The Bars That Hold Us

by Shelly Pratt

  I understand his. It’s devastated. Is it that bad? He won’t tell me. He just keeps looking at me. Swearing. I didn’t know he had such a potty mouth, but then again, he did tell me he was a bit of a bad boy. I still don’t believe it though. He’s good and kind and caring – all the things I wasn’t looking for since Danny died. He made me change my mind. I wonder if he knows how happy I am about that.

  I want to tell him he makes me happy, but the darkness is coming. It’s a relief when he stops pressing on my chest. The pain goes. He scoops me under the arms and holds me against his chest.

  All the air goes out of my body. It’s a relief. I don’t feel cold anymore. I feel warm, and loved, and… happy.

  The darkness slides over me. It takes me with it.

  #26

  Her step backwards into my body was the first sign that something was wrong. We didn’t see him. Fuck, we weren’t even expecting him. Not here. Not in the place that holds such personal meaning to both of us. I let my guard down. I was too consumed. Too in love with her that it blinded me.

  Never in my life has a smile been wiped so quickly from my face. The pain of fear in my chest can hardly compare to the blade that’s stuck in her own, although I can’t help but acknowledge how much it fucking hurts me.

  The guy runs. I can see the mistake in his eyes. It wasn’t meant to be her. It was all for me. There’s confusion as he stumbles away from us, not sure what he should do now. I’m sure there’s a part of him that’s contemplating ripping it out of her and stabbing me with it as well, especially since I seem to be incapacitated with shock now that Mercy is sagging like a sack of potatoes against me. He thinks twice. He runs, back to whatever hole he crawled out from.

  I treat her like she’s wrapped in cotton wool – delicate, fragile and the most precious thing I will ever hold in my hands. Gently I lay her down on the floor, and curse that it’s too damn hard for the likes of her. My thinking is hindered because I’m not sure what to do first. Help her? Get help for her? Run after the prisoner who did this and beat the ever-loving shit out of him? She won’t last that long – I know that. That option is eliminated almost instantly. She needs me, although I already have the sinking feeling that there’s absolutely nothing I can do for her. And that scares the fuck out of me.

  Before I can stop her, she pulls the blade out of her chest. I’m pretty sure from the blood that spurts out of the wound that it has punctured her heart—her fragile and magnificent heart. I need her to hold on, to wait, to let me comprehend all that’s happening and tell her everything I need to in the very few precious seconds that I know I have left. But she won’t. Her eyes tell me that.

  I crush my hand to her chest, desperate to stem the flow of blood, hoping like hell that I can push all the life back into her and make her all better again. She gasps, choking for air. She looks panicked, desperately moving her lips, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, anxiously wondering if she’ll make one last gasp of breath before her lights go out.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I snatch her radio from her belt and start pressing buttons, talking like a crazy man and hoping beyond the ends of the earth that someone within the jail can hear me. I need them. For the first time in almost four years, I need them. I want them to fix this mess. I want them to fix her, because I need her.

  Her mouth opens, then closes.

  ‘Please don’t give up, sweetheart! I’m trying to get someone for you… Fuck! Someone! Anyone! Fucking help us!’ I don’t want my screams to scare her, but I need someone to come and help me. Desperately.

  Her cold hand gently rests on my arm. She starts to shake.

  ‘No, no, no! Please, fuck! Mercy, baby… hold on for dear life.’

  I can’t tell if she’s squeezing my arm or not. Her touch is so feather-light. I’m losing her and I hate it. What precious life breathed in her is trailing out faster than I know how to fix it. Life isn’t fair, I now know that much. Maybe I’ll pay forever for my sins. Maybe I don’t deserve her. Maybe I’m meant to suffer, but why should she suffer along with me?

  Her lips move again and I slide her hair away from her face, desperate to hear whatever she needs to tell me.

  ‘… xon, love you. I… Daniel.’ His name is breathed out of her mouth in a low exhale.

  The pain in my own chest only increases, stabbing me right up to the back of my throat. Tears sting so bad that trying to hold them back only pinches my nose. I feel like someone has reached inside of my chest, pulled out my heart, stomped on it and then kicked it to the curb.

  Her pale-blue eyes shine with tears unshed. While the last of life leaves her, they glass over. Reluctantly, I take my hand off her chest. I’m kneeling at her side, although all of my prayers have gone unanswered. As delicately as I can, I reach under her arms and drag her limp body towards my own, clutching her to my chest as though it will in some way comfort the both of us. It won’t. I can’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe that she’s gone. There is nothing in this world that will ever make this okay. If I thought I had reached lows before, I was wrong.

