The Beast Inside

by Monique Singleton

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘Ok if I sit?’ A middle-aged inmate asked. Jess looked up and nodded. ‘Not really the best possible start of your stay here, to antagonise the Kundela’ the woman spoke softly, without any judgement, just matter-of-fact.

  Jess shrugged. Whatever.

  ‘I’ll give you the who’s who in here. What you do with it is your prerogative.’

  There was always one of these types, the ones who were more or less neutral and just wanted to give the newbie a head start, a chance. The prison’s version of a mother-figure.

  ‘There are two major gangs here’ she continued her monologue, not expecting an answer. ‘The Kundela and the Bitches, appropriately named by the way. They rule the place. The guards here are just for show.’

  Looking around, Jess could see that it was no joke. The guards acted out their role as the controllers, but as in so many maximum-security prisons, the real power lay with a select group of inmates. Like in the outside world, everything and everyone was for sale, for the right price.

  ‘The Kundela—the name has an aboriginal origin, some kind of death bone or something like that—anyway they control the drugs, so more or less everything. Anything goes down here—they have a stake in it. Their leader is Sheila, she’s not out here. Second in command is that bitch Beverly. You met her this morning. They won’t let you get away with the shame you put her in. She’s the enforcer and frankly everyone’s scared shit of her. Bev is one sick psycho. Too late to steer clear of them now. Your best bet would be to join the Bitches, if they’ll have you. Hope that they can protect your back.’

  ‘I’m not joining anyone.’ Jess finally said.

  ‘There are no loners here. You are going to have to choose sides or you won’t last the night’.

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  With that she left.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I was sick of the constant tension. Not knowing when the next attack would come. And it would, of that I was sure.

  I had been able to turn the first attack in my favour. I’d knocked the attacker to the ground with only my fighting skills and resisted the urge to use excessive strength. It wouldn’t do to show how strong I was, not yet. But naturally my victory had just pissed them off more.

  It was mainly the Kundela I watched out for. The rest just waited to see when I would fold, or die, whatever came first.

  The second attempt was better scripted, more structured, and more successful.

  Beverly, the one I had shamed on my first full day here, was out for my blood. She stuck me multiple time with a homemade shank while her fellow gang members pummelled me with broken chair-legs, their fists and anything else they could find. It was six to one, so I had to let them have the upper-hand. In hindsight, I should have known that Bev would take it to a new level and try to kill me.

  She stuck the shank deep in my side, puncturing my left lung, the second thrust went into my heart, the third the other lung. Any one of the stabbings would have killed someone else. Me, it just hurt like hell. And, I bled like a stuck pig.

  The guards were noticeably slow in breaking up the fight. By the time they got to me, I looked more or less terminal. They bundled me up and sent me to the infirmary. When I finally got there, I was already half-healed, at least on the inside. I slowed the regeneration of the skin as much as possible. I needed some kind of wounds to at least explain the blood, even though the cuts and the sea of red were in no way compatible.

  The nurses cut the shirt off me and searched for the lethal wounds. Frustrated, they turned me over and probed the wounds I had left. They argued amongst themselves and finally blamed the guards for overreacting and wasting their time.

  This seemed like the right time to open my eyes. I had been conscious throughout, but had thought it prudent to play comatose for a while. They dropped me back on to the gurney, surprised and shocked that I was awake and maybe even that I was alive. Looking down at the tatters of my ripped shirt and the big blotches of red that covered the material, I could understand why—it was a lot of blood.

  Shit. That would mean that I would be under par for the coming few days. That, and I would need extra food to build up my body again before the change overtook me, both would be a challenge in general population. I decided that it would be safer and quieter to stay in the infirmary for at least one or two days, so I sighed in supposed pain and let my body go limp again.

  It worked. They kept me in the infirmary for another twenty-four hours. I couldn’t hold back the healing any longer than that. The bandages were discarded after the wounds disappeared overnight, so they let me go. It was fun screwing with their minds. Knowing they had probably been bought off by the Kundela.

  Anyway, I was dumped back into general population and strutted back into the central sports area on the outside terrain. Bev nearly fainted when I casually walked by and gave her the finger.

  Her face said it all. I should be dead—why wasn’t I?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They stayed away for the next two days, not knowing what to do. I should be dead. The still-visible blood stain on the sport’s tarmac was proof that I had lost more blood than was humanly possible. But here I was, alive and kicking. After the initial surprise, they started to come closer again. Small irritations. No major challenges, just small pushes here and there.

  The cat and mouse game continued for a week. The Kundela were too impressed or maybe too superstitious to try anything big. But on the other hand, they had lost face with the other gangs. Something would break sooner or later.

  It was getting tedious.

  I decided to stop the hassle. Turn the hunter into the hunted. Go directly to the source.

  The Kundela’s “headquarters” was in the D-block. So that was where I was headed.

  Crossing the open area, I took in the security arrangements they had in place. I saw at least five or six “bodyguards”, big, mean looking women, probably armed, even in here. Three prison guards added to the security ring.

