Greg was disturbed by the noise of a key turning in the lock of his cell door. As the door swung open a custody officer spoke.
‘You have a visitor, there’s someone here to see you,’ he announced.
‘Who is it?’ Greg asked.
‘A Miss Karen Hogan… Do you want to see her?’ the custody officer asked. His sarcasm showing that he did not have time for this as his Cup-a-Soup was now getting cold.
‘Yeah, why not…’ Greg replied, standing up.
‘I’m going to have to put these on,’ the officer said, holding a pair of handcuffs. Greg simply offered his hands. ‘Behind your back, O’Hara,’ the officer smiled.
Once Greg had been cuffed, he was told to follow the officer. As Greg followed the officer, he noticed that two other custody officers had been waiting outside his cell. They were simply back-up. Was he regarded as a dangerous prisoner?
‘Nah. It’s standard procedure,’ he thought.
Greg walked with the three uniformed officers being directed where they wanted him to sit. Once they had reached their destination, Greg was directed to a chair.
‘OK, take a seat,’ the officer stated.
Karen was already sitting on the opposite side of the table.
‘There is to be no contact, no kissing, voices are to be kept at an acceptable level. If you feel that your safety is being jeopardised, Miss Hogan, please let us know. There is to be no spitting or other vulgarity…’ he placed his hand on Greg’s right shoulder, his grip tight. ‘Please behave sonny!’ he said in an undermining tone.
Greg looked up at him and smiled, ‘Be seeing you!’ he said. Karen had not seen this side of Greg before – it frightened her, making her feel uneasy. ‘Good to see you,’ Greg said.
‘Why, Greg?’ Karen asked, her eyes filled with sadness. Half of her didn’t want to come here and do this, but she needed to know.
‘You wouldn’t understand!’
‘I loved you, I gave you…’ Karen started to cry.
‘Everything all right, Miss Hogan?’ one of the uniformed officers asked.
‘Yes. I’m fine!’
‘Why did you grass me up?’ Greg enquired softly, he needed to know.
‘I had to… what would you have done if I had confronted you about it? You wouldn’t have stopped,’ her crying abated, her sadness transformed to anger. ‘When would you have stopped?’
‘Not until I was caught. I would never have hurt you Karen,’ tenderness echoed through his words.
‘That won’t work anymore Greg! I saw what you had those people do… We sat next to each other in bed watching the news flash. You drugged me. You fucking bastard, you evil fucking bastard!’ Karen swung her left hand, slapping Greg across his face. The noise sounded like the clap of hands, ‘you evil piece of shit,’ her anger even more evident.
‘Miss Hogan, no physical contact, please,’ a uniformed officer shouted as he ran to Greg’s aid.
‘Don’t worry about it, mate. I deserve it. I’ll get worse once I’m inside,’ Greg said calmly.
‘That’s not the point. You’re safety is our responsibility. Would you like us to remove Miss Hogan?’ the officer asked.
‘No,’ Greg replied shaking his head.
‘Would you like to see a doctor?’ the officer continued.
‘No, mate, I’m perfectly all right.’
‘OK… I won’t warn you again Miss Hogan, and O’Hara, I’m not your mate,’ the officer grunted.
‘I’m not sorry for slapping you,’ Karen said remorseless.
‘Don’t you ever lose that fire.’ Greg looked at Karen, he had always admired her, ‘Don’t wait for me, find happiness and forget about me…’ he spoke softly.
‘You must be fucking mad if you think that I’d be waiting for you. For fuck’s sake Greg! You’re a fucking nutter. Do you think I wanna be associated with a fucking nutter?’
‘You said you loved me!’
‘Yeah, loved, in the past tense, time gone by, not now, and never in the future! Have they checked that you aren’t fucking mental?’
‘You didn’t come here for an argument. If that’s what you want, then you’re wasting your time. I have no remorse for what has been done and I never killed anyone, nor did I order or force anyone to take the lives of others. So, if you came here today thinking that you would see me crying and whimpering, sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. If you came here to say good bye then I can accept that and we can both move on, draw a line finally. Well then, what have you come here for?’
‘To say good bye, I needed to know that you understood why I told the police. If you hate me, then fair enough, I really couldn’t give a fuck what you think of me. I don’t hate you Greg, I loathe you, and it makes me sick to the pit of my stomach that we made love. I made love to a fucking homicidal maniac! That’d make a great story, hey I could make some money out of this,’ Karen was on a roll, ‘a film even.’
‘Karen, I have forgiven you for this, but only for this…’ Greg removed the pleasant look he had been wearing on his face. ‘Please don’t make me regret it. Don’t force me to change my mind Karen.’
‘Don’t threaten me, you mug. You don’t frighten me. Soon you’ll be locked up and I’m going to watch them throw away the key.’
‘Remember, Karen, everything begins with choice… your next choice will shape the rest of your life.’
