THE REINCARNATION OF JENNIFER JANE

by

Jennifer Jane Pope

with additional narrative by

Ruth Kirkpatrick

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

PART TWO

- 12 -

Ruth, my mother and I were in the lounge, watching the early evening news when the roof fell in on my new found happiness. Dad was just coming downstairs when the doorbell rang and he answered it. I could hear the sound of voices, but they were merely background and I took no notice, but when the door to the lounge opened and my father came in, followed by a uniformed WPC and three men in dark suits, I knew something was terribly wrong, for the last person to crowd into the room was my so-called admirer from Lyle's cafeteria. My mother sensed that something dreadful was about to happen, too, and was immediately on her feet.

`What's going on?' she demanded. My father started trying to explain.

`They're on about some girl called Christina Hammond and they reckon she's in here. I've already told them we don't know the girl, but they just barged their way in.' One of the men, the oldest, a beefy, balding fellow of about fifty, pushed past my Dad and waved something under my nose as I sat rooted to the sofa.

`I am Detective Inspecter Murray and these are Detective Constables Steel and Freeman,' he growled. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded paper. `Christina Margaret Hammond, I have here a warrant for your arrest and detention under the Mental Health Act - ' My head was swimming, the room swaying before my eyes and his words started to blur into a meaningless drone, but I was snapped back to full consciousness when I heard: ` - connection with the murder of Millicent Greaves, on July the twenty ninth this year. I must warn you that you do not have to say anything, but that anything you do say - '

The rest of the caution was drowned under a chorus of shrieking protests from Mum and Ruth, together with my father's voice, trying to make itself heard above the general commotion. I felt something click around my wrist and, when I looked down, I saw that I was now handcuffed to the policewoman, who began urging me to my feet. After several seconds, something like order was restored and I found my voice.

`There's been some mistake,' I said, trying to sound calm. `My name is Jennifer. Jennifer Jane Pope and I've been living and working in London for several weeks. I only arrived back in town yesterday afternoon. My sis- Ruth can verify that.'

`I can!' Ruth shouted. `She's telling the truth! Janey, show them the return ticket. It'll have the date on it!'

DI Murray took something else from his pocket and held it up, moving it around so that everyone in the room could see it. My heart sank like a stone, for he was holding up a photograph of Chrissie. It must have been taken some weeks, or even months, before our fateful encounter, for she looked a lot fitter and healthier than she had then. She looked, in fact, exactly as I did now.

`Do you deny that you are this woman?' he challenged, staring straight at me. `We have your fingerprints on record, so there's little point in lying.' My shoulders sagged and my head drooped.

`No,' I said. `I don't deny it. That's me in the photograph. At least, it's my face. Oh, you wouldn't understand.'

`Then I suggest you come along quietly,' he said, returning the picture to his pocket.

`Where are you taking him - her?' my mother demanded, trying to get between me and the door. My father pulled her back.

`Septon Hall,' Murray said. He jerked his thumb in the direction of my "admirer", whose piggy face wore a smirk that sent cold shivers through my every fibre. `Mr Morton here is from the Septon Hall nursing staff.'

`But Septon Hall is the place where they lock up the loonies!' Ruth screeched. `Janey's as sane as you and I?'

`Listen, young lady,' Murray said. `This woman you know as Janey, or Jennifer, or whatever, is actually a dangerous, psychotic drug addict. She was committed to Septon for her own safety and whilst she was there she assaulted and seriously injured three staff and two other inmates on various occasions. No one's quite sure how she managed to get out, but get out she did, on the day before one of the nurses, Millicent Greaves, was found stabbed to death in her own home.

`I am the officer in charge of that investigation and, whilst I cannpt go into details at this stage, I can tell you that we found evidence at the scene of the crime which would indicate that Christina here was in that house on the day Mrs Greaves died. We have been looking for her for several weeks now and it was just pure luck that Mr Morton spotted her in town this afternoon. Now, if you will all kindly excuse me, we will take her back where she belongs.'

Ruth came rushing up to me as I turned to follow the persistent tugging on my wrist and threw her arms around me.

`Don't worry, Janey,' she sobbed. `We'll fight this all the way. We'll get you the best lawyers there are. We'll prove you didn't murder that woman.'

 

- 13 -

There are whole episodes of things that happened over the weeks that followed that I have only heard secondhand, mainly from Ruth. When I discussed the writing of this book with her, she offered to put on tape her version of everything that happened, but after a little persuasion, I managed to convince her that she should write it herself. I cannot tell you how much I owe to my darling "baby" sister, both then, since and even now, so it is only right that she should accept the credit that is rightfully hers for the vital part that she played in seeking justice for the woman you know as Jennifer Jane Pope, her big sister Janey.

Here then, in Ruth's own words, with only a little editing from yours truly, is her version of what happened after I was so unceremoniously snatched from our parents' house.

 

- 14 -

[Ruth’s Story]

Dad could not understand why Mum and I were so distraught when those unfeeling bastards dragged poor Janey out of the house and bundled her into that big black car. We were both in tears and almost incoherent for ages, but eventually we calmed down enough to try to tell him the truth. He stood there and listened to us, his back to the fireplace, hands clasped behind him, but I could see from his face that he didn't believe a single word of it and, to be fair, who could blame him?

`You heard what that copper said,' he told us, when we had finally run out of things to add. `That girl is a mental case. She's a junkie and a screwball - not a good combination. She's either raving mad, or she's a bloody good liar. I've heard that nutters can often be very convincing, mainly because they believe their own lies.'

`She's not lying!' I shouted. `Mum and I sat up all night with her - him - and she knows things that she couldn't possibly have learned from just a brief meeting.'

`You've only got her word that it was a brief meeting,' he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable. `For all we know, she may have known our Jamie for a lot longer than that.'

`She did!' Mum almost spat out the words. `She's known our Jamie for over twenty years. She is our Jamie, you silly old fool! ' I had never before seen our mother so angry. Normally, even if she was upset, her anger was controlled, moderated, but now she was almost spitting with fury.

`Dad,' I intervened. `What about the lock on the front door? Even you have to muck about with it to get it to shut properly. When we came back in, I automatically left it to Jamie - Janey - the way I always did when he was my big brother. And she had it shut just as easily as ever. That was what finally convinced Mum something wasn't right.'

`Beginners luck?' he suggested. Mum snorted and I half expected to see jets of flame spout from her nostrils.

`Eamon Kirkpatrick,' she said, `you are not damned well listening to us. Janey did exactly the same thing this evening when the girls came in from shopping and she did the same thing when she came back from the corner shop with me this afternoon. If that's beginners luck, then I'm a Chinese great grandmother!'

My father shook his head in resignation. `Listen,' he said, very calmly, `I can see you're both very upset and I can also see that you both believe that girl is our Jamie come back to life.'

`Not come back to life,' I insisted. `He never died. Only his old body. His mind, his soul, his essence, whatever you want to call it, just switched bodies.' I explained, as best I could, Janey's theory about the electrical surge. Dad listened once again, but I could see he wasn't any nearer being convinced than he had been before.

`Very clever theory,' he conceded, `but it's all science fiction. This Janey, Christina, call her what you will, is obviously a clever little bitch, but | - '

He got no further, for Mum walked straight up to him and slapped him across the face so hard that even my ears were ringing. Never in my lifetime had I seen her raise a hand to anyone, let alone my father. He stood there, mouth open, shocked.

`Eamon Kirkpatrick,' she said, in a voice that had icicles dripping from it, `may the good Lord strike you down if you ever call our son a bitch again, even if he is now our daughter.' The room fell so silent, I could hear the clock ticking out in the hallway and then, without warning, tears began to flow down my father's cheeks. He made no attempt to wipe them away, but simply remained as he was, staring at Mum's face. Whether it was her uncharacteristically violent outburst, or something he could see in her eyes, I don't know and he's never told any of us since, but all at once I realised that he believed what we already knew to be true. Silently, Mum took his hands and I got up and went over to put my arm around him. The three of us stood together for an eternity, before he finally broke the spell.

`Can it really be true?' he said, his voice cracking with emotion. `Our Jamie's come back to us? And as a bloody girl?' Very quietly, I retold the tale of the ten pounds I had stolen and of how Jamie had made me put it back. I told him about the promises we had made to each other that day.

`And you know Jamie and I would never break a promise that we made to each other, or to you and Mum. If that really was Chrissie whatshername, Jamie would never have told her about that and, even if he had, what with all the other things Janey knew about us, Chrissie would have needed a memory like a computer.'

`It's possible,' he said, softly.

`For a Mensa member with an IQ somewhere in the stratosphere,' I agreed. `But the police already said, Chrissie Hammond was a junkie and in a bad way. I've met plenty of junkies, especially at college. Once they get hooked, they usually can't even remember what day it is. They usually flunk out pretty soon after. No Dad, that really was Jamie they took away.'

`Oh Jesus,' he breathed. `Even if I do say I believe it, who the hell else is ever going to? They'll say we're all mad and we'll all end up with Jamie in Septon House.'

Mum broke away from the huddle and made towards the door.

`We need to think about this very carefully,' she said. `So I'm going to put the kettle on.' It's funny how old habits refuse to die, isn't it?

 

- 15 -

[Jenny Jane]

Whilst Mum was following the English ritual of tea in any crisis, I was sitting in an interview at Barrett Row Police Station. The WPC had, by now, removed the cuff from her wrist and used it to secure both my arms behind my back, American style. I sat on a hard, upright chair, across the table from DI Murray and my recently bonded buddy, whose name turned out to be Caroline Flynn, with the smirking Morton occupying a chair in the corner.

`These handcuffs are really not necessary,' I told Murray, as soon as the tape machine was running. `And I would like my jacket, please. This room is very cold.' The inspector looked at WPC Flynn, but her face remained blank.

`Did you bring her jacket?' he asked. She shook her head.

`Sorry, sir,' she muttered. `I didn't think. It was pretty warm anyway and she never said anything at the time.' I fixed her with what I hoped was a withering stare.

`I had other things on my mind at the time,' I said. `Now, are you going to take these things off me, or not?' DI Murray turned and looked towards Morton, who shook his head.

`I wouldn't advise it, Inspector,' he said. `This one's a biter and a scratcher. She may sound calm enough now, but if her last fix starts to wear off, she could go, just like that.' He snapped his fingers to emphasise the point. Murray turned back to me.

`He's the expert,' he said and there was almost an apologetic tone to his voice. `But WPC Flynn will try and find you a blanket, or something. WPC Flynn is leaving the room,' he added, speaking towards the tape machine as Flynn stood up. `Meanwhile, young lady,' he continued, talking directly to me again, `perhaps we could get started.'

`I want a solicitor,' I said, resolutely. He sat back, folding his arms across his chest.

`That is your right,' he admitted, `but I suggest there are a few basic questions you could answer that would not require the presence of a solicitor.'

`No,' I said, firmly, and I would have folded my own arms, had I been able to. `No solicitor, no questions.'

