Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (9 page)

18

Jane glanced at her watch. She'd been a good girl; the Warden had allowed her to have a watch so that she would arrive on time for her appointments, and check the length of time she spent comforting each client. She was a prostitute; maybe, perhaps, it would assist in some way she didn't yet understand, her escape. Time now to return to the room she shared with the Watchman in charge of the rehabilitation centre. The evening round had just ended; he would shower, sit with her and chat for approximately ten minutes then have her, vanilla style, for another ten. They would shower together, go to bed where they would sit and read for half an hour then settle down to sleep. He would sleep for six hours, wake up, take her again, sometimes encouraging her to ride him, then another shower, breakfast in his quarters, after which they would go their separate ways till supper-time the following night. He would go down one flight of stairs to his office and she would climb one flight of stairs to reach the 'Carers' rest area where on the hour, every hour, the 'caring staff' would take their turn to rape her. None of them hurt her; some were very energetic as they laboured above her, some a little diffident, apologising if they thought they were clumsy entering her. The two women enjoyed oral sex, and gave as good as they got. Jane had been surprised at first but had come to tolerate, even like, their lovemaking.

The youngest male, a recent appointment, had failed in his first few attempts to mount her; she thought he was probably a virgin. She was gentle with him, stroking and kissing him, telling him how beautiful his body was, how much she wanted him and, on his third visit he managed to enter her for a few moments before he came. A week's practise improved his performance considerably. You never know, she thought, when she might need a favour in return.

The other members of staff, she smiled at the term, enjoyed her favours. They each had about fifty minutes of her time a day and after having leapt on her and riding her hard immediately they joined her in bed, learned to slow down, chat to her, joke, tell her little items of gossip and even convince themselves that she liked them and enjoyed their love making. The Deputy Warden engineered their meetings so that he managed a two-hour appointment with her on most afternoons. He would be her final lover of the day. Before she returned to the Warden's flat; he brought her presents; books and magazines, discussed world affairs, and treated her very much as a man might treat a daughter, except that he fucked her. He was the most imaginative of her clients, practising a variety of activities and positions. He had her enthusiastically, hard and often. Sometimes after he had left and before she returned to the Warden's bed, she would examine her body in the long mirrors fixed to the walls behind and opposite the bed. Her body had hardened, become more muscular and firm. She was pleased, she needed to be fit and strong when she attempted to escape, and sex was her only exercise. She used the men as they used her; an exchange. The neat surgical work between her legs, the re-manufacturing of her virginity was worn away; she supposed that now she resembled any other whore, a price to be paid. The research for her degree was paying dividends; what had they said, something about transferable skills? She was researching again, and her thesis was the minds of the people who fucked her. Somewhere someone would reveal a chink in his or her armour; a blackmail-able fault or an emotional flaw, which she could manipulate to her advantage. Ed-Lamin and her child were no longer absent from her memory. She allowed herself a dream.

The new recruit seemed a possible aide; last time he had collapsed in tears as he entered the room; he had been forced to murder an inmate in cold blood. He sobbed out the story; initiation rite, handed a gun, told to select his victim, to make him kneel, to place the gun on the back of the man's head and pull the trigger. He still carried the spatter of his victim's brain and blood. Jane undressed the boy, washed him, took him to bed and cradled him in her arms, stroked him and waited for the tremors to cease and the tears to stop. He had refused to have sex with her - she was an angel, his saviour, the only person who understood him. That resolution had faded by the time of his next appointment with her. He was then very much the macho man; he threw her onto the bed and entered her forcibly. Jane smiled up at him, knowing exactly what he was trying to prove.

Back in the Warden's bed for the night she was delighted when, having finished with her, he complimented her on her skills; she delighted and excited him, he said. Would it be possible, could she agree, would she consider helping him in the furtherance of his career? Jane stared at him. He blew out the romantic candle and stroked her bottom. Really she had a beautiful arse, he told her. She was so good, so exciting in bed, he slipped his finger inside her, and she was such a delightful lay that his friends, his superiors, would enjoy her tremendously when they visited the facility. Would she please consider it? She considered it as she climbed on top of him and replaced his exploring finger with a part more suitable for his orifice of choice. She accepted the new opening to her career with enthusiasm. Bedrooms had doors and some door might just possibly lead to freedom. The next evening she was allowed to play with some important visitors, one of whom recognised her as she looked over her shoulder at him as he climaxed. He pulled out of her and was not amused.