‘Goodbye Greg,’ Karen said as she stood up and walked away, without looking back.
‘So long Karen.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Silence echoed in the courtroom as the judge made his way to his seat. The bailiff instructed everyone to stand. Gregory O’Hara sat in the middle of two heavily-built police officers, handcuffed to each of the men.
The twelve members of the jury had digested the verbal diarrhoea that they had been force-fed throughout the trial. Some of them had begun to look as if they were ready to throw it all back to the sender.
The official people had developed a language of their own, how the ordinary people of the jury were supposed to understand it was beyond Greg. His request for a translator had been viciously denied. The judge had spat his disapproval, Greg had only made things worse when he explained that he did not know why the Moscow State Circus had been permitted to present the case for the prosecution. His removal from the courtroom, and the beatings that followed, all seemed a small price for the entertainment he had supplied the galleries.
The time that Greg had spent both in the courtroom and in custody, all seemed clouded by a mist, a foggy haze. All he could concentrate on was his last conversation with Karen. He had lost himself to her, though without knowing, he had loved that woman and now she had tossed him and their love aside.
The longer Greg thought about it, the more he could understand why she had acted in the way she had. The slap he had received showed passion. It warmed him to think that he had lit her flame though, sadly, now, there were no embers. Greg’s mind wandered, as though in slow motion. Gazing around the large courtroom, he felt like a film star. They had all come to see him. Artists were busying themselves sketching away; the scraping of the lead on the dry paper amused the accused.
‘Mr O’Hara,’ the voice interrupted Greg’s daydream.
‘What?’
‘Stand up,’ the police officer to Greg’s right said.
‘Take the prisoner back to his cell please… sentencing will take place at 2 p.m. this afternoon,’ the black cloaked wig-wearing judge announced.
‘HANG THE BASTARD!’ a voice yelled from the gallery.
Greg smiled, he knew the voice. It belonged to Karen.
‘What time is it?’ Greg asked.
‘There’s a clock on the wall, Mr O’Hara,’ the same police officer replied. The two officers lead Greg down a flight of stairs and along a passageway until they reached the cell that Greg had been held in since the trial began – seven months had passed.
‘Is there anything I can get you?’ the female duty sergean
t asked.
‘Yes… I could really use a get out of jail card about now,’ Greg smiled.
‘Sorry,’ the officer replied.
‘He won’t be laughing for too long,’ one of the police officers said as he slammed the door, forcing the automatic locking mechanism to engage.
‘You’d better get used to that sound, convict.’ All three officers laughed.
Greg settled down, stretching out on the hard bed, placing his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers, in order to cradle his head. He soon found himself drifting off again…
Chapter Forty-Four
As Greg was led back into the dock, he looked around. He noticed Karen was trying to look away. To catch her eye, he coughed loudly.
‘Hang the bastard!’ a muffled voice from the gallery said. Others echoed the same sentiment. Greg smiled and continued walking.
‘Keep your mouth shut!’ one of the officers he was handcuffed to barked.
***
‘What do you think they’ll do with you?’
‘I’m not sure, though I know that I’m going to be stuck behind bars for a long time.’
‘What are you going to do Greg?’ the woman who had given him life, now sat opposite him, powerless.
‘Stay strong, Ma,’ he said, trying to comfort her.
‘I love you son. The lord will provide me with all the strength I need. Don’t worry about me,’ she said, as she dabbed the tears from the corners of his eyes.
‘Whatever happens, I need you to make me a promise.’
‘What is it?’ her soft Irish accent comforted him.
‘I don’t want any visitors. Can you tell Dad?’
‘Of course I can. People back home are shocked.’ Greg’s mother never stopped worrying about what other people thought. It was not an Irish thing, just simply a mother thing.
‘Ma, I stopped worrying about what other people thought years ago. This whole thing is about what I think, what I thought. Please try to understand!’ his frustration built.
‘Your father has refused to come to see you,’ his mother said, choosing to ignore what her son had just told her.
‘I’m glad. After today, you’ll never see me again. I’ve done what I believed was right. Others choose to see it differently.’
‘They’re right, Greg. You don’t know your own mind. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore.’
‘Ma, I know exactly what I’m saying and I have no regrets. No regrets,’ he needed her to understand.
‘Those doctors didn’t study you Greg. You need help son,’ her voice still remained soft.
‘This is our goodbye, Ma. Tell dad Goodbye for me. I love you both.’
‘Goodbye Gregory. I’ll pray for you son. Make your peace with God and remember to serve your penance,’ she told her son, ‘bury those demons!’ her softness had disappeared. Greg smiled politely and then looked away. The woman who had given him life left, and was now gone.
***
Once the twelve members of the jury were seated, the judge looked at Greg.
‘Would the prisoner please rise?’ the judge said, more of an order, than a request.
Greg stood.
