The Pursuit of Normality book one

The Pursuit of Normality

book one ( when the red mist decends)
CHAPTER ONE
Baptism of fire

My name is Richard Chessington, although society considers me a man, I feel as

nave as a child. And its all to do with my emotions, I am presently going through
an awakening, an enlightening, a re birth. I am experiencing emotions that until
fairly recently lay dormant and underdeveloped, feelings I am reliably informed
that we should all have, fully functional from birth.
I have a lot to thank Stuart Whattam for, and if I had to dedicate this book to
someone, then I guess it would be to him. For he has been instrumental in my
being made aware of my emotions and for the fact that he has helped me to
accept them and understand them. If it werent for him then this book would
never have been written. In fact this story is the final part of my therapy. Stuart in
his final summing up advised me to start writing, if you feel something then write
it down and analyze Why I feel this way? What event in my tortured past is
responsible for this? Write it down, so here is my story.
An experience should automatically trigger an emotion be it pleasure, remorse,
happiness etc., my early life was filled with such agony that I believe something
deep inside my brain shut all of this down and re wrote the script. I believe my
early life regressed to animal instinct, one of basic survival. Stuart Whattam was
impressed with my earliest memory recollection, for police reports show that the
incident occurred when I was four months old, yet I can still recall it. I believe
perhaps this was so traumatic that this may have been the start. I remember the
sight of my mothers face looking down at me through the water, I remember the
burning sting of the soapy liquid in my nostrils, the choking, the tight burning in
my chest as my lungs began to fill with water. I remember most the way my vision
clouded over to a deep red, the strange amoebae swimming in my distorted
vision the electric firecrackers in my brain and the warm feeling of
unconsciousness drifting over me. Yes I remember the shock, the trauma the
stinging and I remember the sudden realization that I was in a world that did not
want me. I was four months old and my mother had tried to drown me.
My nine month gestation had been literal hell as my silent screams from within
the womb went unheard, I shudder when I recall the medical reports I have been
allowed to read recently that detail the cocktail of drugs my mother injected into
her bloodstream whilst pregnant with me. The irreparable damage she did to
herself that led to her premature death aged seventeen. But to me she is still my
angel, the victim, and although she tried to kill me, I feel nothing but love and

sorrow for her. She had fallen into the depths of despair and the drugs had been
her only release.
My mothers spirit lives with me daily, I have inherited a painful reminder in the
form of blinding headaches that strike without warning. I have been told that
these are a result of brain damage caused by the drugs she had been injecting
whilst I was still a developing embryo coupled with the fact that there is a slight
genetic malfunction in my makeup that aggravates the effects. This genetic
malfunction I shall explain later.
My poor mother frightened, lonely and desperate had turned to drugs, and she
must have suffered great psychological damage having to carry the secret about
the identity of the father of her child. It was rumored that perhaps it may have
been a schoolteacher or a boyfriend from school.
Despite intense questioning she kept this secret well, however following a
complicated birth she rejected me.
She would have been successful in drowning me had it not been for the fact that
she suddenly suffered a massive hemorrhage, still high on whatever drug she
had just taken made it impossible for her to telephone for help. It was two hours
later that they found her stone cold in a pool of blood and me, screaming as
usual.
My childhood, to understate it somewhat, was not a happy one, as if it wasnt bad
enough being struck down at what seemed like hourly intervals with sheer
blinding headaches I was hated by every one I encountered. Looking back, I
guess I can understand the frustration people must have had trying to cope with
a baby that constantly cried, well screamed I guess is a more appropriate word.
My screams were interpreted as tantrums rather than pain and the solution was a
beating that became more and more savage as the years wore on.
Following my mothers death I was placed in the hands of my grandparents.
. My grandfather hated me on sight, the fact I screamed so much and it tortured
him, he would fly into fits of rage and beat me so badly that my early childhood
consisted of many long stays in hospital recovering from breaks and fractures
that were conveniently recorded as accidents.
It is said that the emotion love is learnt from ones mother, my substitute mother,
my grandmother was no role model in this department either, she resented the
fact that I had been forced on her and I only helped to reminder of what a bad
parent she really was. This evil witch rather than cooing me to sleep with a
soothing lullaby would instead hiss her feelings of hatred at me. She would
descriptively inform me that I was not wanted here, I was not loved and if I cried
she would pull thick mucus from the back of her throat and spit it into my face.
She would often pinch me by twisting large sections of skin so vigorously that I
would bruise for days. It is not surprising that I have turned out the way that I
have. I became a time bomb waiting to explode.
I was still to experience a real emotion, even after all this physical abuse I had
yet to experience rage or hate or fear. I developed tolerance, in time I didnt feel
the pain, I knew I did not like it but was aware I could nothing about it, I waited as
the savage animal within me slept for its time would come.

I shall take a moment from story telling to discuss my feelings, after all thats what
this book is about. I do feel quite fortunate (with my emotions being so new) in
having the ability to look at life with this new bank of emotions and yet can still
look at life reflectively and am able to draw from a time when I was without. I
must confess it is strange that I existed, but if I have to describe what it was like
not having emotions then this is it, you exist. Its like being in a permanent day
dream almost like being in an autistic world but in this world not only do other
peoples feelings not matter, neither do yours. You just exist and take everything
the world throws at you, but its like water off a ducks back nothing affects you,
nothing gets you down but then again, nothing makes you happy either. That was
another strange thing, never being happy. If I have sum to up my life then I would
say that I have existed, tolerated and existed. I thought that was it, I thought I was
placid, I thought I would always be in this bland daydream world that I was not
learning, that I was not changing, so did they. But no one was aware of my dark
side for as one side of me became crushed so the nefarious side grew, still
dormant yet very much alive the bomb ticked silently.
School was a haze, I have no real memory other than that I was the one that the
school bullies used to pick on, I was in the bottom classes and my grades were
always low. I excelled at nothing, failed at everything. The one release was that I
never had to undertake physical exercise as the sports instructor at the school
made up some story that meant for the entire period I was able to sit the sports
out on my own. I sat in my strange daydream world of nothingness always at the
sidelines. The bullies hated this and saw this as another reason why I should get
a kicking. The reason I was able to get out of sports was because of the
instructors embarrassment. He had seen me in the changing room and noticed
that not only was I covered in bruises and scars, but also my whole torso,
practically from my chest down to my waist was covered in small burns.

Tiny circular burns were dotted around almost lovingly in a methodical repetitive
pattern. But he was plagued with guilt, guilt he should have said something, guilt
that his silence made him an accessory. But in my day people kept quite, they
shut their ears, closed their mouths and Mr. Smith my sports teacher closed his
eyes to the evidence that daily my two abusive step parents would, following their
chain smoking douse their cigarettes out on my naked flesh.
Not having the emotion of love or caring is a very strange thing to describe now
that I am aware of what it is. If I had to explain caring I would say that it is the
ability to feel another persons pain and to have the will or desire to want to see
them happy. These feelings were alien to me and I had never thought anything of
this until the day my grandmother fell down the stairs.
It was during the summer holidays, grandfather was at work I was playing on the
landing, when I say playing it almost makes it sound like I was having fun but as I
recall it I never enjoyed play, this solitary existence always involved the
dismantling or destruction of objects. To say I found pleasure in the destruction is
an overstatement as I had yet to experience pleasure. I wouldnt even say it was
satisfying but I guess for a child without feelings the sensation I gained from
destruction brought a strange comfort, a comfort that would turn to a pleasure in

later life.
The telephone downstairs began to ring and my grandmother, who had been
putting on her makeup in the bathroom at the time, rushed out to answer it. In her
haste she forgot that I was on the landing.
The next scene I recall as if in slow motion, Firstly I recall the sharp jab in my ribs
as she accidentally kicked me hard then I remember rolling over. As I became
entangled in her feet, my vision was momentarily distorted and as the world
returned the right way up again I saw my grandmother flying. I remember in that
split second wondering to myself how she had been able to hide this secret from
me for so long that she could fly, she seemed to be executing a perfect
somersault.
In reality she was catapulted over the first five steps, so fast had been her initial
launch from the bathroom .she sailed with the elegance of a bird. As this slow
motion air gymnastic display was being played out before me there was perfect
silence, she didnt even cry or scream, the silence however was broken by the
thunderous cracking sound that was emitted as her lower back smashed into the
steps. This was quickly followed by a second splintering crack as she bounced
and then struck another step. Then came the rhythmical rattling as she then slid
down the remaining steps to the hallway.
Thats when she began to howl like a dog, paralyzed by the fall fear and panic
took hold of her when she realized the feeling had gone from her legs and she
could not move. She began threshing her arms wildly and became hysterical her
eyes spinning and mouth dribbling like a rabid dog. I recall the long entrails of spit
hanging from the sides of her mouth and her cheeks streaked with the mascara
that had run black from her streaming eyes. A sudden calmness came over her
and her panic subsided as realization dawned as to what had happened and she
looked up to find me standing over her. I had calmly walked down the stairs and
was by her side, she steadied herself, I could almost see the cogs in her head
turning over as if she was momentarily searching for what instruction to give as if
she suddenly thought everything was going to be all right.
The telephone was still ringing. Pick up the phone darling, she said in a
patronizing, gentle loving way that I had never heard from her before, tell the
caller what has happened, get help, I cant move.
She smiled, although in pain the smile was one of longing, for the first time of
love, a smile that said theres a good boy do this little thing for your grandma and
well all live happily ever after. Her face was damp with sweat and tears her
cheeks and eyes black ,red and streaky, her hair matted and wet and she was
shaking slightly her sense of fear and helplessness was strong. I felt the first,
slight hint of an emotion stir ever so gently within me, a butterfly glimpse of an
emotion.
But unfortunately for my grandmother it was not compassion.
It was some six hours later that the medics took her to hospital. Despite her
having had endured such a considerable amount of time on the floor with her
right leg so horribly twisted she was surprising still full of enough energy to
continue her verbal onslaught at me as she was carried out. My grandmother had
shouted, screamed and cursed for six hours, she shouted till her voice became
hoarse and the last hour, the sound although still loud, was very deep and toadlike. I recall that by this stage her mouth had become white and dry inside and

that her face reached incredible dark shades of red as the veins stood out like
snakes on her temples and neck.

The reason for this was because I had done nothing, I had left her at the bottom
of the stairs in a great deal of pain, even when she had urinated on herself I had
not reacted.
I had not felt a thing neither compassion, nor shock, nothing, if I have to be really
honest there was a sense of amusement in the whole situation. What had really
occupied my mind was why I could not dismantle the last two sections of my
remote control car, it took me just under the four hours to dismantle it, and this I
feel upon reflection was an unreasonably long time.
My grandmother had called me evil but the world had yet to see my evil side. My
detached reaction to her fall had not been an act of evil, just evidence to the fact I
was underdeveloped emotionally, I had assessed the situation and chosen to do
nothing. Stuart Whottam quizzed me about this many times, surely logic told
you, this woman needs help, you dont need to have emotion to see that? and I
guess he is right. To help someone, even a stranger should not require a feeling
for them, but I have tried to get to grips with this one and in describing my
reactions, or non reaction, I would say is because I had an inability to feel the
pain of any others. I could always recognize suffering but unless I was the one in
pain, it really didnt matter.
My grandfathers tempestuous reaction to the days events led to the intervention
of the social services. Incensed and driven by blind rage my grandfather
continued to kick me repeatedly even after I became unconscious and if it had
not been for the passing policeman that heard him shouting, I really do believe he
would have kicked me to death.
In my opinion the physical scars that decorated my body should have been
enough for the authorities to insist that I be put into permanent care for my own
protection. However it was reasoned that a child should only as a last resort be
separated from its family and that I should go into short term care whilst my
grandfather agreed, or should I say was persuaded to go and have counseling.
The whole thing was a farce.
I remember my grandfather signing the paperwork of consent and the almost
greedy way in which he had grabbed the pen and quickly thrown down his
signature. I knew it was not out of regret for the act of violence, for which he had
been caught, but for something more sinister. On reflection I know he was
unaware of what I was about to suffer in care, but at the time, it seemed as if he
knew exactly what was in store for me for he seemed delirious with anticipation. I
only ever saw this look prior to him administering a beating, and I couldnt help
but thinking at the time that he was sending me off to a place where acts more
terrible than I had previously experienced at his hands would be administered. I
was not wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
Blood, sweat and tears

Bradbury towers is a majestic building made up spectacular rooms and seven

breath taking towers, a tribute to the great architects and artisans of the Victorian
period. It stands majestically in its amazing landscaped gardens and the
wonderful towers can be seen from seven miles away.
The towers themselves are the epitome of intricacy; each are covered with
intricate carvings all celebrating the oppressive class system of Victorian
England. From the ground the carvings depict life within the lower classes, they
show the workers in their rags begging in the streets many of them maimed and
hideously ugly.
As you look upwards the picture changes, showing wealth and prosperity and the
characters are now not only blessed with finer features but also elaborate flowing
clothing. Finally as you reach the towers, the last figures sculptured where
intended to show the ultimate in social climbing.
The thing that contradicts all modern ideals of perfection is that the people at the
top are extremely fat, their cheeks bulbous their limbs thick and rounded all with
almost perfectly rounded stomachs. They appear bloated on the excess that drips
from them in the form of huge jewelry and their free hands hold huge goblets aloft
like trophies.
Bradbury towers no longer serves as a show piece for wealthy Victorian
landowners but it does still stand as a flagship, a great conversation piece and
visitors to the towers are always astounded at first sight by its grandeur and
magnificence.
The Bradbury family eventually sold this magnificent building when they fell upon
hard times. The ironic imagery on the walls incredibly seem to have predicted
their slide from power, I say ironic because the only survivor of the great
Bradburys is one Vincent Sherade-Bradbury who is a well know vagrant that is
often moved on by the police. He walks with a limp for he has a deformed left
foot, if that wasnt bad enough he is also cursed with the facial beauty of a
gargoyle.
The towers where purchased by the social services in the nineteen fifties and
converted into a home for boys, it was supposed to have been a place of refuge,
a place of caring where abused children could learn to live again. A place where
the ghosts of the past could be laid to rest, for me, my short stay at Bradbury
towers was to be the catalyst that would trigger my first emotion and that emotion
was rage.
The initial welcome to the towers fills one unconnected with the place with awe,
the smug care staff in their stereo-typical social workers corduroy trousers and
home-made patterned sweaters, the exaggerated, patronizing manner in which
you are greeted and assured and the sheer size and beauty of the place.
From the start I didnt trust them, I had never been shown compassion by any
one before and did not recognize their manner. I knew deceit, I recognized when
I was being led into a situation that would result in my being made the victim. I
had lived with it all my life, and although I was being constantly reassured by the
courts that this was for the best, I knew that I was being lied to. This felt all too
familiar.
In the great entrance hall my eyes where drawn to one of the carvings almost at

the top of the building. Im still not sure if it was the angle from which I was
standing or even if it was a trick of the light. But the image seemed to be of a
great fat man and he appeared to sticking a thick, tubular knife into the buttocks
of a small boy. I remember thinking that all the carvings had been so meticulous
and yet this carving seemed to have contained errors. For one, the knife looked
as if it was growing out of the belly of the fat man and the hand holding the knife
seemed to be holding what looked like grapes. However these seemed also to be
growing out of the fat mans belly.
One of the staff looked down at my quizzical expression and smiled.

I believe emotions are created from experience, once you experience a sensation
you automatically develop an emotion to accompany it. An example would be if
you tasted chocolate, the sensation is sweet and the emotion you develop is
pleasure. A different example on the other extreme would be if you put your hand
in the fire, the sensation is pain and the emotion you develop would be caution or
perhaps even fear. My savage functioning only taught me tolerance and
acceptance, if the chocolate had been bitter or sweet I still would have
swallowed, if the fire had been hot I would have been burnt but I did not develop
a caution, a respect or a fear for pain, I simply accepted.
Perhaps if I had known the sensation of fear I would fear the dark, I would fear
the creatures that come awake in the midnight hour, I would fear the
consequences of the dark. Instead I lay in my bed, relaxed, in a belying state of
calm, lying in anticipation of the pain that was to come.
They came for me at night as I had thought, three men. The blindfold went over
my eyes so quickly and the hand across my mouth so fast that I hadnt even had
the chance to cry out. I heard the deep male voices hissing to the other young
boys in the dormitory to shut their eyes and go back to sleep and I was bundled
out of the room. Bundled I guess is too strong a word it almost seemed to imply
that I had put up a resistance, but I didnt. In those days, I had been so
systematically beaten, punished and disciplined with such ferocity and regularity
for fourteen years that I housed a broken spirit that allowed every one I met to
also trample and abuse me so I went without a struggle.
I was not prepared for what was about to come, as I had no prior knowledge of
any form of sexual act and my own natural sexual urges were as dead as my
emotions. So I was still rather mystified as to what was happening when I was
slammed face down on to what felt like a table and felt my pajamas being
aggressively pulled down. I could hear the distinct metallic rattle of a belt buckle
being undone and the swish of corduroy trousers sliding down legs, I really did
wonder if I was going to be part of a strange game and not be subjected to pain
at all.
After a lot of laughter the slapping started, my buttocks were repeatedly stroked
and caressed and then suddenly slapped very hard, then stroked again then
suddenly slapped. This pattern repeated it self twice and then just regressed to
very hard slapping. My cheeks clenched tightly in a reflex action as cold grease
was suddenly roughly applied.

I was being held down by two men, one held both of my arms and the second
held my head down, sideways so my left cheek was on the cold table, his free
hand he continued to keep firmly clasped around my mouth.
The third man seemed to be having difficulty in actually carrying out the rape and
became the sudden object of ridicule from his two colleagues, too tight for you
Remington? A voice laughed, no names, you idiot! hissed back the third man
followed by, Ill open him up all right. There followed a strange wooden
scrapping sound then the pain.
The man called Remington, in his infinite wisdom thought it would be funny if he
inserted a broomstick into my anus. The pain was sudden and as I recall very
sharp, piercing and clean, very much like when you cut yourself on a razor or
Stanley knife. A very sharp, almost painless initial slice followed by the sting as
the cut begins to oxidize. The difference was a sudden tearing sensation,
definitely more of a sensation than a pain, but a definite realization that
something was ripping. This was then followed by the first wave of agonizing
pain.
The wave rose like a jet of boiling water under intense pressure and began to rise
in a spasm from the rupture the pain was similar to hot needles all shooting off in
different directions forming an invisible internal fountain of agony. At the same
time I suffered one of my massive headaches.
My headaches, to describe them, Id say would be for you to imagine a sponge in
a bowl of water being its natural state. My headaches are as if the sponge is
removed from the bowl and is instead placed in a hot oven to dry out. First there
is the heat that floods my vision then everything turns red.
The next is as if someone then takes the dry sponge and begins to twist it. There
is a very definite dry crusty breaking sensation, but with every tiny break there is
a firecracker of hot electric pain shooting around my brain like a sandstorm. The
final symptom is a loud piercing whistling in my ears.
This wave travels from the centre of my brain outwards then the pain moves
downwards through; it seems every nerve of my body and ends as a mild tinkle in
my toes.
The rising pain hit the descending pain; the two caused the chain reaction that
finally ignited the bomb.
What is normal is the ringing in my ears, this time it was accompanied by a
scream and it shocked me to realize that the scream was coming from my own
mouth. So extreme was the pain I jerked violently and this caused the broomstick
to break in two. I thought I was going to pass out.
The sleeping beast awoke. I cannot recall how the blindfold came off or how I had
been able to shake off the two thugs holding me down but the next thing I
remember I was up and I was facing them.
I calmly reached down and in one movement removed the remaining fourteen
inches of broomstick. There followed a horrible splashing sound as a pint of red
fluid and excrement splattered on the floor behind me, one of the three men
vomited in reaction.
The second man opened his mouth, I feel it was his intention to say something
but no sound came out, his eyes were wide with shock. Without warning I lashed

out with the stick and caught him just below the chin. Through the stick I could
feel the Adams apple withdrawing deep into his throat, his knees buckled and he
began to stagger gasping and choking for air, before he had even hit the ground I
caught him again across the temples and he fell still.
Remington was frozen in fear his eyes wide with sheer terror, he was talking but
it was gibberish. The beast in me rose again and I struck him eight times across
the face and neck, he didnt defend himself he just crumpled, with the same awe
struck look of horror as he went down.
Remington was on his knees barely conscious, his face bleeding profusely, I had
his head cocked back at a sharp angle, keeping it taught by gripping the hair at
the back of his head. From my standing position I was looking down his open
mouth looking straight down his throat, in my mind I could picture the broomstick
going down that tunnel, I could see its path straight and true. Remington began to
plead for his life; tears streaming down his shaking face, but my black heart did
not know the meaning of mercy.
I had never reacted against my oppressors and Remington should have been my
first kill, he was very lucky. In the instant I raised the stick in the air, with every
intention to commit murder, I felt the blood drain from my head. Amoebae swan in
the flickering red mist that suddenly clouded my vision, I fought to keep my
eyeballs from rolling up into my head but the heat overcame me. The last thing I
remember was the stone floor coming up and sending me into oblivion.

The doctors battled for twelve hours to pull me back from the brink of death. The
internal injuries were routine surgery, but the large blood clot on the brain caused
them a lot of problems.
It seems that when I had collapsed through loss of blood I had hit my head very
badly on the stone floor thus causing the clot, I stayed in a coma for just over
three months.
The world was a very different place when I came round, for one Bradbury towers
had been closed down. The authorities had been swift, traumatized by the gory
events of the bundled rape one of the three men had gone to the police and
confessed everything.
Remington didnt stand a chance, with so many of his young victims relieved at
the opportunity to testify against the ritual abuse they had been suffering.
Remington was given fifteen years as the obvious ringleader whilst the other
twelve staff were all given ten years each.
So ended my very short stay at Bradbury towers.
Only having tolerance as my sole emotion was the stumbling block that ensured I
was soon back in the destructive hands of my grandfather, for I was given the
choice to go into alternative care but I had refused.
The mistake had been in that my appointed social worker had given me a choice
and at that stage in my life I was incapable of making choices based on feelings.
I was asked if, given the choice, would I rather, go and live with a family that
would love me or would I rather go back and live with my grandparents again. I

had no concept of this word love all I knew was that with my grandparents it had
been tolerable external pain, whilst when in care it had been excruciating internal
agony.
Even faced with these two choices I really did not care where I ended up, and so
I replied that I really did not mind, this was taken as that I wanted to return home
to my grandparents, as I had shown no enthusiasm to be apart from them.

On my final assessment the social worker had entered into my file that in his
opinion I was of limited intelligence, incapable of making educated judgments
and believed that many of my scars and bruises perhaps may have been self
inflicted. It was imperative that this ugly case was quickly glossed over, that I was
returned from whence I had come and that every body could then get back to
their own little lives.

Life with my grandparents was pleasant for the next six months as there was a
social worker assigned to the family home Mr. David Pilkington. He would call in
once a fortnight and as a family we would sit around the dining room table and
discuss the previous two weeks and how we felt.
He seemed to become more and more irritated with the lack of feed back I gave
him, as when I was quizzed I would simply say I was fine, whilst surprisingly my
grandparents were quite open and honest.
These meetings were to help restore family values, an open forum where, with an
independent third party all family tensions and problems could be brought out
and rectified. In those days it was impossible to discuss how I felt as I did not feel
in the true sense of the word. Even though it was explained to me that all this
therapy was to stop my grandparents from hurting me I could not understand why
they should not hurt me. After all it was all I had known, it was towards the latter
part of this period that I began to self mutilate.

Having grown up with pain, I feel there was a reversal in me as to what pain
actually signified, although it would be wrong to say pain was a comfort, it would
be fair to say that because of its regularity it had become a comforter. Pain was
something people close to me gave me and although I did not understand care
and love I had developed an appreciation of pain, a bond with pain and it was
only through a constant bombardment of pain did I have a feeling of belonging.
Under the close scrutiny of the social services my grandparents withdrew my
pain, I was lost, I was alone but soon found out how I could administer this
feeling by myself.
Pain was a feeling that I had grown to somehow crave, so I guess I cannot claim
to have been totally without emotion as I obviously had feelings of some form of
rejection and had some need of attention but not quite in the way I have them
now.
I havent seen one for quite a few years now, in fact Im not sure if they still make
them, but when I was a youngster razor blades were an everyday sight. I have
looked in my local supermarket and it seems that its all-disposable razors these

days and the permanent heads are all sealed units.

I remember the old razors as they were made of parts that you had to unscrew
the blade sat flush on to the head, the lid then went on top of the blade and the
head was then tightened by a small screw action. This then held the blade firmly
in place.
I cannot remember what I was looking for on the day I came across a packet of
grandfathers razor blades, but I will always remember the emotional wave that
covered me when I made my first cut.
It was by pure accident that I hurt myself, I was playing with the blade and didnt
feel the razor cut, but felt the after sting and it felt good. No, good is the wrong
word, it gave a feeling of relief, it was as if a pressure valve had been released. I
was so surprised by the sensation that I took the blade and made one long deep
cut into my arm just above the wrist. As I pushed further down into the flesh the
wave of emotion increased, I dragged the blade for approximately eight inches
and allowed the feeling to envelop me.
The sensation is hard to describe; the first thing that was strange was that there
was no pain, well not pain, as I had known it previously. The feeling I got was
tolerable and did not carry the familiar discomfort of pain but as ludicrous as it
sounds, instead brought back the kind of emotional wave that you experience
when you see an old friend after some time apart. In fact that is it! The feeling
was like the return of a lost friend who was my better half, and together reunited
with my lost friend I was now experiencing a feeling of completeness.
I pushed down deeper and could hear myself groan from within, I was
experiencing the closest sensation I had ever had to pleasure. The feeling was
building to a crescendo and I would have reached it. Unfortunately it was at this
moment that I cut deep into a vein.
The next event did not regress to slow motion as many traumatic experiences
tend to; instead it seemed to speed up. A fountain of blood erupted from my arm
like a blast from a water cannon and seemed to be spurting out in every direction.
I was shocked at both the vast amounts that seemed to be pumping out of me
and the actual high pressure at which it seemed to be emanating. Traumatized by
the shock of it all, I began to scream loudly, over and over again, but still cutting
as I screamed.
Grandfather was a man of some stature, he was not a tall man by modern
standards, but he was big. He had that bulldog build, with a thick neck and
muscular limbs with a huge barrel chest. I believe in his youth that he had
competed in body building competitions, but now, although he had the size, the
body beautiful shape had gone. He had lost all muscle tone and with many years
of guzzling beer now possessed a huge paunch. He did however still have much
of the strength he had been renowned for and it took one strong shoulder charge
to break the lock on the bathroom door.
Grandfather was not prepared for the sight he was greeted with when he entered
the room. The walls were decorated with blood as I had threshed around with my
arms squirting fluid in every direction and now exhausted; I sat slumped on the
floor. My clothes drenched in sweat and blood one arm still belching out its
contents on to the floor the other still feverishly hacking into the flesh in diagonal
slashes.
You bastard! I recall him screaming, they will be convinced I did this to you, I

recall looking up at him and grinning .He must have been convinced that my
smile was confirming his suspicion that he was being set up.
With one punch he knocked me out cold.
CHAPTER THREE
Death in the family
As a child I never had any friends, and even now in adult hood I can count the
number of friends that I have on one hand. I have always been a person of
solitude and solitude was always my private haven. Originally my time as I have
previously explained was filled with the all consuming task of disassembling
objects, and many have been the times that I had been subject to a beating for
this strange addiction, after I had destroyed a useful family item.
These moments of solitude had been a time when all the screaming and the
violence had stopped and more importantly when my suffering ended. Now these
quite moments became the time when I would sneak away and continue with my
sudden fixation with self-mutilation.
Terrified that the authorities would lock him up, blaming him for my first
investigation into this strange phase, my grandfather treated my wounds and
bandaged my arm as best he could.
Whilst I had been in the coma the authorities had deservedly come down very
hard on him and he had been warned that any repeat of his violent history could
lead to a stay of imprisonment.
He had agreed to counseling, but I could see that he had not changed, deep
inside him the belligerent spirit was frustratingly being held in check and only his
fear of prison, on many occasions prevented him from unleashing his total fury
upon me.
Over time I learnt how to reopen wounds and discovered I could heighten the
pain by inserting objects in the wound and then twisting it around. Once I had
mastered this I soon perfected the art of piercing my body, inserting small objects
and pushing them around under the skin. This caused a very sharp burning
sensation and did not result in the loss of blood; it had always been the jettison of
blood that had shocked me this way there was only ever a faint trickle at the
original incision.
I cannot recall how long this mutilation phase lasted for, only that it was a long
time and whilst in it I knew that what I was doing was wrong but I could not help it
because it felt right. Thats all I can really say about this period of my life, it would
have lasted longer but for the infection.

