Spider in the Corner of the Room (The Project Trilogy) by Nikki Owen Page A

have to say it, Maria.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because it helps the rehabilitation process, the healing.’
    But I cannot. I just cannot. Dr Andersson sighs and looks to the Governor, and when I see them, when I spot the exchange of glances, I think: I have seen this look before. My emotional training. Some people have to learn calculus. I have to learn facial expressions.
    As she continues to talk, I turn and scan the room. Books. Legal textbooks. They all are housed in shelves by the walls, legions of them lined up, straight, tall, spines of golden lettering and dates and names. Bookshelves of oak, walnut, strong wood built from trees, from Mother Nature, from the very earth we stand on, the same earth that we raid to create the paper that the words in the books are written on, words we use to educate, to provide knowledge. Provide truth. Truth that can be burnt with one lick of a flame.
    I search the shelves some more and when my eyes settle on a criminal law book, it hits me. Just like that: Appeal. Ihave the right to appeal against my conviction. I should not be here, in this prison, encased like a specimen, gawped at, made to endure, made to face my nightmares every single day, every single night. Never mind that my current barrister deems it futile to try—the right is still mine. And I want it. The freedom. I need my freedom. Because I need to find out what is happening to me. And why.
    ‘…And of course,’ Dr Andersson is saying as I turn back, ‘I will be here when you need me to help you to adjust your…behaviour, your temperament. I know you are a long way from home, Maria, and—’
    ‘I would like to appeal.’
    She falters then shakes her head. ‘All inmates at some point or another consider appealing. I can tell you now that there is no point. It is not accepted at Goldmouth.’ She stops. ‘Are you thinking you want to get to the truth? Hmmm? That people need to know the truth about you?’
    She understands! I sit up, feel an unexpected surge of hope. ‘Yes! Yes.’
    ‘Well, that is pointless.’ My hope extinguishes. I drop my shoulders. Dr Andersson smiles. ‘You see, Maria, you must learn to live with your circumstances. To accept your guilt. That, Maria, is the real truth. The sooner you realise that the better, and your healing process can begin.’
    The Governor sits forward. ‘Dr Andersson is right—to a point.’ He pours some water then leans back, the glass in his hand, thick, bronzed fingers, white, square nails. I look at his face. Is he messing with me, too? Playing mind games I don’t understand? ‘The theory is that the sooner you accept responsibility for your…actions, for your situation,the better it will be for you here at Goldmouth.’ He proffers a glass. ‘Thirsty?’
    ‘I am appealing,’ I say, ignoring the water, an anger building deep in my stomach.
    He lowers the glass. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I should not be here.’ My voice is low, a scrape on a barrel. ‘The priest found something out…‘ I falter as his face flickers in my mind. ‘There was nothing I could do.’
    The Governor sits back, sets the glass on the desk. He can be no older than my father would be now, were he still alive. A flame of sadness burns inside me for a moment at the thought, then fades to an ember, but I can still feel its heat, its aching scorch.
    ‘My current counsel do not want me to appeal,’ I say after a moment, sitting up a little, trying to gain some composure, some control. ‘But I disagree with them. I therefore require new counsel.’
    The Governor frowns. ‘A new barrister as well as an appeal?’ He exhales. ‘As Dr Andersson said, almost every prisoner who walks through these doors believes they have the right to appeal. Whether it is against their sentence or against their conviction. And now you say you want new counsel?’
    ‘Yes.’ I hold his gaze. I need to. I have to have this appeal. If I get out, I may find out what happened to him, to Father Reznik.
    ‘Look, Dr