He made a final and fatal mistake in his reign of terror, while assaulting another schoolboy behind a public toilet, his violent attack was interrupted by the boy’s Alsatian dog, who raced to the aid of his young owner, and clamping its sneering teeth into the back of Bernard’s neck.
He was restrained by passers-by until the police arrested him. During interrogation, he admitted to his two previous crimes and led the police to the island where they exhumed the decomposed body of the young boy.
He spent twenty years in a psychiatric hospital and was transferred to the hostel after serving his full sentence. He still carries the scars of the Alsatian bite, where he seemingly appears proud of his wound, and freely relays his experiences of his previous violent and sadistic behaviour to anyone who curiously enquires.
The silence of the room was abruptly disturbed by the arrival of the church group.
Martha led the brigade, still singing the final hymn as she removed her hat and pulled up a chair by the fire. Elizabeth threw herself heavily on the settee, followed by Dorothy, who squatted on the floor beside her.
Norman put his head around the door, looked around the room and left.
‘What’s that bloody stink?’ Alfred shouted, as he entered the room, loosening his tie.
John noticed Ralf Parker’s haunting look as he got up from the table, clenching his fist. This was John’s time to leave before any violence erupted.
He was on the late shift at his work but decided to leave early and take advantage of the warm afternoon. Walking down the hill, he noticed the police presence at the fairground had gone, along with the fairground. Only litter and mud tracks remained on the vast area of wasteland, hard to imagine the activity the fair had brought to the town and the publicity surrounding it.
John Bell stood at the broken fence for a few moments with a contented smile growing across his face as he focused on the site where the caravan had stood.
A feeling of satisfaction and relief flowed over him as he continued his walk, confidently smiling at the few people struggling up the hill towards him.
He noticed a young girl on the footpath across the road; she was wearing a pair of blue shorts and a tight low-cut white vest, with her youthful breasts requiring no help to create a seductive cleavage, her ginger hair, full and bouncy, around her face.
John walked across the road and watched her tight buttocks swing from side to side as he walked closely behind her, accelerating his speed. As he was about to approach the girl, she opened a garden gate and gave him a seductive smile as she closed it behind her.
With the hotel in sight, he continued his pace as he crossed the roundabout to the hotel staff entrance.
He had only five days work left before he was to visit his sister in Fleetwood, but he still felt apprehensive, more on returning to his criminal neighbourhood than to visit Jennifer.
Late Sunday afternoon was always quiet in the kitchen, the chefs and waiting staff had left for the day after the Sunday lunch service, leaving only a pile of pans and crockery behind them.
Before attempting the pile of dishes, he went into the staff room for a cigarette. He noticed an open locker and peered inside. He found a pile of unwashed lingerie. Piece by piece he took it out and held it up to the light. All of it was lighter and darker shades of blue. He took each piece between his lips to feel the silk and lace against his mouth as he shoved a pair of blue panties in his trouser pocket.
He finished his shift at 8 o’clock as usual. The hostel authorities would not allow an extension of his evening working hours as all residents had to be back in the building by 10 o’clock at the latest.
It was raining slightly as he wearily climbed back up the hill, pausing slightly to look at the house where the young girl had entered that afternoon. A dim light shone through the net curtains in the upstairs window, the downstairs in darkness.
The rain was dripping off his baseball cap, running along his neck and down his back as he tilted his head upwards towards the bedroom window. His feet were cold and uncomfortable with his socks now wet from the holes in his shoes, which were filling with water as he stood. He lowered his head to avoid the increasing rain and continued his climb up the hill.
Once on level ground, he sprinted to the large wooden front door, just missing being hit by a car, which splashed by him at high speed.
He heard music from Gary’s room next door as he fumbled through his wet pockets for his key. Once inside, he quickly undressed and placed his wet clothes over the radiator to dry overnight.
He wrapped himself in his well-worn tartan dressing gown, grabbed his towel and made his way to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. As he lowered himself into the hot soapy water, he felt his body warm through to his bones as he ducked his head under the water, running his hands through his greasy hair.
The opening of the unlocked door startled him. ‘Someone in here,’ he shouted, as he quickly raised his body out of the bath to push the door closed.
Gary Brown’s head appeared around the door. ‘Hi mate,’ he said, with a wide smile. ‘Fancy a bit of company?’
‘Well, I’m taking a bath, Gary,’ John replied, as he lowered himself back into the bath.
Gary entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. ‘Is there room for two in their mate?’ he asked, as he struggled to pull his tight vest up over his head.
‘Well, not really mate, I can hardly get in the fucking thing myself,’ John answered, as he watched him remove his white boxer shorts.
Gary lowered his naked body and kneeled at the side of the bath, reaching over to grab the bar of soap, which had congealed between the rusty taps.
Gary glared at John as he vigorously soaped his hands and placed them heavily on John’s chest. He rested the back of his head on the chipped enamel bath as Gary lathered his shoulders, neck and arms with circular movements down his stomach.
