Page 83 of Oh, Hell No

Although it wasn’t cold temperature-wise inside the facility, it still chilled me to the bone when I followed the officer. He was taking me in a different direction than usual, and I debated asking him about it. Was he new and didn’t know where to go? The way he had checked me out, however, kept me from speaking. It had been an ogling leer that gave me the creeps. I’d rather he not turn around and look at me again.

When he stopped at a door, I hesitated, thinking I might need to go back and find someone else. This was not where you went to talk to prisoners. If he was trying to get me alone, he wasn’t going to succeed. I’d scream this place down.

“This isn’t where I’m supposed to see my brother,” I said, standing as tall as I could, not wanting to appear weak or as an easy target.

He glanced back at me after he knocked on the door. “It is today,” he said as his eyes did another once over of my body.

Nope, did not like him at all.

Another officer appeared, one that I recognized. He nodded at me, then stood back for me to enter. I didn’t move.

“Where are we? This is not where I normally see Perry.”

“You do today,” he replied, sounding annoyed, as if I had no right to question him.

I moved closer and peered into the room, and my eyes found Perry sitting at a table. There was no glass separator between us, and I rushed past both men as my heart lifted for the first time in days.

“Perry!” I gushed, wanting to wrap my arms around him. Try and give some warmth to his frail body.

“Stop,” the officer behind me said in an authoritative command.

I paused, agitated. I’d not hugged my brother in two months,and he was delaying the moment. I glanced back at him.

“This side of the table. He has been granted this due to his psychologist’s recommendation; however, you are to stay on your side of the table and him on his.”

I wanted to plant my fist in his face. I glared at the man, then nodded once before turning back to Perry and walking slower over to my side of the stupid table. What did it matter? This was silly. How did a table separating us do anything? My thoughts were bitter as I took a seat and softened my expression as I focused on my brother.

I blew out a breath as the emotion at seeing him without the glass between us hit me. “Is this a new thing for good behavior?” I asked hopefully.

The sadness in his eyes made me want to cry as he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid this is a onetime thing.”

And Marley wasn’t here. She would have loved this. Why hadn’t he wanted her to come? She would have been over the moon. I didn’t ask that though.

He smiled at me, but there was such pain there. How was he going to survive this for six more years, if he got out early? He had gone through enough, growing up. I longed for the life I had thought he was going to have. The successful, brilliant brother who owned his own software company before he could drink legally. The one who had gone to an Ivy League when he was sixteen years old. He didn’t belong in a federal prison.

“I, um…” he said, as an anguished expression slashed across his face.

I tensed, my hands fisting and my nails biting into my palms.

“I won’t be staying here. They’re going to move me soon.”

What? They couldn’t do that, could they? The judge had sent him here.

“Why?” I asked, searching his face.

“I’ve been seeing a psychologist here, like I said on the phone.I, uh…I’ve opened up to him. Shared things. The stuff we don’t talk about, and that led me to sharing other things. Things you don’t know. Things…things that will upset you.”

He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. “I knew this would be hard. Saying this to your face. You are the only person I’ve never wanted to let down. Not Marley. She’s been good to us. Me. But I’ve only had any real emotion for one person. You.” He paused. “The doc said it’s because you protected me as a child, so while the abuse was warping me and twisting how my brain developed, you became something that stood alone. The thing—person—that didn’t get cut out, and what little emotion I have was because of you.”

I smiled, needing to reassure him that he wasn’t warped or twisted. Why would the psychologist allow him to believe that about himself?

“You have emotion for more than just me,” I said, wishing I could grab his hands and squeeze them with reassurance.

He shook his head. “No, sis, I don’t.”

I started to argue, but he continued, “Our mom didn’t fall down those stairs. I’d pushed her. You were asleep, and I waited, stayed awake, and when I heard her open the door, I followed her. Seeing her lying there, her eyes void, staring at nothing…I found…joy. I hadn’t known what that was or what I was feeling because it was new. Exciting. I wanted to feel it again.”

Panic slowly creeped over me. Taking my ability to breathe, to speak, to even move.

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