Heartless
Authors: Casey Kelleher
Heartless
Casey Kelleher
Copyright © 2013 by Casey Kelleher
All rights reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever with express written permission
of the author/publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing / proofreading by Sam Szanto:
http://www.samszanto.co.uk
Cover design by Leanne Phillips:
http://www.leannephillips.co.uk
Photograph – ‘NightLea’ by Kriss Lee:
http://www.500px.com/CLipiCs
Casey’s info:
http://www.caseykelleher.co.uk
www.facebook.com/officialcaseykelleher
Twitter: @caseykelleher
Contents
In loving memory of Grandad Clark
One of the brightest stars in the sky
‘The laughter of a man is more terrible than his tears, and takes more forms.
Hollow, heartless, mirthless and maniacal.’
~ James Thurber
The custody van made its way through the wrought-iron gates and down the long winding driveway. Although it was dark, the glowing yellow light poured out from the building's windows, casting shadows into the courtyard, creating an eerie silhouette. The high barbed-wire fence surrounding the perimeter was a stark reminder of the old boarding school that used to be there.
Rain pelted down, hitting the van’s roof, the droplets bouncing off the metal making the noise of the downpour even louder. A burly prison officer jumped out from the passenger side and ran to the back of the van, opening the door to release the prisoners.
The three girls who got out of the van had endured a cramped and claustrophobic two-hour journey, and despite what was ahead of them they were happy to be able to stand and stretch their legs.
“Come on, move it,” the officer ordered, as she led the girls across the gravel driveway. The girls followed, trudging through deep puddles as they went towards the bleak-looking building.
Once inside, the girls huddled together in the doorway; they were grateful for the shelter from the pouring rain but nervous of their new surroundings. Their clothes were soaked, raindrops dripping from their hair and running down their faces. They squinted; the harsh glare of the strip lights that filled the room was a stark contrast to the darkness they had endured in the back of the van.
Looking around the windowless reception, the tallest of the girls took in her new surroundings. The room was bare, with nothing but a desk where two prison officers stood as they waited to check in their new arrivals. The girl scanned the room, noticing two more officers that were standing behind them next to a doorway; the officers’ expressions looked blank as they returned the girl’s stare and remained in their continued silence. The girl watched them, noting to herself that not only did the officers wear matching uniforms, but judging by the bored expressions on their faces they seemed to have the same attitude; not an ounce of sympathy or compassion graced their features. It was clear that this was just another day’s work for them.
“Nishay Gibson?” A stocky female officer directed the question at the chunky dark-skinned girl who stood confidently in front of the other two nervous-looking inmates; filling out a form on her clipboard she barely even glanced up at Nishay as she spoke.
“That’s me,” the big girl replied, before adding, “you lot can’t keep me away. Makes me laugh... call this place a punishment? I get to sit on my arse watching telly all day, with no agro from me old dear. This is a fucking holiday!”
Nishay was fifteen years old but looked older than her years and she oozed confidence: she was scared of no-one.
“I can think of nicer places to go on holiday than here, let me tell you,” the officer replied sarcastically.
“I guess. Might be nice to have some gorgeous buff man greeting me with a cocktail on a beach somewhere, rather than be greeted by you lots’ ugly mugs! What a bunch of miserable cunts,” Nishay said.
The officer rolled her eyes and ignored the girl’s comments. Pursing her mouth tightly she was determined not to bite back, remaining unfazed; she had seen this sort of behaviour time and time again by other inmates that had been in this girl’s position: the ones that were familiar with the system and had grown comfortable with the institute’s surroundings. She wasn’t in the mood for this one’s feeble attempt at trying to goad her into any form of discussion: she didn’t have the time or energy for it. Like her fellow officers, she just wanted to check this lot in and get on with the evening shift.
“Today’s date is the second of December 1998.” The officer filled out the booking sheet as she continued: “Your name is Nishay Gibson. What is your date of birth?”
“I was born on my birthday.” Nishay looked around the room, grinning at her wit. She didn’t get the reaction she had been hoping for. She was funny, she knew it, but this lot were a bunch of stuck-up tossers. Not even the other two girls who were waiting to be checked in behind her had given so much as a chuckle at what she had said.
