He kept watching her. He didn’t understand how he had contributed to Caleb’s crime but her words hit him square in the guts. That pelican sacrificing its blood to feed its young, dying in the process, wasting away while they prospered. What had he truly given up? He’d just left him in there. His son.

As she’d spoken there’d been no quaver in her voice, no water in her eyes. A deep and unclimbable chasm between them and all she would do was stare at it, it seemed. And walk away. From him. He turned his light off and shut his eyes, her light still ebbing its way into his consciousness. She did not bury herself into him the way she used to. That chasm. They’d never climb out of it.

TWO

CALEB MOORE

A thought clawing at him. One he didn’t want to entertain. Behind his eyes, right there. A cat wanting to get at him, scratching at a door. A constant thing. He did his best to ignore it but it was always there. He should let it in, really. He deserved to be hurt. But the few times he had let it in he’d almost killed himself. Sitting there with the razor blade staring at him. Too much of a wimp to even remove it from the packet.

The lot of them in front of him, kicking the footy around, kicking up dust: fellow prisoners garbed in muddy white. He’d finally been cleared to re-enter the normal rhythm of the prison after his stint in the hospital wing, so he sat watching. Trying not to think too hard on what he’d done. The same battle he’d faced the entirety of his sentence.

Her face. When he’d struck her he hadn’t been right in the head. He’d come home from a hard day and she’d just been at him about something. And then his mind had left his body. The red mist, he’d heard it called. It hurt him, what she’d said, and he’d reacted.

Utter rot. He’d hit her countless times. On multiple occasions. And been told off by the police. And done it again. And been locked up a few days. Repentance, sorrow when he got home. On his knees more than once, crying, running his hands over her bruises. Got a few beers in, the mates egging him on, his own insecurities and failures; the cycle born anew. She wouldn’t even need to say anything. Just look at him. And it was all her fault? You best accept you did it. You best accept and live with it. Was nothing to do with her. Was everything broken in you. You live with it. The least you can do.

He scuffed at the dirt with his foot. Quit making excuses. Do what Reverend Kelly said. One of the blokes grabbed the ball and wheeled it about, showing off, being a tosser. Another shouldered into him, too rough. The boys were all soon shoving each other, throwing punches. Two guards walked in yelling, telling them to calm down, telling them they’d be locked in their rooms, no more exercise for them. Caleb only watched.