Detained

He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her softly. He was burning inside, acid in his veins from the fear of what he had to do. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but he kept his eyes on hers. His hands went to the neck of her shirt. She knew what he was going to do and nodded. In one quick movement, he ripped the buttons off. He’d have held her again then, but the sounds outside were louder, closer.

He positioned her in the nib behind the shelf and went to the door to unlock it, praying no one on the other side would hear the tumblers slide. He had to climb over the mountain of clothing to get to the door, it would take time for someone to shift it, to get in, time that he could use to attack first.

She had her arms open when he came back and he walked into them, crowding them into the narrow space, feeling her whole body shake against his. He tucked her head down on his shoulder and listened to the shouting. He could make out words now, over the sibilance of the intercom, over the sounds of things breaking. They were so close. They were right outside. They were at the door, arguing.

Then a shoulder charge against it, the latch held, a harsh laugh, and through the rows of shelving he saw the handle depress, a tattooed head poke in, a foot kick at the pile of clothing. More words, a push against the door, it opened a hand span further, the clothing mountain sliding, bunching on the floor. Darcy’s head came up. Her eyes were huge with fear, wide with shock. Will kissed her open mouth, readied himself to move. The door wedged, another shove and it bounced, but didn’t open any further. A curse, the smell of smoke, strong enough for him to recognise, then noise further off. They were gone.

Darcy sagged in his arms, her knees gone to jelly. He held her upright. They were not safe. She had to be able to stand, to run. He’d be too slow, couldn’t defend her, if he had to carry her, and he would not leave her.

“Come on, Lois, this is the story of your career. ‘How I survived a prison riot and rescued the notorious murder suspect, Will Parker’.” She smiled weakly, put her hand to her forehead. She was gasping for breath. He gave her a little shake, he needed her to focus.

“You’ll have the pick of any job, any salary you want after a story like this. I’ll even give you firsthand quotes.

That’ll show your old man and that brother of yours, right?”

Her eyes were everywhere, she was thoroughly panicked now. “Look at me, Darcy.” He bracketed her face in his hands. “I love you and I won’t leave you till you’re safe. It’s going to be okay. Pete is out there waiting for you. He’ll get you a new suit.” Her eyes were closed, she was sobbing quietly. He wasn’t getting through to her. There was an almighty crash outside and they both started.

He kissed her. It was the softest, gentlest kiss he’d ever given a woman. It tasted of her salt tears and their shared dread. And she responded, melting to him, returning the kiss, opening to it, wrapping her arms around his chest.

He broke off when the smell of smoke got stronger still. No sprinklers so it hadn’t been detected yet or they’d been damaged. He couldn’t wait to find out. Fire would kill them as surely as the mob might tear them apart.

“You don’t let go of me. Until you see a guard in a uniform, you don’t let go.”

She nodded and he made her wait while he cleared the doorway. He could hear voices, but they were a way off, and he could hear the fire. They had to go now.

“Come on, baby, we have a riot to attend.” He held out his hand to her. He sounded like an action figure from a B-grade movie, but he wanted to see her smile, one last time.

She grasped his hand, her short nails digging in, pinned him with those big doll eyes. “I hate you, Will Parker. Now get me out of here.”

At the door he checked the corridor. Clear. The fire was coming from the doctor’s office, heat and black smoke pouring into the air. He could already feel it in the back of his throat and pricking his eyes. He rummaged on the floor for his wet prison uniform, handed her the top, kept the pants. “Keep this over your mouth and nose. We’re going down the way you came in with Pete. We’re going to find a guard, or somewhere else safe to wait.”

She had her mouth and nose covered, she was ready. He closed his eyes a moment and tried not to think about what could go wrong. Then he stepped out and pulled her with him.

Despite the wet masks they both started coughing almost immediately. The fire was building quickly. They’d have died of smoke inhalation if he’d delayed much longer. They cleared the corridor, and at the junction of two more, one heading towards the visitor entrance, and the other to the main dining hall and the cells, Will paused. It was a coin toss. He tried to distinguish where various sound were coming from, but it was hopeless and they couldn’t stand here. Some action figure he was. Even the B-graders didn’t stand around looking useless like this.

They dropped the wet clothing and he chose. Left towards the visitor’s entrance. It was closer to the outside world than the cell blocks. They’d gone less than twenty metres when he knew he’d done the right thing. Relief almost made him cheer when he saw the guards, a group of six or seven, armed. He pulled Darcy close to him and held his other hand up. He was a prisoner—the enemy, and he didn’t want to be shot at. He started telling them who she was, and that they needed to take her to safety.

There was a moment where he knew something wasn’t right, before he heard the words “Bruce Lee”, before the gun was raised and a shot fired. He hit the ground, pulling Darcy down with him, screaming at them not to shoot. Threatening, promising, swearing. He got laughter and movie dialogue.

He’d come the wrong way.

There was movement behind them now too, running, many feet, shouting in various languages and more shots fired over their heads. He snuck a look over his shoulder, a group of prisoners advancing on the guards. They were in the middle of a war zone. He rolled, bringing Darcy’s body under his. They’d have to kill him first to get to her.

He felt a kick in his ribs. Pain turned his vision white. Hands reefed them apart. Will came up swinging and took someone down, a prisoner, a guard; he could hardly see, but he could hear Darcy screaming. He swung again and his punch was blocked. Scarface.

“They kill you for Bruce Lee. I take her out.”

He looked for Darcy. She was on the floor on her knees. “Go, go with him.” Scarface tackled him back to the floor as a volley of shots rang out. He looked for her again and she was gone. He’d lost her. Red-hot pain in his shoulder. Blood. Screaming. And underneath it, taunts of Bruce Lee.

Scarface was yelling. He scrambled to stand, slipping in blood. Will tried to follow. He couldn’t see Darcy. He couldn’t use his right arm. The guards were on him, too many of them. He got to his feet so he could see death coming. He held on to the sound of her voice screaming his name. They pistol-whipped him, they kicked him. They broke more ribs. They were slipping in his blood too.

He defended himself as long as he could stand. When they took his knee out, and he heard the bone break, his consciousness became the sound of her voice. He sucked it in like air and filled his body with it, because as long as she was screaming she was alive.

30. Obit Writer

“I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.” — Confucius

Peter insisted on hospital, but Darcy wasn’t hurt. Bruised, in shock, heartsick, numb, but her legs stood her up; her hands could hold a cup of tea. There was nothing physically wrong with her. He wouldn’t hear of her going back to her hotel and offered her one of Will’s homes to stay in, but that felt wrong. She wanted to be somewhere her memory of him would be solid and not filled with his absence or tainted by the colours of pain.