Chapter 6 - Back in general population

Sunday lived up to its name as I was escorted back to wing. It was cold as befitting the time of year, but both the guard and I enjoyed the leisurely stroll. As we passed through the security gates and into the wing itself he noticed the Bible I was carrying. As it seemed unlikely I’d get a library visit on a Sunday, I kept it for something to do back in my cell. Pointing at the Bible he said that there would be a multi-denominational service later in the morning, I should just tell the officer supervising breakfast and I would be taken when it was time.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t swing that way, but a chance to get out of my cell and some company that wasn’t on the other side of a steel door sounded like a pleasant diversion, so I thanked him and said I would. I really was feeling quite chipper this morning and there was a definite spring in my step as I climbed the stairs back to my cell.

It wasn’t long before the door banged open again, and with my fellow convicts was taken down to collect our breakfast. A few of my neighbours nodded in greeting and I could see no sign of Peterson. Hopefully he was still enjoying his food through a straw in the hospital wing.

Maybe it was the sun, or maybe just the good mood I was in, but I actually enjoyed that breakfast. It could be that the food for the block was given ‘special’ treatment. No matter, I sat on my chair, a wooden one this time, and ate my breakfast with relish. My tea even had some sugar in it to sweeten the taste.

The service wasn’t due to start until eleven, so after handing my empty tray to the orderly I lay on the bed. It was only four days, but just lying on a thin mattress in the daylight hours seemed such a luxury. I suppose that I am easily pleased these days.

As eleven ‘o’ clock approached a few of us were taken from our cells and led back down to the security gate for the wing while we waited to be taken to the chapel. I took the opportunity to get to know some of my neighbours.

First I spoke to the guy from the cell to my left, the one who fantasised over his mother. Speaking to him you wouldn’t think he had such dark desires, but he seemed amiable enough. We shook hands in a brisk fashion, I introduced myself and he did the same, although just his surname - Davis.

It’s not good form to ask a person what they’re in for, so I didn’t ask, I just took a quick peek and saw that he was a drug dealer who had sold some bad stuff to the wrong person and unusually the police actually followed up on it, so here he was. He’d already served five years and had at least another five to go.

We followed the guards out into the yard, and once again it was a pleasant feeling to stretch the legs again. I got chatting to another prisoner. A shy fellow, his real name was Matthews, but everyone called him Bungle. Which seemed to fit, he was a big idiot bear of a man. They say, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch and his case that is certainly true.  I doubt I’ll ever meet another person quite like him. Again I had a little peek and while normally a man of his crimes would fit in the nonce category, he was oddball enough and let’s admit it, big enough not to be at risk because of this.

Delving into his mind was like something from a bad movie. A necrophiliac, he started many years ago with digging up fresh corpses and then molesting them. The fresher the better of course, but the buried were never quite fresh enough, so he took to breaking into funeral homes and mortuaries. He managed to get away with this for a few years, before finally succumbing to the temptation of the freshest meat of all. He lacked some imagination in luring the prostitute somewhere out of the way, but what he did to her after the strangulation more than made up for it.

Still, it was giving into this temptation that got him caught. Some of the other girls had seen him and even with the most basic description he was easy to spot in the crowd. And now here he was, he’d served eight years so far. As a sex offender he’d had some trouble to begin with, but being built like a bull and with a curious ability to ignore pain, he got through it and now had a reasonably easy life working in the library. He was an easy going chap and promised to bring me some books when he next did his rounds. As a category A prisoner I could not go to the library myself, but books would be provided for me, as long as I obeyed the rules.

The chapel was at the far side of the prison, next to the perimeter fence. It was an old building that dated back to the Napoleonic wars. As we approached the chapel I could see narrow slits near the ground, one of the other prisoners told me that they let the light in for the old cells deep beneath the building. It was here that the most dangerous French prisoners of war were kept, although these cells were no longer used for prisoners, just as store rooms for decaying paperwork.

The inside of the chapel was gloomy, a stark contrast to the sunshine outside. A group of about fifty of us walked in and found ourselves seats, I settle myself near the front. Most prisoners try to avoid having to sit with their back so exposed, but for me it wasn’t an issue. It took a few minutes for everyone to get settled and the prayer and hymn books to be handed out.

I took the time to look around, nod in welcome at anyone who caught my eye and just observe my surroundings. My eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom and I could see that this was a chapel in name only. A table stood as an altar, a clean white cloth betraying its purpose. A small crucifix of the tortured Christ stood behind the make-shift altar and a small free standing lectern completed the ensemble.

Near the altar and the doors stood the guards that had brought here, watchful, but at ease not expecting any trouble. While many of the convicts here were not believers and were here just to get out of their cells, they did respect the service as peaceful time for all concerned.

