Heller's Regret

Heller’s Regret

by JD Nixon

Copyright JD Nixon 2014

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental.

JD Nixon is an Australian author. Australian English and spelling have been used in this book.

Discover other titles by JD Nixon available at many ebook retailers:

Heller series

Book 1: Heller (free ebook!)

Book 2: Heller’s Revenge

Book 3: Heller’s Girlfriend

Book 4: Heller’s Punishment

Book 5: Heller’s Decision

Book 6: Heller’s Regret

Book 7: Heller’s Family (to be published)

Little Town series

Book 1: Blood Ties (free ebook!)

Book 2: Blood Sport

Book 3: Blood Feud

Book 4: Blood Tears (to be published)

Book 5: as yet unnamed (to be published)

Cover design by Infinity Rain

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Chapter 1

"Psst."

I wondered if I’d only imagined the low hissing sound from the person standing next to me, until I heard it again.

"Psst. How long are you in here for?" she whispered.

I slid my eyes to the left, careful not to incline or shift my head even a fraction from facing directly forward. There were consequences for doing that.

A woman, wearing the same ill-fitting, dull grey tracksuit that we were all forced to wear and which made us as washed out and frumpy as each other, stood dead level with me, in perfect alignment with the rest of the row. There were consequences for being out of position too.

I couldn’t see much of her from the corner of my eye; only that she was shorter than me. But at six feet tall, I had to admit that not many women in the world matched my height. I thought I recognised her voice as the older, small, plump woman I’d met briefly when we’d arrived.

What was her name? I’d heard her say it to a few people on that first day. Glenda? Freda? Hilda?

We hadn’t had a chance to talk before, but during joint events such as this parade, I hadn’t missed the sparkle in her bright, interested blue eyes that I’d caught more than once canvassing me. Nor that her obviously vibrant nature was as stifled and constrained every bit as much as her sunburst of curly red hair was tightly pulled back into a neat bun, as was mine and every other female’s here. There were consequences for untidy, unrestrained hair. In fact, there were consequences for pretty much any infraction you could ever imagine, including some that would only occur to the imagination of the most twisted sadist ever born.

Four weeks, I whispered back, trying out my best ventriloquist impersonation to keep my lips from moving.

It failed.

Assistant One, who’d safely walked past us after giving us both a sneering appraisal with her soul-less eyes, stopped in her tracks. Glenda-Freda-Hilda and I froze, each resolutely staring ahead, as mute and detached from each other as commuters on a packed morning train.

The Assistant stood stock-still in her place for the briefest of moments. I willed her to continue walking past the other unfortunates lined up with me on this cold, bleak morning. I held my breath as she took another step forward, giving every indication she was moving on.

I should have known better.

Like magic, the next thing I knew she loomed in front of me, her nose only several centimetres from mine, close enough for me to count every one of the dark hairs poking out of her nostrils, close enough to smell her sour breath.

Something to say? she asked me in a deceptively quiet tone.

I usually don’t like to judge people on their looks, but by anyone’s measure, the Assistant was an ugly woman. At least I think she was a woman – it was hard to tell. Her solid square frame, shoulders as wide as her hips, harsh buzzcut, deep voice, and relentlessly androgynous fashion made me suspect more than once that we had a cuckoo in the nest. It wasn’t so much any individual facial feature contributing to her ugliness, but a combination of all, resulting in a permanently mean and gloating expression. She seemed the type who’d enjoy pinching a baby to make her cry just for giggles.

She waited an excruciating thirty seconds for me to answer. But I knew better than to do that. I continued to stare at her, stonily silent.

I don’t think you heard me, said the Assistant with the twisted grimace that passed as a ‘smile’ for her. Perhaps I’d better repeat myself. Do you have something to say?

I remained quiet. I wouldn’t let her goad me into answering. There were Consequences for doing that, as I’d learnt to my detriment on my first day here.

The Assistant considered me for another thirty seconds. Sick of looking at her face – an unavoidable horror as she blocked my view with it – I stared over her shoulder, wishing once again that I was back home, even if Heller was currently away on one of his secret assignments. A strong wave of homesickness threatened to engulf me, almost forcing a groan from my lips. I caught it in time because – you guessed it – there were consequences for even thinking of home.