The first time you experience something taboo in your life there is a certain
trauma or shock that accompanies the experience because something inside you
keeps telling you that this is so wrong. I am not talking about guilt, as I would
describe guilt as a regressive emotion.
Guilt, I feel, is a confessional emotion of regret for an action already committed.

This feeling of trauma is because we ignore a natural instinct to stop .The first
time I mutilated I had this sensation, but the more I continued the less it felt
wrong and the less uncomfortable I began to feel, as a natural progression of
this, experimentation increased.
My experiments involved the inserting of several objects at the same time into
different wounds and sometimes more than one object into the same place, the
problem came when I introduced too many objects and forget which I had
removed and what was still left.
On reflection I am amazed that my grandparents had no idea of what I had been
doing in private. Maybe it was because they had been trying so hard to impress
the social worker or maybe it may have been that now my grandmothers health
had deteriorated so much that my grandfathers time was now being taken up
caring for her. Neither of them had the time of day for me anymore.
It was a Sunday and it was lunchtime and this was the day I just did not feel well
at all. All morning I had been getting waves of hot and cold shivers and my whole
body constantly erupted in a pins and needles sensation every time I touched
any thing or sat down. Something was definitely wrong.
The smell of the food did it. Its strange that a smell can trigger of a convulsive
reaction.
There we were all three sat around the dinning table about to eat and just as my
plate was passed under my nose the smell hit me.
The rush of heat and smell rocketed up my nose like a drug snort, the smell
brought with it nausea, the heat brought with it the all too familiar red haze there
followed the electric firecrackers around my brain then the water.
There was a rising watery feeling, then paranoia, wheres the water coming from?
, Then the sudden realization it was not water but vomit, then the red haze, then
the explosion.
The vomit ejaculated across the entire table in a single burst, my grandfather
taking the majority of the explosion across his face and chest, his reaction was
instant.
The belt cracked loudly as my grandfather whipped it free from around his waist
and in one movement he had lashed out with this weapon and had caught me
straight across the cheek; I crashed over pulling the entire tablecloth and the
numerous objects on it crashing to the floor.
Before I could even recover, grandfather had vaulted over the table and this time
with the leather belt doubled to increase its effect managed to catch me with
three vicious lashes.
Still dazed from the high fever I tried to stagger to my feet to escape the barrage
but grandfather continued with his onslaught and I was quickly knocked to the
floor again. He was fueled by rage he had wanted an opportunity to attack me for
months and now he had reason. I cowered under the rain of lashes, then he
suddenly threw the belt to one side, tired of the bending over he straightened up
and began to kick me.

I knew I had to get up and something within me pulled me to my feet, grandfather

welcomed this standing position and sent me crashing straight back to the
ground with a powerful punch to the side of my jaw, once down the kicks came
again.
I prayed for the animal but he had deserted me, the beast that had risen in the
care home was resting.
I recall the rage I had felt at Bradbury towers, I recall the strength I had shown
the fury and now I wanted that emotion I could not bring it back. Tolerance
instead came to haunt me and I took my beating, crying for the animal I now
knew was within to awaken.

It was my grandmother that saved my life she screamed when she saw my
mutilated arms. I had raised my arms to defend my face and my shirtsleeves had
rolled down exposing the gruesome evidence of self-mutilation, as I flexed the
forearm the wound opened.
Grandfather had stopped the beating because he thought something had
happened to her, so piercing had been her scream. He nearly vomited himself
when he saw the infected wound, the opening was jet black and red and a thick
black and yellow puss was oozing from it slowly running down my arm. However
the most nauseating thing and I must confess it shocked me too, was the smell of
rotten meat that came with it.
Grandmother began screaming hysterically her eyes wide, staring at my
butchered arms in disbelief. I remember how gargled and panic-stricken her cries
had been almost as if she was wounded herself. It was a cry like an animal
caught in a trap. She suddenly arched her back in a sudden spasm of pain and
collapsed forward out of her wheelchair clutching her chest. She had suffered a
massive heart attack and died instantly.
Grandfather clutched her to him crying out in the same animal way, confusion
and fear in his mad rolling eyes sweat cascading down his worried brow. He
shook her dead body in disbelief, crying out her name almost as if he believed
that calling her would somehow waken her from the dead.
Bored with this show of pity and suffering I calmly stepped over them and walked
out of the house, I realized that I needed medical attention and that this phase of
self mutilation had to stop.
The doctors said that I should have lost my entire arm, however although the
infection had caused a lot of muscle deterioration they were confident that my
arm would recover in time. It seems I had left a small battery deep inside the
wound and it had started to leak I had been extremely lucky.
For the first time I experienced the emotion fear, I really felt terrified of the fact
that I could have lost my arm. This new sensation rekindled the emotion of rage
and I felt the same feelings that I had been trying to recall from Bradbury towers.

To this day I fear no man, but whilst in the hospital I experienced fear, a fear that I
could destroy myself. I puzzled over the fact that the mutilation phase had

brought me a feeling of pleasure and yet it was so destructive. I knew that I

needed to chase this feeling but in a different way. In a sudden realization that
suddenly enveloped me like a cloak of black horror, I imagined what it would be
like to kill my grandfather and in that instant of imagination the feeling of pleasure
returned and with it the passion rage. I smiled, for I now knew that although these
emotions were still alien to me I could call on them from the depths of my
imagination.
Whilst receiving both treatment and counseling I thought long and hard about
these new emotions that I was learning, rage and fear both came to me at the
same time and I became confused with how to control them, I subconsciously
pushed them back into a dark corners of my mind, in reserve, I would call on
them soon.
Roland Carruthers was a good man, and although overweight he was instantly
liked by every body that met him, as he seemed to radiate an aura of happiness
and approachability, from childhood he had always wanted to be a social worker.
There are some people that enjoy helping people and actually spend their entire
lives devoted to the caring of complete strangers; Carruthers was such a person.
I always remember my first meeting with Carruthers, as he appeared to be a
living incarnation of a character from my childhood storybooks. To describe him,
the first thing you notice after his obvious size is his mass of copper hair that
always looked in need of a good combing, this is because of the huge tight curls
he has that seem to have a life of their own. Moving down, next comes the
comical rounded bespectacled face that constantly beams with a toothy smile, a
smile that stands out not because of the dazzle of the extraordinary white teeth
but for the huge gap in the middle.
His cheeks are bulbous and covered in freckles, as I would imagine is the rest of
his body. The rest of him is, in a word round, and he is never seen without a
cardigan be it winter or summer. The final thing that completes this cartoon
character is his love of tartan trousers; he really is a sight to behold.
Although I had a huge mistrust of everybody I somehow sensed that I could trust
him.
My stay in hospital lasted for three days, although my injuries did not warrant an
overnight stay the doctor over seeing me decided that I needed the counseling
and care of Roland Carruthers.
I did not receive a visit from my grandfather, although I had been informed by
Carruthers that he had telephoned him to let him know that I was in safe hands
and that he could visit me at anytime.
Carruthers, to give him his due tried very hard over the three days to get through
to me but I was unresponsive and he seemed to be displaying the same signs of
frustration as the social worker assigned to the family. However on day three his
happiness had gone but it was for a very different reason than frustration.
I was sat on the edge of my bed in my own private room waiting for the signal to
go home, they had said it was all arranged and I was ready. I was not exited at
the prospect or even looking forward to returning home just ready, but when

Carruthers came into the room his face showed something was wrong.
Kneeling down, Carruthers looked me straight in the eyes and his voice took on a
serious yet level tone, I know you have difficulty talking about whats going on
inside your head rich he began,
However I know you are a honest kid, and I just want you to tell me the truth.
Something was wrong I could sense it, something horribly wrong. Carruthers
swallowed then continued, did you kill your grandmother? I looked at him and
my mind began to race, what did he mean kill, was he talking murder? Richard
he pleaded, just tell me you didnt kill your grandmother. He was on my side,
but why was he saying this? Was I being accused of murder by someone?
From nowhere a gruff voice suddenly bellowed, okay sir well take it from here I
looked up and saw that two policemen had entered the room, one already had
his truncheon drawn as if he was genuinely expecting to use it. The second had a
pair of handcuffs at the ready. The tiny room suddenly felt very claustrophobic.
Just come quietly mister Chessington we dont want any trouble those were the
last words I heard before the whistling started.
Normally before a headache I would feel the heat, followed by the redness, then
the pain and finally the whistle. But for some reason the sound came first, then as
I recall it, a blinding white flash across my vision followed by a loud explosion in
the centre of my brain, then the headache and this time it was the mother of all
headaches. So severe was the intensity I was momentarily blinded and slightly
disorientated my vision was a haze of deep red and the firecrackers were
exploding across my brain like atomic bombs, my knees buckled and I struggled
to stay on my feet. Through my distorted vision I saw the policemen still in their
warrior like poses not lifting a finger to help me, and although in reality I was still
on my feet my head gave me the sick, dizzy feeling that I was falling backwards. I
reached out an arm in the hope one of the policemen would grab it. My head felt
as if it was going to explode. To my utter disbelief I heard one of the policemen
say, hes going to attack us! I forced my eyes open so incredulous was the
statement and tried to cry out for help, instead a loud animal roar and hissing
sound came out as I was in so much pain.
This was interpreted as my battle cry and in their defence the two policemen
began to beat me savagely with their truncheons.
Still in pain from my massive headache, I tried to focus my mind on the emotion
of rage but the emotion fear came instead. I began to cower then the familiar
emotion of tolerance returned and I began to accept the beating, but then
suddenly without warning the beast awoke.
I was forced into a corner, crouched down and the blows were raining down when
the feeling took hold of me and pulled me up to my feet, it literally felt as if
invisible hands had dragged me up, then the rage built up like a furnace.
My right arm snaked out like a trip hammer and caught the first policeman
bearing down on me full in the face catching him by complete surprise, so
powerful was the punch he was sent crashing to floor his nose broken in two
places. The second policeman seemed momentarily frozen with indecision and
mild shock this allowed me the time to launch myself at him. The barrage of
punches to his face sent him into a stagger but unlike his colleague he seemed

much sterner on his feet so I caught him with a very hard kick to the groin which
made him bend over double instantaneously.
As policeman number two was falling forward in slow motion, taking an eternity to
hit the floor I kicked upwards again and caught him under the chin. I recall
hearing the distinct clacking sound as his teeth clamped together around his
flailing tongue, his head flew back as the direction of his fall suddenly changed
and as he catapulted backwards to the floor. An arch of blood flew up; he hit the
ground with a sickening breaking sound and lay still.
Policeman number one was back on his feet by now, his nose gushing freely, he
put his head down and ran forward like a rugby player bellowing a death cry as
he lunged like a rhino. The fact his head was down was a definite advantage to
me; he had wrongly set his sights on his target, assumed it was going to stay still
and charged blindly. My rising knee caught him full on his broken nose and he
screamed like a baby with the pain. As his head came up my elbow came down,
again into his nose.
I recall the look on his face as his joined his colleague in unconsciousness his
eyes spinning madly in disbelief and pain as he toppled backwards, blood
pouring from the nose that was now spread across his face, blood and saliva
dripping in festoons from his mouth. I was impressed that he made the same
bone breaking sound as his colleague had made earlier when the back of his
head hit the tiled floor.
Through learnt behavior I began to repeatedly kick the two unconscious bodies
quite savagely raining in at least twelve kicks each to their midriffs and groins,
they would bruise and stagger in considerable pain and discomfort for at least
three weeks.
I suddenly became aware of Carruthers shouting at me to stop I turned to face
him, adrenaline still pumping, I was experiencing pleasure for the first time in my
life, I was experiencing enjoyment. I threw my head back and laughed a dirty evil
laugh then set about kicking the two men again.
CHAPTER FOUR
A world of solitude
Realization of my true destiny began to dawn I had beaten two armed men with
my bare hands and It felt exhilarating, it was as if all my sixteen years had been
building up to this one moment and in that instant I had felt free.
Roland Carruthers should not have been hurt, to say that I liked him is far too
strong a description as I didnt really have likes in those days however I did trust
him and that was a milestone for anybody. He made the mistake of trying to
restrain me whilst in full flight.
I felt his arms clamp around me, pinning my arms tightly to my sides and in one
movement he had spun me around from the two policemen, stop it Rich he was
shouting, but the rush was too great. The animal had taken over by now and my
consciousness and reason were elsewhere.
I felt like a caged animal and the basic instinct told me to get free, destroy
anything that stood in my way and find my way home.
I do not know where the strength came from, but with what seemed like very little

effort I broke free of Carruthers and turned to face him. His mouth opened but
before any words could come out I had hit him with a sudden onslaught of right
and left hand punches, his bulbous face exploded in blood as the skin on his face
seemed to tear as easily as wet tissue paper.
Now that I have emotion, if this episode was repeated I guess I would stop as I
could see he was defenseless, in pain and his skin seemed so delicate, but in
those days I did not have compassion. I must have hit him in the face about
seven times his spectacles had flown off and lay broken on the floor. His happy
face was unrecognizable, as it was now a bloody pulp one of his eyes had closed
totally and was swollen to the size of a golf ball; he began emitting a cry of terror,
confusion and pain. Carruthers collapsed, first staggering, his arms flailing wildly
as if he was brushing away invisible flies then the sudden crash and he was
down. I should have left him but instead chose to kick him repeatedly, he began
to groan and gurgle with each kick, I basked in the sheer delight of the
experience.
I stopped only through mild fatigue and decided to head for home, I had not really
thought about how sinister I must have looked but I must have been frightening,
my hands and clothing were covered in blood and I was sweating profusely. As
the sweat ran into my eyes I wiped it away with bloodied hands adding to the
macabre sight.
An old woman at the exit to the hospital screamed as she saw me staggering
towards her, without thinking I automatically slapped her hard across the cheek
sending her crashing. Before she had even hit the ground I had caught her in mid
air with a strong kick to the stomach. Unlike the heavy men who would continue
to fall with a kick, the old woman being so frail and light was actually raised up by
the kick, surprisingly high into the air. Stunned by this phenomenon I caught her
with a vicious punch to the face; she flew to the ground, rattled across the
pavement like a bag of sticks then lay still.
Thats when every body started screaming and alarms started ringing I turned
from the mayhem and began running.
Two policemen were waiting for me along with my grandfather when I arrived
home both showing the same aggressive attitude as displayed by the officers that
had come for me at the hospital. My grandfather had a very smug look on his
face, youre going down for this Richard he hissed, I havent killed anyone, Im
being set up I replied, speaking directly to the two policemen. My mind working
was overtime, I had figured out by now that my grandfather had obviously made
up a story relating to my grandmothers death claiming that I had some how killed
her.
Come on sir, well discuss this at the station, one of the policemen moved
towards me hand cuffs already open. The second policeman who had been
talking to the station on his radio suddenly looked up his face pale with concern,
careful Paul he whispered to his colleague, this nutter has already beaten up
Joe and Charlie at the hospital. I assessed my situation quickly. I felt the same
claustrophobic sensation as earlier.

I wanted them to just listen to me because I was innocent but the officer referred
to as Paul hearing that I had already attacked two of his colleagues moved
towards me in a very threatening manner.
Okay I shouted, raising my arms into the air, Ill come quietly.
I was in the classic position of surrender, my arms raised both high and wide,
showing that I had no weapons, had no intention of violence and my steps
towards the officers were both deliberate and slow. I had every intention of talking
this through; my face was relaxed and calm.
It felt as if I had been hit by an iron bar and it sent me reeling with shock, pain
and surprise.
The truncheons middle was definitely made out of some form of metal, or if not it
certainly felt that way, and I believe then coated with a very thick rubber coating.
Modern truncheons now have extendible parts and are Very light but in my day a
truncheon was nothing more than a heavy club. Fueled by rage Paul must have
caught me three times before I realized that he was hitting me, so fast and
sudden had been his attack. He was angry at my surrender he had wanted to
avenge his colleagues in a fistfight, come on tough guy he was shouting,
another swing of the truncheon and I was down.
I have always found it strange that when I receive a large cut, I can swear that I
can hear my heart beating, not quite hear it but sense its beating through the
throbbing and I could feel it now. A large cut had opened up on the side of my
head, pulsating; I could feel the blood trickling freely down the side of my face.
Paul was still barking, my mind drifted off into its own emotionless world. I could
genuinely feel my self withdrawing into a dark recess and could feel the rising
heat as the beast awoke, I fell back into my self and allowed the animal to take
over.
The officer called Paul was taken by complete surprise he watched my sudden
leap from
Unconsciousness with complete awe. He had been watching the muscles on my
face relax, the cries of pain diminish and the tell tale signs of the eyeballs rolling
upwards into the head. He watched as my head began to loll to one side and in
that millionth of a second he had felt avenged. Within that same movement of
time he suddenly saw the beast awake and he literally screamed like a child
when he saw the sudden metamorphosis. I sprang to my feet and grabbed the
officer by the throat, my fist tightened like a vice around his wind pipe, I could feel
the individual bones in their jigsaw column pattern disjointing as I squeezed
tighter.
Pauls face turned deep red and his eye began to rotate wildly as he began to
gasp and choke for air, his tongue thrashing around from left to right, I reached
back and punched him twice right in the centre of his face, his nose exploded
instantly.
Relived that I had released my hold on his throat Paul staggered backward
hissing, spitting and coughing, blood erupting from the broken nose, he rubbed a
hand on his burning throat, regained his composure, raised the truncheon in the
air like a sword then charged.

With the grace of a ballet dancer I spun so that my back was now facing him and
as he bore down so my right elbow came up and caught him across the throat
again. He roared in agony, disbelief and pure annoyance that I had been able to
catch him again in this already damaged area, as he staggered, clutching his
throat, I yanked the truncheon from out of his hand and caught him with a
crushing blow to the temple. It only took the one hit to finish him; he dropped like
a stone. My next action would have been to kick him but a sudden awareness of
the second officer bearing down on me, caused me to lash out backwards with
the truncheon instead.
I caught him right across the cheek, so strong was my retaliation his direction of
movement turned full circle and he literally spun like a top and crumpled on the
spot, as he was falling I caught him with two hefty kicks to the stomach for good
measure. He did not get up.
I turned and looked straight at my grandfather.
My grandfather had never feared me, for he had no reason to, it had always been
that he was the oppressor and I was the victim. I had only ever show tolerance
and weakness but now he saw something that frightened him, he now saw the
monster that he had created and he was afraid, he was very afraid, without a
word he jumped back into the house and slammed the front door shut.

This book has been written to discuss my emotions, to help me with my therapy
rather than being a story, but many have been the times when events have
occurred that I cannot explain with any rational sense, logic or feelings as it
seemed I was automatic pilot. Such were the sequence of events leading up to
my grandfathers death.
The brass Yale lock might as well have been made from plastic and the wooden
front door, cardboard for the small amount of resistance they put up against me.
The air was full of sound, cries from the people that lived on the street, the
crunching, snapping splintering sound of wood breaking and the terrified screams
from my grandfather who sensed death was upon him.
I felt nothing, just focus. Grandfather was now running petrified through the
house, picking up and throwing any object at me that he could find, I just kept
coming my eyes staring and hard, my face taught, my mind set, he was going to
die for his lies.
The chase ran on through several rooms, my grandfather openly screaming then
he burst into the kitchen, the chase was over. The kitchen had only one door he
was at a dead end.
I could see a calmness come over my grandfather when his hand fell upon the
saucepan handle, he had a weapon now and from this position of power logic
began to return to him. I could almost see his brain ticking over reassuring him
that everything was returning to normal, that he was king again and this was the
same dumb kid that he regularly beat for fun. Logic was telling him why are you
running? You know this kid; theres nothing to be afraid of. But still something in
his brain reminded him of the display of rage he had just witnessed on the street,

two trained officers were down, he should have listened to this part of his brain
but instead his ego took over. He knew he had always beaten me, with his mind
made up he lifted his new weapon like a trophy, smiled an evil smile of
anticipated triumph and lashed out wildly aiming for my head.
I was not fast enough and the fact that grandfather connected gave him renewed
hope he raised the saucepan again but this time I was ready. I caught his arm in
full swing at the wrist and the sudden stop caused him to drop the weapon, still
gripping the wrist tightly I forced his hand backwards till I heard the snapping
sound I was waiting for. Grandfather let out a yelp like a dog and pulled back
clutching his injured arm, his hand hanging at a distorted angle. Before he could
make his next move I punched him hard across the jaw and he staggered, the
kitchen units preventing him from falling.
Grandfather knew that his best arm was now useless as the wrist was broken, he
had to protect it at all costs, holding it tightly with his good hand he resorted to
lashing out with his feet, kicks that I was able to avoid. It was my turn and I was
fast, as grandfather tried to kick out I caught the right leg and with both arms held
it taught, which left him trying to balance on the one leg I sadistically made him
hop three times on the spot. Suddenly, without a hint of a clue as to what I was
going to do, I snaked out my right foot and caught him straight in the groin.
Grandfather roared like a great bear, so amused was I by this cry, I kicked him in
the groin again, I could actually feel his testicles going into spasm through my
shoes. The left leg holding him up bent instantaneously and he crashed down
smashing his face on the work surfaces as he fell.
I then began to stamp on his face pummeling him with my heel, much to my
disappointment he passed out with the shock. The sudden slumping of my
grandfathers body gave me the feeling that I was being robbed, that justice was
not being done, he had got away too easily after all those years of pain he had
given me, I had only hit him a few times and he was out.
I stood back and looked down at my tormentor although his face was bleeding
quite profusely he looked relaxed, one leg was bent under his body and the other
was stretched out in front of him. I didnt know why at the time, but in that instant I
had an overwhelming desire to break it.
I dragged my grandfather by the leg across the kitchen floor, he was surprisingly
much heavier than I had ever imagined, and placed the foot on the edge of the
worktop, it now rested at a sharp angle. With all the strength that I could muster I
then leapt into the air and came down with as much force as I could upon his
knee. I expected to hear a sound that resembled splintering wood, but instead
there was a very loud, deep clank as the knee was forced to disjoint in on itself, I
was not expecting it, but the foot then came up with a will of its own and kicked
me.
Talk about a knee jerk reaction! Grandfather flew out of unconsciousness and
screamed a deep cry of agony that seemed to come from the very pit of his
stomach. His eyes were wide with horror as he stared at his knee, horribly
twisted with his foot pointing back at him at an unbelievable angle; he began

screaming over and over again in wild terror and confusion.

Calmly I kicked him unto his back and squatted down on to his chest, with both of
my knees I then pinned his arms down to the floor and kept him down with the
weight of my body. Looking down it pleased me to see him so helpless; he was
sweating profusely and wildly throwing his head from side to side like a mad
animal. No words were coming from him just gibberish; he had reached that
plateau of fear where blind panic and terror take over all of the senses.
I calmly reached for the huge knife on the worktop, gripping it with both hands I
raised it high above my head.
I needed him to focus on this end; he had to stop threshing. I spat down into his
face and this momentarily made him stop and look up at what I was doing. He
ignored the agony he was in for a brief second when he felt the hot phloem slap
on his face, but his confused, quizzical expression quickly regressed to blind
terror again when he saw the knife. He began to scream, I smiled.
Dont do it Richard! shouted the voice. I looked up and the kitchen seemed full
of policemen at least seven of them, tell them I didnt do it, I shouted down at
my grandfather. He had the chance to save himself, but his last foolish words
were his downfall, he looked at me with those evil black tortuous eyes of his,
threw back his head and shouted, you murdering Bastard!
I plunged all six inches of blade straight through his right eye, there was a slight
resistance from the original membrane, a sensation like pushing down on a
balloon before it bursts then there was the explosion of blood. There followed a
soft jelly like sensation as the blade cut through into the optic nerve behind the
eye . I placed my entire body weight on the handle of the knife forcing it deeper
into the thick jelly-like paste, twisting as I pushed down, the warm sticky wet
sensation of the rising blood was thick on my chest as his gurgled cries still
echoed around the room.
Thats the last thing I remember relating to my grandfathers death for the next
thing I recall I was in a prison cell with an almighty headache, fortunately I have
no recollection of the truncheons going in and my being beaten unconscious.

Why did I kill him? I dont think I will ever know, it was just a sequence of events
that just went out of control, he just caught me on a very bad day. I often think
about why he didnt just tell the truth when I gave him the chance, and I guess
that he must have really loved my grandmother and the thought of life without her
must have been so unbearable that he chose death as a way out. I probably did
him a favour . I even think in his mind he really believed that I had killed her,
anything than believe she would have left him, still, I have neither regret nor
remorse for either of them. Let them to continue to rot, it was the end of my
childhood.

