Brimsley and Reynolds

Chapter 19

Brimsley had considered a lot of things regarding his arrest on the carriage ride over to the prison. He had thought about who could have turned him in, though he had a pretty good idea. He'd gone over how homosexual activity was punished by hanging, which meant he had no idea how much time he had left. Of course, he thought about Reynolds. He wondered how it was even possible that yesterday, they had been sharing the most perfect day imaginable, but this is where he was today. 

There was one thing he hadn't considered, however.

The smell. 

As soon as he entered the hallway leading him to his holding cell, it was all he could think about. The rotting reek of unwashed and desecrating men. Soon he would smell just like them, if they didn't hang him first.

As he sat in his cell, he wanted to cry. Or scream. Yell at the metal bars or the stone floor or the crazy looking old man in the cell across from his. But he didn't, he couldn't. He felt as though every ounce of feeling had been sucked out of his body, and all that was left was a hollow shell that he dwelled in. 

His ankle was cuffed to the floor, with a length of chain long enough to allow him to wander around the tiny cell. 

He knew where he was, the Tower of London prison. It didn't feel like it mattered much though. He slumped on the floor, head in his hands. Although he hadn't even been there for an entire day, he already felt like he was going crazy. All of the overlapping voices of the prison ran through his head, making his mind feel fragmented and broken. He was even starting to imagine things, because as he picked his head up he could have sworn he could smell gardenias wafting through the air. 

Quickly paced footsteps rang through the hallway, making a direct course to his cell. When Reynolds appeared on the other side of the bars, Brimsley's first thought was how out of place he looked here. Like a shiny piece of gold in a barrel of dirt. 

"Brimsley. Brimsley are you alright?" Came Reynolds' panicked voice. Brimsley stared at him for a moment, before nodding his head slowly. 

"I'm fine," he said. 

Reynolds looked around before leaning in, speaking in a whisper. "Look, I can't stay for long, but I just wanted to tell you, as soon as I get back I'm talking to The King. He has the power to get you out of here, and he will. Everything will be fine,"

"Ok," Brimsley said softly. He could tell Reynolds was concerned, but he was too tired to even try to seem happy. Even if he did get out, nothing would change. He would be under more observation that ever, and even The King's reach only extended so far. He would be hiding forever until the day he died. For the first time since he had met Reynolds, the idea of death at the gallows didn't seem so bad. 

Reynolds reached his hand through the bars, as far as it would fit. Brimsley stood up, taking his fingers in his hand. "We will be alright Brimsley," Reynolds said. He pulled away, and was gone as quickly as he came. 

A hunk of dry bread and water was shoved through a slit in the bars for his dinner. Brimsley stared at it, wishing it would just disappear. He thought back to the sandwiches he and Reynolds used to share in the library back at Buckingham Palace. Everything had felt so simple back then. There was no love, no big feelings involved. It was just, Reynolds. 

Now everything was hard, the hiding, the lying, the secrets. There was no being free, and when he looked into his future and saw nothing but following The Queen around every day all day, pretending he and Reynolds were hardly friends, he felt like he couldn't breathe. 

It would be easier if Reynolds wasn't there, if he could simply do his duty without the constant reminder of how his very existence was widely considered an abomination. And the constant reminder of how he couldn't be with Reynolds, not in the way he wanted to. They would never dance among the couples, or hold hands while promenading in the streets, or kiss during a particularly romantic part of an evening. They would be subject to a life of closed doors and darkness. 

A husky voice cut through his thoughts. "Are you going to eat that?" It was the old man in the cell across from him. Brimsley shook his head as he shoved the plate under the bars of the old man's cell. 

"So what're you in here for," the man asked as he munched on the rock hard bread. Brimsley hesitated before responding, "Love," he said, his voice sounding distant and dreamy. The old man nodded his head, understanding immediately. "A lot of us are in here for love, why don't you tell me about yours?" 

Brimsley picked his head up, the tears he had been unable to summon all day finally stinging the back of his eyes. He squeezed them shut, feeling a rush of memories flooding into his mind. Every moment he'd spent with Reynolds, and every moment he could spend with him. As he remembered, he realized it didn't matter. That nothing else mattered in the entire world as long as he had the chance to make more memories with Reynolds. 

He opened his eyes, and the old man was watching him with a sly smile. "So, tell me," he urged. 

Brimsley opened his mouth, and started to speak. "It all began with my new job as The Queen's man....."