“It’s okay, Callum, you’re safe. It’s me, Dr Haver. I have just brought you back from a deep hypnosis. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. You’re safe. Focus on my voice, let it soothe and calm you.”
Callum relaxed and opened his eyes. He had returned from his hypnosis alive and well. He looked to his left to see Dr Haver sitting on her leather chair, her body tense and leaning forward, her hand gently resting on his. She was smiling softly. Callum let go of her hand and rubbed his eyes, eager to dislodge the last remnants of his hypnosis.
“Can you hear me, Callum? How are you feeling?”
Callum yawned and turned to face her
“Yeah, I can hear you, Doc. I feel tired. I feel utterly exhausted. Is that normal?”
Dr Haver retracted her hand and leaned back in the chair. She crossed her legs and gave a brief sigh, satisfied her patient had fully returned. “Hypnosis is not an exact science. It isn’t unusual for the patient to become disorientated, even sick, once the regression process is finished. Just take a few moments to gather your thoughts and let the mind resettle in the present. Hopefully the effects will wear off in a few minutes. May I suggest a drink of water? It might help.”
She reached to her small side-table and began to pour a glass of water from a large crystal jug. She smiled warmly and handed it to him. Callum accepted and drank down the soothing liquid in a matter of three gulps. He smiled and handed the glass back to her.
“How long was I under?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Bloody hell. It felt like ten, tops.” He closed his eyes again in attempt to ground himself. “It felt so real, Dr. I can still feel the heat on my body and the sense of colossal emptiness, and that figure.”
Dr Haver adjusted her position and snatched up a notebook and pen from the table
“Was it the same as last time? Were there any changes?”
Callum turned to face her. “No changes and yes, it was exactly the same as last time. The fire, the dog, and my own face killing me. What the hell does it mean? Am I losing the plot?”
“In all honesty, I don’t know, Callum. The amount of residual drugs in your system is undoubtedly affecting your cognitive abilities. In truth, I have never encountered such a barrier in obtaining lost memories. It’s been a month now and we are still no closer to a breakthrough. Usually there are some signs of progress but…”
Callum sat bolt upright, his body tense. “One month? What the hell are you talking about? I’ve only been here a few days!”
Haver looked unsurprised by his statement. In fact, she seemed somewhat relaxed about it, nonchalant, as if she had expected it. She sighed gently.
“No, Callum, it has been one month. We have had twelve of these sessions in total, and all have ended the same way. Each time you wake from the regression, you do so with the same story. And, when prompted, you have forgotten anything previous, apart from the details of the same dream. It is like we are constantly playing catch-up with your short-term memory. Each time I have to inform you of the duration of your stay, and each time you react to the news in the same way. Only this time I’m afraid it may be too late. We really needed to get some answers today, if we stand any chance of convincing a jury. To say we are cutting it fine is an understatement.”
Callum stared at her unblinkingly. “What do you mean by that?”
Haver shifted uncomfortably in her seat and leaned forward slightly
“Because it’s tomorrow that you are in court,” she stated bluntly.
Eleven
Callum looked around the sparse and barren room and rubbed his tired eyes. It had taken no more than forty-five minutes to travel from the hospital to the County Court, and the subsequent cell he now found himself in.
It had all seemed like a surreal dream. The Custody Officers handcuffing him then leading him across the entry port into the holding area beneath the building; the booking-in procedure; and finally the humiliation of the strip-search. When they released him from his restraints he had felt strangely relieved, but as the heavy cell door slammed shut behind him, Callum was engulfed by a crushing sense of despair.
The journey from the hospital had given him time to think, not just about what had happened in the past but what was about to happen concerning his future. From his secure transport, he had overheard the prison guards laugh and joke about what they thought was going to happen to him, he had cringed as he heard one say, “…rest of his life in a six-by-six concrete room.”
