Chloe in Prison Ch. 20

"Raymond then," I said undeterred.

"No," said Rose emphatically: "Now stop getting yourself in a state: I'm not going to discuss it any more."

It would have to be telepathy then, I decided.

Four days after I had been forced to flog Prana, the Doctor came with her thermometer again and pronounced me normal. I knew perfectly well I was better, but it seemed only a thermometer up my anus could provide the necessary proof.

"You can stop malingering now and shave that twat of yours," said Clark when she came to inspect us, looking with distaste at my four-day growth.

Immediately after breakfast, which I ate with a rare relish, Rose set to work.

"It's good to feel a hand on my pussy again," I said.

But Rose had barely got half way when the door was unlocked, and Hardiman strode in.

"Littlehayes," she said: "Dr Stroud tells me you're better."

"Yes Sir," I said.

"Good: because the Governor wants to see you."

"The Governor?" I looked at Rose in surprise: surprise which was quickly overtaken by apprehension."

"What does she want me for Sir?" I asked.

"You'll find out," said Hardiman. "Now get your kit on and get moving."

Rose hastily wiped away the soap and hairs, and I hurried into my clothes. It was the first time I had dressed since I had fallen ill.

I followed Hardiman down several corridors: we passed the Examination Room, passed Hardiman's Office where I had been questioned using the lie detector, and up a flight of stairs whose existence I had not known about. All the time I was wondering: was I going to be punished for the assault on Dawes? Had I fallen foul of some rule I was not even aware of?

Hardiman stopped outside a wooden door and knocked. A voice bade us 'Come In'.

The Governor's Office was larger and more luxurious than Hardiman's: there were landscape paintings on the walls; the carpet was red Axminster; the cupboards and cabinets were made of wood, and there was an evocative smell of beeswax in the air.

The Governor was sitting at a leather-topped desk, angled across a corner: she called me over: she was a grey-haired woman of about fifty, wearing half-moon spectacles. She looked severe - her hair was drawn back in a tight bun which seemed to elongate her crow's feet - though not the ogre I had imagined.

"Sit down Littlehayes," she said.

I sat in an upright chair with turned wooden spindles, and faced her across the desk. She was wearing a black uniform jacket, a starched white blouse and black tie. Hardiman stood to one side.

The Governor had a folder in front of her, and sheaves of paper with official-looking headings and logos. Straining to read upside-down I could make out, in bold lettering, my name.

"Littlehayes," said the Governor - almost meditatively I thought, like a Headmistress who doesn't know quite what to do with an errant pupil. "I have a Report here from the Police: they've arrested a man named Mark Forrester."

"Mark!" I exclaimed.

"He was picked up at Dover trying to leave the country," the Governor continued. "I understand he was your boyfriend?"

"That's right Sir," I said. "Was, that is. Not any longer."

"Be that as it may," said the Governor: "he made a statement to the Police which led them to reopen your case." She tapped the bottom edge of the sheaf of papers on her desktop. "This is a long document Littlehayes: but the gist of it is that a Judge has decreed that your conviction may be unsound, and that pending further investigation you are to be released."

"Released?" I said. "I'm to be released?"

"That's correct," the Governor said.

I waited for the laughter; I looked round at Hardiman; I looked directly into the half-moon spectacles of the woman in front of me: no-one was laughing.

"When?" I gasped.

"Today" said the Governor. "This morning: as soon as Officer Hardiman has completed the paperwork."

"I don't believe it," I said. "It can't be."

"It's all here Littlehayes," said the Governor. She pushed the papers across to me: I ran my eyes rapidly over the print, and noted a few phrases, such as Incomplete Evidence, and Witness Testimony, but it was all in legalese, and in any case I could not take it in.

"I'm going to be released," I said stupidly.

"Understand, Littlehayes," said the Governor. "This is not a Pardon. You're to be released pending further inquiries. And you will have to report directly to the Police."

"Yes Sir," I said, utterly indifferent to such distinctions, for the only thing I could grasp was that today, this morning, I was to be set free.

"But," she continued: "my understanding is that there is a strong likelihood you will be given a Pardon in the fullness of time."

"Yes Sir," I said. "Thank you Sir."

"That's all Littlehayes," she said, stacking the papers into the folder. "You can go now."

