Chapters 5,6,7,8 Copyright

Chapter 5

The overall was crisp. It smelled of carbolic soap. A smell I knew all too well. My mind drifted back to the time I spent in Eden Valley Reform School for Boys. Eden Valley was no Eden. It was a hellhole run by sadistic paedophiles who absolutely loved their ‘careers’. I remember the dull cement walls, unpainted. The plain cement floors, shiny, polished every day by the unwilling guests of the state.  I don’t think there was even one warder ‘housemaster’ that didn’t sport some kind of physical deformity. The head warden was secretly called Mister Hitler. If he heard anyone say Hitler, there would be a meting out of cruel and unusual (but very usual at Eden Valley) punishment, usually ending with the perpetrator having the choice of giving Hitler anal or oral pleasure.

Mr Hiller, (aka Mr Hitler) had club feet and a replica Nazi moustache. He was thin, and walked with a strange limping gait. He had a huge Adam’s apple. It looked like a concealed twin was living in his neck. His eyes were thin dark slits. His eyes darted left and right continuously. It was best not to even try and make eye contact with him. If you did, you had to endure a tortuous line of questioning that started with, “Who you looking at?”; “Why are you looking at me?”; “Have you got something to get off your chest?” and would end with “Do you need punishment today?” Therefore most of us, except those who were weirder than Hitler, walked around with faces downcast and gaze averted.

Eden Valley was a den of sodomy. Not just between warders and inmates, but also in the dormitories and shower rooms. There were sadistic perverted bullies whom I am sure got sent to Eden Valley on purpose, so as to be confined with other misfits. I guess it kind of narrowed down the odds of rejection for them. You always had to sleep with one eye open and keep a blunt weapon near to hand, for the times when a raging poof tried to share your bed, or worse, when one of the sadistic sodomites tried to force themselves upon you. Disapproval had to be demonstrated quickly and efficiently. There was no sense of shame or desire for privacy. The misfits would engage in loud and semi-violent sex throughout the night. The word ‘promiscuity’ does not do justice to the goings on at Eden Valley.

From the time of arrival, I asserted myself and my heterosexuality by beating seven colours of shit out of the designated bully-in-chief, one Eddie Christie. Eddie tried to accost me in the showers, suggesting loudly that my duty was to satisfy him in any which way that he chose and whenever he chose it, unless of course I was desirous of having to give him this pleasure by the use of extreme force. I stunned Eddie with an unexpected lightning fast jab in the throat, followed by a left hook to his right eye area and a right hook to the side of his neck. As Eddie slid off the wall, I kicked him full in the face. His head snapped back and I punched down into his mouth. He was barely prone when I delivered two vicious kicks to his ribcage and a finale to his face.

When Eddie was released from hospital he was sent to another reformatory. I don’t know where.
All that mattered was that nobody ever tried that shit with me again, except Hitler. And Hitler was the reason I was eventually transferred from Eden Valley directly to big boys’ jail.

I had been at Eden Valley for about eight months. In all that time I managed to avoid Hitler, but eventually my day arrived. He was obviously on my scent, but could never isolate me. So he sent for me. One of the warders plucked me from my breakfast chair and marched me to Hitler’s lair. His office was smart, tidy and fastidiously neat, I thought. Creepy. Hitler got straight to the point. “I see you have been avoiding me, Kevin Adams. Why is that?” Jesus, I thought, how do I answer? What is the correct answer? Is there an answer?

“Uhm. No sir, I have not been avoiding you, sir. I have been trying to stay out of trouble, sir. Been trying to avoid trouble, sir.”

“Bullshit, man. Don’t come here into my office with bullshit. I hate bullshit. What do I hate?”
“Uhm, you hate bullshit, sir.”
“So then why do you try to give me bullshit, Kevin?”
“Sorry sir. I won’t do it again, sir.”
“What won’t you do again, Kevin? We haven’t even done it the first time yet and you’re already talking about the next time......mmmm?”
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Let me help you, Kevin. Strip off your clothes and lay them on the chair there. It’s time for medical inspection.”
“Is the Doctor coming, sir?”
“No. I am the doctor, Kevin, and you are my patient. Strip off, and don’t give me bullshit, Kevin.”
Hitler stood up and walked from behind his desk towards me. He unzipped himself to expose a horrible looking, bent, purple penis. Erect.
“You strip, or you swallow. Kevin. Your choice.”

