The Beast Inside

By Monique Singleton

Jess finally learns the truth about her nature, but is the price too high?

Rescued from prison by a conniving benefactor, Jess grudgingly accepts an assignment that will rock the world—the murder of Emperor Bharata. The vicious ruler has established a vast empire in the east and now turns his attention to the United Kingdom. But the barbaric emperor is about to meet his match in his equally bloodthirsty opponent.
In the midst of her mission, she discovers a secret group called the Watchers. In exchange for her help, they will give her what she most desires--information about herself. Her history. Her purpose. She will finally have answers to the questions that have plagued her existence.

But are these the answers she wants to hear?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monique Singleton
• Release date: Jan 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370759576

Monique Singleton

Being an “army brat” meant moving around a lot. It was a good way to live, to see the world and continuously broaden my horizons: to start cultivating my creativity and fantasy.And grow it did.From an very early age I have always drawn and painted a lot, making my own version of what was around me. Starting off copying reality, I expanded into a personal kind of augmented reality. Adding fantasy to the mix didn’t however relieve me of natural boundaries: the physiology needed to be right. 4 arms means four shoulders, for me even fantasy needs to be anatomically correct. This craving to combine reality with fantasy formed the basis of a career in art. Blending realistic full portraits with fantasy or animals became my trademark, and I did quite well for myself.However, living off art is not an easy task, so practical as I am, I continued my never ending education, now in the area of Information technology. Yes I went into IT. Hey, a gal’s gotta live.Ideas and creativity will not be denied their due and the stories, previously visualized in paintings, bubbled up and wouldn’t go away.In the few quiet moments my busy life offered about 6 years ago, actual scenes started to unravel in my imagination. Random scenes, or so it seemed. It turned out they were all scenes from one story, one idea that my subconscious had already formed into a coherent story line: Primal Nature.I decided to write them down. But where to begin? I wrote the first 20 pages and the last 2 in one go. In the resulting years I have been filling in the gaps. One story led to a book, one book led to two, to three. To new and fascinating storylines that propelled me to write and write and write.I have found my passion. I want to tell stories.Not just any story. Stories that will entertain, but will hopefully also give room for thought. Will encourage the reader to join me on my journey to explore the boundaries of who we are, what we are, what we could be.If only we dream. If only we accept that the impossible is only improbable until someone proves that it exists.The world is a big place. Who is to say that what I dream, what I write, isn’t out there somewhere.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Everyone has a talent.

Something they’re really good at.

Mine is murder.

I must have killed more than four or five hundred people by now.

Sure, there are others with much larger numbers on their register. But they’re mostly tyrants who kill by proxy. They stay in their Ivory Towers and let the others do the dirty work.

Tyrants are distanced.

Me, I’m up close and personal. I kill with my own two hands, or claws and fangs, depending on the form that I’m in at that moment.

What does that make me?

A serial killer? A sociopath?

As serial killers go, I’m up there as the most prolific.

Is that me?

I hope not.

I need to think that I’m more than what I do.

It is not my identity.

I don’t have complete control over it. If I did, then it wouldn’t happen. Killing, murdering, is not something I’m proud of. I hate it. I hate myself for what I do. If I could stop I would.

Even to the point of killing myself.

That would stop the guilt, the horror, the nightmares.

But suicide is not an option. I’m no coward, if that’s what you think. I tried to kill myself once. But the cat inside wouldn’t let me. I’m immortal and destined to stay that way.

There is absolutely nothing I can do to stop myself. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I distanced myself from humanity and lived alone in the jungle for extended periods of time. But even there, the Primal took over and in a deep mist I gravitated back to the inhabited world and drew blood. There is no avoiding the Primal Urges. They take over when ignored—and trample over my sanity in their wake.

So, what am I? A murderer? A vigilante? Or a victim myself, with immortality as my punishment?

I guess it’s all in the semantics.

I am physically compelled to murder, there is no escaping that for me.

Killing is a given.

The only thing I can control is when, and who.

CHAPTER ONE

Shit.

How did this happen?

I’m on my way to prison.

Somehow, someone has been able to link me to one of the deaths.

I’d been careful, at least that was what I thought.

But they had been there when I got home, waiting for me. With some kind of proof, or so they claimed. They said there were streams of what had happened.

If that were so, why were they taking me to prison and not a more secure facility? They must have seen my changing abilities. So, why regular incarceration?

There was more here than meets the eye. And that never bodes well.

Who’s behind this?

CHAPTER TWO

The armoured car was claustrophobic.

