‘Have you any idea how Aversion Therapy might affect someone, particularly someone who is as vulnerable as Robyn Cooper?’ asked Grace angrily.
She stood, hands on hips, in front of Conrad’s desk. She’d managed to stay in the clinic until the treatment had concluded, but only for Robyn’s sake.
‘Lower your voice,’ Conrad said with a mix of curiosity and disdain. ‘There’s been no evidence of any psychiatric fallout after Aversion Therapy. None whatsoever.’
‘No, you probably covered that up too… that was if you even did the follow-up appointments. But apparently the money for that was diverted to some experimental drugs.’
He didn’t respond.
‘And what about the emotional effects? They are human beings, Conrad, you can’t just—’
‘We’re not here to pander to people’s emotions, Grace.’
‘It’s not ethical!’ she snapped back.
‘The government seems to think the treatment is ethical enough,’ he said calmly, reaching over to the carafe on his desk and pouring himself some water.
‘The whole government or just your crony in the Department of Justice?’ She raised her eyebrows.
He briefly stopped mid-pour.
‘If the government thinks the treatment is ethical, as you claim, then why is there so much secrecy about it? I mean, how can synthetic fear be an ethical treatment?’
He fell silent for a moment, drinking his water but keeping his eyes fixed on her. She could hear him swallowing.
‘Don’t treat me like an idiot, Conrad. What, you didn’t think I’d figure it out?’
Finally, he put the glass down. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Maybe Myriam came up with—’
‘No!’ She slapped his glass desktop with her palms. ‘The buck stops with you. Don’t blame Myriam for this.’ She paused. ‘Is that why she left?’
‘I don’t know why she left,’ he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. ‘She emailed an immediate resignation and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.’
‘You should have told me. If I’m going to work in this clinic then I need to know the whole story. Instead I have to find out what you’re doing from interpreting brain scans and prescriptions.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Have you even looked at these offenders post-treatment? The likelihood of depression, breakdowns, suicide attempts? Christ, Conrad!’
‘This treatment is what they deserve.’ He stood up now. ‘It’s highly effective and it gets the job done.’
‘And that’s your attitude, is it? It’s effective, so it doesn’t matter if you’re actually torturing people, because that’s what this is…’
‘Torturing,’ he said with a sneer.
‘Is this drug even licensed? Where the hell did it come from?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ He swirled the water around his glass as though it was single malt and stared into it as he said, ‘If you’re going to keep working with us, then you need to get on board.’
She could still feel Abigail’s patronising arm rub as George had wheeled Robyn Cooper out of the clinic, screaming for the baby doll that had been torn from her grasp. She could still see George’s expression of deep concern.
‘And biostasis?’
‘You’ve been in the Siberia ward?’ he said in astonishment. He lowered the glass to the desk. ‘I hope Abigail got you to sign another confidentiality agreement.’
She turned away from him, trying to calm her breathing. After a few moments, she looked back and said more quietly, ‘No wonder the public don’t know about this.’
‘The public don’t want to know. They just want to be safe,’ he said. ‘You’d better watch yourself, Grace.’
‘Oh, I’d better watch myself? What you’re doing is unethical, never mind illegal.’
His expression became flinty. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen your husband’s article about Payback reoffending.’
‘That article had nothing to do with me.’
Had Abigail told him about the phone call to Dan?
‘If I believe for one minute you’re a mole, Grace, then it’s not just about losing your job. I’ll take you to court and you won’t work ever again. You signed contracts and confidentiality agreements. Your loyalty is to me, not to NewsFlex. If I even think you’ve divulged information—’
‘And will Myriam keep quiet?’ she interrupted.
Conrad sighed heavily before running his hands over his face. Finally he looked up at her. ‘Maybe you’re right and that’s why she left – she didn’t have the balls for the job.’
‘You can’t cure criminals by frightening them, Conrad. It’s a plaster on a laceration. You’ll only suppress what’s inside them.’
‘And what do you suggest? That we cure them by being fucking nice to them?’
He took a moment to calm himself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a very stressful time.’ He pointed to the chair. ‘Please, sit down. Let’s talk about this sensibly.’
She hesitated for a moment, but then sat, still trembling with anger.
‘Look, I know you’re an empathetic soul, Grace, and no doubt being kind works for many of the offenders at the lower Tiers. But the type of criminal we have in Tier Three, they’re a different kettle of fish altogether. They always have to be in control, they enjoy exerting power, and they hurt other people. Aversion Therapy is effective because they’re at the receiving end for once.’
