Where life meets death, in between there is a shadowy world steeped in magic, sorcery & terror.
The Demon Detective Agency
When demons rise, the only escape… is death.
“Tom Kane keeps the action moving thick and fast. He switches the spotlight frequently, so you never get bored.”
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1: The Devil is in the Detail
El Beheira Desert, Egypt 1963
“This will be very interesting, Peter, I’m sure of it.”
Peter Samuels looked at his Uncle John and suppressed a snigger.
Interesting? No, uncle, it won’t. It will be the same dull casket as before, full of sand.
The day had started out as any other. It was another hot day in the El Beheira Desert in Egypt, on his uncle’s archaeological dig. Sunny skies and rising temperatures threatened a cauldron of heat inside the chamber. If it hadn’t been for the punkhawallahs his uncle had employed to continually fan the air in the chamber, it would have been too hot to bear.
As with all these things, the whole business was an unreserved bore. Peter Samuels didn’t hate it, but he had friends back in London and it was currently the fab place to be. The Beatles had brought glamour and excitement to London and he was young enough, only just turned twenty-one, and rich enough to enjoy it.
But no, his father had insisted he go with his Uncle and ‘dig a few fossils up, get an education and see what you want to do with your life.’ He already knew what he wanted to do with his life, get drunk, get laid and get high, not necessarily in that order.
Peter’s uncle John walked ahead of him, down the low shaft that led to the face of the tomb his uncle’s diggers had uncovered. Babu, the digger’s foreman, walked behind, alongside Peter. Peter and the older Babu had formed a close working relationship. They enjoyed each other’s company and Peter had learned a lot from his new tutor.
The Egyptian desert heat was stifling, despite the punkawallahs sterling attempts to keep the air moving, only giving them a limited relief.
“I don’t know how you stand it, babu. This heat and all the clothes your diggers wear.”
“Master Peter, you should try wearing our rags sometime. They actually dissipate a lot of the heat. I will teach you to wear or clothing at the next dig.”
Peter smiled down at Babu. “Do you think there will be another dig?”
Babu smiled a crooked smile, his toothless grin belying a mischievous youngster in an old man’s body. “Oh yes, at least one more. This I know from experience.”
“I see one of your assistants is a woman. Isn’t that forbidden, or at least unusual?”
“You are observant, Master Peter. She is a good worker. But not Egyptian. She has the mark of the Shaman about her. She brings us luck.”
Peter looked to his right, and just behind. Sure enough, the young woman was looking in his direction. Her head was hidden by the hood from her cloak, but her face was partially uncovered. Peter caught a glimpse of long auburn hair and an intensity in her eyes. Moments passed and Peter was entranced.
“Peter! Where are you boy?”
Peter looked toward his uncle; the spell broken. “Here, uncle.” Peter looked back at the woman, but she was nowhere to be seen.
At the shaft-head, the diggers had taken their shovels and pickaxes and moved away from the tomb’s entrance and awaited the arrival of the British to oversee the opening of the tomb. These diggers were mostly sutlers, men who followed the British army, offering services like charwallahs and punkawallahs.
The flickering oil lamps lining the shaft set off an odd array of shadows, some that looked truly frightening, caused by workers crouching down with their pickaxes on shoulders, the work tools making shadows that passed for the devil’s horns.
Peter and his uncle moved to the left side to allow Babu and his hand-picked men through. The other British contingent, the Egyptian expert professor Daniel Grey, a representative of Lord Harmend, who was funding the project, a representative of the British Governor’s office, a newspaper man and his photographer all moved to the right.
A hush crept over the small gathering as Babu and his assistants worked their way round the opening to what they expected to be a burial tomb over 3,000 years old. The Mastaba, a pre-pyramid tomb made of mud bricks in the form of a low oblong structure had been buried for most of its 3,000 year existence. Now, Peter’s uncle was insisting his nephew would finally see an Egyptian mummy.
Peter wasn’t holding his breath. He had seen three tombs opened in the few months he had been in Egypt none of which had a mummy, let alone any treasure. No, Peter was certain this tomb would be no different than the others.
Babu called out for Peter’s uncle as the entrance to the tomb was finally unsealed and the huge stones removed.
Dust and the usual odd odour of damp sand, mixed with stagnant air that hadn’t been circulated for thousands of years, crept into Peter’s nostrils and made him sneeze.