The priest walked in, escorted by another guard and stepped up behind the altar. He saw me and faltered for a moment. Now this was interesting. I needed no invitation and dived straight in. Immediately I discovered two things of interest. The first was that he knew me. No, that’s not quite right. He didn’t know who I was, but he did identify something about me. As if he knew what I was. I tried to push in further, to learn more from this thought, but it was a slippery thing and managed to elude me.

The second thing that caught my attention was the pool of guilt that permeated his every thought and memory. This was too pervasive to escape and with ease I flicked through his memories like a photo album. His every dirty secret laid bare before me. If his flock knew what he was hiding, the sheep would soon turn to wolves. I smiled, this was useful information. Revealing this would be a fine trigger for a riot, but I didn’t need that for today. But for the moment I did enjoy the priest’s discomfort.

Only a few seconds had passes as the priest and I stared at each other and you don’t survive long in here without knowing when something was wrong. A few of the prisoner’s started to get restless, this wasn’t the time, so I withdrew, and as I did so I felt eyes upon me. I turned to face them and saw a guard looking at me closely. He didn’t seem angry, or agitated, he just watched me carefully.

He was a huge man, from his bearing clearly ex-forces, but it was the look that he had that made me pause. But why should I pause? I have nothing to fear from this man, no matter how big he was. So for the second time in as many minutes I invaded another’s mind.

Where the priest’s was a storm of guilt and fear, this guard’s was serene calm. His name is David Hammond and I was right about him being ex-forces. From his memories I could see his combat tours with the Royal Marines in far flung desert places. He had seen action and lots of it. A sniper he had dealt death from afar and up close while on patrol or special mission. The weirdest part was he knew that I was there. He looked me straight in the eye and invited me in.

His mind was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I have encountered calm people before, but usually there is an undercurrent, some inner turmoil that boils beneath their own understanding. Not this man though, on all levels he was at peace with himself. No lingering doubts, no inner turmoil.

I don’t mind admitting that I was shocked. I have been inside many minds and this knowing acceptance is unlike anything... And in the centre I found it. I’m not sure what is was, but it was there, a solid beacon, a rock of light that anchored him.

I wanted to press closer, to peel away at this mystery, but the crowd was getting restless. All they could see was this guard, already a known entity within the prison, one of the few officers that had their respect and me staring at each other. They could almost taste the atmosphere between us. There was a palpable tension rising, so I calmly nodded at him in acknowledgement, winked at the priest and settled back into my chair and watched the priest stutter his way through the service.

Chapter 5 - My first proper kill

Almost a year had passed since I had killed the young fox. I didn’t kill anything else in that time. I hadn’t suddenly developed a taste for torturing small animals or small humans for that matter. Life continued on as it had before.

I had just started my second year at secondary school. It was a small church run comprehensive, my mother and I weren’t regular church goers, but it was apparently one of the best schools in the area so  she pulled a few strings to get me in. I guess being well known in the local bank has its advantages, as I was about to discover,  it had its downside too.

It was early September, I’d just enjoyed another glorious summer holidays just exploring my favourite haunts and discovering new secrets and I was now back at school.

I don’t what time it was, but something had awoken me. For a short time I just lay there, looking at the silhouettes of my model planes hanging from the ceiling in mock battle. It must have been quite late at the glow in the dark stars that dotted the ceiling had no glow.

My attention was caught by a muffled sound from the room next door, my mother’s bedroom. I strained to hear, another sound followed by footsteps that sounded heavier than my mother’s. Quietly, I slipped out of bed and padded towards my bedroom door. I wasn’t surprised by how calm I felt. I reached the door and paused, concealed in the darkness I tried to listen, to understand what was happening.

There was a cry, clearly my mother’s that was quickly smothered. I then heard a gruff whisper commanding her to be silent and to get the boy. The note of panic in the smothered cries rose as she begged to just to take her and not to hurt me. I could stand it no more and at thirteen years old I pulled open the door and strode into the hallway to defend my mother.

I was strong and quick for my age, but it was a futile attempt. Physically I couldn’t match even the smallest of the masked men that were dragging my mother from her bed. I charged the nearest shouting with rage and striking him with my fists. I could hear the amusement in his voice as he laughed while casually back handed me. The blow sent me flying hard against the wall. Seeing me, my mother too began to struggle, but to no avail, held as she was between two of the men.

A fourth man, the last of the gang told the one that had just struck me to stop messing about and let’s get out of here. With a quick step he reached down and with a single large hand grabbed my pyjama top and lifted me into the air. I struggled with all my might, punching and kicking as my mother was dragged down the stairs and I was carried after.

The fourth man opened the door, checked the street outside before waving to someone unseen outside. I managed to bite the arm that held me, not enough to break the skin, but enough for him to cast me angrily to the ground. He kicked me, knocking the wind from me and with both hands this time, snatched me into the air.

And then something strange and wondrous happened.