There were four of us in the vehicle. two prisoners and two guards.

We were both chained to the seats— enclosed in a kind of body cage. The guards were armed with Tasers and pepper spray. No guns, in case we managed to escape. Even for me, that would be a chore with the given circumstances. There wasn’t enough room within the cage to exert the strength necessary to rip the metal apart. It wasn’t so much the strength of the cage, as the confined space that stopped me.

The other prisoner was a man. He leered at me. Undressing me with his eyes.

Men. God, they were so predictable. In the circumstances, maybe some other thoughts would be more appropriate.

I saw his hands stretch the chains and move to his groin. He managed to open the buttons on his jumpsuit and started to masturbate.

The big blond guard nudged his companion, pointing to the male prisoner. They laughed. ‘There’s no stopping some.’ The blond chuckled. ’Don’t mess up the place, Stan.’ They were on a first name basis, the prisoner obviously a regular.

I turned my face and tried to look outside. The windows were blackened, and I could only make out the dim changes in light when we passed illuminated buildings or traffic lights.

I had no idea where we were. Or what would happen.

The idea of being locked up was not an appealing one. The last time I had been captured had been in the lab. That had lasted more than five years. In the decades since then, I had vehemently protected my independence and freedom. How would I fare in prison? Thankfully I had just killed. So the bloodlust has been relieved for the time being.

But how long would that last?

With a last cry and shudder, the prisoner came. His semen hit the window to the right of me, and only just missed the blond guard.

‘Stan, you piece of shit.’ He jumped up. ‘What did I say about a mess. Now look what we have to clean up.’

‘We?’ The other guard said. ‘You, you mean. No way am I cleaning that up. God knows what diseases are in it.’

‘Leave it for the next crew.’ The blond sat back down again.

The vehicle slowed down. We had presumably reached our destination. I heard the driver speak to someone. The words weren’t audible, but the sentiment was professional and short.

Heavy gates were put in motion and the armoured car crept forward about thirty meters. It stopped again, and the procedure was repeated. This went on for four check points. The space in between increasing with each stop. Finally, it stopped, and the engine was shut down. I waited while the guards moved towards the doors at the back of the truck where the vehicle could be opened. The multiple locks clang open.

‘Home sweet home.’ The second guard said as the door swung open.

My eyes instantly narrowed from the harsh artificial light. Stan cried out a curse.

The guards jumped out of the truck and acknowledged their colleagues. The loading bay was teeming with heavily armed guards. Swat team members lined the back wall, closing off the exit. Seemed like a bit of overkill.

‘Well, well, what have we here?’ The officer in charge looked at the documents the blond guard handed over.

‘Stan. Back again, huh!’ He laughed at some internal joke. ‘You must really like it here. What did you do now?’ Flipping the documents, he read on. ‘Ok, multiple rape and torture, ending in the death of one of your victims. Looks like you’ve done it now. You’re in here for keeps. Maybe even the death penalty.’

Stan stayed silent, unperturbed.

‘And what’s this?’ the officer turned to me, looked me over and then turned his attention back to the sparse documents.

‘Is this all there is?’ He looked at the Swat team, someone had obviously expected a very dangerous prisoner, with all the muscle here.

‘All we got’.

‘Strange.’ Flipping through to the second page, the officer cursed when he saw a name and signature on one of the pages.

‘Shit.’ He said under his breath. ‘Spooks’. His demeanour changed with that revelation. It explained the large number of guards and Swat-team members.

‘Get her out of the cage and process her first.’

‘Hey’ Stan exclaimed. ‘What about me?’ They ignored him.

Two guards jumped in the truck and started to release me from the cage, while others kept me under shot from two sides. They bundled me out of the armoured car and through a heavy steel door into the bowels of the prison.

What did he mean? Spooks?

My hackles were up, he hair on my back was prickling to push through the skin, my fingertips itched to let the claws out. This was getting successively weirder by the minute. I don’t like losing control of a situation, and that was happening fast. My first reaction was to break the chains, kill the guards and get out of this place. I suppressed the urges, it would not do to change here and let my instincts get the better of me. Ok, they wouldn’t be able to kill me, but whether I would be able to escape was debatable at most. I would have to sit it out for now. There was no other option.

I let them push me down the corridors into a big bright room where even more guards waited. There were female guards here too. Burly women, with stern faces and disapproving eyes.

‘Bring her here’ one of them, called out to my escorts. They complied and gave her the papers. She passed them on to an assistant behind her without a glance.

‘I’ve been informed’ was her only comment.

The assistant signed a form, gave it to the escorts, and shooed them off.

