We've all had our faith shaken in the last few years. Our faith in democracy, our faith in medical science, our faith in justice. I've done a lot of reading about science and history these last few years. Nothing really changes. Questions lead to discoveries, discoveries lead to more questions. Empires rise and fall. Injustice can't last forever.
***
Dursley awoke in a darkened room. Not his own, although he was not immediately aware of much except the darkness.
His senses registered the cold metal frame of an old fashioned office chair against his bare legs and that his arse hung into the unlit space behind him. The seat had been removed.
His discomfort was multi-focal. Apart from the awkward support of the steel tubing. His immensely powerful arms were pulled tightly behind his back. Cable ties at his wrists dug into his tattooed flesh discouraging any struggle to free his hands. His formidable chest pressed against the backrest of the chair that he straddled and his ankles were each tied behind him to a front leg of the chair frame, keeping his weight forward. He could feel a cold concrete floor under the tips of his toes, his ankles being tied to the frame in such a way as to discourage his rocking himself forward onto his handsome face. His knees similarly bound to the joint between the seat and the upright backrest which had been left in place. He was stark naked. His genitals hung heavy and low and impotent into the darkness beneath him. He was trussed up like a capon and any attempt to straighten his powerful body was certainly going to mean painful trauma.
Like a hero in any thriller, fear was not his first thought.
After it appeared his binding rendered escape impossible, his second thoughts were:
Where was he? How had he got here? Both unanswerable.
What had happened before the lights went out?
Who ..... a brief and foggy memory began to coagulate in the mush behind his eyes.
God, these bonds are tight! If he could only keep still....
The memory was slowly coming into focus....
He remembered the knock at the door.....he hurriedly pulled up his pants, tore off his uniform shirt, scooped up his semen in it and tossed the sticky bundle over the back of the leather sofa. Straightened up his herculean shoulders and went to the door, confident in his his ability to intimidate almost anyone with his furious face, stubbly pectorals and six pack gut.
Nobody round here has a front door without a spy hole. Through it, could be seen the pretty features of the cardiologist from the apartment below, Dursley's tenant at his official address.
She had an anxious look on her face and the big man had no hesitation in opening the door.....
......He'd felt it like a powerful blow to the chest but unlike a fist. A tremendous spasm, then oblivion, the next thing he remembered was waking up tied over this chair in the pitch dark.
He'd presented an easy target....must have been a taser. Soreness from the chest area, where the two stings from the weapon had been recently removed. That was giving him discomfort but compared to the concerns with his bindings, not much. His head felt very heavy in this unnatural position.
He could turn only a little but without hurting himself his range of vision would be limited even if there were light, he could sense no-one in the room. The city was never this quiet. He could see almost nothing, however, ahead there was a tiny point of red light which suddenly went green and a screen suddenly illuminated brightly only a short distance away, hurting his eyes, distracting him completely from his other misfortunes.
Without introduction, images began to appear on the screen before he had a chance to register what he was seeing but eventually he perceived a room and viewed from an unusual angle, high up. Looking down into a room. A security camera? There was no sound.
Wait a minute, this was the octagonal office and there was the formidable figure of Singleton at his huge desk. The image flickered but they never changed location.
Cuts in the black and white video footage showed Singleton there and gone, showed the light change as night turned to day. obviously the camera had been activated for hours and the footage edited.
Dursley knew there were no security cameras in Singleton's office. A few in key positions around the prison. The main gate, principle junctions between wing entry points, the exercise yard etc. His blood was beginning to run cold as his imagination caught up with where this footage was leading.
After only a minute and many temporal cuts, boss was back at his desk when the metal door to the room swung open and in walk the cuffed but unbowed figure of Doug Ellis followed by Dursley himself. Details were indistinct but clear enough to identify those concerned, not least from their superhuman mass.
Dursley watched in helpless horror as he realised the scene of that sexual assault had been secretly recorded. So confident was the security supremo that no evidence of the incident existed and such a low opinion had they of their victim that they had not even conceived of their actions as criminal. Here it was, in black and white.
The scene played out and then changed abruptly.
Again, a high camera position. This time a carefully lit subject and in higher definition and colour. Dursley realised he was looking down on a medical examination table. Not from a spy camera.
The subject of the examination was not moving and the camera was zoomed in on a large pair of pale skinned buttocks, striated across with lurid red wheals, the entirety covered with fine whitish blond hair and Dursley knew immediately where, when and of whom these images had been made.
Purple blue rubber gloved hands appeared in shot and carefully parted the wounded flesh. They revealed the distended anus and as one hand skilfully held open the cheeks of the patient's arse, the other brought in swabs that were used to swipe exquisitely gently at and inside the tortured body part. He could not see but assumed that these swabs were samples for forensic examination. His mind raced. Could the DNA be identified from their mixed semen?
Perhaps neither Singleton nor Dursley had ever imagined that complaints of rape in a prison institution would be investigated just as they would be outside. Even though, as in this case, the victim had not made a complaint or had not been capable of making one. That simple curiosity about the circumstances of a hospitalisation might sometimes lead to such an examination.
Perhaps his anxiety would be better directed towards his current predicament.