I felt my mind burst from my skull, with a roar that drowned out all other sound and like a battering ram smashed into the head of the man that gripped me. As I entered his mind I could see a kaleidoscope of images, what I assumed to be the thoughts and memories of this man. He dropped me again as he screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the sides of his head. He then collapsed to the floor and was silent.

At the same moment, I was back inside my own head.

The other men stopped in surprise. My mother, still struggling managed to break free and screaming as loud as she could scrambled  across the floor towards me. I was pretty stunned myself, I just stared at the fallen man’s face, although covered in the woollen mask I could see a damp patch spreading.

In the distance dogs started to bark and lights in other houses on the street flicked on. First one, and then more. The two men made a half hearted attempt at grabbing my mother. The fourth man regained his composure, I heard him mutter that this was some fucked up shit, before grabbing his two remaining men and pulling them into the street. I saw them leave, heard the revving of an engine and squealing tyres as they made their escape.

My mother clutched hold of me sobbing, while I just stared at the dead man’s face. I had done that. I didn’t know how I did it, but I had done that.

I’m not sure how long it was before the police arrived, summoned by one of the neighbours who had warily looked through the open door before rushing off. Gradually my mother calmed and by the time the ambulance arrived was able, in a stuttering voice to answer some of the questions.

Over the next few days we learnt the whole story, the gang had planned to kidnap her and use threats against me so she would open the bank doors early for them. They would then wait until the time lock opened the vault taking any staff hostage as they arrived for work. Once the vault opened they’d clear out the cash and then be on their way. They’d already done this a few times in recent months. We were told that we had a lucky escape.

As for the dead man, his death was deemed natural causes. A cerebral aneurism, but even with a post mortem they couldn’t find the cause.

Chapter 4 - A few days in the block

After cutting the bonds to free my hands and scrawling my name and number on the door they left me to wait. I took the time to take in my new surroundings, the cell was very different from the one I had spent the previous night. The door was cunningly designed so that it could open both ways, there’s no way I could  barricade myself in, not there was much with which to build such a barricade. The door also had an odd round hole in it, it took me a moment to realise that it was for a fire hose, if I started a fire they could put it out without having to open the door. Very clever! One thing remained the same however, it had the same narrow slit, with a flap on the other side through which they could have a peek whenever they wanted.

I paced for a time and measured that the cell itself was smaller, although the ceiling was higher with the single mesh covered light being out of reach. Set into the outside wall was a narrow window that couldn’t be opened, I could see only fence and sky through it. Truly this is a prison, within a prison.

There was no bed, just a wooden board set into the concrete floor and most fascinating of all two pieces of furniture. A small table and a chair, both made from cardboard. I inspected them closely. They were made from corrugated cardboard that had been folded a few times for extra strength. Gingerly I tested the chair and it took my weight without protest. As an experiment I tried jumping on the chair and it still stood strong.

Thankfully, some time after noon they brought me some lunch. The tray was passed to me through the slit in the door. Some boiled potatoes, boiled cabbage and what I am guessing is some form of stew. A cup of unsweetened tea was also provided. A feast fit for a king! Well, it was edible at any rate and did help calm the pangs that had been rising in volume throughout the morning. A good thing too, it had been some time since I had last eaten.

After lunch I was escorted from the cell, down the brightly lit corridor and into what can only be described as a little courtroom. Two burly officers stood beside me and I had to stand as more officers and one of the prison governers strode into the room. I paid the officers no mind, but the Governer interested me.

I dipped into his mind, I could feel is discomfort as I rummaged around, but happily ignored it. Here was a man used to dealing with violent offenders, his previous posting was at the infamous Maze prison in Northern Ireland. There he had run a prison full of terrorists and sectarian thugs. It must be a bit of step down to be here, and I wondered why. Delving deeper I soon found the answer. Now this was interesting, he’s on an active target list. I wonder how much he really cares for that pretty family of his? That could be useful leverage, but that was a question for another day, for today I would just toe the line.

For the most part.

I stood to attention as the charge was read out. It boiled down to fighting, fighting and refusing to obey a lawful order. There were a number of witnesses, mostly guards. Only one prisoner was willing to speak as a witness, my sobbing friend from the night before. This was the price he had to pay for a life in solitary confinement for his own protection. Oh Jonathon, I thought to myself, a moment ago you were just a nonce. A target, but nothing special, now you’ve made yourself a grass and even the nonces will hate you.

That made little difference to me, my guilt was clear. Eventually after a speech about keeping my nose clean and other pointless platitudes from the stern faced governer he asked if I had anything to say on my own behalf.

“I do.” I said. “First, since when has it been a crime to defend oneself? I notice your little troopers have missed out the fact that I was attacked. I started no trouble and was merely waiting for my breakfast”.

“The rules are clear” he said, “Fighting is not permitted. Under any circumstances.”

