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F or the first time in months, Ollie dreamed of his father. He didn’t yell, hurl bottles or grab him as Ollie tried to rush by; he smiled. It was a real smile; it was a smile absent of anger and malice, and Ollie hated it.

It flipped his stomach. It lifted the weight of the world from Ollie’s shoulders. It said there was still hope, that his father was still him deep down and everything would be okay.

He’d always been a heavy drinker and an argumentative man, but it got worse when Ollie’s mother packed her bags and left.

The drinking lost his father his job, isolated him from his friends, robbed him of all the joy in his life. At first, others tried to intervene; they tried to help, but his father made it clear he didn’t want it.

People found him too stressful to deal with, so they cut him out of their lives. Even his brother, Ollie’s uncle Asher, abandoned him after a wine bottle was thrown at his head.

Asher had gone to hospital that night for stitches. Ollie had sat at the top of the stairs and heard Asher tell his father that the only reason he hadn’t gone to the police over the incident was because of Ollie and Leo.

Ollie wondered how differently his life might have turned out if he had, if he and Leo had been taken away from the start.

As a nine-year-old, the thought had terrified him.

He’d run downstairs crying, hugged his father and begged Asher not to have him arrested, not to have people come round and separate him from his baby brother.

Asher had left.

Everybody left.

The drinking got worse, and so did the abuse. It started as shoves and pushes, small acts of violence that could’ve been explained away as accidents .

Then the narrative changed from accidents to corrective behaviour.

A smack, a slap, a hissed ‘anyone can do it’ when he was trying to cook dinner, but the pan had boiled over. His father didn’t care that he was failing every lesson at school, but he did care when Ollie forgot to take the bins out for the Thursday collection.

He needed to learn, and pain was the obvious go-to for his father.

Ollie deserved the blows; he needed to do better, cook better, clean better, take care of Leo better. He needed to get better, but no matter what he did, it was never enough. He could never stop his father from hurting him.

The only person who could was his father himself.

And he did .

The abuse came in waves, and then some epiphany would enlighten his father.

He’d vow to get better, ditch the booze and focus on being the best father he could be. And the bittersweet to Ollie’s life was he could do it.

He did it.

He was a good father for a quarter of the year, and a terrible one for the rest.

His father would get a job, sometimes even a girlfriend, and for a little while, things would be good. In the week Ollie killed his father, he’d just ditched the booze, dramatically loading it into bin bags and taking them outside. He’d smiled. Leo had smiled. But Ollie hadn’t.

Even when his father had pulled him into a hug and told him things would be different this time, the evil in their lives was the booze, not him, Ollie was numb.

Everyone in the prison seemed to know why he was inside, but he’d only ever told one person about what he’d done.

And that was Rory.

But he’d still twisted the truth.

Twisted it out of fear Rory would see him differently.

He killed his father when he was sleeping, defenceless, oblivious.

The way he’d planned to.

Maybe it was cowardly, but Ollie hadn’t wanted to wait until morning.

He hadn’t wanted to see another smile or another bottle top being flicked off by his father’s thumb.

It had to be then.

He stabbed his father twenty times. It had been bloody, and brutal, and the sound had stayed with him.

Halfway through, he closed his eyes and sealed his lips shut as he kept stabbing. It felt like an out-of-body experience. He didn’t feel like Oliver Linton anymore. Something unhinged had grown inside him, and he’d finally let it out.

The smell of blood had been thick in the air. It was warm as it dripped from Ollie’s skin, but he still shivered.

He’d finally done it.

He’d killed him.

It took him forever to realise Leo stood in the bedroom doorway. He was screaming, dropping to his knees, but the sound seemed so far away, so unimportant.

His face, though, Ollie remembered his face in crystal clarity.

Leo’s expression had haunted him ever since. Twisted in fear, inhuman with terror as he watched Ollie on top of their father, stabbing him until he’d almost severed his head.

It was that image that woke Ollie up panting—Leo, not his father.

Ollie hauled himself out of the bunk, slipped down to the floor of the cell, and then rushed towards the toilet. His knees throbbed as they hit the ground, and he spluttered the first volley of sick into the toilet bowl.

Teddy shot out of bed, crashing to the floor beside him. Before he could touch him, Ollie glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

Teddy didn’t, but he stayed close, waiting while Ollie threw up everything in his stomach. When he was sure he had nothing left to vomit, he got to his feet and washed his mouth out at the sink. Teddy didn’t move from kneeling on the floor. Even in the dark, Ollie could sense his questions, the humming tension as he waited for Ollie to say something.

