Imprisoned Heart

Chapter 1

Early evening was drawing in on a bitterly cold day in February. Icy winds blew bending bare branches on the trees, pushing forward heavy clouds that bore the threat of snow on an already murky evening.

Katrina Sanderson was being driven towards the prison gates. They opened and the white vehicle passed through. One of the passengers looked up to the tops of the gates in dread and awe.

The van slowed to a standstill and the doors were unlocked.

The weather mirrored the tumult of icy fear that clutched at Katrina’s heart as she stepped out. She half-stumbled and was in danger of falling, but before she over balanced, a strong hand steadied her and pushed her back to her feet. She looked up and came face to face with an officer of the establishment, known as a ‘uniform’ to those less familiar with the hard end of the legal system. The uniform was stern, immovable and Katrina couldn’t meet her gaze. She blinked, her eyes straining against the limited natural light. The handcuff was removed from the wrist of the officer who had accompanied her in silence for the journey and she was transferred to the officer standing before her. The clipboard with her notes was handed over to the awaiting officer and she glanced at it.

Come on Sanderson, time to go, said the officer with practiced patience. Her body language told a different story as she ushered Katrina away from the vehicle towards the building, nudging her along faster than she was used to. Katrina took a final look at the turbulent sky, her breath clouding in the freezing air.

Although she was a grown woman, her painful, traumatic past couldn’t compare to the desperation and dread hanging over her as she imagined what was awaiting her. She had no experiences that could prepare her for it.

The uniform on ‘welcome’ duty eyed the shaking and dejected Katrina with the usual idle curiosity. She spoke to the accompanying officer as though Katrina wasn’t there. Another story to tell no doubt; what’s this one in for? A clipboard was handed to her with a few lines of typing and hand-written notes on the sheets of paper.

Doesn’t much look like a drug pusher, she

continued, but then again twenty-one years in this establishment teaches you there’s no specific look, personality or age that gives it away – not in lock-up. If I had a pound for every lost and bewildered soul that arrives through those gates, I could have retired years ago. This one’ll have trouble doing time – but it’s the families I feel sorry for.

Katrina glanced down at her wrist where she was handcuffed to the uniform, then looked up to the ceiling, tears blurring her vision, wide-eyed, scared. Not one of the uniforms had a sympathetic smile for her. It hit home with an almost physical sickening blow - she really was going to prison.

The seated officer copied the details she needed from the sheet and handed the clipboard back to the other uniform. Katrina almost jumped out of her skin as a voice hollered from the other side of the doorway. Welcome Miss Sanderson! Get used to it because this is home for the next twelve months.

Katrina was led through the entrance and the hefty door slammed behind her. The temporary breakdown of her nerves and the chill in the air conspired to turn her into a quivering wreck. Her skin, wet with anxiety, probably reflected her state of mind too. She gazed at the miserable surroundings; the bare walls and the expressionless zombie-like faces of the uniforms made her head spin. The words rang in her ears as the same harsh voice jeered, Yes Sanderson, this is it - welcome to Whitestone Prison!

Katrina shivered as she was escorted through a small door into a side room. There were no windows and the air had an overwhelming smell of stale sweat left by the misery of the building’s occupants. Small, numbered lockers lined one wall and large plastic bags stood in a corner, containing prisoners’ personal belongings. Katrina was again reminded of the gravity of her situation and her body was numb; unresponsive. Unfamiliar, hostile faces surrounded her. Never in her twenty-nine years had she ever been so afraid and alone.

She was taken through another door into a sparsely furnished office.

The clipboard was handed to a large, overweight and masculine woman sitting behind the desk. Katrina was afraid to look at the woman, but couldn’t help it. Her black hair was short, cropped almost to the scalp in a style that didn’t suit or flatter her face; her jacket fitted tight around her upper arms and her gaze was devoid of emotion. She looked as though one glare from her could turn a person to stone. Katrina thought back to stories from her schooldays. The woman reminded her of something from the old horror ‘B’ movies back in the 50s – The Blob!