It took them an hour to find the duty solicitor, a pasty faced young man of about twenty eight or nine, who went by the name of Maurice Gold. The interview was reconvened at about eight o'clock, my having spent the interim in a cell beneath the station. Caroline Flynn had brought me a cup of tea, but had refused my request to have my hands freed to drink it. Instead, she held the cup for me, whilst I sipped at it awkwardly. She gave me a grey blanket, which she wrapped about my shoulders and offered me a cigarette, which I accepted gratefully.

`Co-operate with us, Chrissie,' she said, gently, taking the cigarette from my lips between puffs. `It'll be easier for you in the long run. At least you'll sleep in a comfortable bed in Septon. These bunks are bloody murder.'

`How would you know?' I asked. `Or do you bonk the duty sergeant in here when it's quiet?' She regarded me evenly for a few seconds and then started laughing.

`You've had a pretty shitty time of it, haven't you?' she suggested, offering me the cigarette again. I took a drag and slowly expelled the smoke.

`If I told you,' I said, `you really would believe I ought to be in Septon House. Look, can't you please just take these cuffs off me for ten minutes? I promise I won't do anything and, whatever that gorilla Morton might say, I've never bitten anyone in my life.' She looked at me steadily, her blue eyes searching my own. She was nearly as blonde as me, though her hair was cut several inches shorter and she had what you would describe as a "nice" face.

`Okay,' she said, at length, fumbling in the pocket of her tunic for the keys. `But they have to go back on before you go back upstairs and, if you try anything, I'll break your arm for you.' I turned around so that she could use the keys and gratefully rubbed my wrists when the cuffs had been removed. I took the plastic mug and the cigarette from her and thanked her.

`I want to ask another favour,' I said. `I want you to arrange for the police doctor to examine me whilst I'm here.'

`Whatever for?' she asked, eyebrows raised. `Or are you starting a come down?' I held out my arms for her to see. With a great effort, I willed them to be steady.

`Look,' I said. `No shakes. I don't need a fix, I don't want a fix and I won't have a fix. What I need is for your doctor to take a sample of my blood to prove that there's nothing in my veins that shouldn't be there!' She stared at me, mouth slack.

`You're not kidding, Chrissie, are you?' she said, eventually. I lowered my arms, which were beginning to ache.

`No, I'm deadly serious. And I'd rather you called me Jennifer, Jenny, or Janey. Anything but Chrissie. This may be Chrissie's body, but it certainly ain't Chrissie inside it.' I didn't expect her to understand, of course, but to her credit, she smiled back at me.

`If you want me to call you Jenny, then Jenny it is,' she said. `At least, it is whilst we're on our own. Now then, if you'd like to finish that cigarette and let me have the butt, I'll trust you to behave whilst I go and ask the Duty Sergeant about getting the quack in to look you over.'

Unfortunately, they could not arrange for the Police Surgeon before the interview started again, but Caroline promised me faithfully that he would arrive before I was transferred to Septon. She also handed me a woollen cardigan, a green thing that one of the other WPCs had left in the locker room. I pulled it on, did up the buttons and turned around, putting my hands behind my back for her to replace the handcuffs. As she turned me back to face her, she looked at me with sad eyes.

`Whatever else you are, Janey,' she said, `I don't think you're the dangerous nutter that bloke Morton reckons you are. There's something dreadfully wrong here, though I haven't a clue what it is, but I hope everything turns out okay in the end.'

`Thanks,' I said and meant it. Not only did she have a nice face, she had a nice personality, too.

 

- 16 -

The interview resumed with the same four people, plus Maurice Gold, present. The solicitor sat on my side of the table and immediately asked Murray if the handcuffs were necessary. Murray told him what Morton had said, but Caroline intervened on my behalf.

`She's shown no sign of violence, sir,' she pointed out. `And I took the liberty of removing the cuffs whilst she was in her cell. She let me put them back on her without any trouble. Besides, there are four of us and she's just one not very big girl.'

`Don't you believe it,' Morton interjected, from his corner seat. `She's a regular hellcat.'

`Who's appears, at the moment, to be acting like any normal, bright, intelligent person would, given the circumstances.' Caroline informed him. I could tell she liked him no more than I did and the smile she gave him dripped acid that would have burned a hole through him. Murray hesitated for several seconds, but then he nodded, slowly.

`Take the cuffs off Miss Hammond, constable,' he told Caroline, who lost no time in doing just that. As she made to turn away from me, with her back to her superior and the obnoxious Morton, she gave me a broad wink.

`Thank you, Inspector,' I said, meekly. I placed my hands in my lap and waited for whatever was to come next. He began by asking me straight away where I had been at the time of the murder. I shrugged.

`I've really no idea,' I replied. `Up until the early hours of the day after the day you're talking about, everything's a complete blank. I have no recollection of being in Septon, no memory of that man over there and no memory of Millicent Greaves. I couldn't even tell you the names of my parents, nor where I went to school.'

`Then we have a problem,' he said. `Or you have.' From underneath the manilla folder which lay on the desk in front of him, he slid a plastic bag, in which I saw a battered looking lady's wristwatch. `Have you ever seen this before?' he demanded and made a comment for the tape that he was showing me Exhibit Twelve, one lady's Seconda wristwatch. I shook my head.

`No,' I said, truthfully, `but I'm willing to bet that you're about to tell me that it's mine and that you have witnesses ready to swear to that fact. Not only that, I'd also bet that it was found near the body of that poor nurse.'

`Very astute of you,' he muttered, beetling his brows and looking down at his folder. He looked up again, suddenly, staring straight at me. `Where have you been since the day after Millicent Greaves's death?' he demanded.

`London,' I said. `Working behind the bar of a pub called the Lord Nelson. No doubt you'll want to search my room there?' I gave him the address, which Caroline scribbled into her notebook. `Ask your men to leave my underwear drawer tidy, if you wouldn't mind?' I added, forcing myself to smile at him.

We continued for some time, even though Murray must have realised he was getting nowhere - and not very fast, either. He asked me what I could first remember and I told him I'd suddenly found myself wandering in the park. I decided it would be most sensible not to mention the railway cutting. Putting myself at the scene of a sudden death would only complicate matters even more than they already were.

`How did you get up to London?' he asked.

`By train.'

`And what did you use for money?'

`I scrounged it off a couple of men who were walking their dogs in the park that morning.'

`I don't believe you,' he snapped. `No one gives money away like that. The fare to London alone is quite a bit and, from the statements given by staff at Septon, you would also have needed clothes in which to travel.'

`The two men in question wre in a generous mood, obviously,' I quipped. Maurice Gold interjected at this point.

`Detective Inspector Murray,' he said, `do you have anything to connect my client with Mrs Greaves' unfortunate death, other than the presence of a wristwatch which is alleged to have been her property at some earlier time?'

`I should have thought that was pretty good evidence that she was there around the time of the stabbing,' Murray asserted. `And she knew Mrs Greaves from Septon. Perhaps she had a grievance against her and went in search of her, looking for revenge?' Gold shook his head.

`Not at all, my dear inspector,' he said. `From what you have shown me of your file on this case, which I must say is not very much, Miss Hammond actually liked Nurse Greaves, according to the statements made by all the other staff except Mr Morton here. Mrs Greaves showed great kindness to my client, who responded to her very well, much better, in fact, than she did to any of the other nurses. Christina would have had no reason to kill her.

`Furthermore, I notice that the watch is not working. Might Nurse Greaves not have taken it to get it mended for Christina?'

`Or it could have been broken when they struggled,' Murray said, aggressively. Mr Gold shrugged.

`If Christina has no memory of that time and Mrs Greaves is no longer alive, we may never know the answer to that one,' he said. `And, unless you can come up with something else, I respectfully suggest to you that you have no case whatsoever against Miss Hammond and you should therefore release her immediately.' My heart soared, but it sank again immediately at the burly policeman's next words.

`I'm afraid that's not an option, Mr Gold,' Murray replied. `She is still the subject of a Section Fourteen order. Even if we don't have enough to hold her - yet - then she will have to be returned to Septon.'

`Then, in the morning, I shall be applying for an injunction for her immediate release,' Mr Gold said, doggedly. `From what I have seen of this young lady, I heartily concur with your constable that she does not seem at all dangerous.'

`You don't know her,' Morton piped up. `She may sit there, all sweetness and light, saying she's lost her memory, but there are a lot of people who haven't lost theirs and it's all written down. With her record, Perry Mason himself couldn't get her out without a full assessment and that'll take two weeks, at least, probably twenty eight days.' I looked across the table at Caroline, through tear filled eyes, pleading with her, silently, but all she could do was shake her head.

Detective Inspector Murray turned towards the tape machine and brought the interview to an official end. Switching it off, he turned back to Morton.

`As soon as the doctor's seen her, you can take her back to Septon,' he said. `You can ring for transport. We're short handed tonight.'

`Why does she need to see the doctor?' Morton demanded. `I've got to get back as soon as possible. You're not the only people who are short handed, you know.'

`Women's problems,' Caroline cut in, before I could say anything. `As a nurse, you should have some idea about these things.'

`We've got a duty doctor at Septon,' Morton said, rising to his feet. For the first time, Murray smiled.

`I don't doubt it,' he said, `but Miss Hammond is still our prisoner until the jailer signs her over to you and she's made an official request to be examined by the Police Surgeon. That's been logged and signed and Sergeant Fairweather won't let you take her until that request has been fulfilled and he's got the doc's counter signature. He can be a right bugger for the rules at times!'

 

- 17 -

[Ruth]

Mum, Dad and I had talked ourselves in circles for hours when the doorbell rang. We looked at each other, apprehensively.

`I'll answer it,' I said, firmly. `It could be the local press. They get wind of these things very quickly. If it is, I shall be very rude to them!'

But it was not reporters, but the blonde policewoman who had handcuffed herself to Janey earlier in the evening. She had removed her uniform tie and had a dark green anorak over her working clothes and there was a strange expression on her face. I stood for several seconds before I spoke.

`What do you want?' I snapped. `Haven't you caused enough trouble here tonight?' She pulled a wry face.

`Listen,' she said, `I'm not here officially. I came off duty twenty minutes ago.'

`The why don't you piss off home and leave us alone?' I demanded, though my anger was forced more than it should have had to have been. WPC Flynn took a deep breath.

`Listen Ruth,' she said, `we need to talk. They don't seem to have much on Janey and, if it wasn't for the Section Fourteen order, I would probably have been driving her back home to you by now. As it is, that bloke Morton is taking her to Septon and I don't like it. There's something weird going on here and we need to talk.'

I stepped aside. `You'd better come in,' I conceded. Her troubled face showed that she was genuine and she had called Janey "Janey" and not Chrissie. I showed her through to the lounge, even though she had already been there once that evening and shot warning glances at my parents as I asked her to sit down on the sofa. I sat down next to her.

`I spent a little while on my own with Janey, earlier this evening,' she began. `She asked me to get the Police Surgeon to take a sample of her blood to confirm she isn't using any drugs at the moment.'

`She isn't,' I stated, flatly. `And she wouldn't. All that they wre accusing her of, that's not Janey.'

`Certainly not the Janey I talked to,' she agreed. `And there's something strange about the way that man Morton is with her. He hates her, I can feel it.' She looked around the three of us, studying our faces. `Listen,' she said. `I'll deny I ever said this if any of you ever breathes a word about it, but i think that Morton knows something and he thinks Janey has something on him.