‘A taste of their own medicine,’ Grace said flatly.
He didn’t seem to notice her venom. ‘Yes, we’re redeeming them and that may well take… questionable methods. We’re being cruel to be kind.’
‘Kind!’ she spat. ‘But obviously it doesn’t work, or Mikey Kilgannon and Payback wouldn’t be reoffending.’
‘Yes, something’s gone wrong, but in general it’s working and the real emotions are there.’
‘Fear wears off, Conrad, once the threat is gone. What happens when the desire to offend outweighs the fear of Aversion Therapy? It’s the basic pleasure pain principle. No wonder it doesn’t work for psychopaths.’
He looked up at her with narrowed eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Psychopaths don’t feel afraid. They don’t feel empathy. They don’t care that they’re hurting others. That’s why they can do those awful things without regret or guilt. I’m not sure your Siberia is even a punishment for them. They’re probably just lying there watching curiously or even, God forbid, enjoying it. The idea that you can fix people by fear is so bloody misguided.’
‘But you really think you can fix them with kindness?’ There was no trace of anger now, just curiosity.
Kindness, was it such a bad quality? Conrad had seen this as her weakness, her Achilles heel. But could it actually be a strength? Could kindness be more powerful than cruelty or fear? Maybe she could use kindness, or more specifically, empathy.
Not kindness towards them, but kindness within them.
Her heart began to race as the possibility of not only preventing such torment, but also providing a cure began to surface. If she could encourage the offenders to feel empathy, create a real response to the victims of their crime, not just a temporary one, then maybe she could create a more humane, more effective treatment.
‘When I work with offenders at Tier Two we look at how their actions affect other people,’ Grace told him, her anger dissipating and excitement growing in the pit of her stomach. ‘Sometimes we’ve used restorative justice and they’ve had to meet their victims face to face. Do you know what one of the hardest things for an offender is? Accepting responsibility, seeing how their victim really feels, to be confronted with it and let it sink in. Many of my offenders have told me that this is what messes them up the most, it’s what crystallises their road to recovery. There’s no reason why Tier Three can’t use the same technique.’
‘And how are we supposed to do that? How do we get them to feel what their victims really felt so that we can cure them?’
It went against every fibre in her being to help this man, and for a split second she considered going home and telling Dan the whole story, including the horror she’d seen at Tier Four, let him put the whole unpalatable truth all over the news, whatever the consequences.
But there were the offenders to think of, people who needed a chance, a change – people like Remy.
‘Maybe I can’t cure them by being kind, but maybe I can cure them by making them kind. They don’t need synthetic fear,’ Grace said. ‘They need something far more painful, something that hits home more than being scared that what they do could happen to them, something that hurts them more.’
‘And what might that be?’ asked Conrad, sounding cynical, but she could see the eagerness to find a solution in his face.
‘They need empathy.’
It was dark when Grace made her way from the Tube station towards home, tired and frustrated after a day’s unsuccessful research. It was going to take time.
Conrad was urging her on. He didn’t care about kindness – only anything that might get him out of trouble.
Grace was focusing on anything to get Remy out of trouble.
She took her phone from her bag and called Shannon.
‘Ah, Shan, I just needed to see a friendly face.’ Grace held the phone in front of her and walked along carefully.
‘Where are you, doll? Looks pretty dark. I can hardly see you.’
‘Just making my way home from the clinic.’
‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock! I know you’re not afraid of putting the hours in, but is there something special going on?’
If Grace was honest with herself she was hoping to avoid Dan.
‘Everything okay?’ Shannon was in bed, her face make-up free, her brown wavy hair loose.
Timorax, Siberia, Dan, Conrad, Remy – all these things were tumbling about Grace’s brain. Where to start?
‘Shan, things in the clinic are… I mean, I went to Tier Three yesterday, and…’ Grace checked for traffic as she stepped off the kerb and crossed the road. Once on the other side, she continued speaking. ‘It was just awful. You want to see what they—’
Her words were interrupted by a growl at the other end of the line, and Grace heard Shannon scream, then she disappeared from view.
‘Oh my God, are you okay? Shan?’ Grace stood still on the pavement staring at the screen. ‘What’s happening?’
She heard Shannon shriek but could still see nothing but the ceiling of Shannon’s bedroom. What if one of the residents had broken into her home on the compound and… Oh God, it didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Shan, please!’ Her voice cracked with anxiety. One or two passers-by turned around to stare at her.
Suddenly she heard raucous laughter, and Shannon reappeared, this time with a stocky, bearded man lying next to her on the pillows. They were both smiling and the man had his arms around her. Grace stared at the screen, not immediately comprehending what she was seeing.