I was incredulous, “So I should have just stood there and waitied for these officers to have actually noticed what was going on? Surely I have the right to at least defend myself”

“My officers are responsible for the safety of all prisoners. “ With this he leaned forward, “In here you have only the rights we give you. You would do well to remember this. Now, unless you have anything pertinent to add?”

I should have kept silent, now wasn’t the time to start messing with the guards. It was too soon, but his smug, imperious tone annoyed me.

“Actually, there is just one thing. What of the fact that the attack was actually instigated by one of your own officers?”

He actually smiled, he knew that there was no way I could prove this and demanded as such. I matched his smile and turned to one of the officers beside me, I had never seen this man before and he certainly wasn’t anywhere near the altercation from earlier that day. With a startled expression we all heard him say “It’s true sir. I paid Peterson two hundred cigarettes to attack this prisoner sir.” He snapped his mouth shut mortified at what he had just said.

My smile broadened as the Governer’s slipped. He glared at the confessing officer “I will of course have to investigate this matter, but no matter what the cause, fighting is still against the rules. But in light of these mitigating circumstances I will restrict the punishment to four days cellular confinement. Now take him back to his cell.”

If the officers were a little rough taking me back to the cell, I can’t really blame them. None of them really understood what had just happened. I could of course, have taken it further, but now was not the time. I shouldn’t have allowed that little moment of pique to get the better of me. No matter. I can do my four days quietly, catch up on some rest and be back on the wing by Sunday.

The rest of the day passed quietly. As the evening meal was being served somebody whispered through the door “I don’t know what you did, but it was nicely done!” It’s nice to be appreciated I thought as I slowly ate the dodgy curry with too many peas in it.

Just before eight pm the cell door opened and a thin mattress and a couple of blankets were thrown in. Some comfort at last.

After breakfast the next day I was disturbed again. This time I was due to be taken to court for a bail appearance. We all knew this was a waste of time and besides I have already declined  legal representation, so I refused to go. This caused some consternation at first and some ringing back and forth, but in the end they left me in peace.

I quickly became bored and asked for some reading material, I wasn’t expecting much, but apparently even that was too much. It seems that cellular confinement means a loss of priveledges. That meant no items from my canteen, not that I had been given chance to go to canteen yet, no books, and no smokes. Luckily, as with any good rule there was a loophole. By law you are always allowed access to your religious text, so I became Christian for a few days and they let me have a Bible to read.

It’s a surprisingly good read. Don’t get me wrong, it has some boring bits, but there’s  some juicy bits too. Don’t worry, I won’t spoil the ending for you.

On the third day a commotion in the cell next door disturbed the tranquillity. It was clearly an angry young man who felt he was being unjustly treated. For quite some time he kicked and hammered on his door. He shouted curses at anyone and everyone. I tried to continue reading, expecting him to tire. I clearly underestimated him.

We’re not supposed to talk to other prisoner’s while in the block, but everyone broke the rule in this instance. Both guards and prisoners told him to shut up, but he was having none of it.

As I clearly wasn’t getting any more reading done for a while i took a little dip inside his head. He was a gangster wanna-be who robbed drug dealers for a living. Check out the big balls on Brad! Still, it seemed that he was a bit clumsy with his firearms and had shot one of the girls in the house of the last dealer he had robbed. So now he was not only serving life, with a minimum of ten years, but he also had one of the most connected dealers in the city after him.

The irony here is that he’d actually been moved straight from reception into the block for his own safety. If only he had kept his mouth shut.

I took a firm grip of his mind and dragged it forward, his body followed. He smashed his face into the door, I saw a bright light burst inside his head as it connected. I pulled his head back, and smashed it forward again. It was unfortunate that he started to beg for something or other as I did this as his mouth was open when it hit the door. Again the burst of light, this time tinged with red. I decided on a third time for good measure and I swear I didn’t know this was going to happen. The guard opened the door at just the same as I drove his head forward. The two met with a crunch, there was no burst of light this time, just a darkness that sucked his mind from my grasp.

They assumed that he had done it to himself and took him to the hospital wing. Luckily the sound of another prisoner mopping up the blood didn’t disturb my reading at all.

Chapter 3 - My first wake up

The lights for the hallway and all of the cells all snap on together, accompanied by the march of booted footsteps and the rattle of key chains, they all herald my first wake up. Despite the uncomfortable bed and thin blankets that did little to stave off the cold I’ve had a pretty good sleep.  After all, it’s still a step up from the even harder and colder streets where I was sleeping just yesterday.

After the satisfaction of relieving myself I stand before the sink and splash cold water on my face, allowing the chill to clear away the last of sleep’s fugue. I look at myself in the polished metal tile we’re provided for use as a mirror. One side of my face is discoloured by a large bruise, and a day’s growth is shadowing my face.  This will be my first public appearance, so I should  at least make some effort. So with cheap soap I wash myself and then with an even cheaper razor scrape the stubble from my face, wincing as I shave over the bruise.