The Deputy Warden was summoned, together with the youngest recruit, to escort her to a cell. The younger man watched as the Deputy raped her then took his turn.

'As hard as you like, boy. I'm afraid we'll be losing the services of Miss Jane. Go on, make her bounce.' Jane lay back on the wooden bench when they finished with her. What had gone wrong? She'd vaguely known the old goat who had shagged her, doggy fashion, after he had spent the meal fingering her bum as they sat together at dinner.  It hadn't prevented him bending her over the table an hour later. Who the hell was he, that randy duplicitous old goat? Was this the end of her road, she wondered. Night blackened, as did her thoughts for her future.

.'

19

Theresa lay awake. She was back in her own bed. Correction; she was back in her master's bed. He had, she supposed, rescued her.  Her Senior Watchman lay beside her, snoring his head off. If she moved he would be aware of it, wake and rape her again. She cursed herself for taking the job. Sounded simple, hadn't it? More fool her. She'd live in a nice big house, her step-father would be there to take care of her; true, she'd have to sleep with the man but she could handle that. Give her a week and he'd be eating out of her hand. Her every orifice hurt. He could be gentle but gentleness preceded violence. She was free to go anywhere on the gated community but it was pointless; escape was what she needed and he saw to it that escape was impossible. She had both feet on the floor now; she twisted her hips, all she had to do was stand without disturbing the duvet.  She could perhaps venture as far as the lavatory.

'Lovely arse you've got, girl. Get back on the bed and we'll play hide and seek. I'll hide my cock in one of your holes and you can try to guess where it is. I'll give you a clue - I'll keep jiggling it about.' He pulled her back onto the bed. She was too frightened to even think of murdering him in case he could read her thoughts.

'You love it, don't you, girl? Can't get enough of me. You were made for this, Theresa. What level whore are you? Can't be level one, you'd never have landed this job. Level two? Tell you what, my lass; how about we promote you to level three? Good pay, a level three grade. You'll have to be just a little more inventive - I've got some videos you can watch, give you some ideas. Be nice to share you with some of my friends; you've got room for a couple more. Tell you what; guess one more time where my willy is and when you've got breakfast ready I'll ring my medical friend and get you upgraded. That's funny; upgrade a degraded girl! Come on, laugh - oh, not with your mouth full.'

After breakfast he made the call. 'Hi, Doc. Job for you - just paper work. My little whore, Teresa, she's been working very hard. Needs a pay rise, deserves one. Recommend a level three for her, will you? Good man. Anything I can do for you? You can have her for a couple of nights in return if you like?  No? Still like playing with little black boys? Each to his own; it's a free world, at least for the likes of us.'

'There is one matter that might need your attention, Senior Watchman. You remember Jane? Your, your …'

'Yes, I remember Jane. Say it man. Daughter is the word you're groping for. Jane, my daughter, the other whore in my life. Well, what about her?'

  'It's difficult, sir. Jane's been very good at her job. Seems to, seems to be very enthusiastic, sir.'

'So what? She enjoys being fucked by a bunch of psychotics? Thought that was what you wanted her to be. Where's the problem?'

'Sir. It seems that she's become very well known. The Warden of the facility has taken to letting some of his friends from outside the facility play with her. A difficulty has arisen, sir.'

'Difficulty? Sounds like she's making people happy. So, what's the difficulty?'

'Sir, she's been recognised. She was playing with a very very senior Watchman and he recognised her. As your daughter, sir. He wasn't amused. He was furious in fact, sir.'

'What was he furious about? Didn't she swallow when she sucked him off? Well? Who is he?'

'Sir. He's Senior Watchman Two, sir. The very religious gentleman, Sir. He thought it was highly inappropriate for a Watchman of your standing, sir, to have a daughter who's a whore,

'Holy Joe? Shit. It would be him. Can't you just do a medical check on all the whores and slip something a bit final into Jane's arm? Poor girl needs a nice lie down; oops, she's just died. What a surprise! Something like that?'

'Sir, no. You can't have your daughter die on the job. Not that sort of job, anyway. Let's think, sir. How about this; Jane fucks the very senior Watchman because she admires him. Didn't know what came over her, sir. All a horrible mistake. She's not a whore, just enjoys sex. She was visiting a friend who works in the facility. Dreadful mistake, shouldn't have happened, reprimands all round. Then she vanishes from the scene. Would you like her to return home, sir?'