‘This big bear has just grabbed me!’ Shannon wheezed, her face pink. ‘Grace, this is Shuggie. Shuggie, this is my best pal, Grace.’
Grace sighed heavily, relieved. ‘I thought you were being attacked, Shan!’
‘She will be when this call ends,’ said Shuggie in his gruff Scottish accent, and then belted out a laugh.
Grace recognised him as one of the recovering soldiers from the Agrarian. It was against the rules to be intimate with any of the residents, but Shannon had been so lonely since her husband had died in the African conflict, Grace could hardly blame her. She’d been raising her four children alone and working on the residential site without much of a chance to meet anyone else.
Shannon had asked her a few weeks ago to delay signing Shuggie’s release forms.
Now she knew why.
There was no judgement between the two women. A flash of disappointment that Shannon hadn’t been able to trust her, but then she remembered Remy and understood.
Some things needed time and space.
Shuggie grabbed the phone from Shannon and his face filled the screen. ‘Now, don’t you worry, hen. I’m gonnae look after this girl here. I’m sound now, all well. I’m a new man. I’m gonnae take care of them weans too.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Shuggie. Don’t you let her down,’ Grace warned him sternly before she felt a smile soften her features.
‘I won’t,’ he replied gently.
Grace started walking along the street again.
Shuggie’s big cheerful face was replaced by Shannon’s and Grace saw something she hadn’t seen there for a long time – joy.
Whatever Shuggie’s background, he made her friend happy.
People could change. She knew that from her work and from personal experience, didn’t she?
Shannon didn’t speak, just gave her a wink.
‘Right then, you two, have fun,’ Grace laughed, momentarily forgetting her own problems. ‘Shan, I’ll see you at the end of the week. You can fill me in with all the gossip then.’
She put the phone back in her bag and turned into a side street as a shortcut home. Wide, bow-fronted semis stood in established gardens, surrounded by half-brick walls topped with wooden fences and overhanging bushes. Chinks of light escaped from drawn curtains illuminating the short, dark pathways from the pavement to the houses.
Grace felt a warmth spreading through her because of Shannon’s new relationship. Dan and her used to be happy like that, didn’t they? All the stress, the talk of a baby, the jostling for who had the best job, had taken its toll and left Grace feeling anxious about the state of their relationship.
A sound behind her gave her a start. She turned to see a cat had knocked an empty drinks can off a garden wall and onto the pavement below. Its eyes flashed yellow, briefly reflecting the light from a nearby house, before it strode off into the night. There was a rustling in a bush in one of the front gardens, probably birds agitated by the cat’s presence.
She hoped Dan would be asleep when she got in. She was too tired for conflict at home as well as work.
Her ears pricked up as she heard a movement behind her. Was that another cat? She moved away towards the kerb.
She remembered when she’d fallen in love with Dan and it was new and exciting, like Shannon and Shuggie. The fleeting question in her mind – do you still love him? – frightened her, shook her stability. They’d be able to find their way back to each other, wouldn’t they?
Footsteps behind her – the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She pulled her bag tight against her shoulder and quickened her pace.
‘Grace!’ came a whisper.
She stopped dead in the street and turned around, her heart beating fast.
She could see no one.
‘Remy?’ she called quietly.
A shape appeared from behind one of the bushes at the gate of a house, a man dressed in dark clothes, his hood pulled over his head.
‘Remy?’ she said, now trembling, taking a step forward. ‘Is it really you?’ It had been him at the train station that morning! He stood stock-still as she moved forward a little more, feeling the muscles in her face relaxing and forming into a smile. Whatever he’d done, whatever trouble he was in, this was her friend, her brother. Now he was here she could help him, couldn’t she?
She loosened her grip on her bag, opened her arms and moved forward again.
‘I’ve missed you!’
But as the light from a nearby porch caught his features, she realised it wasn’t Remy.
The man lunged at her. Grace reared back in fright but he was suddenly on her and hit her once, hard, across the face. She fell to the ground, banging her elbow and her hip, the shock of impact giving rise to nausea.
‘This is your only warning!’ the stranger growled. He bent over her as she writhed on the ground, trying to escape from him, and grabbed her face hard. ‘Get out of Tier Three!’ His breath smelled bitter. She could feel her face speckled with his saliva. ‘Don’t touch that fucking therapy or I’ll come back for you. And next time, you won’t survive!’
Dazed and sickened by the blow, Grace lay on the damp pavement as the man ran away into the night.