Chapter 13 - Sunday morning blues

I had continued to attend Sunday Mass every Sunday. It’s the only real avenue for contact with prisoners and guards from other wings in the prison.  This contact is essential if my plan to seize the prison is to succeed. It’s also a little more time out of my cell, which is no bad thing, even if it does mean listening to the hypocritical sermons from the nervous priest.

This Sunday is no exception, with so little time remaining I need to use every moment available. The walk to chapel isn’t as pleasant as it has been. The winter weather is definitely closing in and we all have our prison issue donkey jackets wrapped tight as we make our way through the prison. As always we sit and wait for the priest to make his grand entrance. I take the time to filter through the minds around me.

As I pass through each mind I plant more impulses. I’ve been planting these every  time I’ve been here. Each impulse builds on the previous ones that I have implanted, they mesh together within the person’s mind. When the time comes these impulses will flower and they will do whatever it is I command.

I’m actually getting a little excited, the final battle is not far off now. I estimate that at best the court case will last another week, probably less. They won’t be able to convict me, the evidence isn’t there. The question is, how long will the keep trying? They won’t let me go either.  They might not be able to prove my guilt, but they know that they can’t release me. Besides there’s plenty of ways to keep a person locked up even without a conviction.

It’s actually a pleasant thought knowing that there isn’t much time left. The thought of eternal oblivion is a comforting one. And with the coming stand my name will be remembered.

I notice the prisoners are getting a little restless. The priest is much later than he normally is. I contemplate the poor priest’s future. His life will be a short and painful one when they realise his hidden crimes. The plan is to use the Sunday Mass as the trigger event, so he will be right at the epicentre when it all kicks off. It’s a pleasing thought.

My happiness is marred as Officer Hammond walks in. I still don’t know how he does it, but his presence interferes with my impulses in those nearby. It doesn’t stop them, but it does seem to weaken their potency. It won’t change things, but some instinct is warning me that he is too dangerous. It would be wise to get rid of him before the final event. Yes, very wise indeed.

Hammond places himself next to the altar and stands there, impassive, watching us all. As usual he seems to be paying me some extra attention. A priest walks in behind and he’s not our usual priest. I’m no expert, but I can see that he’s dressed differently. Not a priest at all, maybe a monk? If so, this is something new. I cast my mind out, eager to unravel this new person and see who he is. My mind just bounces off him.

Impossible!

I try again, more carefully this time, but again I cannot enter. I have never experienced this before, not since I was a teenager I have been unable to enter a mind. Some minds are more difficult than others, but there’s always been a way in. He steps up to the altar and introduces himself as Friar Francis. He is filling in for the usual priest, who has unfortunately taken ill. He hopes that we can all find space for the sick priest in our prayers.

I try again, more forcefully this time. I still cannot enter, I try to grapple with his mind, but there is no purchase. My mind just slides off his like glass.

This friar looks at me. His face is serene, but there is a hardness to his eyes. Like the ex-marine beside him, he has seen things. He stands before me, tall and gaunt, dressed in the black robes of his order. And he smiles at me. There is no warmth in that smile. It is a knowing smile. A challenging smile.

I change tactics and delve into Hammond’s mind, I slip in easily and feel some relief. I tear through his mind trying to find some connection with this monk. I find the connection I seek and follow the thread. It takes me to the rock at the centre of his being and I can follow no further.

It is with a feeling of some disquiet that I withdraw. Hammond nods to the friar and the mass begins. All I can do is watch and listen. I try to salvage some of my wasted effort and resume planting impulses in the mind around me. I am furious to see they just melt away as soon as I plant them. This is not a good start to the day.

I begin to worry that maybe, just maybe, I need a new plan.

The rest of the day fairs no better. Prison food isn’t great, but today everything tasted of ashes. I was finding it hard to concentrate on anything. In association I actually lost a game of chess. Everyone was watching me, although that’s fairly normal in here.

At lights out I was left alone in the darkness, but sleep was a long time coming.

Chapter 12 - The great escape

I knew I had done wrong. I knew that my mother would not have wanted revenge, especially not in that way. But I was trapped. I tried to move on, did well in my exams and was accepted into college for further study. I was due to start after the summer holidays. I never made it.

Over the summer I searched for a means of escape, for something that would take the pain away. There was great conflict inside me, and my mother had been the only person that I could talk to. Now there was no-one. I tried to talk to Mr Roberts, but as I edged onto the subject of what I had done I could feel his mounting horror. Luckily he ad already had a few drinks and it was an easy thing to mask that memory from his mind. Although from that moment on he always felt slightly uneasy in my company, without knowing why.

