Chapter Five

 

There was trouble in paradise for the love-birds. Alfie stayed clear of their heated conversations, but every so often there was a shout or whine of outrage from behind the lobby gate.

“Think she’s calling it off,” Henry muttered, then slipped his shaded glasses on.

When roll call arrived, the atmosphere was tense, and rather than wait for Alfie in the lobby like they usually did, Marie and Glen disappeared to talk in private. The twins were out smoking, and Henry was slumped in the chair in the office, asleep or dead, Alfie didn’t know.

Alfie shook his head and moved along to his second favorite cell. He called it his favorite aloud to get a chuckle from Nate. The soft-spoken Queenie, betrayed only by his deep laugh.

Alfie smiled in anticipation and struck his fist to the door, but there was no response.

“Queenie?”

He tapped his foot as he waited, but there was no reply.

“Tyrone?” he said, knowing he could anger a response from the cell. There was nothing, no soft voice, no noise of someone shifting in their bed.

“What’s happening, Freshman?”

Alfie leaned back and stared at Nate’s door. He frowned and shook his head. “Please don’t tell me you’ve set this up.”

“Why would I do that?”

Alfie turned his attention back to the cell in front of him. “To get me to open the hatch.”

“I only want you opening my hatch Freshman … open my hatch so I can see your smile, and maybe your coc—”

“Hey, Queenie!” Alfie yelled.

There was no response. Even when he pressed his ear to the door there was nothing. He startled at the thump to Nate’s wall.

“Queenie, stop pissing us about!” Nate shouted. “You’re holding up Freshman.”

Still no response. Alfie grabbed his keys and unlocked the hatch. He peered in to the dark room, narrowing his eyes to increase his sight. The bright lights that lined the perimeter fence shone through the bars of the window. Alfie could see a figure lying on the bed, arm dangling to the floor.

“Queenie?”

Alfie stabbed the button on his radio, speaking fast into the receiver. “Code eleven. I have an unresponsive inmate. Cell number 149.”

The radio crackled, but no one answered. Queenie didn’t move, and Alfie slapped his hand to the cell door again, attempting to startle a response. Nothing, and the angle Queenie’s arm hung unnerved him.

Alfie repeated his panic into the radio, but a static hiss was all that greeted him. He beat his fist into the door, and Nate struck the wall between their cells.

“Queenie doesn’t fuck about,” Nate said.

Alfie grimaced. “I’m supposed to trust your word, am I?”

He tried the radio again, then leaned over the railing and yelled Henry’s name, but that didn’t work. He was at the farthest corner of the prison, shouting for a deaf man.

“Trust me, Freshman. Something is wrong.”

It was against protocol to go into a cell alone, but Alfie had no choice. Henry didn’t have his back, neither did Glen and Marie, but Nate was there, and Nate sounded serious.

“You better not be screwing with me,” Alfie growled. Then he unlocked the door.

He readied himself just in case Queenie launched from the bed, and when there was no movement, he bashed his fist to the assistance button inside the cell.

“Freshman, talk to me.”

Alfie moved to the bed, rolled Queenie over, then lowered him to the floor. There was no twitch in his limbs, no groan of annoyance like when the members of G-wing had doped themselves up one night. Queenie’s eyes were shut, and his lips were slack. Alfie stared at his chest, but there was no movement. He hovered his ear above Queenie’s mouth, but no breath tickled him. Alfie’s fingers shook as he felt for a pulse, and when the weakest one touched his fingertips he gasped.

“Freshman!”

“He needs an ambulance!”

Alfie stabbed at his radio and spoke savagely down the line, but still his cries for help were ignored. He turned back to Queenie, patted down his slim frame in the search of a wound, but there was nothing. He shuffled along, braced his hands on Queenie’s chest, then pressed down. His chest didn’t move like in first-aid training. It was stiff, hard to shove down, and Alfie glared at his hands, wishing they would do more.

Nate started banging his cell door, the same drum of weeks ago. Every door began drumming, and the sound crashed against Alfie’s skull. There was no way Henry could sleep through the noise, and soon enough an old man croak sounded in the two second beat of silence.

Alfie grabbed his radio and yelled till his lungs ached.

The only reply was Henry’s strangled, “Shit.”

Alfie released the radio and grabbed Queenie’s face. He forced his lips to part and opened his mouth up to look inside. Even after he slapped the light on, it was too dull to be any help. Marie appeared at the door with a gasp. Glen followed her into the room, running his hand through his hair.

“He’s dead,” Glen mumbled.

Alfie shook his head. “No, I felt a pulse. Have you called an ambulance?”

“Henry’s sorting it,” Marie whispered. “He does look dead.”

“Well he’s not,” Alfie snapped.

