The man sat on the bench watching him… It wasn’t… It couldn’t be… But it was.
Holy hell, itwas.
Thomas, his ex-cellmate.
There was no mistaking him for someone else… He didn’t have one of those faces. He was unique, terrifyingly so. Head to toe tattooed like a snake, bald-headed, one eye fake, the other real, but both snake eyes thanks to a fake eye and a contact lens, a forked tongue, and a nose with the tip snipped off to appear more serpent-like.
He was, to all intents and purposes, a human snake.
“What the hell?” Scott spluttered before openly gawping. “How are you… Why are you?”
Thomas hadn’t moved; he hadn’t so much as blinked, and Scott waved a hand in front of him, checking he wasn’t a taxidermy that had yet to be decapitated.
Thomas blinked. “Why are you?” he echoed. “What kind of question is that?”
Scott lowered his hand. “It’s been… It’s been…”
“Four months, a week and three days.”
“Aww, you remember the last time you saw me?”
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I fondly remember the last time I had to see your ugly face.”
Scott sighed. “Well, you know ugly.”
Thomas didn’t bite back, and he didn’t smile either. He glared.
Scott’s and Thomas’s lives only collided for a specific reason – they’d both broken the law – and in a specific place, Brixton Prison.
They’d been cellmates for three years, and inside, over the course of those years, they’d learned to get on, dared Scott think it, and even enjoyed each other’s company. Thomas got bangedup for tax avoidance, and Scott got caught blackmailing one of his clients for more money. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d been desperate at the time.
Three years they’d spent together, and Thomas was back to glaring at him like he had the first half a year they were cellmates.
Thomas tilted his head. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“The dress code apparently,” Scott replied, looking down at himself.
“There was no dress code.”
Scott hummed, stepping closer. He gestured to the bench. Thomas shuffled as far as he could to one end to ensure there was no chance they’d touch when Scott sat down. Scott rolled his eyes. They’d been in a cell together, showered together and had to witness each other use the toilet during lockdowns.
“Beautiful gardens, aren’t they?” Scott said.
“You looked like you were enjoying them,” Thomas said.
His eyes were hard when they met Scott’s, a lime green with a black slash in the centre. It hit Scott then that he’d missed them. Thomas’s personal officer had managed to get Thomas permission to have his snake contact lens, and he stuck one to the prison standard eyeball he was made to have inside.
Thomas continued. “For a minute, that mask you wear slipped.”
Scott gripped his face. “Don’t worry, I put it firmly back in place.”
Thomas’s top lip tugged with a sneer. “What are you doing here, Scott?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“I asked first.”
Scott sighed. “I’m here with a client if you must know.”
