Bailey stood just outside the cell, to one side of the open door, eavesdropping on their conversation, trying to ascertain what they were saying above the soporific bass beat of the dub.
‘You know, I see him as a chocolate digestives man,’ she could hear Kay saying. ‘Dark chocolate, obviously. There’s something classic about them which I think would appeal to him.’
‘No way,’ said Seema. ‘He’d be into something Belgian, like those butter waffle-style ones that they like to eat over there. Or no, actually, the more I think about it, he’d probably go for Oreo cookies. All those years in Hollywood, he surely would have gone native by now, certainly in terms of biscuits anyway.’
‘You’re missing my point. We’re not talking about what he actually eats in real life. We’re talking hypothetically here. We’re imagining a biscuit as an embodiment of man and man as an embodiment of a biscuit. There is a human spectrum and a biscuit spectrum and we are trying to establish, in his case, where those two spectrums intersect.’
‘I see… okay. We’re getting kind of metaphysical here.’
It didn’t take long for Bailey to realise who they were talking about. After all, their conversations appeared to revolve around a fairly limited set of topics.
She turned into the cell and leant against the doorway.
‘I think he’d probably go for Garibaldi,’ she said. ‘As biscuits go, they possess a certain masculine quality, don’t you think? And that definitely makes them worthy of a world-class kickboxer.’
Kay, who was sitting on the desk chair, looked up slowly, squinting at her through the miasma of dope smoke that filled the cell.
‘Oh… it’s you again. Haven’t seen you for a while. Got any more gear?’
Bailey reached into her tracksuit pocket and pulled out the original bag of weed she’d purchased from Keisha several weeks earlier. Not having touched it since the last time she’d been in this cell, she still had a fair amount left over.
She tossed it over to Kay, sitting at the table, whose eyes flared in appreciation as she eagerly pulled open the little bag and began to construct a new joint.
Seema peered up at Bailey from the lower bunk. Her face creased in thought.
‘Garibaldi, huh? A controversial choice.’ She turned to Mel who was slumped next to her. ‘What do you think, Mel?’
Mel was just staring vacantly into middle space. She hadn’t demonstrated the slightest awareness of Bailey’s presence. Seema nudged her.
‘Uhhh?’ said Mel, blinking and shaking her head clear.
‘Garibaldi? Jean-Claude? Yes? No?’
Mel looked slowly at each of them in turn with her big bloodshot eyes, befuddled as to what they were talking about.
Bailey sat down on the edge of the bunk next to Mel and waited for Kay to finish making the joint. After a minute or so, Kay held up the completed spliff with a flourish.
‘I think that’s definitely a nine out of ten.’
She lit it, took a few deep drags and then passed it to Bailey.
Bailey once again pretended to participate, being careful not to inhale. She needed to be on the ball for the next stage of this little plan.
As soon as it looked like they were relaxed with her presence in the cell, she yawned and spoke casually as if she was just starting a random conversation.
‘You know, me and you have got something in common now, Mel.’
Mel frowned in puzzlement. ‘Uh?’
‘Yeah. Both of us had cellmates who were murdered. Your one, Ally, was first. Then my one, Sharon just the other day, in the kitchen.’
Mel convulsed slightly, eyeing her warily.
‘Then there were those other two as well,’ continued Bailey. ‘Poodle and Natalie. That makes four in total.’
Mel twitched reflexively at the mention of the murders. She tried to suppress her agitation, but her fingers drummed against the surface of the bunk. Bailey observed her reactions closely.
‘Aren’t you all a bit worried?’ asked Bailey, addressing the question to the three of them. ‘I’m a bit worried that the next time it could be me or you.’
‘I am totally shitting myself,’ said Seema, looking around fearfully. ‘The prison is supposed to protect the world from us. But who protects us from the prison?’
‘No one’s going to protect us,’ Kay scoffed. ‘The more of us that get killed the better. Don’t you see? It’s all part of their plan. Each one of us that dies, it’s one less mouth for the taxpayer to feed.’
‘The weird thing is that they were all scalped,’ said Bailey. ‘Don’t you think that’s weird?’
Mel tensed. Her eyes rolled even more. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bedspread, the material bunching up around her. The tendons stood out on her arms, hands and neck.
‘What do you reckon, Mel?’ Bailey asked, leaning in a little closer to Mel. ‘Why do you think they were scalped?’
‘Uh-oh,’ muttered Seema. ‘I don’t think you want to be asking her about that.’
‘Ah let her…’ said Kay. ‘This could be interesting.’
‘What do you think, Mel?’ said Bailey, trying to probe a little further without sounding too much like a policewoman. ‘Why on earth were they scalped?’