“Same smell as before, uncle. Grave robbers perhaps? Again.” Peter’s comments were ignored.
Uncle John held up a hurricane lamp and entered the tomb, followed by the small British contingent. Peter remained outside.
A few minutes passed and eventually Uncle John emerged from the tomb. He held an ornate casket in his hands and was grinning wildly.
“No mummy?” Peter asked.
His uncle shook his head. “But we have this. It may be full of priceless jewels.”
“Or sand, like the last one.”
“Oh, ye of little faith, Peter. I’ll hold it and you can be the first to look inside. The first human to see the inside in thousands of years.”
“No! No, Mister John. This is not for you,” Babu said, walking forward and trying to take the casket from John Samuels.
“What do you mean? I insist you let go, Babu. Let go of the casket, man.”
Peter walked up and pulled the foreman to one side.
“Please, Master Peter. Tell your uncle it is not wise to open this casket,” Babu said, fear evident in his pleading voice.
“Why, Babu. Why is it not good to open the casket.”
“Demons,” Babu whispered. “He will doom us all to eternal damnation. We will all die in this place if he opens the casket.”
“Babu,” Peter said, holding Babu’s shoulders and looking him in the eye. “There are no demons. It’s fairy-tale. Be at peace and let me look inside.”
Babu began to object again and Peter held up a warning hand. “No more nonsense, Babu. Step aside.”
Babu, clearly unhappy, complied and moved toward the exit from the cavern.
Peter looked at the front of the casket, no bigger than a rugby football, and located the hasp. He opened the hasp with a little difficulty and lifted the lid. By the light of the flickering oil lamps, Peter looked inside.
“Well,” his uncle said, unable to peer inside himself as the lid of the casket obscured his view.
“Sand,” Peter said.
“Sand?”
“Yes, uncle. Sand, just like the last one. Wait a minute. There’s an odd glow in the sand.”
“Glow?”
“Yes, the sand is glowing, getting brighter. Good god!”
“What?”
An unearthly screech issued loudly from the depths of the casket. Making Peter step back and stumble, falling over into a recess in the tunnel.
His uncle dropped the casket as a swirling black mass erupted from the it.
“What is it? What is it?”
The British contingent gathered round John Samuels while the Egyptians kept their distance, backing away into the tunnel, ready to take flight.
The swirling black mass seemed to have attached itself to the tunnel’s low ceiling, gyrating, pulsing and almost throbbing with energy above the British.
In an almost instinctive way, the British had formed a circle, looking up at the swirling mass. It was within this circle that the mass suddenly dropped, exploded in a flash of blinding light, and resolved into an entity from mankind’s worst nightmare. A Minotaur, the head of a bull on the body of a man, roared its rage at the small gathering of humans and proceeded to rip into each and every one of them. The killing spree was short, dramatic and horrific. Peter Samuels couldn’t take his eyes off the bloody spectacle, but still managed to shout to Babu.
“Run, Babu! Take your men and run!”
The Egyptian workers ran for their lives, but the black fury that was the Minotaur charged after them.
Peter cringed in the small alcove, shocked at the scene of carnage before his eyes. The head of his poor uncle, staring down on Peter with mouth agape, topping the pile of body parts the Minotaur had ripped from its human prey.
The sounds of screams and the raging of the Minotaur in the tunnel told Peter the workers were meeting the same fate. He then realised it would be his turn next if the Minotaur returned.
As if on cue, all was silent with only the stamping feet of the Minotaur heralding its passing down the tunnel. Then the monster appeared to Peter’s left, stopped and sniffed the air. A deep growl emanated from the monster.
“Hooman,” it said, with a quivering bass voice, deep, deadly and sinister. “I smell you, hooman.”
Peter lay still in the small recess and held his breath, then realised he had to breath. Panic almost hit him like a sledgehammer. Then he saw the casket discarded by his uncle, and a long bone handle was sticking out of the sand.
A knife.
Peter felt sure it was a Jambiya, a curved dagger favoured by many Arabic men.
The Minotaur moved forward, into the cavern area dug out by the Egyptian workers, sniffing the air.
“Hooman, I will find thee and tear thy heart from thy body.” The creature’s voice had an echo to it, giving off a reverberating mix coming from the walls, making Peter’s body quiver and shake.