‘Have you reached a verdict?’ the judge enquired.
‘We have, my Lord,’ replied the spokesperson from the jury.
‘How do you find the accused?’ he asked.
‘We find the defendant guilty.’
A roar echoed from the galleries. Some of the members of the public cheered. Newspaper reporters leapt from their seats, rushing out of the courtroom, to make those all-important, headline making, phone calls.
‘Silence in court,’ the judge ordered, slamming his hammer down hard on to the top of the mammoth desk that separated him from the rest of the court. ‘And how was this in favour? Please inform the court of the ayes,’ he continued. The formality of the judge’s questions seemed to glide off his tongue.
‘Unanimous, my Lord, we have twelve ayes, my Lord,’ the spokesperson replied.
‘The Crown would like to thank you all for your loyal service. Bailiff, you may dismiss the jury.’
The courtroom echoed into silence once more. Everyone, including Greg, waited in anticipation for the sentencing.
‘The Crown has decided that we should not postpone sentencing so therefore I will be passing sentence on you today. Is there anything you would like to say to the court, before I pass sentence?’ the judge addressed Greg.
Greg quickly cleared his throat.
‘Yes there is,’ he replied, taking time to look around the courtroom, up at the gallery area. In the brief silence, his mother could be heard sobbing. ‘My day job was to clean the streets of London: sweep the gutters; clean the streets. I simply took that literally, and stepped it up another level. I believe that is all that I’m guilty of.’ Greg shrugged his shoulders. ‘I took the law in to my own hands, but what else was there for me to do? Most people will only ever talk; wish to do what I’ve done. How many times have you heard, or moaned, about the decay that is rotting our country’s capital? You pick up a newspaper, turn on the television, some poor child, an old age pensioner… all this saddened me greatly; made me want to do something about it. Nobody else was bothered; I was forced to act. All I did was offer people a way out, a way to clear out their own rubbish, a way to set them free, to find their own freedom. Your honour, my only regret, is getting caught so early. I’m not going to tell you how sorry I am for what happened, but what I am going to remind you of is this: I never forced anyone to kill; I was simply preventing more suffering. There was never anyone’s blood on my hands.’
The courtroom erupted. People from the galleries hurled abusive language and continuous cries of ‘Hang the bastard!’
The judge smashed his hammer on the desktop at least a dozen times before the courtroom returned to order. ‘That’s quite enough!’ he ordered. ‘Silence in court!’
A haze of hush slowly filled the courtroom once more. Some of the legal team members from both sides shuffled pieces of paper, trying to hide their feelings of discomfort. Their eyes lowered in order to separate themselves from the frenzied commotion that had just taken place. The silence that followed was brief, though the tension was palpable.
‘Stay on your feet,’ one of the officers told Greg.
‘I’m not as stupid as you look,’ Greg grimaced feeling the handcuffs dig into the flesh on his right wrist. ‘Go fucking easy,’ he told the officer.
‘That was easy. Just remain standing convict!’ the officer growled.
‘Just do your job, and I’ll do mine,’ Greg scoffed.
‘I’m glad you think this is funny!’ the other officer said.
‘I think the circus is a funny place, don’t you?’ Greg laughed. His laughter was controlled, and only slight.
At that moment the judge looked up, and spoke. ‘Are you Mr Gregory Jason O’Hara?’ he asked.
‘I am.’
‘You have stood trial in this courtroom and have been found guilty of terrible crimes. You have never shown any remorse, you have shown contempt and complete lack of respect to the crown.’ The honourable judge paused, in order to eye-up the man he was going to pass sentence on. ‘Therefore, I think that I have a responsibility, and that responsibility should be to protect the public from those that you potentially pose a danger to. Gregory Jason O’Hara, I sentence you to be detained in a maximum-security facility for a minimum of twelve years, though for no more than twenty years. This time should be spent on your rehabilitation so that, one day, the public can feel safe and no longer threatened by you and your evil, criminal thoughts that have somehow managed to gestate inside you. You have become the devil’s host. I only wish that I had more power. Let me inform you, Mr O’Hara, if the death penalty was still available…’ the judge paused, in order to calm his trembling anger. ‘Take him down!’ he ordered, looking away, breaking his sharp eye contact.
The two officers bundled the convicted criminal from the dock. Greg l
ooked back over his shoulder. He saw his mother, inconsolable; his father simply shook his head, partly in shame, though mainly in disgust. Ashamed of what his only son had become, the monster that he once called his first born.
Greg caught a short glimpse of Karen; hatred filled her eyes, eyes which were once filled with unconditional love for him. Others snarled, calling for the death sentence. Once Greg had been dragged down the narrow stairway from the dock, he clambered to his feet.
‘Do you need to go to the toilet?’ an officer enquired, ‘you have a long journey ahead.’
The end… for now…
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The Ultimate Selection?
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The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To Page 25