‘Brian?’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’
‘No need. But carry on a bit longer if you can?’
Brian shook his head.
‘Recap.’
‘Get on with it, you’ll get nowhere copping out every time, Bri. We’ve all been there.’
Brian blew his nose, then wiped it on his T-shirt sleeve. He was a wreck. He had recounted how he had stalked the girl and how he had been excited when she had finally realised that he was following and looked terrified. He had said, ‘I just jumped on her. I jumped on her and brought her down. I didn’t want her looking at me.’
But then he had stopped, and after a few moments, begun to cry.
‘How did it feel? When you brought her down?’
‘Powerful.’
‘What sort of powerful?’
‘You had power over her, you mean?’
‘Powerful because she was a lot smaller than you?’
The questions came from all sides.
‘No. She wasn’t that small. Slim but … no, it was just feeling myself jump on her and down she went. I felt – it was the most exciting feeling I’d ever had.’
‘Go on.’
‘Was that just because you’d jumped her or because you were excited about raping her and excited about killing her afterwards?’
‘No. I didn’t – I wasn’t going to. Not when I followed her … not when …’
‘So why’d you do it? You must have had that urge – to rape her.’
‘No. Yes, I suppose I did. I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
A couple of jeers.
‘Leave him, let him have a minute. Give him time.’
‘You’re almost there, aren’t you, Brian?’ the therapist said. ‘You’ve followed her, you’ve felt powerful, and you jumped on her and brought her down and felt more powerful still. Was that a good feeling?’
‘It was a great feeling. The best.’
‘Better than what came after?’
‘No … the start of it. I was – you know, I was like the Hulk, I was growing as huge as him, I was a giant, I was mighty – it did that to me, feeling powerful like that.’ His eyes were gleaming now, but gleaming with a distant look. He’s there, Simon thought. He’s given in to it and he’s back there now.
No one spoke. They occasionally shuffled a foot or crossed a leg. Waited.
‘I knew I was huge and powerful enough to do anything. I had my foot on her to stop her getting away and she was trying to get up, but my foot was a giant’s foot, it was vast. She hadn’t a chance. Then the rest was easy. I mean, I couldn’t have stopped then. I could see her face, I could see her pleading with me and that made the feeling better. I could … I knew she knew what was going to happen, and … when I had her she just went still, she didn’t fight, and in a way that was worse for her. I think if she’d fought me, I’d have gone on feeling powerful and it would have been enough. I’d got enough. I was high on it. It wasn’t the sex … not really. Only she just lay like a jelly, like a dead flat thing and that made me very, very angry.’
He looked into the middle distance, unaware of the rest of them, his surroundings, the day or the time, only aware of being back there and bloated with power and rage. His hands were clenching and unclenching, and he tapped his right foot fast on the floor.
‘Did you know you were going to kill her?’
‘No. Oh no. I never planned that. I never would have killed her. I can’t kill a spider, me, I have to pick them up and put them gently out of the window. I couldn’t kill anything.’
‘Only you did.’
‘No.’
‘You strangled her.’
He sat up with a start, and stared at the man on his left. ‘I strangled her,’ he said in a small, dead voice. ‘I strangled her.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
Brian shook his head over and over again. ‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’
‘What did you mean to do then?’
But all he did was shake his head, and then bend forward and put his hands, and then his arms, over his face to shield it from them, and the sight of them from himself.
‘What did you do after you’d strangled her? You haven’t said that yet.’
‘Did you feel powerful when you chucked some stuff over her and ran?’
Brian’s shoulders heaved.
‘Do you feel powerful now?’
‘Brian – not sure I believe you about the sex not mattering. It always matters.’
‘Right, let’s give him a few minutes. Will, haven’t heard from you for a day or two. What sort of place are you in?’
‘OK. I’m OK. It’s all helping.’
‘You were talking about feeling – detached, was it?’
‘Disssociated. Yup.’
‘Big words, Will, big words.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Not all got Oxford degrees and that.’
‘What’s to be ashamed of having one of those? Wish I did.’