Disappointed at not getting any reaction from me, which would immediately allow her to evoke a Punishment, she looked down at the clipboard she carried with her everywhere.

Hmm, let’s see, she said, pretending to scan the document, though she read it so many times each day that she must surely be able to recite it in her sleep. Ah, here we are. Chunky Chalmers.

She peered over the clipboard to judge my reaction to the nickname she’d given me after our first encounter.

She continued. So, Chunky Chalmers, why are you here again? She raised her voice loud enough to be heard by the other nineteen people who almost trembled with audible relief that someone else was her current target. She knew perfectly well why I was here – she taunted me about it every day. Oh yes. Chunky Chalmers was sent here by her boss –

Supervisor, not boss, I protested in my mind.

– because her uniform didn’t fit. Is that right?

I didn’t respond.

Chunky Chalmers couldn’t squeeze her enormous arse and fat stomach into her work pants. Is that true?

In a perverse way, I wanted her to continue to humiliate me. Every derogatory comment she made, every Punishment she doled out, only served to feed my burning rage towards the man responsible for sending me here to this hellhole – Clive.

I’d been so excited waking up on the day I was due to return to work at Heller’s as a security officer. Heller had been called up for a last minute assignment, leaving for parts unknown at breakfast the previous day. He hadn’t given me even the slightest hint of what he’d be doing, where he’d be going, or when he’d return. I only hoped that he did return. Nothing he’d said about this second job assuaged my fears for him. And to be honest, I still carried a level of hurt about him not discussing it with me before he made the decision to start doing those extra jobs. In my mind, that wasn’t the way a relationship should work.

All that was far from my mind that morning, however. I’d wished he’d been at the Warehouse so he could see me back in uniform. I think that secretly he would have been pleased, though he’d probably never show it.

But when I’d dressed in my uniform, I was suddenly glad he was far, far away in parts unknown.

Oh geez, I’d thought to myself in despair as I’d viewed my reflection in the mirror. No matter which way I’d angled my body, or how much I’d held in my stomach, the stubborn fact remained that my cargo pants wouldn’t zip up. And as they formed a rather essential part of the Heller’s uniform, I knew I was in trouble. I had no choice but to abandon them and don a pair of black jeans that I’d bought more recently and which were a little roomier.

Dreading the forthcoming encounter, I’d strolled with fake nonchalance through the door of the security section. As I’d entered, I’d breathed in the terrible, but familiar, odour of a place where multitudes of big men congregated regularly.

Hey, Tilly, called a few of the men in a friendly way, while I’d greeted others with the traditional Heller’s palm slap.

Simultaneously eager and nervous, it had excited me to be back there again, surrounded by well-muscled man mountains. I’d only hoped none of them noticed I wasn’t in full uniform.

What a hope.

My supervisor, Clive, the hardarse from hell, had barged out of his office, his meaty fist closed over a stack of papers. He’d pulled up sharply when he’d spotted me.

What the hell are you wearing? he’d demanded, his voice more gravelly than normal, but his eyes their usual cold flatness. Obviously he didn’t have an eye for fashion.

My uniform, I’d replied with a winning smile. I’m starting work here again today, remember? I’m really looking forward to it. I hope you have a great assignment lined up for me.

His expression had indicated he didn’t share my enthusiasm for the recommencement of my security career.

"That’s not the Heller’s uniform. Where are your cargo pants?"

Well . . . I’d equivocated, glancing around me at the surrounding men. Flames of embarrassment had crept up my neck to my cheeks. I’d appealed to him. Can we talk about this in private? In your office?

I might as well have saved my breath. Trying to coax a concession from Clive about anything was like attempting to mop up the Pacific Ocean with a roll of paper towels.

They don’t fit you anymore, do they? he’d interrogated, not without some triumph as my blush deepened. Didn’t he know how rude it was to comment on a lady’s weight? Especially in public.