I stood where they had placed me. Waiting for what was to come. This was the part where I would get the speech. I would be warned, and they would try to intimidate me.

Yeah, well good luck.

I wasn’t disappointed. The officer walked into my space, put her face up close.

‘You don’t look like much to me.’ Did she know how cliché that was? Just about every movie, old and new with a prison scene had used that. God, just get it over with will you. It’s been a long day.

I continued to look at a spot on the wall opposite me, zoning out everything else. I would survive here, there was no doubt about that. But I still hoped Jack would get me out ASAP. My stay wouldn’t be a trip to the park.

‘Get your clothes off.’ She yelled at me. Her face still only inches from mine.

I held up my hands brandishing the chains. Motioning to one of the guards. she indicated that they unshackle me. It felt good to lose the chains. I wanted to keep it that way, so I complied, taking off my clothes.

Standing naked I waited for the next order.

‘Search her.’ She barked.

I wasn’t even awarded the courtesy of a female guard to search me.

One of the men, with a smirk on his face, pushed my arms wide and proceeded to slowly run his hands over my body, lingering over my breasts, squeezing them, pinching the nipples. The other guards chuckled. I let them. This was all part of the intimidation process.

He moved behind me, pulling a latex glove over his left hand.

‘Bend over.’ The feeling of revulsion overwhelmed me with the lust in his voice, but this was not a good time to react—so I complied.

He put his right hand on my buttock and pushed the middle finger of his left into my vagina, probing for whatever might be hidden there. He withdrew. Then repeated the procedure.

‘Enough.’ The female officer finally said after a minute of this had passed.

I straightened up.

It was taking all of my restraint not to turn around and rip his throat out. I wasn’t shackled anymore, the guards were less than focused and I was wired for murder.

But I stayed put.

‘Get her a jumpsuit and bedding.’

A bundle of cotton sheets and prison garb was pushed into my arms.

‘Now move.’ I wasn’t going to get the chance to dress and would have to traverse the distance to my new cell naked. More intimidation. Great. One day I would get her for this.

Following the guard, our small procession moved to the general population area of the women’s wing. As expected, my naked entrance caused quite a stir. The female prisoners whistled, called out and occasionally threw things at me.

I blocked them out.

Finally, after a long walk we stopped in front of a cell door. The guard called out, the door was set in motion, and I was allowed to enter. The cell was empty. That was a small relief. The door clanged shut behind me. I moved to the bunk and proceeded to dress myself in the unflattering underwear and the bright orange jumpsuit.

They left her in her cell that night. No food, just the water from the small metal sink next to the lavatory. Thankfully no one else came to bunk down in the cell. Too much of a risk probably, something in the file about murderous intentions or something like that.

Six-thirty the next morning, the siren’s scream shattered the relative peace. Jess was awake. Not having slept much the whole night, she had just listened to the sounds of the place. Initially it seemed quiet, but to her enhanced hearing, it was all but that. Down the hallway one woman beat up her cellmate. It was obviously a recurring thing—the victim bit her lip and endured the blows. A male guard slipped into one of the cells and had sex with the inhabitants, paying them in cigarettes for the satisfaction. Most of the inmates slept, many snored. Some cried.

Just before the siren erupted, she heard the guards on their last rounds. They were laying bets on how long it would take for the newbie—her—to be molested by the other inmates. The women in this block were tough. They had a bad reputation. Even for a place like this. She overheard a few names, but they didn’t mean anything to her yet. Pulling her bed covers straight, Jess waited for the cell door to open.

The guards yelled their routine threats, answered by the equally redundant howls and swearing from the women. With a loud click, the door started to move sideways and opened up the way out for Jess.

Her initial idea of blending in had been shattered yesterday when she was forced to walk the traverse naked. She had been noticed. More than that. Today would be hard.

She left the cell and stood next to the door, like the other inmates. Her somewhat meek neighbours stole glances at her, those further on more overtly yelled and whistled. She ignored them all. The inmates started to move towards the stairs and down to the ground floor area. She joined the row, shuffling along with them, down the stairs to the communal area. Bolted down chairs, benches and tables were tantamount to the trust the guards had in the inhabitants’ peaceful natures. The tension was palatable.

Jess followed the others as she walked into the canteen area. There she took her tray and inched past the catering. The food looked bad. Mass production, but still, it was sustenance.

This was the traditional place where the first trysts happened in films, but she made it to the end of the line without problems. Now she had to find somewhere to sit. She chose an empty table and bench with her back to a wall as much as possible, sat down and proceeded to eat.