Upon his departure, Dr Haver had informed him that she was testifying on his behalf regarding his medical and psychological state. And, although he was thankful for her support, he didn’t hold out much hope that it would do any good. Even one of the prison guards had taken great relish in mentioning that Callum was going up in front of Judge Holler—or “The Hanging Judge”, as they referred to him. It would appear that Callum was facing a real crusading angel, a man eager to send a clear message to the criminals before him, someone who took great delight and pleasure in sentencing to the very upper limits of the law.
At this point, Callum reasoned that, barring an act of God, he would be spending the rest of his life in a maximum-security prison with only four walls and a crushing sense of loss as company.
Callum glanced up as he heard the rattle of keys in the lock, and watched as the door was opened, the familiar stern face of one of his prison guards staring emotionlessly back at him. His shirt crisp and white and his boots polished to a high shine.
“Ok, Benson, it’s time to go. Stand up and move towards me. When I say stop, I want you to give me your right arm. I’m going to place the cuffs on you, then cuff them to me. Once they are secure we will be making our way up to the court anteroom, where you will be un-cuffed then escorted into the courtroom. Do you understand my instructions?”
Callum nodded slowly and rose to his feet. He had no more fight left in him; in fact, he just wanted to get it over and done with. Before leaving the hospital, Callum had managed to talk in private to his council, a short dumpy man with a red face and tight-fitting suit.
His name was Burgess and, from the outset, he had informed Callum of his disgruntlement regarding being forced to take the case and that there was nothing he could do to assist him. It took him less than twenty seconds to explain that Callum’s life was indeed over and done with, and beyond salvation. He had added, as a footnote, that only God could be of any use to him now.
Callum had smiled at that particular remark and had laughed at the look on Burgess’s face when he had calmly retorted with, “Fuck your God!” The man couldn’t leave the room fast enough. Callum smiled at that memory.
He raised his right arm and allowed the officer to double-lock the cuffs, then ease Callum out of his room. As they walked the length of the corridor he was suddenly aware of chanting rising from the other cells. It was quiet at first, but grew in volume, the urgency of the words getting more and more powerful. Scallywag couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Over twenty other inmates were chanting the same phrase repeatedly:
“Benson the basement brutalizer!”
Followed by cheering and screams of, “Kill them all!” and his name being repeated over and over. The guard yanked him, urging him to move faster, eager to remove the cause of the sudden uproar.
As the door was sealed, locking him in the anteroom, he could still hear the faint sounds from the cell complex two flights below. The other inmates were still shouting and singing his name unaware that he had left the vicinity.
Callum glanced up as the officer released him from the handcuffs and began to put them away in his belt pouch.
“What was all that about? Why were they shouting about me?”
The officer huffed, obviously not wanting to engage in conversation with the criminal he had been assigned to guard. He looked up and sighed.
“They think you are some sort of poster boy for the criminal fraternity. In their eyes, you are some sort of fucking rock star. In prison the more br
utal the crime the higher up the pecking order you go. To them you are a fucking hero,” he said, his voice monotone.
Callum rubbed his wrists, the bone aching from the steel restraints; the faint beginnings of a smile caught the corner of his mouth.
A small victory in an otherwise unwinnable war, he found himself thinking. It would appear that he was indeed destined for hell, but what awaited him wasn’t some shabby prison canteen stool, but a blood red throne surrounded by adoring fans. He was still smiling when the second of the doors opened, signalling his summons into the stuffy and wood-polish smelling court room.
The officer grinned and nodded towards the beckoning doorway. “Judgement time, you sick bastard.” He then gave Callum a little push to get him moving. Callum shot him a quick glare. The officer’s smile faded a little as he led Scallywag into the courtroom.
Callum inwardly laughed. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
He looked around the courtroom. He stared at each person in turn: his lawyer, Burgess, who was still wearing the same ill-fitting and threadbare suit, albeit covered by an equally ill-fitting robe. Despite being Callum’s council, he had decided not to engage with him, which in all honesty didn’t bother Scallywag in the slightest. After all, he was about as much use as a plastic fireguard. The only thing that Callum did find pleasing was his young pretty secretary, diligently pandering to his every whim. He very much doubted he would be seeing such a beauty for a considerable time, so enjoyed the sight while he could.