He put his hand on top of my head in a gesture of pushing my head down towards his groin. Mistake.
Instinctively I head-butted him and heard a cracking sound as his nose broke at the bridge. He looked amazed and dazed. I punched him in the throat. He went down choking and gasping. I kicked him so hard in his groin area that he sucked in air for what seemed an eternity, before he started to actually groan out loud. I gave him another kick in the ribs. Then another in his face.  

Then I panicked. I looked around for inspiration. Plain brick walls, varnished. Parquet flooring. A cheap mat. A plastic trophy cup....what did this prick do to win anything. Focus. Focus. Oh God, my mind was scrambled. Eggs. Fuck eggs. Focus. Get out fast.

I opened Hitler’s office door and peered down the passage. Nobody in sight. Fear set in. I had just knocked crap out of the head of a reform school. The premises were surrounded by high walls with razor wire topping. Escape seemed impossible. I didn’t quite know what to do. I couldn’t return to my dormitory. There, I would be trapped.

 My mind was considering possible hiding places. I needed somewhere to hide while I processed what had just happened, and how best I could get out of this. I mean, it’s not like the bastard never had it coming to him.
I briefly wondered how many boys he had sexually assaulted. He should have been in a girl’s reform school. How would that work? No it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t that way inclined. I quite fancied myself as the head of a girl’s reformatory. A fox in the chicken run. Like clubbing baby seals. I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts. No time to fantasise.

Focus. I had to focus. Hitler would be coming around soon, and wardens would be coming for me with pepper spray and firearms. I remembered my cousin Lindsay, undressing while I watched from inside her cupboard. She knew I was watching, but she was enjoying the tease....Focus. Jesus, what was happening to my mind? I was up to my ears in life-or-death stuff and I couldn’t keep my mind focussed.

I tried the side door to the chapel. It opened. I sneaked inside. Nobody around. I felt safer. Surely, nobody would hurt me in the house of God? Not that I would give them the same privilege if the chips were down. The pulpit was draped with a crimson drape. Probably to portray the blood of God, I thought. There was a crawl space underneath. I crammed myself inside and tried again to think of a plan. A plan to escape.


Chapter   6

I sat crumpled. Knees drawn up and hung my head between my knees. My thoughts drifted back to Lindsay. Her perfect breasts silhouetted against the soft silk of her bedroom curtains. I always thought of Lindsay as the one that got away. I wanted her. I wanted her to want me, but I also wanted to see her fear. In time it was the sight of their fear, the smell of their fear, the dying light in their eyes that I became addicted to. It was powerful foreplay. It drove me to insanity. The sex was just like, like putting a full stop at the end of a sentence.

For the first time during my Eden Valley stay, I heard a siren wind up. It sounded like an air raid siren in a World War Two movie. It started out like a low moan and built up to a wailing banshee. Oh Jesus.
I was in for shit. Ugly shit. The siren continued for what seemed an eternity. In reality, it was probably about ten minutes. Then there was silence. An eerie silence. Then muffled shouts. Then barking. Dogs.  Then I knew for sure. No escape. No plan. I lose.

The dogs brought them straight to my hiding place. German shepherds and uniformed police. In a way, the police were a blessing. If the wardens had found me, I would have been messed up good and solid. I shouted out that I was unarmed and that I acted in self-defence. I kept repeating: I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I even pretended to be really traumatised and in a state of confusion. It worked. They thought I was cooked.

I addressed the guy in charge. The one with the most badges. I said, “Sir, Mr Hiller tried to put his penis in my mouth. He told me to undress. He pushed his erection at me and tried to force my head down. He threatened to rape me if I didn’t do it.”