A minute later she felt someone behind and to the side of her.

‘This is my spot.’ The woman proclaimed.

Ok, she thought, so now it was time to choose—give in and keep on doing that or nip the whole thing in the bud right now.

She remained silent. Ignoring the inmate.

‘Hey bitch’ the woman continued ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ The room was otherwise silent. Everyone held their breath. To them it was clear how this would end. With bloodshed—the newbie’s. Jess continued to ignore the ever-angrier woman.

Putting her tray down, the woman reached out to grab Jess by the hair or neck. She was too slow.

Grasping the woman’s arm and twisting out of the bench at the same time, Jess almost dislocated the limb as she crashed her assailant’s head down on to the table, her face mashing the food on her own tray. She kicked the woman’s her feet out from under her and whispered in her ear in a menacing voice. ‘Was your place, past tense, now it’s mine.’ Twisting the arm one more time for good measure, Jess let up and stepped back allowing the woman to right herself.

‘You broke my fucking arm, you bitch.’

‘Be glad that’s all’ Jess answered. ‘Now get out of my face.’

‘I’ll get you for this.’

‘Yeah, yada yada.’ Bored, Jess sat down again and continued eating. The inmates left her alone for the rest of breakfast. Her outburst and unexpected win had thrown them off for now. But it was by no means the end of it.

The women were herded outside into the communal sports areas, Jess followed suit and reached the big fenced-in area without incident. She walked around for a while, getting her bearings, and in the meantime sizing up the inmates. The burly woman who had attacked her that morning was surrounded by six or seven equally pissed off buddies all wearing blue bandanas. She didn’t have a cast on her arm, so it hadn’t been broken. They glared at Jess but refrained from anything else for the moment.

There were two major factions in the prison by the looks of it. The one with the bandanas that the pissed-off bitches belonged to and another group that was physically as far distanced from them as possible. In between the glares at Jess, the two groups tried to intimidate each other. The blue bandanas were winning by a small margin.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Ok if I sit?’ A middle-aged inmate asked. Jess looked up and nodded. ‘Not really the best possible start of your stay here, to antagonise the Kundela’ the woman spoke softly, without any judgement, just matter-of-fact.

Jess shrugged. Whatever.

‘I’ll give you the who’s who in here. What you do with it is your prerogative.’

There was always one of these types, the ones who were more or less neutral and just wanted to give the newbie a head start, a chance. The prison’s version of a mother-figure.

‘There are two major gangs here’ she continued her monologue, not expecting an answer. ‘The Kundela and the Bitches, appropriately named by the way. They rule the place. The guards here are just for show.’

Looking around, Jess could see that it was no joke. The guards acted out their role as the controllers, but as in so many maximum-security prisons, the real power lay with a select group of inmates. Like in the outside world, everything and everyone was for sale, for the right price.

‘The Kundela—the name has an aboriginal origin, some kind of death bone or something like that—anyway they control the drugs, so more or less everything. Anything goes down here—they have a stake in it. Their leader is Sheila, she’s not out here. Second in command is that bitch Beverly. You met her this morning. They won’t let you get away with the shame you put her in. She’s the enforcer and frankly everyone’s scared shit of her. Bev is one sick psycho. Too late to steer clear of them now. Your best bet would be to join the Bitches, if they’ll have you. Hope that they can protect your back.’

‘I’m not joining anyone.’ Jess finally said.

‘There are no loners here. You are going to have to choose sides or you won’t last the night’.

‘I’ll survive.’

‘Good luck.’

With that she left.

CHAPTER FOUR

I was sick of the constant tension. Not knowing when the next attack would come. And it would, of that I was sure.

I had been able to turn the first attack in my favour. I’d knocked the attacker to the ground with only my fighting skills and resisted the urge to use excessive strength. It wouldn’t do to show how strong I was, not yet. But naturally my victory had just pissed them off more.

It was mainly the Kundela I watched out for. The rest just waited to see when I would fold, or die, whatever came first.

The second attempt was better scripted, more structured, and more successful.

Beverly, the one I had shamed on my first full day here, was out for my blood. She stuck me multiple time with a homemade shank while her fellow gang members pummelled me with broken chair-legs, their fists and anything else they could find. It was six to one, so I had to let them have the upper-hand. In hindsight, I should have known that Bev would take it to a new level and try to kill me.

She stuck the shank deep in my side, puncturing my left lung, the second thrust went into my heart, the third the other lung. Any one of the stabbings would have killed someone else. Me, it just hurt like hell. And, I bled like a stuck pig.

