Page 17 of Butterfly

Ollie had been so focused on the door at the end of the corridor he’d failed to see the locked gate blocking the way.

“Here,” Jonesy said, holding out some tissue. “Don’t worry, it’s clean.”

“Thank you.”

Green’s laughter trailed off. “And you gave me a hard time for running into a patio door when I was twelve.”

“Let’s hope it’s not broken,” Jack murmured. “Or you’ll end up with a fucked-up face like Green.”

Green pouted. “You love my fucked-up face.”

One second, Ollie was boxed in by Jack, Green and Jonesy, and the next, they were being violently pushed away and Teddy was there, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He inflated with a breath, rising to his full height, ready to swing his fists and kill whoever had dared to touch Ollie.

“It was the gate,” Ollie blurted. “The gate.”

“Well, technically, it was you…walking into the gate,” Green said with a bright smile.

Teddy glared at Green until he retreated halfway across the wing.

“I’m okay,” Ollie assured him. “It’s not broken. At least, I don’t think it is.”

Officer Seinfeld approached, tutting under his breath. “You’ll have to go down to the hospital wing, get Dr Pichard to check you out.”

“Right now?” Ollie whined.

Dispassionate blue eyes stared at him through thin-framed glasses. “Yes. Now. Come on.”

Teddy’s arm shot out, keeping Ollie in place. His nostrils flared as he breathed hard, refusing to let Ollie pass.

Ollie nudged Teddy with his elbow, still with a handful of blood. “I’m fine.”

“Even you can see it needs looking at,” Seinfeld muttered.

He came closer but had one hand on his radio in case he needed back-up. Teddy didn’t just scare the shit out of the other inmates; he terrified the officers too.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Ollie said, lowering his hand enough for Teddy to see his smile.

Teddy dropped his arm, letting Ollie pass.

“Come on, Oliver.” Seinfeld sighed. “Let’s get you sorted.”

Teddy didn’t turn to watch him leave; he stayed posturing at the metal gate that had whacked Ollie in the face.

The only time Ollie had left the wing had been on the day he found out the truth about Rory.

Other inmates had visits, or meetings with their lawyers, but not Ollie, who followed closely behind Seinfeld as they passed the main gates to each wing.

Hollybrook Prison had six regular wings and one hospital wing.

Ollie didn’t want to end up on that wing.

He’d heard horror stories about that wing from other inmates.

“Here we are,” Seinfeld announced, unlocking another gate. He gestured for Ollie to go ahead of him.

The room they stepped into had been pulled straight from a hospital. It was only the thick metal bars over the windows and the gate to what Ollie assumed was the wing that gave it away. There were blue curtains hanging down, drawn around two cubicles, with the one at the furthest end open, showing the hospital bed and all the equipment.

“Doctor Pichard,” Seinfeld called.

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