‘Will?’
He leaned back in his chair, one leg up over the other.
‘I suppose it’s … separating yourself from what – what you did.’
‘How?’
‘Just happens, doesn’t it? I mean, I know, I know about what it meant. I know. Just feel it was someone else.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
‘Right. Listen, I know that, of course I do, and I’m very sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.’
‘Sorry’s just words.’
‘Well, it’s a start, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but how long have you been spouting words in here and nothing else? Doesn’t seem to get you any further.’
‘Oh, it does. I feel a lot further.’
‘How?’
‘I – I realise it was actually me. I’m responsible. I don’t like admitting that but it was me. So … I’m a lot further.’
‘It seems to be more in your head, Will,’ the therapist said.
Will recrossed his leg. ‘Not altogether.’
‘You’ve never actually gone into any detail, have you? And you never show your feelings about it.’
‘What’re you afraid of?’
Will sighed, glanced round and acknowledged the comments coming from different people in the room.
‘I suppose – I’m afraid of what I did. I mean – of ever being at risk of doing anything like it again.’
‘You think you’re not at risk of that now?’
‘I’m not sure. But I’ve learned a lot about myself and being in prison hasn’t been any fun.’
‘Never is for nonces.’
A murmur.
‘OK, sorry. Take that back.’
‘Thanks, Len.’
‘Listen.’ A man whose name Simon had not caught leaned forward and looked along the row at Will Fernley. ‘You told us your index offence, you told us you were attracted to kids … that you’d gone wrong, I think you put it, in that direction. You said you’d been downloading stuff and got sussed. Only – there’s a hell of a lot more you’re not admitting to us and that’s because you daren’t admit it to yourself. But if you can’t get to grips with it in here you’re never going to. This is your one chance, come on, take it. Nobody’s sitting in judgement in here – Christ, that’d be a laugh. Only you just sit there and smirk, to be honest.’
‘I don’t think I was smirking.’
‘Whatever. That expression.’
‘Will?’ The therapist had been focused on him closely all the time he had been speaking, and now that he was being challenged. ‘Is Mick right about that? There’s no hiding place, is there?’
Brian said, looking at the floor, ‘If I can, you can. You never give anything. And you’ve got to give or you’ll never get any further, and he’s right, what’s the point?’
Will sat shaking his head, smiling. ‘I’m sorry if you feel like that.’
‘Not how we feel – how do you feel about yourself? Because from where I’m sitting it looks as if you’re not that bothered and you fuckin’ should be.’
‘Oi.’
‘All right, cool it. Will?’
‘What am I supposed to say?’
‘You’re addressing what you’ve done, your urges, what they led you to do, what you felt about that and what you feel now … you shouldn’t need me to tell you.’
‘Wasting the time, that’s what, and some of us object to that. You want to waste time, you get out of here first.’
‘No need to raise your voice.’
‘Listen, I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right to say anything here …’
The rest of them fell silent as Simon spoke. Respect. Respect for a newcomer having the courage to open his mouth, not for a copper. He was not a copper.
‘Will … as I see it, nobody in here is going to criticise you for telling the truth. I mean, that’s why we’re all in this. Nobody would have any right to … I know I wouldn’t. I just think maybe if you had the courage to open up you’d … I don’t know … find it easier and … get the point of it. Sorry, I’m not really the right guy to say this, I know …’
The man next to him nodded. ‘You are the right guy though because we’re all the right guy … in here you’re the same as the rest of us, innit. Come on, mate, else the session’ll be over and we’ve just pussyfooted around – or you have.’
‘OK, OK. Sorry.’ Will took a breath and for a moment looked as if he was going to dodge again. ‘I … listen, I’m not making excuses or passing the buck here but there were others in this … it got to be more than … the way it started out. I’d had feelings about children … sex . . about … I got aroused by looking at little children … girls … I’d go to a beach or a pool or … but then it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t … what I wanted. It’s so easy online now, you know … a couple of minutes, even for someone like me who isn’t very up on all the techno stuff … I found a couple of sites … then another which was more a group. I joined that … they send you stuff … and you can just … go into sort of hidden websites … hidden behind legit ones, I mean … that was it.’