`I don't think Janey, or Chrissie, killed that nurse. I've read all the witness statements and Millicent Greaves treated Chrissie Hammond like her own daughter. Chrissie loved her almost. Only Morton's statement differs. He alleges that Chrissie was prone to bad mood swings, but that she was cunning enough to play to the gallery when there were other staff around.

`Janey told us that she has no memory of anything before the early hours of the thirtieth, but I think she's lying. She's also lied about the money she used to travel to London, but that's not important.'

`She used her own money,' I said. `But what makes you think she's lying about her loss of memory?'

`People do get memory loss,' Caroline Flynn said, `but not for periods of years and never lasting a month or more. At least, from what I've read, the chances are millions, if not billions, to one.'

`It's still possible,' I said, waiting for her to come to the point.

`Yes, but it's not the truth, not in Janey's case,' she said. `There's something she won't - can't - tell us. I don't think it's anything to do with Millicent Greaves's murder, but there's definitely something.' She looked around us again, her eyes seriously troubled. `Am I right?' she said. There was a long silence, which I finally knew I had to break.

`You are,' I said, quietly. `But you'll never believe us if we tell you.'

She looked straight at me, her blue eyes unblinking.

`Try me,' she said.

 

- 18 -

[Jenny Jane]

Caroline escorted me to see the police doctor, who had arrived during the interview session. She contrived not to put the handcuffs back on me and I, in turn, gave her no cause to regret that kindness. The examination did not take that long and the doctor, a grey haired man in his early sixties, did not demur when I explained why I wanted him to take a sample of my blood. He divided it into two phials and sealed them both, giving me one to pass on to my solicitor for an independent analysis. When he had gone and I was rebuttoning my blouse, I turned to Caroline, who was standing patiently by the door.

`Why didn't you tell Morton about the blood test?' I asked. She shrugged.

`I'm not sure,' she said. `Impulse, if you like.'

`You don't like him either?'

`Not much, but then you can't always tell with people. You never know what's under the surface, do you?' Too bloody right, I thought.

Aloud, I said: `He scares me. There's something about the way he looks at me.'

`Perhaps it's to do with his job?' Caroline suggested. `I should imagine it's pretty stressful up there.'

`I'll let you know,' I replied, grimly, handing her back the borrowed cardigan.

`Keep it for now,' she said. `I'll get your jacket from the Kirkpatricks' house and bring it in to you.' We had to go back down to the cells, for me to be officially signed out and there I found Morton already waiting for me, a jacket of a different kind in his hands. I stared at it in horror, recognising what it was from films on television. Caroline saw the look on my face and tried to intervene.

`Is that really necessary?' she demanded. Morton smiled that funny smile of his, which failed by a long way to reach his eyes.

`Regulations, officer,' he said. `Like I said, we're short staffed, too and I have to take her back on my own. With her previous record, she has to go in one of these, unless there are at least two other qualified members of staff with her. I can't drive and keep her under control if she throws one of her famous wobblers.'

`Couldn't you just cuff her?' Caroline suggested. `I can lend you my cuffs if you want. I'm just about off duty now anyway. Come to that, I could come up in the car with you both.'

`Sorry, no,' Morton said. `If anything went wrong, our insurance cover would be invalid and my job'd be on the line. Now, if you don't mind, we're late enough already.'

`Could I just have one last word with WPC Flynn?' I begged. `In private? I want to ask her about making a statement.'

`In which case,' Caroline asserted, `I'll have to ask you to wait over there, Mr Morton.' She pointed to a row of three tatty looking chairs, about twenty feet away. Morton glared at her, but did walk away. When I considered he was out of earshot, I leaned my mouth close to Caroline's ear and whispered urgently into it. She listened, without interruption and then nodded.

`I'll take care of it,' she promised. `You can rely on me, but you'll have to go with him tonight.'

`I know,' I sighed and Caroline beckoned to Morton to come back over.

Wearily, I held out my arms and he drew the heavy canvas sleeves up them, lifting the jacket around my shoulders and tightening the thick fastening straps at the back. I then had to cross my arms in front and he buckled the trailing ends behind me too. It was an awful feeling, standing there completely helpless, knowing that I was completely in this man's power now and would soon be alone with him.

He guided me up the steps and out into the yard behind the police station, opening the back door of a big, black saloon car and pushing me inside with a good deal more force than was really necessary. I turned my head and saw Caroline's silhouette, framed in the doorway of the building and then looked down in horror once more as he passed the padded leather strap about my ankles and buckled it fast.

`What's that for?' I demanded. He chuckled.

`You forget, Chrissie,' he said, `I know you almost as well as you know yourself. These feet of yours have done enough damage in the past and I'm not taking any chances. He straightened up and showed me his left hand. There was an ugly red scar on one side of it, the shape and position indicating it had been caused by a bite. `Remember that, Chrissie?' he said, his voice even harder than before. He reached over to pick up something from the front seat. `You know what we do to biters, don't you, Chrissie? We give them something to chew on that won't bleed.'

Before I had chance to resist, he had prised open my jaws and thrust a sausage shaped object between my teeth. It was soft and spongy and, from the taste of it, covered in leather. There were straps attached, which he buckled roughly behind my neck, preventing me from expelling the beastly gag.

`That's better,' he said, ducking back out of the car. `Now we not only don't get ourselves bitten, we don't have to listen to any more of your silly stories.' He slammed the door, leaving me sitting there, mute and helpless and terrified as I had never been terrified in my life before.

 

- 19 -

[Ruth]

Mum and Dad left all the talking to me, Dad sitting impassively in his usual armchair and Mum, being Mum, going through to the kitchen to make tea. When she returned, some minutes later, she quietly handed a cup to each of us in turn and sat down in her chair without interrupting my narrative. When I finally finished speaking, Caroline sat silently for a minute or more, only her eyes moving as she considered what she had just been told.

`So,' she said, at last, `what you are saying is that your brother Jamie has somehow got into the body of Chrissie Hammond and has been living as Janey, in London, for the past few weeks.'

`He - she's called Jennifer Jane, actually,' I reminded her. `I call her Janey, because it's like Jamie, but her London friends call her Jenny, or Jenny Jane.'

`Yes, Jennifer Jane Pope,' Christina mused. She smiled at me. `It's a nice name, isn't it?'

`And she's a nice girl,' I said, bitterly. `Jamie was a nice boy and now Janey is a lovely girl and all this is not fair. Not after everything she's already had to go through.'

`No, I agree,' Caroline nodded. `It would be enough to turn a sane mind, wouldn't it?'

`Are you trying to say Janey is mad?' I protested. Caroline shook her head, holding up one hand.

`No, no, not at all,' she assured me. `I've spoken to her a couple of times and, whatever else Janey is, she isn't mad. She's perfectly lucid and surprisingly in control of herself.' She explained about the blood samples and how she had passed one to Janey's solicitor, but she did not tell us about the way poor Janey had been bundled into the car in a straitjacket and then gagged before that evil bastard Morton drove her away. Janey herself told me about that, though not until much, much later.

`And you don't think we're mad for believing that Jamie's come back?' I asked. `Only you seem to be taking all this quite calmly.'

`There's a lot to think about,' she said, `and I must admit, it does take some getting around, doesn't it? On the other hand, on the first day I was ever on station duty, this bloke came in, claiming he'd had a dream and seen John Lennon being shot. He wanted us to ring America and warn him, or at least find out his number so he could warn him himself.'

`What happened?' I asked, curious. She shrugged.

`The duty sergeant slung him out and told him to change his dealer. It wasn't even logged in the incident book, but there were three of us there who heard what he said, so I wasn't imagining it. Two days later, as you know, John Lennon was dead, shot, same as in that guy's dream.'

`And that's why you're not just dismissing us as a bunch of nutters?' I said.

`Among other things,' she replied. `You see, I've also got this auntie - she's a great aunt, actually - who's very into spiritualism and stuff like that. I used to stay with her when I was a kid and she's got all these weird books about reincarnation and out of body experiences. I went to a seance with her once, but it was so spooky, I never went again.'

`What happened?'

`Well, this woman - the medium - went into a sort of trance and then she started speaking in a man's voice. Auntie Win swore it was the voice of her old sweetheart, who was killed fighting in the Spanish Civil War, or somewhere like that. He spoke to her for a couple of minutes, saying that he was happy where he was and how he had always loved her and would wait for her to join him. She was crying at the end, but she was crying because she was happy.'

`And you didn't think it might be just some cruel hoax?' I asked.

`For all I know, it could have been, but there was something else. All the time this ghost voice was speaking, I could hear funny noises in my own head. Nothing really distinct, just blurry sounds, but I'd swear one of the noises sounded like a machine gun and there were also muffled thumps that could have been distant explosions.'

`That could have just been some sort of auto suggestion,' my Dad joined in, speaking for the first time in about twenty minutes. `The voice was talking about war and you just imagined what it might sound like.'

`Perhaps,' Caroline conceded, `but then why did it sound as though it were a long way off? Anyway, I never told Auntie Win and I never went back to that woman with her again. She went herself and she was convinced it was her Sidney. She said there were things he said that nobody but the two of them could have known about.'

`Same as Janey did when I first met her in the park,' I said. Mum nodded.

`And the lock and the red wine,' she agreed. `And sometimes you just know, the way I did.'

`And what about you, Mr Kirkpatrick?' Caroline said, looking across at Dad.

`I only found out about all this just before you came back,' he told her. `I've hardly exchanged a word with Janey, but these two are convinced and that's good enough for me. But, whether you believe it too, or not, what good does it do? Most people are not so open minded as you appear to be. They'd laugh you out of your job if you went back to the station with a story like that.'

`I know,' she admitted, ruefully. `But I'd like to do something to help. I knew there was something different about Janey. Chrissie Hammond may have been some sort of psychopath, but that bloke Morton isn't a whole lot better. Neither Janey, nor I, trusted him. There's something really evil about him.'

`I'll be seeing my own solicitor in the morning,' Dad said. `There has to be something we can do about getting Janey out of that place.'

`Well,' Caroline said, `the first thing we can do, right now, is consider the murder angle. If Janey didn't kill Nurse Greaves, then somebody else did.'

`Chrissie Hammond, before Janey took over her body?' I suggested. `She could have stabbed her before Jamie saw her by the railway.'

`Janey doesn't think so. And, if what she told me earlier is true, I can probably prove it. She said she came here the night before she left for London. She didn't say anything about having lived here as your brother, but she said she borrowed some clothes from your wardrobe, Ruth, because what she had on were dirty and falling to bits. Apparently, you were away at the time?'

`Yes, I was with my aunt in Hereford. I came straight back when I heard about the accident.'

`And have you looked under your bed since then?'

I shook my head. `No, I'm like most people. Things get stuffed under my bed and are lost to the civilised world forever.'

`I hope not,' she smiled. `Not this time.'

`Why?' I asked. She stood up.

`Let's go and take a look, shall we?'