Fucking pussies
, she thought, as she sneered at the two girls, sucking her teeth in distaste in their direction. A right pair of snobby little bitches. Turning back to the officer she saw that she was still staring blankly at her, waiting for an answer to her question.
“Fuck me, youse lot need to get a fucking sense of humour. What, you on the blob or something?” Nishay looked the female officer up and down. The woman was a state. Judging by the lines around her eyes, she reckoned the woman was in her mid-forties; her manly build made her resemble a tranny.
Nishay stroked her chin mockingly as she jibed the officer. “You been growing that beard long?”
Nishay liked to think she had a knack for intimidating people. She had a way of making them feel wary. However, the officer just ignored Nishay’s comments and her attempts to get a rise from her. She returned the cocky girl’s stare with a look of contempt as she continued to wait for her to answer her earlier question.
“Second of February 1983,” Nishay said finally. This woman was a right hard-nosed bitch, she thought, miffed that she seemed to be dismissing her.
“Right, Gibson, you’re having a strip search with Officer Cook and Officer Williams. Mind that you don’t get too cold,” the officer said smugly, as she nodded in her colleagues’ direction. Two women stepped forward.
“Nah, I’ve been searched already. You two nonces just wanna see a young pair of tits that ain’t swinging down past a pair of knees for once. Well, you can fuck off.” Without warning Nishay struck out with her fists, catching Officer Cook unaware with a punch to the face that launched her across the room.
Then, all hell broke loose.
Nishay swept all of the documents which had been on the desk onto the floor. She was enjoying the disruption that she was causing.
Realising that the girl was out of control and capable of doing a lot of damage, Officer Williams jumped on top of Nishay to try and restrain her, pushing her onto the ground.
Nishay’s nose hit the cold tiled floor and pain exploded in her head. A warm trickle of blood dripped from her nostrils, splattering the bright white tiles with dark red droplets. Imagining her nose was broken Nishay lost the plot. Kicking her legs and using her entire strength to manoeuvre herself, she fought against the officer with all her might. But it was no use: Officer Williams was stronger. Lifting her head, Nishay tried to snap her neck backwards so that she could butt the officer in the face. However the officer was one step ahead, and had predicted Nishay’s next move, ducking out of the way just in time; she pressed the girl's face into the floor, using all her force to restrain the writhing girl, pinning her down again. She was aware that Officer Monroe had pressed the alarm and three more members of the team had come running to assist her. Nishay was strong, she would give her that, and she didn’t know how much longer she would be able to restrain her on her own.
“Do as you are told or you are going to be in a whole world of shit before you have even been allocated a bed!” one of the officers shouted in Nishay’s ear.
Nishay could taste the blood as it ran down the back of her throat. She spat a mouthful of it at the officer, which only reached the ankles of her tights. The officer grimaced in disgust.
“I don’t get paid enough to put up with shit like this, now behave.”
Realising she was outnumbered, Nishay went limp. She knew that ultimately the little performance wouldn’t get her anywhere. This was the third time she had been sent to this young offenders’ institute and she probably knew the drill better than the officers themselves. It was standard procedure that all the inmates were strip-searched and given clean clothes before they were interviewed, but why should she play nicely? There was no fun in that. These fuckers could earn their wages, as far as she was concerned. Lying quietly now against the cold tiled floor she smiled to herself, satisfied that she had managed to cause a commotion.
The officers dragged Nishay back up onto her feet and escorted her into a side room to be searched while Officer Monroe gathered all the paperwork from the floor as a first step to regaining normality. She turned her attention to the girl who was next in line to be checked in.
“Name and date of birth?” she asked.
The tall skinny girl knew her expression wasn’t masking her horror at what she had just witnessed. She was going to be locked up with real criminals like that girl. There was no way she would survive.
“I said: name and date of birth?” the irritated officer repeated.
Tears stung the girl’s eyes as she answered.