But I didn't go: I sat, rooted to the chair. Now that I really had grasped the fact that this was not a joke, that I really was to be released, there was something I had to do.

"May I speak to you for a moment before I go?" I asked.

"Of course Litlehayes," the Governor said.

I glanced round at Hardiman:

"May I speak to you in private Sir?" I asked.

The Governor worked her lips for a second: I noticed she had a cold sore on her top lip, and her teeth were too regular to be her own.

"Officer Hardiman," she said. "Please wait outside a moment."

Without a word Hardiman left.

"What is it Littlehayes?" she asked.

My throat was dry. A small voice in me was saying get out now while you can, quit while you're ahead: but I would speak.

"There are things going on in here I think you should know about," I said.

"What sort of things?" the Governor asked, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"Prisoners are being beaten for the slightest offence," I said. "They're being forced to wear nappies like babies, they're being raped and abused by the Wardens almost every day."

"This is a prison Littlehayes," said the Governor. "It's not meant to be an easy ride. The Wardens are here to enforce strict discipline."

"I know that Sir," I persisted. "But they abuse their power. Some of the things they do are inhuman Sir: there's a girl called Prana Kumali who's being bullied almost to death."

"It's not your position to criticise the Wardens Littlehayes," she said sharply. "I have every confidence in my Staff and I refuse to discuss the matter further."

I made one last attempt:

"A girl was forced to eat excrement Sir," I said. "She had a milk allergy and couldn't eat her porridge but Officers Dawes and Hardiman force-fed her human excrement. She tried to kill herself and had to be transferred to Broadmoor Sir."

The Governor, who had closed the folder and begun to push back her chair to indicate that the interview was over, desisted. She frowned over her spectacles at me. A sudden thought struck me: could it possibly have been her who came to me in the night?

"When was this Littlehayes?" she said.

"Before I came here Sir."

"And how do you know about it?"

"I was told by - by another prisoner Sir."

"What was the name of the girl involved?"

"I don't know her second name Sir: but she was called Sandy I think."

"McAllister," said the Governor, frowning. Then she took up a gold-cased fountain pen and wrote something on a pad.

"There's more Sir," I said.

"Stop there Littlehayes," said the Governor holding up her hand. "I'll look into what you've told me. Now go with Officer Hardiman and prepare to leave."

This time I knew the interview was at an end.

"Thank you Sir," I said.

"Goodbye Littlehayes."

Hardiman was waiting for me in the corridor. Without a word she strode on, back down the stairs. Then, as we were passing the Examination Room, without a moment's warning, she swung round, grabbed me by my pullover, and thrust me against the wall:

"You little piece of shit," she said: "have you been telling tales out of school?"

"No Sir!" I protested.

"Then what did you want a private talk with the Governor for?"

"I wanted to talk about my case Sir," I said, squirming.

"What was so private about that?"

I couldn't think of an answer. Hardiman pressed her face close to mine: her breath smelt of something artificially sweet.

"You're a bad liar Littlehayes," she sneered. "We'll see how much good it'll do you." Then she released me, and withdrew her face.

"You'll be back," she said. "Your sort always are. And we'll have the reception committee ready."

She pulled me away from the wall and marched me back to my cell.

"Rose," I said: "I'm to be released."

"April Fool to you as well," said Rose.

"No Rose, it's true." And I gabbled out everything that had happened. Rose wanted to ask questions about the documents, but I was too agitated, pacing the cell, my thoughts like autumn leaves whirled up by the wind.

"Never mind that," I said: "I don't know how much time is left, Hardiman could be back any minute: Rose, I must give you my phone number - no, not mine, I don't know where I'll be - my parents' number - Rose, please promise me you'll get in touch when you get out."

"Not so fast," said Rose: "I won't be able to remember a number, and how am I supposed to write it down?"

"I'll give you their address," I said: "you can look their number up in the phone book. It's The Old Rectory, Mill Lane, Moreton : Rose, you've got to remember: think of an aged Rector going round on a mill wheel or something - and Rose, please promise me one more thing: you'll pass this on to Prana: please Rose, find a way, any way."

"Calm down Chloe: it won't be a problem, will it, once you're not here?"

"I hadn't thought of that," I said.

"Anyone else you want me to give this to?" she asked.

I thought a bit and said:

"Just Prana, please."