I led the way upstairs, Caroline following me, Mum next and Dad bringing up the rear. I opened the door to my bedroom, switched on the light and the four of us crowded in. Caroline dropped to her knees and began rummaging under the bed, pulling out the wooden trunk which held all my childhood treasures I couldn't bring myself to throw out. She burrowed under further and I heard her scrabbling about in the darkness.

`Ah, this it what we're looking for,' came her triumphant cry, muffled by her body and the mattress over her head. She wriggled back, clutching a bundle of assorted clothing, sat back on her haunches and began laying out her discovery on the carpet in front of her. There was a pair of very delapidated trainers, one with a broken lace and the sole splitting away from the upper on one side, a tatty pair of faded and very dirty jeans, a teeshirt that had once probably been white, that had two jagged rips in it and a pair of soiled women's panties.

`These are the clothes Chrissie was wearing that night, only a few hours after the stabbing. I was one of the first officers at the murder house and I can tell you that Mrs Greaves was quite horribly mutilated by her attacker. There was an awful lot of blood. I even got some on my uniform.'

`I read about it in the paper,' my Dad said. `The bloke in charge of the case described the killer as deranged, though I don't remember anything about Chrissie being a suspect.'

`No, it was decided not to mention her name at the time. DI Murray thought that if she'd killed Mrs Greaves whilst she was in some blind rage, she might not remember doing it afterwards and might even turn up back at Septon House. If she saw her name in the papers, there'd be no chance.' She turned her attention back to the old clothing on the floor.

`These things match the description of what Chrissie was wearing when she escaped. Apparently, she wouldn't let them give her anything better and ripped up the new stuff they offered her. The psychiatrist said to leave her as she was, until he'd had chance to find out why she was so worked up about keeping on clothes that no normal person would want to be seen dead in.' She picked up the teeshirt and turned it over in her hands.

`There's mud on this and there's something that looks like oil, or grease,' she said, `and that's some sort of food stain, at a guess.' She pointed at an irregular circle of brownish yellow and then laid the shirt back on the floor again. She looked around the semi circle of expectant faces and grinned.

`But no blood,' she said. `Not a single, solitary spot. Of course, we'll have to get these to forensics, but I'm sure I'm right. Janey said there wasn't any blood on the clothes she was wearing and she was dead right.'

`Which means she couldn't - Chrissie couldn't, I mean - have killed Nurse Greaves?' I said, my heart jumping. Caroline, still smilling, began to gather the things together.

`Not only couldn't she have killed the poor woman,' she said, `she couldn't even have been in the same room when she died. I won't go into the gruesome details, but, believe me, there would have been more than even just traces of blood, not only on the clothes, but on her, if she had been there.'

 

- 20 -

[Jenny Jane]

As you will have gathered, by the time Caroline was making her discovery in Ruth's bedroom, I had already arrived at Septon House, a rather forbidding Victorian building, set in its own grounds and surrounded by a high wall topped with wire security fencing that leaned inwards, the top of it being at least twenty feet from the ground. I wondered how Chrissie had managed to escape from here before and wondered, also, if I would ever get the chance to repeat her feat.

Certainly not on this night, I wouldn't, for Morton drove straight up to a side entrance, removed the restraint from my ankles and bundled me unceremoniously inside the building, hustling me along a corridor, through two sets of barred gates, which he unlocked with keys he took from his jacket pocket and then clipped onto his belt afterwards. I was pushed into a small cell like room, where the only furniture was a rubber covered mattress and a plastic pot, standing in one corner. The floor felt spongy beneath my feet and the walls were quilted. The one window was little more than a foot square and set high in the wall, just beneath the ceiling. Illumination was provided by a fluourescent tube, secured behind a sturdy perspex panel, but well out of reach anyway.

I was thrown onto the mattress and my shoes dragged from my feet. I tried to kick Morton away as he tugged at the waistband of my skirt, but he was far too strong for me. He ripped it away, exposing my underwear and stood there, gloating over me.

`Suspenders, eh Chrissie?' he leered. `My, how we have gone up in the world. As you remember, you normally get stripped completely for the solitary cells, but I like suspenders, so you can keep your stockings on, for now. But we'll have the knickers off.' Again I tried to resist, but it was a waste of effort. Grunting into my gag, I squirmed and wriggled, but Morton was obviously used to this, for he soon stood up again, holding my black panties in the air like a trophy. I pressed my thighs together, ashamed that he should see my nudity.

`You only get these back when you start behaving yourself,' he said. He stretched the waistband, waving the flimsy garment in front of him. `Very sexy, these,' he said. `But I like my girls with their cunts on show, as well you know.' He turned for the door, shoving my panties into his jacket pocket. `I'll be back in a minute,' he said, stepping into the corridor. `Don't you go away now, will you?' His mocking laughter was cut short as the heavy door boomed into the frame with a finality that was chilling, leaving me alone, gagged and trussed, in that eerily echoeless little room.

 

- 21 -

[Ruth]

The doorbell rang just after seven the following morning. Dad, who was first downstairs as usual, answered it and, as I came out of the bathroom, I heard voices at the foot of the stairs and then my father calling my name. I wrapped my robe around me and padded, barefoot, downstairs. Caroline Flynn was standing there. Her eyes looked very red and I guessed immediately that she had been up all night.

`What's the matter?' I asked, a mixture of excitement and anxiety welling up inside me. `What's wrong?' She grinned, tiredly and shook her head.

`Nothing's wrong,' she said. `But I remembered that I promised Janey I'd take her jacket to her. I can take her another change of clothes, if you like.'

`I'll come with you,' I said, leading the way into the lounge.

`You won't be allowed,' she assured me. `Even close family would need a special visiting order and I'm afraid, legally, you are nothing to do with the person they think they've got up there.'

`No, I suppose not,' I conceded. It was hard accepting the fact that, as far as the world was concerned, Janey, as Chrissie, was nothing to do with me. I loved her as a sister, just as much as I had ever loved Jamie as my brother and yet I had no rights to her at all. `You look tired out,' I commented. `Would you like a cup of tea?' We drank a lot of tea in that house, as you've probably realised.

Caroline threw herself down on the sofa. `Your Dad's already organising it,' she said. `He reckoned the kettle was hot anyway.' Almost on cue, my Dad appeared, passing us a mug of tea each, my mother following him into the room, still in her dressing gown. The air was fairly crackling with tension, for it was obvious that Caroline was itching to tell us something. Something of importance.

`Come on then,' I urged, as she sipped at her drink. `What news have you got that brings you round here at the crack of dawn? It's got nothing to do with Janey's clothes, I can tell that much.'

`You're right,' Caroline admitted, `though I will take them.' She took another sip and looked up again, her eyes sparkling, despite their sore rims.

`I know who murdered Millicent Greaves,' she said. There was a brief silence, which she broke herself. `The only problem is, I can't prove it and I don't know the motive - yet.'

`It's Morton, isn't it?' I said. She nodded.

`I went back to the station last night and went over the various witness statements, especially those from the Septon House staff. There were a lot of things that didn't add up and a few that did. For instance, only one other person, apart from Stuart Morton, did not mention how Millicent seemed to be winning Chrissie's confidence. That other person is another male nurse, David Tuttle, who just happens to share a house with Morton.'

`Was he the one with Morton in Lyle's cafeteria yesterday?' I asked.

`I don't know,' Caroline confessed, `but I'd say it's more than likely. I rang one of the nurses at home this morning, just as she was getting in from night duty. According to her, Morton and Tuttle are thick as thieves. They go clubbing together, play golf together and both drive quite expensive sports cars. The car Morton had last night belongs to the hospital.' She paused and drank some more tea.

`Look,' she said, `I'll tell you something, but it can't go beyond these four walls, not yet anyway.' Three heads bobbed agreement in unison. `I've already phoned DC Murray and told him what I know so far and he came in early to take Chrissie's old things to forensic. When he knew I'd been going through files all night, he sent me packing to get some sleep, but he's putting someone on to checking Morton and Tuttle's salaries and bank balances, to see what other incomes they might have.

`When I said I didn't know the motive for Millicent's killing, that was true enough, but I do have a good idea. I think it's got something to do with drugs. Male nurses in that sort of place get a decent wage, compared with the rest of the Health Service, but those two blokes couldn't afford their life styles and cars on a nurse's salary, that I am certain of.

`A place like Septon is crammed full of all sorts of substances that would command small fortunes on the open market and I reckon that's what they've been doing, nicking drugs and selling them on. And I reckon poor Millicent was on to them and that's why they killed her. Chrissie was only one of four patients in at the time who were classified as violent. The other three were all men and had little or no contact with the dead woman.'

`So they set it up to look like Chrissie did it?' I cried.

`Possibly. Her watch being at the scene may have been coincidental. Janey's solicitor pointed out that it was broken and Millicent might have had it to get it repaired for Chrissie. We don't know. What we do know is that Chrissie wasn't there at the time, so she couldn't have been the killer. That leaves Morton and Tuttle, because as far as we know, Millicent didn't have any enemies and she wasn't sexually assaulted, which rules out one of the reasons for it being a random killing.

`The guv'nor reckons Millicent knew her attacker, too, because there was no sign of a forced entry and no signs of a struggle anywhere else in the house.'

`So it was either Morton, or Tuttle, or both?' Dad said. Caroline shook her head.

`Tuttle was out of town at the time, escorting a patient who was being transferred up north. There was a female nurse with him who can vouch for his whereabouts virtually every minute they were away. No, it was Morton on his own, that's where my money's going.'

`Except you still can't prove it,' I pointed out. Caroline drained her mug and stood up.

`No,' she said, `but I bloody well intend to try!'

 

- 22 -

[Jenny Jane]

It wasn't cold in that little padded cell, but I could not stop myself from shivering. I had never felt so alone, so helpless and so scared in my life. Even on the night when I first became Chrissie, on route to becoming Jenny Jane, although I had been scared and probably in a state of shock, at least there was something I could do and the knowledge that I had somehow cheated death, twice over in fact, gave me the determination to fight on. Now, I was totally at the mercy of others, one of whom was the detestable Morton, with his piggy eyes and leering, sneering mouth.

The way he had looked at my semi naked body made my flesh crawl and I had the distinct feeling that he had had intimate knowledge of that body, long before I came into it. Which meant, I knew, to my dread, that he would be intent on renewing that knowledge all over again. Swaddled inside the straitjacket, my mouth still cruelly gagged, there would be little I could do to stop him!

After what seemed like hours, he finally returned. Wearing a white jacket now, in his hand, he carried a metal tray, which he placed on the floor, well out of my reach. I recognised the hypodermic syringe, next to which was a small, transparent phial. Moving between me and the tray, he knelt down and unbuckled my gag. It trailed strands of spittle as he pulled it from between my lips.

`How're you feeling, Chrissie?' he said, tossing the gag to one side. `Getting a bit near time for yoyr next fix yet?'

`I don't take drugs,' I snarled up at him. `So you can take that filthy stuff away.' He chuckled, evilly.

`And the Pope's Jewish, Chrissie,' he said. `You're never clean, not you. You may look a bit healthier now, but a change of supplier and some unadulterated gear is probably behind that. They'd already got you onto decent stuff when you were here last time, otherwise you'd have been dead long before silly Milly.'