When I touched my head, not only was it very tender and painful to touch but it
was also very lumpy from the tremendous amount of knocks it must have
received. When I raised my T-shirt my body was black and purple if I coughed,

breathed, stretched, sat down, stood up or led down every movement burnt and
ached. I was in so much pain I felt like I wanted to die, it felt as if every policeman
in the force had had a go at kicking me and I bet Im not far from the truth in
saying that.
They left me in the cell alone without food, water or without a toilet for seventeen
hours.
I thought that I was now alone in this world, but unexpectedly I had a visitor

Roland Carruthers looked awful, his face now purple and yellow was horribly
disfigured by the swelling and bruising and his right eye was completely shut. His
face was decorated with stitches and he was walking with a heavy limp, with
each step he groaned in pain and he looked like an old incontinent man for he
held on to the left side of his groin as if it were a loose part.
I knew that I had done this to him, he was a good man and now he was in a lot of
pain, I should have felt remorse or perhaps even sorrow, but in those days I felt
nothing.
Carruthers painfully drew up a wooden chair and slowly sat down. Even the act of
sitting appeared painful for he suddenly winced then readjusted himself he
looked at me with his one seeing eye, a look of intense sorrow came over him as
he saw my battered face, what have they done to you? he asked. Carruthers
was truly an incredible man he had been the victim of my rage and yet his
compassionate side still reached out to me.
I did not recognize his compassion, all I saw was a mirror of my self, he was
simply displaying tolerance, thats what you did in life, you simply took what
people threw at you, then carried on as if it had never happened. He was
reaching out to me but I didnt understand him.
Dont worry he whispered, I know that you have been the victim in all of this, I
will get you out of here
He then reached out, I am not sure what he was trying to do whether he intended
to stroke the side of my face or hug me but I backed away from him instantly. He
then rose respectfully, and with the same sad look in his eyes he turned and left
repeating that he would get me out. I watched him slowly limp away my mind
empty.
The police kept me in my cell for three weeks, during that time I did not see
another living soul apart from the officer on duty at the time. I would be given a
meal twice a day, escorted hand cuffed to the toilet upon request and hosed
down in freezing cold water last thing at night. They were waiting for the horrific
bruising to go down before I could be shown to the outside world.
Whilst locked away the media circus had began, it had already been decided by,
whoever the superior powers are, that I would serve time. They had found the

elderly woman that I had attacked on my way out of hospital and had
anonymously sent graphic pictures to the press of her in her battered state. Also
pictures of my grandmother, strangled with the cord of her dressing gown and the
gory story in its most infinite of detail of my grandfathers demise.
The public hysteria began and in a land where one is supposedly innocent until
proven guilty, with the tabloids carrying headlines like bring back hanging for the
child butcher it was always going to be difficult.
Roland Carruthers , true to his word did not give up on me, he found me a good
solicitor to act in my defence, Miss Lyndsey Kershaw but more importantly he
also brought in Stuart Whattam , to whom I owe much.
Lyndsey Kershaw was a striking woman with bright, large happy eyes that
seemed to smile when she spoke. She had a classical almond shaped, face and
dark brown shoulder length hair that every one commented on how good it
looked when she met them, she was the kind of woman that other women hated
and all men loved although no one could ever explain why. She had one of those
slight, athletic bodies that needed very little effort to keep in shape and she
looked classy in whatever outfit she chose to wear, be it sloppy jeans with her
favorite T-shirt or a designer suit.
Although striking, she still possessed that girl next door quality in that she was
not stereo typically fashion magazine beautiful but still had that look that turned
heads and she knew it.
From an early age she knew she had a quality that enslaved men and when she
found she could always get her way she mastered the art of manipulation. At
school she was studious, the teachers favorite and her grades were always very
high. Good schooling, striking appearance and a gift for wrapping men around
her little finger were ideal tools for her trade. She had been a solicitor for eight
years and had never lost a case, she was expensive but she was the best.
Put a male judge up against her and he was putty in her hands, Carruthers had
put up the money for her services personally.

The media had wanted a quick trial but Lyndsey had managed to delay things by
four months. If she was going to be able to construct a good case in my defence
she knew she needed time, she knew she had to understand me and she knew it
was going to be difficult. Right then rolls she smiled, weve been given the time,
let me meet your kid butcher.
Four long weeks had gone by since my arrest, the infantile emotions that I had
just gained began to fade and I could feel myself regressing back to my previous
state. I sat in solitary confinement my mind blank staring at the same spot on the
wall for hours on end, starved of stimulus my mind began to shut down.
Lyndsey Kershaw and Roland Carruthers breezed into my tiny cell with a
whirlwind of noise and excitement. Lyndsey spun a wooden chair round, sat
down, crossed her long legs, stared me straight in the eyes, stretched forth a
heavily jeweled hand for me to shake and chirped, Lyndsey Kershaw, your
solicitor, at your service. Carruthers beamed a toothy smile of pride as if he had

just brought in a brand new toy to show off; shes the best he blurted.
I need to understand you Richard she began, this is going to be a very difficult
case to win, I need you to tell me about the events leading up your grandmothers
death. I looked up into these two exited faces, I couldnt understand why they
looked so elated, what they wanted from me, but the worst part of my naivet
was that I didnt understand that they were on my side. I had never had anybody
stand up for me before, at that time I honestly believed the world was against me
and that perhaps these two were also devils who were simply laying an all to
familiar trap to catch me out and to give me more pain.
Roland believes you didnt murder your grandmother, however it has become a
little complicated with you she hesitated over her next words, thinking of the
next best thing to say then continued, killing your grandfather, how did she die
Richard? The last bit quickly spat out, as she was obviously a little
uncomfortable with the subject of my grandfathers death. I stared her straight in
the eyes. The confident professional manner with which she had started, began
to suddenly ebb away as she tried to hold my stare, she shuddered and shifted
her position on her chair. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose instantly as
she felt an uneasy chill come over her, Im certain she felt as if she was looking
into the eyes of pure evil.
Roland was the first to break the silence, well answer the lady then Richard he
began.
My mind was made up, originally I had sensed Carruthers was a person I could
trust but now he was trying to force me, he was like everybody else, it was me
against the world, I was right they were trying to trap me. I decided to say
nothing, they asked me questions for an hour, I sat silent, their frustrations grew.
Lyndsey finally cracked, look Richard, we are here to help you, just answer our
questions damn you! the rage was building in her, her professionalism lost in the
heat of the moment.
I rose in retaliation and in that instant Lyndsey sensed danger and suddenly
screamed, I had had no intention of attacking her but my actions had been
misinterpreted, Carruthers threw his arms around her and pulled her towards the
door, shouting loudly for the officer on duty. I stood in complete surprise my arms
spread wide in the recognized show of openness.
youre crazy Carruthers shouted, we are here to help you, we are on your side
, his face showed very obvious signs of distress and fear, the memory of the
beating that he suffered at my hands was still very fresh in his mind, he was
visibly shaking.
I had no idea what was going on. I turned my back on him, as I turned I heard
Lydnsey hiss, get a psychiatrist in to see this kid, whilst hes in this state we
havent a chance, I just hope youre bloody right rolls, he seems pretty guilty to
me. The last part she uttered under her breath, I was not supposed to have
heard, but I did.
The first thing Roland Carruthers did when he got home was to pour himself a
very large vodka, which he took down in one huge gulp, the second thing he did

was to grab the telephone and the call he made was to Stuart Whattam.

CHAPTER FIVE
Death of a friend
Stuart Whattam is a man that I admire, as I now know him as well as I know
myself. We have spent many long nights round at his home just talking and I can
write about him and his past with some authority, in fact Stuart Whattam has now
become my best friend.
The night of the twenty eighth of February will be the one that he will never
forget, as this was the night he received two telephone calls from distraught
callers. Two calls that at the time did not seem linked but have since become the
start of the complicated tale that his intervention to my life has woven.
Stuart Whattam when I first met him was Forty three years old he stood at six
feet three inches in his bare feet, his build was average, but with him so being tall
he appeared quite slim, if he had any extra weight then he hid it very well. He has
an angular, clean shaven, non-descriptive very ordinary face with a mop of very
dark brown hair, the most distinctive or should I say most descriptive thing about
his ordinary face are his smiling eyes. When he smiles his eyes smile with him, in
that they seem to curl up at the edges and actually beam more of a smile than his
mouth, difficult to describe or explain but if you ever met him youd understand.
The other thing is his love of English tweed jackets, he has an extensive
collection, he wears them well and he wears them with everything.
Whattam owns a wonderful house an eighteenth century mill house that had
been wonderfully and sympathetically restored by its previous owner. It contains
many of its original features including exposed beams and fireplaces, a home of
great character full of odd shaped rooms with little nooks and crannies. It would
be a dream home for a couple interested in period living as it forms a wonderful
shell just crying out for an antique collector. Stuart Whattam unfortunately is not a
collector of period furniture, he is a collector of books and his home is like a
library, everywhere one looked one sees books.
Whattam lived alone he had two jobs, the main one was as a university lecturer
his subject was psychology, his second job was as a criminal psychologist, he
worked on contracts with the police. These in his opinion were too few and far
between as when they did come they paid very well. The job with the police was
by far the most rewarding not only in financial terms but also for the wonderful
variety of work they provided; the criminal mind was his specialty.
It had been a long night, Whattam had spent most of it giving his concluding talk
to the police officers that had worked on a grizzly case involving a serial killer, it
had not been a pleasant case, but it had been a fascinating one. Whattam had
successfully predicted the killers next move, the assailant had been caught and
he was a hero (again), now the evening was over.
It was late and as he stumbled into the hallway of his home he groaned aloud
when he heard the distinctive bleeping of his answer machine informing him that
he had telephone messages. He hoped they were not urgent as he was tired, he

half toyed with leaving them till the morning but in the end curiosity got the better
of him and he hit the playback button.
The first message upset him, it was the distraught pleading voice of Mrs. Sylvia
Benson, her husband Anthony Benson had been killed, the police think it was a
mugging that had gone wrong, she added that no matter what time he received
the message he should come round. Whattam did not wait for the second
message he grabbed his coat and left, driving like a madman to the Bensons.
Anthony Benson had been his best friend, he had know him since they were both
twelve years old, as he drove he openly wept and bawled out loudly, the pain that
accompanied the news of his friends death cut deep.
It was three thirty in the morning when he arrived at the Bensons home, but
Whattam knew that Sylvia Benson would be still up. As he swung his car into the
gravel drive she rushed out to greet him, thank you for coming she whispered
he did not have the time to lock his car door for she grabbed him, threw her head
into his chest and began to cry hysterically.
The first light of dawn made them suddenly realise that the new day had begun,
as dawn broke Whattam glanced at his watch it was six thirty, they had been up
all night talking. He looked again at the Rolex on his wrist, the secret symbol
engraved on the side and his stomach churned, more memories of his friendship
with Anthony Benson came back to haunt him.
Anthony Benson and Stuart Whattam graduated from university at the same time,
they had lived parallel lives, they had played together as children, and they had
studied at the same schools. Both achieved high grades, had gone on to the
same university and now embarked upon a career at the same time. It was then
that they made their pact.
Both young men decided to go mad and buy themselves a watch that they
knew they could not afford. The object of the game was to buy the watch with a
bank loan, the race was on to see who would be able to pay the loan off first, they
opted for the most expensive watch available at the time the Rolex oyster
perpetual. The model they chose was the Yacht-master, featuring chronometer,
thirty one jewels, applied gold dial-figures, all gold graduated rotatable bezel,
synthetic sapphire crystal 18ct yellow gold with oysterlock bracelet. It cost twelve
thousand three hundred and ninety pounds, believe you me, twenty years ago
that was a hell of a lot of money.
As boys they had had invented a secret symbol that they had used to signify their
comradeship, a kind of logo for their exclusive two man club. And now as young
men in their early twenties they proudly took their new, very expensive watches
back to the jewelers and had him engrave their secret symbol.
The two young men wore their watches with pride and fifteen years later Stuart
Whattam was still wearing his, again he shed a tear for the loss of his friend.

It was twelve thirty in the afternoon when Whattam finally received Carrutherss
message, he had gone home to freshen up, change his shirt and get back to the
university for his three o clock lecture he cursed Carruthers under his breath.
Being the ultimate professional he put aside his sorrow and tiredness, cleared his

throat, rubbed his stinging eyes and dialed the obviously distressed Roland
Carruthers.

I was aware that someone had come into my cell but I only registered their
presence in my peripheral vision, I had regressed to a state of total tolerance.
I had not spoken a word for two days and the guards had begun to make jokes at
my expense, when I passed by them they would trip me up, and they would throw
things at me to get a reaction. But I was empty, neither sad nor happy, the beast
within me had died I was a hollow shell of nothingness.
Stuart Whattam raised the thick wad of papers and document folders high above
his head and slammed them down on the wooden table with such force that the
loud bang startled me out of my empty daydream. Physical punishment leads to
aggression he stated, then he smiled an exaggerated smile at me and sat down.
It was here that I noticed his smiling eyes for the first time, they almost close and
curl with his smile but at the same time seem to glint like naughty schoolboys. He
raised his eyebrows implying that it was my turn to respond to his statement, I sat
silent.
He then began to rifle through the wad of papers he stopped when he detected
my quizzical look of curiosity, so there is somebody in there he smirked and
repeated, physical punishment leads to aggression followed by, whats your
opinion on that Richard? I sat silent.
From out of one of folders he produced a series of colour photographs and
placed them in front of me in a semi circle, I looked down and recognized the
victim instantaneously. They were pictures of me taken over the years, pictures
showing my scars, evidence detailing my life of abuse. I looked up at him; he
gave me that daft smile of his again, then gathered them up and put them back
into the folder.
Would it interest you to know what else I have in this huge pile? he quizzed. I
did not reply, well if you havent the courtesy to ask me or even reply then Im
taking all this away he quipped in a very smug and satisfied way. And with that
he stood up, beamed one of those schoolboy smiles again, picked up the wad,
and to my complete surprise left the room, and did not return for two days!

When I next saw Stuart Whattam it was a lunch time he came into my cell with
the huge wad of papers again tucked under his arm and a tray containing two
plates of food and a massive family sized bottle of tomato ketchup. He placed the
tray on the floor and came over to the table were I sat, the aroma from the food
wafted over and my mouth salivated automatically in anticipation, Whattam
smiled, smells good doesnt it he chirped.
He then placed the wad of papers down in the middle of the table and raised his
eyebrows and gesticulated in a way that seemed to imply that if I wished I could
examine the documentation, I hesitated then reached forward to take the wad.
NO! he suddenly shouted and I automatically retracted, He then cocked his
head to one side, gave me that smile and to my surprise, raised his eyebrows
and motioned for me to take the wad a second time. I stared at him and reached

out for a second time, No! this time I jumped back and he beamed at me again.
I glowered at him, he got up placed the wad on the floor and picked up the tray
he then came over and placed it before me one the table.
The tray contained two identical meals, roasted pork, for meat and two
vegetables, carrots and cauliflower and roasted potatoes, they smelt delicious,
Whattam then took the large bottle of ketchup and emptied the entire bottle over
one of the meals completely ruining it. He then placed them both side by side and
simply uttered the word choose.
Five minutes of silence and non-movement elapsed, upon noting my obvious
distress and hesitation he pushed the ruined meal towards me ahead of the
other. He began to write feverishly into his notebook as I began to devour the
meal he had chosen for me, choking and spluttering as the acidic overkill of the
ketchup burnt my throat. I could sense him giving me that curling eye smile thing
as I ate.
The next day Whattam returned with the familiar bundle of documentation and a
strange electronic device with a long lead to it, which he first plugged into an
electric socket, switched it on then placed on to the table. He smiled, as was
expected, I want you to pick this object up, but Im warning you that when you
do, it will give you a violent electric shock he stated. Then he gesticulated
implying I should pick it up, which I did.
As warned the device gave me an electric shock that caused me to drop it
straight away, told you Whattam sang, pick it up again he commanded, I did
and the device shocked me again, I instantaneously dropped it. Whattam did his
curly eye thing, leaned forward, looked me straight in the eyes, his face deadly
serious, now I want you to pick it up, but do not drop it, hold it until I tell you to
drop it. He noted the anguish in my face,NOW! he shouted.
I picked it up and held it tight, a violent shock raced through my arm, the longer I
held the device the stronger the current became. The waves of electricity began
to race through me in savage spasmodic bursts, so strong was the shock my
teeth began to chatter together, my hair stood on end and I could feel the
muscles on my face shaking as if in a wind tunnel. The shock began to get
stronger; it began to feel as if the device was on fire. I began to shake
uncontrollably with the pain.
Beads of sweat began to cascade down my face, the hand holding the device
became damp with sweat and the hand began to flex and relax of its own accord,
okay drop it you stubborn ass! Whattam shouted, it fell from my hand.
You are saying you do not have the ability to make your own choices right?
smiley eye thing, you wait for a command right? you cannot make choices?.
Whattam went over to the wall and unplugged the device, he wrapped it up and
put it away into the leather satchel he had brought. Next he then reached for the
wad of documents and slammed them hard on the table in front of me, causing
me to jump from my daydream. Bollocks! he shouted, you have chosen not to
talk, you made this decision all by your self. I order you to talk WHAT IS
YOUR NAME? he shouted.
My mind spun, a momentary confusion, then I splurged, Richard Chessington,

without even thinking I followed it up with, help me. I have no idea why I
reached out to him or what help I was requesting but I realized I was a broken
spirit, I wasnt normal and he had got through to me.
I didnt even need to look up at him, I knew he had sat back into his chair and
was doing that accursed smiling eyes thing, I surrendered to his brilliance.
I have a question that I want you to think about before you answer Richard
Chessington, the question is this, have you decided to speak because I have
ordered you to, or have you actually made the decision to speak by yourself. I
thought hard and it caused a mild headache wrestling with the conundrum, he
had made a factual statement about my ability to make choices, I had indeed
chosen not to speak originally. The big question was, had I spoken because he
had ordered me to or had I made the choice? he noted the angst in my face.
I find it hard to make a choice I began, this statement I knew was a definite fact,
it is easier for me to accept orders, it hurts me to think realization dawned as I
spoke the words.
Think Whattam echoed, Think for yourself Richard, youve been a victim too
long. He lifted the wad of documents into the air and shook them, here Richard
in this pile of paper, is your life, youve been abused, manipulated and
brainwashed. Believe you me, you shouldnt be in here, psychical punishment
leads to aggression, you have simply finally reacted to a life of torture and pain,
the first thing you need to do is to identify who your friends are.
I looked at him in wonderment, but I have no friends I retorted, three people
he replied, putting up three fingers and waving them. You have three people on
your side, the rest of the world is against you, one, Roland Carruthers, the ginger
fat guy. He smiled, two Lyndsey Kershaw your solicitor, who by the way is very
good, and three my good self. We are a team working to keep you from a life of
imprisonment, and the only way we will win this case is if you work with us.
The new emotion I felt was relief, after all these years the hurting and the pain
was going to end, after all these years I had finally made a friend. After all these
years I was going to be cared for, looked after, it was not a feeling of happiness
or joy, just relief, I waited for the return of my two other friends.
Stuart Whattam , found the social time he now spent with Sylvia Benson very
difficult, because he had fallen in love the first time he had laid eyes on her some
eleven years ago and the love he had for her had remained. In fact, over the
years it had grown, he had kept these feelings to himself from the moment his
best friend Anthony Benson had introduced his then girlfriend Sylvia Jones to
him. Right through Anthonys courtship, through the pain of being Anthonys best
man at the wedding through the eleven years of marriage to now.
He desperately wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her how he felt, how she
could live again with him. How he would love and cherish her, but now of all times
was definitely not the time. She was a broken spirit and she needed him to be a
rock. As she cried into his chest he held her tightly he felt her pain. He felt his
own pain for the loss of his best friend but he also felt a little guilty, in that since

the death his feelings for Sylvia Benson had intensified.

He really loved you, you know Stuart Sylvia began, it was always Stuart says
this or Stuart says that, and what is this special place you and he had then?
Whattam was thrown suddenly, his mind raced for the answer,oh when we were
kids we found an old war time underground bunker, it was our special place, but
that was many, many years ago, when we played at being secret agents . Sylvia
for the first time in a long time smiled through her sorrow; now I know youre
lying Stuart, two days before he died he said he was leaving a parcel for you at
your special place. You two men are still boys to the death, she paused on the
word death, a sadness came across her face, very noticeable especially in the
eyes, but she continued the aura of happiness, with your secret codes and
bloody silly magic symbols, he thought the world of you Stuart.
Whattam smiled his comical smile and hugged Sylvia, the secret place, now that
was a fond childhood memory. The old underground bunker, he warmed with the
nostalgia of the moment, then quickly pushed it to the back of his mind, Sylvia
Benson must be mistaken with her facts, and dates it had been at least twenty
four years since they had been to their special place.
Stuart Whattam had accepted the evidence and the alleged facts given to him by
his friends in the police force. Anthony Benson had been the victim of a mugging
his wallet and prized Rolex had been stolen. All evidence suggested there had
been a violent struggle, the post Morton report showed the cause of death to be
repeated blows to the head with a brick, it had been a gruesome death. The
number of blows pointed to the fact that the robber had definitely intended to
murder Benson and not just rob him, Whattam winced as he read the report.
Part of Bensons work had included the writing of these very same type of
reports, he had been an excellent pathologist, there had been many cases in the
past were Whattam had relied on the expertise of Bensons findings, he would
miss his input.
CHAPTER SIX
The final taboo
The next three months flew by, Lyndsey Kershaw proved to be an excellent
solicitor and over the months she prepared an excellent case with Whattams
professional psychological input.
The case all hinged on my disabilities, the facts being that I found it very difficult if
not impossible to make very basic decisions on my own.
Whattam based this on my disciplined and violent upbringing, I had been robbed
of the personal ability of thinking for myself, he also noted that my emotions were
very patchy, infantile and incomplete. He scoured the social services files for
supportive facts and the team agreed that the angle they would go on would be
that I was the victim, I had finally snapped, the photographic evidence relating to
my life of abuse was overwhelming they were confident I could get away with the
charges relating to my grandfathers death, it was now the matter of my
grandmothers death they needed to resolve.
Lyndsey Kershaw was a sexy woman her movements were very animated,
rounded and cat like, it drove most men wild with desire, yet she was able to still

portray an aura of professionalism and innocence that would confuse her

admirers, making them think they had misread her signals, this was her weapon
and she had used it all her life, she was a little put off that her subtle flirtations
with me did not stir up any emotions and it bruised her ego a little to have met a
male that did not weaken even slightly in her presence, even Stuart Whattam ,
who remained forever the professional could not look her straight in the eye, she
could recognize the mild embarrassment and it pleased her .
I had not noticed that with every visit her skirts were becoming shorter, although
she was pleased with how the case was going she just needed a hint that her
sexuality was working, she studied my hardened face for the slightest hint of
interest and could not find it .On this day it was her turn to discover a new
emotion.
lyndsey Kershaw wore a skirt that the youngsters in my day referred to as a
micro skirt, as it was so short it only just covered her buttocks , Kershaw had
always been comfortable showing off her body as she knew it was a good one ,
she got enough attention to confirm it, and this skirt, she was convinced would
bring a reaction.
Kershaw drew up the wooden chair and crossed her long legs , however when
she sat down it rode up her thighs exposing most of her underwear, she felt
uncomfortable , she liked to portray a sexuality that made her onlookers unsure,
it made them feel as they were taking advantage by seeing the sexual side of
her, she liked subtle, but this was too blatant.
She felt cheap and through out the whole interview she fidgeted and tried
unsuccessfully to pull her skirt to a more appropriate height, the worst thing about
it was that whatever position she sat in the white triangle covering her vagina
could always be seen and the infuriating thing was I didnt even appear to notice.
So tell me again then Richard how did your grandmother die she began, one
hand feverishly tugging at her skirt, Ive told you I replied, worn by the regularity
of this question, she had a heart attack at the dinner table Kershaw frowned,
was she wearing the dressing gown at the time? she asked, no of course she
wasnt, what dressing gown? I barked, it was lunch time, it was the middle of
the day Kershaw and Whattam looked at each other, it was Whattam that spoke
first, Richard are you aware of how the media are saying she died? I shook my
head.
She was found strangled with the cord of her dressing gown..Whattams voice
trailed off and he looked at Kershaw, if it was a heart attack it will show on the
post Mortem, this will prove the cord came later, probably whilst Richard was
probably in hospital .
He beamed like a Cheshire cat, weve won Kershaw prematurely spouted, can
you get the report she smiled, leave it to me Whattam replied, excitedly they got
up and called the meeting to a close fresh hope was dawning.
As they left the station Whattam looked at Kershaw very straight faced, the smile
of a few moments ago completely wiped from his face, whats the story with
these bloody silly little skirts Lyndsey? are you trying to give Richard the horn or
have you gone totally mad and fallen for him, he may look older but dont forget
he is only sixteen! Kershaw blushed a deep red, a sudden realization, the four
months of rejection had actually stirred up a desire within her, she could have any
man she wanted but the truth was she only wanted me and she hadnt even

realized till now.

Whattam had accepted all the facts he had been given thus far relating to the
Chessington murders, he had not suspected a conspiracy, but the true facts were
about to hit him hard.
Stuart Whattam did such good work for the police he was considered an asset to
the force and was thus allowed access to information that was highly classified,
so much was his involvement with the police, he had a direct link into the central
police mainframe computer from his home.
At the time when this link had been approved, he had questioned it and had
called it overkill as the contracts the police gave him, although lengthy were, in
his opinion too few and far between to warrant a link at his home, but he was
glad of it now.
Whattam pulled up the old captains chair to his terminal and switched it on, his
study had been decorated by an interior designer and it had been done to reflect
Whattams love of the sea there were port hole windows and lots of tongue and
groove paneling so one had the feel of being inside an old wooden ship, his mind
wandered as he gazed around at all the ornaments, the ships wheel, the stuffed
seagull, daydreaming as he waited for the old computer to go through its series
of checks while it warmed up.
Finally it reached the stage of decryption where the security system kicked in to
ensure that unauthorized users could not get into the system, he typed in his
name and password and waited for the familiar instruction to proceed, but to his
total surprise a message came up informing him that he was no longer allowed
access to the system, his right to information had been terminated and the
terminal was due to be removed from his home in seven days time.
Stuart Whattam stared at the screen in total disbelief.
Paul Carpenter had always wanted to be a policeman and he had been a very
good one, but lately his nerve had gone and he found himself office based
answering telephone calls, filling out endless forms and handling queries, this
part of the job he hated, he longed to be back out on the street where the action
was, but right now he couldnt face it, so traumatic had been the effects following
the beating he had taken at my hands, even after all this time his throat still hurt,
he rubbed it cursing.
The telephone rang. It was Whattam on the line, Hello Paul its me Stuart, seems
Im having trouble accessing the system Carpenter swallowed hard, yeah thats
right Stuart Im afraid theyre shutting you down. a silence.., what do
you mean shutting me down Paul, you mean permanently? Carpenter swallowed
hard , yeah sorry mate , its come from high up, please dont ask me anymore
youll hear from the proper channels in time Whattam hung up and cursed under
his breath.
The call reminded Paul Carpenter of the job he had to do, an amendment he had
to make to the computer files, an amendment for which he was going to be paid
very well, he chuckled to himself and began to log himself into the central

computer system.
Stuart Whattam suddenly had a mad idea and acted upon it without a second
thought to the legal consequences of his actions , he logged back into the
computer , but this time when it asked for identification he typed in the name and
password of his dead friend Anthony Benson, he and Benson had no secrets
from each other they even knew each others PIN numbers to their credit cards,
Whattam knowing the slow procedures at the station knew that Bensons ID
probably would not have been erased yet as he wasnt a security risk being
deceased. Sure enough the system let him through , the next thing he witnessed
chilled him to the bone.
Whattam typed in the name of my grandmother he just needed to find out who
had worked on the corpse, from this information he could then find their report,
the name Dr. Anthony Benson appeared , as he was reeling from the shock of the
discovery that it had been his friend, the name began to erase before his very
eyes, Paul Carpenter was updating the system.
The name Anthony Benson was removed and the name Dr. Lackvinder Sangha
was typed in its place.
whattam logged out of the system and switched the computer off, he was
sweating profusely , panic and fear began to race around in his mind. He was
shaking and his breathing was strained , he began to take long slow breaths
blowing out hard in a vain attempt to calm himself and slow down his racing
heart.
This was big, his friend had been murdered , he had been fired from his job with
the police and a cover up was taking place , he nervously stared around the room
almost as if he was expecting someone to suddenly jump out and grab him,
shakily he got up, still in a state of shock and stumbled away from the computer
granting it the respect as if it was an animal poised to attack him.
By the time the report came through from the official channels Whattam and
Kershaw knew it wouldnt be worth the paper it was written on, official cause of
death strangulation signed by Dr. Sangha. Whattam had told Kershaw all about
his traumatic experience at the computer, but they had no proof, he wasnt even
supposed to have had security clearance so there was nothing they could do, all
they could do was to watch their backs and be aware that greater influences
were at work.
The day of the trial came and although I had a superb defence team we were
crushed, beaten by a corrupt system , The original judge who Lyndsey felt
confident she could manipulate, at the eleventh hour was replaced by a woman,
seemed someone somewhere had done their research on Lyndsey Kershaw and
her effect on male judges. The outcome of the trial had been decided before it
began ,the facts about my abuse were overriding and the jury were visibly moved
and horrified by the details as to what I had endured ,Whattams psychological
overview was superb but the judge in her final summing up stated that in her
opinion I was a danger to both myself and to society, she played heavily on the
episode that resulted in my kicking the old woman ,and the four policemen I had

savagely beaten, I was found guilty of the two murders and sentenced to an initial
six years at a psychiatric prison, following that I would be reassessed again . A
rapturous cheer erupted from the gallery at my sentencing , the media had got
what they wanted, the powerful conspiratorial machine had done its work well but
the reason why was still a mystery.

