Chapter 43
Rachel
“I'm Henry the Eighth I am. I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I am.”
“I'm begging you to make her stop,” the guard said, burying his face in his hands and ripping at his hair. The phone was cradled between his chin and his shoulder, and I could hear the faintest murmur of a response.
I grinned before continuing, “I got married to the widow next door. She's been married seven times before.”
“She's been singing the same song for three fucking hours!”
“And everyone was an Henry. She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam. I'm her eighth old man, I'm Henry. I'm Henry the Eighth I am.”
“I will give you a hundred quid right now to tape her mouth shut,” the guard snapped into his phone. “I don't care what he says, she's fucking annoying.”
Rude
“Second verse, same as the first,” I sang, tapping my hands on the desk to the beat of the song. “I'm Henry the Eighth I am. I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I am.”
“She won't fucking tire eventually. I've even taken her water off her and she's still going on!”
That was true, actually. But it wasn't going to stop me. I'd pay with a painful throat tomorrow, but it was worth it. “I got married to the widow next door. She's been married seven times before.”
Every line I sang had the tips of his ears turning redder and redder. He slammed the phone down on his desk and glared at me.
“And everyone was an Henry. She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam. I'm her eighth old man, I'm Henry. Henry the Eighth, I am.”
“Stop,” he muttered, putting his hands over his ears.
“I’m her eighth old man, I'm Henry. Henry the Eighth, I am. H-E-N-R-Y. Henry. Henry. Henry the Eighth, I am, I am. Henry the Eighth, I am, yeah!”
He breathed a sigh of relief, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
“Shall we take it from the top?”
“God!” He groaned, pulling his hands down his face before burying his head in his arms on top of the desk.
“I'll take that as a yes! I'm Henry the Eighth I am…”
Two hours later, I was still singing.
I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, occasionally drumming my hands on the concrete. I had been singing for five hours in total now and my voice was more than a little sore, but I'd long since got used to it.
It was worth it to see the guard's sanity slip away hour after hour.
He had yelled, he'd thrown things at me (only to quickly retrieve them when he realised I could use it as a weapon), he'd begged, he'd pleaded.
He'd tried using tissue as earplugs, he'd hidden his head in his coat, and now, he was currently staring at the wall, a blank, distant look on his face.
“Okay, I'm bored now,” I said, startling him. He threw me a wary look, and I shrugged at him. “A girl can only sing a song on her own for so long before she's done.”
“There is a fucking God,” he said, tipping his head back and speaking to the ceiling.
“Which is why I propose a round robin! I'll sing two lines, then you start! Ready… I'm Henry the Eighth I am…”
“I hate you,” he muttered, and then sank down in his seat, utterly defeated.
Another three hours later, and my throat was killing.
I thought it hurt doing ten-hour shifts in a call centre, speaking non-stop to customers.
But this was something else. Officer Bradley had come in at one point to take my statement, but after listening to me sing for half an hour, he soon terminated the interview and buggered off.
They could only keep me here twelve hours before charging me, which meant they had four hours left. I could last four hours.
I don't think the poor guard could, though. He'd all but begged to be relieved of duty, saying it wasn't normal to sit with a suspect since I was in a secure room, but officer Bradley was having none of it.
It made no difference to me.
“I got married to the widow next door—”
“Enough!” the guard roared, slamming his hands on the desk, bringing his face centimetres away from mine.
I closed the distance, kissing the tip of his nose, and whispered, “She's been married seven times before.”
He punched the wall and stormed out.
“H-E-N-R-Y. Henry, Henry, Henry. Henry the Eighth I am, I am—”
The door flew open, interrupting my song.
I eyed officer Bradley, but I didn't stop. “Henry the—”
“Shut the fuck up!” He snapped. I chuckled under my breath and shook my head, and then raised one eyebrow when I saw he had left the door open this time.
“You're free to go. All charges against you have been dropped.”
He looked ruined. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and drawn, and his mouth turned down at the corners. His hair was dishevelled, and his uniform was wrinkled and creased.
“Why have the charges been dropped?” I said, my voice croaky.
He didn't need to answer. I saw the shadow fall across the floor, spreading over the door and into the room as the person walked closer.
Dante.
“Come on,” he said, jutting his chin towards the hallway. I pushed my seat out, deliberately letting the legs scrape across the concrete floor, almost laughing out loud at the way officer Bradley flinched and cringed.
I blinked. For a second, I forgot I’d been fighting to get out — I’d been too busy winning.
I walked slowly over to him, as though I had all the time in the world. “I'm Hen—”
“Finish that fucking sentence and I will have you—”
“You're not threatening my old lady, are you?” Dante said, lazily leaning against the wall as he waited for me. Officer Bradley didn't respond. He stormed out of the room and down a corridor, buzzing to be let out. I looked at Dante and grinned.
“I’ve heard you're Henry.”
“I am, I am,” I laughed, accepting his outstretched hand. As soon as my fingers touched his, he pulled me close and threw his arm around my shoulder, placing a kiss on my temple. He handed me a bottle of water and I gratefully accepted, ripping the lid off and downing the entire thing in one.
We exited the police station and walked over to his bike. I reached over to get my leather jacket and noticed the name “Rachel” had been crossed out and replaced with ‘Shawshank’.
“Vienna?” I asked with a sigh.
“Who else?” Dante grinned.
“Are you going to explain how the fuck you got me out of there?”
“I'll explain everything at home. I promise.”
I nodded, throwing my leg over the bike and wrapping my arms tight around his waist.