I wouldn’t exactly say they don’t fit. It’s more that they’re a little snug at the moment. I’m sure a couple of sessions in the gym will fix it.

When was the last time you did a workout?

Oh man, why’d he have to ask that?

Um . . . I’d prevaricated, while I’d desperately tried to think back to the last time I’d set foot in the gym.

Without another word, he’d spun around and lumbered back to his corner office. A couple of sympathetic pats on the shoulder later, the men had filed out to collect a fleet vehicle and head out to their assignments, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the empty section, unsure of what I was supposed to do.

Clive had pounded on his keyboard, staring intently at the screen. He’d picked up the phone, punished the keypad with his jabbing, and waited a few ticks before speaking into the receiver. As a man who spoke only when necessary, all I’d heard of his side of the conversation was a series of what sounded like inarticulate grunts, but which I’d assumed was an intelligent conversation.

He’d hung up and forcefully pushed back his seat, stomping out of his office. He’d thrust a piece of paper at me.

You’re lucky. They’re able to take you for their next course at the last minute. Report there today, ready to start tomorrow, was all he’d deigned to say before returning to his office, slamming the door, returning to his computer and ignoring me.

I’d looked down at the piece of paper. In Clive’s virtually illegible scrawl was written the address for the Lake Tranquillity Boot Camp. My flush of embarrassment had morphed into one of fury. I’d marched to his office and entered without asking permission.

"I’m not going to any stinking boot camp, I’d insisted hotly, throwing the piece of paper on his desk. You can’t make me."

You’ll do what you’re told.

I’m not going there.

Then you’re not working here, he’d said flatly, summarily dismissing me by turning back to his screen.

You can’t do this.

Yes, I can. I’m your supervisor. Heller left you in my care when he isn’t here. His expression had suggested he considered that a thankless task.

I’m going to tell Heller.

I’d known it was a mistake as soon as I’d said it. He’d stopped typing and finally gave me his undivided attention. A smile had tugged at one corner of his mouth. I had to look twice to confirm that, it was such a rare event.

Good. You tell him. What do you think he’s going to say about one of his employees turning up unfit for work?

I’d known very well what Heller would say about anyone daring to do that in his business, his bed buddy or not.

"I’m not unfit. I’m just . . . a little less fit than I used to be," I’d tried with deflating defiance. Sometimes you just had to give up when you were beaten, reserving your energy to fight another day.

Clive had stared at me with grim satisfaction. I’d snatched the piece of paper back off his desk and stormed out.

If you think you’re getting rid of me, I’ll show you. I’ll be back sooner than you think, I’d threatened angrily on my way out.

Have fun, he’d called after me, stoking my anger, an anger that only grew stronger every second I’d spent so far at boot camp.

I hated everything about Lake Tranquillity from the second I turned off a minor road to its pitted dirt approach road. After about eight more kilometres of driving, the compound came into view. I hated it even more once I set eyes on it.

What was wrong with Lake Tranquillity Boot Camp? It would be far easier to begin by listing what was right with it – and in one word, nothing.

The camp was located in a dry, desolate place, such a mere blip on my car’s GPS that I almost drove past the entrance. In reality, it wasn’t terribly far from the city – it just felt like it. The so-called ‘lake’ turned out to be a sewerage reclamation dam, and the machinery processing it ensured it was most definitely not tranquil by anyone’s definition of the word, not to mention nauseatingly noxious whenever a westerly wind wafted the smell in our general direction.

On arrival, I was directed to leave my car in a dusty carpark behind the compound, which consisted of two bleak cement blocks and a couple of equally bleak, utilitarian amenity buildings. They were grouped in a semi-circle around a large dirt bowl misleadingly called the Field.

A straggle of poor, miserable souls mustered nervously at the Field as instructed in orderly rows. On a rough headcount, there were about forty of us enduring the torture and not one of us looked happy about it. I checked my phone while we waited for something to happen, hoping that Clive had changed his mind and ordered me back home. No messages.

Hand over all phones, snapped a fearsome man in his late-forties, striding up and down in front of us, periodically slapping a riding crop against his thigh. I never worked out why he carried it, because the only sign of a horse I saw around was a sad-looking donkey on a far-distant property that brayed gloomily through the night. I knew how it felt – I wanted to join in.