To his right, he saw the gaggle of briefs and assistants working on behalf of the prosecution. He had almost laughed aloud at their perfect white wigs and ridiculous gowns. So much pomp, they looked like nothing more than idiots basking in their privilege and doing nothing more than planning their next skiing trip.
To the front was the court usher, darting to and fro. Callum smiled when he came to the realisation that he looked like some sort of weasel. Then there was the court secretary, stoically taking down notes of the proceedings. He cast his gaze to his far right, to a bench situated just in front of the empty public gallery, upon which sat the familiar faces of the policemen, Brewer and Howe, both dressed in sharp expensive suits, both looking on with what appeared to be excitement, eager to witness justice dispensed. Finally, in the middle and sitting high above the rest of the room’s occupants—and hidden behind a thick wooden bench complete with royal crest—was the ringleader of this circus, the infamous Judge Holler.
It would appear that Holler was the only person aware of Callum scanning and scrutinising the room. While all the others carried on scrabbling for documents or arguing amongst themselves, the judge held firm his stare upon Scallywag. Callum felt uncomfortable. He tried to look away but couldn’t. The man’s stare boring straight through him, his piercing deep blue eyes seemingly hypnotic.
Despite the rallying call from the other inmates, and his sudden acceptance of his fate, Callum began to feel fear, the realisation finally hitting him that this man intended to make an example of him, to show the world how justice should be served. It was then that Scallywag succumbed to the inevitable, and without really thinking addressed the court.
“I wish to change my plea!”
The whole court fell silent and turned to face Callum, their faces an array of responses ranging from shock to pleasure. Judge Holler leaned forward and immediately held up his hand, so as to stop the inevitable backlash and chatter before it even began.
The court’s occupants understood the command and remained silent, eagerly awaiting the Judge’s response to such an unusual admission.
“I’m sorry, Mr Benson, could you please repeat that?”
Callum rubbed his hands together and, after taking a deep breath, addressed the court once again, his tone even and clear.
“Yes, your honour. I wish to change my plea to guilty. Even though I can’t remember committing the acts I am charged with, I fully understand the level of evidence against me. I have worked with specialists in the field of memory regression, but our endeavours have come to nothing, I was hopeful that I could present some semblance of truth to you today, but alas I have failed. It is with a heavy heart that I change my plea. I’m sure that the outcome of this trial would be a foregone conclusion and, as such, I wouldn’t want to waste your time or the court’s. Not to mention the taxpayers’ money. In light of these facts, I wish to plead guilty in the hopes that you will show leniency when sentencing. I would like it to be added to the official record that I am truly sorry for my actions, and I wish the families of my victims the very best for the future.”
Holler remained unflinching and continued to stare at the criminal before him. Callum sensed he had shocked him, but the judge was giving little away. Holler sucked in a deep breath.
“I see, Mr Benson. Are you sure you understand the ramifications of such a statement? Would it be not wise or prudent to at least consult with your legal team before admitting such guilt and taking this course of action? Of course, I am not averse to accepting such a plea, but have to, by law, ensure that you understand what you are doing and that you were not coerced in any way.”
Callum nodded. “I understand, your honour, and I do not wish to consult my legal team. I make this decision of my own free will. I have made up my mind and would just like to proceed at your earliest convenience. I think this would be the best for all concerned”
Holler rubbed his face, taking a few precious seconds to decide his next course of action. Then abruptly stood, as did the rest of the court
“Court will retire for today whilst both prosecution and defence come to some sort of address regarding this turn of events. I accept the defendant’s change of plea and, as such, believe we should schedule sentencing as soon as possible. That is, unless there are any objections?” He stared at both sides in turn, awaiting a response. But there was none. He grabbed the gavel and slammed it down. “Court is adjourned!” Then he left the room via a small door behind him. The room was suddenly filled with voices and activity.