And looking back I can see that i more than a little afraid. I had killed a man, not in defence like before. I knew that revenge was not enough to justify his death, but I was afraid of the consequences.

Like him I tried drink to dull the pain, to find some way to stop the feelings. To feel nothing would surely be better than the daily ache that would not fade. But I had no taste for it, I didn’t enjoy the act and while drinking enough would brink oblivion for a few short hours, the pain would be worse the next day. The respite it provided was not worth the price to be paid. So my search continued.

A brilliant idea occurred to me one morning,. I was feeling more than a little worse for wear from the night before. It struck me that with my ability I could dump the pain onto others. After all, a problem shared is a problem halved. I tried it that very day. I poured my grief and revulsion out into the people as they walked by. I learned that it doesn’t work that way, all it meant was a problem shared is a problem felt by more people. Knowing that others could feel what I felt provided no comfort.

I took to sitting in the park, just watching the world go by. Here I suffered a contradiction, I was apart from the world I watched. I was a poisoned thing that could take no part in it. Yet for some short time it did seem to ease my troubles. It was a balm to watch others go about their lives, to see that there was joy in the world. Even if it wasn’t for me.

In the park there was often a small group of young people, I recognized a couple of them from the same year as me at school. A few times they had observed me sitting alone and had tried to get me involved. I had always declined and walked away.

I had seen them on many occasions just enjoying each other’s company. There was something different about them that I couldn’t quite place, their behaviour seemed both over the top and forced, yet completely natural at the same time. They also rolled their own cigarettes and shared them with each other, something else I had not seen before.

One day I accepted their invitation. I reasoned that they couldn’t make anything worse. So I joined their circle.  Soon enough they rolled a smoke and after a couple of them had smoked a few puffs, it was offered it to me. At first i was unsure, I’ve never really had the urge to smoke, but something smelled funny and peering into their minds I could see a change. This change intrigued me, and I took a drag. They laughed as I coughed my guts up, but I tried it again.

After a few turns around the group another joint was rolled and smoked. I had a pleasant feeling, my head felt light and fuzzy, almost separated from by body. I lay back in the grass, the sun on my face, thinking nothing and realising that I had forgotten my troubles, they almost seemed a world away.

I spent more time with this group, chilling with them in the park. I also visited them in their homes in the evenings. I kept myself to myself, but they didn’t mind the fact that I was quiet. The smoking sessions in the evening were much heavier than the ones during the day. In the park it was just a light thing, get a little stoned and have a bit of fun. In the evening it took on a different tone, more intense, trying to get high rather than just stoned.

This was back in the day that when you visited a dealer he had a range of good stuff for you try. There were different varieties for providing a different buzz or feeling. One night we tried something new. Whatever it was this hash was laced with, it was a little bit trippy and one of the girls just freaked out.

We were all friends so everyone tried to help, but the more we crowded her, the more she freaked. I dipped into her mind and could see what had frightened her. At the corner of her vision, little things nibbled and squirmed. I radiated calm and cleared the others away, I smothered her panic with the stoned joy I had been feeling and this soothed her and soon she was giggling. And then we were all giggling like children, for no real reason, just for the fun of it.

I soon became well known as the dude to have a smoke with. Everyone had a good buzz if they smoked with me. With the groups as a whole I could just let it wash out of me and into them all. I could take individuals and push their high to a new level.

As I had more than a little money from the inheritance and left Mr Roberts who was frankly relieved to see me go. I didn’t go to college and spent my time in a pleasant fugue with like minded people. For a time I had no dark thoughts, I had suppressed the grief and pushing it deep just enjoyed the moment.

Chapter 11 - Second day in court

I’m back in court again today, as with yesterday it takes a few hours just to get me from my cell and into the court room. Proper procedure must be followed. The court room is a little busier this morning, a bit noisier than yesterday. The public gallery is full of press, it seems that yesterday’s events  have sparked some interest. I will have to make sure that they do not leave disappointed.

The judge enters the room and as before we all rise and do not sit until he has seated. Before the proceedings begin, he warns me sternly that I must behave correctly and show the court the proper respect. I assure him that I will. He again tries to convince me to accept legal counsel, I again refuse and we get started.

We have a new prosecutor, a middle-aged woman with a sharp face who smoothes her gown as she stands. Hopefully she has a stronger heart than yesterday’s specimen. She starts her case by summarising my crimes, describing the terrible things that I did on that winter morning. Some of the jurors look a little upset by this, but she comforts them with the promise of evidence that will prove my guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. And with that she calls the first witness.