Looking up at those soulless eyes, I knew suddenly that it was he who had killed Millicent Greaves, not Chrissie. I thought of Caroline and wondered if she'd kept her promise about going to see Ruth yet. I was pretty sure she would have. There was something about Caroline Flynn that made me feel I could trust her. Maybe Millicent Greaves had had that quality, too and that was why Chrissie had instinctively begun to turn to her. Was that why this brute had killed her, I wondered?

`So, what are you on, Chrissie?' Morton taunted me. I flinched as his hand brushed the top of my naked thigh, for it was not an accidental contact. He began stroking my bare flesh and every fibre in me cringed. `You didn't used to be such a snotty bitch,' he said. `You knew you had to open those legs if you wanted one of Stuart's specials, didn't you? And I never let you down, did I Chrissie? Look, I've brought you a present tonight, even though you've been a naughty little girl.'

So that was his game, sex from Chrissie in return for filling her with whatever evil drugs she wanted. No wonder she had wanted to kill herself! Being forced to let this degenerate hump in and out of you would be the ultimate degradation.

`Leave me alone, you vile pervert!' I shrieked. `I don't want your filthy muck and I don't want you near me!'

`Oh, you will, soon enough,' he said, smugly. I tried to kick out at him, but he swivelled easily on his haunches and I missed by a long way. `Ah, so we want to play games, do we?' he sneered. He jumped up, grabbed the gag and quickly forced it back between my teeth, his powerful fingers levering my jaws apart easily. I tried shaking my head to make it harder for him to tighten the buckle, but he simply gripped a handful of my hair and twisted it, savagely.

`Right,' he said, standing up, barely breathing any heavier, despite his exertions. `Time to do something about those vicious feet of yours.' He scooped up the tray and went to the door. `I'll be right back, slag, depend on it.'

This time, he was gone for only a few minutes and, when I saw what he was carrying, I groaned out loud. There were two padded restraint straps, with adjustable fasteners and what had once been an ordinary broom handle. Now someone - probably Morton - had drilled a hole through either end and threaded a length of orange nylon cord through them both. It did not require a genius to work out what he intended. He closed the door and lost no time in getting to work.

Kneeling on my right leg, so that I could not use it in any offensive, he deftly fastened one of the restraints to my left ankle, then reversed the process for my right ankle. He took one of the cord loops and threaded it through the steel ring in the second cuff, the ring I supposed was used to affix the restraint to the bedframe in order to restrain genuinely violent patients. My legs were then forced wide apart and the other loop attached to my left ankle, the wooden pole holding me in that helpless fashion.

Morton almost tore off his uniform jacket and, when he unzipped his trousers and began pulling them down his legs, I could hardly miss the huge swelling in his underpants, for he was clearly already aroused, simply by the act of restraining me. I thought of Suzi and her handcuffs, but this was something utterly different. This bastard, this smug, sneering, bullying bastard was going to rape me!

I tried to scream for all I was worth, but the gag stifled all but the quietest of squeaks. Inside the straitjacket, I wriggled my arms for all they were worth, but that was not much and there was absolutely no chance of getting free. I had seen escapologists on television, somehow gettong one arm free and then unbuckling themselves with it, but I had no idea how they managed it and I certainly was not about to emulate their feats.

I wanted to close my eyes, but I was mesmerised by the massive organ, now rapidly swelling to its full stature, as Morton knelt down between my splayed thighs. I stared at the swollen, puplish knob, as he peeled open a foil packet and began to undroll a condom over it, my stomach lurching at the thought of it forcing aside my labia, penetrating my vagina. It had been there before, of course, but that had been when Chrissie, not me, was the owner of that extremely personal slot. I finally managed to screw my eyes tight, trying to imagine that it was only Suzi, with her strapped on rubber appendage.

Originally, I had thought that maybe Patti, with his/her remaining male parts might be my first and even that, despite the transvestites obvious femininity, would have taken me a lot of courage. I hadn't even wanted Doug to touch me, not sexually and I liked Doug an awful lot, at least as a person. This creep was awful. I concentrated fiercely on images of my punky friend, but it was no good. At the first touch of him, hot and throbbing, even through the thin rubber membrane, his hard flesh inside pushing mine aside, my brain screamed in humiliation, all the moreso because my body was once more responding to its automatic conditioning and I was so wet that his entire length penetrated me easily.

Thank God, I thought, for that condom, for at least the bastard would not make me pregnant, though I suddenly realised that that might not be his main reason for employing the contraceptive. My last thought, before I fainted, was that no forensic test yet devised would be able to detect or prove that his violent, pumping brute of a member had violated me.

 

- 23 -

I came to in a haze, my head reeling and singing and I knew instinctively what Morton had done to me whilst I was unconscious. The empty phial lay on its side a few feet away from me, the syringe discarded beside it and the inside of my upper thigh felt sore beyond any damage his thrusting legs might have caused. Not content with forcing his lust on me, Morton had injected me after all and I was now as high as a kite, on God alone - Morton excepted - knews what.

`That feels a lot better now, doesn't it, Chrissie?' He was buttoning his tunic, his trousers and slip on shoes already in place, no sign remaining of the bulge that had earlier arisen at the prospect of the "delights" to come. The gag had been removed, probably to ensure that I did not choke to death, but my throat felt dry and I could scarcely talk.

`Bastard,' I managed to croak. Morton simply smiled.

`Don't try to kid me, Chrissie,' he said. `You used to sell your cunt for a fiver, just to get together enough cash for a score. How many blokes would you have had to fuck for a hit like the one I've just given you, eh? At least you only have to screw the once with me.'

Staring up at him, I saw that the gorilla actually believed what he was saying. Maybe there might even have been an element of truth in what he was saying, if it had been applied in Chrissie's own case. I shook my head, trying to clear my senses, for the drug must be making me go soft for even thinking that last thought. Whatever she was, Christina Hammond had been a human being and this sleaze had been paid to help her beat her problems, not add to them. I wondered if he had needed to use his improvised leg restraint on her and how many other unfortunate female addicts had squirmed in it.

Surely they must have said something afterwards, maybe told one of the other nurses. There had to be plenty of female staff about; Millicent Greaves could never have bee

n the only one. Another thought struck me. Maybe Chrissie had told someone - Millicent, for instance and maybe Morton had got wind of it and killed the unfortunate nurse, possibly even trying to make it look like Chrissie's handiwork. He might even have helped her to escape, just so that she did not have an alibi!

For some reason, now I had started concentrating, the drug was actually honing my senses. It probably wouldn't last long, I knew, but right then, with every nerve end tingling in my body, I knew exactly how Morton had done it. Chrissie, if she had been kept under as rigid a security as I now was, could never have got out of this place unaided. Morton had helped her, perhaps feigning remorse for what he had done before, probably even giving her that last fix and possibly even telling her that Millicent Greaves would help her get away. In her confused and weakened state, Chrissie would have been capable of believing anything, no matter how unlikely.

Maybe Morton had planned on killing them both, perhaps trying to make Chrissie's death look like suicide, after she had killed the nurse. That would have been a tidy tying up of loose ends, for certain. Only poor Chrissie had beaten him to it, tired of her awful existence and determined to end it before she was recaptured. Well, she had only half succeeded, the same as her tormentor and her body, with me now inside it, was back in his clutches once more.

Well, Mr Stuart bloody Morton, I resolved, clenching my teeth in anger and determination, I might not exactly be Chrissie's ghost, but I'll haunt you for this until the end of one of our days. You'll pay for this, even if I have to die in the process. Without Chrissie, and what you helped drive her to, I might already be dead anyway. I only had a matter of weeks to go, at best, and four of them had passed already. No, he'll pay for it Chrissie. He'll pay for you. I'll get your revenge - our revenge - one way or another. I closed my eyes and imagined I could hear Chrissie agreeing with me.

 

- 24 -

There are quite a few women who started off in life as men - far more than you might think, in fact, but most of them not only had the choice of making the transition, they had a fair amount of time to adjust to it. Actually, when I say "most of them" I probably mean all of them, for I am pretty sure that mine is a unique case, unless there is someone else out there who has yet to tell her story.

I have since spent many hours with Patti, who is now a complete woman, by the way, getting rid of her male appendage about five years ago, when she met a lovely man with whom she fell in love, though that's another story. In many ways we are alike, although Patti, from the age of puberty, realised that "he" was in the wrong body and had been since birth, whereas I suddenly came into the wrong body in a flash, as you might say. Patti, lucky girl, found the right help and the right friends from a fairly early age and, apart from a little confusion which delayed her final decision to go the whole hog, was able to come to terms with the fact that her body was slowly becoming what it should have been in the first place.

In my case, I found myself in the wrong body and there was nothing, physically, that could be done about it. Male to female transexuals can fall back on the surgeon's scalpel - not literally, of course - but the other way around is not so easy. It can be done, so I am told, where the gender confusion is an act of nature, but where, as in my case, it's down to an act of whatever Almighty you happen to believe in, there's no way. The raw material isn't included in the basic kit, so to speak. Therefore, the only way is to change the mind, or at least the brain's angle on life.

In a funny way, what Morton did to me that night in that padded cell helped me to start adjusting my tilt, for want of a better word. As a teenaged boy and as a young man, I had all the usual desires and fantasies, which I won't go into in detail, but which, viewed from an exclusively male point of view, were a tremendous turn on. Now, as a member of the weaker sex and certainly weaker than that hulking beast, I had been on the other end of a male fantasy and it was, not to put too fine a point on it, dreadful.

I felt dirty, abused and totally impotent, outraged that this filthy beast could not only do such a thing to me, but had almost certainly been doing it to others and for quite some time. I conjured up scenarios that involved Stuart Morton, his genitalia, yards of heavy chain, branding irons and very rusty knives and if you think any of that is extreme, then pray you never become a victim of rape. The sort of fantasy games you play with a loving partner don't count. Believe me, it's not the same.

Eventually, I did manage to fall asleep, sheer exhaustion overriding everything else and, when I woke up, there was daylight on the other side of the tiny, high wondow pane. I did not have long to dwell on what had happened, however, for the door opened and two nurses came into the room, one female, aged about thirty, with dark hair and a pretty, if rather angular face, the other male and about the same height and build as Morton, though with a rather pale, pasty complexion. When he spoke, it was in an unexpectedly high voice and his mannerisms and the way in which he spoke, suggested to me that he was gay. At least, I thought grimly, I'll be safe enough with this one.

He knelt down and sat me up, the woman fiddling to undo the strap that held my arms fast.

`Now then, Chrissie,' she said, `remember that we don't want any nonsense from you, otherwise you'll go straight back in this and you'll stay in it for twenty four hours.' The strap fell away and I eased my arms around in front of me, the relief unbelievable.

`Where're the rest of my clothes?' I demanded. She nodded towards something white, which lay on the floor, where she had dropped it near the door upon entering.

`I've brought you a clean gown,' she said, in a tone that made it sound like she was offering me the Holy Grail. `I'm afraid you won't be able to wear your own clothes for a little while. Doctor Harris has decided you should be confined to bed for a few days, just until we see how you are.'