  The radio at my feet squawks. With one hand, I reach for it. I don’t know what was said. The roaring of a thousand oceans pummeling me down are drowning them out. I can’t hear. Maybe I don’t want to. There’s nothing they can do now. Maybe there wouldn’t have been anything they could have done anyway, but at least this way I have someone to blame. Already I can feel a burning rage within, and I’m going to need to channel that towards someone. I’m going to put those people I feel are responsible at the forefront of my mind and direct all my hate and rage towards them.

  ‘You’re too late,’ I say into the receiver. I release the button and let it crash to the floor.

  I grip her body to my own. Only moments ago she was beneath me, breathing, hot with warm blood and life that ran through her. Her death crushes me. It flattens me to an insignificant mess that can’t stop the anguish that is creeping over me.

  So this is how she felt. This is how a person feels when they lose it all. This is how a person feels when everything they live for is stripped away from them without any warning. This is now my burden. This is the misery I’m going to have to carry around with me—forever. The prison alarm goes off overhead.

  Silently at first, I rock her back and forth in my arms, like a baby in need of taking care of. Distant doors open, eventually leading guards towards us. Their steel-capped boots pound the hard, cold floor. The thump-thump punctuates the blood that pounds its way through my head. Still, I rock her, like it will soothe her pain even though she feels nothing anymore. By the time they reach us I’m a mess.

  They halt abruptly, unable to comprehend what they’re walking into. There’s so much blood, and it covers both of us. Even though they’ve arrived, I won’t let her go. They look confused, not understanding the animal that’s wailing over her dead body. Oh yeah, that’s me.

  I stroke her hair the way she likes, soothing myself with a gesture she can’t appreciate. I choke and cough. There’s something stuck in my throat. Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s anger.

  When the guards holster their Tasers, I understand they know I’m not a threat to their own safety. They’d be wrong, though. When they try to pry her from me, I growl, unable to accept that this is the last time I touch her. I don’t want it to be over. It cannot be over. We were so close – I was so close to leaving this place for good.

  Their radios continue to chatter in the background. I wish they’d turn those fucking things off. They’re interrupting the beautiful sounds the ocean is making in my ears, interrupting the quiet I’m trying to hold on to while I try to cradle Mercy in my arms.

  More footsteps. More people intruding. I wish they’d go away and leave me be until I desiccate beside her. I wish we were outside. I’d lie like this until we crumbled back into the earth and swallowed by time.

  It takes four of them. She’s gently pried from my arms while I’m dragged away like a cra
zy person. I guess I am crazy – crazy for thinking that I could keep her safe in a place like this, and crazy for thinking that I would bring Mercy any kind of good into her life.

  Her eyes are still open, her last expression painted onto her face. She loved me. It’s frozen so that I can clearly see. I allow myself to look at her for the last time to really capture the very last feeling she wanted to convey to me. I get it. I see it. I know, and I hold on to it because it’s all I have.

  The distance between us grows slowly. I’m sat on my ass, dragged backwards down the hallway I’ve walked a thousand times with her, by guards who barely knew the woman they’re dragging me away from. I hate them for it because I want to be left with her. I wish it was me instead. I wish I could go back and change things, but I’d be lying.

  If we had our time again, I’d still be unable to resist her. I still wouldn’t have been able to walk away from her even if the outcome was the same. We had a moment where she captured me and brought me under her spell. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat for just one single second with her, for one single moment where she’d again look at me the way she did.

  As I’m dragged through the door and it closes on us, her death becomes so final. I won’t look back, I won’t open my eyes, because in the darkness I can still feel like my glass is half full, not half empty.

  #Epilogue

  The metal bars clank against their fixtures as the mechanical cog whirrs in its tracks. I stand patiently, waiting until they’re fully open before I step out and meet the guard with my box—the one that contains all my worldly possessions.

  The guard nods to me, and I follow without a word. The cussing and hollering doesn’t stop as I walk the length of F Block and out into the bowels of the prison. It is the last day I will be an inmate at Silverwater Correctional Facility.

  I follow Victor through several security check points before stepping into the correctional facility’s main reception area. The morning sun is streaming blindingly through the reinforced glass doors.

  An older female officer motions me towards the desk. She proffers me the papers that need signing to make my release official. I grab the pen and sign my name next to the prisoner number I was given the first day I arrived here. I’m now a free man, although I have no idea what I want to do with my freedom.

  ‘You’re free to go, Miles. Good luck.’

  Victor offers me his hand to shake. I look at it, ignore it, pick up my box of possessions and get the fuck out of there.

  In the parking lot, I look around, find the car I’m expecting and walk over to it. The driver pops the trunk and I load my box inside. I slam the lid shut and it bangs heavily. It’s an old car—solid and sturdy.

  I make my way to the passenger’s door and open it. I look inside and see the tall figure of a man that I’ve only met recently. He looks as hollow as I feel. His eyes are vacant, red with ever-present tears that threaten if you were to say the wrong thing to him. I know how he feels. I hop in and say nothing. Neither does he.

