Prologue

Across the metal landing, rows of identical cells perforated the artificial dusk. A solitary inmate pounded out a beat with a metal cup against the bars. His hammering was swiftly replicated by his neighbours and within seconds, the cacophony filled the wing like a runaway percussion section in a nightmare orchestra. The discordant rhythm built to a deafening crescendo until, as though signalled by an invisible conductor, it abruptly ceased. After a moment of silence, the chanting began. Softly at first, he couldn’t discern the word they were repeating but the volume built as more and more strident voices joined the melee and it soon reverberated through his cell. He strained to listen and suddenly his blood ran cold. They were chanting ‘Nonce’ and they were talking about him.

Chapter One

Prisoner 542080 was jolted awake on his inaugural morning of incarceration by a piercing klaxon and dazzling  fluorescent strips. For a brief moment he was at home, his phone vibrating and flashing in the half light, severing the connection to the dreamworld and announcing the imposition of yet another new day. It took only a moment for him to remember. Engulfed by a tidal wave of fear, the ground shifted beneath him and his throat, raw from the previous night’s weeping, constricted in terror.

The grate in his cell door banged open.

“Rise and shine. Prepare to move.” He heaved himself off the bunk and shuffled toward the door. His reluctant legs propelling him in protest across the bare floor “Move yourself, we don’t have all day.”

“I have ten years.” Hugo murmured in a barely audible whisper.

“Cocky little bastard aren’t you? Not for long I don’t suppose.” The guard’s shirt, one purchased in a pack of three from a discount store, had damp sweat patches under the arms and his imitation leather belt strained to contain his girth. His regulation tie, clip-on to avoid it being use as a weapon, quivered below a top button  that was testing its powers of endurance, forcing his neck up and outwards around his chin as he snapped on the cuffs. Even through the tiny grill, the garlic and body odour were overpowering.

The door swung open, revealing Belmarsh prison in all its dispiriting and depressing glory, coming to life after a long night. Some prisoners carried bags of rubbish along corridors whilst others took trays back to their cells. Still breathing heavily, he beckoned Hugo out on to the landing and prodded him along the walkway.

“Nonce” hissed another inmate, still locked up but his face close up to the bars of his cell. Hugo flinched.

“A bit of advice sunshine. Don’t show fear. It just encourages them.” Easy to say thought Hugo as he made his way down a staircase. On the ground floor, he was led into a narrow corridor. On one wall, a serving hatch was open and when the inmate being served had collected his food, Hugo was pushed towards it. The bottom half of the hatch was open, and he could see the server ladling food on to a tray. Porridge, a bread roll in a plastic packet and a carton of juice. The top half of the hatch was transparent plexiglass. The inmate serving breakfast bore a close resemblance to Withnail; thin, straggly long hair and an unhinged air about him.

“Our resident Nonce” he sneered as he enthusiastically cleared his throat and spat bubbly phlegm into the food. “Enjoy your breakfast.” Hugo’s stomach turned. He stepped back but the screw at the other end of the corridor shouted at him to collect the tray. He picked it up and stumbled away. Back in his cell, he discarded the tray by the door and sat in the corner, knees drawn up, eyes down. Inmates passed his locked door regularly and without exception, slowed and looked through the hatch. Some were silent, others catcalled him, others simply whispering Nonce. One, evidently trusted by the guards as he was collecting trays on a trolley leaned in to the bars.

“We’re looking forward to meeting you properly Nonce. We are going to fuck you up. You can’t hide in here you faggot.” Hugo stayed in the corner. “Soon Nonce, soon” giggled the inmate as he trundled away. Hugo leaned forward, his forehead pressing against his kneecaps.  

The klaxon sounded again and Hugo flinched. This time the announcement instructed inmates that it was time for Activity Session One. Hugo was new and had not had time to earn any credits or privileges. That meant that for him, there would be no gym, no association time playing pool or table football, and no job to keep him busy and allow him to earn a bit of cash to spend on phone calls or cigarettes, not that he smoked. For him, there was group therapy. Just before ten am, he was collected by a guard and taken to a classroom. There he sat through an excruciating session run by a prison therapist about understanding why he had committed the crimes he was convicted of. For Hugo, though he easily outclassed the therapist giving the session and would have run rings around him professionally, the time was a respite from the threats and jeers and he even forgot for a few seconds the experiences of the morning.

Those came crashing back on the way back to the cells. He and four others were being chaperoned back to the wing by two screws when the red lights along the corridor started flashing and a siren wailed. A tannoy erupted into life warning that this was a lockdown, and no further movement was permitted.

“We’re too far from the wing. Everybody inside.” The guard at the front unlocked a cell close by and shepherded the five men into it. “I’ll be back to collect you once the lockdown is lifted. Until then, just stay out of trouble.” He slammed the door and closed the hatch, leaving them alone in the cell.  The mood instantly darkened. The camaraderie from the session evaporated and the four inmates, still handcuffed stood together, fixated on Hugo. For some reason, it was their intricate tattoos that Hugo fixated on. He mumbled that he wasn’t a nonce but there was no response. The tattoos flexed as they moved toward him.

Panicking, he backed in to the corner but they came for him anyway.  He was no match for them physically. One grabbed his hair whilst another punched him repeatedly in the face, breaking his nose and delivering blow after blow. His jogging bottoms were ripped down to his ankles and he was yanked by his hair over the bunk. His attackers were grinning and pushing each other forward and from their coordinated attack, this was clearly planned. He strained his head to the side and through the blood and mucus in his eyes, saw two of them already dropping their trousers. He bucked and was rewarded with an jab to the kidneys. He felt the warmth of the man’s torso up against the backs of his thighs and then there was just excruciating pain. He momentarily passed out from the agony. The grunting behind him got louder and ended in a triumphant howl but the relief was short lived as another took his place. After they had finished, he slumped to the floor and then the kicking began. Arms, legs, trunk, head. The world receded into pain. He heard a distant shout and a door being unlocked and then, mercifully, a stamp to the head turned everything black.

Next Chapter: Contact...