The cop said, “We found him still unconscious with his pants half off. Your story sounds true, but you possibly went too far yourself.” Oh Jesus, had I killed Hitler? Surely not. I was handcuffed and led away to a police car, and taken to the local station and processed. While I was remanded in custody awaiting trial, Hitler succumbed. Apparently he had died of a heart attack, brought on by the beating.

I was given a twelve month sentence for aggravated assault with the possibility of parole after eight months. If it hadn’t been for my previous brushes with the law, I would have walked. Two previous convictions for unprovoked and aggravated assault didn’t help my case. But justice had been served.

The piece of shit Mr Hiller had paid the ultimate price for years of terrifying and assaulting boys and young men.


Chapter 7

“Get up, dog shit,” Moore barked at me, scaring me out of my wits and back into ugly reality. I stood up real quick, slightly off balance as a blood rush momentarily dimmed my senses. Moore held me by my throat and pushed me into the passage. “Cooper’s waiting for you. How he can stomach even the sight of you is a mystery. Psychologists, psychiatrists, psychopaths....you’re all fucking crazy. Move.”

Moore uncuffed me. Sat me down. Pulled my arms backwards and cuffed me to the chair. A heavy chair. Especially made for potentially dangerous suspects. Jesus, these guys think of everything.
Dr Cooper fixed me with a long searching gaze. He pushed his thick specs up his nose and took a deep breath. He was polite. Not friendly. I could tell that he didn’t like me. That hurt. Deep down, I was just like anybody else. I regarded myself as a sensitive being, a victim of my circumstances.

“Kevin, tell me about Karma-Jane. How did you meet?”
“Dr Cooper. I need to loosen up. I truly want to tell you everything.”
“What do you mean by loosen up?”
“Can you get me a triple Jack with a shot of lime?” Cooper leaned back in his chair and stared at me, unblinking. I thought perhaps I’d crossed a line. I said, “OK, forget it.”
“I’ll do it, Kevin. But if you don’t keep your side up, you get to be interviewed further by Lt. Moore.  Are we clear on that score, Kevin?”

I nodded. Anything but Moore. That guy wanted nothing more than to torture me to death. Sick bastard.

Cooper spoke into his desk phone. Quietly. Then louder, “Yes, I’m sure. Just do it.”

Fifteen minutes passed. I was really uncomfortable. Cooper just sat there staring at me, warily, as if a poisonous snake might suddenly lunge from my nostrils and maul him. I wondered if that was correct usage. Do snakes maul or what? Ah shit, who cares anyway? Let him stare. I farted. Just for the hell of it, really. Normally I would have silenced it, but I wanted to see if I could unnerve this ice-man Dr Cooper. He didn’t react at all. Jesus, he was so self controlled and stare-eyed, it freaked me out.

The door opened with a fury. Moore came in, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Rose’s lime cordial. He thumped it down on the table, followed by a coffee mug. Not even a clean one.
I said, “Any chance of ice, sir?”

“Go fuck yourself,” and he slammed the door shut with an even greater fury.


Chapter  8

Cooper poured a stiff shot and a dash of lime. Then he got up and uncuffed my weak arm. My right arm. Observant son of a bitch.

I took a swig. Bliss. I took another swig. I closed my eyes and leaned back. I let my thoughts drift back to the night I met Karma-Jane. The bourbon loosened my thoughts and my tongue. My mind wanted to go its own way again. Oh what the hell.

Sometimes my life was boring. I was bored. Alone in my bedsit and bored. I had few friends. The people I worked with at the bar. Some of the regular patrons and that’s about it. I resented being alone and bored. I resented that people did not recognise my qualities and my charm, and I resented that nobody ever knocked on my door to visit.

My mother wanted to visit, but my place was too small and she would only end up sad and depressed. Mommy wanted me to join the military on a permanent basis. She was concerned that I was headed for trouble. She smoked too much and ate the burned ash off the end of her cigarettes. I couldn’t put up with that.