The creature was tall, and not easily able to turn in the small cavern. It moved away from the fallen casket at the entrance and crunched its way across the pile of British remains, its dark black legs gaining an unearthly sheen of blood red.
Peter let out his breath, slowly. He calculated the distance he had to cross in as short a period of time as possible, before the Minotaur could turn and attack. He realised, as the creature stood in the mound of body parts it had created, it would be slowed down by the slick of blood and guts. His erstwhile companions may prove to be a blessing in disguise. But even so, it would be a small advantage against the towering Minotaur.
“Use the knife, it has magical properties.”
Peter was startled by the voice of a woman in his head. He looked around the area slowly, but could see no one. Then he saw her, opposite where he cowered in the small alcove. It was the Shaman and she was in a similar alcove on the opposite side.
“See, the knife to your left.”
The voice again, but Peter could see the Shaman had not opened her mouth. He was finding it hard to understand what was going on, but he looked left and sure enough there was the remains of the casket and a handle of bone was sticking out of the sand.
Unthinking, Peter pushed himself up and ran the short distance to the casket, grabbing the bone handle, pulling it free and rolling over until he was at a standing position. Instinctively Peter took a crouching stance.
The Minotaur screamed its rage and turned, slowly, slipping and loosing both balance and traction.
Peter took the time to examine the Jambiya. Sliding the blade from its weathered leather scabbard. The blade glistened as if it was new.
“Slice the beast’s blood and fire will consume it.”
Peter heard the voice again and had no idea what she meant.
The Minotaur saw the blade in Peter’s hands and screamed its rage once more.
“Is that all you’ve got, you devil?” Peter didn’t feel heroic, but in times of need fear had to be put aside.
Another scream issued forth and the Minotaur raised it’s ferocious Bull head and shook it.
It was an open invitation to Peter and his only chance as he saw the creature’s jugular stand out.
“Yes,” the Shaman said.
Peter smiled. Now he understood. He leaped forward and ran at the beast and jumping up as high as he could, landing on the creature’s shoulder. He immediately stabbed and sliced the blade into the monsters jugular. To his surprise, each cut and slice caused a small fire in the creature’s neck, steam billowing out. The creature tried to grab Peter’s legs, but he held on for his life and managed to hack even deeper into the Minotaur. Finally, the monster grabbed Peter’s left leg and pulled him away, dashing him to the sandy floor.
Peter was stunned, but alive and alert enough to realise he must make his escape. Clutching the Jambiya and its sheath he ran up the tunnel for the exit, avoiding the carnage that may have hindered his escape.
The Minotaur raged and then lowered itself, head first, and charged up the tunnel after Peter.
Fresh, warm air hit Peter as he escaped the tunnel and ran down the crumbling side of the burial mound.
The Minotaur was not far behind.
Peter looked back and could see the creature was in no way going to catch him. Swaths of dark gas and flames seemed to envelope the creature. Peter stopped, turned, and watched.
The Minotaur had also stopped and was swaying, back and forth, pathetic moans and half screams issuing from the smoky, fiery mass that suddenly vaporised.
The Minotaur was gone, and Peter Samuels was alone, in an Egyptian desert.
***
The desert heat, sand and moaning wind all contrived to make Peter Samuels want to drop to his knees, lie down and go to sleep. He was exhausted, but a grim determination made him move forward, to keep putting that next step down and then move his other leaden leg in front of it. One step at a time.
If that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. One step at a time.
Alone and with no supplies, Peter headed off into the desert to try to find help. There was none to be had, and he was soon lost.
But at least he had found his forte in life. He now knew what he wanted to do. Find demons and destroy them as they had destroyed his uncle and the men at the dig. He would forsake the high life willingly, he wanted revenge. He bitterly regrated not listening to Babu’s obvious wise words. But who in this technological age would believe in demons. Well, Peter Samuels for one.
It was this desire for revenge that drove him forward, but exhaustion made him stumble. He staggered forward a few feet, lost his footing and crashed, face down to the sandy ground. He rolled forward and then slid down the sheer slope of a large sand dune. He tumbled to a stop at the bottom and rolled over onto his front, panting, and choking.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a pair of British Army boots. Inside the boots, as he looked up, was the biggest man he had ever seen. Dressed in Arabic robes, he would have mistaken the man for a Bedouin, but the boots gave it away.