  With surprise and unbelief as the best offence, I casually sauntered into the enemies’ stronghold. My claws were itching to come out and the hair on my back rippled in anticipation. I reluctantly held the change at bay. Man, I was spoiling for a fight.

  They let me in. Probably didn’t know what else to do, and they were lulled into some sort of complacency because of the odds.

  Inside D-block the air was heavy with cigarette smoke and the stale odour of too many people in a restricted area. The tension was almost palatable. I stood inside the door and paused for a moment to get my bearings and a feel of the situation. There was even more muscle in here. Most of it centred around the open door of a cell opposite where I was now. So naturally, that was where I was headed.

  If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead. Well not me, but anyone else… you know what I mean.

  Bev barred the entrance to what seemed to be a “suite” of cells. From where I was, I could see that some of the connecting walls between the neighbouring cells had been demolished to extend the space.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’ she hissed.

  ‘Just being neighbourly.’

  ‘You should be dead.’

  ‘Yeah well I’m not.’

  ‘Next time, I’ll make sure.’

  ‘There won’t be a next time, at least not for you.’

  She was seething. Just about ready to jump me. I stood my ground.

  ‘Much as I enjoy talking to you Bev… I didn’t come here for you.’

  ‘Let her in.’ The voice came from the recesses of the cells. It was a deep, resonating, female voice. ‘Search her first,’ she added.

  Patting me down roughly, Bev was disappointed when she couldn’t find anything that she could use against me. I smiled. That aggravated her even more. Reluctantly, she stood aside to let me pass. I walked into the cells.

  It really was a suite, with separate cells for different functions.
One a bedroom, another a bathroom of sorts, and the one in front of me, an office. It was complete with a desk, a row of cabinets for files and a coffee maker prominently visible on top of a small fridge. All things you would not expect in a maximum-security prison. Behind the desk was a mammoth of a woman. Big all around, the dark aboriginal features contrasting with the bright flowers and parrots of her Hawaiian shirt. She was observing me as I was her. Curiosity being the main emotion I could see. She wasn’t the least bit afraid or anxious. Why should she be? She was surrounded by her trained killers, whereas I was alone.

  ‘You got guts coming here like this.’ She was amused, but an edge showed. This was the boss of the main gang in the country’s worst prison. She didn’t get there by being nice.

  She was an extremely dangerous woman. But then again, so was I.

  ‘I kind of felt that the past few days were an invitation.’

  She smiled. ‘Bev here tells me she killed you.’ She nodded towards the door. I had already felt that her number two had followed me into the office.

  ‘She tried.’

  ‘So why you still breathing.’

  ‘Not my time I guess.’

  ‘I can change that.’ Bev said from the door.

  It was my turn to smile.

  After a minute of silence Sheila asked. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I came to offer you a deal.’

  She laughed. ‘Offer me a deal? You right in the head?’

  I stayed silent.

  Her smile faded. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘You leave me alone and I won’t kill you.’

  She was speechless. My direct approach was working. Though she recovered quickly.

  ‘You suicidal? Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here like this, threatening me?’

  ‘No threat, a deal.’

  ‘Look around bitch, you’re on your own, there are more than twenty-five of my best here, ready to jump you.’

  ‘They’d be too late.’ My eyes were locked onto hers. I could see that she was confused.

  ‘What the hell could you do? I could break you in two with my bare hands. How do you think you going to kill me? You’re not even armed.’

  ‘Oh, I’m armed all right, I’m always armed, with more than enough weapons to kill you and all your soldiers.’

  She sat back, disbelief all over her face. Spreading her arms out she gestured to the women around us. ‘You lot believe this nut case? She threatening me? You search her properly Bev?’

  ‘She got no weapons on her.’ Bev answered.

  Standing up, she planted her hands palm down on the desk and leant forward to emphasise her next words. ‘You’re beginning to piss me off. Give me a good reason not to kill you right here, right now.’ Bev laughed cruelly and moved to the side to stand more or less next to the desk.

  ‘Like I said, I’m here for a deal—you leave me alone, I leave you alive.’

  Sheila scowled. Before she could answer me, I bent forward and locked her left hand onto the table with my right. My strength was the first surprise, the slowly extending claws the second and most spectacular. She froze.

  I let two claws of my right hand embed deep in the wood of the desk. The others were slowly piercing the skin on the back of her hand. Just enough to draw a bit of blood, and keep her right where I wanted her. My left hand was flat on the table, the claws dragging deep furrows when I moved them, the screaming of the wood more than enough to convince her of their sharpness.

  Bev and the rest were frozen up against the walls. This was too weird, even for them, their courage failed them miserably.

  ‘So, let’s you and me continue our little conversation in private. Tell them to back off.’ I said softly.

  She motioned with her free arm. Nothing happened. The claws went in a few millimetres deeper. ‘Now!’ She called out.