  He puts the car into drive and heads out of the parking lot.

  Spring is a pretty time for Silverwater. The trees sway in the cool breeze, new leaves growing and bringing the birth of new life with it. Animals scurry away from the road as the car passes, seeking refuge in the bushes and flowerbeds that are growing like wildfire. Neither of us can appreciate the beauty we see. We just stare out of the front windscreen, the car making its way through the endless streets as we head over to the west side of town.

  When we reach our destination, the car rolls to a reluctant stop. We both sit there, unable to move. The old man sighs, and I know exactly how he’s feeling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. It’s the millionth time I’ve said it to him.

  ‘Not your fault. You tried to protect her the first time. We’ve been over this.’

  ‘Doesn’t change the fact I feel responsible.’

  He grunts, neither willing to accept or deny my feelings any further. He hands me a small leather book, bound by a large elastic band. I accept it, knowing full well I had the audacity to ask him for it in the first place.

  I brush my hand over the book before carefully opening it. Inside is a photograph of her. I needed it, just as he needed to know what happened to her—what happened between us. Underneath the picture is a wad of cash. That, I didn’t ask for.

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t need this,’ I say, stuffing the cash in his glove box so he can’t refute me.

  ‘My business card’s in there, too. You know, if you ever need to talk.’

  I nod. It’s my turn to say nothing. Moments pass, and all either of us can do is stare out at our surroundings. He finally moves, opening his car door. I follow suit, trailing around to the trunk of the car. Next to my box is an empty backpack.

  ‘Take it,’ he orders.

  I shove the possessions out of my box into the backpack, along with my newly treasured leather book with Mercy’s photograph in it. I sling it over my shoulder and bring myself to look her dad.

  I offer him my hand, and he takes it. He grips it hard, overcome with grief that he needs to let go of. His moustache twitches and a single tear slides down his ruddy face. He pulls me in to embrace him, needing comfort as a mangled cry escapes him. I have no words that will comfort him. I have no explanation that will really make any of this right.

  When he lets me go, I leave without a backwards glance. My own grief is enough to contend with right now.

  In the morning light, I weave my way through the gravestones, heading towards the plot number that was written on the inside flap of the leather-bound book Mr. Cole gave me.

  There’s still morning dew on the grass which wets the toes of my boots. I trudge on, eyes desperately searching for the headstone with her name on it.

  My eyes finally rest on the right one. It’s a large black headstone with a winged angle lying over the top of it. Her name, Mercy Cole, is written in gold across the granite. I silently read the inscription on it.

  A silent tear falls for the woman who I couldn’t save—the woman I couldn’t have. It kills me. Every damn day it kills me.

  I’m startled by a little brown bird that lands on the corner of the headstone. It stares expectantly at me, turning its head this way and that. Its chest is covered in flaming orange feathers. It’s stunning in the morning light, and hard to ignore.

  A lawn mower starts in the distance, startling the bird. It flaps its wings and flies off towards the sun, blinding me as I stare after it. I stay like that for a long while, eyes closed and absorbing the sun’s rays.

  I’d like to think that Mercy is now resting in peace, no longer plagued by the death of others. That is now my cross to bear. Like the bird that just flew off, I hope she’s spread her wings, flying free in heaven, peaceful in her afterlife.

  And while she lies buried under the freshly dug earth beneath my feet, she really lies buried in my heart forever.

  #Other titles & acknowledgements

  RUINED

  RUINING ANGEL (NOVELLA)

  INNOCENT BLUE (A SCENE)

  SANCTUARY OF MINE

  SALVAGE HER HEART

  BELOVED SOUL

  THE BARS THAT HOLD US

  THE DRAGON WITH TICKLISH FEET

  BUY ON AMAZON KINDLE

  TIERS

  OBSESSION

  SWITCH

  RAVEN

  STEVIE HARLOW ON KINDLE

  Thank you to family, friends and readers who support me in my journey as an author.

  I appreciate that you give me creative freedom to express myself. All of those times that called for condoms and safe sex between my characters – well, let me just say that no love story sounded nearly as romantic including that shit. So, because we all know this is a work of fiction, I’ve pardoned myself from putting it in.

  To Steven, Paris & Charlie: Words could never do justice what my heart feels. You guys are the soul that fuels my passion for life. Best family ever!

  To Kerri: Bitc
h, you had me at hello… I treasure you. Promise. Thank you for telling me I have word talent. WORD TALENT. You never fail to encourage me and always make me want to be the best version of myself. I’m sorry if I sometimes revert to the grumpy-ass bear that doesn’t get out of the cave much.

  Lastly, I want to express my gratitude towards the huge audience that supports indie authors. All the times you have liked, shared or pimped me out on social media has been greatly appreciated. All I can ask is that you keep doing it!

  You can visit my website at http://shellypratt.net

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