Marie moved farther into the cell, kneeled, and gripped Queenie’s wrist. She bit her lip and shook her head. “No pulse, and he’s not breathing.”

Alfie growled and turned back to Queenie. He pried his mouth open again and tilted his head to take a better look inside.

“He’s not breathing. Somethings blocking his airway…”

“He’s not breathing because he’s dead!” Glen shouted.

Alfie ignored his panicked outcry and flapped his hand out at Marie. “Give me your torch.”

Marie unclipped it from her belt and slapped it down on his palm.

“We’re gonna all get fired,” Glen whined, backing out of the cell.

Alfie gritted his teeth and shone the light inside Queenie’s drying mouth. He widened his eyes at the brown lump stuffed down Queenie’s throat.

“What the fuck…”

He didn’t bother with gloves but plunged his fingers into Queenie’s mouth. It was the wrong angle to use his thumb and forefinger. Instead, he had to grip the object with the tips of his fore and middle. The angle was tight. His nail scratched the back of Queenie’s throat, but he kept pushing. He pinched the soft material with his fingers and pulled it from Queenie’s mouth.

He dropped it to the floor with a grimace and handed the torch back to Marie.

“He’s still not breathing.”

Alfie kneeled at Queenie’s side, assumed the correct position, and pushed down with his linked hands. Queenie’s body jolted with the count of thirty, but his lungs didn’t start on their own accord. Alfie shuffled toward Queenie’s head, pinched his nose, and covered his bluing lips with his.

Alfie didn’t know how long he carried out CPR, but it was long enough for Henry to appear in the doorway, wheezing.

He cleared his throat into his tissue, shook his head, then muttered, “Such a shame.”

Alfie ignored him and kept trying. That’s what they taught him in the first aid class. Keeping going until the ambulance arrived. If you get tired, swap with someone else. Marie was comforting Glen in the corridor, and Henry looked like performing CPR would break his arms.

Alfie continued till his biceps ached and his shoulder throbbed. He breathed so forcefully into Queenie’s mouth it left him panting, and his head spun after the two vital breaths. He had practiced for two minutes on the stupid mannequin chest. It had been fun. They had laughed.

The real thing wasn’t fun. It was the worst moment off his life, and he felt Queenie’s lips go cold beneath his.

“Give it up, Freshman. Queenie’s gone.”

The voice was only a dejected whisper, one that Henry didn’t hear, and Glen and Marie didn’t care for when consoling each other. Alfie shook his head, denying Nate’s words. He liked Queenie. In his head he could admit it. He knew he was there for a violent assault charge, knew it must have been particularly savage for him to be placed on H-wing, but he liked him.

Henry’s hand curled around his shoulder. “That’s enough, lad. These things happen. I’ll tell Ryan you tried your best, tell him you three were quick to respond.”

“But we weren’t quick enough!” Alfie snapped.

Henry leaned closer and spoke directly into his ear. “Shhh. We need to look after our own.”

Alfie shook his head and shrugged his shoulder to remove Henry’s hand. “I need to do my job.”

Henry sighed and backed away. Alfie pressed down on Queenie’s chest weaker than before. He heard the gate clang in the lobby and the stairs taking a metallic battering from feet. Just as the ambulance crew filled the doorway, Queenie coughed, spluttered, and rolled on his side.

Alfie held his breath, letting adrenaline flood his weary limbs.

Queenie kept coughing and Alfie patted his back firmly. Another brown object shot from Queenie’s mouth and landed on the floor. He groaned, and it was the nicest sound Alfie had ever heard.

Alfie staggered to his feet and moved aside for the paramedics. He stumbled out of the cell, then slumped down the wall, shutting his eyes and getting reacquainted with breathing just for himself.

“Nice one, Freshman.”

He turned his head at the voice, so close to his ear he expected Nate to be there, sat with his back to the wall and legs bent in front, just like him. The words wrapped around Alfie’s neck, soothed the cramped muscles. He hadn’t realized he was leaning against Nate’s cell and was too exhausted to shuffle away. He panted and pressed his sweaty forehead on the cool metal.

“Breathe,” Nate whispered.

Alfie thought it was meant for Queenie and rolled his head against the door.

“He is breathing,” Alfie gulped.

“I meant you.”

Alfie snorted. “I’m all right.”

“Breathe deep and slow,” Nate said softly.

Alfie swallowed, then drew air slowly through his lips, expanding his lungs to the maximum.

“Hold it,” Nate whispered.

Alfie did as Nate said, and his heart slowed its rampant thump.

“Now breathe out slow.”

The air whistled through Alfie’s lips, and he completely emptied his chest. His heart beat calmed back to normal, and he took another deep breath of air.