  They moved, reluctant to start with, then frantically, to get out.

  ‘That’s better. Now, where were we? Oh yes the deal.’ I had her attention. ‘I don’t plan on being here very long. But in the meantime, I want some peace and quiet. Your girls are bugging me. I don’t like being bugged. You understand what I’m saying?’ Another few millimetres, her face contorted, paled.

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you. But if you want a fight, you’ll get much more than you bargained for. There are some things you should know about me Sheila. What you see here is just the beginning. I am your worst nightmare. Believe me. I will rip your throat out, gut you and watch you die. And there will be nothing you can do about it. You know why? Because you can’t kill me. I’m immortal. And guess what? You’re not.’ To emphasise the words, I let my face change enough to accommodate my fangs—they slipped into view. I could see the terror in her eyes.

  ‘You’re the devil’ she whispered. The superstition and fear showed in her terrified gaze.

  ‘In person.’ The claws of my left hand scratched down the desk again to make my point.

  ‘So, we have a deal?’ My voice was still contorted by the facial changes and only just understandable.

  ‘Yes, yes, we have a deal.’

  I retracted my claws, rearranged my face and stood up straight again. ‘Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ I said in a normal and friendly voice.

  She was shaking and I could smell the sharp ammonia of urine—she hadn’t been able to contain her bladder.

  Smiling I turned and made my way back out of the cell. Bev shied away from me when I looked her in the eye. Her terror mirrored that of Sheila. What they had seen defied reason and scared them shitless. I have that effect on people sometimes.

  News travelled fast and they left me alone after that. No one wanted a rerun of my meeting with Sheila. Nobody wanted to know the extent of my abilities. I finally had some peace.

  Now all I had to fight was the urge to change and kill everyone in sight.

  Piece of cake.

  Yeah right.

  I had to get out of here, in a hurry.

  It took a bit longer.

  I had been inside for three weeks now.

  The status quo had been established since my run-in with Sheila. They left me alone and I returned the favour. The other gangs were curious but wary. They saw how the Kundela avoided me and cleverly decided to follow suit. Occasionally there was someone who just needed to push that little bit further. Making short work out of them with my strength and fighting skills only enhanced the status I had achieved in the prison. But it was all just a matter of time before either Sheila decided that she would no longer be intimidated, or I went stir crazy and started killing everything in sight.

  I wanted peace. That I’d achieved, at least as much as possible. But the matter of the building tension didn’t diminish.

  It was the reason I was here to start. I wasn’t able to find release in Australia as I hoped.

  The urge.

  The killing need. It remained.

  Physically tiring myself didn’t work. Feeling rested and peaceful didn’t either.

  I hated myself for it, but there was no ignoring the bloodlust.

  I needed to kill to stay sane.

  Once again, I concentrated on the dregs of society. The kills were sparse, and geographically wide-spread, but they had been noticed.

  Someone was watching. Joining the dots.

  The question was—who?

  The answer came sooner than I expected.

  Jack came to visit. And he brought someone with him. Someone who, it turned out, I really didn’t want to see. He knew too much about me and that had repercussions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jess sat in the bolted down chair. She had no real choice if she wanted visiting rights. She’d let them shackle her hands to the steel table. It looked quite solid and sturdy. But that was by normal standards. Not by hers.

  She was looking forward to seeing Jack. It was surprising how much she appreciated his visits. They had grown so close in the pa
st year. But of late, she noticed that his health had started to decline. His age and stature was not so much the issue, as people with dwarfism can live as long as the larger sized people. But his lifestyle, previous wounds and stress had taken its toll. More than before, he felt his years. Though he’d never told her how old he was, she guessed somewhere in his early forties. It was hard to determine with him. Sometimes he had the energy of a teenager, other times it deserted him, and his aches and pains became more prominent.

  She had also noticed other problems, of a deeper origin. His scent had changed. He was seriously ill.

  The door opened and Jack came in. He walked round the table and kissed her on the cheek, hugging her as if he never wanted to let go. She could feel the tension in his small body, in his embrace—the tension and the guilt. What was that about?

  He wasn’t alone.

  She looked up at the man who stood in the doorway.

  He was an impeccably dressed man of about forty. His whole stature was one of presumed importance. He surveyed the surroundings, finally settling his eyes on the woman shackled to the bolted down table. She didn’t seem so menacing, quite beautiful really. Even in her far from flattering orange jump suite. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew too much.

  ‘Jess, this is Barkley Smith.’ Jack introduced the man, reluctantly.

  What no “the second” or something corny like that after the name? She thought it seemed mandatory with this type.

  He didn’t bother to hold out his hand—she was shackled anyway. He took the chair opposite her and sat down without waiting for an invitation or for Jack to take a seat. Placing a plain yellowish folder down on the table, he observed her. Not shy of eye contact he locked his eyes with hers. She could win a staring contest any day and gave back her best.

  He laughed. ‘Not easily intimidated I see.’