`How I am,' I said, `is sore, tired and bloody angry. That Morton pig raped me last night and then pumped a load of drugs into me.'

`Of course he did, dear,' she said. She looked at me with an expression you might expect a mother to reserve for a child who has just told her she's seen elves digging at the foot of the rainbow down at the bottom of the garden. She paused, halfway through undoing the second strap which was one of the five or six that held the jacket in place. `If you're going to start with your wild stories again, then perhaps we ought to leave this on you for the moment,' she said. My stomach went cold.

`No,' I protested, `you can't do that. But you've got to listen to me. That man is an animal.' She stroked my hair, making tutting noises.

`Chrissie,' she said, `we all know how you get when you've had a bad fix. All Stuart did was give you a tranquiliser, perscribed by the doctor, just to calm you down. Whatever you last took must have been having some really nasty effects. I remember how you were when you first came here, even if you don't.'

`Either you're really thick,' I observed, `or you're in this with him. Him too, I shouldn't wonder,' I added, nodding my head at the male nurse. He smiled at me, indulgently.

`You've forgotten the talk you had with Doctor Harris about paranoia, haven't you?' he said. I sighed, exasperated. I could see I wasn't going to get anywhere with either of these two. Either Chrissie had had a record of paranoia and delusions, highly likely, given what little I knew of her, or maybe one, or both, of these was in with Morton. Whichever, I realised that I could talk myself hoarse before I would get anywhere and there was also the threat of the straitjacket if I upset anyone. The legality of using restraint as a way of blackmailing inmates into compliant docility was probably highly questionable, but I had the distinct feeling that a lot of blind eyes and deaf ears got turned in this place.

Free of the heavy canvas jacket, I stood up, covering my bare sex with my hands and looked at the male nurse.

`Can I not have some privacy here?' I asked. The woman smiled, indulgently.

`David will turn his back, if you prefer, but he is a nurse, same as me,' she said. Same as Morton, too, but that didn't stop him from doing more than just ogle me.

`If you wouldn't mind,' I said. `I keep trying to tell people, I'm not violent and I don't bite.'

`But you were very upset last night,' she said, `otherwise Stuart wouldn't have put you in here like this.' I opened my mouth to protest at the unfairness of that allegation, but shut it again, knowing it was all futile. Instead, I unclipped my stockings and rolled them down my legs, one at a time, looping them together when they were off. I unfastened my suspender belt and laid it on the floor next to them, slowly unbuttoning my blouse and then finally adding my brassiere to the growing pile.

`That's a good girl, Chrissie,' the woman said, passing me the folded white gown. I shook it out, examining it critically. It was a simple smock, made from soft cotton, which slipped over the head and hung down to about knee length, the loose fitting sleeves reaching just below the elbows.

`Is this all I get?' I demanded. I felt almost more naked than I had done before. The nurse kept on smiling that stupidly indulgent smile of hers.

`It's not cold,' she said, `and in any case, you'll be plenty warm enough in bed. Now, pick up your things and you can put them in a locker until you need them again.' She led the way, with me following and the nurse, David, bringing up the rear, as we passed along a bewildering maze of corridors, through several more locked gates, until we came eventually to a passageway off which, on both sides, there were several rooms, all of which had their doors wide open. At the far end, the passageway widened out into a square area, in the centre of which was a heavy desk, behind which stood a solitary filing cabinet.

`You've even got your own room back, Chrissie,' the woman said, turning into the third opening on the right. At least there was a decent sized window, I thought as I placed my clothing into the single locker at the bedside. The woman locked it with a key, which she pocketed and indicated the bed, which was actually a steel framed cot, with barred sides that could be raised or lowered. I climbed into it and she drew the sheet and single blanket over me. From the shelf opposite the bed, the man took down four restraint cuffs, identical to the one Morton had used on my ankles the previous evening.

`No, please!' I pleaded, as he reached for my left wrist. `You don't need them.'

`But you do,' he said, taking hold of my arm in his huge paw of a hand. `You know the rules, Chrissie. It's either this, or you go back in the jacket and back in the cells. At least here you can watch the telly.' He jerked his head in the direction of the small portable set which stood on a heavily bracket shelf facing the foot of the bed. I wondered if the set was bolted down and guessed that it was. There was even a thick perspex panel affixed immediately in front of the screen, with just a small cutout to allow access to the control panel. Resignedly, I lay back on the pillows and allowed him to first cuff me and then loop the attached leather straps around the bars of the cot, slipping small padlocks through the buckles to prevent me releasing them. He repeated the same process with my ankles, but, though I was forced to lay with my legs apart, it was nowhere near as extreme as the position I had been forced into by Morton's home made contraption.

The woman adjusted my covers, so that the ankle cuffs were hidden and passed me a remote control. I had just enough freedom with my hand to be able to lay it alongside me and pick it up again when I needed it.

`Please, I need the toilet,' I said. She nodded.

`I'll get you a bedpan,' she said. `I'll be right back.'

 

- 25 -

[Ruth]

Caroline Flynn came back again at a little after four o'clock. She looked much better for the shower and few hours sleep she had managed to snatch between what sounded like a lot of phoning and running around. She was not in uniform, wearing a shortish, blue skirt and a white sweatshirt with a Martini motif on it, her legs bare and trainers on her feet. In casual clothes she looked a lot younger and I was struck by the strong resemblance between herself and Janey. They could almost have been sisters and I felt a silly pang of jealousy that Caroline looked more like my new found sister than I ever would.

`I'm seconded to CID at the moment,' she said, parking herself in what was fast becoming her regular place on the end of the sofa. `I'm hoping for a proper transfer soon, so I've got to show 'em what I'm really made of.

`The DI got the Chief Super to light a fire under forensics and the results came back about an hour ago. As I thought, they didn't find any blood, but there were a few other interesting traces, including a tiny spot of semen. The new DNA typing should be able to nail that to its owner just as surely as a fingerprint would.'

`It might not have been Morton's, or anything to do with this case,' I said, taking the pessimistic viewpoint.

`I know, but at least it's something. Tell me, why did you think it might be Morton's anyway?'

`I don't know,' I said. `It's just a feeling and the way he looked at Janey. There was something going on between him and Chrissie, I'm sure of it and I don't like the idea of her locked up in that place with him.'

`Funny that,' Caroline said, `because that's exactly what I thought. I spoke to the DI about it - nagged him, in fact - and he tried to get Janey brought back for further questioning. We thought, if we spun it out a bit and Janey and her solicitor knew the reason why, we might be able to keep her at the station for a few days, whilst her brief does something about getting the Section Fourteen quashed.'

`That'd be brilliant!' I exclaimed, but the look in her eyes told me it wasn't going to be that straightforward.

`The people at Septon aren't playing ball,' she said. `Apparently, they say that Christina Hammond is currently under sedation and under close observation.'

`What for?' I cried, alarmed. Caroline shook her head.

`They claim she threw a violent fit, just after she was admitted and tried to attack a member of staff.'

`Morton? I wouldn't believe a word that creepy bastard said.'

`I don't know. They wouldn't say. But until the consultant up there says otherwise, even we can't get in to see her, not without going through a whole lot of rigmarole that might take days anyway. I had to leave her clothes at the reception desk.'

`Shit!' I exclaimed, banging the arm of the chair in frustration. `So what are we going to do now?'

`Be patient and keep our fingers crossed. The guv'nor managed to dig out someone at their respective banks, which isn't easy, not on a Sunday and don't even ask how we found out who they both bank with. CID are going through bank statements at the moment, though it looks as though they've been careful. Whatever else Morton and Tuttle are, they're not stupid enough to put any large amounts of cash through the account that their wage cheque is paid into. There are a couple of amounts showing cash paid in to Tuttle's account, but he could easily claim he had a win at the dog track, or playing cards. And I suppose it could be genuine anyway, something like a birthday present.

`No, they must either have another account somewhere, or maybe a safety deposit box. Or they may be hiding any profits themselves. Trouble is, we don't have enough to apply for a search warrant and it's not like the TV, where the super detective breaks in under cover of darkness and finds the incriminating evidence that way.'

`What about at Septon House itself?' I suggested. `Isn't there anyway of getting someone in there, or having an official check done on medical supplies?'

`Without something more concrete than just suspicions and theories, no. The best thing is to concentrate on getting Janey out of there officially.'

`Dad and Janey's solicitor they gave her at the police station have been trying, but it's the Sunday thing again. No one available to do anything, set up a hearing, or make an order for reassessment examinations. You wouldn't believe the hassle involved in getting one of those orders lifted, yet, apparently, it's pretty easy to get one made!'

`I know,' Caroline sighed. `Well Ruth, we'll just have to be patient and wait to see what tomorrow brings.'

`Yes,' I agreed. `And if it's this bad for us, imagine what poor Janey must be going through.'

 

- 26 -

[Jenny Jane]

Poor Janey was suffering more from excrutiating boredom than anything else. I had the little television, it was true, but one of the channels was very fuzzy and I found it hard to settle to anything that was on the other three. Even the cricket coverage, on BBC2, failed to interest me, which was unusual, for as a boy, cricket had been so much a passion to me that it was almost my religion. However, the exploits of Gooch and Gower seemed to pale into insignificance, compered with my present situation.

Thankfully, I saw nothing more of the pig during the day and even David, the male nurse, who you will by now have realised, though I did not know it at the time, was Morton's sidekick Tuttle, confined his visits to the two occasions when one of my hands was released, in order that I could feed myself. The female nurse with the dark hair, whose name I learned was, by some freak coincidence, Jennifer, popped in and out at irregular intervals to make sure that I hadn't managed to extricate myself from my legal bondage and get up to some sort of mischief. There was another woman on duty too, a matronly type, with greying hair and a kindly, much lived in face. She spoke with a soft Scots accent and told me that her name was Moira, though she seemed surprised that I did not remember that from my previous incarceration.

I asked if I was to be allowed visitors, but Nurse Jennifer informed me that, until the doctors had examined me, only my immediate next of kin would be allowed to see me, either my mother, father, or maybe a brother or sister. As I was legally Chrissie in the eyes of the Heallth Service, this did not mean my own family. I started to think again about Chrissie herself, something I had managed to stop myself from doing during the previous four weeks. The mirrors and my own senses suggested that this body which was now mine was probably twenty, or twenty one years old, not that far off my own age, which meant that Chrissie probably had two parents alive out there, even if she did not have brothers and sisters.

Neither of my nurses was very forthcoming when I plied them on this subject. Yes, said Nurse Jennifer, I did have a mother and a father, surely I knew that, but no, she had never seen them, as neither of them had ever visited me here during my earlier stay. As to any siblings, she knew nothing about that. Was there anything in my hospital records, I asked? Possibly, but it was Sunday and all the records were locked up in the offices for the weekend.

What about my solicitor? I was deperate to communicate what had happened here to someone from the outside world, someone who might take me seriously and not just dismiss my allegations as the poisoned imagination of a certified mental hazard. Same response. Until I had been examined and assessed, not even my solicitor could penetrate their defences. I consoled myself with the promise that revenge would be even sweeter when it finally came, but I also knew that, in the meantime, Pig Morton - he had definitely acquired a capital "P" in my mind - was almost certain to take advantage of my helpless state over again.