His strong hands slid gently onto his erect penis, immersed in the warm soapy water as he inserted the middle finger of his right hand between the crevices of John’s buttocks. Gary’s slowly rubbed his finger around the opening of his rectum as he retained a firm grip on John’s penis, gently inserting his wet finger inside him.
His forced his finger upward, which effortlessly raised John’s buttocks from the surface of the bath as he pulled his penis to reveal his full torso. John groaned as he ejaculated. He slowly lowered his body under the water, lifted his head from the cold enamel bath with a smile of satisfaction.
Gary stood up and removed the towel hanging behind the door. He put on his shorts and flung his vest over his shoulder as he walked over to the door. ‘Just to repay the favour, mate,’ he said, as he opened the door and left the room.
He lay in the bath for a few minutes, relaxing after his unexpected and pleasurable intrusion before standing up to soap his body. He reached for the damp towel Gary had thrown to the floor and lowered his hand through the grey water searching for the chainless plug to empty the bath.
He returned to his room and lay in his bed, re-living his recent sexual encounter as he stared at the net curtain covering his small window, its off-white colour had changed to amber from the street light outside.
The rain lashing at the window woke him early. He washed and shaved quickly and took his clothes off the radiator, which had dried overnight He entered the dining room to see Gary and Dorothy eating breakfast. Gary looked up as he pulled out his chair, ‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘Sleep well?’
‘Yes, very well, thanks,’ John replied, as he sat down. Dorothy looked up from her cereal with a suspicious expression as if being aware of the previous nights encounter in the bathroom.
No words were spoken over breakfast. John left Dorothy and Gary at the table as he took his cup of tea into the television room to have a cigarette. The room was empty and quiet, only the ticking of the clock of the mantelpiece broke the silence.
As John gazed out of the window, not focused on anything in particular, he noticed young P
eter Scott briskly walking across the wet grass, carrying a bucket. The hood on his bright yellow anorak was pulled over his face, shielding it from the oncoming rain.
John’s attention was drawn to the kitchen door, where Gary Parker was carrying two bulging black bin-liners through the heavy downpour.
John watched him as he threw the bags down at the rear gate, opposite the garden shed.
He stood upright, looking back at the house, wiping his hands as he shook the rain from his hair. His wet, striped sleeveless shirt stuck to his body outlining his muscle packed frame. He walked over to the garden shed, looking back at the house nervously; He quickly went in and closed the glass door behind him.
John wiped the condensation off the window with the palm of his hand to see the silhouettes of the guys in the shed. Gary’s shifty look aroused John’s suspicions and he became increasingly curious as both guys remained in the shed.
The rain briefly stopped as the sun struggled to burn its way through the mist. John walked over the wet lawn, feeling inquisitive as he tried to open the shed door. It was locked from the inside, which further aroused his suspicions. He peered through the small windows as he walked along the side of the glass building, but neither Gary nor Peter was to be seen.
Attached to the shed was an old brick outhouse which was used as a storage area for the mower and various garden tools. John climbed on a compost heap and peered through a small window frame, being the only source of light to the building.
He precariously gripped the drainpipe with one hand and an ivy branch with the other as he peered through the broken window, as his unbalanced feet rested on the compost heap below him.
A few missing roof tiles gave an additional ray of light, awarding him a more advantageous view.
Alerted by groaning sounds coming for the far end of the building, he saw Gary leaning against the wall.
A stream of light from the roof shone brightly on his torso, which was revealed by his open white shirt. His trousers and pants were around his ankles, resting in dirty water from the previous downpour.
He was groaning loudly as Peter Scott squatted between his legs with Gary’s penis embedded in his mouth. The sight of this sent erotic jolts through John’s veins.
Gary was holding tightly onto Peter’s short cropped hair, as he appeared to force his penis further down his throat, causing him to choke on his over-sized genitalia.
John’s adrenalin rushed through his body and his heart pumped madly at the sight of these two hunks engaging in oral sex. He became sexually aroused and released his grip from the drainpipe to open his trouser zip, to fondle himself as he watched intensely as they performed, unaware of their voyeur peering through the broken window.
John was alerted by a garbage lorry which pulled up alongside the gate, being visible from his position. He quickly jumped down from the compost heap, adjusting himself as he walked back to the house.
He returned to the television room where some of the residents had gathered, took his seat by the window and reached for the newspaper from the opposite chair. He peered over the paper to see Gary leave the garden shed, fastening his shirt buttons as he walked over the wet lawn and back through the kitchen door.
John went to his bedroom and changed his leaking shoes for the new trainers. Putting on his raincoat as he left the building, he walked toward the cricket ground half a mile further up the hill.
His attention was drawn to a white van pulling into a lay-by adjacent to the public toilets. The driver jumped out of his cab and gave a sideways glance over to John.
Dodging between the traffic as he crossed the busy road, he went into the Victorian-style toilet block and saw the guy standing at the far end of a row of urinals. He was about 30-years-old, with an attractive face under his red baseball cap. His loose fitting blue trousers were splattered with various colours of paint, which had splashed onto his heavy grey boots.
His legs were slightly open as he stood back and pissed into the urinal. He gave a slight glance over at John encouraging him as he approached the urinal.