We all grumbled, pulling out our various phones.

"There is to be no talking back when you’re given an order! he roared, making us all jump in fright. Everybody drop and give me ten. There are Consequences for disobedience."

A bit shocked, we all found our way down to the ground, some with more difficulty than others. I hadn’t done a pushup for ages, and by the fifth one, I was struggling. Some of the others were struggling with their first.

I can see this is a pathetic group of weaklings, he spat in the dirt in contempt. Stand up when you’re finished, if any of you ever finish.

I wasn’t the first one up, but I wasn’t anywhere near the last. It was an agonising, embarrassing wait in the sun until the last poor, red-faced, gasping person staggered to their feet.

"Pa-thet-ic," the man spat again on to the dirt. If he kept that up, I’d have to say something – it was a very unhygienic habit.

I’m the Director of this facility. You will refer to me at all times as the Director. These three people, he nodded to his left and right where one man and two women flanked him, are my assistants. You will refer to them at all times as the Assistants.

A sweating, overweight man raised his hand. Excuse me, Director. I have a question. Are we able to . . .

He spluttered to a halt, receiving a death stare from all four staff in return. The Director pointed at him.

You stay standing. The rest of you drop and give me ten.

With resentful glances thrown at the inquisitive man, now turning a nice shade of beetroot, the rest of us quietly groaned our way down to the ground again. The man stood there, clearly wishing he could disappear, while the rest of us were forced to do more pushups.

When the last straggler made it back to their feet, some of them puffing so hard I hoped the Director kept a defibrillator handy, he eyed us off, one by one.

"Anyone else have a question?"

Unbelievably, a woman tentatively raised her hand. Some of us groaned out loud.

The Director smiled, and it wasn’t one of those smiles that gave you any comfort when you needed it. He pointed at her. You stay standing. The rest of you give me ten.

Wearily, we dropped to our knees again. By the end of the last pushup, my arms were shaking.

Any more questions? asked the Director in an almost kindly voice, which just made it even scarier.

A deadly silence emanated from the group, the only sound a couple of crows gloating about our servitude from the freedom of a nearby tree.

Excellent. Let’s move on. Ladies to the right, men to the left. Move it! We shuffled around until we were in our designated groups. Ladies, you’re in Group A; men in Group B. Group A, your living quarters are the bunkers you see in front of you and you’ll be supervised by Assistants One and Two. Group B, you’ll live on the other side of the enclosure and will be supervised by Assistant Three and me.

A quiver of gratitude spread through me that I wouldn’t have to deal with the Director, but when I looked at the uncompromising faces of the two female Assistants, it quickly withered.

I never found out where Group B lived and didn’t set eyes on any of them again after that first muster.

I only hoped they were all still alive.

Chapter 2

Group A was divided into two and allocated to either Bunker One or Bunker Two. The bunkers were so devoid of any creature comfort that accommodation in an army survival combat course in the middle of the jungle with no supplies would have seemed luxurious by comparison. Unpainted concrete walls and bare timber floors were illuminated with harsh fluorescent lights that flickered and buzzed annoyingly. Tiny louvred windows, unadorned with coverings of any kind, didn’t provide enough brightness to negate the need for the annoying fluorescents, even in the middle of the day. It was grim and cheerless – pretty much how I felt on seeing it.

We weren’t afforded the indulgence of choosing our own sleeping arrangements. The bunks were pre-allocated, our last names written on a small board mounted on the wall of our individual ‘personal space’. A basic bedside table and cupboard stood neatly to the right of our beds. Inside each cupboard were four sets of the grey tracksuit, correctly sized for us all. There were no mirrors, rugs or pot plants – absolutely nothing to soften some of the bunker’s austerity.

The two Assistants were each in charge of a bunker. We were allocated the delightful and ever-so entertaining Assistant One. She addressed us as we huddled together in the middle of the bunker.