At six thirty, or thereabouts, somewhere in the middle of an American film on ITV, Nurse Moira came in and handed me an envelope, addressed to Christina Hammond. I recognised my sister's gently sloping and beautifully formed handwriting and I also noticed that the envelope had already been opened.

`Could you take it out for me, please?' I asked, for even the relatively simple task of extracting a sheet of folded paper from an envelope can be tricky when you are denied the use of both hands working in tandem. The kindly Scot readily agreed, unfolding the blue notepaper and putting it into my right hand. With some difficulty, I raised myself into a sitting position and craned my neck to read.

Dear darling Janey, (Ruth had written), I don't know whether you will be allowed to see this, but Caroline, the policewoman who took you away, says she can't think of any good reason why you shouldn't, so I'm writing this anyway.

Don't be too upset and try not to feel too lonely. All of us are thinking of you, Janey, and we're all doing our best. Dad is seeing his own solicitor tomorrow and the man they gave you is doing his best. Caroline says to tell you that she found what you told her to look for and you were dead right. The police have got the evidence and the reports, so they won't be able to charge you with killing that poor nurse. She also has a few ideas of her own, but I'd better not write about that, because someone else may read this before you. (Well done, Ruth! Clever girl.)

They won't let any of us in to see you yet, but we intend to keep trying and in any case we'll get you out of that place before you know it. We don't intend to lose you a second time, my darling, especially since I've now got someone to do some serious shopping with! I've got all your new things safe and they'll be here waiting for you when you come home.

Love from Mum and Dad - he knows now, by the way, though it took some really hectic work on Mum's part to finally convince him. I think he's still having a bit of trouble coming to terms with it, but he says he wants you back, whatever. Oh, and Caroline knows, too and she believes it, but I'll be able to tell you all about that when I see you.

Keep your chin up and don't let things get to you. We all love you and can't wait until we get you back.

Loads and loads of love and hugs.

Ruth.

I had difficulty reading the last few lines, for my eyes were misted over with uncried tears. Moira took a tissue from the box on the bedside table and held it for me to try to wipe them clear. Gently, she took the letter from me and studied it. Whoever had censored it in the first place, it obviously hadn't been her. Puzzled, she looked up at me.

`This is a curious letter, dear,' she said. `Who's this Ruth?'

`My sister,' I sniffed, `but you wouldn't understand.'

`Try me if you like,' she offered. `I've got a few minutes spare.'

I shook my head. `I don't think so,' I said, but any chance of me reconsidering disappeared by the arrival of David Tuttle. He was carrying one of those dreaded trays, complete with syringe and phial.

`What's that?' I demanded, trying to shrink back from him. The straps held me fast.

`Just your medication, sweetie pie,' he said, grasping my elbow and swabbing my upper arm. `You know what you get like if you don't get your little helper shots.'

`But I don't need them!' I protested. `I keep trying to tell you. Look,' I tried to reason with him, `why don't you just wait for a while and see what happens. If I start getting withdrawal symptoms, fair enough, but I won't, you'll see.' Too late, the needle was already going in, his huge hand holding my arm immobile whilst he depressed the plunger. As the curious mixture of calm and elation began to swamp me, I wondered just how many doses of this muck it would take before I really did become addicted to it.

`Bugger you,' I said, dropping back into the pillows. `Just you wait until they get the results of that blood test.'

`And what blood test would that be?' he asked, sharply, a look of alarm flitting across his broad features.

`You'll see soon enough,' I assured him, smiling idiotically. `The police will be all over this place before long.'

Looking back, I can see now that that was a very stupid thing for me to have done. Had I kept my mouth shut and not forewarned Tuttle, he and Morton would have been caught napping completely and my ordeal would have ended a lot sooner than it finally did. However, in my defence, I should point out that people with those sort of drugs pumping through their veins are not usually noted for their firm grasp of logic and cold analytical appraisals of their situations, even though they might sometimes find themselves open to bursts of inspiration and insight which they might not otherwise achieve. I certainly wasn't that day!

 

- 27 -

[Ruth]

My own frustration was almost as great as Janey's by Sunday night, though at least I was free to move about and not laying helpless in one place, as I later learned she was. I thought about the letter which Caroline had taken up to Septon House for me and wondered whether Janey had been allowed to read it. I hoped so, for it would provide one chink of hope and relief, no matter how small.

Our house was very quiet. We did not talk much among the three of us, for there was nothing left to say that hadn't been said a dozen times already. None of us could face the enforced cheerfulness of the television, so I turned on the stereo and played through some old Beatles albums. Although neither of us had been old enough to appreciate them first time around, both Jamie and I had become ardent fans during the late seventies. I skipped Maxwell's Silver Hammer, with its undertones of mental instability. Somehow, given the circumstances, it didn't seem very appropriate, though the last verse of Obladi Oblada did bring the suggestion of a smile to my lips. Those of you who know the song will understand.

It's strange how little incidents stay bright and clear in your memory, even years afterwards. I can remember, even now, how despite everything else, I became very annoyed when the stylus kept sticking in the middle of George Harrison's I went up to bed at midnight, but I knew I was not going to sleep easily. I turned on the radio and took Janey's new underwear from its carrier bags, turning that beautiful, sexy basque over in my lap and then hugging it to me, like a teddy bear, tears stinging my eyes.

`Hold on Janey,' I whispered. `Hold on, darling. We'll have you out of there tomorrow, I know we will.'

I was never so wrong in my life.

 

- 28 -

[Jenny Jane]

Pig Morton arrived just after midnight, as closely as I can guess. The door to my little room had been closed much earlier and the remote control removed at ten o'clock, accompanied by instructions from Jennifer to get some sleep. Floating along on whatever it was that David Tuttle had pumped into me, I drifted in and out of consciousness, though I was never really asleep, so the moment the door opened again, I was immediately alert.

`Hello Chrissie,' he said, that awful smile on his face. `Look what I've got for you.' He held up the dreaded gag, which was between my lips and buckled into position before I had chance to resist. `We've got the whole ward to ourselves for a while,' he grinned, unbuckling his belt. `There're three other patients, I know, but they're all under heavy sedation, so they wouldn't wake up if we had a football match in the corridor.' I stared up at him, seething in my impotence, but fervently promising myself exactly what I would one day do to him. He stepped out of his trousers before unbuttoning his uniform jacket and I saw that he wore no shirt underneath it, so that when he removed his underpants, he stood naked apart from his socks.

Crazy it might be, but the fact he kept his socks on enabled me to latch on to the ludicrousness of this situation, rather than its more horrendous implications. If I could despise him for the way those grey and blue patterned bits of polyester and cotton made him look, it made it easier to bear what he was about to do to me.

He peeled back my covers and adjusted my ankle restraints so that my legs were pulled apart to the limit the cot frame permitted and then slowly began stroking my slit with his thumb.

`Bit dry tonight, aren't we Chrissie?' he whispered. I felt disgusted by him. His other hand toyed with my left nipple, which, despite my predicament, began to swell and stiffen. I dismissed this as a reflex response and concentrated on focussing all my hate towards him. After a few minutes, he straightened up, his cock massively to attention and opened the drawer in my bedside unit. I saw the jar of vaseline in his hand and closed my eyes, as he smeared the entrance to my vagina liberally. At least I was to be spared the discomfort of a forced dry penetration, but I was willing to bet that the lubrication was more for his comfort than for mine.

As he climbed onto the bed between my legs, I saw, to my horror, that he was not going to use a condom this time. I was aware that in entering me unprotected, he would be leaving behind evidence that would ultimately convict him of raping me, but there was equally a chance that that was not all he would be leaving inside my womb! As that great purplish knob ploughed my unresisting labia apart, I had horrific visions of two or three miniature versions of his ugly face laying side by side in a cot!

 

- 29 -

He left me with the gag still in my mouth whilst he dressed himself again and slipped out into the corridor, but he was back within seconds and quickly injected me with the contents of the syringe he brought with him. Immediately, I began to feel drowsy and sluggish, my limbs so heavy that I could hardly have lifted them, even had they not been restrained. Morton peered closely into my eyes and then, finally, unfastened the strap at the nape of my neck.

`Now then, Chrissie,' he said, his voice sounding hollow and distant, `what's all this I hear about a blood test? Is that what you were up to with that policewoman last night, eh?' I tried to nod, but my head just lolled from side to side.

`They'll ... know,' I managed to say. `They'll know ... it ... was ... you.' I fought to keep my eyes focussed on his face, for the look of horror with which it was now filled was a joy to behold. `Not so ... fucking ... clever ... are you?' I gasped, grinning like a moron. With a huge effort, I managed to gather my drugged senses for one final, coherent effort. `Got you ... you bastard!' I hissed, through clenched teeth.

`I don't think so,' he growled. `Not yet, at any rate, you slippery bitch.' He bent over me again and thrust the gag back between my teeth, tightening the strap so hard that the padded sausage was forced much deeper than before. Behind him, I was dimly aware of another looming presence and guessed, rather than saw, that it was David Tuttle. I felt my wrists being released, but immediately my arms were manipulated into the sleeves of another straitjacket, the buckles and straps secured with little resistance from myself.

I heard the two of them muttering together, but I could not make sense of anything they were saying, though I was somehow not surprised when Pig hoisted me from the bed and threw me over his shoulder. Slowly, as we swayed out into the corridor, I faded into a world of blissful, silent darkness.

 

- 30 -

When I finally came back into the real world, I immediately wished that I hadn't. The hateful gag was gone and so was the straitjacket and the hospital gown, but my position now was even worse. Heavy straps, similar to those used at the hospital, but without the soft lining, encircled my wrists and ankles and the chains to which they were attached were affixed, in turn, to the four corners of a heavy timber frame, in the middle of which I now lay, spreadeagled and helplessly naked.

The place I now found myself in was apparently some kind of a barn, for the floor was little more than hard packed mud and there was a row of wooden stalls along one side, together with several delapidated looking harness arrangements, a wheelbarrow and some broken garden implements. Illumination was provided via a series of grimy and cracked glass panes, set high in the walls, just below the eaves, but the whole place smelt of disuse and neglect. I shivered, though it was not cold in there, despite my lack of clothing.

I tried tugging against the straps that held me, but they looked thick and strong and had been buckled so tightly that there was no way I could even manage to twist my hands through them, so I quickly gave up my struggles and tried to conserve my energies whilst I thought. The mind numbing effect of the drugs had worn off by this time and my head was unbelievably clear almost as soon as I regained consciousness. I almost wished it wasn't, for it was only too obvious what had happened and, as I was pretty certain Pig Morton had killed that poor nurse, things didn't look too good for me.

My mistake in revealing the truth about the blood sample I had insisted on had told him two things. One, Chrissie Hammond, as he thought me, wasn't quite the stumbling, drug dependent wreck from a month before and two, if I had asked for the sample, I had to have a reason and there could only be one - I had become "clean" during my time away. Any subsequent test would reveal just what they had injected into me since my return to Septon House and the results of the two tests together would make a nonsense of any of their claims that I had become violent because of withdrawal symptoms. That would immediately lead to further investigations and more credence being given to any allegations I might make concerning Morton raping me.