Katrina’s eyes flicked to the desktop as the officer looked up from the clipboard. She took a moment to study Katrina and the new prisoner could almost feel the stare boring into her. Name? she asked. Name! The uniform barked the word when Katrina didn’t respond immediately.

Katrina jumped. Katrina Sanderson, she said in a timid voice that made her cringe inwardly.

The officer looking down the clipboard, made sure all the details tallied with the crisp white sheet of paper in front of her. The overweight officer, who Katrina had now mentally dubbed ‘The Blob’ said: Right Sanderson, your new name is prisoner 3248C. When addressed by the officers, you’ll answer to that. We may address you as Miss Sanderson too, is that clear?

A solemn Katrina nodded.

Turning to the uniform to whom Katrina was handcuffed, The Blob asked about Katrina’s belongings.

She’s wearing them, the colleague said in a voice laced with disinterest. A small bundle containing soap and toilet paper was handed to Katrina and in addition, she was given a dog-tag bearing the identification ‘3248C’.

The handcuffs were finally removed from Katrina’s wrist. She breathed a sigh of relief as she rubbed her wrist in an attempt to get some kind of sensation back.

The Blob said, Sign here, and then get changed into those prison clothes. She jabbed her ball-point in the direction of another bundle. Your own clothes will remain in this bag for the duration of your stay. On your release date, the bag will be returned to you. Do you have any questions?

Katrina’s voice was tremulous as she replied. Yes, I do. What’s going to happen to me? This was a mistake but nobody seems to be listening.

Neither are we, The Blob said. The court found you guilty; it’s not our job to question that. Now move your backside, Sanderson.

The Blob made no attempt to hide her wry smile. Katrina felt a storm of resentment gathering in the pit of her stomach. Nobody cared about justice, innocence or guilt. She knew it would be futile to argue. She choked back the sour-tasting ball of acrimony and asked The Blob,

Where to?

Follow the officer, answered The Blob, waving her flabby man-hand towards another uniform.

Katrina followed the officer the short distance into yet another room in the labyrinthine building. Her legs were leaden and she had difficulty keeping up. She was dry-mouthed with dread as she entered the room. Against the opposite wall was a small bench for her clothes. A flimsy examination table stood in the middle of the room. The female officer waiting for her arrival eyed Katrina, her lips parting in a side-long leer as she approached.

Well well, who do we have here? The officer could barely contain her pleasure at seeing the distress the situation caused ‘first-timers’. I love this job. I swear this is the best part of it.

Prisoner 3248C, Sanderson, Katrina said, careful not to make eye-contact as she whispered her new name.

The uniform who escorted her gave her a nudge in the middle of her back prompting her to get undressed as she’d been instructed. Katrina half-turned and would have berated the uniform for daring to touch her if she had been anywhere but there. She had been drained of all confidence and self-assuredness in the few minutes it had taken to check her in. The oppressive atmosphere of the building had sucked the fight from her, leaving a different Katrina; a hollowed out shell of the woman she had been.

Once she was naked and her clothes were packed into the bag on the bench, the other officer spoke again. Well 3248C this is your lucky night. I’m off shift in half an hour so I’m a happy bunny, but still don’t think that I am about to make this too pleasant for you. The officer wore an expression of deep satisfaction; a dark, sadistic glee as she nodded towards the door; a hint to the accompanying officer to take her leave. Katrina turned to watch the other uniform go, the sinking feeling in her stomach increasing as she realised she’d be alone with the examining officer.

She walked over to Katrina brandishing a pair of latex gloves. She pulled the gloves on slowly, letting Katrina’s imagination work against her as each glove snapped on her wrist. It was clear she relished the distressed look on Katrina’s face.

Right Sanderson. I’m going to search you and before you tell me that you’ve been searched already, I’m telling you I don’t care because you haven’t been frigging searched till I’ve done you, she said.