Then I stopped pacing and took Rose by both hands.

"Rose I'm so sorry," I said - and I started to cry.

"What are you sorry about, idiot?"

"I'm leaving you," I said. "Rose: I don't want to go."

"Don't be so silly," Rose said. "Go. Get as far away from here as possible and never come back."

"Yes," I said. Then I thought of something, jumped up, folded back my pillow and picked up my little hoard of chocolate and bottle of shampoo, along with the half-length of emery board.

"You must have these," I said, slipping them under Rose's pillow before she could object. "And my flannel too - keep it for when yours wears out. And Rose, please thank Raymond for me. And say goodbye to everybody. And Rose: I tried to do some good - I told the Governor what's been going on in here."

"You didn't!" said Rose. "What did she say?"

"She said she'd look into it."

"Never," said Rose. "I don't believe you. She can't have meant it?"

"I don't know Rose, she was hard to read. I don't think she would have believed me - until I told her about Sandy. Then she sat up and took notice: she wrote down her name - McAllister, I think."

"That's right," said Rose.

"She might just have been fobbing me off: you know, I even wondered if it was her who came into our cell that night. But Rose, I don't know that she's as much in league with Hardiman as you think."

"Well, I don't know either, I'm just assuming," said Rose. "No-one ever gets to see her, not even when they leave. Well done anyway Chloe, it can't make things any worse."

"Please will you tell Prana," I said. "Tell her I did all I could."

"I'll do that. I'm going to miss you Chloe," said Rose.

"I hope you get somebody decent," I said.

"Someone who doesn't worry me to death would be a good start."

Then Hardiman was back:

"Out," she said, and turned her back on us without so much as a glance at Rose.

I followed Hardiman down the corridor for what I hoped was the final time. Somewhat to my surprise she stopped at the door of the Examination Room.

"Inside," she said.

I stepped inside. Dawes was waiting there.

"Get undressed," she said.

This was not what I had expected, and I stalled.

"I said get undressed," said Dawes. "Or are you planning to walk out of here in your uniform?"

Breathing hard I took off my clothes.

"Put them on that chair," said Hardiman, pointing.

I did as she said. I noticed Dawes had pulled on a latex glove.

"Now lean forward with your hands against that wall," Hardiman ordered.

"You can't do this," I said: "I'm not a prisoner any more."

"How long has she been here?" enquired Dawes.

"Forty-five days," said Hardiman.

"Forty-five days," said Dawes: "and she still hasn't learned that when an Officer tells her to do something she does it at once."

"Slow learner," said Hardiman. "Littlehayes: whilst you are inside this building you are officially a prisoner. Now get your hands against that wall."

I knew exactly what was coming. This is the last time, I thought: the last time I let anybody put their fingers inside me without my permission.

"Now spread your legs you little piss-mop," said Dawes. "We're going to make sure you're not trying to smuggle anything out of the prison."

I spread my legs. Hardiman hooked her arm round my waist and pulled me backwards so I was forced to lean forward at almost 90 degrees.

Hardiman went first. Disdaining the latex gloves she reached between my legs from behind and squirreled her middle finger into my vagina. A second finger followed: I couldn't help but cry out. Hardiman was relentless: she worked her fingers inside me, pulling me this way and that, practically lifting me off the floor. The side of her hand pressed into my perineum; her wrist twisted between my bum-cheeks.

"Oh my God," I gasped as, after several minutes of this, she yanked her fingers abruptly out.

I had no time to recover: Dawes had squeezed some cold lubricant onto her glove and was poking at my anus. She contented herself with smearing the lubricant just outside my opening: then abruptly thrust her finger upwards, forcing my sphincter open, sliding her finger inside me up to its hilt. Then she too began to work me, twisting, rotating, pulling her finger almost out before thrusting it in again, and no doubt taking pleasure from the way she was making me squirm.

"What's the matter?" she asked unpleasantly. "Need to go poo-poos do you? Go on then." she pulled her finger out of me, but before my muscles had time to recover thrust it back in again.

"Another?" she asked, and repeated the actions, drawing her finger out and forcing it back up me even before my sphincter had finished contracting.

"One more?" she asked: and not bothering about a reply she did it again.

"Please," I gasped: my anus was sore, my muscles didn't know whether they were coming or going.