The first witness is one of the armed response team officers who arrived on the scene shortly after I had murdered his colleagues. He took the bible in his hand and swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The prosecutor stepped up to the witness stand and asked him to confirm his identity.

He tried to reply, he really did, but I would not let him. Again he tried, but again his mouth would not open. From across the courtroom we could just about hear some mumbling. It of course made no sense and it rose in pitch as he became frantic as he tried to speak. The judge tried to help, telling the officer, resplendent in his uniform to calm down and just reply to the prosecutor’s questions. This time he went red in the face he tried so hard to answer, but again I wouldn’t allow his mouth to open.

In the end they gave up and called the second witness. This was an elderly lady who was walking with her friend before I brutally took her life away. She looked at me with a mixture of defiance and fear. Once again the prosecutor walked up to the witness stand and after the witness had sworn her oath asked her to confirm her identity. In a clear voice she stated her name was Gillian Travers and confirmed her address.

Encouraged the prosecutor asked her to describe what had happened. Before she could speak I was inside her, together we watched the grim scene. I put the memory on a loop and together we watched it over and over again. At first she was silent, then she started to tremble and then she began to weep. They were tiny little sobs, but they carried across the room. Again and again she watched her friend being killed by me, she couldn’t see me through her tears, but she could feel my gaze and she knew that somehow I was inside her head.

The prosecutor tried to calm the woman, but again to no avail. In the end she had to be lead from the room, as she was taken away and the door closed behind her I released her from my grasp and waited for the next witness.

The judge called a short recess and instructed the prosecutor to check with her witnesses, to make sure they were ready to give their evidence.

All morning they tried, but no-one would talk. They would all identify themselves and swear the oath, but that was all they got. The jurors and press in the public gallery grew restless, they didn’t know what they were seeing, but they sure that this wasn’t how it was supposed to work. I was glad when lunchtime arrived, taking such direct control of people is a lot more difficult than my preferred method of implanting thoughts over time. I barely tasted lunch, but I did feel somewhat restored when the afternoon session started.

The prosocuter changed tactics in the afternoon, she was getting nowhere with the witnesses and so she started with the physical evidence. She showed crime scene pictures of the street where it happened. After showing the pictures of the bodies, she showed the CCTV footage of the attacks. The grainy video showed me, sat on the pavement dressed in rags. Suddenly I stood up and with brutall efficiency killed three passers-by and the two police first responders. After a short period with me just standing there the armed response team arrived and they saw me calmly surrender before they made the arrest.

I let her finish her little presentation, the photos only show the aftermarth and the video isn’t clear enough to identify me from. It’s time to get the witnesses back in here. I raise my hand like a child in class and say that this show and tell is all very well, but it ins’t evidence of what I may or may not have done. She knows I’m right, the witnesses need to state what I have done, they need to point at me, show my guilt. But she’s worried, she doesn’t know what had made them all silent that morning, but she knows it has something to do with me. And now she worries why I want them back in the courtroom.

The judge reluctantly agrees, the witnesses must give their testimony. They call the armed respose officer back in. My time in his mind has shaken something loose, he doesn’t remember all he sees, he has been coached on what to say. This could be what I need for todays show reel.

The officer takes the stand, a little nerviously, again he identifies himself and takes the oath. As soon as he finishes the oath I speak again,  I ask the court in general how binding this oath really is. Would he be punished by the court for lying if he gave evidence? My faith is not strong in the court punishing its own. With a snap of my fingers I laugh out loud and say “I have it. If you break the oath, you die. Simple as that, you will die in that witness box if you don’t speak the truth.”

The judge’s fury is a delight to behold. I will not threaten witnesses in his courtroom. Calmly I reply that there is no threat, he took the oath and if God strikes him down for breaking that oath that would hardly be my doing.

The prosecutor and the witness, while a little nervous about my little outburst, they know it’s all acting, there’s no way I can strike him down dead. It’s just bluster on my part and they followed the prepared line as I knew I would. They came to the part I had glimpsed and while it wasn’t a lie, he didn’t know if it was or not and she knew that she’s coached him to say what he did.

The words barely left his lips before he collapsed. One of the jurors screamed, there was a franctic panic to reach him, but he was dead before he hit the floor. Like yesterday they tried CPR and like yesterday it was wasted effort. Once again the reporters scribbled excitedly into their notebooks. I beamed a happy smile at the shocked prosecutor, “I did warn him. You had to push him though. You made the man lie and now you’ve killed him”.

