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

Mart—’ He stops, exhales, one long, heavy breath. Then he slips on a smile. ‘Maria, can I say something?’
    ‘Yes. You do not need my permission.’
    He smiles. It touches his eyes. ‘When I was at Cambridge, I met a group of people who made me feel I could…make a difference. I think you could make a difference, too.’ He pauses. ‘And I can help you to do that.’
    Dr Andersson sits up. ‘Balthus, what are you doing?’
    ‘Helping. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’ He levels her with a stare. ‘That’s why I recruited you, Lauren. To help. So do it.’ He checks his watch and stands, his frame filling the room.
    I look to the Governor, unsure what is happening.
    ‘Tell you what, Maria, if you can get a barrister, we’ll support your appeal. How’s that?’
    I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. He has just allowed an appeal. I ring my hands together, excitement bubbling underneath. I can appeal!
    Dr Andersson sits forward. ‘Balthus, you can’t—’
    ‘I have another meeting,’ he says over her. ‘Maria, your new cellmate should be joining you tomorrow. Dr Andersson is assigned to work with you. She will be your therapist. Please, keep talking to her. Don’t alienate yourself out there. Socialise with the inmates—if you can. I know it’s hard. I’ve seen your file. I am of course here, as I am for all our inmates, should you require urgent assistance.’ He flashes some teeth. ‘Your profile is high; you have some adjusting to do. So use me, talk to me.’ He rests his palms on the chair. ‘At Goldmouth, we are all about rehabilitation.’
    A guard enters and instructs me to stand, and as I do I stumble a little, confused at this man, this Governor. His familiarity, his smile, his help. His…his eyes.
    ‘My new counsel,’ I manage to say to him. ‘What am I to do next?’
    ‘I’ll get a legal officer to look into it for you. Are you okay? You seem a little unsteady.’
    ‘Balthus,’ Dr Andersson says, ‘I don’t think—’
    ‘Lauren,’ he says, spinning round to her. ‘Drop it.’
    We walk to the door in silence. I can smell him, the Governor, the burnt-wood trail of his cologne, the subtle scent of his sweat.
    I turn to him. ‘Balthazar…your name. It means “God protect the King”. Balthazar was one of the kings who visited Jesus.’
    He nods, slowly, his eyes drawing invisible trails on my face. An image of my father see-saws in front of me. Hot, cold. One man’s face into the other’s. I cannot look away. Dr Andersson clears her throat.
    ‘Okay, Martinez,’ the guard says, ‘time to go.’
    Kurt sits very still and studies his notes.
    The room feels hot again. I sip some water, fan my face, try to circulate some air, some breeze. It does not work. Replacing the glass, I scan the room. Everything is the same. Solid, real. The walls are there, the mirror, table, clock, carpet. It all exists just as it did before. All present, tangible.
    But when my eyes reach Kurt, I hold my breath. He has moved, I swear he has moved. Instead of holding his notes, his palm now rests on the arm of the chair, and his eyes are directed at me. I stay very still, scared to stir, to draw attention to it. I do not know why, but my pulse is rising. I can sense it. The blood pumping in my neck.
    Kurt’s mobile shrills. My lungs start to work again.
    ‘Excuse me,’ he says, and picks up his phone, puts it tohis ear. He glances to me. ‘I have to take this outside. Please remain where you are.’
    As he stands and exits the room, I tap my finger. Therapy is confusing. When to speak, when to be silent. Kurt’s control of the situation is so exact that I sometimes find myself wanting to slap his face to see if he will react, to see if he will hurt me, shout at me, to see if he can comprehend who I am or figure out if he can even tolerate me and my ways at all.
    Drained, I reach for some more water then stop. My eyes flutter. One blink, two, clearing, focusing. There is