“I’m fine,” he whispered before brushing his teeth hard enough he tasted iron. He preferred it over vomit. Teddy stayed put on the floor, still waiting.

Ollie finished doing his teeth, then spoke to Teddy over his shoulder.

“I meant what I said yesterday. You don’t know me.”

Teddy didn’t react, and the hairs on Ollie’s nape lifted. Even mute, and in the dark, Teddy still spoke. Ollie heard it, Teddy’s assurance that he did know Ollie.

They’d been in Hollybrook for over a year together. They’d learned a language between them; they’d shared parts of themselves and jumped headfirst over the line of intimacy, but Teddy didn’t know him.

“You only know the me in here,” Ollie whispered. “You wouldn’t have liked me on the outside.” He looked in the mirror, only just able to see the ghostly reflection of himself in the cell. “I was sick in the head. I am sick in the head.”

He stiffened at the warmth around his ankle. Teddy had reached out and gripped his leg, pulsing his fingers gently. He didn’t understand. Teddy had killed four people, but it had been an accident, no less forgivable, but it had been unplanned, an immature, senseless reaction to something.

But Ollie had thought about killing his father for years.

He had been unable to concentrate on much else.

And there was no regret, only a sense that he should’ve done it sooner.

Why didn’t he do it sooner?

“I…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Teddy let out a long, slow sigh, tugging on Ollie’s ankle. Ollie relented, shuffling back until Teddy could comfortably wrap his strong arms around Ollie’s legs.

“Bad dream, that’s all.”

Teddy squeezed him harder.

“I feel better now,” he promised.

Teddy got to his feet, pressed a quick kiss to Ollie’s temple, then helped him back onto the top bunk.

“Night, Teddy.”

Teddy hovered by the bed for a long moment, then ducked underneath.

The next day during afternoon association, Ollie waited outside Captain’s cell.

When Captain finally came out with his gym clothes on and a towel slung over his shoulder, Ollie blurted, “Never mind,” and rushed to leave.

Captain caught his wrist in an iron grip. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

He tugged, then let go. Ollie followed him back into the cell and sat down on the edge of the bed. Captain studied him for a minute, then sat, leaving a gap between them.

Captain sucked in a deep breath. “Teddy hasn’t—”

“It’s nothing to do with Teddy.”

“Okay.” Captain nodded.

“Did you know there’s only two killers on this wing?”

“I…I didn’t know that. How could you—”

“I heard Seinfeld talking about it. Sebastian’s gone, Pauly’s been transferred, so that leaves just me and Teddy. Teddy…he regrets what he did. I saw the pain in his eyes, the guilt. But I don’t feel guilty. I don’t regret what I did. That must make a monster, right? To kill someone and only wish I’d done it sooner.”

“You’re not a monster, Ollie.”

“Sometimes I feel like one.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.” Captain rubbed the back of his neck. “And you’re wrong about there being only two killers on this wing.”

Ollie frowned. “Who?”

“Me.” Captain smirked. “You think I haven’t killed anyone?”

“That’s different. That was your job.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t take away all the fucked-up emotions that come with it. Why do you think I sometimes wake up in the night screaming?”

Ollie lowered his head.

“You should talk to Jarvis about it,” Captain suggested. “He’ll help.”

“I don’t need to see a shrink.”

“I never said you needed to, but he’s there, and he’s… He’s not like that…not unless you want him to be. He’s helped me a lot.” Captain shrugged. “You can see him once; he won’t push you to talk, and if you’re lucky, he’ll have sweets in a bowl on his desk.”

Ollie cocked his head. “What kind of sweets?”

Captain laughed, knocking his shoulder into Ollie’s.

The first time Ollie met Doctor Jarvis, he froze in the doorway of his office. He hadn’t known what to expect, but the man sat at his desk, admiring what looked like an orc figurine, wasn’t it. He wore a grey cardigan over a white shirt, had round glasses, a moustache he’d curled at the ends, and a mop of brown curls on top of his head.

“What are you doing?” Ollie asked.

Jarvis looked up at him with a sigh. “An inmate just told me I’d painted his claws blue when they’re supposed to be purple, and he’s right.”

Ollie glanced back over his shoulder to the officer behind him. He didn’t need to ask; the officer’s face said it all, ‘yes, this is Doctor Jarvis, and yes, he’s fucking weird.’