I was still smiling as the judge ordered me back to the cells. It was Friday, I would have the weekend to recover before the next session of Monday.

Chapter 10 - Then there was just me

The affair with Ms Clarke didn’t end well. I did learn the valuable lesson of discretion, but it was a close thing. It was my own fault, I couldn’t help but show off. I bragged about what I had done and even convinced her to show some of what made her special to me in class. It was only to be expected that word got around. It took some quick work on my part to hush it up enough for word not to get back to my mother. Ms Clarke lost her job, but I was able to prevent the reason being made public. I certain she was able to get another job.

For the remainder of school I kept my nose clean. I still dipped into people’s mind if I wanted to know something, or needed something to happen, but I was much more discreet about the whole thing. The Headmistress knows that somehow I pulled a fast one on her and watched me like a hawk. So I got on with my studies and approaching the age of sixteen had to make a decision for what my future would entail.

I’d had an interview with the school guidance counsellor that afternoon. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I did have an interest in computers, but they were new enough then that there was no clear route to a career with them. Her advice was to stay at sixth form, or go to college and stick with academic studies for a few years, get my A-levels, then onto a degree. It seemed like a reasonable plan, I was sure I could get through these studies as easily as I had here at school. She advised me to speak with my parents and I said I would do so.

As always I was home before my mother, she would generally arrive about six in the evening, then cook dinner for us both that we would eat while watching TV. I wasn’t too worried when she didn’t arrive at the usual time, but had started to become concerned when there was a knock at the door a couple of hours later.

I looked up at the policeman and I knew what he wanted to say, the well practiced words where in his mind before they reached his lips. There had been a terrible accident, he was very sorry, but I had to come with him. As the only living relative it was my duty to identify the body. He didn’t know the details, only that it had been a road traffic accident.

They took me to the hospital where she had been taken, it wasn’t until I saw her body that it really hit me. They pulled back the sheet and I could see her face. It didn’t look too bad, some cuts and bruising. Not enough to have killed her, but there she was, cold and still. I didn’t even realise I was crying.

Mr Roberts, the manager at the bank where my mother worked was also at the hospital. He had seen the accident and accompanied her in the ambulance, she had died on the way. He didn’t want to tell me the details, but he did in the end, I needed to know. I had to try and make sense of it. He told me what he had seen, a silver car coming too fast as she crossed the road. Too late the driver had tried to swerve, to no avail. Apparently he had been drunk at the wheel.

I wasn’t old enough to be left in my own care, but Mr Roberts let me stay with him until all the details had been worked out. He made the funeral arrangements, helping me pick out the clothes she would wear, the coffin she would lie in. He covered all the costs and while he tried to help me through it, he really couldn’t help. Only one person had ever helped me when I felt lost or frightened and she was not here.

In no time at all the day of the funeral arrived. I don’t really remember much of it. There was a service, the priest telling us why she was a great woman, how everybody had loved her. I loved her. I don’t think I have ever loved anybody else and I know now that I will never do so again. I stood, trying to be strong, but not quite a man I felt like a little boy.

Along with my own grief, I could feel the sorrow of all those around her. I had never known how popular she was, how well liked. I didn’t know any of these people, but here they were. Saying goodbye.

After the service some came up to me, offering their condolences, I accepted them as best I could. Thanking them for coming. Some became distraught, I found myself trying to comfort them, to send am impulse with calm. That was a mistake, my thoughts came from my own bottomless sorrow and they helped no-one.

We were taken to the graveyard, the headstone wasn’t there. Just the hole in the ground, they lowered her into it. I couldn’t stop the cry that escaped me. People tried not to look at me.

Eventually the ordeal was over, people left, returning to their own lives, taking their sorrows with them. Mr Roberts and myself returned to his home, barely talking, not knowing one another. We were unable to bring any comfort to each other. He drank alone, finding some limited solace in the fine whiskey that he drank. He offered me a glass, but I had no taste for it. There was no escape for me that way.

In time my grief hardened, became a bitter thing. It was only two months since the accident but I hunted the driver down. It wasn’t easy to do, no-one seemed to know who he was and where he lived. I couldn’t get close to the people who knew so I could pluck it from their heads. In the end it was a young reporter that gave me what I needed, and that evening I went to the house of Martin Cox.

In those days, drink driving wasn’t the crime it is today. Even with a fatality he remained free until the trial. And then he would maybe get a few years. It didn’t seem a fair swap. These days he would already be in prison and that would have saved him.