In just a few minutes I am done, clean and refreshed. The guards are marching up and down the corridor, making sure everyone is out of bed. Breakfast will be served in ten minutes, we must all be ready to leave our cells by then. I dress in the prison issue uniform, blue and white striped shirt, loose jeans and stiff black boots then make my bed in the regulation manner. It’s the first thing they taught me, the cell must be kept clean and the bed always made properly unless it was night and I was sleeping in it. It’s these little rules that reinforce the big one, loss of freedom isn’t just being locked in a cell, and it’s having choice over the little things taken away from you as well. But I don’t mind, let them have their little victories while they can.

There’s some commotion down the hall, someone isn’t obeying orders as quickly as they should. Imagine that, hardened criminals not doing as they are told. It brings a smile to my face. As much as the screws, the convicts hate a change in routine and I can hear grumbling and the odd shout for him to get his fucking arse in gear.

I take a moment to ponder my situation, I could so easily be still be outside these walls. For years I have acted unnoticed from the shadows, bringing my own personal flavours of doom into other people’s lives. For thirty odd years I have operated without detection or anybody suspecting. Or at least anyone suspecting for very long I thought wryly. And now I was going to go public, not just here in the prison, but in the coming court case as well. I don’t think any of these poor fools realised what was coming.

But the heart of the matter is that I have come here to die, that’s what it has boiled down to. It seems an odd thing, but I am tired, I don’t get the same satisfaction that I used. So I have come here for a final stand. They might not be ready for me, but human beings are adaptable creatures and once I have unleashed hell upon them, they will find a way to stop me. Or at I least I hope they do. I would like to end on a high note.

But not yet, there’ll be no endings today. First I have to take the little steps. I need to sow the seeds that will eventually grow into my ownership of this prison. Not just hearts and minds, but body and soul of every living person  in here. To move too quickly would spoil the entertainments I already have planned for the coming court case. Once I have been judged I can move onto the next stage.

For today I must only accomplish a little thing, I must earn that first kernel of respect. With the other prisoners I already have some of that. A murderer, especially one who has just killed five people, including two police officers ,with his bare hands in a busy morning street will automatically be treated with a little bit of caution. Word will have spread by now, I’m sure I’ve been featured heavily in the morning news, but as with everything, people need to see things with their own eyes. So I will need to use someone to set an example, I’m sure somebody here won’t disappoint me.

There are two tribes in here, both as violent, and in their own way as dangerous as each other. The convicts are relatively easy to deal with, the officers less so. They are a law unto themselves and are well used to bending it in their daily battle to maintain order. They won’t be so impressed by a show of strength and they certainly won’t feel any respect for a cop-killer. For them I will need to take a less obvious approach.

The cell doors start to open, disturbing my musing. We’re let out, one group at a time to collect our breakfast before returning to our cells. It’s good to stretch the legs a little, everything feels a little stiff. I’m lucky I heal quickly, and the beating wasn’t so bad. I head out into the corridor where everything is bright. Pale walls and shiny floor, kept meticulously clean by the prisoners now leaving their cells.

I take the opportunity to look around my fellow travellers, to see them in the flesh. Apart from one or two exceptions they all could be cast from the same mould. Sure, they all look different, some big and bulky, others small and wiry, and all variations, colours and ages in between. But they all have the same eyes. In war films they call it the ‘Thousand yard stare’, they are the eyes of people who seen things that others have not. These are the eyes of people that live in a constant world of danger and while most of them wouldn’t admit it, fear.

A few of the more bold ones look at me, checking me out. Some nod, they know who I am. Or at least they think they do. Our sobbing friend from the night before makes his grand entrance, a rabbit surrounded by wolves. Everyone can read the panic in his furtive movements, he knows that a dozen predators are now watching him hungrily. He tries to keep close to the guards, but everyone knows, that for his crimes, the only protection he can hope for, is solitary confinement. And once there, confinement is a slow demise into misery and lonely death.

 Two guards stride boldly between the prisoners, they are lions amongst the wolves. Despite being outnumbered they must show only strength. The uniforms and what they represent help them stand taller than they really do. They might be outnumbered, but they are a force that works together, even the few gangs that exist here cannot match their organisation.

The guards corral us towards the stairs, through the first set of steel gates, there another officer waits, watching us all closely.

We walk down the stairs, heading towards the mess hall. In other wings we would all eat together, but in this wing it would be dangerous to allow this. As we head near the counter where the breakfast is laid out, the smell surprisingly enticing, and I am annoyed at the itch that starts on the back of my neck. It seems my little demonstration is going to happen a bit quicker than I thought. No matter, now, tomorrow, the next day, it doesn’t matter at all. It has to happen sometime. Although as my salivating mouth points out, it would have been nice to eat first.

