Black Gloves

Chapter 2

Present day, cell

My arms were folded behind my head as I stretched out on the starch sheets in my cell. What time was it? It was impossible to tell; no watch, no window to allow sunrays or moonlight to seep through.  The little light available was emitted from a flickering light bulb, which caused the days to elapse into nights and back with no indication of the pockets of time in between. It was all so very bleak. A little, brown scrawl on the wall to my left caught my eye, I squinted. ‘Every man for themselves’. The last letter of the sentence appeared to be slipping off the wall, the ‘s’ elongated, almost as though it were suspended dripping in time. I crept closer. Strange ink, I thought, as I ran a hand over it. Then I realised it wasn’t ink at all, it was blood. I sighed and wondered where that person was now. Perhaps they were free, perhaps they were dead, but certainly desperate enough to leave their mark behind. The cell door buzzed, a second later Police Constable Tom Fraser walked into my midst, carrying a tray.

“I’m not hungry” I said, before he could open his mouth.

“Then we’ll find some other way of feeding you.” came the cockney accented response.

“You can’t. Force-feeding in prisons was prohibited in 1975 by the Declaration of Tokyo of the World Medical Association. I’d have you all fired, possibly imprisoned. Oh, the irony.”

Tom chuckled ruefully. He was young, but perceptive. He had attempted to hide his youth with the stubble on his chin, but he was betrayed by the PC division call sign emblazoned on his shoulder.  It was clear he took pride in his appearance, for his shoes were so heavily polished, his white shirt crease-free, his constable hat which he carried casually in his hand utterly pristine. He ruffled his black hair tiredly.

“Long-shift?” I asked.

“Yes and you’re making it even longer” he said gruffly, extending the tray towards me. I complied and reached for it. As soon as I felt the tray touch my fingertips, I let my hand slack, causing the tray and its contents to fall, upturned, upon the floor.

“Oops.”

I think he almost screamed. He took a few seconds to regain himself, “I’ll get you another.”

“Don’t bother” I called after him, but he’d already gone. I leant forward and rested my chin in my hands as I thought. If truth be told, what Tom should have done first was remove the glass shards that were now scattered on the mundane floor. Never leave a detainee with a potential weapon. Without really knowing why, I swiped the largest shard and carefully placed it underneath my thin pillow. Tom was always making minor mistakes, I noticed. He was the back-up constable who came to arrest me.

Past, my house

My father had just finished washing up and was stretched out on the sofa with a glass of de-alcoholised wine; his liver problems prevented him from drinking real wine, an act he so greatly missed. I had descended in my favourite leather jacket and printed scarf, make-up immaculate, my ankle boots tapping conspiratorially on the landing. I seated myself next to him.

“Going out?” he asked absentmindedly.

“I will be.”

“Anywhere nice?”

I considered. “Yes, actually.”

The studio audience from the sitcom we were watching suddenly laughed raucously, it was almost as though they were in on my joke.

“Iva, darling, be a dear and fetch me some jaffa cakes.”

I got up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring the interchanging blue and red lights that were now seeping through the frosted glass of the front door. I lifted the cake out of its packet, just as three measured, loud knocks sounded in the house.

“What on earth?” I heard my father mutter, as he lifted himself off the settee. The door was opened.

“Officers?”

“Good evening Mr. Nyx, is your daughter home?”

“My... Daughter?”

“Iva Nyx, yes.”

I took a bite out of a jaffa cake, enjoying the exchange.

“I don’t understand, why would you like to see Iva?”

“Is she in?”

“Yes, she is. But I would like – Hey! Excuse me, you can’t just march into my home, hey!”

I emerged from the kitchen to greet the policeman and woman silhouetted against the flashing lights.

“Evening Officers, I would invite you indoors but it appears you’ve done that yourselves.”

The woman, I presumed she was the one in charge, scowled at me hard-heartedly.

“Iva Nyx, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Cassandra Morrell. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defense if you do not mention now, or when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given as evidence.”

I paused. “Chips.”

The woman’s scowl deepened as she yanked my arms with excessive force behind my back, leaving me gazing into Thomas’s face, who looked as though he was almost trying not to laugh.

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!” yelled my father. “IVA? KILL CASSANDRA? PREPOSTEROUS! I HOPE YOU AND YOUR FORCE ARE READY FOR A LENGTHY INQUISITION INTO THE NEGLIGENCE AND STUPIDITY OF YOUR TEAM.”

“If you could meet us at the station, Sir. Your daughter requires an adult present.” Said the woman calmly.

 And with that, she pulled me out of the front door and marched me down the pathway.

“You thought you were so clever, you sick child.” she murmured nastily as she flung open the car door. She pushed my head down into the vehicle. I smiled at her wickedly.

“No” I said, before she could slam the door shut. “I think I still am.”