Carnal Atrocities

By Kim Godden

What makes a killer emerge? Could it be genetics or are we shaped by our environments from

childhood onwards?

Lurking in the recesses of the mind is a dark cruelty, cupped in the hands of pleasure and

nurtured by the need for power. Does this exist within us all and if so, how do some control it

and others allow it to consume them?

The detached coldness of a clinic waiting room, the deafening silence that illuminated your

vulnerability. Who’d have thought from such desperation, friendships would flourish.

Starting with a simple hello, a group friendship was forged that would grow from within

adolescence into adulthood. With the strains of trauma beginning to show, the group becomes

aware that the normality expected in the society around them is a far cry from how this group

functions and the cracks begin to appear.

With torture, murder, control and grief only a stone’s throw away, where will the darkness take

this troubled group of individuals?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035823079

Kim Godden

As well as being a working mother of three, Kim Godden has tirelessly strived to bring her work to life with the power of words. Taking inspiration from the world around her has enabled her to challenge topics within her novels and bring new perspectives to her readers.

Book preview

About the Author

Aside from being a mother of three and a wife, Kim gave up her corporate career recently to follow her dream of becoming an author.

With a passion for all things people related and inspired by her life in and around the West Midlands and in Buckinghamshire, Kim has submerged herself into her new career with enthusiasm and pride.

Dedication

Dedicated to those who couldn’t be with me on this journey. You have taught me a lot, for which I am truly thankful.

Copyright Information ©

Kim Godden 2023

The right of Kim Godden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035823062 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035823079 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank my family for always challenging my world and making me the best version of me I can possibly be.

Prologue

Many of us dream of successful careers, fulfilling marriages and happy memories of family holidays on beaches in the sun. For some of us, every day is a battle, where dreaming is not allowed. Struggles with mental health, judgements and unfair prejudices rule every waking moment. The desire to be needed, wanted, and accepted consume all that you are. It can drive you to the point of no return if you let it. Our society’s need to dish out labels can enrage you, drawing more attention than ever to the personality flaws you despise in yourself the most.

Much worse than this, the desperate attempt to avoid your abuse being what people know you for. Your troubled past, emanating empathy from those who don’t know you, nor will they ever really want to, once they discover the truth. Just another label or statistic that demotes who you really are. What if that becomes too much for you to bear? What are the consequences?

So many questions go unanswered. People find themselves passed from one person with a degree to another. So many failings from doctors or psychologists who regurgitate facts from textbooks they used to study twenty years ago. These very people that to this day still cannot make clear distinctions whether it’s a malfunctioning brain activity, the trauma of abuse or merely the environments you have been exposed to that can create the adult you see before you in the mirror, yet still they take the moral high ground. Look down at you from a height. Why? Because they can.

Overthinking can be the demise of many a good soul. Seeking solace in those who truly understand you can set you free—at a price. Will you feel a friendship become toxic and will you have the power to release yourself from it should you have no one else to turn too? Will your friendship impact those around you or make your behaviour sinister, outrageous even. More pointedly, will you even care? Years of misery replaced by happiness and laughter. The world’s weight lifted from your shoulders and at last, you can remove the mask society has been shown. The joy of being able to be your true uncensored self can be the only thing left for you to desire. Will this release be enough, or will your demons make you answerable eventually?

Chapter One

The waiting room was as dark and miserable as the pasts and the minds of those people sitting on the chairs waiting to be helped. Every second that ticked by on the oversized metal clock on the wall signified you were one step closer to having to relive the trauma that stalks your life. Looking around at the people in the waiting area, all avoiding eye contact made you feel invisible and unimportant. Posters filled the walls, full of encouragement about talking through your problems as if they would miraculously disappear. They advertised that this was a place where trust and confidentiality were upheld, a place safe from judgement. All these words, yet still the sinking feeling of being let down time and time again was unescapable.

The clinic had a musty smell to it. Magnolia coloured walls and brown carpet that looked as if it had remained uncleaned for a decade only added to the feelings of desperation and disappointment. Small white tables were scattered around with old books no one wanted to read or magazines that had pages missing where there had once been recipes or tips for looking after seedlings in greenhouses. The place was utterly underfunded and depressing. The patients themselves ranged in ages and their conditions were buried behind idling eyes and expressionless faces. It could be speculated that many had been forced somehow to be there.

