1983

Click.

Nothing happens.

‘Fuck,’ says Sandy.

He turns away. He fiddles with the pistol.

You have pissed yourself.

‘I’ve fixed it,’ says Sandy. ‘It’ll be all right this time.’

He points the pistol again.

You close your eyes.

Sandy pulls the trigger -

Bang.

You think you are dead.

You open your eyes. You see the pistol. You see shreds of black material coming out of the barrel. You watch them float down to the floor.

Moustache and Sandy are staring at you.

You shout: ‘What do you want?’

Moustache steps forward. Moustache kicks you in the balls.

You fall to the floor.

‘What do you want?’

‘Stand up.’

You stand up.

‘On your toes,’ says Moustache.

‘Please tell me?’

Moustache steps forward again. Moustache kicks you in the balls again.

You fall to the floor.

He whispers: ‘Man had his balls removed after being kicked by the Leeds SPG.’

Sandy walks over. Sandy kicks you in the chest. Sandy kicks you in the stomach. Sandy handcuffs your hands behind your back. Sandy pushes your face into the floor -

Into your own piss.

‘Do you like dogs, Johnny?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Do you like dogs?’

‘What do you fucking want?’

‘I don’t think you do, do you?’

The door opens.

A uniformed policeman comes in with an Alsatian on a lead.

Moustache sits astride your back. Moustache pulls your face up by your hair.

The dog is staring at you, panting -

Tongue out.

Moustache shouts: ‘Get him! Get him!’

The dog is growling. The dog is barking. The dog is straining on its leash.

‘Careful,’ says Sandy to the uniform.

Moustache pushes your head forward -

‘He’s starving,’ he says. ‘Just like little Hazel was.’

You struggle.

The dog is getting nearer -

‘Just like little Hazel.’

You try to get loose.

Moustache pushes your face in closer -

‘Starving.’

You cry.

The dog is a foot away.

‘Alone in that room.’

You see its gums. You see its teeth. You smell its breath. You feel its breath.

‘Starving.’

The dog growling. The dog barking. The dog straining on its leash.

‘Starving to death alone in that room.’

You shit yourself.

‘Fucking knew, didn’t you?’

The dog is inches from your face.

‘Did nothing.’

Everything going black -

‘Nothing!’

Going black -

‘Tell me what I’ve done.’

‘Again!’

‘Please -’

‘Please what?’

Black -

‘Please tell me what I’ve done.’

‘Again!’

‘Please tell me what I’ve done!’

‘Clever boy,’ he says -

Everything black now.

You fall backwards, handcuffed upon a tiny plastic chair -

Through the floor of the cell, through the walls of the Station -

Through the earth and through the oceans -

Through the atmosphere into outer space -

To the gulfs between the stars -

Always away from the dog -

Away from this place -

This rotten, un-fresh linoleum place;

Light years distant, Jobson still standing at your side -

The dog gone.

You have dreams -

And in your dreams -

In your dreams, you see things -

But all these things in all your dreams -

Are big black raven things -

The room blue.

You open your eyes.

Maurice Jobson is staring back at you.

You are still in the room with white lights and no windows.

But you are dressed in your own clothes again.

Maurice Jobson takes off his glasses. He rubs his eyes.

‘I didn’t do it,’ you say.

‘Not guilty?’ he smiles.

‘Not guilty.’

He puts his thick lenses and black frames back on. ‘We’re all guilty, John.’