The uniform started to run her gloved hands down Katrina’s already trembling body; she couldn’t prevent a whimper from escaping her lips. Body exposed and vulnerable, she tried to stop her hands from covering herself but couldn’t; they fluttered with nervous tension as she covered her pubic region. The officer slapped them away even though she wasn’t yet inspecting that area.

The officer paused to look at Katrina’s face. She grinned, seeing the mouth turned down in an involuntary grimace.

She gripped both sides of Katrina’s jaw and opened her mouth, taking a cursory look inside. The officer pulled her head forward and down so she could search Katrina’s hairline. She ran her fingers roughly over her scalp searching for contraband. It was rare to find anything on ‘fresh meat’ but it wasn’t worth the paperwork in case she was wrong and a ‘shank’ or a wrap of ‘blow’ was hidden in the ponytail. Inside the ears, under large breasts, anywhere was a potential hiding place and everywhere was checked.

Touch your toes, Sanderson! she said.

Wh... what? Katrina couldn’t understand why.

Toes! Bend over and touch ‘em!

Katrina bent forward and jerked as invasive fingers inspected every inch of her, inside and out. She felt her face flush hot and couldn’t help the tears of embarrassment. She couldn’t wipe them away properly until she was given the order to stand up straight. Katrina felt the uniform’s breath on her thigh as the officer took a little too long over the inspection and her embarrassment burned hotter as she realised that the uniform was breathing too heavily for the task she was performing. Katrina whimpered as the uniform’s hand strayed towards her vagina and the officer gave a snort of derisive laughter.

That was it! She knew that she would continue to be the victim while she served her sentence unless she chose to stand up for herself. If she was on the outside she wouldn’t react to such treatment with tears, so she’d sodding well not behave like a victim inside. Katrina mentally stirred herself, sniffled back her tears and stood up before the uniform instructed her to.

Are you supposed to be conducting an internal examination? If so, I’d like another officer in here while you carry it out please, Katrina said in a respectful, but no-nonsense tone. Her face was still scarlet from the humiliation, but she was determined to make a stand.

Quit your whining 3248C, this isn’t kindergarten, the uniform said. Turn around, I want to check the rest of your body. I need a urine sample from you and you’ll be shown to your cell.

She opened the door to the examination room and the other uniform returned.

The examining officer handed Katrina a pressed cardboard bowl. Fill it up, she said. And if we find any trace of drugs, that’s another six months added to your sentence.

There’s no need, I’ve never taken drugs in my life, Katrina said.

Tell it to someone else Sanderson, those are the rules. You’re in prison now and the rules state pee tests for everyone and that includes you. Pretty as you are, that isn’t going to get you anywhere in here - or maybe it will? the uniform said as she stroked Katrina’s cheek. Like, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. What do you say, eh Sanderson? Her eyes roamed Katrina’s lady parts suggestively.

Katrina looked around for another room where she could pee in private.

What’s the matter 3248C, looking for the toilet? There’s nowhere to hide in here, love. You do it in front of me and the other officer. We have to watch you until you do it, so if it takes all night, then it takes all bloody night! The officer barked. She was losing patience and Katrina knew her previous miniscule victory had rankled the uniform. She wondered if it had been worth it.

Though Katrina was certain her urine wouldn’t have any trace of narcotics, she was still anxious and felt tears forming again, but she was determined not to cry in front of the bullying officer.

What’s up, can’t hack it? Now there’s a frigging surprise. You’ll flog your body to anyone who’ll pay you. Bet you didn’t mind them watching you, pissing or shitting eh? But you can’t piss in a pot in front of two screws? Come on.

Squatting over the bowl, Katrina fought back the tears as they rose again. She could feel two sets of unsympathetic eyes leering at her, but not at her face. One of them at least was taking an unhealthy interest in her naked body. The longer the eyes stared at her the worse it got, until she couldn’t go at all. Then the door opened and in walked another prison officer.