“It’s Sophia O’Hagan. Please... I shouldn’t be here. There's been a mistake.” It was all she managed to say before she threw up the contents of her stomach all over the officer’s desk.
The grinding noise of the key repeatedly scraping the lock told Kaitlin how drunk her husband was this evening. He had been struggling with the door for a good few minutes, unable to find the keyhole, and then rattling the door angrily. Kaitlin had remained sitting in the lounge, dreading his homecoming as she cursed herself for not going up to bed sooner. Jamesie would do nothing but rant and rave if he was as drunk as she was guessing that he was. Turning up the volume on the TV, she pretended to be so engrossed in her programme that she couldn’t hear him. She would only be able to hold him off for another few minutes, but she certainly wasn’t in any hurry to help him in. Checking the clock on the mantelpiece, Kaitlin hoped that Sophia had dropped off to sleep already, praying that the girl wouldn’t have to listen to another slurred outburst from her intoxicated father. Being called every name under the sun Kaitlin could handle, the putdowns and the swearing were par for the course. Jamesie didn’t communicate any other way anymore. But Kaitlin wouldn't allow poor Sophia to listen to it. The girl was getting older, almost sixteen, and Kaitlin could see the hurt in her eyes every time another bruise or mark appeared on her mother’s skin.
Finally the door opened, crashing noisily off the wall as it was flung open. The sound of her husband’s feet stomping through the hallway got louder as he neared, and Kaitlin gulped as she prepared herself for Jamesie’s inebriated state; it seemed to worsen every time he had a skinful of alcohol.
“You lazy mare.” Jamesie slurred as he staggered into the lounge. He stank of alcohol.
Kaitlin turned up the volume on the TV, hoping to drown out Jamesie’s voice. She could tell that he was in his ‘poor me’ frame of mind, although he often felt hard done by, as though life had deliberately dropped a heavy load on him from a great height, and his wife was always the one to blame for it. Since the factory had laid him off, he had become even more difficult. His stress and worry had quickly turned to anger and aggression and, fuelled by constant drinking, his fiery temper was rapidly started to spiral out of control.
“You could’ve opened the door for me; don’t make out like you didn’t know I was out there. You’re a lazy bitch, Kaitlin, sitting on your bony fucking arse ignoring me. Don’t you ever, ever, fucking ignore me, do you understand?” Jamesie pointed an unsteady finger at his wife.
Kaitlin nodded, desperate to try and calm Jamesie down. She didn’t have the energy for the drama tonight; once Jamesie got himself riled up he wouldn’t let it go. He was so argumentative that he could start a fight with his own shadow if the mood took him and the sad thing was there was never a real reason for it, he was just bitter about life in general.
“I made you some dinner, fish pie. Shall I heat it up?” Kaitlin asked softly, as Jamesie slumped down in his armchair.
“I’m not hungry,” Jamesie said, as he stared at his wife. His vision was blurred due to the amount of drink he had downed earlier but even in his drunken state he could tell that his wife felt timid, that his presence made her feel nervous.
“Here, come over here to me.” He motioned for Kaitlin to come over to his chair.
Praying that her husband’s mood was improving, Kaitlin stood beside him, trying not to breathe in the fumes of whiskey and cigarettes.
Standing in front of her husband, her arms hung down awkwardly at her sides and she tightly clasped her hands. She felt a wave of unease as Jamesie leered at her. She knew what was coming: he had that nasty glint in his eyes.
Jamesie gripped his wife’s breast; he squeezed it and she flinched in pain.
“Take your skirt off.”
Kaitlin didn’t have the strength for this. But knowing that it was another of Jamesie’s tests and that she had no choice but to do as he said, she did as she was told. He would make up the rules and she would play along like a good girl: if she didn’t, he would only force her.
“Jamesie, Sophia’s only just gone up. She probably isn’t asleep yet. Let’s just go upstairs to bed, yeah?” But she knew that he wasn’t listening. This was another part of his game; he knew Kaitlin would be mortified if their daughter walked in on what he subjected her to. She would have to do what Jamesie told her, or she would only anger him. Even in sex Jamesie was violent, especially lately. He wanted to hurt her, take out his anger out on her. Kaitlin had no choice but to go along with his demands, and he now forced himself upon her on almost a daily basis. If Kaitlin didn’t respond to his needs willingly he got his pleasure from making her.