The prison officer could say nothing as he ushered Callum into the anti-room. He remained silent as he applied the handcuffs and escorted Scallywag down the two flights of stairs and back into the holding complex. Callum remained silent as he was guided to his cell. He held up his arm, awaiting his restraints to be released. The officer broke the awkward silence
“Well, I didn’t see that one coming.”
Callum merely shrugged. “I was going to be found guilty anyway. Might as well get it over and done with.”
The officer didn’t respond at first then, once the cuffs were off, said, “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
Callum nodded and made his way over to the bed, its thin blue mattress lying upon it, a pillow and blanket folded up and placed at its end. He slumped down and covered his bloodshot eyes with the pillow. The officer coughed. “Alright then, I’ll be back in a bit with your brew.” And with that, he slammed the door shut and locked it.
Callum listened as the officer’s footsteps dissipated and could feel the tears welling in his eyes; the nightmare was almost over. Now it was a case of getting to prison and trying to make some sort of life for himself. All he wanted to do was keep his head down and be left alone. Maybe one day he would remember what happened but, in all honesty, he wasn’t going to hold his breath.
It would appear he was guilty and, as such, he had to be punished for his transgressions. Even if he were innocent, no one would ever believe him anyway.
Callum heard the jingle of keys and the cell door open. He remained where he was and didn’t bother to move. “Just put it anywhere,” he stated with the pillow still over his head.
“I’m afraid that would make having a chat a tad awkward, Mr Benson,” a voice replied.
Callum sat up, tossing the pillow to the side. He looked at the new arrival. Judge William Holler stood in the doorway, clutching two white disposable cups. He was dressed in a smart three-piece suit, the wig and gown disposed of in favour of civility.
>
“After your little outburst I wanted to make sure and hear with my own ears your reasoning behind the change in plea. Don’t get me wrong I am of the opinion that you are indeed guilty. But as it has never happened to me in my courtroom before, I felt somewhat obliged to pay you a brief visit. Not only that, but you have made me curious.” He moved forward and handed Callum one of the cups. The guard appeared behind the judge, who turned and waved his hand dismissively.
“I’m sure Mr Benson is aware that should anything happen to me…” He let the sentence trail off. The guard seemed a little hesitant, but moved away anyway, leaving Holler and Callum alone in the cell. Holler looked around “I don’t care for your taste in decoration, Mr Benson.”
Callum remained quiet, settling for cradling his cup with both hands.
Holler eased forward. “Tell me, Mr Benson, are you sure of your actions? Are you positive you wish to waive the right of trial by jury?”
Callum sat back on his bed and leaned against the wall. He sighed, took a brief sip of his coffee, and nodded sombrely. “I’m sure. We both know I’m going to be found guilty; the evidence is stacked so high that I would need a crane to see over it. When so many people tell you you are guilty, there comes a time when you start to believe in what they are saying and have to face the inevitable.”
Holler merely nodded and made his way over to the bed. He eased himself down, perching on the edge.
“Fair enough, Mr Benson. You understand that I had to make sure. There can be no room for mistakes when sentencing a man to spend the rest of his life in prison.”
Callum remained silent.
“I am satisfied with your reasoning and am sure you are of sound mind to make such a decision. Therefore I will accept the change in plea and will set the wheels in motion regarding sentencing.” Holler stood and made his way to the doorway. He paused and turned to face Scallywag, who had remained motionless upon the bed.
“It is always a sad state of affairs when a sibling is left alone in the world with no family around them. It really pulls at the heartstrings when a young girl is left to defend for herself against the cruelty that lurks in the world. Wouldn’t you agree, Callum? You never know what might happen; you never know when some evildoer will bring their happy life crashing down around them. I personally pity such creatures.”
Scallywag TYPESET Page 11