That’s all I need, thought Katrina. I’m in a bloody zoo.

I’ve come to relieve you, announced the new spectator. Go have a ciggy break; I know you’ll be gasping.

Katrina looked up at the three of them. They were studying her like she was a new species they’d discovered under their microscope.

She can’t pee with us watching, the examining officer said with a nasty laugh. Pulling the gloves off, she threw them in the bin as she left the room. The other officer followed and Katrina could hear them laughing at her humiliation as they went on their break.

The new officer walked over to Katrina and smiling said, It’s not the easiest thing in the world to do is it? I dare say I couldn’t go either if I was being watched. I’m Miss Porter. I’ll be here all night, so I suspect we’ll be seeing more of each other. Let me help.

She walked off, returning almost instantly with a beaker of water and she handed it to Katrina. Drink this, it will speed things up a bit, you might need more than one. She smiled again saying, I’m guessing it’s your first time inside, am I right?

Yes, how can you tell? replied Katrina, grateful for the act of kindness and the gentle manner in which Miss Porter dealt with her.

Miss Porter said, Twenty years is how I can tell. I’ve seen a lot of faces and many changes in my time. I belong to the ‘old brigade’, treating people with dignity, regardless of why they are here. Don’t worry; we’re not all like that, she said, nodding her head to where the other officers had been.

Katrina looked into the face of Miss Porter; her eyes weren’t as harsh as the others and her voice not as severe. She looked about forty, give or take a year. Katrina was grateful that at last someone had shown her some compassion.

Thank you.

Drinking the lukewarm liquid down, Katrina was willing it to work. After three cups she managed to pee. Miss Porter took the bowl from her, told her to get dressed and sit on the bench. Degraded, but at least dressed, Katrina sat waiting for the next command. She had no control over anything that was happening to her.

She couldn’t just walk away. Someone else was dictating her life; what time she ate and slept. Katrina felt helpless.

The door opened and the examining officer returned from her break. Striding in, she sniggered.

Did I miss it? What a shame. Her voice was gruff and deep. Right then Sanderson; let’s show you to your accommodation. It’ll be a temporary arrangement for tonight and then tomorrow you’ll be given your own cell.

Katrina took a last glimpse at the kindly officer as she was led from the room out into the corridor. She looked around. There were grey walls from top to bottom as far as the eye could see. The floors reminded Katrina of her school days; wooden and heavily polished smelling of linseed. She glanced at the windows high above her and saw the bars across them. No chance of a glimpse outside.

It reminded her of something from a film. It was like time had stood still in Whitestone. Following the uniform as she unlocked the doors before them, they went through a barred gateway, down another corridor with the same grey walls, polished floors and bright lights on the ceiling. It looked almost clinical. She could hear muffled voices and the sound of crying echoed down the corridor.

This is a new recruit, the uniform pointed to Katrina as yet another officer approached them.

Katrina could hear other voices in the corridor talking. There were around ten cells; five on either side of the corridor and all had a dark brown door with bars on the top.

Well, well, said the new uniform. What do we have here? Pretty little thing, isn’t she? What are you in for? The last question was directed at Katrina.

Prostitution and drug smuggling, the other uniform said before Katrina had even time to open her mouth.

Again, Katrina found her voice and spoke up. That’s not true. I am not a drug smuggler. I had no idea what was going on. I am innocent. I shouldn’t be here.

Yeah, yeah, said the uniform. And I’m your maid for your stay. Listen Sanderson, everyone in here says they’re bloody innocent. Everyone you talk to will be innocent and shouldn’t be here, I hear it a thousand times a day. Look love, you’re no different to anyone else in here. You’re as guilty as the rest.

That’s not true! Katrina said in desperation, raising her hand in frustration. I am innocent; I was set up by my so-called partner. What’s wrong with you people?