The breakfast is laid out in large metal trays, bacon in one, small sausages in another, and a  choice of fried or scrambled eggs. Some toast, some porridge. All in all not a bad meal, it really is a shame I’m going to miss it.

The waiting line shuffles closer, I am almost at the food. I have picked up the metal tray our food will be served on, a large plastic mug for which to add tea or coffee. Another step, a movement from behind, the moment is coming.

I cast my mind out and can see Peterson, a giant of a man pushing his way through the line towards me. He’s serving life for an armed robbery that went wrong and ended with a dead cashier. He is a violent man who is used to easy victories, even in here. He doesn’t realise the mistake he’s about to make.

 In one hand he has a sock with a large battery inside it, a common and surprisingly effective weapon in here. I delve a little deeper and see that he has been paid to do this, 200 real cigarettes, rather than the more common rollups wait for him back in his cell. Sure enough the guards dotted around the hall are studiously ignoring the movements, only the guard positioned behind the food counter doesn’t appear to be in on it, but he hasn’t noticed anything yet.

The other prisoners move out of his way, he has an evil reputation, a loner that no-one else will mess with, even those with connections. A man after my own heart I muse as I let him approach closer.

He swings, I spin towards him as I duck allowing the weighted sock to sweep over my head, I rise from the crouch jabbing the metal tray forwards straight into his throat. He collapses to the ground, gasping for air.

The guards react quickly blowing whistles and calling for back-up. Some move the waiting prisoners against the wall, where they are made to wait on their knees for the excitement to finish. There are a few shouts of encouragement, everyone likes to see a big man fall.

Before the nearest of the two guards reach me I drop the tray and fall to the ground face first, offering no resistance. One of them manages a sly kick to the ribs before they secure my wrists with plastic rip ties and lift me from the floor.

I am taken to the block, it’s only a short walk but I enjoy the open air while it lasts. It’s a lovely winter’s day, the air is brisk, but the sun feels warm on my face. My ribs hurt a little, but already the pain is starting to fade. Within minutes I’m inside a new cell, much sparser than my own. The block is where they take prisoners for special punishment and in here even defending yourself is a crime.

What does annoy me though is that I’m feeling hungry and I won’t get fed now until lunchtime. It hardly seems fair to me.

Chapter 2 - My first kill

I was twelve years old when I first realised that I was different to other people. I grew up in the historical town of Lewes on the South Downs. We had moved there after my father died when I was just four years old and I spent most of my formative years there. As my father had died before I was old enough to know him, my memories of him come from old photographs and from my mother’s own recollections. My mother worked as a mid-level clerk at a local bank, we were close, but with her working so much I naturally spent most of time, especially during the summer holidays, on my own.

That’s not to say I didn’t have friends, I did, but for the most part I preferred my own company. If the weather was bad then I would spend my time reading, mostly young adventure books, but also some serious stuff about astronomy and other things that interested me. The night sky as always fascinated me, even now I think there is nothing more beautiful than a crisp, clear night sky. In fact, at that age, my dream was to become an astronomer and devote my life to studying its mysteries. Alas, that pleasant little fiction was not to be.

When the weather was nice I would go out exploring and where we lived was great for that. In the centre of town was the old castle, one of the first built after their invasion in 1066. I used to love climbing to the top of the keep and just look out across the countryside. You could see why the Normans built a castle there, from the battlements you could see for miles.

Surrounding the town was the Downs themselves, rolling green hills with lush grass upon chalky soil. Either on foot or on bike I would head out into the hills to see what new things I could find and as long as I was home by early evening and didn’t get into any trouble, my mother didn’t mind too much how I spent my time. Well except for the summer I spent digging my own cave in the chalk pits nearby, she wasn’t amused by me coming home covered in chalk dust every evening.

There were some famous landmarks around the area that were firm favourites, the long man was a giant line sketch of man, cut into the side of a hill that could be seen from many miles away. The rumour was that the police had to seal this area off every Halloween as people who wandered in would just disappear. As well as the Norman Motte and Bailey castle there was the ancient Iron Age hill fort, both were fabulous places where I battled ancient armies, the lone champion slaying hundreds of foes with my firmly gripped stick for a sword.

As well as the famous places, there were more secret places, these were my favourites as in these places I was less likely to encounter other people. Just a short trek through the woods, along a mirror bright stream was the chalk pits. It was here, the year before I had dug my cave and it was here that I would kill my first living being, but we’ll get to that later.

On top of the chalk pits was a series of depressions and little gullies. Kids of various ages would take their bikes up here and race around. The local council eventually fenced this area off when Gavin Stoakes, an eight year old lad from the same school as me missed one of the jumps and fell into the chalk pits below. Lucky for him he only broke his arm and both legs, but there was a big campaign from some of the parents, so we were all banned from going there anymore.