“Hello mate. You lost?” The big man asked.
Peter Samuels nodded.
“Me too, pal,” he said, offering his hand to pull the younger man up. The strength in the big man’s arms was impressive as he pulled the Peter to his feet. He swayed a little as he let go of the other man’s hand.
“Tell you what, how about you and I trying to find our way home from here?”
“Okay,” Peter said, with a smile.
The big man held his hand out, and Peter shook on it.
“Cedric, Cedric Abuthnott,” the big man said.
“Peter, Peter Samuels,” Peter answered.
“What are you doing out here in the desert?” Cedric asked. “You look as though you should be down the King’s Road, Chelsea, having a good time.”
Peter Samuels smiled. “Getting an education, Cedric. And you?”
Cedric smiled back. “Pretty much the same, I guess.”
The wind whipped up and blew sand in the two men’s faces.
“I suggest we get moving,” Cedric said. “If I remember rightly, we need to go due east to get to Wadi El-Shabbad.”
“Isn’t that going to be dry this time of year.”
Cedric nodded. “Unless of course you happen to know how to find water left over after the rains.”
“And do you?”
Cedric nodded again. “We dig. But first, we walk. See, you’re learning already.” Cedric produced a compass from the depths of his thobe. He looked at it, put it away, turned and strode off.
Peter watched the big man stride away and realised their meeting had been fateful. He strode after Cedric and the two men marched as best they could to whatever fate had in store for them.
2: Death of a Friend
Present Day.
May Brubaker settled to her knees and crouched down below the wall’s top line of bricks. The walled entrance to the new upmarket condo was hot from being in the sun all day and now giving off its stored heat at the end of the day. The heat was seeping through Brubaker’s body armour, causing beads of sweat to trickle down her back. The apartment block nestled between two other complexes on the newly developed LA waterfront. In the dim late September evening light, she fingered her Glock special and slowly slipped the safety to off. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I heard that, Brubaker,” Gary Mitchell whispered.
Brubaker smiled and let out a soft sigh.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for that?”
“Never,” hissed Mitchell in response, amusement in his voice.
Mitchell was a few feet in front of Brubaker, crouching behind a similar wall across the entrance pathway. Three years ago, Brubaker had been partnered with Mitchell as beat officers in downtown LA. The two had an instant rapport and over the next year became firm friends as well as devoted partners in the LAPD.
It had been during a routine stakeout, in much the same surroundings they found themselves in now, that Brubaker, an inexperienced rookie, had inadvertently shot her partner in his left buttock. It had only been a nick, but it belied the inherent danger all police officers lived with. A simple mistake could cost a life.
Mitchell had taken it in good grace, but the whole department had ribbed Brubaker incessantly. They had even drawn lots to see who would have the misfortune to partner her while Mitchell recovered. No one had won as the captain had put Brubaker on leave at the same time and told her to go away and think about what she had done.
Although the incident had been dangerous, Mitchell forgave Brubaker at once, but still couldn’t resist pulling Brubaker’s leg about it, even now, three years later.
“Okay! Okay! I still owe you on that one.”
“Big time,” Mitchell hissed, a broad smile on his face.
Brubaker was sick of crouching, but there was little she could do. Since she and Mitchell had both made detective grade at much the same time and found themselves as partners once more, they had carried out more drugs bust stakeouts than anyone on the force in the last year, and each one seemed to require a wall that had to be crouched behind. The pair were with a half dozen uniformed officers, all in various positions close to their location, and each were now starting the inevitable fidget routine associated with long-term crouching activities. May was getting exasperated.
“My back’s killing me,” Brubaker whispered.
Mitchell looked across at his partner and smiled.
A subtle click in their earpieces told them that control for the bust was about to make an announcement.
“This is control. This is control. All units stand down. Target has been apprehended. Repeat. Target has been apprehended.”
Brubaker and Mitchell looked at each other with astonished expressions. They were the lead pair and if anyone was going to apprehend anyone it should have been them.
Brubaker clicked her wrist-com. “Unit one to control. Say again and advise.”
“This is Control. You heard me Brubaker. Mission accomplished and time to go home.”
Gary Mitchell stood up and stretched his back.
It happened so fast that Brubaker thought she was seeing things.