You may keep a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush, one pair of pyjamas and any female sanitary requirements. You may also remove from your suitcases your runners and four days’ supply of underwear and gym socks. In the bathroom, which is located in the centre block, you will find an adequate supply of soap, shampoo and towels. If you’ve brought any medication, let me know and I’ll consult the Director. He’ll allow all doctor-prescribed medication, but we’ll dole out the correct doses as prescribed.

Excuse me, said one well-spoken, well-groomed woman. I really must have my moisturiser, otherwise my skin will –

You stay standing. The rest of you drop and give me ten.

There was no hiding our disgusted outburst of groans this time.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –

Now it’s twenty.

I wasn’t sure I could manage twenty more pushups, but then I remembered Clive’s face and my determination grew to mountainous proportions. He didn’t think I could do this, but I would show him. Those dark thoughts of vengeance kept me going through the set and I was the first one back up on my feet.

The woman who’d caused the punishment looked over at me beseechingly, but I stared ahead stonily, not willing to acknowledge her.

The last woman, probably the oldest in our group, struggled to reach her feet when she’d finished. I leant over to help her, letting her use my shoulder for support – she might have been my mother’s age. Even I could hear her knees cricking as she rose.

The Assistant came over to me and stood in front. Oh no, I thought.

Good teamwork. We like to see that here. I breathed out in relief. And you are?

Tilly Chalmers, I told her unwillingly.

She ran her finger down a piece of paper on a clipboard. Ah, here we are. Matilda Chalmers, aged twenty-six. She inclined her head to one side. Hmm, I would have said you were ten years older.

Bitch, I thought.

She poked me in the stomach, making me reflex backwards. Too much soft living. We’ll call you Chunky Chalmers.

You don’t have to be so rude. I’m not chunky and I don’t look ten years older, I said without thinking.

Her thick eyebrows shot up in delighted surprise. You can stay here. The rest of you can do five laps of the Field.

I glanced around at the mutinous faces of my roommates. I’m going to join them.

"Ooh, I do like your team spirit, Chunky. But that’s not how we do things here. Now it’s ten laps for everyone. She pretended to think. Tell you what, though. As a special treat, I’ll let you do twenty laps by yourself after everyone else is done. She shook her head deprecatingly. I’m such a pushover for cute, chunky faces."

She forced me to stand in the increasingly hot sun and watch while my roommates staggered their way around ten laps of the dry, dusty Field. I was mortified that I’d caused these poor women to have to do this. And at that point, I didn’t know if I was angrier with Clive or with Assistant One. I had to admit, though, it was a clever ruse to not punish the person committing the infraction, but everyone else in their stead. It was surely going to foster discontent in the group and the ganging up on people who didn’t quickly learn to obey the rules. I didn’t want to be the one they ganged up on.

When the last straggler made her weary way back after her laps, shooting me looks of hatred, the Assistant smiled benevolently.

Nice work so far, ladies. She pointed to the middle amenity block. As I told you earlier, half of that is your bathroom. The other half is the kitchen and dining room. There you’ll find ample supplies of cold water and some energy bars to share between you. She looked at me with a fake sad expression. Sorry, Chunky. By the time you’re finished with your ‘honour’ laps, I suspect all the food will be gone. It’s rationed here.

I set off jogging with the determination a lot of long-distance runners have. Break through it, break through it, I told myself with every step. I thought about how I could kill Clive, or how I could kill Assistant One. Or better yet, how I could convince Clive to kill Assistant One and then kill him, but make it look like Assistant One’s family had committed a revenge crime. Of course I wouldn’t really hurt Clive – he was too scary to tangle with and part of Heller’s family – but fantasies can provide relief in times of great stress or pain.

And you better believe I was feeling pain. By lap seven, I had shin splints that made every step a horror. That pain was overridden in lap thirteen by the side stitch that had me lurching with every step.

Do you want to give up, Chunky? called the Assistant, in what any casual observer would take as a caring question.

Fuck you, I said to myself, floundering onwards to the end. Barely able to hold myself upright, by the time I limped, drenched in my dusty jeans and formerly nice, but now disgusting, buttoned shirt, to the kitchen, all the bars had been eaten. It didn’t appear as if many had been offered in the first place, judging by the few wrappers in the bin. Instead, I gulped down so much cold water that I immediately threw most of it up in the sink, leaning against it, shaking and sweating, on the verge of tears.