The bar was a popular drinking hole for the city’s gay men. The Butterfly Bar. It was a Men Only bar. I was easily the most popular barman. I was jovial, charming, and witty. And when I had a couple of drinks down my throat, then I was everything times ten. The gay men loved me. They tipped well, which made up for the meagre wages. I mean they tipped really well. I was always flush with money.

The Butterfly Bar was on sidewalk level.

Below the bar and accessed from around the corner, was Club Purple. A hive of activity with dozens of attractive patrons nightly and several desirable waitresses. I never went to the club much because I worked a sixteen – eighteen hour shift most days. I wanted to go down and meet girls. I thought about it often. Most of the time in fact.

I gave up most of my ‘off-time’ to work, because I loved stashing jam jars full of cash at the end of every shift. I knocked off early one Friday night, around ten p.m. The electricity in the building had failed so it had to be vacated.

I had parked my racing red ’76 Alfa Romeo Berlina near the Purple’s entrance. It was one of my two prized possessions, earned through dedicated long hours at the Butterfly Bar, and a considerable amount of short-changing patrons. Anyway, I was just sitting there, letting my Alfa’s engine warm up and observing the partygoers exiting the Purple.

 I studied the parking meter. It was broken. The glass front had been smashed in. I wondered if it was because of someone’s anger, or whether some arsehole wanted cigarette money.


Chapter  9

The street lights light up the sidewalk brilliantly. Then I saw her and I knew instantly, instinctively, that we had a connection. She was like a gazelle. Or a ballerina. She sort of swooped. I liked the curve of her neck. In my mind I saw her dancing, her arms, legs and body in perfect rhythm, her head doing that side-to-side Indian thing. I liked that.

She stood on the sidewalk with two friends. They seemed to be on the lookout for a lift. I revved my engine and put my lights on. They turned to look my way. Karma-Jane bent her knees coquettishly and stuck her thumb out. They giggled. I was excited and felt my chest tighten. I waved at them to come to me, and I opened the passenger window, pretending to be cautious. “You ladies having a problem?” I asked. 

“We need a lift, please,” they chorused. I pretended slight reluctance. ”OK, I’ll give you a lift.”
They bundled in. One in the front. Two in the back. ”I’m Kevin.”

They all tried to introduce themselves at the same time. It annoyed me, but I didn’t let on. “Let’s try that again.”
“OK. Next to you is Annie.  I’m Claire – behind Annie, and Karma-Jane is behind you.”
“Pleased to meet you, ladies.” I gauged them to be in their late teens to early twenties. I was twenty seven. Well matched in age then, but probably better for me to knock a few years off. I could get away with that easily if they asked. They did. I went back a few birthdays to twenty three.

“So what do you do?” asked Karma-Jane. I didn’t want to be a barman. Not impressive enough.
“I’m an accountant.” Jesus. The words just came out. Why did I choose an accountant?

Too late to change. I mean, you can’t go from being an accountant to a civil engineer in one car ride. I could have said I was a dental technician, that could be easy to fake. But like a love-struck fool, I had said accountant. So I stuck with it.

As it turned it out, it was a safe choice. They were shop assistants, all working in the cosmetics section of the town’s largest department store. No rocket science involved.

I asked them where each lived, so that I could engineer the trip. As luck would have it, Annie was spending the night at Claire’s home and Karma-Jane was not. Without saying anything, I navigated my way to Claire’s family home. The two girls got out and I suggested that Karma-Jane jump up front and she did, giggling nervously.

As she climbed forward between the seats, her smell wafted into my head. She smelled like lavender and pink roses in springtime. I was mesmerised. I wanted to smell this smell forever. I wanted this gazelle-like girl to knock on my door, to visit me, to love me, to worship me.  To have my babies. I wanted to marry her. I sort of lost my marbles that night. I was in dreamland. I had a beautiful girl next to me in my car. She was happy and giggling, and she smelled like candy. In my mind’s eye, I saw me and Karma-Jane on a picnic blanket, on the bank of a river, with our two small children playing nearby. Mills and Boon stuff. I was in love.