Crooked Halos

The wardens come for Gerard the next day.

I would have expected him to kick, scream, anything, but he doesn’t, he’s quiet, subdued, and I have to wonder whether it’s the crushing guilt of what happened or whether it’s the cool metal of the gun they have pressed between his shoulder blades whilst they handcuff his hands behind his back, curse at him, call him a shit, one of them kicks his legs out from under him.

He doesn’t respond.

Frank sure as hell does.

The green eyed boy, scars, bruises, bite-marks and all throws himself at the guards holding Gerard with all the ferocity of a feral cat, snarling, trying to claw their hands off of his boyfriend – I don’t understand.

I’m curled on my bunk, watching it happen. Shannon sits just in front of me, trying to teach me to play solitaire (to no effect) Ryan and Brendon lie side by side on their stomachs, watching the scene with the same detached expression that graces my own features. Jade and Davey are in the showers, or, well, they were last time I checked.

One of the guards, has a nasty burn on his forearm, snaps the handcuffs into place, as if expecting a sudden struggle from the otherwise subdued hazel eyed boy, turns and backhands Frank leaving new welts across the blood and bruises.

I have to hand it to him, Frank doesn’t even flinch, just pauses as if to reassess then continues his frenzied attack, halted only when one of them pulls a gun at him and the whole world seems to freeze.

On one end of the gun Frank stands there, bloodied and snarling, on the other end the guard is clean-shaven with such a cold-gleam in his eye I have to wonder whether he’s an ex-patient.

“Quiet you little shit. Sit down.”

Franks lip twitches back over his teeth in a sick grimace, revealing the gaps where Gerard knocked four of his teeth out yesterday. He spits at the guards feet.

“Go fuck yourself.” The voice is surprisingly clear, all missing teeth considered.

Click, click, bang.

The blood starts spilling across the floor, Ryan starts screaming but is quickly silenced when Brendon clasps a desperate hand over his mouth, eyes wide with a mixture of fear, revulsion and another emotion I can’t quite identify.

Shannon watches with horror as Frank slumps to the floor, sprawled, that little star between his eyes and half the back of his head blown outwards, painting the walls, some of it hit my cheek, Shannon got a good face-full, so I can’t really feel too hard done by.

Naturally, this set Gerard off.

The next few minutes were a confused mix of gunfire, the sound of well-aimed punches connecting on target with noses – I thought I heard a wrist snap somewhere, but don’t hold me to that one.

Shannon dived on me as soon as the second gunshot was fired, rolled us off the bed and pushed me underneath the wire structure, lying on top of me, his weight heavy and uncomfortable, his breath too hot against my neck, my legs at awkward angles, but it’s not until I hear Brendon cry out that I suddenly realise how bad things have gotten.

It feels like an age before things quieten down, kept from silence by Brendon’s ragged breathing and Ryan’s quiet sobbing.

One of the guards kicks something and laughs harshly.

“Get them out of here; bag ‘em up and see if there’s any room in the incinerator.”

There’s shuffling and the sound of something being dragged from the room. The door clicks closed before Shannon lets me out and I feel bile rise in my throat.

So much blood, the dirty marks on the floor where two bodies have been dragged out, blood on the walls, on the bunks, there’s a lot on Brendons bunk – too much.

Ryan’s crying, rolls his boyfriend onto his back, fingers anxious, touching Brendon’s shoulder and I feel my own tears well when I see the ragged wound, too close to the neck.

Brendons fingers are tight across the wound, as if trying to keep the blood back in his body, but it leaks out anyway, around and through his fingers.

“Brenny... Brenny... don’t leave me.” Ryan is crying, nearly hysterical and there’s a hopelessness in his voice that just about break my heart.

I leave the room, not wanting to watch.

He would die – that much was inevitable.

Brendon was one of my best friends and the horrible inevitability with which his death followed... I couldn’t watch, couldn’t be there for him, couldn’t comfort Ryan even though I knew it was the right thing to do.

I ended up in the showers again, recounting the tiles on the ceiling, repeatedly banging the back of my head against the tiles of the wall behind me, taking comfort in the enclosed space, trying anything to avoid the sick, sick sadness that Brendon was gone and that it was an accident, one stray bullet intended for Gerard.

I couldn’t even feel pity for Gerard, what he did to Frank and then unintentionally to Brendon.

I hated him.

The list of deaths I lined up beside his name was ridiculous, I even managed somehow in my mind to link deaths from months ago, like Ian, right back to Gerard. I don’t know why I made these connections, it just gave me more reason to hate him.

Shannon found me in that cubicle, three hours later, didn’t say a word, just sat next to me and pulled me against his chest, stroking my hair and I could feel his tears, hot and wet against my ear.

“He died, didn’t he?”

Shannon didn’t even need to ask who ‘he’ was, just nodded and kissed the back of my head, drawing in a shaky breath.

“The medics took him away ten minutes ago, but he died more than two hours ago.”

I nod against his chest, clutching childishly at his t-shirt, my hands balled into little fists. He doesn’t make any move to pry them loose, but lets me know he’s there, kisses the top of my head again.

For once, I’m glad for the company.

***

Ryan doesn’t move in class.

Not when the teacher asks him a question, not when Jade throws a wadded-up bit of paper at him, nothing.

He just stares out the window – in a way it’s sadly reminiscent of how I first saw him, sat at that exact desk, staring out the window.

Only back then, I stared out the window because I was bored, now Ryan stares out there because... I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s the only way he can feel close to Brendon again.

Shannon holds my hand under the desk and I try to make histograms seem important to me, but they’re really not. I understand them fine, but they’re not important.

The bell rings for lunch but I’m not hungry.

Ryan starts off in the opposite direction to the food-hall, so I guess he’s not hungry either.

Shannon pulls me along the corridor, down the stairs; there are fourteen in total, turn a corner, down fourteen more steps, it’s all concrete and black iron. Ground floor, left turn, through some doors, take a seat, wait for Shannon to return with food.

“What is this?” I stare at the mess on the plate, not even sure it constitutes the title ‘food’.

“Sausage, mash, beans, peas and carrots.” Shannon points out different areas on the plate, but I have a hard time distinguishing. “Rice pudding for afters if you finish fast.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” I poke apprehensively at one of the supposed sausages. “What’s this on the sausage?”

Shannon squints. “Beans, I think. Try it and see.”

I take a bite and I still can’t distinguish. Offhandedly I wonder about the meat content of these sausages, probably about 0.01% or something ridiculously low like that.

“What is it then?”

I swallow. “Not a clue.”

We finish up the food without much conversation and with equally little clue as to what we’re actually ingesting at any given moment.

Back to class, inside Ryan’s already there, perched on a desk, thin legs swinging backwards and forwards, working through some difficult math problem without a calculator, chewing on the end of his pencil whenever he gets stuck, a little frown furrowing between his brows.

He doesn’t make any sign of having seen or heard us enter the classroom and I don’t expect him to, I try to give him an encouraging smile, but it comes out more as a grimace and I decide to keep my mental expressions to myself.

Ms. Smith walks in, followed by Jade who appears to feel that it’s his duty to announce to everyone present that Davey’s just finishing up in the toilet and will be along shortly.

Ryan slides off the desk and sits back on his chair, his notebook on his lap, still chewing the end of his pencil and staring out the window.