John Portman was one such patient. He had been forced to be there and resented the fact. During his early teens, he had been taken into care. It was his mission to be as difficult as possible and he had succeeded which had left the authorities no choice but to send him to this grim and useless place. Now sixteen, he was known to the police, his behaviour anti-social and violent. Fighting, drug taking and even stealing cars; he was reckless and cared little about the consequences. He was fairly intelligent and no matter what school he ended up at, he did reasonably well and most times, averaging in the top ten of students. He had noticed over the last few weeks that there were in fact a handful of people his age. He had wanted to talk to them, especially the little blond thing but he had never had much of a chance due to his tardiness with time keeping.

The little blond thing that had caught John’s eye was Trixie Needham. She had been referred to the youth counselling clinic by her GP. On the surface, she looked completely normal, the girl next door or the neighbourhood sweetheart. But that was a common assumption. Mental illness and trauma were not the sort of debilitating conditions that you can see. There was one notable trait that John spotted straight away. Every time a male of any description walked past her or sat near her, she would visibly shrink into the other direction, her eyes would redden as if she were about to cry, and her complexion would whiten as if she were ready to vomit. This observation made John rage inside. He had seen the same behaviour in his mother, and he was confident he knew the cause.

As with all walks of life there was another young girl that John observed, and she was a stark contrast to the little blond. Her name was Ana Prophet. She was well dressed, elegantly spoken and was the only person, despite her age that would look into your soul with a single glance. She was beautiful and confident, almost annoyingly so and looked very much out of place in a room full of people clearly looking like they were in need of help. Ana had happily obliged her parents when they requested her to attend counselling and she appeared to disregard the social stigmas that came with entering this building. For John and many others that met her, she was simply intriguing. John did have a tendency to either loath women in general or be mesmerised by them. The loathing came when they were overweight, ugly or dull like the girl in the corner. He wouldn’t need to get to know her to dislike her immensely.

The girl in the corner was Mary Judge and unbeknownst to the others, she was crippled by low intelligence, instability with relationships and fear of rejection and abandonment. Like Trixie, Mary always had an adult with her. It was as if they were incapable of doing anything alone. Yet John had no sympathy for her. Nor did he care what had bought her to counselling in the first place. When John came into contact with people like Mary, he believed it must be their fault as to why they were here. As he was musing over his own thoughts, another teenager around the same age came in. He was athletic, good looking and seemed familiar to John. A friend with a common interest such as sport did seem to be a good idea. Someone to impress even.

Chase McKay was everything that John had surmised and more. He too was forced into counselling as he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble, yet he had something about him that John didn’t. Chase had feelings and compassion for others. He was outgoing and found striking conversation easy. He sat down in the chair next to John.

Hey, how you doing—Chase. He extended his hand out for a gentlemanly handshake.

John—Yeah, good man. Will be better once I get this session out the way, can’t stand the prick!

Both laughed in unison. It was well known that many people did not like the resident doctor. Out the corner of his eye, he also saw Ana smile and immediately Chase gave her a wink. Little did these troubled teens know that this was just the beginning of what would blossom into a friendship with a little hard work. Before any further exchanges could be had John was called through.

See you next week? John inquired.

Yep, I’ll be here, Chase replied.

John walked the corridor and entered yet another magnolia room.

Hello, John, nice to see again. Take a seat.

Dr Peter Neill, condescending and patronising, he was a leading expert in youth psychology. John hated him with a passion.

So, John, where shall we start today?

Could, not, give, a, shit! came John’s usual response.

Dr Peter Neill did all he could with John in every session. John was awkward, sarcastic, silent or all three during any given session. Dr Neill’s report back to the care home and his social workers was always the same. Anti-social Personality Disorder with an inability or desire to address his childhood traumas.

John knew what the reports said. He knew what he had grown up in. He could see little need in discussing the details with a complete stranger who he didn’t like. What good would it do? Could this person turn back time and prevent John the beatings he got from his prostitute mother’s clients? No, he couldn’t as he couldn’t undo the bullying he had faced for being a fatherless son of a whore. Nothing would make these memories vanish, or hurt any less, therefore he refused to discuss them. It also wouldn’t change the fact that despite his intelligence, the teachers wouldn’t give him the time of day. They looked down their noses at him. He was just another shitty kid, from a shitty family that would not amount to anything other than a convicted criminal or a dead drug user. John would sometimes break his silence with a snigger when all else failed and the doctor had to resort to guessing John’s childhood outside of the existing social service reports.

As the session went on, this time John found himself thinking about the other teenagers he had seen today. Did they all have to go through this ridiculous bullshit? He made a decision then and there that next week, he would start