On the other side of town was the river Ouse, a big river that had pillboxes dotted along its length from the Second World War. These were fascinating places, inside they smelt musty and you could imagine the soldiers in these cramped fortresses, watching the river for any German invaders, The local farmers would let their cattle graze along the river and they watch as we played. One popular game had one group attacking a pillbox while another group defended it, generally the weapon of choice was catapults and elastic bands with paperclips. I developed a new weapon, that of the shit grenade. Using a stick you pick up a cow pat and then try to through it through the weapon slits.

Most of the Downs was covered in farmland and small copses, each year as I grew I would try and explore further than I had before. Sometimes chancing my luck by going too far, before having to race against the sun and return home before my tea was put on the table. It was these runs where I first started to discover that I was faster and stronger than I realised. Soon after starting secondary school I was invited to join the cross country team and often beat people in the years above me in the gruelling long distance races in all weathers. I have to confess, it did feel good to be able to beat the bigger boys in these races.

The downs was full of contradictions, near the old hill fort was a tall, dark prison. A source of much speculation when I was younger, as a child I had no real experience of crime or criminals, so I wondered who it was they put in this foreboding place. Just a few miles from here was a large open area that was used to train horses and dotted everywhere where the small copses where one could hide from everyone. From the chalk itself you could find clear springs with ice cold water no matter how hot the sun shone. Inside one of the copses I once found a tiny graveyard, with just a few falling gravestones, the carvings unreadable with age.

It was a place of wonder for a growing boy who loved to explore and even now, I sometimes find myself wishing I could go back to that time. But of all the marvels I found, my favourite place was the chalk pits. My mother didn’t like me going there and not just because of covering myself in chalk dust, but because to get to it, you had to cross a busy road. And about that she worried, like all mothers do. But I found a secret way, a way under the road through an old dried out culvert that meant I could cross without having to worry about the speeding traffic.

To get there from where I lived I would wander to the end of my street and follow the road to the old tip, the tip itself was a place of fascination and here one could find all sorts of abandoned treasures. It was of course somewhere else that my mother didn’t like me to go to, neither did the old man that ran the place. But he wasn’t always there, so it was sometimes possible to sneak in and have a rummage through what had been thrown away. The tip also provided a good shortcut to the woods behind.

Through the middle of the woods ran a stream, clear enough to drink from. Looking past the stream you could see the railway tracks and beyond that the river itself. Following the path through the woods, about a mile in you turned left from the path and had to climb a steep bank, using the trees to help you up the slope. From here you had to edge along until you found the culvert and through this under the road to the entrance of the chalk pits.

Just inside the chalk pits there was an old pub, long closed and boarded up, the sign now faded. I had once broken in to have a look round, but there was nothing of interest in this old building anymore. The floor of the chalk pits was now overgrown with bushes and small trees. At the back was the small cave I had patiently dug the year before. It was as I approached this achievement of mine that I heard a strange noise.

It was a sad noise, a whimper or a moan. Quietly I tracked the sound until I found its source under a small bush. Here I found a young fox, not a cub, but not a full adult either. I could see that the back end of this animal had been crushed, most likely from being hit by a car on the road only a few hundred yards away. As I approached the animal bared its teeth at me and tried to move away, but it had used all its strength just to get here and could moved no further.

I felt a sadness looking at this poor creature and also a strange feeling. It was as if I could feel the pain the fox was feeling inside my own head. This thought startled me, but once thought I could not shake this pain from inside me.

I retreated, trying to escape this feeling, but moving away did not dull it any. I approached the animal once again, it didn’t even raise its head this time. Beside it was a small rock, twice as big as its head. I knew that with this rock I could end its suffering and with it, my own.

I  lifted the rock, the fox following its motion with just his eyes. I lifted the rock high and with a swift movement smashed it into the fox’s head. With that first blow it whimpered once and with the second it grew silent. And I smiled.

Chapter 1 - The first night

It’s past lights out, and I am alone in the darkness. A little washed out light leaks through the narrow bars in the window, just enough to see the shapes of things, just enough for the shadows to pool around me. I lay still upon the bed, the thin mattress barely enough to stop the metal slats digging into bruises over my back. Fully deserved bruises I should add, you don’t kill a couple of nation’s finest in broad daylight without expecting a few recriminations.

Despite the pain I am content, it is good to rest after such a hectic day. I guess in some way I should be thankful that all I have are a few bruises from well placed blows. Petty revenge considering what I have done. The first stage of my plan is complete and there will be a reckoning, but for now I just lie still and absorb my surroundings.

Every half an hour the flap in the cell door snaps open, eyes peer in to make sure I am still alive. They take such care of all new prisoners, especially those who are never likely to see the outside world again. On this wing, only the man I can hear sobbing at the end of the corridor and myself are the new intake for today. They shouldn’t be concerned with me, I’m right where I want to be. Him on the other hand, well, we’ll get to him shortly.