Her hands were grasped tightly and handcuffs were snapped around her wrists.

Quiet Sanderson, the uniform said. If you upset the others you’re in big trouble. Let’s get you to your cell before you start a riot. She pushed Katrina along towards the end of the corridor.

They walked another thirty yards or so and stopped at the last door on the right. Unlocking the door and opening it just an inch or so, the examining officer said to Katrina, It’s all yours. This is it, for tonight anyway. In the morning you’ll be shown the rest of the prison and you may be moved to another block. The uniform menacingly dangled the handcuffs in Katrina’s face saying Now are you gonna behave, or do you want to wear these all night?

Katrina nodded as a promise to behave. The uniform pushed the door wide open and the other shoved Katrina into the cell. The awful stench hit her instantly. She turned in a futile attempt to get back out. Stop! Stop! There must be a mistake, this is a pigsty!

No mistake Sanderson, came the reply. The guest suite is fully booked tonight. Julia Roberts is staying in it! Sleep tight.

Their cackling could be heard down the corridor as the uniforms, delighted in their little joke, made their way back to the land of the living. Katrina gagged at the smell and her mouth filled with water. Holding her hand over her face, she looked in the corner to be greeted by a vomit covered mattress; a parting gift from the previous occupant. How long it had been there was anyone’s guess.

Faeces smeared on one wall added to the stench; dried blood across another evoked nauseating smells and images; combined, they made Katrina involuntarily cramp up. She felt vomit well up inside her and started to retch. Spotting a rolled up blanket in another corner, she was hesitant to investigate. She took a corner between finger and thumb and lifted it. The overpowering smell of urine stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes were watering but she wasn’t sure if they were fresh tears or stench-induced.

The blanket was sodden and because she’d disturbed it, the air turned rancid. Looking for a window, Katrina caught sight of a small vent and tried desperately to breathe in some fresh air. Cracks in the ceiling were the tell-tale signs of years of neglect. A small basin to wash in stood on a rickety old table. There was nowhere to sit but the cold, bare floor.

What have I done to deserve this, you bastards? I’m still a human being! You wouldn’t keep an animal in these conditions! She shouted, knowing full well that no-one would come. No-one could care less.

Katrina had thought the examination room would be the worst of her torment. It was all too much to bear. The journey to Whitestone, the searching and probing of her body and the sheer humiliation of having two grown women watch over her struggling to pee into a bowl had been a complete nightmare.

The cell, the hell hole, was the final straw; she’d never in all her life been subjected to anything so humiliating, so degrading. As Katrina took in her predicament, her body, mind and soul gave way and the pain in her heart turned into a sob. The sob turned into a flood of tears; tears that she had been afraid to let out, afraid of the consequences of releasing and letting go the guilt and torment she’d held inside for twenty-nine years.

Never sharing her feelings with another living soul, never confiding in anyone about her violent childhood, or her life as a ‘girl on the game’ it had all been locked away in her imprisoned heart.

Her mind raced through the last twenty-nine years, from the days of selling her body to feed herself and family to the brutal beatings she had endured at the hands of her so-called lover who took her body whenever he wanted to. Katrina had all the time in the world to relive it, over and over again. Her own living hell.

Not only was she imprisoned in her cell, she was trapped in her own mind; a mind that had her reeling with pain, tormented and isolated.

Katrina lay on the floor clutching the small cross on her necklace for comfort and she closed her eyes, bracing herself against the nightmare to come; demons she would have to face. For the first time in her life, she was alone with them; alone in Whitestone, a place straight from hell. Katrina lay sobbing; rocking back and forth as the cries of other prisoners merged with her own.

She heard a piteous voice screaming. I’ll cut myself again, I will! I swear, if you leave me in here with this lot, I’ll do it. I don’t belong here!

Covering her ears, Katrina drifted in and out of sleep, her head aching from crying. She was exhausted and lay there for hours in the darkness; afraid and isolated, she felt