I watched him with his family, from his thoughts and theirs, I knew what was happening. He had been a long time drinker, he had almost destroyed his own family. His wife and their two children had been on the verge of leaving him. Killing my mother had shocked him sober. He was starting to get his life back on track, to rebuild the connections with his family. It should have provided some solace for me, but it didn’t. All I could see was the man who killed my mother being rewarded for it.

His family left, looking into their thoughts they would be gone until the next day. I approached the house and knocked on the door. I said nothing as he opened the door, my mind drove into his, he stepped away to let me in. He knew who I was, I suddenly remembered him from the funeral. He had been a furtive presence that stayed only for a few moments. The thought of him being there angered me. The darkness within me overpowered him, I could hear him begging for forgiveness, that he didn’t mean to hurt anybody.

From his memories I found a stashed bottle of cheap spirits, with his hands I poured a drink. He was crying louder now as I forced him to drink it. He finished the first glass and then he poured another. He continued to beg me not to do this. He finished the second glass, the warmth of the drink started to fill him. I could feel his shame, I almost revelled in it as he drank the third. His taste had awakened, inflamed as he swallowed the next drink.

A fourth drink, then a fifth emptied the bottle. Gripping the drained glass with one hand he smashed it against the table. He took the broken glass and cut into his arm. The blood sprang free as if eager for release. He continued to plead with me as he cut again, deeper this time. The glass was slick, but he managed to hold on to it as he cut again.

I stayed with him as the blood drained and his mind faded. I could see him slip away into the abyss and I almost went with him as fell deeper into the darkness. The glass dropped to the floor. I left the house, closing the door with my foot and walked into the night.

Chapter 9 - My first court appearence

My trial date has finally arrived and I’m feeling quite excited. I could hardly contain myself as I rushed through breakfast and impatiently waited for the guards to process my transfer. I’d be back the same day, but any movement had to be monitored and the proper forms completed. It had taken some arranging but an old friend had organised a new suit for the occasion. It felt good to be out of the prison denims and into something more stylish. I looked as dapper as I could be considering the circumstances.

Transport to the court was provided by a private security firm. We were loaded into the back of a white lorry and ushered into individual cells inside. Each was tiny, with just enough space to sit on the hard plastic seat. There was a small armoured glass window that allowed us to see the outside world. It was too high to see through while sitting, so I stood for most of the journey. It had been many weeks since I had seen anything beyond the confines of the prison, so I enjoyed the view as we moved through the early morning traffic.

We arrived at the courthouse and we were unloaded from the lorry and taken into the underground cells beneath the old building. I amused myself with reading some of the graffiti while I waited.

After an hour or so I was taken upstairs into the courtroom itself. I stood in the dock, flanked by two security guards, and two policemen stood guard by the main doors as additional security. I took the time to look around, it was a large open room. I could almost smell the history of the place, many people had their justice served here for many years and now it was my turn.

Across the room, empty at the moment was the bench where the judge would preside. Below me was the desks for the lawyers, the prosecution lawyer and his assistants talked quietly amongst themselves. The other for the defence team was empty. To the right was the witness box, also empty at the moment. To my left some distance away, where two benches filled with the jurors for my case. They were a mix of men and women, some knew of me, a few did not. Some were thrilled with the chance to decide another’s fate. Others looked nervous and would much rather be about the normal lives.

Behind and above me was the public gallery. It was filled mostly with reporters, all had notebooks in their hands, all were eager for something juicy to report. One of them sketched the room before him.

I sat down and as if waiting for me to do so the judge made his appearance. He wore his full finery, red robe and white wig. Everyone stood up as he entered, I did the same. Now isn’t the time to miss the little niceties.

After the judge sat down, everyone else did the same. We then went through the initial proceedings. I confirmed my identity when asked. The many charges were all read out, the important ones being the murder of three passers-by and the two police officers who responded to the 999 calls. I was asked how I pleaded. I replied that my guilt or otherwise wasn’t for me to decide and that I’m sure the jury would let me know one way of the other soon enough. The judge gave me a baleful glare, although a couple of the jurors and reporters could be heard giving nervous chuckles. He instructed the court recorder to write my plea as not guilty.

He then said asked whether I still refused legal counsel, I said that I did, I didn’t need a lawyer to present the truth. Again he frowned at me before declaring that it was my choice, and that I wouldn’t be able to appeal on the grounds that I hadn’t been represented. I shrugged and replied that there would be no need for me to appeal. He frowned again, I could tell he was unhappy about this. People that represented themselves were always trouble as they didn’t know how things worked. He was right about that, but not in the way he imagined.

I was told to sit back down and then it was the prosecution’s turn. The prosecutor stood, ready to begin his case against me.