"One for the road," sneered Dawes. This time she did it slowly, wiggling her finger as she drew it down and out, then sliding it slowly back in again.

"You'll be back," she said, reaching with her free hand and clamping it over my left breast. "Oh, you'll be back all right. And I'll be waiting for you."

With that she pinched my nipple, and yanked her finger out of my bottom for the final time.

My sphincter was still protesting as I was marched out of the Examination Room and through the door marked 'Processing', where I had first been made to hand over my clothes. Hackett was there, standing behind the counter with a plastic bag.

"Here," she said.

I opened the seal: there, just as I had left them, were my bra and knickers, my T-shirt and jeans. Inside, in a smaller bag, were a couple of hair grips, my ring and my watch. I viewed them like long-lost friends.

"Get dressed," Hardiman said.

Clark had appeared in the doorway, and the four Wardens watched as I put on my clothes.

"Now sign this," said Hackett. She pushed a pen towards me, along with the inventory of my belongings.

"And this," she said. She took the inventory and shoved another sheet of printed paper across the counter.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Read it," Hackett said.

I read with a mounting sense of outrage the following words:

Declaration

I testify that during my stay in Sparsebrook Prison I have been treated with courtesy and humanity, that I am fully satisfied with the treatment I have received, that I have no complaint to make against any member of staff or against the Prison Authorities generally, nor will I make any such complaint in the future. I accept that this testament is legally binding upon me, and that any subsequent recantation or reneging on my part will be regarded as malicious and may result in legal action being taken against me.

"This is outrageous," I said. "I can't sign this."

"Suit yourself," said Hardiman. "But you don't leave until you do."

Breathing heavily I took the pen and signed. Dawes and Hardiman also appended their signatures, and Hackett applied an official stamp before locking the document away in a safe.

"How do I get home?" I asked. I had visions of being locked in the back of the blacked-out van again.

"She wants a taxi service now," said Dawes.

"There's a bus stop outside the prison," said Hardiman. "If that's not good enough for you, you can walk."

"I don't have any money," I said.

"Pay the driver in chocolate," said Clark, and there were grunts of amusement.

Then Hackett produced a small cash-box.

"Every prisoner is allowed five pounds on release," she said. "That will pay for your bus fare and a few phone calls."

She opened the box, counted out some coins and gave me another piece of paper to sign. As I glanced up at her bony face and Commandant's wire-rimmed glasses I wondered: could it have been her who had come in the night and forced her way into my bed?

I put the coins into my pocket. They would suffice: I knew I had only to phone my parents and they would come and collect me. But what of all the women who were released with no family and nowhere to go?

"Let's get going," Hardiman said.

"See you soon," said Dawes.

"We'll keep a cell ready," said Clark.

As I followed Hardiman down yet another corridor we saw Raymond approaching.

"Good luck Littlehayes," she said as she passed.

The light seemed brighter, the air cleaner and more plentiful, than ever they had seemed at Exercise. I gave a quick glance behind me at the forbidding grey stone, and briefly wondered whereabouts behind the windowless walls my cell had been. But I had no time or inclination to linger, and followed Hardiman across the barren courtyard until we reached a massive studded wooden door in the wall. She produced a key - not one she carried on her key ring but something that looked as though it had come from a medieval castle - and turned the lock. I stepped out into the road: there was a creaking sound as the door was closed and locked behind me.

I filled my lungs with air, and regarded the deserted road. A blackbird warbled, and a flock of distant birds were silhouetted against the blue sky. Clumps of primroses were in flower along the verge, and amongst them I spotted two tiny violets. There were no buildings or people in sight, but, just as I'd been informed, there was a bus stop, about fifty yards away. I walked up to it and looked for a timetable, but where something had once been pinned there were now only rusted nails. I supposed a bus would be along sometime, but I was too impatient to get away: if I waited I would only pace up and down, so I might as well be walking. I didn't know which way to go: there was a bus stop on the other side of the road as well, also lacking a timetable, so I turned to my left: I hardly cared as long as I got away from the prison.

I wound up my watch: I had no idea of the time, but at least I would know how long I had been walking. And I had barely been walking two minutes before a blacked-out van drove towards then past me. I heard the engine change as it slowed down: some hapless new girl with no idea what was in store for her was evidently being delivered to prison.