The Angel. Katerina Diamond

in the first place? He deserved this punishment. He had taken someone’s life.

      He was grateful for the darkness. His eyes were so sore from the air in here; it was noxious, unclean and unfiltered. He sucked in a breath hard as he tried to fill his body with clean air. Any air. He gulped to try and stop the tears that refused to stay beneath the surface any longer. Ready to burst from his bloodshot eyes.

      Surely this was all a big mistake? Prison? He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t be real. Just over a week ago, he and Emma had been making plans for the summer. Everything they had talked about was now gone. No going back to college or work or holidays. No more hope. No future. Or at the very least, a future he hadn’t accounted for and most certainly didn’t want. This would never go away. It couldn’t. Someone had died because of him. Someone had lost their father, brother, son – all because of Gabriel’s stupidity.

      He couldn’t feel sorry for himself, but he could feel anger. The numbness inside had gone. He had spent so long focussing on how to behave and making sure he didn’t upset anyone that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything. His eyes no longer stung and he realised he was crying. Thank God he was alone.

      Gabriel turned on his side and drew his knees up to his chest. The release of pressure was immense; he could feel himself letting go and breathing for what seemed like the first time in a week. Tears coming until there were no more. The short burst of emotion had calmed him down. His breathing normalising, he drifted into thoughts of Emma, wishing he had that T-shirt so he could at least inhale her scent.

      That’s when he noticed the light. A break in the darkness. His heart stopped as he heard the sound of metal against metal. The bolt sliding across and his door opening, followed by shuffling and quiet footsteps. Should he hold his breath or pretend to be asleep? Should he turn and look? He balled his hand into a fist, ready to punch anyone who touched him. No one had said anything to him when he was arrested, but he knew what they had all been thinking. It had been his first thought when he’d been told he was going to prison. Prison rape was a joke to most people. Don’t drop the soap. It had stopped being funny the second the prison gates opened and the van pulled inside.

      Gabriel heard whispering in the room now, but the sound of his exaggerated heartbeat in his ears made it impossible to discern the words. This was the most vulnerable he had ever felt in his life. This was worse than the strip search, which at least had taken place in the daylight. This was worse than using the servery for the first time, shoulder to shoulder with the unknown, eyes all over him. He didn’t recognise the whispered voices but there were more than one. It was becoming clear that they weren’t here for him though. They were going through Jason’s things. Taking them away. He heard them toss the mattress aside and check underneath it. What had Jason done? What had happened to him? Whatever it was, Gabriel hadn’t heard Jason’s name spoken among the other inmates in the nine days since he had gone. He didn’t want to get himself in trouble by bringing it up, but he found it very odd how quickly the disappearance was accepted. Why wasn’t anyone else curious? The lack of curiosity was more upsetting to Gabriel than Jason’s unexplained departure.

      When Gabriel was sure he was alone, he opened his eyes. The room was dark again, silent once more. He allowed his sight to adjust before turning over in his bed. He wanted to see what had been taken. He moved as though he were still asleep, eyes open a sliver. Everything belonging to Jason was gone, the cupboard empty, door open. The books and pictures on the wall had vanished. It was though he had never been there.

       Chapter 8

      Imogen knocked on the door of the church and pushed lightly against it. It swung wide open. The building inside looked empty. She had never been a religious person but she found the church quite calming in itself; the well-worn wooden seats, the dancing light from the stained-glass windows, the smell of incense and burning candles. It reminded her of her childhood; her mother was always burning incense and leaving candles lit through the night. It was a miracle there had never been an accident. She thought of her mother, painting by candlelight and she knew that was why she liked churches: they reminded her of her mum, the peaceful mother that would quietly paint in the half-light and not the manic mother that would continually forget to collect her from school.

      ‘Hello?’ she called out tentatively.

      Adrian had no such compunction and walked down the aisle and up towards the altar.

      ‘Hello?’ His voice echoed hers. Seconds later a door opened to the side of the altar and a priest emerged.

      ‘I’m Father Berkeley. How can I help you?’

      Imogen joined Adrian as the priest approached, they both pulled out their IDs and the priest’s smile got a little tighter.

      ‘We’re conducting an investigation. We heard that you have a lot of homeless people in and out of here. We just wondered if you had noticed anyone missing recently?’ Imogen said, as Adrian wandered off towards the candle bank, the tiny shine of the tea lights burning away even when no one was there.

      ‘It doesn’t really work like that,’ Father Berkeley told them politely, clearly already eager for them to leave. ‘People come and people go.’

      ‘Do you know a man called Bricks?’ Imogen asked him.

      ‘Yes, Bricks came here sometimes. He was a strange one. I occasionally invite people to eat with me. He came and had dinner a couple of times but I didn’t invite him back a third time.’

      ‘Why was that?’

      ‘He was quite unpleasant and made me feel uncomfortable. You know when someone has a darkness about them? I imagine you get something similar in your line of work, like an instinct about people.’

      ‘When was that, sorry?’ Imogen ignored the priest’s extraneous comments, unwilling to engage in a conversation with him about the similarities between their line of work.

      ‘Probably around a month ago. He had a bit of money on him. I had to ask him to leave because he was quite rude to one of my parishioners, used the “c” word.’ The priest shook his head. ‘I threatened to call the police and he went off. I haven’t seen him since then.’

      ‘A month ago?’ Adrian looked at Imogen and pulled out his phone. This was news to them.

      ‘Do you have any idea who he hung out with? Do you have a photo of him?’ Imogen said to the priest.

      ‘No I don’t, he was always a bit antisocial, never came to any of the church gatherings for the homeless. I don’t think he liked me. You can’t like everyone though, can you?’

      ‘Indeed,’ Imogen said. ‘Thank you.’

      The priest nodded and went into a back room. Imogen turned to see Adrian putting money into the collection box; as she watched him, he picked up a candle and lit it, placing it in the tiered metal candle holder. She thought he might even be praying for a moment before he turned to look at her.

      ‘Anything?’

      ‘Nope. But he obviously wasn’t in prison a month ago. We need to get Gary on the case. What are you doing?’

      ‘What does it look like?’

      ‘I didn’t think you were into all that.’

      ‘I’m just lighting a candle, Grey, calm down.’

      ‘I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to know that telling me to calm down is a bad idea.’

      ‘Why don’t you light one?’

      ‘Why would I do that? I’m not Catholic.’

      ‘You just do it for yourself, to remind yourself of the people you care about,’ Adrian said. ‘It just feels good.’

      ‘Who would I do it for?’ she said. Her mind immediately went to Dean, followed by a quick burst of shame