Looking at him I slipped into his mind, the evidence was all clear and he was experienced and ready to present. I could see how pleased he was, this was a high profile case, my guilt was clear and this would progress his career nicely.  I focused past these surface thoughts, past the thoughts under the surface about his wife, his mistress and his children. I dug deeper, below the growing hunger, his need for a coffee and a good smoke. I forced my way deeper still, to the thoughts that were no longer thoughts, but the impulses that governed his body.

I found the triggers I wanted and pushed. The prosecutor started to speak and then choked on his words. A low moan escaped his lips as he stumbled forward, collapsing across his papers. At that I chuckled, I laughed as one of the police officers rushed to his aid. I continued to laugh as the officer gave CPR that normally would have saved his life, but I kept pushing at those triggers, making sure that his heart would not restart. A trickle of blood escaped his lips as his final breath left his body.

With a sigh I stopped laughing. The second police officer spoke into his radio and then there was a hush throughout the courtroom. “I hope the prosecution has a stronger case than that” I chuckled again.

The judge’s anger finally broke through his control. “You will be silent!” he commanded. “You will remain silent unless given leave to speak and you will show the proper respect to the officers of this court. If you do not, you will be held in contempt of court.”

“Contempt of court?” I replied, “Of course I hold this court in contempt. And if I do, what will you do? Send me to prison?” I chuckled again, then continued “He is just the first. Every day this trial continues another will die. And you “, I pointed at him, “cannot stop this.”

From behind me I can hear the frantic scribble of pencils on paper. I smile again, this trial is off to a good start.

He’s getting really angry now, he orders the guards to take me back to the cells. The trial will resume the next morning. I am escorted from the dock, but before I leave I look at the public gallery, give them my best smile, and allow myself to be taken below.  As I am lead away the paramedics arrive and start their futile attempts to revive the prosecutor.

Chapter 8 - Life in the slow lane

The court case wouldn’t begin for a few more weeks so I had to bide my time and allow myself to slip into the routine of prison life until then. As a category A remand prisoner I wasn’t permitted to join a work detail, this meant I had to spend most of each day alone in my cell. This wasn’t so bad now I had a friend in the library and Bungle kept me well stocked with new things to read. I’ve always been a voracious reader and now I had plenty of time.

Besides meal times the high points of the day was the brief exercise period in the morning and then association time in the evening. Exercise was held in the yard outside the wing, the cold weather had now drawn in, but despite the cold it was good to stretch the legs and chat with the other prisoners.

There was the option of going to the gym instead of the yard, but I’ve never needed any help in keeping fit and the guards watch us more closely in the gym. In the yard it was easier to find a quiet area where we could talk without being over heard.

The association periods in the evening lasted only for an hour and provided more time for me to get chatting with the others. In one corner of the hall where we mingled was an old television. The choice for viewing was quite limited and unfortunately we couldn’t switch the channels, so it was usually Eastenders or some other dross that was shown. Not the sort of thing I liked to watch, but it was surprisingly popular with the others. I guess watching anything is better than staring at a cell wall.

As well as the TV there were tables with various games like chess, draoughts and cards that we could play. I’d not really played chess as a child, but found that I enjoyed it and seemed to have a natural ability for it. Although it’s quite a bit easier if you know what moves your opponent was about to play. Still I rarely used these glimpses, I quite enjoyed the challenge of it. There’s a purity to it, the only random element are the people playing.

Those two hours a day helped break the monotony of the daily routine and also allowed me to get to know my fellow prisoners better. It was vital for me to know who was capable of what, who could be relied upon and who would need more convincing.

For the remaining twenty two hours a day I was locked in my cell. As well as reading I spent considerable time thinking of my plan and I came to realise that I had miscalculated. I wasn’t worried about the court battleas I didn’t need to worry about the actual case. I did not expect nor want to win. I just wanted to put on a good show. The final stand in the prison was another matter. I had not realised how separate the different parts of the prison were. It would be easy to take over the wing, but for my last stand I wanted something more visible. Something so big it couldn’t be hidden away. For that to be certain I would need to take over the whole prison.

I had used my limited time and contact with the prisoners to good effect. When I decided to act most of them would be with me. Some through their natural inclinations, others through the implanted impulses I placed into their minds. When the time came those impulses would take effect and they would do what was needed.

I also did the same with the guards, but here I had a problem. Officer Hammond was taking too much of an interest. I needed the guards to be able to take the whole prison, if I was unable to seal the main gates, reinforcements could rapidly be brought in and my insurrection would be quickly squashed. More importantly without the contact with the outside world it would be stopped quietly and without the fanfare I wanted.