'Don't be bloody stupid, Doc. I'm too busy at home keeping young Theresa in order. No; she needs to escape. Get her out of the country.  That escape route you told me about, anything come of it?'

'The Runcorn boat gang, sir? No, they had their visit from a grade three officer. He thinks they may be involved but they are only the penultimate link. We could do with exterminating all the rats, sir.'

'There you are then; solves all known problems. Jane escapes - see if there's a weak link in the facility - pop a tracking device in her somewhere and let her run. Manage it so she gets to stay a night in that boarding house. If she ends up in Africa with what's 'is name it's an all round happy ending. We'll make sure it is an ending, too.'

20

Andrew stared, horrified, at his computer screen.

YOU ARE REQUIRED TO BE AVAILABLE FOR INTERVIEW. THIS IS A ROUTINE MATTER.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. How long had they got? Lizzie and Rachel were out shopping. He took a deep breath and sent a one word text 'mARMALADE' and hoped she had her mobile switched on. The typo should ensure that she purchased supplies for a long voyage. On the way home she would stop at a garage and refill the fuel tank with diesel. There was a tap concealed beneath the tank so the fuel could be transferred to cans and carried on board the boat. The word troubled him; had their calls been tapped? He knew that party workers stayed in their house, it was effective cover, or so he had thought. Perhaps they had been too clever?

No, not possible, he thought. Sally had stayed with them, down in the basement flat. She had been picked up by Security only when she made an ill-judged bid for freedom. She had died before she could have betrayed them under torture; they were sure that no suspicion had indicated the family's involvement. Ed-Lamin had obeyed their instructions and had probably survived. Just the bloody liferaft had offered a clue. Thank God Rachel had reported it missing, stolen, requested its return if found. It had been found but not returned - too badly damaged to be survivable, probably. They hadn't replaced it - that might have appeared suspicious. How the hell were you supposed to know what was wise and what was inadvisable? Everything was a risk. There may well be Watchmen placed throughout the world waiting for escapees to arrive who would befriend them, encourage them to reveal the secrets of their escape and betray, unwittingly, the Underground Railway's route.

Where the hell were his wife and daughter? They could have been home an hour ago. Rachel could have been restocking the boat by now. Calm down, he told himself. Think rationally. The last thing Lizzie and Rachel wanted to do was draw attention to themselves by rushing about with huge quantities of food and fuel; no, they would relax, have a coffee, buy a magazine, chat to people, and demonstrate that they had all the time in the world. Escape?  Nothing could be further from their minds! He read the message again. Pure routine, just to eliminate them from official enquiries. No bloody chance.

How had they been rumbled? The liferaft. It must have been. They'd reported it stolen, given full details, expressed guarded annoyance - didn't want to antagonise the Watchmen by accusing them of negligence. They last thing the Underground wanted to do was to antagonise the Watchers. Rachel was due to go fishing later in the day. Perhaps the time had come for all of them to set sail.

He mentally reviewed the guest list. All were due to leave later this morning and as far as he knew the next to arrive would do so two days later. The interview with the Watchman would not usually be immediate; the thinking was to keep the suspects on tenterhooks for a few days and watch to see if they did anything stupid which would betray them without the need for interrogation. Attempting to escape by sailing away in a small Shrimper would qualify as bloody stupid, he thought. Suicidal, even. If Lizzie and Rachel had received and understood the message they would continue shopping, buy fuel and drive home. Rachel would then drive across the bridge and re-fuel the boat and replenish the supply lockers on board. This was the normal routine before she set out on a fishing trip. This time though she would drive home again, collect her parents and return to the boat just before dark. As soon as night fell they would be on their way. His computer bleeped; another message.

DELAY DEPARTURE. AWAIT ARRIVAL OF GUEST/PASSENGER. DEATH IF DISOBEYED.

He sat and stared at the screen until his wife and daughter joined him. The little family stood, silent, not touching one another. Then Rachel,

'What can we do? We're as good as dead, surely? Let’s make a run for it - in the van, not the boat. They'll be watching the boat. If we get as far as Deganwy, say, we can steal another boat there and make it across to Ireland. There'll be a Railway link to safety there, won't there?'

'It's not the boat or the van their watching, love, it's us. They seem able to read our thoughts - Lizzie, talk to me.'

