Home Steel Home
“Not so threatening now are we?” Officer Reagan snarled in my face.
Personally, I felt that the handcuffs around my wrists, chains enveloping every inch of my body, and taser gun pointed at my head just made me look a lot more dangerous than when I was walking on the street listening to songs from Hamilton, but every person for their own.
“You’re going away for a long time Ms Holland-Harper.” He added his face only centimetres from mine trying to be intimidating.
He wasn’t intimidating; he was scared, of me. He was scared and perhaps relieved that they’d caught me, but mostly my very presence here was sending chills down his spine. Everybody was scared. The guy holding the taser to my head had his finger on the trigger waiting for me to react.
“Officer David Reagan?” Wynter asked and I gave him a warning look.
The sound of Wynter’s voice was always a surprise to people. He had this New Zealand accent which was so strange even for his parents because they hadn’t even lived there. Wynter claims he picked it up from cartoons but what made it weirder was he couldn’t even do a British accent and we lived in London.
“Didn’t we kill your brother? Or was it your cousin?” Wynter questioned.
They didn’t have a gun to his head, or even chains, just a pair of handcuffs that I knew were slightly loose. Why? Because Wynter’s Dad was a Cabinet Member in parliament and his mother was a billionaire actress/singer with a security team and everything. Nobody was really going to hurt him, never mind the fact that he had killed all those people with me.
“Wynter, watch it.” I snapped much to the officer’s surprise.
“Yes, you did kill my half-brother Samuel Reagan.” Officer David replied gruffly, giving me the coldest look I’d ever seen.
“You remember him, don’t you A? He molested his 4-year-old step-daughter. That was a good day, watching him writhe in his own blood.” Wynter sighed.
“Samuel Reagan was a bad person, but he was one of many you killed.” Officer Reagan said slowly.
The power dynamic suddenly shifted, Officer David seemed to shrink even with his 6’2” height. Wyn sat up straighter and I rolled my eyes at him, he grinned back, that was unnecessary, it was bad enough we were murderers, but we didn’t bring anybody else into it.
But Wynter was always too overprotective for his own good, I remember when a guy made some comment about my dress asking for it and he had ordered a coffee just to throw over the guy. I know Wynter didn’t regret what we’d done, he was like that, he would do something and stand by his actions. But all I could think about was spending the next 15 years in prison. Was it even worth it?
“A, we did the right thing, everyone here knows it, we’ll be out before we’re thirty.” Wynter said.
We had done the right thing, but that didn’t stop me feeling physically ill as they took us out of the van and escorted us to our cell. The chains had left indents everywhere and the handcuffs’ grip still lingered.
It was a small facility, with a single cell for Wynter and I and a few other rooms that I couldn’t see. In a normal prison, it would be loud, filled with the shouting of other inmates or the hurried footsteps of guards patrolling the perimeter. But we were in a maximum security unit, isolated from anybody else.
Wynter hugged me as soon as his handcuffs were taken off, I buried my face in his neck, realising how much worse it could be without him here. They hadn’t even put us in separate cells, we had been told it was for the purpose of close monitoring but we knew otherwise. Our lawyer- Arthur Wilson- had been incredible, he had brought in this psychologist in human behaviour. She had said that if we were to be isolated then it was important we were kept together to reduce the chances of long term emotional detachment.
“It’s going to be over soon.” Wynter mumbled.
“I really hope so, I didn’t think my 15th birthday was going to be spent in an orange jumpsuit with no cake.” I sighed.
I was going to be 15 in a few months and before this all started, Wynter’s parents were going to let us go to Tenerife by ourselves, but this had been more important.
“I actually think the jumpsuit brings out your death stare.” Wynter replied.
I gave him a dark look.
“See, beautiful.” He laughed.
Only Wynter could find prison amusing. He managed to make WW1 amusing at school, now I couldn’t even look at a picture of the former British Empire without bursting into laughter and picturing my best friend back flipping off a table and crashing into Ms Palmer’s desk.
“Welcome, murderers, to your new home.” An officer declared slamming the cell door shut.
“Still better than your room.” Wynter said looking at the steel bunk-bed frame.
“Wynter, if we were still killing perps, I’d use your bedroom to do it, the mess would engulf their very souls and bodies.”
He shoved me playfully but no joking around could get the word ‘home’ from our minds. This was it. Home Steel Home.