“Take a seat,” Jarvis said, gesturing to the one in front of the desk.

His desk had a few papers, a pot of pens, a bowl of sweets and a picture of Jarvis and a pretty woman with a cute bob and ocean-blue eyes. From the way her arms were draped over him, Ollie guessed she was Jarvis’s girlfriend.

As Ollie sat down, Jarvis stood up to place the figurine on the bookcase behind him.

Where Ollie expected to see psychology books, he saw sci-fi novels, planets, models of horses and fantasy characters and more of the same green orc.

“Have I…Have I come to the right place?”

Jarvis smiled, then shot a glance at the officer. The door behind Ollie closed, and when he glanced back, he saw the officer through the glass, sat on a chair outside.

Jarvis took his seat. “Yes, you’ve come to the right place. Hard boiled?”

“What?”

Jarvis grabbed the bowl on the desk, full of what looked like white mints individually wrapped. “Or if not these, something chewier, fruitier?”

“You don’t happen to have any chocolate, do you?”

“As it happens, I do.”

Jarvis opened up a drawer in his desk and swapped the bowl of mints for a bowl of smarties.

“They’re Ben’s favourites.”

“Who?”

“Captain.” Jarvis smirked.

“How many bowls of sweets do you have in there?” Ollie asked.

“Enough.”

Ollie closed his eyes. “I’ve come to the wrong place.”

“No, you haven’t. Now take a handful.”

Ollie did with a smile. “On the outside, I used to pick out all the orange ones. They’re my favourites.”

Jarvis nodded. “I’ll make a note of it. Orange ones for Oliver.”

“Ollie. I prefer Ollie.”

“And I prefer Jarvis over doctor, or Doctor Jarvis, or indeed my first name.”

“What’s your first name?”

“You don’t find that out until session five.” Jarvis winked. “Now the pleasantries are out of the way, we can get down to business.”

Ollie’s stomach churned.

“Why did you make an appointment with me?”

“Captain said it might help.”

“It might,” Jarvis said with a sympathetic smile.

Ollie hid his hands beneath the desk. “You seem nice.”

Jarvis frowned. “Thank you.”

“And right now, you’re looking at me like…like a nice person too, but it’s not true. Nice people don’t do what I’ve done or feel the way I do.”

“And what is it you’ve done?”

“I murdered my father.”

Jarvis didn’t blink. His kind expression remained the same.

“I stabbed him twenty times with a kitchen knife I’d hidden under my pillow.”

Jarvis gestured with his hand for Ollie to continue.

“He was asleep, completely unaware. I climbed on his bed and stabbed him, and once I started stabbing him, I couldn’t stop. I only stopped when I realised my younger brother, Leo, was watching from the doorway.”

Jarvis was completely unfazed by the admission. Months ago, Captain had terrified Jarvis so much during a session that Jarvis had refused to see him again. Ollie had no idea what he’d said to get a reaction from him, but the horror coming from his mouth wasn’t getting one.

He wanted a reaction. He wanted Jarvis to recoil and order him back to the wing and say there was something wrong with him.

“He hadn’t hurt me that day. In fact, he’d been sober for five days. He’d been smiling for five days. He’d been making us promises for five days, and I still stabbed him to death.”

Nothing, not even a flicker on Jarvis’s face.

“I almost severed his head. I don’t think I would’ve stopped if Leo hadn’t been there. I’d been thinking about it for years, daydreaming about killing him.”

“Why was there a knife under your pillow?”

Ollie frowned. “What?”

“Did you put it there to kill your father with?”

“No.”

“Then why was it there?”

“In case.”

Jarvis gestured for him to continue.

“In case he ever came into our bedroom in the night.”

“Our?”

“Mine and Leo’s.”

“Ah.” Jarvis nodded. “I see.”

“What do you see?”

“That knife was for self-defence.” He frowned. “At least it was at first.”

“Maybe at first…”

“Can I ask you questions about what you’ve just told me?”

Ollie rubbed his brow. “I thought that was what you were supposed to do.”

“Sometimes people like to unload onto me, get something off their chests. It doesn’t need to be more than that unless you want it to be?”

“You can ask questions,” Ollie whispered.

“What was the trigger?”

“Trigger?”

“You had that knife for months, maybe longer, and you’d been thinking about killing your father for years, but you hadn’t. What changed?”

“I…I found out he hurt Leo.”

“And you killed him in revenge for hurting your brother, or did you kill him to make sure he couldn’t hurt him again?”