Lying still in the darkness I listen to the unfamiliar sounds around me. At the bottom of the cell, a single water pipe gurgles in its vain attempt to warm the chill air. In front of the pipe I can see the outline of a small cupboard, the sole repository of my worldly belongings. In the corner a toilet sits and beside that a small table and chair.

From all around the prison I can hear sounds, mostly voices. Some just chat about the day just gone, sharing titbits of news that they have heard. Others welcome the new intake, their menace adding to the fear that these new prisoners feel in their first night locked away from all that they love. Unlike them I feel no fear, I have lost nothing. They have lost their loved ones that they normally curl up beside for warmth, I had no-one for this having lived cold and alone on the streets. They have lost their freedom and as with most people they have no idea what this means until now, when it has been taken away from them. But I carry my freedom with me, these walls are not a prison for me, my mind can escape the confines of both body and concrete whenever I desire.

I smile at the short poem some wit had written on the wall before I came to this cell –

“If these walls were made of blow,
I’d smoke a hole and away I’d go.
But as they’re made of brick and stone,
I leave the fucking things alone.”

The same wit, obviously in fine form had also labelled the emergency bell, above it states “Push button for sex!” and below the red button they had written “When pressed a cunt will appear.” It’s good to know that even hear some people’ humour remains strong.

In the cell beside me, I can hear the rhythmic sound a man masturbating himself to sleep, I release my mind and float through the wall and take a look inside his mind. Well, well. That’s not something you see every day. In his mind he is picturing a pretty blonde, older than himself, but submissive to his energetic exertions. Delving deeper I discover that this is no ordinary blonde fantasy, the women is question is much closer to him. I smile to myself, his mother has a fine figure, well worth the attentions of an obedient son, not that my tastes run that way you understand. As always though, he detects my presence and it’s throwing him off his stroke, which does seem a little unfair. So I withdraw and leave him to his solitary pleasures.

It really would be nice to know how they can always detect my presence. I let my mind drift down the corridor, pas t the patrolling guard. On each side there is a bank of eight cells. They are all maximum security as befitting category A prisoners. Every person on this wing has been deemed a serious risk to the public. Each prisoner here is a murderer or rapist, or has demonstrated some level of violence way beyond even the police contend with on a regular basis.

At the end of the corridor is the sobbing newbie. He is surrounded by the catcalls of the other prisoners. As with all predators they can sense weakness and here this weakness is audible to all. I enter his mind easily, there is no resistance, just confusion. A chaotic mixture of guilt, terror, and a need for the needle and bliss it would contain. A quick fix is all he would need would take the pain away, and not just the pain of withdrawal, but the pain of the memory of what he has done. Even now he barely remembers, but I can see. I can see with great clarity the crime he has committed, the sin for which even the murders and rapists around him will not forgive him for. Like me they already know the truth, the grapevine informing everyone before he had even arrived. And with relish they had waited.

The guards are right to maintain a watch on this one, if he the means and the will, it is doubtful he will last the night. The fever that grips him causes enough pain on its own to make him want to seek the final option,. He barely remembers what he has done, the terrible crime that he has committed. I can help him remember, lay every detail out bare for him to relive.

His cries become louder, fractured as I reveal the truths to him. First is the sight of his young daughter, only weeks from the womb. The second is the sounds of her crying, seeking attention and nourishment. He is alone in the squalid flat. The mother is out scoring more of the drug they need, the drug that will bring peace. But for now he is alone with the child, and all he wants is for her to be silent. Not so much to ask he thinks, and with a shout and a shake she is silent. He drops her in her crib, satisfied of a problem easily solved. Neither he nor the mother notices the silent corpse turning blue until the visit from the social worker later that day. And then the frenzied confusion that ends with him here, alone in his cell.

But he’s not alone, I am here to help him remember, to add the terrible vision of his guilt to the withdrawal pains he is suffering. Like a proxy conscience I resurrect his dead daughter and smile as his screams echo from the walls that close in around him. He looks at those same hands now. They look the same as earlier. It is strange that he can see them with such clarity. He barely hears the rough voices around him, the promises of what will happen to him in the day to come. I withdraw and leave him to his misery, there’s no real sport there. With a nudge it would be easy to convince him of what must be done. But why waste the effort? His fate is already sealed and I have more fun times ahead of me. If by some miracle he survives the next day, then I can visit him again, but for now, I drift away.

Back in my own cell I rest my back against the hard metal bed, I am contended and allow myself to sleep and to dream.

Ready, Steady, Go!

The day is finally here and it's time to get writing :-) Hopefully later today I'll post my first chapter and then I need to maintain at least a chapter per day to get finished in time. Best of luck to everyone taking part this year and I'm looking for to reading some of what others have been writing.