“Perfect,” Nate purred.

The seductive tone ignited goose bumps up Alfie’s neck, roaming over his scalp. He didn’t lurch away from the cell or slap his traitorous skin. He let the sensitive buzz take over him. He allowed himself to sink into unawareness and for a few seconds it offered him respite and relieved the ache in his body.

Even though Nate didn’t speak again, Alfie could tell he was still there, crouched or kneeled the other side. Listening as the paramedics helped Queenie in the next cell.

When he had reclaimed enough of his senses, Alfie opened his eyes. Glen stood a few meters away. He wiped his brow with relief before Marie took over and did it for him. Henry had moved to the top of the stairs. He rubbed at his chin with an unbothered expression, then trundled back down the steps.

A paramedic held his hand out for Alfie to take. He hauled Alfie to his feet, then patted his shoulder. He followed sluggishly behind as they stretchered Queenie out. Only in the lobby did Alfie get a proper look at Queenie’s face.

His face was slim, his eyebrows were well sculptured, and his ears were pierced with two gold hoops. Alfie couldn’t see his eyes, and most of his features were obscured by the oxygen mask. Even that close to death, he looked more preened and healthy than when he arrived at Larkwood.

Queenie raised his hand and clutched the mask on his face. The nails on his fingers were manicured with shiny red nail polish. Even though he had big hands, the well-kept nails made them look feminine. He slipped the mask down and opened one blood-shot eye.

Alfie moved closer and offered a tight smile.

“Did you give me the kiss of life?” he croaked.

Alfie scratched the back of his head, but even that jarred the muscles in his arm. “Yeah.”

Queenie dropped his head back on the stretcher and closed his eye. “Nate’s gonna be pissed off.”

“I think he’ll be relieved you’re alive.”

Queenie didn’t reply, and the paramedics wheeled him away flanked by the twins.

****

Alfie didn’t know quite what to expect when day shift arrived. They all had paperwork to fill out, and they reported the events of the night. Alfie didn’t mention he struggled to get in contact with his team. He said he radioed to Henry, and he responded immediately. He wasn’t a grass, and if it came down to a ‘his word against mine’ situation, Alfie knew it wouldn’t end well for him.

By half past seven, Alfie was struggling to stay on his feet. Day shift had unlocked the rowdy prisoners for breakfast, and if Alfie hadn’t been so tired he might have paid attention to the men prowling the fence. All he wanted to do was crawl into his flat and curl up on the sofa, but Ryan made them stand to attention as he read through their incident report.

When Ryan finally clapped his hands together and dismissed them, Alfie rushed from the room, tugging his tie loose as he went.

“Rookie!”

He froze at Ryan’s shout and turned slowly to face him.

Ryan beckoned him back with the curl of his finger. He flapped the reports in his other hand. “It says you alerted Henry to an unresponsive inmate.”

Alfie nodded. “That’s right—”

“You didn’t wait for another officer to assist you. You opened a cell on your own.”

Alfie swallowed awkwardly. “It was an emergency.”

“What if Tyrone had been faking? What if he knocked you down and stole your keys? The whole wing could’ve got into the lobby and taken your fellow prison officers hostage.”

“I could see that he needed—"

“Did you believe with absolute certainty Tyrone wasn’t faking?”

Alfie hesitated, and Ryan nodded patronizingly.

“Exactly. Rookie error. Don’t try to play the hero. They will get you for it. I won’t be surprised if the next day they’re all unresponsive hoping you’ll unlock their cells and hand them the keys.”

“I—"

“Enough!” Ryan yelled. “No excuses. If you can’t stick to protocol, then I suggest you find yourself another job. Dismissed.”

Ryan turned on his heels, marched back into the office, and slammed the door. If someone missed Ryan’s shout, they didn’t miss the door slam that rattled the windows of the office.

Alfie didn’t want praise, but felt he deserved it for saving Queenie’s life and protecting Larkwood’s reputation. Instead, he got a tongue lashing in front of the inmates and staff. Alfie didn’t have enough energy to blush, but the awkward feeling of humiliation lingered in his gut.

Alfie closed his eyes and sighed. Not only were the day shift guards watching, but a few of the inmates continued to do so. He knew Nate would be there, and he thought about not looking to him, but as if magnetized, he had to.

Nate wasn’t looking back. His dark eyes were fixed on the office, tracking Ryan’s movement. His plastic cup was in one hand, and his tray was wedged under his armpit. Neither of them had been used that morning. Nate wanted a front row seat to the unfolding drama.

“Nice one, Freshman.”

Alfie clutched onto the words and forced his legs to take him to the gate, back to civilization. The rest of his body ached, but his legs still moved at his will, and he walked at a brisk pace all the way home.