I was granted a few moments with my defence team in a small cell after being led
from the courtroom, dont worry Richard Whattam began, visibly shaken and
still very angry, Im not going to sit on this , there is something more to all this
and I intend to find out what it is, I will get you out, he looked over at Lyndsey
Kershaw who was holding back tears, Ill give you a moment with him he
winked and left the room. Kershaw instantly threw her arms around my neck and
kissed me full and hard on the mouth, she held me tightly , take care of yourself
Richard was all she said a tear erupted in her left eye and ran shamelessly down
her cheek, her lower lip was trembling.
For the first time in my life I felt the electric tingle of sexual attraction, it was only
slight but enough to create the desire to grab her roughly , I pulled her
aggressively to me and kissed her hard, it was the first time I had kissed another
person and I wasnt too sure as to what I should be doing , what pressure to
apply or for how long, it ended up being quick and more of a slobbering bite than
a kiss, but I had done it.
I was led away , handcuffed by two armed security men , I turned to look at
Lyndsey Kershaw she was smiling , her ego in tact , she hadnt lost her touch
after all.
She rubbed her bruised arms where I had grabbed her too tightly and nursed her
lower lip that had cut slightly, in that moment she had a mixed almost psychic
feeling although her sexual passions had been ignited she felt a whisper of
danger she had sensed the presence of the beast within and it scared her,
contradictorily it also exited her ,there was a lot more to me than she had
previously discovered.
Looking back I guess I should have been disappointed, My team had been so
confident of victory.
Over the months leading up to the trial they had constantly reassured me that I
would not be sent down, now following the final verdict they were deflated, I was
the only one that appeared calm.
I was used to disappointment, so much so that disappointment was to me just a
part of life. Pain, rejection and disappointment; I welcomed the next chapter.

Doctor Lackvinder Singh Sangha epitomized the character commonly referred to

as flash as he had it all. Looking at him one could almost see the money dripping
off him, he had money in excess, and he certainly lived the life.
Doctor Sangha a second generation Anglo-Asian had left Britain in the early
sixties and studied medicine in a top private school in Switzerland, following his
exceptionally high pass grades he was tipped to become a modern icon in the
world of medicine as he was a genius, but he suddenly disappeared for five

years. When he resurfaced he was rich , very rich , how he made his money
remained a mystery , but in this world money talks .
Britain welcomed its long lost son back with open arms, with his money he soon
bought friends, but he chose them carefully his friends were all people that sat in
positions of power. Sangha bought him self a massive mansion had a fleet of
supercars and quickly established himself a reputation as a playboy, He had an
insatiable sexual appetite and with his money women came by the truck load, he
devoured them , he lived the ultimate life of cars, boats ,champagne and women ,
so why was he now writing reports for a local morgue? , Stuart Whattam knew all
about Doctor Sangha and his notorious lifestyle he was certain of one thing , his
friend Anthony Benson knew something about my grandmothers death and for
this he had been murdered , the conspiracy went high up and the sudden
involvement of a high flying multi millionaire did not add up.
I was supposed to have gone to a psychiatric hospital prison but the powerful
puppet master that was controlling things decided to have some fun with me first,
my sentence should have been one of therapy , drugs and counseling but there
came the sudden news that the prison hospital I was due to go to had had an
outbreak of meningitis and that they would not be admitting any new prisoners,
(or patients as they liked to call them) for at least three weeks whilst the problem
was cleared up.
The young offenders prisons couldnt take me either so it was decided that for the
next three weeks I would sent to a real prison, I was assured that I would not
come to any harm, that it was only for three weeks, I knew when I was being lied
to . The memory of my stay at Bradbury towers came back to haunt me.
During my early days in prison I regressed to my old self, that is to say I tolerated
all that was thrown at me. There had been a great deal of expectation at the
prison as they had been taken in by the media hype of the belligerent child
butcher and the other inmates decided that they would, "put me in my place "
before I got too out of hand. So on my first day three men attacked me and I was
beaten up quite badly, unfortunately the beast within slept, as did my newly
gained emotions and I accepted the beating as a part of life.
I have since learnt that Stuart Whattam, Lyndsey Kershaw and Roland
Carruthers all tried to visit me in those early days but visiting rights were
declined, they were given the excuse that I was in the process of adapting to the
reality of prison life, they were told that I was receiving medication , that I was
being looked after by the best doctors, in reality I was left alone to fend for myself
against the worst scum of society.
When I recount my stay in prison with Stuart Whattam these days, he is
constantly amazed that it took me so long to react against my oppressors but I
was very different then , when you have had a life of abuse it just becomes your
version of reality to me it was quite natural to take pain from others, I took the
beatings as a way of life.
The abuse I suffered initially was tolerable , any allowances I earned whilst
working in the prison factory were quickly stolen from me by the other inmates as

they knew I would not put up any resistance , the beatings were just something to
do because they could, it would normally be three men ,two would hold both my
arms behind my back whilst the third would punch me in the stomach a few times
then finally kick me in the groin , when I fell to the ground they would each give
me a least four kicks each then go off laughing, the prison officers turned a blind
eye to it all.
In prison there was a hierarchical system formed by the prisoners, in reality the
prisoners ran the prison themselves the prison guards and management seemed
to accept this as there did appear to be an order to how the prison ran that every
one accepted.
At the top there was the main prison leader referred to by all the inmates as The
Edge ( as he was close to the edge) ,he seemed to enjoy the maximum
benefits ,he earned more in the prison factory and had access to drugs , alcohol
and women . He was allowed a cell of his own whilst the rest of us shared , I was
always intrigued as to what he was doing with the prostitutes that would stay over
with him in his cell, I was still very innocent as to what sex was in those days, but
that would soon change.
Below the edge were his two henchmen that followed him around everywhere
Colin Eames and Graham Rumens , their job was to ensure that no other
prisoner tried to attack the edge as there was an unwritten rule that if you beat
the leader in a fight you would automatically take his place.
Below them were five area managers that ran the different sections or wings of
the prison and below them their own two henchmen, this pattern descended
down over several tiers , it was a very good system that worked well , the higher
up the tree you went the more privileges you had, the further down you went they
less you had , the more you paid out to people above, the less protection you
were given and it seemed the more beating you took.
In those early days I was the lowest of the low.
they had told me it was going to be three weeks, after four months I realised that
I was here to stay.
I initially shared a cell with an old man originally from Africa, we never made
conversation, when I first moved in he tried to be friendly with me and make
conversation but I ignored him , he soon got the message, we shared our cell in
total silence.
The African was slightly spooked by the fact I could sit staring at the same spot
on the wall for hours on end my mind totally empty , when he broke the silence it
made my heart suddenly skip a beat., I heard some thing today he began ,
something you need to prepare yourself for I turned slowly from my daydream
and sent him a slightly quizzical stare , I guess you have been wondering why a
good looking young man like yourself has not been touched yet? he began, I
rubbed my bruised ribs , fresh from a beating , what the hell are you talking
about , not touched yet? I barked , I take a kicking nearly every day. A look of
sadness came over the elderly Africans face , no he replied in a very sad and
slow manner, one of the henchmen, they want you , they got you reserved as
one of their bitches, thats why you havent been touched the beatings were just

to soften you up
I had no idea what he was talking about , but I guessed from the look on his face
that it was not going to be fun.
The next day we were awakened at least two hours earlier than usual by the
prison warden, pack all your shit up Chessington he boomed, youre going on a
nice holiday he blew a kiss to me and laughed , come on Chessington move it,
move it with that I was forced to pack up all my belongings into a pile and run
across two prison wings with them into my new cell, it was very early and every
body else was still sleeping.
A man the size of a small house was already up and ready to greet me, he
glowered at he prison guard , who was pushing me quite roughly with his
truncheon ,gently , gently he cooed , welcome Richard, now be a good lad and
pack your things away , as you can see there is lots more room in here than your
old cell I looked around compared to the cramped surroundings I had just come
from this new cell was palatial ,not only was the cell huge and spacious it had an
en-suite shower room, the prison guard straightened him self up and stretched,
I trust you two love birds will be very happy here he cooed , with that he
chuckled and left, his large bunch of keys rattling as he locked us both into the
room.
I believe you have had it pretty bad since you arrived here the big man began,
youll be just fine here with me .
He even had a refrigerator in his cell , an old nineteen fifties red coca cola one ,
its a bit early for a beer, but would you like a coke? to my amazement he
produced a can of cola , that I greedily accepted, the big man sat back on the
bed and smiled.
I used to be a doctor before I came in here the big man began, I have heard
that you have been beaten up quite a lot lately he reached into a steel locker
and produced an old , brown leather doctors bag, lets see if Ive got some cream
or lotion that will help you with some of the bruising you must have .He emptied
out a number of tubes and jars of ointment on to the bed, put the can down
Richard and come and sit by me he said , in a very gentle coaxing manner, he
patted the bed twice in an inviting way.
I did as instructed and sat down by him on the bed, now , come on Richard,
take your shirt off then dont be shy he cooed in a very patronizing manner, even
at this stage I suspected nothing, I even misread the look of delight that beamed
across his face when he noticed how heavily muscled and toned my body was.
my name is Daniel Parry the big man began, he began to gently apply the
ointment to my bruises, I think you and I are going to get on just fine, dont you?
. The lotion was very soothing and the gentle stroking action that Parry
administered sent calming tingles racing through my body, I felt my self relax as I
surrendered myself to his healing hands.
For a big man Parry had the smoothest of touches, I felt safe and warm in his
gentle caresses as he slid his hands all over my torso stroking my neck , rubbing
my shoulders and chest in strong yet feather light circular strokes.
I hear those animals even kicked you there he smirked, pointing to my groin.

As he said the words he put his hands to his face in an animated naughty
schoolboy way and pursed his lips in a very thats not a nice thing to do way and
gave me a sad puppy dog eyes look , come on Richard take off your trousers
and let Doctor Parry see what he can do. In my naivet I innocently removed my
trousers and underwear. I stood completely naked before him, his eyes widened
with anticipation and delight.
With the softest of touch Parry scooped me up and carried me over to the bed, I
wrapped my arms willingly around his neck as he gently placed me onto my back
, he then began to gently rub the lotion around my testicles and penis.
I experienced my first ever erection and began to wiggle in mild shock, but parry
pursed his lips and made a shush sound and gently eased me back to a lying
position, relax Richard, enjoy he cooed and returned to his gentle massage.
The electric tingle in my penis began to increase and the warm flow of a first ever
sexual awakening began to take over my senses, I felt a mild dizzy haze coming
over me, but the feeling of warmth and relaxation was so strong, I began to bask
in the delight of the experience. Electric pulses began to race through me in a
rhythmic pattern , my heart began to beat faster and I could feel my breathing
accelerating .
I had no idea what he was doing all I knew was that it felt divine and I remember
thinking to myself what an excellent doctor this man must be, I began to glow in
the sheer delight of pleasure.
This was the greatest feeling I had ever experienced I turned to look at him and
smiled, it didnt even register that he was now naked as well.
I reached an orgasmic plateau in that the veins on my penis stood out like a
street map and began to rhythmically pulsate on their own, I did not actually
ejaculate but the waves took over me and my whole body trembled as these alien
sensations took over my senses.
Parry chuckled and hugged me to his huge chest and cradled me like a baby. He
began stroking me on the side of the head, he then turned me over on the bed
and eased me into a kneeling position, gently coaxing my head down into the
pillows and pulling my buttocks up high, he continued stoking and rubbing and
applying lotion. The position felt strange, but Parry had such a touch, I felt safe, I
felt this man cares for me, he is healing me, he will not cause me pain, for the
first time I felt the sensation happiness, I had found a friend.
How wrong I was.
I was not prepared for the sudden and very brutal attack, I was totally relaxed
and did not have the opportunity to flinch or tighten my muscles, I had
surrendered to him completely he had won my complete confidence. His
character changed suddenly from the role of loving doctor to one of animal
warrior.
The pure brutality and violence were frightening, with one thrust he had entered
me completely, before I could even react to the rear assault he had caught me
with five punishing punches to the back of the head that slammed my face
forward back into the pillow. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and with all
his weight behind it forced my face down I couldnt breathe. I was gasping and
choking for air and all the while as I struggled to breathe I could feel the
agonizing tearing sensation as he tore open the old anal wounds that I had
received at my short stay at Bradbury towers.

The attack fortunately for me was brief , Parry had got himself too worked up
prior and the rape lasted for approximately fourteen thrusts , but each thrust had
been deep and damaging , he ejaculated inside me and I felt the burning sting as
his semen shot through my wounds. He then threw me to the floor like a piece of
filthy rag and began to kick me towards the bathroom.
I was crying hysterically at this stage , I had lost the feeling in my legs and
struggled to get to my feet, the pain in my anus was so great I fell to my knees
and struggled to crawl away from him.
Parry was laughing and kicking me , I couldnt crawl any further I curled up into a
ball on the cold shower room floor and began to bawl loudly.
The hot urine stung my eyes and I automatically covered my face to protect
myself, Parry was urinating over me, this final act really hammered home exactly
what he thought of me, I was nothing,
Youre one of my bitches now Chessington Parry shouted, whenever I want
and where ever I want got that?
He then began to shake the last few drops of urine at me, get yourself cleaned
up he shouted, if you want a tip, stuff lots of toilet paper up your arse, it will stop
the bleeding. He then wiped the end of his penis with a flannel and threw it at
me, come on Chessington move it.
Prior to prison I had believed that I had already suffered the worst humiliation
possible, having suffered a lifetime of bullying and ridicule but the breakfast jibes
proved to even worse.
Each step I took was agony , my anus was packed with toilet paper to hold in the
blood that was running freely from the torn opening I walked like a cripple ,
limping in agony to the serving hatch for breakfast.
It seems the entire prison had known that the rape was going to take place and
as I painfully limped past every one they all applauded and cheered. Some of the
inmates wolf whistled or blew kisses and all the while Daniel Parry walked behind
me with his arms raised aloft like a champion boxer shouting, this is my bitch,
you hear? My bitch.
Everywhere I looked I saw smiling faces, laughing faces, happy faces , I cried
openly and a loud cheer erupted around me.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Sleeping with the enemy
Stuart Whattam missed the police work. Working, as a university lecturer did not
stimulate him enough he pined for the lost contracts. The severance had been
swift and brutal the excuse had been that the police force could no longer afford
him in the new year budget, yet he had been given a huge severance pay off that
totalled a full years salary which to him did not make sense. He missed the work
so much he had even offered to work for free but that was turned down, he was
determined to get to the bottom of it all
Whattam sat staring at the empty space in his study at home where the old police

terminal had been, then he jumped up, that was it, he had time on his hands and
he was going to play detective starting with Doctor Lackvinder Sangha.
The police had employed a new full time pathologist to replace Anthony Benson;
it seemed that Sangha had only stepped in on a consultative basis for a few
days.
Whattam stared at the offices, money had been spent every thing looked new.
, Looks like you guys did well out of the budget this year Whattam joked. Oh no
sir the receptionist replied, a very generous donation from that multi millionaire
doctor Mr. Sangha, he worked here for a few days and when he left he presented
us with a cheque for nearly half a million. Whattam struggled to contain his rage,
whatever was going on it seemed that Dr. Sangha was paying to have his tracks
covered up, the cheque added insult to the police claims that they did not have
the money to pay him.
Whattams next job was to find what Dr. Sangha was doing now and
remembering his reputation as a playboy he telephoned Lynsey Kershaw and
made her an offer she couldnt refuse, he offered her half his entire years salary
from the police, to go undercover.
Doctor Lackvinder Sangha was just under six feet tall, he had a trim athletic build
with broad shoulders and possessed a very strict, almost military stance he stood
with a straight back, his jaw was angled, his face rugged and firm, yet handsome
he had distinguished streaks of grey in his mane of jet black hair, but through
vanity he regularly had it dyed, truth is he could have had women without the
money, but he liked the attention his money brought.
He was surrounded by around six giggling girls when lyndsey Kershaw made
contact, they were probably all in their very late teens or very early twenties, he
was in the famous Nightingales wine bar telling stories of his colourful past.
Sangha was a creature of predictability and habit and after only six weeks of
surveillance Kershaw and Whattam had his routine, all the clubs he visited and
when, the shops he visited and the restaurants he ate at they had his itinerary
mapped out and their plan was set.
Isnt it way past your bedtime girls was all she said, then she looked him
straight in the eye, held his transfixed stare for a few moments, winked then
simply said, Im leaving doctor Ive got such a terrible headache.
With that she walked towards the door in her sylph like animal way, she didnt
even turn to look back, she had seen the familiar look in his eye, it was twenty
paces to the door, as she reached for the handle Sanghas bronzed fist caught it
first, allow me he sang, Lynsdey smiled to herself, this was going to be easy.
The stretch Mercedes Benz had gone less than five miles and Lyndsey Kershaw
had all the information Whattam was paying her so handsomely for, she smiled to
herself, men were so weak.
I know youre a doctor she began, but where is your surgery Sangha smiled,
I am a doctor of medicine, a kind of inventor if you like he spoke in a very
condescending manner that instantly irritated her, I work for a big drug company

helping invent new medicines

wow Lyndsey exclaimed in a false, animated way, enough for Sangha to believe
she was really impressed , which company ? Sangha smiled, youll not have
heard of my company he chuckled, Saxon pharmaceuticals.
For seven long months I suffered the violent sexual abuse that Parry
administered. The attacks would be sudden and without warning he would grab
me, start slapping and punching me and then very brutally he would rape me,
punching me hard in the back of the head as he forced himself into me. Every
time I bled or suffered some form of injury and every time he would go through
the perverse ritual of urinating over me once he had finished, I was at an all time
low.
The stomach pains became so intense that the prison doctors were called to see
me, I had collapsed in the prison factory clutching my stomach, I had thought that
the pain perhaps was probably a result of Parrys attacks, as he had kicked me
twice in the stomach two days prior and was surprised when I was told that I was
constipated. I had not been to the toilet for four days. I had not even realised.
My internal muscles had become so taught as my bodies natural defence against
the repeated sexual abuse I had become anally retentive, I was prescribed a
strong suppository it was at this time that my next permanent change developed,
the following incident made me permanently belligerent, the sleeping beast within
became a daily living part of my developing personality.
The suppository began to take effect, I could feel the internal rumbling as the
blockage began to break up and begin its descent, I headed to the toilet, the pain
in my stomach had been intense and I was actually looking forward to being free.
Parrys attack came out of the blue, just as I was pulling down my trousers the
idiot grabbed me and tried to turn me around, no I shouted, not now, please not
now, I just needed the toilet I could feel it coming, , I tried to resist him but he
slapped me hard across my face , when ever I want it Chessington he shouted.
I struggled but he was too strong, Parry spun me around and slammed my face
into the tank above the toilet , blood flowed freely from the cut that opened up on
my forehead , I cried out but he slammed my face again twice into the porcelain ,
I saw stars as dizziness came over me.
As I fell backwards Parry caught me with a savage kick to the throat , I honestly
thought I was going to die as the kick instantly shut off my breathing , I rolled
gasping and spluttering, fighting waiting for my throat to recover and for breath to
return , as I rolled Parry began to kick me repeatedly in the ribs and face .
Fortunately for me he caught me with a kick to the solar plexus , this caused a
winding effect that forced air back up my throat and brought the breath back .
I could feel the waste about to explode out of me, the peristaltic waves began to
ripple as the suppository went to work, at the same moment Parry pulled apart
my buttock cheeks and entered me hard and deep forcing against the tide, the
pain in my stomach was unbearable, as he rammed home he also began to
repeatedly slam my face against the toilet seat, I recall my forehead hitting the
seat five time before I passed out.

You filthy bastard was all I heard him shouting as I began returning to
consciousness, I opened my eyes to see the horrific sight of Parry standing over
me holding his flaccid penis about two inches away from my face it was caked in
excrement.
You filthy bastard he shouted again, youll suck this shit off.
Before I could react or even return to full consciousness he had forced his penis
into my mouth and had punched me in the temple in the same movement.
Vomit erupted from my throat in a knee jerk reaction as the foul taste was forced
to the back of my throat , at the same time a bomb went off inside my brain, the
beast awoke.
I could feel the outer layer of my brain peeling away like the skin of a banana, I
actually could feel it tearing away, a very strange sensation to describe, in that
moment the child within me died, whatever the tolerating instinct was that had
dominated me all my life vanished. No more would I be the victim, no more would
I tolerate, no more would I be oppressed . The whistle tore through my head, the
red haze clouded my vision and I cried out as every fibre in my being burnt hot,
anger began to rise , my blood began to boil . The beast opened his eyes and
stared deep into the soul of its oppressor Daniel Parry .

The punch sent Parry flying to the ground, it was more the speed of the attack
rather than the force that had floored him as he was totally unprepared, before he
could rise I had caught him full in the face with a kick that sent his head flying
backwards, his teeth made a loud clamping sound as they snapped together. I
recall the look of bewilderment in the big mans eyes, total surprise and disbelief
that this child he had been using as his sex slave had this animal within.
Through learnt behaviour I began to kick him over and over again in the stomach,
chest and face, he rolled frantically in a desperate attempt to escape the
ferocious onslaught.
I leapt forward, grabbed him by the ears and began to repeatedly smash his head
backward into the stone floor; it must have been at least eight times. I recall the
sickening splintering sound as his skull began to shatter on the ground but mostly
I remember the look of fear in his eyes and it pleased me.
Parry began to thrash wildly, the blood pouring down his neck from the wounds at
the back of his head.
He tried to get up but he forget that he had his trousers still round his ankles and
he stumbled, I looked down at this pathetic individual his large paunch wobbling
his pathetic penis and testicles swinging, those organs had caused me pain and
suffering for too long, my mind was made up.
In one movement I rose and slammed both heels down hard on to his exposed
scrotum.
The sensation through my shoes felt as if I had landed on to two hard boiled
eggs, there was an initial resistance, a kind of sponge like springing, then they
both suddenly exploded under the force of the impact. I felt them actually break

up into numerous pieces and spread out in different directions under my weight.
Parry screamed a horrible chilling gurgling cry; cries like I have never heard
before, and must admit never have again to this day. He threw himself on to his
side and began to twitch violently.
Parry began to shake in spasmodic bursts threshing wildly in convulsive spasms.
He then suddenly stopped moving and then began to vomit quite venomously. He
retched like a dog for fifteen minutes he vomited till his stomach was empty and
the vomit turned from yellow to red then to black.
His face ran with sweat and flushed deep red, his eyes spun like a rabid animal
and he shook as if he was having a fit, Parry writhed in agony for an additional
thirty minutes.
I unzipped my flies and began to urinate into his screaming mouth, whistling a
happy tune as the hot urine flowed.
The prisoners in the canteen sat with mouths open their faces pale with shock at
the sight of a horrifically battered Daniel Parry. The big man could not even limp
he walked by dragging his feet along the ground, the act of lifting his feet off the
ground caused agonising waves to cascade through his injured groin, pain that
made him dizzy and caused him to loose consciousness.
All he could manage was a shuffle. Parry gripped his splattered testicles with
both hands; somehow the squeezing helped nullify the pain, his face red, tears
streaming down his face.
I walked triumphantly behind him, jogging on the spot like a boxer my arms
raised, both fists clenched.
Although I did not understand the words I knew the prisoners would so I shouted
out, and I shouted proud.
This here is my bitch now, you hear? This is my bitch.
A loud cheer erupted from my onlookers. I smiled.
The next thing I knew two prison guards had grabbed me and I was escorted
away to rapturous applause, relived, Parry threw him self to the floor crying like a
baby and prayed for medical attention.

The Head office to Saxon pharmaceuticals is a magnificent building, Stuart

Whattam had not been prepared for the amazing sight that greeted him as the
taxi spun around the dirt and gravel track bend, it was truly breathtaking.
The taxi driver was impatient as he had other passengers to collect and he
muttered quite loudly in German making a definite hint to Whattam to pay his fare
and get out, Whattam stared at the building transfixed. In slow motion he paid the
taxi driver and climbed out of the car. The driver greedily grabbed the money and
without offering the change threw the old battered blue Mercedes into gear and
sped away, gravel churning up as his wheels spun.
It had been a dream since childhood to go to Switzerland; Whattm had heard so
much about its beauty, the magnificent old buildings and the awe inspiring
mountains and he had greeted the news that Switzerland was the home of Saxon

Pharmaceuticals with some relish.

