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Time will tell

October 22nd.
My darling Jane,
Thank you for your visit last weekend, it has certainly lifted my spirits. I do not feel that I am struggling, all the inmates treat me quite fairly, it’s not like I’m some disgraceful nonce or have committed murder. Maybe being from the higher echelons of society, they feel that they can get more out of me by keeping me onside? It’s only been 7 days now since my arrival; only time will tell.
My cell-mate is Anthony; he’s a big fat man, very imposing. He descended from Nigeria, but was arrested in Hounslow. He has hinted at his dark past and ‘big jobs around Heathrow’, I have no idea what else he was up to. One thing I have learned is that nobody dares to talk about their crimes. Some sort of honour amongst thieves, killers and me. Almost everyone is innocent; I may be wet behind the ears but I can tell in their eyes that this surely isn’t the case.
I am guilty however, for which you know I am truly sorry. You know that in my heart of hearts that I did this all for you. You do know that don’t you?
I miss you and Max terribly,

November 3rd.
Dearest Jane,
I’m sorry that you could not visit last week. I know I have put you in the most difficult of positions. Tidying up the mess I have caused will no doubt have its consequences. Hopefully I have made enough legitimate money to cover your living costs for yourself and little Max. I hope he’s setting in to his new school. I hope also that he has a thought for his old man too.
I must confess to shedding a tear or two lately. The nights are cold and long, or some fool is kicking up a fuss further down the wing. I am kept awake and my thoughts are constantly of freedom and the life I have left behind. I was a fool to think I could not be caught, Jane. You don’t think any ill of me, do you? I crave so many things, but above all your forgiveness. I fear I have left you so much shame to contend with. No amount of money could possibly appease that shame, whether it was obtained legally or otherwise.
Anthony has been keeping me company; he has shown me the way for which I am eternally grateful. The basic rules seem to be similar to a child; speak when spoken to, be seen but not heard! In some ways, this is much like a school. There is a hierarchy, for sure; you know who the leaders are and who idly follow like pathetic sheep.
There is a brute of a man who seems to lord over the wing. They call him Tempest. He seems to have tentacles throughout the wing, nothing happens without Tempest knowing about it. The system works for him, not the other way around. He must stand nearly 7 feet tall and is covered in tattoos from head to toe. So the story goes, he killed 3 men with his bare hands! Can you imagine? He has purportedly killed many more people too. Which crime led him here I am not sure, however.
I must rest now, I am so tired.
Always in my thoughts,

December 23th.
Darling Jane,
Alas I fear your Christmas card may have been way-laid. I have sent you and Max what I can, it’s not much I’m afraid. I do hope you are well, I have not heard from you in...Well, it seems like forever.
Time is taking its toll on me; my sentence does not seem to be getting any closer to its conclusion. I am losing a lot of weight and the initial curiosity of this harsh environment has now lost its initial quirky yet desolate charm. The prisoners seem to have lost their charm also, especially for yours truly. They poke fun at my accent and ask such inane questions like “Do you know Shakespeare?” – Honestly, Jane, I ask you! A couple of times I have had my dinner thrust from my very hands, not that it’s any loss, the slop is not exactly Foie Gras!
Anthony had cause to give me a slap too. I managed to spill some tea on one of his ‘jazz’ mags. He wasn’t impressed and slapped me about the temple. I dare say I deserved it. I deserve all of these shortcomings, if you ask me.
Anthony apologized to me later, but only because I could not stop crying.
Tempest has also been having fun. One of the younger scrotes thought it a wheeze to steal one of his tea bags. Tempest took a shiv to the poor sap, cut off most of his right ear and ate it, right before his very eyes without so much as flicker of emotion. I tell you, Jane – this man is the purest of evil!
I’m so lonely without you, Jane. Have a very Merry Christmas.

January 2nd.
Not a word from you in a long while. Have I not provided enough for you? Would half an hour of your precious time kill you to visit your husband? You’d think I had killed someone the way you and these animals are treating me.
I have received more beatings lately. Ever since the episode with Antony and his bloody porn he has become so very precious with his items. It is all so very petty and tiresome. I cannot even brush my teeth without as much as a sarcastic comment. I try to argue my point in a thought out and reasoned manner, but he only has to raise a hand to me and I cower. Do you not care, Jane? Can you not see I need some respite from this dank despair?
I shall keep this short as I fear you are not even reading my missives and my hands are sore from having to defend myself from all and sundry.
I love you, do you love me?

January 18th.
Where are you? Do you really despise me this much? You would have thought I have raped the bloody Queen for the treatment I receive.
My cynical side cannot think beyond the fact that you will have eloped with Ryan the Gardener. I have left you in excess of £2.5 million pounds, Woman! Though if you have sold the Bentley and the Aston, I will fucking come down on you like a ton of bricks, you filthy whore. When I get out, I shall find you – you know I will. The villa in Saratoga is where I will find you, for sure. Don’t think I won’t find you.
That is if I get out, of course. Life in here is becoming totally unbearable, so much so I can hardly call it a ‘life’. That freak of a man Tempest has had me in his cell. I struggled for all I was worth, but he carried me like a bag and tossed me inside. I cannot begin to tell what he does with me, though it’s no doubt similar to what that utter shit Ryan is doing to you.
I am all out of tears, I hope you all rot.
Wishing you every misery,

February 14th.
This will be my last message, Jane. I am evidently worth nothing more to you than the dirt which you have scraped from your shoe. I thought I meant more to you than this; leaving me to suffer with these filthy disgusting dogs. You are clearly no better than Tempest; the illiterate grunting halfwit, or those bastard Guards that do precisely fuck all to help me with my excruciating plight.
Not that you give a single thought about me anymore. I should have seen right through you. You all could be implicit in putting me here, for all I know. You, Max, Anthony and Tempest. Miserable shits all of you.
Do you know what irks me? No, not you being pleasured by someone 30 years my junior, whom I employed, I hasten to add. Not even being betrayed by Anthony who I thought genuinely cared for me. Not even Tempest who has dehumanised me to my very core – it is that you will gain even more financially from my life insurance! If could raise a laugh at the irony, I would.
How could you turn on me? What did I do that was so bad, Jane? Oh why do I bother, you have not answered a single question of mine in all the months I have been slowly been losing my mind, body and spirit. If I could regurgitate enough to spit on your face, I surely would. It’s no more than you deserve, you saggy decrepit bitch witch!
I hope you and your bastard love-child are happy. (I know he is not mine, I have always known.)
I bid you farewell, I shall see you in HELL. I cannot take any more.
Giles Icarus Theodore Thorpe.
The letters to Jane never arrived. They were never even sent. Tempest saw to that.
Giles Thorpe committed suicide on February 17th by hanging.

Neill Rees
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