The shot rang out and as if in slow motion, the bullet, from an underpowered rifle, was already spinning when it hit Mitchell’s forehead. A single low crack pierced the still evening air and the top of Mitchell’s head was history. As Brubaker watched, Mitchell almost turned, and a small smile crossed his lips before his knees buckled and he slumped backwards.
Brubaker was over three feet from her partner, but the blood and small chunks of grey matter from Gary Mitchell’s brain still managed to splatter May’s face.
May Brubaker screamed.
***
May sat at the conference room table, head in her hands, staring at the shiny wooden table-top, numb to the activity going on around her. She was having a hard time of making sense of Gary’s death and had put the world on hold until she could work out what went wrong.
It was over; the bust had happened! What did we do wrong?
Questions tumbled through her tired mind, questions without answers. Only one thing was certain, Gary was dead. She would never see him again, never hear that infectious laugh.
“Brubaker! Brubaker!”
Captain Halloran’s voice finally impinged on May Brubaker’s stunned mind.
“Yes sir,” May said, sitting up straight.
“Answer the question, Brubaker.”
May shook her head. “Sorry, I missed that, what question?”
Halloran sighed and looked to Lieutenant Chapple. Chapple shrugged, not bothering to raise his eyes to meet that of his senior officer, concentrating instead on the pen he was twirling on the table. “I asked, Brubaker, why you and Gary stood down.”
May frowned at the question. “It came over the comms, we were told the bust had happened and we were to stand down. I queried it, but as I did so Gary stood to stretch and…” May’s voice trailed off.
“I didn’t give any order to stand down,” Chapple said in a deadpan voice, still not raising his eyes to look at anyone in the room.
“You told us to stand down,” Brubaker almost shouted. “I heard you and so did Gary, why else would he stand up?”
Chapple shook his head, his tightly cropped blond hair almost twinkling under the glare of the neon lights. “We were on radio-silence, nobody transmitted.”
“Are you telling me you didn’t hear me query your orders?”
Chapple stood quickly and slammed a palm on the table, sending the pen he was toying with across the table and onto the floor. “I didn’t give any orders! Are you calling me a liar, Brubaker?”
May also stood up, slamming both her palms onto the table, “Yes you son of a bitch, I am calling you a liar.”
“Sit down, both of you,” the captain’s voice boomed. “We have it all recorded, May, nobody broke radio silence, not even you.”
May Brubaker screamed for the second time that day, this time in fury, as she stormed out of the conference room and out of the LAPD HQ.
3: The Demons Domain
It was a darkness no human had ever experienced. Not only would it have been impossible for a human to see, but they would also have experienced a clinging, cloying and suffocating environment fit only for those banished to it. This was the demon’s domain, located at the end of all existence. A place only those dark of heart and intent inhabited. A part of the multiverse that was forever closed off to all others. A part of the cosmos that other domains refuted, ignored, or simply denied the existence.
It was here the demon Lyssa spent her time plotting the revenge on her enemies she believed they richly deserved. Lyssa’s rage and the raging fury of her relative, Maniae, ruled this domain of ancient demons. Lyssa and Maniae’s anger was directed at human beings, these, they believed, were the cause of their banishment to the darkness. Lyssa, in particular, plotted her revenge incessantly. But her hands were tied, both literally and figureatively. She could not escape the darkness without the aid of others who were, with enough power, able to escape the darkness into the human world. Once there, they could wreak havoc on the sorcerors of the world, culling their spirit energy and funneling it to herself. In that way, Lyssa believed she could break her bondage and escape to the world of human kind.
“There is a corruption in the power,” Lyssa said.
Lesser demons in her court acknowledged and agreed.
“I sense it too,” Polydorus, the demon-witch, hissed.
“Good,” Lyssa said. “There has been a shift in the balance of power. You, demon-witch, will use this power and invade the realm of human-kind.”
“I shall lead your army to victory, Lyssa.”
“You will go alone.”
The demon-witch hissed in disgust. “To wreak revenge on humans I will need an army.”
“You will not. I have foreseen their destruction at my own hands. Yours is a different mission. You must seek out the Setcula.”
The demon-witch hissed once more, this time in obvious pleasure. “The Setcula? The ring, the blade and the challis.”
“You will seek only the ring. I will dispatch others to retrieve the blade and the challis.”
“To what purpose? The ring alone will not break your bonds, Lyssa.”