At first he had been slightly disappointed when he had landed at the airport, as
the country had seemed very much like England. Switzerland had looked very
western with its glass, concrete and metal office tower blocks. He had sighed
openly when he had seen the urban concrete jungle of modern technology he
had expected the picture postcard, chocolate box images of wooden buildings
with snow covered roofs, the magnificence of the Saxon Head office however,
alleviated some of his initial disappointment.
The building was a jewel, a celebration of the art deco period; its design was
based on the discovery of the Egyptian tombs. The structure itself was a huge
pyramid, at the doorway were two huge sphinxes and heading through the
doorway to the reception area was like walking through a huge movie set.
Every minute detail had been painstakingly reproduced to create the effect; it was
a fantastic experience.
Whattam gazed transfixed by the deco figurines scattered around and marvelled
at the splendour of this awesome display of wealth.
He had walked right up to the reception desk, studying the carved ceiling so
intensely that it had not registered to him that that the receptionist was talking.
excuse me she finally shouted in English after trying three other languages.
Whattam snapped out of his daydream, Can I help you?
He smiled, his eyes twinkling, David Jones, from Sanders bottles to see Doctor
Lackvinder Sangha I have a three thirty appointment.
Whattam had managed to get an appointment by telephoning in and claiming that
he was a sales representative from a bottle manufacturer, he had said that he
could save Saxon millions a year by switching to his brand of bottles, Sangha
had agreed to the meeting.
Stuart Whattam had not really thought his little adventure through. He had begun
his investigations on a whim, and was still running on the pain he felt for his
friends death and also for what Sangha had done to Lyndsey Kershaw, he had
no doubt that Sangha had tried to murder her.
He had wanted revenge, he knew something was going on but he didnt know
what and he had no idea what he was getting into.
He sat himself down and for the first time he felt a little nervous, he took out his
handkerchief and mopped his brow, which was sweating profusely.
As he sat in the leather chair his mind drifted back to the past nineteen months
and the series of events that had led up to his being here in sunny Switzerland.
Lyndsey Kershaw had been dating Doctor Lackvinder Sangha for a month and he
was very frustrated, he had previously held great pride at the speed by which he
usually got women into his bed
Yet with Lyndsey he had been out on nine dates and he had only received a peck
on the cheek goodnight for his troubles. She played a game with him which he
was loosing very badly.
She had told him that she really liked him, but she had heard of his reputation,
that he was a bastard to his women, that he loved them and left them, she had
wanted more. She had said that she desperately wanted sex with him but she

didnt want to be like all the others, she wanted to know him as a person, as a
man and as a friend before they made the relationship sexual.
He cursed the fact that he had accepted to play the game by her rules.

Lyndsey Kershaw was very much in tune with the power she had over men, she
was a woman in control of the sexual radiation she emitted and although
Whattam had not requested her to continue with this line of investigation further
than the discovery of Sanghas employers. It fed her ego too much and she was
certain she could get to the bottom of the conspiracy herself.
She was confident that Sangha would spill his guts as his sexual frustration
intensified.
The evening had been pleasant and Kershaw accepted Sanghas invitation to
come back to his place for a night-cap. She was well aware that when he said
night-cap he meant sex but she played dumb and when they entered his palatial
home she went straight for the drinks cabinet and poured herself a stiff drink.
Lyndsey sprawled herself across the leather sofa and smiled a provocative smile
at the frustrated doctor, come and sit by me lacky she cooed, lets talk. Doctor
Sangha enthusiastically accepted her offer and literally threw himself beside her.
I want to confess something to you she began, I really want to get something of
my chest, I really want you to know me. Sangha calmed his advances and eyed
her intrigued, I am not all that you think of me, I have had a terrible past, I have
been involved in things that would totally shock you. She stopped and looked at
him, her face showing obvious signs of distress and discomfort, no, I cant tell
you she continued, you are so kind and gentle, you probably havent done a
bad thing all your life, no forget it, lets change the subject.
She then reached over and kissed him full on the mouth, a long deep, soft and
sensual kiss, as she kissed him she ran her hands through his hair and gently
stroked the side of his throat
Sangha felt the electric tingle race through him and despite the almost instant
erection he felt forming her words played heavily on his mind.
For the short period that they had been dating Kershaw had taken a lot of
information but had given little, she had however given Sangha snippets of
information that had aroused his interest and played heavily on his subconscience. She had not been interested in his money in the slightest; in fact she
seemed to talk as if she had access to a lot more than he could ever dream of.
He became more and more curious especially when she mentioned her Italian
friends, although she had never actually said it the life style she spoke of and the
world she described to him smelt like the corruptive influence of the Mafia and
the whole thing had exited him greatly.
Doctor Sangha bit the bullet, he reached out and held her gently and whispered,
if its to do with crime you can tell me. Lyndsey smiled inside, no, please she
began, I am from a much darker world than you can imagine, I shouldnt have
started this, Im really sorry lets jut drop it, please? . The doctor pressed on,
desperate for the details he traded information, and does your little secret

involve big contracts? . Kershaw looked at him wide eyed, he smiled, I know at
lot about these things, I have experience from the dark side myself
Doctor Sangha suddenly grabbed her roughly and pulled her towards him, he
then kissed her in the way a hungry man would eat an apple. He attacked her
mouth with an enthusiasm that took her by complete surprise. In that instance
she felt it, the slight tremble of fear, she sensed the animal within him, but the
animal exited her.
Lyndsey Kershaw recalled the tingle of sexual excitement she had first felt when I
had kissed her, when I had drawn blood and bruised her arms, she recalled how
she had somehow confused the smell of danger with sexual excitement, she felt
it again. Lackvinder Sangha was a dangerous man, he had practically just
confessed to it, but for some strange reason she found her desire growing
stronger, she grabbed him roughly by his hair and pulled hard.
Sangha winced with the sudden pain, so you like to play rough? he chuckled.
Kershaw was not prepared for the sudden slap she received across her face,
normally she would have responded with tears but this time she felt her sexual
energy rising, she slapped him back viciously across the right cheek. Sangha
grabbed the expensive silk blouse she was wearing and in one movement tore it
open, the buttons exploding off in different directions, instantly she arched her
back and thrust her ample breasts forward the mood was set.
A strange beast awoke in Lyndsey Kershaw that she never knew existed, she
was in unfamiliar territory, she had no idea how to respond as this rough sex was
alien to her, but the beast that had awoken knew what to do.
She grabbed Doctor sangha and slapped him hard across the face, he fell
backwards but before he had hit the ground she had leapt on top of him and
began to pull at his shirt that instantly tore into three pieces. The doctors chest
thrust forward muscular and hairy his torso glistened under his torn clothing as
the sweat of the fight had begun to form. Sangha squirmed on the floor but
lyndsey had him pinned down with her knees she began to scratch like an angry
cat, tearing at his hairy chest with her nails.
Sangha recalled the days when as a young boy he had fought with his brothers,
this past instinct came back and through learnt behaviour he began to wrestle.
The two sweating bodies began to roll around; they fought intensely for about
fifteen minutes. Sangha finally held her down with one arm and with his free arm
pulled at the torn blouse and managed to get it free from one of her arms.
Lyndsey was strong; she arched her back quickly, throwing the Doctor on to his
side, before he could respond she was on him. She grabbed the hard erection in
his trousers and squeezed, she saw the grimace of pleasure grow across the
doctors face, with her free arm she tore a section of his shirt off and threw it as
far as she could.
Sangha reached up and threw her backwards, as she fell he grabbed her skirt
and in one movement pulled it down, the button at the waist band breaking as it
fell to the floor.
You bastard she cried, that makes two items of my clothing you have ruined
Without warning she flicked out her right leg and caught the doctor full in the

groin with her foot. The taught angle of his erection against the fabric of his
trousers had saved his testicles from absorbing the force of the blow, but the kick
still caused the uncomfortable burning sensation in his penis. As he stumbled,
Kershaw grabbed at his trousers and tore them down, miraculously they fell
without damage.
Sangha smiled at this fact, Kershaw knew exactly why he was smiling so she
grabbed the trousers and using a combination of her teeth and arms she tore his
trousers into two pieces.
Laughing the doctor playfully snuggled his head into her cleavage and pinned her
down with his head he then began to pull at her underwear with his free hands,
she grabbed at his and with much laughing, screaming and slapping they finally
had each other naked.
The fight had somehow transformed itself into foreplay both bodies were damp
with sweat, their pulses were up Kershaw felt the deep moistness forming. There
was a pregnant pause as Sangha crouched above her, on all fours, his powerful
erection almost at ninety degrees, she slapped him hard across the face for the
last time, he arched his back then plunged his erection into her, deep and hard.
Lyndsey was not prepared for the sensation that followed, her body greedily
accepted the thick penis and her internal muscles clamped tight around it, this
feeling was familiar, she still felt in control.
Sangha however was able to arch his back and flex his stomach muscles in such
a way that the small area of muscle above the penis, the pubis region was
pressed hard against her clitoris. As it touched her he began to flex and tighten
the muscle causing a strange rippling sensation to tremble around her clitoris.
Instead of thrusting his penis in the familiar in-out, in-out style he kept his pelvis
up tight towards hers and instead of backwards and forwards his movements
were circular.
This difference in technique meant that as well as the internal stimulation her
clitoris was constantly being bombarded with the constant muscular ripple.
Sangha clutched her buttocks firmly with both hands and pulled her tighter to
him, this gave him greater depth and intensified the clitoral stimulation. He
continued keeping a constant, steady and intense pace for what seemed like
eternity.
The wave began, Lyndsey began to curse under her breath, this was not the way
it was supposed to have been, she had wanted to be in control, if anyone, it
should have been her seducing him.
She surrendered to the peristaltic waves; her head grew dizzy the spasmodic
involuntary contractions began. She felt him tremble inside her, she could felt his
penis growing again, relieved that he was having an orgasm she let her self go
surrendered to the feeling and cried out loud in the ecstasy of the moment
In that micro second as she cried out, came the sudden realisation that she was
screaming alone, Sangha had not ejaculated, the sensations still came, she cried
as a second orgasmic wave took her under again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The heart of the spiders web

Craig Garnett had a strong northern accent, which was the first thing I thought
when I was introduced to him, it was an accent I had never heard live before, but
recognised it as being north of England, from television shows I had seen.
Garnett was the newly appointed governor and he was determined to make an
impression, it was from Garnett that I learnt of the hierarchy of the prison system.
It is natures way he began, the survival of the fittest, the strong survive and the
weak perish he paused for breath, its no different here, as the strong rise to
the top of the food chain so natural leaders also emerge from the pack. Garnett
Stopped and stared hard and long at me, he then pointed a finger and shouted,
but understand this Chessington, as high as you may rise you will always fall
short of me you understand?
With that statement he coughed up thick, green mucus from his throat and spat it
out harshly, the globule slapped on the stone floor, wipe that shit up he barked. I
had nothing to wipe it up with, so I used my shirtsleeve, next time Ill make you
lick it up Garnett barked.
Remember, I run this fucking prison, you can play at bosses and workers with
the other prisoners, but in here, my office youre all still pieces of shit to me, now
get out of my sight.
That was Garnetts way of telling me well done, congratulations, youve just been
promoted.
I now had the respect of my fellow in mates, well the ones who shared my lower
level, the men higher up did not take notice, but my time would come.
Daniel Parry was now a gentle lamb, so severe was the damage to his testicles
and to stop the spread of infection and deterioration they were removed. The
castration seemed to take away all of his aggression and sex drive, subsequently
he himself became a victim and the fellow prisoners all took turns at
administering revenge beatings for the years of torment they had suffered at his
hands.
After two months Parry could take it no longer, he saw suicide as the only way
out, he clawed into a brick wall with his bare hands, pulled out the wires that
surrounded the light switch and bit into them.
The electric shock not only killed him instantly but it also blacked out a whole
prison wing.
With Parry dead and I as his successor it was only a matter of time before one of
the other prisoners decided to try his luck at beating me in a fight and claiming
the few extra privileges my new status now held. Patrick Rainier was the first
unfortunate fool to feel the force of my new personality.
I had been offered two henchmen for protection but I refused, I had kept myself to
myself since the original Parry episode I spoke to no one, I walked alone, I ate
alone, and I exercised alone. This solitary existence made the other prisoners
fear me as they thought I was weird.
They had thought I was a bomb waiting to explode if they tried to talk to me,
Rainier found this to true.
If I have to describe my emotions at that time, I would begin by saying that most

of the time I felt rage, but I had no idea what to do with this rage, it was as if one
day I awoke with a different awareness of my situation, I suddenly became very
angry. I was angry with my grandfather for the retched life he had given me,
angry with the people I had gone to school with, angry with practically everybody
I have ever met and most of all I was angry that Parry had chosen the easy way
out as I would have liked to have tortured him some more.
My daydreaming hours began to revolve around thoughts of mutilation, of
breaking limbs and terrified screams. I became aware that it pleased me to hear
the suffering cries of my oppressors, I had witnessed things that would have
shocked and traumatised lesser men but to me these things had been a way of
life and now I had had enough, now it was my turn.
With Parry gone I had no one to unleash this rage upon, I glared at the other
prisoners and they backed away in fear, I was young but I commanded a respect.

Part of prison life is daily exercise, the physical fitness instructors they had
employed at the prison were ex soldiers that had retired from military service,
having struggled to find employment in regular civilian life they had been
employed by the prison service in mass, they proved to be ideal candidates, they
worked the prisoners hard and were tough enough to handle themselves against
any inmate with visions of grandeur.
I had the good fortune of being trained by Corporal Taylor Hurst, in my opinion he
was a complete animal and worthy of a prison sentence himself, it was from
Hurst that I learnt about weights and it was through weight lifting that I was able
to channel my anger and rage, I took it out on the weights, I worked hard.
Whilst this training kept my rage in check, it also strengthened my body, I grew
quickly and I grew strong, the beast within although contained smiled for he knew
that when he would be next released he would be ten times more damaging than
he had been in previous episodes.
It had been a gruelling work out. Hurst had a habit of pushing people to a point of
humiliation, a point were they would break down under the sheer weight he had
tried to force them to lift, or they would vomit from the sheer exhaustion of the
training. It gave him a strange perverse pleasure to know that he had broken a
spirit. He had tried to break me but he could not, it had been he that had vomited
and it was from that work out that I gained his respect.
Fuelled by a lifetime of physical and mental abuse there was nothing that a two
hour work out in any gym could ever give that was worse than that, my stamina,
strength and endurance levels were second to none.
It was in the shower following that Rainer decided he would make the public
display. This was his chosen battleground the place were he would beat me in a
fight, it would be here that he earned his points and would begin his climb up the
prison ladder of power. Or so he thought.
I did not have any shampoo to wash my hair just the bar of body soap, I had
forgotten the shampoo in my cell and resigned myself to just running my head

under the shower and perhaps shampooing it the next day. Rainier insisted I use
his, although I repeatedly told him I was fine, he kept pushing the bottle towards
me until I accepted it. He waited, he watched me lather the shampoo in, the
second I put my head under the water he made his move.
The punch to my stomach completely winded me and I doubled over
instantaneously, I had had my eyes closed and had been totally relaxed under
the warm jet. I opened my eyes and the shampoo ran into them, the soap
stinging quite sharply, as a reaction I closed them again, before I could rub the
shampoo from my eyes Rainier lashed out again.
This time his foot caught me in the groin and I fell to my knees, in panic I put one
arm forward trying desperately to fend him off whilst with the other arm I
frantically wiped my burning eyes. His Knee came up and caught me full in the
face, I crashed over on to my side wincing as he began to repeatedly kick me in
the side of the ribs and stomach.
I rolled desperately on the cold wet floor to escape, totally blind, his kicks still
raining in, I could taste blood, pain was mounting, fear was rising, panic was
taking hold, the beast took over.
This time when I opened my eyes the sting was just a minor irritation, I looked
hard at this fool and I feel I stared right into his soul, the shadow of fear clouded
the face of Patrick Rainier as he watched me rise to my feet.
Rainier cried a gurgled scream of anger and fear, he was too committed, he saw
the look in my eyes but he still charged forward, despite the smell of soap and
steam I swear I could smell his fear thick in the air.
As Rainier came forward I ran towards him and as I let my right arm snake out I
visualised the target as being behind his head, rather than stopping the punch in
his face I was aiming through him.
The target I was aiming for at was about twelve inches beyond him.
The next series of events for some reason, as I recall them went into slow
motion.

The force of the strike lifted Rainier off his feet, it was as if he had caught his
neck on a wire that had been stretched across his path and he had been
travelling at eighty miles an hour.
As his feet kicked out wildly in the air, I recall the snapping sound of his neck as
his head jerked backwards, I knew in that instant something had broken, such
was the power that I now harnessed.
I recall seeing his face contort and fold inwards on itself as my fist went through
the hard bone of his skull. I recall feeling his teeth through my knuckles coming
away from the gums and bending backwards into his mouth; he spun majestically
in the air and hit the tiled floor with a clattering of bones. He lay still.
I had been pumped up for the fight and it was over in one punch, enraged that I
had been robbed of a longer contest I grabbed a length of the industrial piping
that makes up the showers and ripped it from the wall. The adrenaline was racing

through my veins; I proceeded to bludgeon him with the piping. Blood began to
spurt in all directions as his body began to disfigure with each blow I
administered.
I was dragged away by two other prisoners; they were too sickened by the
scenes to allow me to continue
If ever there needed to be a public display to demonstrate who not to mess with,
this was it.
As I was dragged away I could hear the sounds of the other prisoners vomiting
as they looked at the butchered body of the unrecognisable Patrick Rainier.
He was close to death, but fortunately for him, and a tribute to the doctors at the
prison hospital he just about lived to tell the tale.
Lyndsey Kershaws decline was sudden and rapid, once she fell, unfortunately
she fell far, she became completely consumed by the underworld and it was from
this decline that several twists began to unravel.
She had fallen in love with Doctor Lackvinder Sangha .A relationship quickly
developed, initially it was based purely on sex, great sex, it was wild animal
sweaty and aggressive sex and she lost her way on why she had met with
Sangha in the first place.
In her mind she began to make excuses for him, she wanted to believe he was a
good man, she wanted to believe that she and Whattam had been wrong.
Deep down inside she knew she was lying to herself but her heart had gone, she
had surrendered herself to the evil.
Sangha took her to a party and introduced her to a man everyone called Silver
Bullet; the fact she came back is a miracle in itself.
Silver Bullet was a handsome black man, he was built like a rugby player,
Although not as flash as Dr Sangha he still exuded an aura of success and
wealth, he wore expensive looking designer clothing and drove a spectacular
electric blue sports car. He seemed to know everybody at the party, and
appeared to be well loved by everyone. First impression, he seemed like a nice
person.
As the evening wore on and new introductions were made she lost Sangha in the
concertina of introductions and made the mistake of going to Silver bullet for
conversation.
That cant be your real name she began, no, its a kind of stage name but my
good friends still call me silver he smiled, and why bullet? Silver smiled and
made his hands into two mock pistols, making firing motions at her with his index
fingers, like a bullet to the brain he chortled, and Ive your friend Sangha to
thank for that. Lyndsey smiled as if she knew what he was talking about, in that
instant the hairs on the back of her neck rose, instinct told her she was getting in
too deep but she ignored the feeling and smiled again.
The party was being held in a fabulous Georgian town house in a very
fashionable part of town. Earlier Lyndsey had taken the opportunity to do a little
bit of exploring, she had made the excuse that she needed the toilet and
following a quick look as to where it was she began her tour.
The house was on six floors, including the basement and the rooms were

enormous, they had been restored to reflect the period keeping as many original
features as possible, whoever owned the house had money and they also had
very good taste.
Despite the huge rooms and the expansive landings the house soon became
packed full of guests, at a guess she thought there must have been close to
some two hundred people. Studying the faces they were all young, beautiful and
everyone appeared to be extremely wealthy.
The ceilings were very high but the room was still getting hot, the heat was rising
and the music was far too loud.
Lyndsey recalled the prickly sensation that one feels prior to the break out of
sweat and she knew she needed to cool down, she began to make her way
through the crowds towards the front door, she needed cold air. She was stopped
by a man she had never seen before, where are you going? he beamed, the
shows just about to start, come on young lady with that he spun her around and
began to lead her back into the party. They went through several corridors that
she had somehow missed on her original tour and entered a huge room. Lyndsey
was confused as to where this room could be as it did not seem to fit in with her
understanding of the plans of the building, it was as if they had entered a different
house. Welcome to the main room was all the stranger said, with that he
seemed to waltz away into the crowd. The main room was bathed in red light and
she was relieved to discover that the temperature was actually very cool, a
machine had been started that was bellowing a cold mist through the room. It
was very much like the modern dry ice machines that are popular nowadays in
theatres and nightclubs. Very soon the room was filled with the cold mist, from
the centre of the room a huge stage rose and the revellers began to form a huge
circle around it. They began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves, Lyndsey
was intrigued and pushed her self-closer to get a better look.
What Lyndsey had originally thought was a stage was in fact a huge bed; the bed
had a hydraulic system underneath it that made it rise up and down and move in
various directions so the onlookers could get a look at what was happening. Her
heart literally skipped a beat for on the bed were two naked women, one lay on
her back with her legs apart whilst the other one, on all fours was performing oral
sex on her. Although shocked Lyndsey couldnt walk away she stood transfixed
and horrified at the sight of the third person on the bed.
The third person on the bed was a man, and he was having sex with the woman
on all fours, he was laughing, simulating the motion as if he was riding a horse.
As he penetrated her he swung his arms in a huge circular motion pretending to
slap her thighs as if he was slapping a horse to go faster. The man was Doctor
Lackvinder Sangha.

My stomach went into a hard spasm then into a cramp, I struggled to stop it from
erupting its contents, the pain was so intense. Two security officers held my
arms, my wrists were handcuffed together, the guards kept me from falling over,
and I was doubled over in agony.
You hear me? Garnett shouted, and with that he struck me again in the stomach
with the truncheon, I winced and groaned out loud.
You fucking arse he cursed, you cannot attempt to kill people in here, you

nearly gave me a fucking ton of shit to sort out, you fucking mad psycho bastard!
The truncheon came in again, the convulsion took over and I wretched like a dog.
Garnett jumped out of the way to avoid the spew of vomit then went straight back
in again with the truncheon, my knees bent and the two officers struggled to hold
my dead weight. I think hes had enough one of the officers said, quite
distressed at my state. Ill say when the shit has had enough Garnett shouted
and with that he began to beat me across the head with the truncheon, the
guards let go of me to avoid getting hit themselves, I crashed to the floor and
Garnett continued the assault until he was tired.
After what seemed like an eternity Garnett tossed the bloody truncheon aside
and threw himself into a chair exhausted, I was whimpering like a baby and I
prayed for the agonising burning in my midriff to ease.
Dont take it personally he began, every one in here has family, brothers,
sisters, mothers, fathers wives, fucking lovers he paused and swallowed, I have
to explain to families and the authorities what happens here when there is a
death. You can rule the roost but you cant go killing people, Rainier was that
close to dying today. He made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger to show
how tight it had been.
The stomach pain was subsiding, but as I raised my head I felt the familiar
whistle of a headache, I closed my eyes and curled up, the pain took me under
and I lapsed into unconsciousness.
Lyndsey Kershaw turned to leave and ran straight into the chest of Silver Bullet
who was standing behind her, she was almost hysterical, tears were streaming
down her face. The bastard, how could he do this to me? she fumed. She then
suddenly placed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, you okay? asked
Silver. Bit of a headache, Silver can you get me out here? I live bloody miles
away and weve come in Sangha's car . Silver gave her a reassuring fatherly
smile, Ill take you home, I can even give you something for that headache he
smiled. Thats the advantage of being with pharmaceutical people, theres
always someone with headache tablets in the house
She didnt even to stop to think, she stupidly took the two blue pills he offered her,
she did not even question the fact that they were a strange colour, she was in too
much pain and too angry.
Here take some water with them she took two sips from the tall glass and threw
the pills down.
A sudden realisation, seconds too late, the tablets were oxidising these were not
headache tablets.
The effects of Tritanzolone are virtually instantaneous the blue tablets have a
water-soluble case that literally dissolves as soon as they touch the wetness of
ones tongue, hence them being stored in individual foil compartments, if you take
them with water they explode.
The contents of the tablet oxygenate and as they fizz into life they are absorbed
directly into the blood stream through the tongue and throat lining. The time from
the case breaking to the drug entering the blood stream and hitting the brain is

nine seconds, because of Kershaws agitated state the drug hit her brain in six
point five.
Silver bullet blew fake smoke away from his index fingers, like a bullet to the
brain was all he said.
You bastards! Kershaw hissed, then she felt the warmth.
From the brewing storm of hatred, betrayal and anger suddenly there was
nothingness and then there was calm. It was if someone had wrapped a warm
blanket around her and suddenly she felt safe and an overwhelming feeling of
happiness and contentment. She could feel all her troubles melt away and the
wave of affection rising. As she looked around everybody looked absolutely
stunning, the men looked like incredible models, visions of perfection.
Surprisingly the women too all seemed breathtakingly beautiful, she had never
been even remotely attracted to women in the past but she suddenly felt sexually
attracted to them as well, as she stared at the amazing people she felt the sexual
arousal grow within her. Kershaw could feel it rising like a huge fountain.
As she turned and looked at silver there came the realisation that he too was a
very beautiful man, she kissed him hard on the mouth, but Silver gently pushed
her away.
Its not me you want he smiled, look hes waiting for you Lyndsey looked up
and there he was on the bed, standing there completely naked, his bronzed body
gleaming under the heat of the red lights.
Lackvinder stood legs akimbo his mighty erection standing firm he was covered
in sweat and he was beckoning her to come to him, Lydnsey recalled that at that
time she had never known him to look so beautiful, he looked like a god up there.
She ran to him and the crowd cheered as he lifted her up on the stage, the rising
passion took her under and she experienced the most incredible sex of her life.
Every thing seemed perfectly reasonable and natural at the time although now
she looks back at the episode with shame. The fact the crowd was cheering and
shouting seemed natural, when the strange woman with the red hair came back
on stage and started licking her vagina, it just seemed wonderful.
She wasnt even slightly surprised when Silver Bullet stripped off his clothes and
got up on the stage as well.
Kershaw was on all fours, the red head was on her back licking and she certainly
didnt want her to stop that sensation. Sangha was on her right hand side, above
her and she was gently stroking and pulling on his erection, he seemed to been
enjoying that too much for her to stop and re-adjust.
Her left arm was supporting her weight as Silver came towards her she opened
her mouth, it felt just as natural when he slid his rock hard erection into her willing
mouth, the crowd cheered and she sucked merrily for their entertainment.
CHAPTER NINE
Staring Into the abyss

Roland Carruthers hadnt seen or heard from his friend Stuart Whattam or
Lyndsey Kershaw for a long while and he felt guilty. He was fully aware that his
problem was that he got far too involved with the people that he looked after,

even if they had tried to find him he probably would not have been available. He
had the sudden realisation that he really had no life other than his work.
Carruthers was one of lifes good men his compassion knew no bounds, he was
perfectly suited as a social worker, but sometimes he stayed awake at night with
worry over what was happening to many of the abused and lonely people he
worked with. However today he felt like a failure, as he looked into the mirror than
hung on the wall in the hall over the telephone, he noted the faint pink scar he
bore on his left cheek and thought of me, for I was the one that gave him the
mark. Carruthers felt as if he had let me down, rather than sorrow about his injury
he wept a tear for me and picked up the telephone.
He did not recognise the exited voice that picked up the phone and had to ask,
is that really you? three times before he believed he was speaking to Lyndsey
Kershaw. Her voice seemed too animated, a kind of false strained joy to every
word she said. Mystified by this he lied that he was in the area and promised to
call by that very afternoon.
Image was everything to Lyndsey Kershaw, or it always had been her clothes and
the wonderful apartment reflected this. Carruthers had mentioned this the first
time he had seen her home. He had marvelled in awe at both the splendour and
the tidiness of the place. As he drove his old battered Citroen he thought back to
when he had first met her, how she had come highly recommended and how
many cases she had won for him in his work. She had successfully ensured that
many perpetrators and oppressors of the innocent were safely behind bars, he
smiled to himself as he spun the old yellow car into her driveway.
Lyndsey Kershaw had a home that gave the impression that she was very rich, it
was fair to say that she earned a good salary in her work, but the trick was that
she had an eye for quality, she wore and bought the best of everything.
She did not shop often as she was very fussy about the items that she bought,
her motto was to always buy high quality and were possible to buy the very best
that was available in everything. If she bought something she bought it once and
she expected it to last a lifetime. She was very particular about her home every
room was decorated in white, gold and cream and all the floors were sprung
maple.
Her home was decorated in the art deco style and the only ornaments that she
owned were golden female figurines on marble bases of which she had an
impressive collection of thirteen.
The furniture was cream leather, from Italy. All the wooden furniture was maple
wood bought and designed in Sweden. All the picture frames were also maple,
the only colour that broke up the light woods, white walls and cream furniture
were the bright greens of the huge house plants that she had in the corners of
the rooms. The rooms were sparse and spacious yet somehow still reflected
affluence.
The rooms were low stimulus purposely to draw ones eye to the huge fourteen
foot windows that each room had, the huge windows all had full length white

curtains that came right down to the floor.