'I'm not sure it's a trap: it might be of course but we'd be dead by now if that was all there was to it. No, they want something. They want us to smuggle some one out of the country. It may be a spy. Perhaps they want to find the escape route? If it was that though, they'd just fit a tracker device to the van and the boat and let us go on our way. I think they want our help! Maybe there's some person who's an embarrassment to them; some one who's too important to kill for some reason; some one who, oh, I don't know. Some one perhaps who's our passport out of here?'

'Rachel, what do you think?'

'I don't know, Dad. They know who we are and where we are. If they wanted us dead we would be. I think I agree with Mum; they either want us to show them the escape route or, and it's a big or, they want our help out of a messy situation. They might not even be the official government, of course; it just might be some official who wants a solution to a personal problem. I vote we wait and see.'

'That's possibly the best course of action; don't panic, carry on as usual. Who else is here now, Andrew?'

'Mr Jones came in about an hour ago, just before the message arrived.' They looked at one another.

'He's one of them, Dad. I'm sure. He's a Watch…'

'Rachel, shut up love. We don't know who he is, and that's best.'

'Dad, nobody else can afford to travel. Nobody has holidays now. Everyone with money left ages ago. We only get business people now and we all know exactly what their business is. Don't look like that! They know we know and we're only alive because for some God forsaken reason they need us alive. Sorry, sorry. Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dad. I'm bloody stupid.' Lizzie put her arms round the girl, hugging her tightly to her.

'Rachel, girl, we need you. Nobody stupid could have done all the things you've done and saved so many lives. You're going to save us too, me and your Dad, and whoever it is that's going to come with us. Your brother saves lives in that clinic of his and you do the same here. I don't know how and I don't know when but we'll all be together again soon, I feel it in my bones. Andrew, get a nice tray ready for Mr Jones and Rachel, love, you can take it up to him, and smile girl; he might just be the one who's going to save our lives.

The tray was prepared in silence. Rachel carried it upstairs and tapped on Mr Jones's door.

'Come in girl, come in. Ah, just how I like it, pop it down on the table. No, no; don't go. I need your help. Sit down beside me and listen. You helped a black man, Ed-Lamin Edwards, escape a while ago. Don't deny it, girl, you were followed, tracked at any rate,  all the way out and all the way back. Remember that kerfuffle about a missing life-raft? Now, we've got a similar job for you and your mum and dad. Listen; if you don't go you're dead. Trust me. There's a certain very senior Watchman needs a favour. He's decided you're the one to help him. Do as you're told and you might live. Don't, and you're dead. This very senior Watchman is going to become even more important very soon, but he's got a daughter who is standing in the way. Bit of an embarrassment to her dad. Now, he could have her killed - and he's got friends who would willingly kill her, but he's a bit sentimental. So, he's decided you're going to export her. You exported her boy friend, remember? Well, now's the time for his girlfriend to follow him and live happily ever after in a village on the banks of the River Gambia. You job is to get her there. You can stay there too, you and your scummy traitorous parents. Come back here and you're all dead. Understand? Good.  Go to the end of this street and wait. A black and grey four-by-four will stop and a young woman will get out. Bring her back here - she won't be a problem, she's been heavily sedated. Take her, and your parents, down to the boat and set off. Nobody will stop you. Keep going - there's a chance you might even make it. Slight chance, but better from your point of view than being the playmate of a couple of dozen of my boys. Very playful they can be, trust me. Your mum and dad can play with them too. The last girl they played with lasted three days. You are a virgin, aren't you, dear? Off you go and meet your new friend. Her name's Jane but you might have to remind her of it. Thanks for the tray - I do so enjoy a nice cup of Darjeeling.' She turned to go but he called her back.

'If anyone does stop you just remember the code; "Empire Windrush reverses". Apt, don't you think?' Rachel walked slowly downstairs and out of the front door. This time they were on their own; there must be no contact with other members of the Underground Railway. They were alone; three thousand sea miles lay before them.

Her father hunched over the keyboard, his head in his hands. Time to go; time to leave. A few hours more left in this house which had been their home in happier times. He remembered the excitement of greeting their very first guest, the father of Ed-Lamin, the young man who was to be their penultimate guest. In a very short while they would walk out of this solid, redbrick Victorian house, drive a mile or so to the mooring and set off to a land they had never before seen. Their son was there; his sister would sail and motor and navigate to him. There was very little they could take with them; food, fuel, whatever money they could grub together, a few bits of jewellery and paper work, clothing for sea and, hopefully, shore. Time to go and pack. Refugees; they were refugees now.