Drink it slower this time, darling, said the well-spoken voice of moisturiser woman who’d started the whole problem from behind me.

But I’m so thirsty, I panted.

You can’t drink water too fast when you’re dehydrated, she assured, pouring me a miniscule amount in a glass that I scoffed in a second.

I need more.

Give it a minute.

"I told you, I’m thirsty now!"

Wait for a minute. Then I’ll give you more. You really need an electrolyte supplement, not just water. She led me to a hard chair. Come and sit for a while. She peered around her surroundings cautiously. They seem to have left us to have a break for now.

I hate this place, I whispered, staring down at my fingers twisting together.

So do I, she whispered back, her hand over her mouth and looking away as though she wasn’t talking to me.

That made me look at her, really look at her. Why are you even here? You don’t need it.

You don’t either. She heaved a sigh and leaned her chin on her palm. I was married twenty-seven years to a doctor. I was a nurse for a long time. We met at the hospital we both worked at. She looked away, but I could see the moisture in her eyes as she blinked repeatedly. One day he moved out, telling me it was over. Just like that. He was ‘in love’ with his twenty-year-old receptionist, and he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.

Are you kidding? He’s crazy. You’re beautiful.

She smiled at me and touched my cheek gently. You’re very sweet, but that’s life, I guess.

Did you enrol yourself in this hellhole?

Money’s a bit tight for me at the moment until the settlement is finalised. This was the cheapest place I could find. I can see why now. She shrugged with appealing self-deprecation. I thought that maybe it might help me find a new partner.

I shook my head. Oh, boy. I don’t think that was a good decision.

She sighed. Neither do I. They seem too disciplinarian in here for me.

Me too. I’m not just going to be biting my tongue, I’m going to be chewing it off.

She laughed and looked at her expensive watch. I’m dead on my feet and it’s barely eleven o’clock in the morning. It’s only a matter of time before they make us change into those horrible tracksuits and give up all our worldly possessions.

I’m not too sorry about changing. I’m a bit rank in these sweaty clothes.

Her nose crinkled. I didn’t want to say anything, but that is true. She sighed again. I’m going to miss my phone. And my moisturiser.

What is this, ladies? High tea at The Ritz? shouted the Assistant at us from the doorway. Despite being exhausted, we both jumped to our feet. Everyone else is out on the Field waiting for you. Five laps each for letting down your bunker-mates, then change into your sweats. And if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you might deign to join the rest of your group for some exercise to make some vain attempt to turn you heifers into sleek mares.

I hate that woman so much, I murmured as we made our tired way to the Field for more punishment laps.

Surely not more than I do, she responded in an equally muted tone.

We stumbled back to the Bunker afterwards to change into the much-despised tracksuits, noting that our suitcases had been whisked away, leaving us with no other clothing options.

After a day filled with more wretchedness than could ever be described, and a lunch and dinner that were minimal to say the least, we were allowed to retire. I sleep-showered, changed into my pyjamas, sleep-brushed my teeth and fell onto the stone-like bunk and pillow as though they were a present from the gods. I didn’t think I even moved one iota until a horn blasted us awake at five-thirty in the morning.

We all sprang up, alarmed and disoriented, our pulses racing.

The Assistant stood at the doorway, holding an enormous book up in her hand. She dumped it on the nearest woman’s bed. It thudded, making a huge indent.

These are the Rules for this Camp. I recommend you read up on them in the fifteen minutes you have before you must be ready for pre-breakfast exercise. She lingered at the door. I suggest you particularly look up Consequences and Punishments. See you soon.

Can anyone even focus enough right now to read? asked a very groggy lady, sprawling against her pillow once the Assistant left.

I couldn’t give a shit about their rules, said another in a weary voice, and there were enough echoes of that sentiment to satisfy us all.

I sat on my bed, yawning hugely. We need to stick together. Don’t let these arseholes separate and divide us with their stupid rules.