Officer Hammond was indeed interfering with this plan. He was always around and watching me closely. He would interrupt as I tried to converse with the other guards and his very presence was proving to be a disruptive influence. I had no idea how he was doing it, but my impulses seemed to be weakened by him being nearby.

I tried a more direct approach with him, once again entering his mind. As before he just let me slip straight in. I could see whatever I wanted, his childhood memories, his postings with the marines even the little thoughts he kept hidden from himself. It did no good, I could do nothing with them. There was no give in him, I tried introducing new thoughts, to disrupt his usual thinking, to probe for some weakness. Nothing would work, the alien thoughts just wouldn’t fit into his mindscape. That rock that anchored his thinking just would not budge.

I needed to get him out of the way, the mental attack wasn’t working, so it would have to be a physical assault. Tempting as it was to do it personally I didn’t need the complication just yet., but I had plenty of willing volunteers to hand.

The attack took place as we were being locked back into our cells. Three prisoners from the other hallway on the same level ambushed him. Two grabbed him while the third tried to stab him. He responded quickly taking one down before he was stabbed in the arm. He took down the other trying to hold him before being stabbed in the stomach and then reinforcements arrived. It was with some relief I watched him fall, clutching his wound.

With Hammond out of the way I stepped up my campaign planting impulses into the guard’s minds. Two days later, while lying in my cell, the door opened and Hammond was standing there. He smiled at me as he told me that my court date had been set and that I needed to attend in three days for the trial to begin.

His smile dropped as he turned to leave and glancing back before shutting the door said. “Nice try by the way”. And he left me to my thoughts.

Chapter 7 - Getting to know you

My mother and I had two weeks break from work and school after the attack. To be honest I think we were both glad to get back to our respective circles when it was done. We loved each other a lot, but we never really felt comfortable in each others’ company if it went on for too long. We both seemed to recover quickly from what had happened, neither of us felt depressed or anxious by what had happened. We took a break, rested up and then got on with things.

Of course, I was an instant celebrity when I did go back to school. Everybody wanted to know the juicy details. I have to admit I was a little discomforted by the attention, but there was a little thrill to it as well. Within days though it was old news everything went back to normal. I faded once more into the background and that was just how I liked it.

I know knew I had a gift. I knew that what had happened to that man was caused by me. So I started to explore it, by then I had also turned thirteen, so that wasn’t all I started to explore. I’m sure you catch my meaning.

At first I had little success and didn’t seem to be able to do anything out of the ordinary. It was my new interest in girls that provided the first intentional success. Like all young buys I found it difficult to talk to the opposite sex, well not exactly talking to them, but knowing whether I should be talking to them or not. It was odd, I had never really suffered from a lack of confidence in anything else, but when I approached a girl I found myself worrying about whether she wanted to talk to me or not. I’d get caught up on worrying about this and then mutter something clumsy before beating a retreat. This went on for a few months until I noticed Andrea.

Andrea had just moved into the area and had started at my school that week. For a few days I just cast furtive glances at her and I wasn’t the only one. She was something divine in school girl form. She had the perfect shape and had the most delicious lips. An odd thing to fixate on probably, but that was the first thing I noticed about her. She really did have luscious lips, I just wanted to kiss them. For those few days I wrestled with myself, trying to come up with something witty that would capture her attention.

That Friday afternoon, as everyone was sitting bored while listening to Mr Carroll drone on about the agricultural revolution it happened. As usual I had been sneaking peeks, you know, admiring the shape her face, the swell of her breasts and imagining the delights hidden beneath the grey school uniform and she looked at me. I was too slow to look away and for a moment our eyes met and for that moment I saw myself. I saw myself through her eyes. I could hear her thoughts. I could feel was she felt. And luckily for me, she seemed to like what she saw.

After the bell rang and everyone made good their escape I lingered and as the crowd filtered out went up to her and we spoke. Like a gentleman I escorted her home and we talked. Well I mostly listened, but there was no worry about whether I should say the right thing or not because I could see what she wanted to hear before I even opened my mouth.

We dated for the rest of spring term, nothing serious, we were both still too young. But I still revelled in the glow of it all, young love is a grand thing. I showed her my secret places around the town, quiet places where we could kiss and fumble. With her hand she gave me my first orgasm and at that exact moment something new occurred. That exquisite explosion of release somehow burst free from me into her and she orgasmed with me, without even being touched.

It’s funny looking back, that first orgasm felt like nothing I have ever experienced since. Just like that first high with a drug, you can never quite reach that same feeling again. No matter how hard you try.