The apartment was the entire top floor of an old orphanage that had been
converted into luxurious homes for the rich. The top floor were Lyndsey lived was
the best and most sought after, she had bought it when the conversion was still in
the design stage. She had had the foresight to make her investment before the
developers had even advertised and she could probably sell it now for at least
five times the price she had originally paid.
Carruthers had the image of tidiness and uniformity in his mind as he knocked on
the front door as he expected order. The condition of the room hit him harder than
Lyndseys state.
The beautiful apartment looked as if it had been the venue of a wild party.
The total shock caused Carruthers to move in slow motion, his eyes panned the
room like a camera shot surveying an Erie scene in a horror movie. As he looked
around he wondered if perhaps she had been the victim of a burglary, perhaps
young hooligans had broken in and turned everything over as some sort of sick
joke. But then he noticed the dirty plates strewn around, the bottles and the beer
cans and his first initial thought that it had been a party came back.
How yah doing Rolls Kershaw chirped, take a seat .She used her arm to slide
a pile of discarded litter including dishes and cups from off a sofa straight to the
ground, a china plate smashed as it hit the wooden flooring. Kershaw who was
normally very possessive over any of possessions, quite out of character smirked
as the expensive china smashed, what the hell, its only money
Carruthers stood transfixed his jaw dropped in total disbelief, Lyndsey looked at
him and smiled.
Sit down rolls she chirped again and in one movement threw herself down on to
the sofa. She bounced down like a child on a trampoline her face beaming with
joy. Once settled she stuck her bottom lip out like a sad schoolgirl and
disappointedly glowered at Carruthers, come on Rolls I wont bite you, with that
she patted the sofa in an exaggerated manner beating it to a rhythm until
Carruthers finally accepted her offer and sat down.
It was at this close proximity that Carruthers finally noticed her eyes, the pupils
were huge, and he also noticed the wild crazy way that they moved, never
stopping to focus on anything for too long. Have you been taking something? he
quizzed. Kershaw threw back her head and laughed, Love Rolls, Love, Ive been
taking doses of love, lots of it, Im high on love Carruthers frowned, Im in love
with a wonderful man Rolls and he has introduced me to a wonderful world. With
that she leapt up and began to waltz around the room with an invisible lover
singing loudly to herself.
Carruthers stood up just as Kershaw, now dizzy from the spinning crashed into a
pile of rubbish and was sent crashing to the ground. She sat spread eagle on the
floor, exposing her underwear. Although he really didnt want to his eyes were
suddenly drawn to the brightly coloured underwear, he averted his eyes in the
same movement but she caught him looking.
You fancy me dont you? she asked in a cheeky yet jovial manner. With that she

pulled her skirt right up to her waist, rolled over on to her back and spread her
legs wide apart. Carruthers gasped with the shock of the moment.
No, no he exclaimed frantically, youve got me all wrong. Carruthers stood up
and quickly made towards the door, Kershaw crawled after him on all fours
laughing hysterically.
Just as he turned the handle the drug finally wore off after four days and the
descent from the high to the low was both instant and dramatic.
Carruthers was half way through the door when Kershaws scream made him
stop, the wild animated voice was suddenly replaced by a painful whimper, help
me she suddenly cried, He thought he had seen enough shocks for one day
already but as he turned back his heart skipped a beat.
Lyndsey Kershaw was on her knees and her face was running with sweat, her
hair had become matted by the heavy perspiration, her whole face had turned
bright red and the veins on her neck were raised.
Her breathing became strained. The sight that horrified Roland Carruthers the
most was the fact that her eyes kept rolling up into the top of her head. Kershaw
began to panic, as she tried to look down her eyes would involuntarily roll up
again, she frantically struggled to restore her sight in rapid movements her eyes
rolling up and down in succession. She became frightened and began to scream
over and over again, her eyes rolling up and down, up then down.

When I first began writing this book I wrongly said that I have lived a life without
emotions. Now with the passage of time, hindsight and as I think more deeply
whilst writing I believe I have had emotions all along. My personal feelings were
just suppressed. It is true to say that I have lived without using them, that I have
been emotionless. But I believe, if I could recognise pain and experience the
pleasure of the ending of that pain, then surely all other emotions are just hybrid
emotions, just different levels of pain and pleasure.
I honestly believe that all the feelings we have, every emotion is simply just
another level of pleasure or pain and somehow we learn to move more towards
pleasure in its various guises. Pain, we move away from at all costs and
sometimes the pain is so great we are unable to cope with it and we break down.
I have always had a high tolerance level for physical pain, and I believe I always
will.
Mental or should I say psychological pain I had always handled as well by simply
accepting, but as maturity began to set in so came the development of my
analytical side, my next awareness was psychological pain. I developed the
awareness of depression and it hit me hard.
Craig Garnett the prison govenor decided he would change me, but he knew that
he would have to break my spirit first. Garnett sensed the animal within me and
he knew that until he had trained the savage beast he hadnt a hope of making
any progress with me. The first stage was solitary confinement.
Up until now the conditions I had lived in were acceptable, I wasnt particularly

too obsessed with hygiene and cleanliness and I wasnt the tidiest of people but I
wasnt filthy, I kept myself decent. The conditions of the cells in solitary were the
worst thing I had experienced, and as you are aware I had experienced some
terrible things leading up to this moment.
The cells used for solitary confinement are about half a mile away from the main
prison building and are underground. The stench begins at the top of the stone
steps that lead down towards the dark corridors, I thought I was going to vomit
when the smell hit me, a thick pungent damp smell of what smelt like rotting flesh
and human excrement. I held my hand over my nose and mouth as I was led into
the darkness.
I was pushed into cell number five and as I stumbled in the dark I slipped on
something soft and wet on the floor, I was horrified to discover it was human
waste.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see the floor was patterned with piles of
excrement, urine and vomit, all the tiny room contained was a bed and a bucket
and the bucket was full. The strong pungent smell hit me hard as I gasped in
shock, the thick vapour hit the back of my throat and I instantaneously threw up,
the vomit free flowing in powerful churning convulsions, three times in a row.
Outside my door I could hear the prison wardens laughing.
When all you can breathe is shit your spirit is broken pretty quickly, as it is not a
smell one can get used to very quickly.
The smell was, not only thick, heavy and nauseating but it was also wet, I could
actually feel the dampness of the smell with every breath I made and It gave me
the terrible mental image that I was breathing in sewage not air.
I could literally feel fluid going into my nose and mouth and I experienced the
feeling of it trickling down my throat and into my lungs.
All my life I had accepted, suddenly I could not take it, and I wanted out, I ran to
the door and started hammering on it, screaming to be let out. As I screamed and
my breathing rose, so the smell suddenly intensified, I vomited but this time I was
sick over myself. The hot dampness seeping through my clothing on to my skin I
became hysterical.
I began to throw myself around the room hammering at the door, screaming to be
let out; I shouted till I became hoarse, in the middle of this tantrum I stood on
another pile of excrement and slipped over and actually fell down on top of it. I
was nearly a man but I cried like a baby.

Back in Switzerland Stuart Whattam cursed under his breath and looked again at
the clock, where was Sangha? he was still angry about the condition that Sangha
had left Lyndsey Kershaw in , he grimaced as his mind drifted back.

The relationship between Stuart Whattam and Sylvia Benson had intensified
although it hadnt yet become sexual. The two of them had become inseparable
companions. He felt too guilty to advance the relationship as he and the late
Anthony Benson had been very close and he somehow felt he would have been
cheating him.
By being a companion to Sylvia he was in a way looking after his best friends

wife in his absence. He had been at Sylvias house when he had received the call
from Carruthers.
In twenty minutes he was by Lyndseys bedside and this time his guilt intensified
for he now felt that he was the one that had put her in this state. It had been his
idea that she had gone undercover and he had completely forgotten the quest for
justice and my freedom. It sickened him to his stomach and from that moment on
his drive to avenge Anthonys death and to secure my freedom went into
overdrive.
It seemed that Carruthers timing had been impeccable, Lyndsey Kershaw had
been given a high dosage of powerful drugs that were designed to put her into a
hyperactive state. Their side effect would mean that for four days she would not
sleep or rest but be on a permanent high, burning calories and dehydrating. Day
five the body normally breaks down and the victim suffers a heart attack and dies.
This form of death is very difficult to attribute back to drugs because by the time
the body goes into shock all traces of the drug are already gone, absorbed and
digested into the system.
This was the work of a professional, someone who knew drugs and medicine
very well, whattam had no doubt in his mind that this was the handiwork of the
evil Doctor Sangha, he had obviously tired of her and just throw her away like a
used rag.
Whattam could feel his blood boil.
Fortunately Carruthers had got to her in time and the medics were able to get her
on a drip and pump the nutrients back into her to save her life. Another
concerning factor was the bruising on her body, there was a lot of evidence to
support the theory that she may have been gang raped, fortunately Kershaw had
slipped into a coma and there she would sleep for the next two weeks whilst her
body repaired.
Nightingales night club is an exclusive haven for the very rich and the very
beautiful, its origins date back to the nineteen fifties, some famous American
actor had been photographed in a passionate embrace whilst leaving the club
with a stunning model. The scandal that followed meant the end of his marriage
but more importantly it put Nightingales on the map as a place to find beautiful
women.
A sexist door policy came into force soon after, if the doormen did not think that a
woman attempting to enter the club fit into what society labelled as beautiful then
they simply would not be allowed in. Rather than this door policy deterring
women from going to the club it instead became a benchmark by which women
would judge themselves against, it was seen as a major plus to ones social
standing if you could get into the club. This acknowledged that you were beautiful
and a cut above all of your friends.
Sadly many friendships were broken by this policy any many a young girl would
fall victim to eating disorders to try and meet the required body type and look to
gain entrance.
Nightingales had been a second home to Lackvinder Sangha, the policy for men
was that they just had to be rich, this had been were Kershaw had originally met
him and it was at Nightingales that Stuart Whattam concluded his search.
Stuart Whattam put the telephone back into its cradle and looked over at Roland
Carruthers, something strange is going on Rolly Stuart began, what did they

say? Carruthers quizzed, they believe Sangha has left the country, he
apparently has cancelled his membership theyve not seen him in weeks, but
he practically lived at Nightingales a few months ago Carruthers barked.
Whattam frowned, they had checked his house and there had not been a sign of
life, the house had been in darkness for days.
All the haunts that they had discovered Sangha frequented in their original
research all drew blanks; it really did seem that Sangha had skipped the country.
What ever it was that Sangha was up to it seemed he had concluded, he had
covered his tracks and he had simply vanished into thin air.
I used the sheet from my bed and scraped up all the excrement, vomit and urine
from the floor and collected it all together and packed it all up into a corner of the
cell. By wrapping it all up in one place helped to diffuse some of the foul stench
and made the cell a little more bearable. I discovered that the cells were cleaned
out every two weeks, so it would mean that I would end up having to tolerate my
own waste for fourteen days with just the one bucket.
I was allowed a shower every three days; I would be dragged blinking with my
eyes stinging from the shock of natural daylight out into a small courtyard where I
would be stripped and hosed down in cold water by the guards. Not a word would
be spoken during this ritual then I would be thrown back into my cell with a pile of
clean clothes.
The sheet was found after I had been in solitary for four days, I was charged with
damaging government property and sentenced to an extra five days in solitary for
my crime. The good side to this however was that they removed the sheet and its
putrid contents and hosed down the cell, so at least the stench I lived with was
my own and not somebody elses.
The time in solitary seemed eternal. Because there were no windows I had no
concept of when it was night or day. The cell was illuminated by a very dim
coloured bulb that meant I had to strain to see things, but then again there was
nothing to see, just the bed the bucket and my clothes. They came neatly folded
in a cardboard box which sat at the foot of the bed, there was nothing to do but
sleep.
I found myself dropping off to sleep often and for long periods at a time; this only
helped to confuse my bodys clock so I had no concept of time.
I have no idea how long I stayed in Solitary, my depression set in and I withdrew
into a world of disappear.
An agonising self-awareness hit me and I wallowed in my own self-pity. For the
first time I actually felt sorry for myself, I thought long and hard and my mind
drifted back to the terrible life I had lived, the pain I had suffered and I cried for a
different past that I had never had.
I suddenly wished for someone to love me, someone to hold me, I cried for hours
at a time.
My sleep became restless and I was plagued eternally with recollecting
nightmare visions of my childhood. From the terrible time I had spent at Bradbury
Towers to the brutal sexual abuse I had suffered at Parrys hands.
Whilst I had endured the pain I had accepted but now some eighteen years later I
was suffering the despair and regressed trauma associated with being a victim. I

felt alone in the world, I felt frightened and I felt cold.

I suddenly became aware of the fact that I had no hope, if I ever did get out of
prison where would I even go to? I had no family, no friends and no home. I was
literally alone in this world with no one and I was convinced that the world hated
me.
I rocked on the spot back and forth like a demented lunatic after I while I didnt
even bother to defecate or urinate in the bucket or on the floor, I just went in my
trousers, I sat in my own filth. Rocking back and forth, back and forth gibbering to
myself like an old man. Dribble ran freely down my chin. I choked and coughed
on the foul stench of the excrement then I cried. I cried eternally for days at a
time, I wanted to die, I might have committed suicide whilst in this state but hadnt
the motivation to even move.
My darkest hour was long and it was painful, in the midst of my depression my
headaches returned with a regularity that I had never known before.
They came practically on the hour, every hour the ear piercing whistling scream,
the red clouded vision and the feeling of hot needles running through my brain. I
lay down on my side on the damp floor in the foetal position crying, my nightmare
took me very close to the brink of a total nervous breakdown.
CHAPTER TEN
Turning the pages of history

Roland Carruthers drew the wooden chair closer to the table and placed the
crumpled papers down, brushing them flat with a sweating palm. They had a
collection of newspaper cuttings, photographs and scribbled notes.
Okay, from the start, the kid is abused by his folks has a terrible life, flips out at
sixteen smacks a few people but that can be defended against because of his
upbringing, hes angry, letting off steam, cant take it anymore Carruthers
nodded. Then he kills his grandfather, but we are able to prove its self defence,
but somehow evidence is changed to say he has also killed his Grandmother
why? Carruthers shrugged.
Whattam scratched his head with the pencil, swallowed then continued, Tony
Benson is murdered, evidence is falsified when this chap Sangha appears on the
scene.
We know we are up against some ruthless and very powerful people here but
what are they up to Rolly, what has the kid, the old guy and the grandmother got
that could possibly be worth anything to anybody?
Carruthers hated it when Whattam asked him questions, at the best of times he
knew that he was up against a superior intellect in Whattam and that there was
nothing he could ever offer that would ever be of the slightest help to him. There
was a silent pause and Whattam stared at him awaiting an answer.

Out of nervousness more than anything his eyes looked down, just to escape the
stare and it hit him.
His eyes focused on a tiny bit of print at the edge of the newspaper.
Photograph reproduced by the kind permission of Saxon Pharmaceuticals, its
been staring us in the face Stuart for nearly two years he began almost
triumphantly the link is, and I cannot believe we missed it, but he also worked for
Saxon. Whattam stared back, his face misting over very perplexed, who also
worked at Saxon Rolly?
Carruthers struggled to keep his sweating hand from shaking he pointed to the
tiny print at the foot of the page then slowly he rose his hand up the page
scanning text and pictures then his finger finally came to a stop.
The photograph reproduced from archive pictures for the sake of the news story
was of a former employee of the company, the link had never been noticed or
documented as part of the case but now it was alarming.
The picture that Rolands shaky finger pointed to was of the former drug pioneer
Victor Bradley Chessington, my Grandfather.

When I was finally released from solitary confinement I was on the edge of
insanity, for the first few days I staggered around in complete delirium. As I recall
it there would be gaps of memory that would just open up in my head. An
example of what I mean is that I might for example find my self in the gym with no
recollection of my setting off to get there, or changing into my sports clothes. I
would find myself day dreaming and would have to literally snap myself from out
of it.
It took me a while to readjust back to the routine of cleaning myself and shaving
and reclaiming some of the self pride associated with personal hygiene, I was like
the walking dead for three weeks.
My new cell mate Graham Rumens was like a zombie for other reasons, one of
the fist things he did when he arrived was to squat down over a piece of
newspaper and defecate on to it. Much to my surprise, he then began to
feverishly break up the stool till he found what he was looking for, encased in a
condom was the drug he needed to get him through another day.
When his woman visited him she would have the condom half way down her
throat to escape detection, whilst kissing him, she would half cough and bring up
the packet. Rumens would in turn swallow it down in one movement, he was a
desperate man, his introduction into my life would give me many revelations.
From Rumens I would learn about Drugs, I would learn about women and I would
learn about the Edge.
Graham Rumens had fallen from grace.
The head prisoner at the top of the inmates system of ultimate control was a man
every one refereed to as the Edge, Rumens had been his former Henchman and
protector. I had yet to meet the Edge as he was housed in a completely different

block, his privileges were such that he even ate with the prison management in
their own private canteen. The Edge never mixed with the other prisoners, all that
had been available about the Edge until I met Rumens had been gossip and
rumour.
I feel it important to begin by telling you the stories that circulated about the
Edge, later I shall unfold the truth. The story went like this.
The Edge was so called because he was close to the edge. His violent temper
was well known as he would fly into fits of rage and brutally injure people. He was
in prison because he had murdered both of his parents; he had gone into their
bedroom one night with an axe and had literally hacked them both to death.
But the edge was also a genius he had an incredible brain, he could compute the
most advanced mathematical equations in seconds and had an incredible
capacity for retaining information. In essence he was a genius, but he walked the
fine line between genius and madness and would often slip over the line into
either world. Prostitutes were made available to him; they came at least four
times a week. It also seemed that everyone in the prison feared him even the
guards, many people believed that the Edge actually had control over the guards
as well.
Rumens had been in a great position along with another prisoner Colin Eames;
they both had sat on the Edges right hand. They were given fantastic privileges
extra food, extra money, access to current films requested literature, a prostitute
every two months for fifteen minutes, the list went on.
The Edge had issued two rules, no drugs to be taken by his henchmen as he
wanted them alert at all times and no violence against the prostitutes.
Rumens had failed on both counts, it seems that there had been an incident were
Rumens had been unable to get an erection, the prostitute had told him that it
was alright, she had been trying to relax him, but she made the fated mistake of
smiling. Rumens interpreted it that she was firstly laughing at the size of his penis
and secondly laughing at his inability to get an erection. He flew into an instant
rage and beat her so badly that along with her broken ribs and bruising she also
lost the sight in one eye.
When the Edge heard of this he simply smashed both of Rumens knees with a
hammer, he crept up on him in the prison factory one day and in front of the other
prisons and guards he viciously attacked him, no one lifted a finger to help. One
of the prisoners however felt that it may further his own advancement if he
showed kindness to Rumens following the attack, when Rumens was recovering
in his cell in plaster the inmate gave him cocaine to ease the pain.
The Edge found him stoned out of his head and that meant his bodyguard days
were all over. Fuelled by rage the Edge beat Rumens until he almost died, he fell
into a coma, when he came round a week later all of his privileges had been
cancelled and he now shared a lowly cell with me.
Rumens was bitter and he was also a big talker. Although I didnt make
conversation with him initially, he would still simply talk at me. He did not care if

he didnt get any reply he just wanted to talk, to get things off his chest.
It may have been the drugs, I really do not know, whatever it was, it made him
spill his guts and he talked incessantly, I learnt much.
Human nature is a weird thing I remember Stuart Whattam telling me once,
you put two people on a desert island that hate each other and over time they
will naturally form a bond, a friendship will develop right down to a dependence
on each other
I really did not care much for Graham Rumens but over time he became a friend,
My first ever real friend.
Graham Rumens had a banana shaped face; if you looked at him sideways on
his profile was really like a banana. That was one of his most notable features, he
had a pronounced jaw that jutted out and a cruel thin mouth, he had the type of
almost comical face that one would instantly trust. However the eyes gave it
away, like in the movies where you can instantly spot the criminal Rumens had
those evil sneering eyes that spelt danger. From his eyes you could see he had a
violent side, you could literally see the beast within smiling back at you.
He had a slight almost gangly build but the sheer menace in his eyes belied the
lack of physical presence, he was able to exude fear into people just with his
stare alone.
You know why Im in here dont you Chessington Rumens began, I looked at
him, it didnt matter if I replied or not, I knew he was going to tell me, bitches and
whores the lot of them he suddenly shouted.
We cant live with them and we cant live without them, fucking bitches and
fucking whores that fuck with your head. I sat up to listen to him, Rumens told
his stories with such passion and hatred that they had captivated me, he had
become the bedtime storyteller I had yearned for as a child. He took me to far
away places that I could never have dreamt of. Rumens pointed an almost
skeletal finger at me and chuckled, you dont know much about women do you?
Let me tell you about women, Chessington
You see Chessington, whats going to happen to you when you get out of here is
you are going to meet bitches and whores and they will fuck with your head.
Rumens began to pour the white powder onto the mirror and began chopping it
into finer grains, At the moment we are both sane but they will drive you fucking
crazy. Rumens eyes half closed in a painful stare. They give you weird desires,
they make you a slave to them, but dont let them control you with sex
Chessington, you let them control you with sex and it will fuck up your head, you
want to know what I do?
I shrugged and raised my lower lip to suggest I had no idea what he did. I smack
them Rumens spat triumphantly. When the desires come I slap the fucking
whores for making me feel this way, I slap the dirty bitches, when they start
screaming and getting frightened it just makes the feelings stronger, so I smack
them some more, you know what happens then?

I shook my head, then I give it to them, its what they want anyway, dirty sluts, I
give it to them hard and I slap them and the fucking bitches love it.
I had no idea what on earth he was talking about.
I went too far with Samantha Greene, the bitch made me so crazy I couldnt
stand it, I had to kill her I smashed her face in with a brick. I had to Chessington
she fucked with my head, I wanted to give it to her all the time, all the fucking
time, fucking bitch, fucking dirty whore and she loved it as well, I swear she was
still laughing when I smashed in her face.
Rumens stopped to suck the spit back into his mouth that had started to drip from
his mouth as his passion had risen. If you learn one thing from me Chessington ,
do not trust the bitches and if you feel the desires are controlling you and making
you crazy, just slap the fuckers, you hear me? Slap the dirty whores
Rumens was very fired up on the subject of women, in my naivety I accepted
what he told me, he was the only person who had ever taken the time to talk to
me and I trusted him. I would look out for the danger signs in the future and if I
ever felt I was loosing control and if I felt a woman was making me crazy I would
take his advice and give them a slap.
Stupid advice from a madman but I didnt know any better. I filed this information
to the back of my mind for future reference, I would regret that I had retained this
idiots advice as it would have catastrophic repercussions when I finally found
love, but I was young and still impressionable.
Stuart Whattam and Roland Carruthers became an efficient team; it only took one
telephone call and a visit to the local library to start the next sequence of events.
The telephone call established that Victor Chessington had retired from Saxon at
least twenty years ago, the library had the tiny newspaper reference that was
their first clue.
Following the joint investigation between the police and the Social services the
distinguished career of drug pioneer Victor Bradley Chessington came to a
sudden and abrupt end yesterday, following as yet, unproved allegations against
Mr. Chessington his employers Saxon Pharmaceuticals have agreed to terminate
his contract with immediate effect. Doctor L Sangha a director of the company
issued this statement today.
Saxon are in the business of saving lives through the research and development
of new medicines and cures, we cannot afford any bad press and adverse
publicity to be associated with our company.
It is one of the rules of this company that all employees stay on the right side of
the law.
Mr Chessington has agreed to step down in light of these allegations and until
this matter is resolved and following a full investigation into the allegations he will
no longer be associated with Saxon Pharmaceuticals.
The newspaper carried no details of what the allegations were, subsequent
searches failed to find future newspaper stories that ever made reference to the
allegations, it was if all records had been wiped out or as if the case was never

followed up.
I do know there is a big cover up at the police Whattam began, remember
when I told you about the medical records being changed that Benson was
working on and the link to police records being terminated without reason?
Carruthers frowned, the article says it was a joint investigation with the social
services perhaps I should do some sniffing at my end, there may well be archived
records about this
Whattam peered at the tiny article, look our friend Dr Sangha, hes a bloody
director of the company, its time I took a trip out there to have a look around. I
have a feeling that a lot of questions can be answered if I can find out what
Saxon Pharmaceuticals actually do.
You check for files Ill make plans to go to Switzerland, I bet fifty to one thats
were Sangha is, hes gone back home.