“I cannot afford for one to fail. All three I must possess. You will do my bidding or…”
The demon-witch shrank back at the implied threat. “I will do thy bidding, my mistress.”
“Good, time is short. Prepare for your departure.”
4: Motherly Love
The darkness of the night fell abruptly at Jude Brubaker’s desert home, matching the woman’s mood. As she sat on the stone steps leading up to her front door, looking across the Arizona countryside, she could smell the fragrance of Whitethorn Acacia on the warm breeze. Though heady, the smell did nothing to lighten Jude’s growing dark mood. She recalled the title of a book she read years before, Something Wicked, This Way Comes. When she read the book, all those years ago, it was disturbing to her for some reason she could not quite put her finger on. Years later, with a lifetime of experience under her belt, Jude understood the meaning of malevolence and understood there were powers in this mortal world that were never meant to be seen, let alone used. And now, right here and right now, Jude knew the creeping, crawling feeling on her skin and she knew why there were tears in her eyes. Fear of the unknown? Fear of dying, even? Mostly fear of the unknown. Something wicked was most certainly on its way and she knew where its first stop would be.
“Perception,” a dark voice said, “I like that.”
Jude stifled a scream as the skin on her back crawled. Something was behind her, something dark, wicked, cruel, and yes, malevolent.
“Oh, please don’t stop there,” the voice said in a mocking friendly tone. “You make me sound so… interesting. And yes, I can read your thoughts, human.”
Jude detected a rasping hiss in the voice, indicating the being had only just arrived and had not quite assimilated, yet. But she knew it was there, knew it was a shapeless mass of swirling blackness, distorted, wispy even, but most definitely forming into a human shape. In all her years in this mortal world, she had never felt such hate before.
“Yes, only just arrived. No time to even drop my bags off yet,” the voice said, giggling hysterically. “Aren’t you going to turn and face me? Face your mistress?”
Jude’s head shook, her long auburn hair shining in the faint light given by a now rising quarter moon. “You are no mistress of mine, spirit,” she managed to gasp the words, but something was constricting her throat, tightening its grip.
“Spirit?” The voice screeched and Jude still did not turn, but instead smiled inwardly. Round one to me.
“Hah, you think. You think you can better me?”
Jude shook her head once more. “No, I cannot best you. But I know someone who can.” Jude’s thoughts quickly surged to picture her daughter, May, but she suppressed the image just as quickly.
The fearful scream that followed made Jude’s body reverberate and the fear she felt was so intense she cried out in abject terror and wept the tears of someone who knew her very soul was at risk.
5: A New Start
May Brubaker walked backwards across the sidewalk, the summer sun making her squint as she watched the sign to her shop going up. This was a new venture for the ex-cop, and she wanted so much to make it work. Having left the police, May was unsure what she wanted to do, but certainly leaving the LAPD was the right move. The death of Gary Mitchell had hit her hard, and this was a way to put her previous life well and truly behind her.
Nothing had prepared her for the death of Gary, and the aftermath had been an awful journey through sleepless nights and guilt at not being able to do anything to save Gary.
Now, as she watched the sign going up, she had the chance to start over and at thirty; she was still young enough to make a real go at this new venture.
Brubaker’s Bits ‘n’ Pieces
The sign was in red, white, and blue and that had been at Phil’s insistence. Phil Campbell was an out-and-out patriot and his desire to expound on the good things in America never ceased to amaze May. But the fact was that this shop and its online equivalent sold computer bits and pieces and, as everyone knew these days, it was all made in China. Patriotism didn’t seem to matter when it came to business, and Phil had ignored May’s comment when she had pointed this fact out.
“Looking good, May.” Phil’s smooth salesman’s voice made May jump.
“I’ve told you before, don’t sneak up on me like that, I’m liable to knock you down.”
“May I work out, so I’m pretty fit you know.”
“Phil, I was a cop and I work out too. Believe me, you wouldn’t know what hit you.”
This type of banal banter was a regular feature of their relationship and May was getting a little tired of it. Phil was the type of guy who always talked about himself and always talked himself up, especially to women. His idea of a good night out was to have dinner with a good-looking woman and talk about himself and all the things he had achieved in life, embellishing the tale with a fair dollop of bullshit. But he was May’s business partner, albeit her junior partner. May had the money, and he had the expertise. It should work, but May was slightly uneasy about it.
