed to walk down the corridor, past the police changing area and towards the lift leading to the main exit. I can already hear the low hum of reporters outside, waiting for me, like Dobermans salivating over a slab of steak. I stop, scared.

Balthus tilts his head to me. ‘You okay?’

But I do not reply, my eyes front, my hands clenched, ready to run.

As we press the lift button, Harry halts. ‘Hang on.’

Balthus looks. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve left something in the room.’

‘Do you want us to wait?’

‘No, no.’ He waves a hand. ‘You two go ahead. I’ll be with you in just a minute.’

‘What?’ I say, suddenly worried, frightened that without Harry, without his safety, I won’t handle it. ‘You can’t leave me.’

‘I won’t be long. Okay?’ He smiles. ‘Okay?’

I inhale. Harry reminds me so much of my papa that I have latched on to him, found myself needing him. But I have coped without Papa for so long, coped on my own for so long. I glance to Balthus then back to Harry. ‘Okay.’ And, as we walk into the lift, I twist round to watch as Harry turns and disappears back up the corridor.

I have been running flat out for two minutes and thirteen seconds. Ahead, in the street, I see Balthus. I slow down then stop, gulping in air.

‘There you are,’ Balthus shouts. He runs over. ‘Are you okay?’

A smash of metal rings out from the adjoining street. I freeze and listen. Footsteps.

‘Move,’ I say, and I grab Balthus by the arm.

We dart down the street, but it’s a dead end. Reversing, we slip up a side road then stop. Five large delivery vans block our escape.

I scan the area. ‘That way,’ I say, and we swing left, down a side alley. The sun here has suddenly gone, too cold to exist, and with no windows bearing down on us, with no human life near, the atmosphere is suddenly dark, damp. As far as I can tell, the only inhabitants are three rats near two metal bins. It is unsafe. I begin to back out when I see something and halt.

Someone is standing there, blocking the exit.

‘Who’s that?’ Balthus says, shoulders heaving.

‘My counsellor.’

‘What?’

Kurt begins to walk towards us.

‘Stay where you are,’ I shout, muscles automatically tensed, ready.

Kurt stops. ‘You cannot hide, Maria.’

I swallow. ‘Yes, I can.’

‘You brought a friend?’

I glance to Balthus.

Kurt tilts his head. ‘Tut, tut, tut, Governor-what will your wife say?’

‘She would not authorise whatever the hell it is you are doing here,’ he yells. ‘Maria has told me everything.’

Kurt shrugs and takes one step nearer.

‘Stop,’ I say.

He halts. ‘Maria, the Project needs you back. You are out, here, in the street. I told you, you are not safe. I have been honest and open, confessed the truth. But we need you back now. We’ve completed the tests, we know you are ready. You know you are safe with us.’