John had already been sexually aroused after watching Gary and Peter in the shed and was now desperately in need for sexual relief by anyone other than himself.
The guy stood at the urinal long enough for John to realise he was game for at least a ‘hand-job’ so he approached him without hesitation. The whole place smelled of excrement ineffectively masked by a pungent disinfectant, it wasn’t very encouraging. His nose pinched itself and he tried not to breathe too deeply. His hands were unsteady with excitement as the guy turned his body towards him. John was nervous, and found his breathing difficult to control and came in unpredictable shudders.
As they fondled each other, the guy stared motionlessly at the door in case of an intruder. John felt a fine mist of perspiration form across his forehead.
Feeling relieved of his sexual frustration, he walked back down the hill fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette, brought it out twisted and mashed.
He strolled back to the hostel and opened the door to the small reading room, he peered in. Ronnie Baxter was sleeping in an old leather chair. He swaggered to the chair opposite, leaned back in it, put his feet on the table and reached for a packet of cigarettes that lay there.
Baxter was a pasty-faced man in his fifties, neither large nor small, always dressed flashily- even if sometimes dirtily. He had been in the hostel for many years. He was a coward, a liar and a thief, and watched constantly by the nurses and other residents, although John thought he was too much of a coward to be dangerous. The side of his mouth twitched and twisted as he snored slightly.
John watched him sleep, thinking what a nice looking guy he would have been in his younger years. His features were well spaced, and although his mouth and chin were a little uncertain, his broad forehead was good under a thick mass of wavy ginger hair.
He was Australian, came over to England from Melbourne with his parents at the age of twelve. His father had worked as a train driver, his mother a home help in Croydon, but Ronnie Baxter had more ambitious plans. He had an obsession with money.
He started his criminal life shortly after arriving in the country when he got involved with a gang who preyed on old ladies, relieving them of their cash and credit cards but without causing any physical injury.
Due to his particular expertise, he soon found his way onto in a gang of safe breakers and armed robbery experts.
He was also registered with a central London escort agency and frequently in demand by a string of repeat customers who paid him handsomely for companionship and sex.
He talked freely with the other residents, giving hair raising details of the robberies and saw his efforts from petty thievery to shooting, worthy of laughter. He would demonstrate how they shot two customers in a bank raid which went wrong after the police had been tipped-off by an informer. Although he didn’t do the shooting, he got a five-year sentence for his involvement.
He could not tolerate the confinement of prison and went on a rampage, attacking other cons along with two failed suicide attempts in his cell. He was diagnosed as mentally insane and after a ten-year rehabilitation programme in the hospital wing, he was transferred to the hostel.
John put Baxter’s cigarettes in his pocket and quietly closed the door as he left.
It was a warm afternoon. He sat on the small chair with his door open in an attempt to cool his bedroom with the fresh-air from the small open window.
The door opposite was also open; it was number 8, the room of Graham Banks, the resident transvestite.
John smiled, watching him sitting at his small mirror as he painted his eyebrows. He was naked and his large belly rested on the top of his legs as he touched up his bouffant blonde wig. He wore an elaborate bra and his nipples showed through the dusky lace showing a cluster of hair from under his arms as he reached to fasten it at the back. He stood up and turned sideways as he sensually stroked his buttocks in the reflection of the mirror, and adjusted his bra wh
ere his beefy hairy chest actually filled the tiny cups.
He cocked one leg forward, bent his knee with a well practised movement, watching himself he bent down to the corner of the bed and picked up a garter belt, spread it open flattening the lace, and again watched himself in the mirror as he stepped into it with pointed toes, his hair falling across his face with a springy, sexy bounce.
He flicked it back with a toss of the head, a gesture he loved, and then stepped into the garter belt with the other leg. With his thumbs inside the elastic, he pulled the belt up over his fat stomach and flattened it against his waist.
Sitting in front of the dresser, he watched himself as he slipped the toe of one raised leg into a gathered stocking. He stood up and watched himself pull and smooth the stocking over his foot, over the ankle, tightening it from behind with a caressing gesture of his cupped hand, slowly stretching it over his calf and up his leg, never moving his eyes off the mirror.
The second leg followed as he pulled down the elastic straps and hooked on the stockings.
He stood back from the mirror, looking at himself and smiled at the pleasure he must have felt from the fine silk embracing his short fat hairy legs.
He went over and took a dress hanging on his wardrobe door. For this evening he had chosen a light blue flowing number of rayon and crepe, but the colours had faded due to years of washing. It was of tropical leaf design with an off-white colour. He opened the wardrobe door and adjusted his frock in the full-length mirror fastened on the back of the door.
He tilted his head from one side to the other and returned to his dressing table. He opened a silver case and screwed on two large pearl earrings and white pearls as a choker, which he often wore. Finally he stepped into a pair of white high-heeled shoes and snatched a small blue handbag off the dresser, took one last pose in the mirror and smiled at the woman who pleased him enormously before leaving his room.
He closed his door and looked over at John sitting by his window. He would have been aware of John’s presence throughout, which would have encouraged him further.
Inseparable Bond Page 11