In one way I had regressed whilst in solitary confinement and in another I had
progressed. My regression had been in that my zest for life had been completely
crushed, where as before I tolerated but still continued blindly through life, now I
lived my life in eternal despair. I had gained awareness, a true understanding of
my situation and my plight. I was aware that for me there really was no hope, I
had gained the emotion unhappiness and I didnt like it.
I had also suffered a lot of muscle wastage whilst in Solitary and my energy
levels initially following release were very low, as I had spent so much time
sleeping I found it hard to re adjust back to the normal routine of daylight waking
and night time sleeping.
The progress was that I realised my emotions were finally waking up, it seemed
that daily new sensations were coming to me, although unhappy, there was a
tingle of realisation that all my experiences, feelings and emotions were new, I
had gained the emotion curiosity.
Only two nights ago I visited Stuart Whattam at his house, I was just passing by
on my way home and I thought Id just drop in and say hello. I only intended to
stay for half an hour at the most but we started talking, He made the fatal mistake
of taking a few bottles of beer from out of the fridge.
Before I knew it the whole evening had gone by and we had put the world to
rights as usual.
We discussed in depth our theory about curiosity.
Stuart is of the opinion that it is impossible to learn or move forward without
curiosity, without wondering how things work you will never gain a complete
understanding of anything, he believes that my gaining of curiosity helped me to
begin my search into myself.
When you meet someone that is different, as in weird different, you can either
fear him or her, because they seem so strange. The second thing you can do is
hate them because you do not understand them or you can tolerate, without

understanding them. However if you have a healthy curiosity then the natural
reaction would be to try to understand first why they function this way. Very few
people take the time to try and understand people. Stuart believes curiosity is a
great thing and that it is a shame that most people are not analytical enough to
take the time to try and understand people first.
I believe I have an advantage in the analysing stakes, as my first reaction is to
always tolerate first.
Most people react first then think later. My basic function is to take the abuse first,
then react second.
This has made me more tolerable of people and I have the advantage of time to
really try and figure people out.
But I digress back to the story.

This is incredible Whattam began, licking the edge of his outstretched forefinger
and turning the page, simply incredible.
Victor Bradley Chessington had taken early retirement, his career had been put
suddenly on hold and everything had been swept under the carpet hidden from
the worlds eyes but Roland Carruthers knew people within the social services,
people that could unlock doors and find missing files.
Stuart Whattam was glad of this link as Carruthers had found, in his words,
incredible information.
To explain how so much information was recorded but never cross-referenced
does sound totally unbelievable in this modern computer age that we live in, but
when these incidents were being recorded the social services were divided into
numerous departments.
Departments that never spoke to each other, sometimes wasting resources by
duplicating the work already being carried out by another department, but the
worse part about this inefficiency was that everything was recorded on paper and
these paper files were stored, where they gathered dust for years.
There had been a big fire and many records had been destroyed, many notes
were thrown in files that had similar names and because of understaffing records
were never brought up to date.
Staff changes were made and old work of predecessors was never continued, it
was a farce and a sham, but a lot of records remained, still archived, it was all a
matter of knowing were to look and who to ask.
The Chessington files had turned up in the attic of a former employee, She had
been given the task of sorting out files by date order and had taken two boxes
home to sort out at the weekend. Tragically she had died in a car accident before
she had been able to bring them back to work.
Had it had not been for the fact that Carruthers had a conversation with one of

the former directors of the social services about old working practices the fact
that she took work home would never have surfaced.
This was the missing link, the advantage that the powers at work were working
so efficiently to conceal and it left Carruthers and Whattam reeling.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Driven by the Devils Daughter

The File although named Chessington also contained what at first appeared to be
a completely unrelated case about an evil man called James St. Ange , I shall
begin by telling you the story about Saint Ange then the Chessington reports. He
was an evil man and he had a problem and his problem brought in the
intervention of the social services and his inclusion to the file.
James St. Ange became nasty and cruel, however had it not for the driving force
behind him Winifred St. Ange he would have been a very different person, but he
loved her and he would do anything to please her. In reality he was weak, but she
made him strong.
James and Winifred St. Ange had been married for twelve years they had two
sons, twins aged eleven and a daughter aged eight. Winifred wore the trousers,
she dominated James and ran the family with hard discipline and military
precision, she was happy with her family but she didnt like the fact that the
children saw her as the disciplinarian and their father as the one who showed
them love.
She began to despise the fact that they always ran to him first, that he was the
one they would cuddle up to and not her and over time this began to annoy her, it
was becoming very obvious that they loved him and hated her.
James she ordered him one night, from now on James you will be the one that
beats the children, if they ever do something wrong it will now be your
responsibility to punish then! James looked back at her shocked as he had
never even raised his voice in anger to the children, he was very meek and very
placid, please dont ask me to do that he pleaded, I could never cause them
pain, I love my kids.
Winifred scowled at him, are you saying that I do not love my own kids James,
because I discipline them, is that what you are saying to me? . James began to
tremble and licked his lips, no, no thats not what I meant he choked.
James she began, her gravel voice hard and decisive, you will beat the
children, you understand, you will discipline them out of love. He bowed his
head, yes dear.
The terrible day soon arrived and the crime was pathetic, but she made him do it.
One of his sons had done very badly at school in his examinations and had been
given the report to bring home and give to his parents.
Simon St. Ange did not worry about himself his concerns were that James would
be disappointed with him and he hated the thought of letting his father down.
Besides which he had his school friends coming round to his house he guessed

that if he just threw the report away no one would ever know.
Unbeknown to him, his teacher, very concerned about how standards had slipped
had already telephoned home and spoken to Winifred St.Ange.
The evening meal went smoothly and as the children were settling down to play
with their toys and read their comics Winifred looked Simon straight in the eye
and without a hint of kindness or love she asked him the question very forcefully,
where is your school report?
Simon St.Ange froze; he could feel the terror tear through him as a chill made
him suddenly tremble in fear.
James she shouted, bring the net wire!
I am not sure if they still make them these days as having net curtains in your
window is very much out of vogue at the moment, but in my day everybody had
net curtains. These curtains were hung in front of your normal curtains and the
purpose was so that people could not see in, although you could see out. They
were literally made of a net, a bit like a mosquito net, but hung in your windows.
Net curtains were hung on a plastic coated spring wire rail that had two hooks on
either end; the hooks would be attached to an eye bracket or on to nails. This
spring rail was what Winifred referred to as the net wire.
James St.Ange brought the net wire over from where his wife had placed it earlier
in the evening and placed it down, he honestly did not realise that Winifred had
asked him to bring it over as an instrument of torture.
I shall ask you one more time Simon she began, where is your school report?
.
Had he been older Simon would have realised that his Mother obviously knew
that he had been given the report earlier in the day but foolishly he tried to call
her bluff. I dont think we get our reports for a few months yet he began. Liar,
she spat, James beat him now, till he tells the truth. With that she roughly
pushed her husband towards the terrified youngster.
Come on Simon James cooed, what have you done with your school report .
He could see the child was scared, you are not in any trouble, just tell us what
you have done with it. Simon was in too deep but he trusted his father, still he
didnt tell the truth, he held on to his story honestly daddy, I dont think we get
then for a while yet. Beat the truth of him Winifred commanded.
I know you are not telling the truth James began, I am going to have to give
you a smack, you know you should not tell lies with that he gave Simon a playful
pat on the bottom, which caused Simon to giggle rather than cry.
Winifred St.Ange incensed with this pathetic show grabbed Simon roughly and in
front of his school friends, brother and sister stripped him naked and slammed
him face down on to the dinning room table.
What the hell are you doing? James began, Winifred spun and glowered at him
with such an evil stare he felt the same chill run through him. She grabbed the
wire and thrust it into his hand, James beat the truth out of this lying bastard
she hissed.
With tears in his eyes James St.Ange raised the wire and whipped his son across

his naked back. The flesh instantly rose up into a long red swelling and the child
screamed in agony. Again she hissed.
James had to close his eyes so he could not see the terrible sight. As the whip
came down then up again he felt the wetness hit his face. He opened his eyes to
see the horrific sight, the flesh had torn open, not just a cut, the wound was deep
and the flesh had separated and the blood had splattered him.
Where is the fucking report? Winifred screamed, there is no report, the
shocked youngster cried. She slapped her husband out of his shock and
gesticulated for him to continue, the whip came down again, and the child
screamed over and over again.
The other children began to cry hysterically they were terrified at what they were
being forced to witness.
James kept his eyes closed as he could not bear to see the sight of his son
suffering, yet he knew that he could at any time stop the suffering but he was torn
between the love he had for his wife and his own wishes. Please Simon, what
have you done with the report? he begged, the tears were stinging his eyes.
The whip came down twice and the child screamed, Im sorry daddy I threw it
away.
Simon St.ange fainted instantaneously and his father relieved that he had the
confession threw the bloodied whip to one side and rushed to his sons aid.
James froze as he looked down at the damage he had caused.
The whip had slashed him across his back, buttocks and legs and the cuts were
so deep and bloody that James had to blink his eyes in rapid succession to prove
to himself that what he was seeing was real.
He was literally in a state of shock, the whole scene seemed unreal, the children
were all screaming in terror and he was transfixed with the horror that he could
have done this to his own son.
Get the brown paper and the sack cloth from under the sink Winifred hissed to
the children, James, get back here dont let them see you weaken.
James St.Ange watched the morbid scene as his young children covered his
sons wounds with damp brown paper then covered him with the sacking, he
watched as the blood began to seep through the material.
Simon came round, still groggy and began sobbing hysterically, his brother and
sister helped him up the stairs and put him to bed, His school friends were frozen
in blind terror and following this brutal display never returned.
As it turned out it was their testimony of the events that led to justice finally being
served.
James St. Ange went to bed that evening tormented by guilt for he couldnt relax,
he wanted to go over to his sons room, he wanted to tell he that he was sorry. He
wanted to promise Simon that he would never do it to him again, he wanted to
hold him in his arms and make things right, but his wife would not let him.
Winifred could sense his pain and it pleased her, the kids were now in fear of him
and she was sure that the popularity stakes were slowly turning.
That night she was tender and loving, she gently massaged her tormented

husband and through slow delicate kisses and stoking she relaxed him. She
continually reassured him that it would be all right, that the children would still
love him, that they had gained a respect for him but more importantly he had
pleased her, she had been impressed by his display of strength and that she now
considered him a real man.
For the first ever time in the thirteen years that they had been together Winifred
performed oral sex upon her husband. In my day oral sex was always seen as
something as a taboo, a deed normally only provided by prostitutes or women
with loose morals, but never wives. It had always been just an imagined fantasy
to James and the reality over exceeded his wildest imagination.
Winifred had never done it before; she had however read all about it in the trashy,
racy romance novels that she purchased monthly so she knew what to do. She
was surprised at how accurate the books turned out to be. For the first time she
felt she had everything. She controlled the family and now she had finally divided
the loving bond that had existed between father and children.
James St. Anges mind began to warp, he was confused, his body had never felt
such pleasure but at the same time his heart had never felt such pain. But she
relaxed him he guiltily surrendered himself to the moment and the intensity of his
orgasm made his whole body shake violently, his mind twisted in that moment.
In time Winifred only performed oral sex on James after he had beaten the
children, he became like one of Pavlovs dogs. During the act of administering
their punishment he would develop a full erection in anticipation of the pleasure
that was to follow. The beating were almost like foreplay he would put all of his
energy into the beatings as he knew he would just have to lie back later and
enjoy the experience. It seemed the more savage the beatings the more intense
was the pleasure that followed. It seemed that not only was the feeling intensified
because of his frustrated rage and guilt, but it also seemed that his wife seemed
to put more effort into fellatio. The more damage he did to the children, the more
effort she would put into her act, his mind warped as the evil side in him grew and
hungered for the sex that followed.

Roland Carruthers put the paper down and pulled the greying handkerchief from
out of his trouser pocket and mopped his sweating brow, The bitch he hissed,
The manipulative scheming bitch, the poor children. Whattam looked over,
Carruthers had gone bright red with the emotion of the moment and was visibly
shaking with rage, and in that moment Whattam realised that his friend too had
been a victim.
Carruthers was driven to his work through emotion, he had obviously been
physically abused himself as a child, Whattam had never seen it till now.
Carruthers stuffed the cloth back into his pockets and picked up the papers
again.
A year had gone by and the family had changed. The St. Ange children became
withdrawn and all three developed stammers in their speech, they lost weight and

became like timid frightened lambs.

They lost all their friends and would become very agitated and restless if they
knew they were running late, when questioned by teachers they would say that
they had to be home on time or they would be punished for being naughty.
James St.Ange had started down a road that still plagued him, he enjoyed the
sex that his wife gave him, but deep down he hated the having to hurt his own
children to get it. However at the same time he found their suffering erotic in time
this drove him crazy.
James St. Ange sought help, he wanted to stop hurting his children but the link
between their suffering and his pleasure had fused, he could see how destroyed
they were. He hated the fact that they trembled when he opened his mouth, he
noticed how they jumped if he moved to do something innocent like simply
picking up a newspaper and he hated it. He joined a self-help group and thats
the place were he met a man that went by the name of Jack Stone, another sick
man.
The R.S.P.C.C. (The Royal society for the protection of cruelty to children)
sponsored the group, it was a place where parents that physically abused their
children could not only receive counselling but they could also meet other parents
in their same situation and join in discussion groups. Here they could get some of
the guilt off their chests, here they could feel that what they were doing was some
thing that others suffered from, but more importantly, it was a place where they
could be healed, and could stop.
The group met in the local town hall every Wednesday, they had a room set a
side were they would all meet, their chairs would be arranged in a circle prior to
their arrival. There was always plenty of coffee to drink and lots of biscuits to eat.
The atmosphere was always cosy and welcoming and the smell of coffee hung
thick in the air, but it was a nice smell that reminded St, Ange of his mothers
kitchen.
Every week each person would stand up and introduce themselves and begin by
repenting their evil crime and would lament and promise not to do it again, they
would plead for forgiveness and beg for the strength to be sincere and to be
more loving. This was St, Anges first week and as the introductions were made
and the confessions divulged he realised he was alone.
The main reason the parents abused their children was a lack of patience, they
were tired and the children cried too much, or they had jobs that left them
stressed and they took it out on their children, they all seemed to follow an
understandable and almost acceptable pattern.
No one beat their children out of pleasure, no one was rewarded with sex
afterwards, as each person spoke the more the realisation hit home that he was
being manipulated by his wife, The problem was not with him, it was his wife. She
made him do it.
It was his turn and he stood up shaking, St. Ange looked at the expectant faces,
he could feel the sweat running down his neck and back and he felt his hands
instantly clam up. Im sorry he began, I need help, I have come to the wrong
place, I know Im worse than you guys, excuse me .He turned towards the exit,
he had to escape.

You are in the right place a voice shouted, we can help you, any thing to do
with the suffering of children we can help you. James St. Ange turned to face the
group, his eyes red with the salty tears; he broke down, please, you dont
understand my problem is sex related. With that he turned and fled the building.
Jack Stone silently stood up from his seat, bowed respectfully to the rest of the
group and without a word followed St. Ange out on to the street.

It was pouring down with rain and Stone had to run hard to catch up with St.
Ange, he had run as fast as his legs could carry him and he had covered five
blocks before Stone grabbed him.
Listen to me Stone had pleaded, My name is Jack Stone, I dont relate to the
rest of the group either, I believe my situation is the same as yours, you know,
sexual he gave St. Ange a dirty smile that made his blood run like ice. I was
thinking the same as you, I was dreading my turn but now I think we can help
each other.
No you dont understand St. Ange began, but Stone grabbed him roughly by the
shoulders, listen to me Stone shouted.
You want to hear me say it first? Is that what you want before youll talk to me?
Do you want to hear my confession first? youre not the only one you know!.
St. Ange began blubbering like a baby.
You are not alone, Stone was shouting, you dont understand St. Ange began,
my situation is because of my wife she
Shut up! Stone commanded, we are they same, you want to hear it, its easy, I
too have sex with my little daughter
St. Ange froze, sickened by what he was hearing, its good isnt it? Stone
smiled, the power, The complete control. St. Ange was completely repulsed by
Stones confession he stood in total shock.
Stone smiled that filthy smile again. St. Ange screamed a cry of torment, pushed
Stone away and ran, as he ran he could hear Stone shouting after him to come
back.
James St. Ange ran the five miles home without stopping, his chest was burning
and his legs felt like lead but he kept going. Realisation had dawned, he was
amazed that he had not seen the manipulation he had been blinded by his
unconditional love for his wife but as he ran home he had hate on his mind.
Winifred St. Ange ran for her life, but ran to her death. Her husband came home
in a blind rage and grabbed the first thing he could lay his hands on, a hammer,
she had avoided his first swing by inches and when she saw the hole in the wall
she knew she had to get out. The worm had turned.
Winifred ran straight into the path of a speeding truck, it threw her eight feet into
the air, she landed on her head. Her neck snapped in three places, she died
instantly.
The death was recorded as an accident. It was acknowledged that it had been
the end result of domestic violence but James was not found guilty of murder.

However during the investigations into the death and the future safety of the
children with a violent father, the damning evidence from Simon St.Anges school
friends about that fateful night and the net wire ensured that all three children
were taken from him and put into care. They went to live at Bradbury towers, the
premier flagship home for abused children.
James St. Ange was left alone, his wife was dead and his children had been
taken from him, he was left in a bewildered state of deep shock, anger, regret
and bitterness.

Roland Carruthers put the file down and blew hard, his already bulbous cheeks
expanded to twice their size. What happened to saint Ange Whattam quizzed.
Carruthers flicked through the rest of the file and stuck his bottom lip out to
signify ignorance, there isnt any thing else, the rest is all about Chessington .
Whattam frowned, okay Rolls he began, whats next?
Carruthers picked up the St. Ange notes and banged them into a neat pile; he
separated them carefully and placed them at the far end of the table.
Lets have a look he began, Whattam wet his lips in anticipation he sensed the
pieces were coming together the mystery was slowly unfolding, he unfortunately
had not yet grasped the significance of what they had just read, but the truth
would dawn in time.
Chapter Twelve
The dead mans awakening
Graham Rumens, my banana shape faced cellmate loved to talk, in fact there
were days when my head hurt because he talked so much. The amazing thing is
Rumens didnt care if I responded to him or not, many were the days that the
conversation was one sided in that he would literally talk at me
I believe the incessant talking may have been the result of the drugs he was
taking, he claimed they opened his mind, let me tell you about what is really
going on in here Rumens began.
Rumens always set the scene first, then paused before he launched into his next
story. He began chopping up the white powder again, his hands had developed a
tremble as his dependence on the drug was growing, he sniffed it up so hard that
his throat rattled, let me tell you about real organised crime.

This is the beginning of a story that Rumens told me on that cold December
morning.
There is a legitimate company out in the world somewhere where the employees
have never seen their presidents face, although they do speak to him on a
regular basis by telephone.
It was rumoured that he lived on a private island in the Caribbean to evade
paying tax on the money he earned, there were also rumours that he lived in
Switzerland but the truth was he lived right here. He lived in a world that dictated

that he could not walk amongst his employees.

The president was the man lovingly refereed to by all the inmates as the Edge,
according to Rumens the edge was in prison for his own protection.
People on the outside for some reason believed the edge was dead and this was
the best place to hide.
From Prison the Edge had access to the outside world he had world leaders and
people of great influence and power working for him, there was a big master plan
in progress and a lot of strings were being pulled by the Edge.
In fact Rumens began, pointing a shaking finger at me, The edge was the one
that brought you here Chessington, you will meet him in time, he will come and
find you when he is ready

Victor Bradley Chessingtons file was thick and it took quite some time to get all
the papers into date order.
It seemed that the social services had had him under surveillance for quite some
time but a lot of the data had been started by one person and then stopped.
There was a lot of duplication, in that someone else would start the whole
investigations from new, years down the line and miss out important facts, in truth
it was a mess, but there were bits of information that were damning.
Victor Bradley Chessington according to the first entry first came to the attention
of the social services when he was twelve years of age. He had raped an elevenyear-old girl in the toilets at his school and had been instantly suspended. At
twelve he was far too young to face criminal charges but the social services were
alerted and he was assigned a councillor.
From his assessment notes it seemed that he had a disturbingly high sex drive
and had strong aggressive tendencies. His parents were both doctors and they
were away from home for long periods, often for several months at a time.
Chessington spend most of his time alone at home with the resident Aupair a
young girl in her very early twenties.
His parents feeling guilty and very much aware that they spent too much time
away from him would give him expensive gifts and money when they came
home, but he grew up lonely and frustrated.
There then seemed to be some pages missing then there was a police report that
seemed unrelated about a young girl that had been sexually abused in a ten mile
radius of Chessingtons home.
Because of the earlier incident at school Chessington had been a prime suspect
but following investigations this was dropped, a huge stash of what was
described as inappropriate pornographic material was taken from Chessingtons
home.
It seemed Chessington spend all of his money on this obscene material and it
was deemed that this was not good for such a young boy to become fixated with
such stimulus. The question was asked how such a young boy could have
actually bought the material as no shopkeeper would have sold it to him, the
question was left unanswered. The obvious fact that there was someone else
involved, someone was buying the literature for him was ignored.
Being in possession of Pornography was not enough to link him with the assault,

but the police report stayed in his file.

The next entry was a newspaper clip that had been cut out and glued onto one of
the official forms, the clip told the story of how the Aupair had been jailed for
interfering with the young Chessington. It turned out that she had been sexually
abusing him from the day she took up employment with the Chessingtons when
Victor Bradley was seven years old. The story broke when Chessingtons Mother
returned home unannounced and caught them.
The family took their son and moved out of the country away from the media
attention to Switzerland, the entry mentioned that Victor Bradley was going to
receive private tuition in a reputable medical school.
Whilst he was out of the country the social services dropped the case, it was
concluded that Chessingtons behaviour was all down to the Aupair and now that
she was safely behind bars and he was out of the country the case should be
closed.
It seemed that nothing was added for numerous years then there was another
clipping glued on to official paper and some notes scribbled as an interpretation.
The cutting was from a Swiss newspaper and was written in German the
scribbled writing stated that there had been an incident a young girl of six had
been raped ten miles from the medical school. The assailant had not been caught
but parents were warned to keep an eye on their children, but there had been a
name, the girl had said that the man had said his name was Jack Stone.
Jack Stone was the man that St.Ange had mentioned when he had gone crazy
and attacked his wife, Whoever this character Stone was he some how linked
St.Ange and Chessington together and now all three men had a history of hurting
Children in one form or another.
Chessington went on to have a successful career in medicine, several
newspaper articles and magazine inserts were cut out and put into the file. The
articles related to the numerous awards he collected in his work. Victor Bradley
became a respected and very famous chemist, he made mammoth progressive
leaps in his pioneering work in fact quite a number of household remedies and
medicines that we take for granted today owe a lot to some of his work, he truly
was a modern genius.
The file then contained some reports following the progress of the mysterious
Jack Stone, whoever he was he had money and he obviously travelled around a
lot, several incidences occurred across Europe in a seven year spell, the police
were clueless. Jack Stone seemed to get a strange perverted pleasure by telling
his victims his name. Stone targeted very young girls and as part of the power
trip he got from the assaults he would force his victims to say the words, thank
you Jack Stone you were fantastic.
The incidents suddenly stopped and nothing was included into the file for several
years. Chessingtons career went from strength to strength. During that period he

joined the board of drug giants Saxon Pharmaceuticals.

All was going well till Chessington started stealing money from Saxon and it
wasnt small amounts it was hundreds of thousands of pounds. The Company
stood by him initially but when the name Jack Stone was mentioned they
dropped him like a brick. It seemed that someone had started blackmailing him,
the person had befriended Jack Stone and Stone had given him information that
could ruin Chessington.
The other Directors paid Chessington a small fortune to leave the company, the
name Jack Stone was bad news and the fact that Chessington knew him was
unacceptable. He was ordered to disclose information about where Stone could
be found but he refused.
The police could do nothing, as there was no evidence, it was just Chessingtons
claim that he was being blackmailed and that it was to do with the fact that he
knew Jack Stone.
Chessington was charged with withholding evidence but then he suddenly
changed his story and said hed made it all up. He claimed there was no
blackmailer and that he didnt know stone, however despite this denial Saxon did
not re-employ him.
After several months of time wasting paperwork the police ensured that
Chessington was fined heavily by the courts and the case was dropped, however
the social services kept a keen eye on Chessingtons progress.
A huge section of notes were missing, it was evident that someone had written
things but the pages had been torn out, Whatever happened to Chessington over
the next twelve years had disappeared.
The final entries were modern files that Whattam and Carruthers already knew
about these were photocopied duplicates of the abuse I had suffered at
Chessingtons hands about the beatings the burns and the rest.
Whattam rubbed his eyes and put down the final batch of papers, well what have
we learnt Rolls?
Carruthers frowned, Well we know Chessington was a bastard and we know that
he had criminal friends, he definitely knew Jack Stone and I would put money on
that he knew St. Ange as well he paused.
After what we know about Doctor Lackvinder Sangha I think this runs a bit
deeper I think they know more that they are letting on. I would agree, thats why
I am keen to get out there to dig around.
Whattam scratched his head quite vigorously, Im sure it is staring us in the face
Rolls he began, whatever all this is about, it is all here, but I think the problem
is we just dont know what it is we are looking for.
David Jones?

Stuart Whattam snapped out of his daydream, Mr. Jones Im terribly sorry. I
know youve been waiting for over two hours but Im afraid Doctor Sangha was
called away suddenly on urgent business, he cant see you today
Stuart Whattam got up from the leather chair and stretched, his lower back was
aching from being sat for so long. Thats okay he began, can I make another
appointment? As he asked he looked up into the face of the man that had
brought him the news. He nearly collapsed with the shock, he was looking into
the face of Victor Bradley Chessington, my supposedly dead Grandfather, apart
from the obvious glass eye he looked in good shape, fit and tanned and very
much alive.
Im afraid that will not be possible, we have had a major crisis at our test
laboratories in Africa Chessington began, Doctor Sangha had to fly out
immediately, is it something that perhaps I can help you with? I think he may be
away in Africa for some time. Whattam struggled to bring himself to some sort of
coherent reality with both his spinning mind and his speech. I thought Dr.
Sangha was the one that made the buying decisions here he stammered in a
very flustered manner.
Chessington smiled, Doctor Sangha is the company trouble fixer, we are a huge
global company, the good doctor flies to all areas of the world were they need his
expertise, and believe you me, Mr. Jones he is much more than just a buyer
Whattam was thrown, May I report back to the office? Whattam began, his mind
finally recovered from the shock of this new revelation. My boss was insistent I
speak with Doctor Sangha, I shall speak to him and call you back if thats okay,
your name is?
He stretched forth a hand for Chessington to shake it, St. Ange Chessington
replied, shaking quite vigorously, just ask for Doctor James St. Ange.
Stuart Whattam hid outside the Saxon head office and waited for my Grandfather
to leave work he needed the photographic evidence.
In the time it took my Grandfather to walk from the reception to his car and to
drive away Whattam had taken some forty-eight pictures.
Whattam flew back to Britain with his head spinning and his mind racing, he
struggled to piece the jigsaw together but he knew someone was lying, the facts
did not add up with the files that he and Carruthers had read.
He was convinced that the man he had met was definitely my grandfather. The
name St. Ange he was obviously using as the world believe he (Victor Bradley
Chessington) had been murdered by me, but the question remained, was he the
same person as St. Ange or had he just taken over his identity and how did Jack
Stone fit it? These three men formed a very definite triangle and they all abused
children.
Whattam accepted the newspaper that the air stewardess offered him as he was
of the belief that sometimes you just need to stop thinking about a problem and
the solution will come to you. If you keep thinking you just get more and more
confused and lost in what the solution actually is.
The Headlines made the hairs on the back of his neck instantly rise and he felt

him self physically shiver.