Ollie bit his lip. “The latter.”

Jarvis nodded.

“Two weeks before I killed him, he came home drunk. He was his usual aggressive self, and I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I woke up on the kitchen tiles, and Leo was there, trying his hardest not to cry. He told me he hadn’t been hurt, that after our father had hit me, he went upstairs. Leo lied. He had been hurt. I walked in on him getting changed in the bedroom the day before I killed my father. He had bruises over his ribs, green ones that had almost healed. I realised he’d been being so careful around me, making sure I didn’t see, but I did, and I knew they were from that night.”

“From the night your father knocked you unconscious?”

Ollie nodded. “He told me it wasn’t what I thought. That he’d got them from playing rugby at school. I’d used that lie before. Leo used it on me, and he used the same tone of voice that I had, the slight cheer to it, like it was amusing that it looked more sinister. I told him to be more careful, and I saw the relief on his face when he thought I believed him. It was the same relief I felt when I convinced people my own bruises were from something mundane. It was the beginning for Leo.”

“Beginning of what?”

“Him turning into me. A punchbag. An empty shell. It was never supposed to happen to him. That was the sacrifice I’d made, to accept that was all my life would be, absorbing my father’s anger and living out the fantasy of his death in my head. As long as I kept Leo safe, I was okay with it, but I couldn’t. He still got hurt.”

“Leo getting hurt wasn’t your fault.”

Ollie snorted bitterly. “Maybe not, but when your life is only worth living for one reason and you fail that reason…it kills you inside. I died before my father did.”

“If that’s the case, who am I talking to now?”

“The Ollie I should’ve been. The one that, despite being here of all places, feels like I’m loved, that I’m cared for. I have friends here; I have Captain, who looks out for me, and I have… Teddy . I go to classes, as many as I can, and even though I’ve seen it all before, this time I listen, this time I learn. But I’m always scared.”

“Scared?”

“That I’ll lose it all. That these people, who have come to mean so much to me, will learn the truth about me, that they’ll see me like Leo did that night. The real me. That this is all just temporary, and when I leave here, I’ll revert back to that emotionless shell with no hope.”

“Hopeless…worthless…that’s how you felt during that time?”

“Yes.”

“And seeing the bruises, they were the catalyst to fight back?”

Ollie shook his head. “It wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.”

“You fought back,” Jarvis whispered. “You fought to take back control of your life, and Leo’s.”

“What if I’m too messed up to have a relationship with him?”

“Why would you think that?”

Ollie sighed. “I’ve been writing to Leo since I got here, and he finally wrote back. I love my brother. I miss him. But reading his words didn’t bring me the happiness I thought they would. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand how I should be feeling. There’s Ollie of the outside, and I don’t like him, I don’t want to be him, and there’s Ollie of the inside, and I’m happier being him than I ever was on the outside, but how does Leo fit into that?”

“Have you sent him another letter?”

“Not yet. I’m scared to.”

“Why?”

Ollie bit his tongue. “You want to know something that’s really messed up?”

“If you’re willing to tell me what it is, I’ll listen.”

“Leo thinks I killed our father to set us free, and it’s true. I set him free from his abuse, and I set myself free from him, that responsibility, that weight to carry. From nine years old, I tried so hard to keep him safe. I kept him away from the house, I took the beatings, I shut him in the bedroom. I cooked him his meals, I washed his clothes, I spent the money I earned on him. I bought him Christmas presents, and birthday ones, and I signed them from our father. And before I had a job, I stole presents from school, whether it was stationary, or a football, or a hoodie that didn’t smell so bad in the lost property bin, all so he’d have something . I tried so hard, and I still failed.”

“You didn’t fail him.”

“What if that’s all I see when I next look at him? My failure, and worse, what if he looks at me and can only see me from that night? That monster. It was never supposed to come out. It was always meant to stay in my head, thoughts, fantasies—”

“It was a coping method.”

“Maybe.”

Jarvis pursed his lips. “But your father pushed it into something more—”

“I killed him while he slept. I did that.”

“Only after you saw what he’d done to Leo, your little brother who you were so desperate to protect. The brother you sacrificed your happiness and well-being for. You’re not a monster, Ollie, and if you ask Leo, I imagine he’ll say the same. You don’t have to be his protector anymore; you don’t have to be a punchbag or a buffer. You can be his brother now.”

“What if I don’t know how to do that?”

Jarvis gave him a soft smile. “You’ll learn.”