Page 97 of Rat

Mrs Mason started handing out bowls of paste. “Sebastian, can you mix up some more?”

He nodded and went to the front of the class. Rory noticed the bandana-wearing inmates were all staring his way, never letting Sebastian out of their sight. He tried to push the worry aside, but he felt the tension in the air. Something bad was brewing.

Rory wrinkled his nose at the bowl passed to him. “Looks like algae.”

“That reminds me,” Ollie said, sounding excited. “I beat Green at pool yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

Ollie nodded. “Jack says I’m getting good.”

“You’ve only been playing for a few days.”

“Endlessly playing at any opportunity,” Ollie corrected. “And Teddy’s teaching me poker, so I’ll be kicking your arse at that too.”

“What about chess?”

Ollie groaned. “No, thanks, but maybe in a few years’ time, I’ll change my mind. You know, when I’m ancient.”

Rory didn’t say anything back, and Ollie grinned.

“Still no replies to your letters?” Rory asked.

“No. My brother doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t blame him. Maybe when I get out of here, he’ll give me the chance to explain, but until then there’s not much I can do.”

Mrs Mason walked between the tables, handing out newspapers. She grinned at Ollie, and Ollie grinned back.

“You’re such a teacher’s pet.”

The insult made Ollie grin wider. “That’s literally the first time anyone’s ever called me that, and I don’t know why it’s a bad thing.” Ollie passed the newspaper to Rory. “You start tearing.”

“Yes, Officer Art Police,” Rory said before saluting Ollie.

“Teacher’s pet, I don’t mind, but art police…” Ollie scrunched up his face. “I’m not a fan.”

“Why not?”

Ollie shrugged. “The police, everyone hates them in here. I don’t want someone to overhear and think…”

“Think what?”

“I don’t know.”

Rory bit his lip, then dropped his gaze to the newspaper.

The blow to his chest was physical, punching the air from his body. His heart slowed, and his vision pulsed black in time with the stuttering beats.

“What the fuck,” he said on a breath.

Erica was on the front page. She was grinning ear to ear, looking like their mum at that age. Their father had shown them pictures, and it had pleased Erica that she took after her. She even had the same hair style, straight bangs long enough to hide her eyebrows and shoulder-length hair. Rory recognized the image, Erica’s social media picture, taken a year ago on her birthday.

The headline sliced straight into his heart. He bowed over the table, wheezing as a coil wrapped around his lungs.

“It’s not possible,” he murmured.

“Get ripping,” Ollie said, nudging him.

Rory closed his eyes, shook his head, then looked again, but she was still there. It was still her face grinning back at him next to a headline of horror. It was impossible. Rory rubbed his eyes and looked again, wanting the picture to change to something else, but it didn’t. It was still his sister. It was still an article detailing a fatal traffic collision that killed both the driver and the passenger. Rory didn’t recognize the other person who shared the page with Erica, but his gaze stalled on the name Danny.

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