My Grandfather had mentioned Dr. Sangha was going to Africa to solve a
problem, Whattam was convinced that this was his handiwork.
The main story detailed the horrific attack that had taken place on a British
student that had been supposedly mugged, his wallet and watch had been
stolen, but it was the way he died that caused Whattam to freeze.
The student had been beaten around the face and head with a brick; it was an
identical description to how his friend Anthony Benson had died. In that instant
Whattam realised that Lackvinder Sangha was the man that had murdered his
friend, what ever this student knew or had done was part of the big operation that
Saxon were covering up and Whattam knew he was getting close to unravelling
it.
The story painted an angelic picture of the young student, he had joined an
organisation that called themselves the animal liberation front, they were a
peaceful organisation that protested to governments about the inhumane
conditions that Animals had to live in and were treated by their human captives.
They held demonstrations but were never violent.
The student had gone to Africa with a friend of his to protest against scientific
experiments on Monkeys, only a few days into their mission he had been
horrifically murdered.
Another story that made the headline was that there had been a jungle fire not far
from the African laboratories of Saxon Pharmaceuticals. There had been a huge
fire that had spread in a ten-mile radius; it had been started deliberately. Petrol
had been sprayed, it seemed from the air. Hundreds of animals had died in the
inferno that had followed.
The whole thing stunk of corruption and Sanghas ruthless handiwork; Whattam
threw the newspaper down sickened. He was suddenly convinced that he knew
the answer, the students friend must have run into the jungle. Whattams fertile
imagination went into overdrive, he imagined the student being doused with
petrol from helicopters and being caught in the inferno, he closed his eyes and
shuddered, he convinced himself that the fire was started to kill one man and that
hundreds of animals had perished. It was a plausible theory, but in this instance
he was wrong.
As the plane touched down on to British soil the memory of his friend Anthony
Benson came back to haunt him, his mind wandered back to those childhood
days, the secret place and Sylvia Benson and he felt his eyes well up.
The memory hit him suddenly Sylvias words of over two years previous came
through as clear as a bell
, Now I know youre lying Stuart, two days before he died he said he was leaving
a parcel for you at your special place, you two men are still boys to the death.
She had paused on the word death, a sadness had come across her face, very
noticeable especially in the eyes, but she continued the aura of happiness, with
your secret codes and bloody silly magic symbols, he thought the world of you
Stuart.
You bloody fool Stuart! he shouted out loud to himself. The missing link to this
whole thing was in a place that only he knew about, he couldnt get off the plane

fast enough.

Paul Carpenter was considering taking early retirement from the police force; the
stress had got to him.
He had originally joined the force to protect and to serve as the motto reminded
him, but there was corruption in the force. The final straw had been when he
himself had fallen under the corruptive influence and had accepted the cash sum
and had perverted the course of justice.
Carpenter constantly tried to reassure himself that he had done the right thing,
his wife Samantha had been pregnant and the money had come at a time when
they desperately needed the money. Besides which, no one had been actually
hurt; it had only been a matter of changing a few files on a computer.
Living with the guilt was the thing that had finished him, guilt that his friend Stuart
Whattam no longer worked as an aid to the police force and guilt that somehow
the death of Anthony Benson was some how linked to what he had done. But
Carpenter was not a detective so he tried not to think too deeply, but still his mind
was in turmoil, the money sat in his bank unspent they had seen the pregnancy
through.
He and his wife had coped without the extra money and now it haunted him, the
five figures in the bribe were the exact number of digits that spelt the word blood,
and he was convinced that this was blood money.
The longer that time went on the more he became convinced that the blood
belonged to Anthony Benson.
Carpenter was caught at exactly the right time; he was already at breaking point
when Whattam got to him.
He had just got his daughter off to sleep when the front door bell had rung, he
hurried to the door to answer it, fearful that the caller might push the bell again
and maybe wake the child up. To his total surprise there were three people Stuart
Whattam, Lyndsey Kershaw and Roland Carruthers.
How would like the opportunity to put things right Paul? Whattam began. The
sparkle was back in his eyes; he cocked his head cheekily to one side. Not only
will you put right the terrible thing you did a few years ago, His eyes twinkled,
and Carpenter felt his spine tighten, it was obvious Whattam knew and his guilt
made him flush a deep red. You might even end up a hero, you will be known as
the man who caught Jack Stone.
Carpenters eyes widened, please come in.
Stuart Whattam held the thick wad of papers tightly with both hands and waved
them triumphantly in the air like a trophy, he smiled that comical smile of his, then
led his entourage into the house, it was going to be a long night.
Chapter Thirteen
The pursuit of normality
Anthony Benson had been a good man, he was a loving man and he had a big
heart that had always been part of the original attraction that had made Sylvia
Jones fall in love with him. He had a huge capacity for giving and he was
wonderful with Children.

He would have made a wonderful father as he had patience and children

instantly trusted and liked him. The news that Sylvia could never give him
children had hurt him and they went through a difficult period in their marriage
because of it. As a couple they struggled to accept this inevitability but in time
they worked through it.
Benson had really wanted children and the next best thing he could do was to
find a job that involved working with them.
He was a brilliant Pathologist and he earned good money, this second job he did
just to be with children, it paid him peanuts but it was here that he met my mother
Anoushka Chessington.
Benson worked in a government funded help centre that offered advice to
children with problems and teenage mothers. The mothers tended to be from
broken homes or were neglected by their parents, in most instances they had
only been looking for someone to love them and they had ended up with terrible
men that had taken advantage, made them pregnant and had disappeared.
Benson befriended these girls and he became like a substitute father to them all.
The centre was a place were they could come and talk when things got to much,
they didnt have to leave their addresses or any details, it was all done in
complete confidence, it was all done on just first name terms. Benson loved this
work, as he felt useful, but he gave it up when my mother gave him a note and
before he had had the chance to read it or offer her advice she had died. It left
him heartbroken and helpless.
The letter had thanked him for all of his advice, she also told him that he had
been the one that had carried her through a lot of the torment she had in her life,
but now she could no longer cope.
She was going to go home and kill her baby, then she was going to take an
overdose and kill herself.
She could no longer live with having to hide the fact that her child was the
product of incest.
Not only was she regularly sexually abused by her father she was certain that her
mother knew all about it but did nothing, she wanted to let him know who her
father was, he was the man that called himself Jack Stone.
She had enclosed a photograph of herself, Benson never saw her again.
For months following, Anthony Benson tried to find news about Anoushka Stone,
but found nothing about a dead baby and a girl dying from an overdose.
He was not to know that her surname was really Chessington, he could never
have known that I survived the drowning but the truth was revealed years later.
Benson kept the letter and the photograph which he had framed and it hung in
his office, this girl was the daughter he almost had and lost, they had bonded in
that small moment of time that they had spent together.
Benson had written all of this down, it was the start of the file, and over the years
Anoushka Stone had become his fantasy daughter.
Sixteen years later the truth came out after my grandmother suffered her heart

attack, My Grandfather had tied a cord around her neck and had attempted to
frame me with the murder, Benson had been the man that was to determine the
cause of death.
He noted that it was a heart attack straight away and called my grandfather into
his office to tell him that the strangulation had not been the cause of death. My
Grandfather in the middle of the conversation had noticed the photograph of
Anoushka on Bensons wall and had asked quite forcibly where Benson had got
it. Because of the confidentiality that had been associated with the young girls
Benson had come back with the defensive retort of questioning why Chessington
had wanted to know.
Because, thats my bloody Daughter Chessington had shouted. Benson in
shock had said, that makes you that bastard jack Stone the police have been
hunting for years
Chessington suddenly looked terrified his secret was out, but his face suddenly
became calm, if I were you, I would have kept my mouth shut he began, now it
looks like its going to stay shut forever, is that a threat?
No, its a promise. Chessington then turned and walked towards the door, youll
be hearing from some friends of mine was all he said.
Benson had to sit down to stop his knees from shaking he was terrified, he then
began to write down everything that had been said.
He had tried to contact Stuart Whattam but couldnt find him, he put my
grandmothers death report and all of his findings in the file sealed them up in
plastic and had put everything in a metal biscuit tin.
Benson asked his wife to tell Whattam that he had left something for him in the
secret place, as he was going away for a while, two days later he found dead.

And here is Victor Bradley Chessington also known as Jack Stone very much
alive and in the land of the living Whattam threw down the pictures he had taken.
For some reason Saxon Pharmaceuticals have been protecting a serial child
rapist, they sent in that bastard Dr. Sangha to cover up the fact that
Chessingtons secret was out.
By destroying all known records and by changing the computer records they
have managed to lift Chessington out from under our noses, they in the
meantime stitched up Chessingtons son and he is serving life for a double
murder. They obviously murdered Anthony, as he was the only one that knew.
Paul Carpenter was transfixed by the information and he felt even worse, he had
helped in the cover up.
Dont just sit there gaping Lyndsey barked, get the ball in motion, get bloody
Richard Chessington out of prison and get that paedophile, bastard grandfather
stroke father of his arrested.

The day before my release I finally met the Edge. There was a fire drill and all the
prisoners began filing out of their cells towards the main courtyard, Rumens
raced ahead and as I followed him one of the guards placed a heavy hand on my
shoulder and simply said, not you Chessington.
I was pushed back into my cell and the Edge entered the room.

The Edge is a man of some presence about six feet tall with an enormous chest,
arms and legs as thick as tree trunks and a huge thick neck. He has hands as big
as shovels; they look grossly over sized and are very noticeable.
He was dressed in a suit but his sheer muscular mass made him look rather odd.
A good suit really looks its best on a tall slim man, if a person is too fat of just too
wide or their physique just too thick even a well made suit looks a little
uncomfortable. His face was very round his nose bulbous and his lower chin
rounded, although his body looked like it had been built in a gym his face looked
bloated and facially he didn't actually look very well, he was quite swollen around
the eyes.
The Edge had quite thick and broad lips and intense creases in his forehead; his
head was completely bold.
He folded his arms and looked down at me and spoke to me as if I was a child.
Chessington, you have some pretty resourceful allies on the outside my friend. It
seems you are to be released. But the danger is your idiot friends do not realise
what it is they have stumbled on to and what the effect might be to the world as
we know it, if your father comes here and if Sangha was unable to clear up the
mess out in Africa.
Never the less I am quite happy to let you go although I must confess I had big
plans for you here, but then again I have given up hope on you ever making it.
The truth is Chessington you are beyond help my friend, Old man Victor really
fucked you up. He chuckled to himself, his huge thick chest shaking as he
bellowed.
you Chessington are destined to become one of lifes losers, you see you have
zero social skills , limited intelligence , youre a genetic miss mash and a retard to
boot. The thing is my friend you followed the route of defeat, tolerance and
surrender from early on in your life, you have never chosen the pursuit of
normality, youre a completely screwed up freak.
The Edge then rolled up his sleeve and removed the gold watch he was wearing,
I do however want to give you a gift and I want you to pass on a message to
your friend Stuart Whattam.
He put the gold Rolex on my wrist, when Whattam sees this watch he will freak
out, when he does tell him you got it from the Edge, if he is really intrigued then
hell come and find me.
Good luck on the outside my friend, but believe you me you are better of in here,
you are going to fail out there you belong in here, you are a certified misfit my
friend
The Edge bellowed and slapped me hard on the back, why they want you
heaven knows .
With that he turned to leave.
The Edge stopped at the door and turned back, I mentioned your father
Chessington, you didnt even bat an eyelid, you retard. In that instant I saw it, his
eye twinkled and I felt the electric jolt, some thing deep in my subconscious was
pricked.
He laughed again and walked away.
His eyes were swollen but there was something in the way he looked at me that

sent the shiver through me and left me cold, apart from that tingle I felt nothing
despite discovering that I had a father and there was a possibility that he was on
his way.
The contents of Anthony Bensons biscuit tin were sufficient evidence to ensure
that I was released. The report proved conclusively that my grandmother had
indeed died of a heart attack, Bensons notes were meticulous.
There was no coroners report to support that my grandfather had even died no
death certificate or even a grave. The judge presiding could not believe that my
original case had gone as far as it had without evidence of death.
Despite Whattams photographic evidence Saxon Pharmaceuticals denied that
he was still employed by them and the extradition laws between Britain and
Switzerland ensured that the long arm of the law unfortunately was stopped
short, as the Swiss police refused to take it any further.
The proof that Saxon submitted to Britain was their company accounts and
payroll details there was no one on the payroll with Chessingtons details.
It was however acknowledged that Victor Bradley Chessington was indeed the
paedophile rapist Jack Stone his photograph was circulated across Europe. He
was put on a most wanted list, but as quickly as he had re-appeared, like the mist
on a summers day; he had vanished without a trace.
On the day that I left Prison I was emotionally cold, my rehabilitation officer had
told me that it was exiting and that it was good news, that I had the chance to
start life again, but I felt wounded. I had been a puppet in a game I didnt
understand, I had no were to go and nothing to do.
My eyes were momentarily shocked by the abundance of colour, whilst I had
been in prison everything had been painted battleship grey, the uniforms had
been blue and there were the odd splashes of green and brown. But the world
was a colourful place, I stood transfixed by the brightness and it suddenly hit me
that I was free, there was someone walking towards me out of the sun.
I put my arm up to protect me from the glare and squinted.
Stuart Whattam strode confidently forward, took my hand and shook it quite
vigorously; Richard I cannot imagine what you have had to endure in there but
today is the start of a new dawn.
Your life has been very messed up so far but I promise you I will help you to turn
it around. He cocked his head to the left and gave me that silly schoolboy grin of
his. As he smiled I looked into his eyes and I saw it.
Thats why it had seemed so familiar when the Edge had smiled, it was in the
eyes.
Stuart Whattam and the Edge had the same uncanny twinkle in their eyes.
I still to this day do not know exactly how long I had been in prison for, at the time
I had thought it was two years, three as an absolute maximum. But things now
seemed so different, fashion was different the world had changed so much I am
convinced it was longer, time had flown by but I was unaware of how much time I
had lost.

I had lost all concept of time and when I was told that that I was in my twenties I
could not believe it.
Stuart Whattam had registered himself as my legal guardian and I moved into the
converted mill house with him. He was very exited about the prospect, he saw
me as the son he never had and he continually promised me that my life was
going to change. I had heard that story too many times before and I waited for
the next painful experience to follow.
My room had originally been the place were all the wheat would have been
stored and it had a huge balcony with double doors that opened out wards. The
wheat would have been winced up from the ground through these doors and then
stored till required to journey downstairs for the milling. Much of the old
machinery remained although no longer functional they had been retained as
decorative objects. The room was very large and spacious it contained an iron
bed, a double pine wardrobe and two pine chests of drawers.
The walls were plain brickwork on three sides and wood panelling on the fourth.
The floor was wooden boards and there was a single blue rug in the centre of the
room. I have started your wardrobe off with a few items, but I guess youll want
to go shopping and buy yourself some of the more fashionable clothes Whattam
began.
He opened the wardrobe to reveal three pairs of khaki canvas trousers, one grey
pair of flannel trousers, one pair of jeans three blue shirts, two white shirts, one
navy blue sweater and three tweed jackets.
I had no idea what your shoe size is, so Im afraid youre stuck with those old
boots of yours till we get the chance to go around the shops.
I nodded and acknowledged that that was fine, I was still amazed that all this was
now mine. The fact that he was being so good to me was hard to accept and I still
wondered what the catch was.

My education finally began when I moved into Whattam's house of a million

books, I think the only thing that I had really learnt at school was the ability to
read and write and nothing else.
At Whattam's home I became a sponge and I began to finally learn. It began by
Stuart leaving a book on my bed one night; it was a book about understanding
yourself, the hint was clear so I started.
Then there were those endless psychology games and tests that Whattam would
have me complete and never tell me the conclusions. Finally after four months he
invited me into his study.
Richard to grow and develop fully a person has to go through a series of stages,
only by completing each stage can you finally move on to the next one. I am
afraid that you have missed a lot of basic stages and have leapt into some pretty
advanced stages when you were not ready
The whistling started from out of the blue; the red haze quickly filled my vision,
the heat, the screaming, and the electricity cracking then the pain.
I threw my self to the study floor gripping my pounding skull with both hands. The

burning heat tore through the centre of my brain and my nerve endings burnt
white hot, I screamed out loud as the agony of yet another headache took me
under again.
Whattam was shouting, do you need me to call an ambulance? Through the
pain and despite my teeth chattering together I was able to hiss out the response,
it will pass. Whattam looked on helpless as the storm finally ended.
How long have you been suffering those Whattam asked. All my life, Id say.
Some days twice a day, some times not for months but on and off all of my life.
He just looked at me amazed, then went back to his notes.
That evening Whattam introduced me to Sylvia Benson she joined us for supper.
Whattam cooked roast beef and potatoes, the mood was very pleasant and the
conversation was flowing quite freely, but as I reached out to get the gravy my
shirtsleeve rode up exposing the gold Rolex. They both spotted it at the same
time. Where the hell did you get that watch? Whattam practically shouted, I
forgot, I was supposed to have told you about this .I looked up and was shocked
at how stern Whattams face had become.
There is a man back at the prison calls himself the Edge, he said that I was to
have this watch and if you were intrigued as to who he is, then he was sure that
you would come and find him.
Just take if off Whattam hissed under his breath, I did as I was told. He checked
the watch and sure enough there was the symbol he passed it to Sylvia Benson,
she carried out the same inspection and handed it back to me. Whattam stared at
her; I think its time we moved on she began.
Anthonys dead Stuart and we now know why he was murdered, but we cant
bring him back weve got to move on.
There is someone in that prison that just wants to rub your nose in it, let it go, let
Richard have the watch, we have something now that no one can take away. I
put the watch back on. Whattam looked over into Sylvia Bensons soft eyes and
asked, whats that? She smiled and stroked him tenderly on the side of mouth,
we have love Stuart, and together with Richard we have a family.
I swear as god is my witness Stuart Whattam burst out in tears and wept like a
baby, he was so happy.
Will you? he quivered through his blubbering, Sylvia smiled and nodded, will I
what Stuart?
Whattam instantly dropped to one knee, will you marry me?
Lynsey Kershaw was pleased that justice had been served and that I had been
released. She still however, felt very foolish and very cheap over the sex acts that
she had performed whilst under the influence of the sex drug Tritanzolone.
She was annoyed that both Sangha and my Grandfather were still running
around free somewhere, she was angry and bitter and she wanted her own
personal revenge.
In time her memory recovered and through the mist came the address, the
Georgian house and the man she had her sights on, the man that gave her those

accursed tablets.
The drug pusher Silver Bullet.
Kershaw went to the house with no real plan in mind, she had hoped that the
owner of the house could tell her were she could find Silver Bullet. She was
unsure what she would do once she found him. All she knew was that she had to
get it off her chest, she had to confront the people that had done this to her. The
drive to the house was very smooth, she was confident, but as she climbed the
stone steps to the front door she felt very nervous and stupid. What if the owner
had never heard of Silver Bullet?
At the last minute she changed her mind, but to her horror the door opened and a
voice said, very politely, good day madam, how can I help you?
She looked up; a very frail and gaunt man dressed in a black suit stood, his
eyebrows raised expecting an answer.
Oh, Im looking for an old friend, goes by the name of Silver. The withered man
at the door stared hard at Kershaw, wiped his eyes then spoke, yes, your face is
familiar, but I really cant remember you, please come in, I think this is effecting
my brain as well. He gestured for Lynsdey to come through.
Is he in? she chirped. The man turned round; there was sadness in his eyes.
Those bastards at Saxon Pharmaceuticals they used us all as guinea pigs, now
its killings us.
Its me, I am Silver Bullet.
It wasnt until he said who he was; that Lyndsey realised he was telling the truth.
The handsome looks were still there but the body had been practically eaten
down to the bone.
The rage suddenly left her and she felt instant sorrow, what caused this?
Silver walked over to the crystal decanter and poured two glasses a brandy, he
didnt ask Lydnsey if she wanted one, he rattled the ice cubes about handed her
a glass and sat down in his armchair and sucked down a mouthful of the burning
liquid.
I cant remember where I know you from, but I am beyond caring now, I am
going to die, I cant go to the police as I am a drug baron. He raised his arms
and laughed, all these riches are mine.
Silver gulped down the brandy and hurled the glass into the huge stone fireplace
were it smashed into a thousand pieces.
But what good is wealth if you have to trade your life to get it?
Here is his story.
Silver Bullet, real name Sylvester Brown had been a relatively small time drug
pusher. He made a modest immoral living by supplying quality class A drugs to
high society parties. It was at one of these parties some ten years previous that
he had met Doctor Lackvinder Sangha.
Sangha had told him about a new drug his company was working on and that he
could get some samples first. It was a sex drug that heightened the pleasure and
made everyone you came into contact with, whilst under the influence, sexually

attractive to you, he told Silver he could make a fortune and he did.

The agreement had been that Silver could have an unlimited supply of the new
drug but it was to be used on a select number of clients initially, but he got greedy
Tritanzolone was a success and a whole new movement of free love erupted,
confused by the powerful effect of the sex drug, mass orgies followed, the
demand grew and the contained numbers that Sangha had requested got out of
control.
When Sangha discovered that the drug had been distributed further than he had
requested, rather than being angry he laughed. He had held up a newspaper
where the headlines make love not war had dominated the front page. He was
pleased that it had been so successful and Silver was pleased, as he became
very rich from it.
Suddenly the tablets changed colour after four years, from blue to red, Silver
questioned this but Sangha told him that his company had improved the drug.
Then it changed colour again from red to yellow.
Sangha gave Silver twelve tablets only, these I need to monitor really closely he
commanded.
I need the name and address of every person you give them to, these are the
best of the best.
Silver gave Sangha a list of twelve names and addresses, after that the tablets
changed back to their original blue.
I was intrigued Silver began, I had been pushing this stuff and hearing how
wonderful it is, they say you should never get high of your own supply.
You didnt? Lyndsey whispered, yes I did Silver replied, I took one of the
yellow tablets, theres an incubation period so you dont know, it can live inside
you undetected for five years . Silvers eyes began to well up, everyone that
took a yellow tablet six years ago is either already dead or dying.
Silver picked up the daily newspaper and turned a few pages till he got to the
section he was looking for.
This is the man we have to thank for the invention of Tritanzolone, he cried
stabbing at the picture repeatedly with his forefinger. Now they have got the
product perfected they are hanging him out to dry, they have protected him for far
too long but he couldnt stop himself, the sick bastard.
Lyndsey didnt have to look up she knew that Silver was referring to Victor
Bradley Chessington.
Mark my words, hell turn up dead in a ditch somewhere any day now
Strange he should say that, not two days later the body of Victor Bradley
Chessington was discovered in Italy of all places, his head had been smashed in
by a brick and his wallet and watch had both been stolen.
As callous as it may sound this turned out to be a great windfall for me, as his
sole heir I inherited the best part of half a million pounds. Stuart Whattam
ensured that the whole amount was carefully invested he still felt I was too

juvenile at that stage to handle the Responsibility.

Doctor Lackvinder Sangha however, escaped justice; the full extent of his
scheme still remained something of a mystery. The facts are, he and my
Grandfather had developed some kind of virus that could kill, but it had such a
long incubation period, their victims were unaware they were dying for six years.
This virus they tied in with the sex drug Tritanzolone.
The mystery still remained as to why they had developed this drug and more
importantly for what purpose.
The fact that Saxon had protected my grandfather to ensure the drug was
perfected implies that there was a sinister plan for this drug. For now these
questions still remained unanswered
Time was flying by Stuart Whattam had tried to give me as much time as he
could to get to grips with my infantile emotions, but he had the matter of his
wedding to attend to.
I had been told everything relating to my past, my grandfather, my mother and
Saxon Pharmaceuticals.
He had told me that I now really needed to discover my true inner self that I
needed to see things and live a normal life. I needed to forget my demons and
find my own pleasures; I really had to start thinking for myself, and that I should
start writing.
Apparently everybody has got a book in them and he believed that if I wrote my
life story, It would help me to find myself.
These were his last words before he and the new Mrs. Sylvia Whattam flew off on
honeymoon, destination Kenya.
They would be gone for four weeks.
After sitting around the house reading books for two weeks, It suddenly came to
me, I needed to experience things, and I needed to travel. I packed Stuart's
rucksack with some warm clothes; I fished out the big old industrial boots from
prison and set off.
I had no idea were I was going but I knew that for the first time I was in control of
my life and my destiny
Are you that certain, that he will be gone when we get back? Sylvia asked.
Dont worry he will be back, but he has a personal journey he needs to travel on
first and when he returns he will be a better man.
Are you sure he is ready? Whattam pursed his lip. Are any of us really ever
ready for life?

To begin the journey you need to accept a few basic facts. I believe the most
important factor is the acceptance that you are so different that you need to make
the change, but to make the change for the right reasons.
There are some people who change themselves just to fit in with society
expectations they may starve themselves to look a particular way, dress to fit in
with a particular crowd and think and act a certain way to be accepted.

I am talking more about a change just to be normal, not to excel over others or
even to be seen as others but to be seen as a man, a normal, regular and
acceptable man.
Neither conforming to expectations nor exceeding, I wish to be sociable without
pretension, to have the goals of a normal man, the needs, the cravings but most
of all I want to fit in and yet not be noticed.
Fitting in almost says I have a desire to conform to a set of rules, conformity and
fitting in are perhaps too strong an expression to use. To begin the journey
requires the knowledge that you do not fit in because your differences are
undesirable to others but mostly and more importantly to yourself.

I now see myself as damaged goods in need of repair, I accept I cannot turn back
the hands of time for I am a product of my past. My every waking thought my
instant reactions my pleasure; my pain, my sorrow and my anger and all based
on past memories my basic programming has been set my character set in
stone.
The journey is about learning how to control the past, to accept the dark side but
not allowing it to consume me. To control a reaction that would be instantaneous
and to instead replace it with a reaction I have chosen.
The beast within controlled me. I have always believed it to be my destiny to
destroy; my pleasure came from the release of my anger in the form of
destruction. But the destruction of others and the destruction of myself are not
acceptable behaviour and it is not normal, whatever normal means these days.
We all have our differences, our peculiarities and our flaws but I had no normality,
I was a total social misfit, but I now choose to change, I choose to follow the light
rather than the path of destruction, I chose the pursuit of normality.
Aware that I had a life of privilege awaiting me on my return I decided to seek
unskilled labour to build my character and to gain experience of life, the new
emotion of happiness felt strange.
I honestly believed on that day when I walked away from Stuarts mill house that I
had left all the death and fighting behind me.
The world is a colourful place and for the first time in my life I am embracing my
own destiny. For the first time I am not being told what to do or where to go, I will
discover the things that make me happy and I will find happiness, but most
importantly I will find a normality that is of my own design.