And he must already have known they were in serious trouble even before my final confession, which was why he hadn't bothered to use a condom during the second rape. How they would explain my disappearance I could only guess - fake an escape, probably - but Morton, together with whoever else was in on things with him - and I knew he couldn't possibly have got away with such behaviour unless he had accomplices to back up whatever he said - had already decided that I was not going to be left where I could incriminate them. David Tuttle was one of those involved, I thought, for I was certain it was he who had been in the room when I was being made ready for my abduction, but there had to be more than even the two of them who were in on whatever was really going on.

Wherever this barn was, I reasoned, its location had to be pretty remote for them to risk leaving me ungagged, which meant screaming for help would be a futile waist of time and energy. As to their ultimate intentions towards me, I harboured no illusions, for they could not leave me around as a witness to Morton's atrocities and abuses. However, I was slightly consoled by the fact that my eventual death did not appear too imminent. If Morton had merely wanted to kill me, he would have already done so, without waiting for me to recover from whatever he had used to subdue me. It would have been an easy matter just to add a lethal dose of something or other to whatever cocktail was already in my veins, or simply to have put a cord around my neck and throttled me whilst I slept. Instead, I had been staked out here in a position that more than suggested that Morton, or Morton and Tuttle both, intended to make more sport of my poor body, before I was eventually despatched from this life. A lot would depend upon just how long it would be before they tired of their games, or finally decided it was too risky to wait any longer.

I began to formulate some sort of plan, though I had no idea if I would have enough time to implement it. Tuttle, I thought, was gay, but that didn't preclude him from liking sex with women also. He was also much better looking than the Pig, who probably had trouble with women in the normal way of things, unless he just got his jollies by having sex with females when they were bound and helpless. I knew such men - and women - existed, though I knew also that Morton had to be an extreme case, for most so-called sadists are happy to restrict their activities to the level of fantasy games played out with willing and cooperative partners.

Pig Morton had been doing it for real and now that he had gone to the extreme of actually kidnapping me, God only knew to what further depths of depravity he might sink. My mind refused to dwell on this side of the equation and I concentrated, instead, on the thought that the longer I stayed alive, no matter what they did to me, the better my chances of getting out of this alive.

 

- 31 -

[Ruth]

The bombshell burst shortly before eleven on Monday morning. Dad had already left for an appointment with the family solicitor and Mum had gone down to our local convenience store. That was Mum all over, stay practical and focus on the basics of life and try to carry on as normal as possible, outwardly at least. I stayed in the house, awaiting further developments, sitting over the phone and staring moodily into space.

However, the bad news did not come by phone, but was delivered by Caroline, in person. The moment I saw her face, I knew that something terrible had happened, but even I was not prepared for what she had to tell me.

`What do you mean, gone?' I almost screamed. `She can't be?'

`That's what I thought,' Caroline agreed. `She was supposed to be sedated and probably, though the hospital wouldn't readily admit to it, under some form of restraint. I didn't tell you earlier, but that swine Morton actually insisted on putting Janey into a straitjacket before he took her away and I even saw him fitting her with some form of gag in the car.

`I asked around, in case there was something we could do about that, but apparently it's all quite legal. The Health Service don't broadcast it, but when they have a violent patient, particularly one who bites, they not only restrain them, they're allowed to use this special gag. They claim it not only protects the staff, but also protects the patient against him or her self. There are supposed to be strict rules as to how long they can use those things, but I spoke to a friend of mine who used to work at a similar place in Surrey and she told me that those rules are ignored more than they're observed.'

`So,' I said, trying to keep myself under some sort of control, `how is Janey supposed to have got out?'

`Well, the details are a bit sketchy at the moment, but they claim that she must have been fooling them - pretending to be more out of it than she really was. They also claim that she was no longer subject to any physical restraint, owing to the fact that she appeared to have calmed down once they had administered a limited dose of methadone to her.' She paused, twisting her fingers nervously and I could tell she did not want to tell me whatever came next.

`Go on, Caroline,' I said, quietly. `I need to know and I'll find out sooner or later anyway.' She nodded and swallowed hard.

`They claim Janey came up behind this young staff nurse and whacked her over the head with something heavy, stole her keys and the spare uniform from her locker and simply walked out past the security guard.'

`And what does the guard say?'

`Not a lot. Apparently, he was fiddling around under the desk, trying to sort out a problem with the closed circuit monitors and there were quite a few nurses going in and out. One girl in uniform is much like another, he said.' I considered for a few seconds.

`And I suppose,' I said, at last, `that the problem with the monitors means that there's no video evidence to back any of this up, one way or the other?'

`You've guessed it. Apparently, they traced the fault to a blown fuse in the main electrics room in the basement.'

`How very convenient,' I said, bitterly.

`Too bloody convenient,' Caroline agreed. `I've already told the DI I think there's something very fishy going on here and he's agreed he'll try to interview the various parties involved, but the hospital are playing games again. They want to carry out their own internal investigation and it'll be a few hours before we can get the right authority to over rule them.'

`But what about the nurse who was hit? Surely that makes it police jurisdiction? How is she, by the way?'

`Not as bad as they thought at first,' Caroline said. `They were afraid she might have a fractured skull, but whoever hit her was either lucky, or else knew exactly where not to hit to cause a fatality. She's regained consciousness, but she's still too groggy and sick to be interviewed.'

`You don't think she might be in on it?' I asked, as another thought flashed through my already overcrowded brain.

`No, I doubt it,' Caroline assured me. `The blow may not have been fatal, nor even as bad as it looked at first, but the hospital - the General, not Septon House - confirms it was a nasty one. Someone hit her all right, though, like you, I don't think it was Janey, not unless she's managed to fool all of us and I don't think anyone's that good an actress.'

`No,' I said, very firmly. `It wasn't Janey, that much I do know!'

 

- 32 -

[Jenny Jane]

I had no idea how Morton and Tuttle had explained my disappearance, but I certainly wouldn't have been surprised at the ingenuity of their story. Minds as warped and evil as theirs are very often quite brilliant in other ways, as any psychologist will tell you. The full extent of their horrific activities will probably never be known now, but I would put nothing beyond that evil pair, especially Morton.

It was he who finally arrived and I gaped at his appearance. He was wearing a pair of tight leather leggings, heavy, knee length boots with cuban heels and a sort of black leather half mask, which covered the top part of his face and head, leaving just two oval holes for his eyes. It made him look even more sinister than ever and conjured up pictures of mediaeval executioners, or torturers. His costumed confirmed, if I ever needed any confirmation, that this was one sick man. Dangerously sick. He stood over me, staring down his eyes glittering behind that awful mask. I tried to meet his stare defiantly, but I felt sick in my stomach.

`Awake, bitch?' he snarled, kicking my knee with the toe of his boot. I managed not to flinch, but only just. I had been lying in that grotesque, spreadeagled position on that hard floor for several hours and every joint and muscle was already screaming for relief, without further pain being added to my torment. My throat was also very dry by now and I had a thundering headache.

`You've not been a very good little bitch, have you Chrissie?' he hissed. `All the things I've done for you and all you can do is try to get me into trouble. We can't have that, you ungrateful little slut, can we? I should have known I couldn't trust you. You're all the same, you screwed up little junkie whores.

`So now, you'll have to be punished.' He kicked out again, but this time at the timber frame to which he had chained me. `How do you like my little toy?' he laughed. `Oh, I didn't build it just for you, don't worry. You're not the first lying, deceitful little cunt brain that I've had to teach a lesson to and you probably won't be the last.' My blood turned to ice at this last revealtion. How many others had he brought here before me? How many others had he tortured and taunted, used and abused? And where were they now?

My mind refused to contemplate their fates, other than that they must surely be dead by now, their poor corpses lying buried somewhere, abandoned, broken, their graves unmarked and possibly lost forever. And soon, unless someone performed a miracle, this body of mine, albeit that I had come by thanks to another miracle, would be lying with them.

`You're sick!' I croaked. `You need help, or just shooting.'

`I think you're the one who needs help,' he sneered. `But help won't come, slut, not for you. And I'm going to enjoy teaching you what happens to lying, cheating, deceitful junkie bitches who fuck with me. You probably think you're in pain now, but we haven't even started yet. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be begging me to kill you and I will - but not yet, bitch. Not yet.'

He turned away and walked over to where a huge upright beam ran up to support the central rafter and began loosening the thick rope which was wound around two steel cleats which were fixed there. I already knew what was coming, for I had had plenty of time to look around my latest prison. Above my wrists, at either side of the frame in which I lay, were set two large metal hasps, from which more ropes ran up to two pulleys which hung from the vertical rafter immediately overhead. These ropes ran along to the next rafter, where they became one and joined another pulley. From this pulley, via another, the ropes then ran on, over a third pulley and down to the cleat. My school maths had already calculated that the sytem provided a two to one ratio, which even Morton, with his phenomenal strength, would find useful when it came to lifting the combined weight of the frame and its victim into a vertical position.

If the pain in my limbs had been bad before, now it became sheer agony, as my weight was transferred to my captive wrists, my feet finally dangling a few inches clear of the floor, my ankles still secured in their own straps. I was convinced I would pass out, but slowly a sort of dull agony, a creeping numbness, began to suffuse my body.

Morton was in no hurry. He tied off the rope to its cleats and strolled slowly back to me, walking around me in a leisurely circle, his eyes feasting on my helplessness and on the way my every secret was so blatantly displayed by his sadistic device.

`You've done well, Chrissie,' he said, one hand stroking my thigh. `You really did clean up your act, didn't you? Whatever happened to the scrawny bitch I used to know, eh? You're really quite pretty, in a slaggy way. Let's face it, Chrissie, only a real slag would show off her cunt the way you're doing now.' His hand delved between my thighs, prising my labia apart, two fingers thrusting into me. I gritted my teeth even more, but did not utter a sound. Somehow, I realised, I had passed through some sort of pain barrier and I doubted he could truly hurt me any more than he already had.

I was wrong.

From a pile of old straw in front of one of the stalls, he took out something long, thin and black. As he came closer, I recognised it as a plaited leather riding crop, possibly a relic of the barn's previous occupants, though it, unlike the remains of the various other equine harnesses, looked better cared for and well oiled, gleaming wickedly in the sunlight that filtered down from above. Without preamble, Morton brought it slashing down across my buttocks and my scream rverberated around the rafters above. Surely, I thought, through the red haze of searing agony that lanced tthrough to my very sole, surely someone must hear me now. Morton might have been reading my thoughts, for he walked back around in front of me, folding his arms and grinning.

`Scream louder than that if you want, bitch!' he mocked. `The nearest human being to here is a good five miles away, otherwise I'd gag you again. Mind you, I might gag you anyway. Evil bitches screeching at me get so very tedious after a while.' Again the crop snaked out, but this time the target was my right breast, the stinging leather cutting a vivid welt across its tender surface. Again I shrieked and bucked wildy in my bonds, but there was no escape and a second welt appeared in my other breast. The red mist turned white, then purple, then black ...

 

 

To be concluded ....

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