“I said, take off your skirt.” Jamesie’s glare told her that he didn’t intend on going anywhere. Right here was good enough for him.
Unzipping her long skirt and letting it fall to the floor, Kaitlin glanced over to the door.
“And the rest.” He indicated his wife’s knickers and jumper.
Taking off her jumper over her head, she unclipped her bra and pulled her knickers down, Kaitlin stood before him naked, her exposed body leaving her completely vulnerable to her husband’s scrutiny. His eyes wandered up and down her body. Kaitlin just wanted him to get on with what he planned to do; there was no point in trying to stop him.
Kaitlin no longer got physical pleasure from her husband, and he no longer offered it: he was too concerned about himself for that. Sex for him was all about power now; all about showing his wife who was the boss.
He nodded as he sat back in the armchair. “Go on; get on all fours.”
Kaitlin knelt on the thin carpet in front of him, shame and humiliation washing over her. The only sound in the room other than his raspy breathing was the ticking clock.
“Look at the state of you,” Jamesie said, as his eyes roamed her body. Her frame was so tiny that her ribs and spine stuck out. Kneeling before him, naked and bent over, she reminded him of an old knackered greyhound.
Kaitlin didn’t respond. The best thing to do was to let him get on with his rants and abuse. The more she resisted the worse he would be, so she remained silent.
It was always the same, his game. First he belittled her and humiliated her. That was his foreplay if you like. Once Jamesie was satisfied that he had made Kaitlin feel small and powerless, he then forced himself onto her. He knew that he disgusted his wife: he could see it in her eyes. So when he entered her roughly, knowing it was against her will, he made no disguise of the fact that he enjoyed the sound of her pain. Every thrust was harder and harder, as he punished her with his body. He would squeeze her breasts so tightly that she would be left bruised for days afterwards. Often he would pull fistfuls of her hair too.
Until lately it had always been when Sophia was out, but the last few times the girl had been in the house. Jamesie knew that it was the one thing that Kaitlin worried about the most; and he enjoyed tormenting her with it. Kaitlin would never forgive herself if Sophia saw them, and for that reason alone she didn’t fight back; she just let him get on with the ordeal without making a sound, hoping that it would be over quickly. Sophia was her sweet and innocent daughter and Kaitlin had fought to keep the reality of her family life from her, but it was getting harder to pretend that this wasn’t happening. Sophia had already seen too much. The bruises, the shouting... hiding them from her was near on impossible, especially with Jamesie no longer seeming to care who knew about his violent outbursts. He drank more and more and seemed angrier each day.
Kaitlin knew from experience that any protest from her and Jamesie would hurt her even more. He would do whatever it took to overpower her. Controlling her turned him on. He had told her once that he could only release himself inside of her once he was satisfied that she had earned it.
Kaitlin waited for Jamesie to begin. She was unsure how much more of this abuse she could endure. She wasn’t eating properly; she wasn’t sleeping well. She felt like a nervous wreck most of the time. She was almost at breaking point.
She fought to control her shaking arms, knowing the enjoyment he got from seeing how frightened she was.
After a minute of waiting, her head hanging down in expectation, her body cold, she looked up. Jamesie was standing over her, staring.
“Look at the fucking state of you. What a fucking disgrace. You’re a weak, pathetic excuse for a woman.” It was his mantra these days, and Kaitlin was starting to believe it. Weak was what she had become. “Who would want to fuck you? I’m going up to bed.”
Jamesie walked out of the room, leaving Kaitlin on her hands and knees, relieved but mortified. She grabbed her clothes, and with hot tears in her eyes, struggled to pull them on.
Slowly making her way to the sofa, Kaitlin threw herself down onto it and curled into a ball, burying her head into a cushion as she desperately tried to stifle the noise of the huge sobs that escaped from her mouth.
How had her life come to this?