The guards were noticeably slow in breaking up the fight. By the time they got to me, I looked more or less terminal. They bundled me up and sent me to the infirmary. When I finally got there, I was already half-healed, at least on the inside. I slowed the regeneration of the skin as much as possible. I needed some kind of wounds to at least explain the blood, even though the cuts and the sea of red were in no way compatible.

The nurses cut the shirt off me and searched for the lethal wounds. Frustrated, they turned me over and probed the wounds I had left. They argued amongst themselves and finally blamed the guards for overreacting and wasting their time.

This seemed like the right time to open my eyes. I had been conscious throughout but had thought it prudent to play comatose for a while. They dropped me back on to the gurney, surprised and shocked that I was awake and even that I was alive. Looking down at the tatters of my ripped shirt and the big blotches of red that covered the material, I could understand why—it was a lot of blood.

Shit. That would mean that I would be under par for the coming few days. That, and I would need extra food to build up my body again before the change overtook me, both would be a challenge in general population. I decided that it would be safer and quieter to stay in the infirmary for at least one or two days, so I sighed in supposed pain and let my body go limp again.

It worked. They kept me in the infirmary for another twenty-four hours. I couldn’t hold back the healing any longer than that. The bandages were discarded after the wounds disappeared overnight, so they let me go. It was fun screwing with their minds. Knowing they had probably been bought off by the Kundela.

Anyway, I was dumped back into general population and strutted back into the central sports area on the outside terrain. Bev almost fainted when I casually walked by and gave her the finger.

Her face said it all. I should be dead—why wasn’t I?

CHAPTER FIVE

They stayed away for the next two days, not knowing what to do. I should be dead. The still-visible blood stain on the sport’s tarmac was proof that I had lost more blood than was humanly possible. But here I was, alive and kicking. After the initial surprise, they started to come closer again. Small irritations. No major challenges, just small pushes here and there.

The cat and mouse game continued for a week. The Kundela were too impressed or too superstitious to try anything big. But on the other hand, they had lost face with the other gangs. Something would break sooner or later.

It was getting tedious.

I decided to stop the hassle. Turn the hunter into the hunted. Go directly to the source.

The Kundela’s headquarters was in the D-block. So that was where I was headed.

Crossing the open area, I took in the security arrangements they had in place. I saw at least five or six bodyguards, big, mean looking women, probably armed, even in here. Three prison guards added to the security ring.

With surprise and unbelief as the best offence, I casually sauntered into the enemies’ stronghold. My claws were itching to come out and the hair on my back rippled in anticipation. I reluctantly held the change at bay. Man, I was spoiling for a fight.

They let me in. Probably didn’t know what else to do, and they were lulled into some sort of complacency because of the odds.

Inside D-block the air was heavy with cigarette smoke and the stale odour of too many people in a restricted area. The tension was almost palatable. I stood inside the door and paused for a moment to get my bearings and a feel of the situation. There was even more muscle in here. Most of it centred around the open door of a cell opposite where I was now. So naturally, that was where I was headed.

If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead. Well not me, but anyone else… you know what I mean.

Bev barred the entrance to what seemed to be a suite of cells. From where I was, I could see that some of the connecting walls between the neighbouring cells had been demolished to extend the space.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’ she hissed.

‘Just being neighbourly.’

‘You should be dead.’

‘Yeah well I’m not.’

‘Next time, I’ll make sure.’

‘There won’t be a next time, at least not for you.’

She was seething. Just about ready to jump me. I stood my ground.

‘Much as I enjoy talking to you Bev… I didn’t come here for you.’

‘Let her in.’ The voice came from the recesses of the cells. It was a deep, resonating, female voice. ‘Search her first,’ she added.

Patting me down roughly, Bev was disappointed when she couldn’t find anything that she could use against me. I smiled. That aggravated her even more. Reluctantly, she stood aside to let me pass. I walked into the cells.

It really was a suite, with separate cells for different functions. One a bedroom, another a bathroom of sorts, and the one in front of me, an office. It was complete with a desk, a row of cabinets for files and a coffee maker prominently visible on top of a small fridge. All things you would not expect in a maximum-security prison. Behind the desk was a mammoth of a woman. Big all around, the dark aboriginal features contrasting with the bright flowers and parrots of her Hawaiian shirt. She was observing me as I was her. Curiosity being the main emotion I could see. She wasn’t the least bit afraid or anxious. Why should she be? She was surrounded by her trained killers, whereas I was alone.

‘You got guts coming here like this.’ She was amused, but an edge showed. This