HMP Belmarsh, London

Harvey finishes the chapter he’s reading, and places the book on his table, next to the photograph, the only photograph he has of him and his sister, taken twenty years ago. It was given to him, not long after he was arrested. He and his sister are standing there proudly. It makes him smile near enough every time he looks at it, even though he looked so scrawny back then, compared to how he looks now. Harvey also hates the state of his blonde floppy hair; now he keeps it short, more like a buzz cut. How much will his sister have changed in the twenty years since he’s seen her? Will her chestnut hair still drape on her shoulders like it used to? Will she still have those dimples that would make even the hardest heart of stone melt?

Harvey’s eyes slip to the front cover of the book and the embossed writing, which he runs his hands over. He isn’t getting into it. It’s a John Grisham thriller he picked up off the book trolley this week; Harvey normally likes his books, perhaps he’s just read too many of them recently, although he does have other things on his mind preoccupying him, his last conversation with Jeremiah. Harvey’s got to plan exactly what to say to his sister when he sees her.

Harvey leans back against the grey, cracked wall, the bed creaking under his weight. He closes his eyes. Memories swirl inside Harvey’s mind; the weight of the axe in his hand; the sound it made when it made contact with flesh, thwack. It echoes in his head making him shudder.

Harvey opens his eyes and focuses on his cell mate’s bed ahead of him. The sheets are still in the same position the guy left them in this morning, crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Harvey sighs; he’s always been a bit of a clean freak, he can’t stand seeing things out of place, it makes his body seize up inside. Harvey pushes the thought away; he can’t let thoughts like that distract him. He takes in a breath, and counts to ten, like his therapist taught him to do years ago.

She’s asked to see him again, his sister, like he expected her too. It’s been the same year after year. He was fearful she might never contact him, and then all of this would’ve been for nothing. The relief that flooded him, when she did make contact, the year of her eighteenth birthday, eight years ago, was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’s not too sure of the new name she’s been given, Danielle. He much preferred the name he knew her by, Grace. Danielle, he rolls the name around inside his mind. No, it still doesn’t sit right with him, Grace suited her much better, but it can be changed, if she wants to change it. He could suggest it. 

Harvey pictures her. His last memory of her is the day he did it, the day he left her cowering in the wardrobe.

He’s rubbing his sister’s shoulder, telling her to wake up. She stares at him with groggy, confused eyes. He can hear the adults chatting downstairs.

‘You need to hide in the wardrobe, be a good girl, don’t make a sound, or the monsters will get you,’ he’d said to her.

Soon he’ll see her, his sister. Jeremiah’s told him it’s time. Then he’ll tell her everything when she comes, and he knows she will come; she won’t be able to resist. She’ll realise the truth and she’ll be thankful for it.

Harvey smiles. It’s time to welcome her back.