Twenty-Seven
I tumbled down the shaft like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The knobs and ridges of the narrow end above the stope slowed my fall and I landed gently on the floor.
When I looked up, there was no white rabbit disappearing down a dark passage. Instead, Kelly looked at me through the bars. The white face I’d seen before, floating in the dark, had been real. It was, I realised, the same face that had stared through the windscreen at me last Friday night when I woke from my sleep in Nick’s car. I felt very tired. I’d got it all so wrong.
A male voice called out from the prison cave. Quavering but piercing, he sounded like someone waking from a dream. Someone muttered a response and then all was silent again.
Kelly stared at me. I stared back. Her gaze, so empty of emotion