‘What?’
‘What was happening … what I was doing.’
‘You don’t get eight years for downloading.’
‘You’re taking the piss.’
Will’s expression was defiant.
The therapist leaned back. ‘Tell us what your feelings were when you got into the sites the first time, Will.’
‘Excited.’
‘Right.’
‘This was – what I wanted, where I wanted to be.’
‘How long did you stay online – on average?’
‘God, I don’t know.’
‘You must know. Ten minutes? Three hours?’
‘No, no. I just – went in here and there … then I started talking – chatting – to the others.’
‘Who were they?’
‘No idea. You don’t exactly give out your name, do you?’
‘Could have been anybody then? Your best friend even.’
‘Not very likely.’
‘Why?’
‘So you started accessing these sites regularly – every day?’
‘No … well, not at first … then, it got more.’ ‘So what did you think?’
‘How do you mean, what did I think? It’s not about thinking, is it?’
‘About the sites – what did you think about how they came to exist? About what lay behind the images?’
‘Nobody tells you.’
‘You’re blocking again, Will. You must have realised in a nanosecond that these were real images – not cartoons.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Real images of real children being abused. So what did you think about that?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What did you feel about it?’
‘Nothing … it didn’t – I didn’t … just looked at the images. I got off on those.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t ever think of these images as being real kids?’
‘I don’t … well, yes, I must have done.’
‘Did you wish they were real, not just images?’
‘Maybe.’
‘How many real kids did you sort out then, Will?’
‘None.’
‘Come on.’
‘I said – it was pictures.’
‘You went down for more than that.’
‘All right … after a bit you watch the films and you … want to go further.’
‘Films?’
‘I said so.’
‘Pictures and films are two different things, aren’t they?’
‘Depends.’
‘No, in this context, Will, it doesn’t depend – and you were watching films.’
‘After a time.’
‘What was the difference?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Come on.’
‘What? More what?’
‘Real, if you like. Yes.’
‘It’s a bit like getting blood out of a stone,’ the therapist said. ‘You’re not engaging with this, Will. Talk about the films.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I can’t.’
‘How long had you been part of this website and looking and going into the forum before you got more involved?’
‘Months.’
‘Two? Six?’
‘I don’t remember. Quite a few. Then … there was some chat and they were wanting – some more. Input.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Help.’
Suddenly, he was not playing, he was struggling, twisting his hands, his mouth twitching, moving his head this way and that as if he had a painful neck. Simon watched him. He had been play-acting and trying to slither away from any real engagement. Now, he was anxious, profoundly uncomfortable.
‘I think you’re on the brink of something, Will’, the therapist said, ‘and next time, you’re going to take a bigger step forward. Stay with it.’
Simon was working in the pod, doing vegetable prep and swabbing down. It was hot, claustrophobic and noisy but the jokes and banter whirled about, and as with any uninteresting job, he switched off, did it, and thought about other things. Will Fernley.
He waited until after supper and a basketball game in which he scored once, but then retired, his back painfully reminding him that he was a few years older than when he had last played. The team was too good for him. He showered, changed, and knocked on Fernley’s door. There was no reply. He waited, knocked again, and opened it.
Will was lying face down on his bed, unmoving. For a split second, he looked as if he was also not breathing, but eventually he grunted.
‘If you like.’
When Simon brought the drinks back he was still lying there.
‘Quit feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘You fucking wait.’
‘Makes me wonder why you’re here.’
‘Why do you think?’
‘Not for the therapy, that’s pretty clear. That was a load of bullshit you told me. You’ve got no interest at all in being here.’
‘Yup.’
‘So why?’
‘Because I got sick of having my head stuck down the loo, sick of being tripped up as I went down the corridor and being punched up in the showers and sick of the screws making snide remarks and treating me like scum. I thought it might be easier in here and it is, because if I’m a nonce then at least I’m among other nonces. And so are you.’