A low guttural moan came from Mel. Bailey shuddered, genuinely disturbed by the torment and horror which she detected in the depths of those bloodshot brown eyes.
‘You’ve done it now,’ said Seema, edging away from Mel on the bunk as if she were a bomb about to explode.
Mel swung her head round to skewer Bailey with a deranged stare. Bailey recoiled slightly.
‘Him a duppy,’ hissed Mel. ‘Duppies always get yuh inna de end! De duppies gwine kill wi aal!’
‘Duppy?’ said Bailey. ‘What’s a duppy?’
‘Jamaican folklore bullshit,’ said Kay.
‘Mi told yuh,’ uttered Mel to no one in particular. ‘Mi told yuh him was bak. Mi told yuh! Ah him. Him ah bak! AH HIM!’
Her entire body began to twist in anguish while a subdued moaning issued from her throat.
Mel’s shaking hand shot out, her fingers scrabbling for a sheet of paper from the bed beside her. She started folding it without even looking at it, making neat precise creases. She knew what she was doing.
Bailey leaned closer to Mel, who was staring into middle space whilst simultaneously folding the paper. She appeared to be mumbling something.
‘…ertresorertresorertresorertresor…’
Bailey couldn’t make out what it was. She leaned in closer still.
‘What’s that, Mel?’
Mel ignored her, the paper rustling. Seema and Kay were now sitting as far back away from Mel as their respective corners of the cell would allow them.
Mel burbled the same noise over and over again like a Buddhist mantra while the paper rustled, a small origami animal beginning to take form.
‘…ertresorertresorertresorertresorertresor…’
‘I can’t hear you, Mel,’ said Bailey getting closer, close enough that she could feel Mel’s hot breath on her face. ‘Speak up.’
‘If you know what’s good for you,’ whispered Seema. ‘You’ll stop right there.’
But Bailey pressed on. ‘Mel. Why do you think they’re scalped?’
Mel suddenly stopped folding the paper. A half-completed origami duck fell between her legs. Both Kay and Seema watched it drop in horror. They had never seen Mel not complete a duck.
Mel’s eyes suddenly focused on Bailey. She spat a single word at her.
‘HAIRDRESSA!’
Then like a banshee Mel was up and had her hands around Bailey’s throat, wrestling her to the ground.
Before she had time to react, Bailey was off the bunk and on her back on the concrete floor with Mel sitting astride her, screaming and throttling her.
Bailey gasped and tried to speak but she could hardly even breathe. ‘Uhhh… Mel… ughhh… puh-lease…’
Mel’s mouth was wide open, yellow teeth bared, emitting a wail like an air-raid siren that just would not stop. Her bloodshot eyes stared into Bailey’s with the force of industrial lasers.
Bailey wasn’t weak, but she was no match for a strength drawn from a deep reservoir of madness.
‘MI KILL HIM! MI FUCKING KILL HIM!’ screeched Mel.
‘Go for it, Mel!’ Bailey heard Kay shout in encouragement. She was enjoying the spectacle.
Mel’s fingers were like metal rods bending into the soft flesh of her neck, squeezing her windpipe, cutting off the blood in the arteries in her neck. Bailey tried to lever her fingers under Mel’s hands, but it was no use. It was as if they were welded to her neck.
With a horrifying finality, Bailey suddenly realised that Mel would kill her unless she did something fast. She had unleashed something beyond her control.
She clenched her fists and put them together and, with all the force her fading strength could muster, she punched Mel in both breasts.
Mel’s wailing suddenly went off-pitch with a high squeak of pain and, for just a moment, her grip weakened on Bailey’s neck and that was all Bailey needed. Using a jiu-jitsu counter she had learnt in defensive groundwork training, she pushed Mel’s right elbow outwards, causing her to lose balance and topple sideways. She then got her knee up underneath her and kicked downwards hard, knocking Mel’s leg away.
She flipped Mel over on her back, wrenching her hands from her throat. Suddenly their positions were reversed. Bailey pinned one of Mel’s arms down with her knee and the other down with her hand and used her remaining arm to shove an elbow across her neck to force her head back against the floor.
Bailey caught her breath. God, it felt good to be able to breathe. She leaned in close to Mel’s contorted face.
‘Mel, I’m not the killer,’ she panted. ‘The killer is out there. Not in here.’
Mel gasped and wheezed. Her eyes rolled. Once again Mel wasn’t there. She was in some other place.
Bailey braced herself and then jumped off Mel as fast as she could, lurching to the far side of the cell and into the doorway. But Mel just lay there on the ground panting, gibbering, tears running from her eyes, her energy spent.
‘Bor-ing,’ said Kay.
‘Now you know why we call her Crazy Mel,’ said Seema.