Young we may have been, but we did develop a closeness, an intimacy that also helped the control of my powers grow. My mind became entwined with hers  and I discovered that I could implant impulses of my own into her mind. At first it was just minor things, like when she felt disappointed at the present I had given her for her birthday. With just a thought I turned that frown the right way up.

Later I used that influence in more significant ways. I had heard the older boys talking about blow jobs and how amazing they felt. This was something I wanted to experience for myself, but Andrea was reluctant. I sent the impulse and she performed what I wanted, but while the impulse was enough to compel her, it wasn’t enough to forestall the feelings  of disgust and shame she felt afterwards.

Not surprisingly that was the beginning of the end. She knew something wasn’t right and while she didn’t quite fear me, she did start to feel disquiet when were together. We had lost that companionship we had. I used my ability to keep things going for a short while, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had grown bored of her and although we hadn’t gone all the way I now felt that for my first time I deserved something special. And quite frankly, Andrea was no longer special to me.

Despite her tears when we broke up, I think she was relieved deep down inside. I could have made it easier for her, but I did not.

Time rolled by and it was probably the best time of my life. It may be a cliché, but it’s also true. I lived in a comfortable home, was well provided for. As long as I wasn’t getting into trouble my mother didn’t mind what I did. She earned a good living, so I had a decent allowance. With my ability I usually convince people to give me things if I wanted them anyway.

School was just fun, I was intelligent enough to breeze through the academic work. The larger boys no longer troubled me, not that they had very often anyway. With some I just diverted them with an impulse drawing their attention to someone else to torment, with others I let the fight happen, allowing my physical attributes to shine. If I looked like losing the fight a quick thought could swing things back in my favour.

Amongst the other children I gained a reputation, I was a little creepy. They didn’t know why, but they knew enough to keep their distance, unless I wanted them close and then they couldn’t resist. I flirted with some of the girls, enjoying the odd encounter, but I had become precious about my virginity. I knew what I wanted, but hadn’t determined how I could achieve it. There are plenty of interesting diversions without having sex and with my talent there was always somebody who would indulge me.

With adults I had less of a problem, for the most part they aren’t as sensitive as children. While some no doubt thought me an odd character, I did well at school and I was rarely in trouble so didn’t attract any undue attention. Another factor was that my abilities didn’t seem to work as well with adults. Their minds are not as open and I found that I couldn’t really get inside. I could glimpse surface thoughts, but nothing deeper or hidden.

Another year passed before I decided how and with whom I would finally lose my virginity. It amuses me know looking back at how seriously i took it, but then it was almost a religious thing. As if it was a ritual that I had to complete to perfection.

The key to it all was adults. I needed to bend one to my will. In return I should not just give myself to any girl, but to a woman. At the tender age of fourteen, this was my Everest.

The opportunity was provided in the form of Ms Clarke. She was the English Literature teacher for my year. She was perfect in every way, in her late twenties, she had a beautiful face framed with raven dark hair. Her body was full in every way the girls around me were not. And her legs were simply amazing.

I knew that she was the secret fantasy of many of the boys at the school, and more than one would drop his pencil so they could try and carefully peek up her skirt. I remember once her breast brushed my shoulder as she leaned over me to comment on my work.

I think it was that lightest of caresses that sealed the deal for me.

Adult minds were still a mystery to me and so for every lesson with her I focused on her. With all my will I tried to break into her mind, to see what secrets lay beneath the surface thoughts of what she was saying to the class. I had no success at first, but I did develop the knack of multi-tasking with my school work and mental assault.

In the end it was two children that provided the breakthrough I was looking for. They were arguing in the playground and I thought it would be fun for them to settle their differences once and for all.

I had never tried sending impulses to more than one person at a time and naturally it was harder than I anticipated. But not impossible and as I got used to separating the conflicting thoughts and emotions it grew easier. And while I watched them fight it out I realised that this is how adults were different.

It seemed to me that with children their thoughts are all on the same level, they don’t necessarily raise one thought or feeling above another. They also focus more, making the form of their thoughts and emotions simpler so that it was easier for me to penetrate. With adults they have thoughts firing all over the place, and more importantly on different levels. Their surface thoughts I could already read, it was maelstrom underneath that was blocking my access.  If I treated the adult mind like many children’s minds then maybe I could force a way in.

In the lesson the next day I tried my theory and after an initial struggle it worked. Ms Clarke looked at me with those full lips of hers and when I smiled, she smiled back. I had done it, I had subverted a mind more complicated than my own.