As the two of them reviewed the sign, and the early morning sunshine promising another glorious day, May felt a wave of nausea and fear sweep over her and she grabbed Phil’s arm.
“You okay, May?” Phil asked, a startled expression on his face. “You look sick.”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine… I was just thinking about my mother, and suddenly I felt nauseous,” May said, her voice giving little away of the sickness she suddenly felt inside. She drew in a long breath. “It’ll pass,” she said with a small smile.
Phil nodded; his concern short-lived as he turned back to look at the shop.
May passed a trembling hand over her forehead. “Listen; I have to shoot off home and get on with my decorating. Jimmy’s coming over later, so I need to have everything straight before I meet Dan at the airport tomorrow.”
Phil sighed and brushed a flop of his long blond hair from his brow. “May, why are you bothering with a loser like him?”
It was a sigh that May had heard before and it was another little something about Phil that also annoyed May.
“Dan? You’ve never even met him!”
“No, Jimmy, not Dan. Get a pro in to do your chores; Jimmy’s not going to be able to do some of the specialised stuff you need with that house of yours; like security. I know people who will do it for you and do it professionally.”
May gave Phil a disparaging look and turned to leave. “Jimmy’s good at just about everything,” she called over her shoulder. “If you know what I mean,” she added, looking over her shoulder and winking at Phil.
Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
***
The young man slid onto the bar stool and waited for the bartender to walk over. He looked around at the half-empty bar and noticed the shabby seating and knew why the place was empty. Nobody came here voluntarily, and he was no exception to the rule. He didn’t usually respond to anonymous text messages but this one said it had news about his mother. A mother who had abandoned him at birth but had made contact when he was a teenager. Then came back into his life on an irregular basis, depending on when she needed money. Sure, he gave her money, but out of sympathy, not loyalty. This text message was probably her and he knew he would be a few hundred bucks lighter at the end of a brief visit.
The hand on his shoulder made him jump in his seat and he quickly turned. It was a woman, but not his mother.
“Hi,” she said. A simple word accompanied by a flash of her dark eyes and at the same time, just for effect, she ran her left hand through her short, peroxide blonde hair.
The young man felt the physical stirring in his loins and was shockingly aware of the movement in his jeans. His right hand automatically dropped to his lap in an attempt to conceal any further potential embarrassment.
“Oh err, oh.” It was all he could say as she slid, no, oozed onto the stool beside him. Her black leather crop top and black leather miniskirt shimmering red under the shabby bars dim red lights.
“What’ll it be,” the barman said. It was more a mantra than a question.
“Whisky,” the women said, looking at the squirming man on the stool beside her. “Him too, he’s gonna need it.” She winked at the barman and turned her attention to her new companion, pulling herself to her full height on the stool, her breasts straining to leave the confines of her top. She pulled the crop top down slowly and the man beside her watched, beguiled by her. Then she squeezed her breasts, forming them into shape. “I hate bras,” she said in a deep husky voice, “no need when you have breasts like mine, don’t you think?”
The man whimpered.
“So, how about a couple of drinks and then you can take me to a cheap hotel and… well, I’m sure you don’t need me to paint a picture, do you, big boy.” She licked her red lipped mouth once for effect and flashed brilliant white teeth. To finish off, she slid her right hand across and stroked the man’s knee, giving it a hard squeeze. The man had completely forgotten the reason he was in the bar in the first place. He was hers and he knew it.
***
Time passed in a blur for the man and he suddenly realised he was in a cheap hotel and he and the blond were naked in bed, him on his back and she was caressing his sweaty chest with her long multi-coloured fingernails. His smile said it all. He had never had it so good. Making love with this woman, had aroused a passion in him he had never felt before. The women, he knew, was using and abusing him but he didn’t care. No more than he cared for his girl whom he was supposed to be visiting tomorrow.
The flash of the blade was fast and sure and the man gurgled briefly, his throat convulsing. The woman continued to caress him as his body writhed and convulsed, desperately trying to take a breath. His blood splattered across her breasts.
“Thoughts like that are gonna get you dead, buster,” she said to him as her fingernails suddenly gripped his chest, drawing yet more blood from the dying man’s body. His final gasp at breath failed and his gaping mouth stopped moving.
She moved to kneel over the body, gazing into the man’s dead eyes. “I’m so dead tired,” she sighed with a yawn. Licking the man’s blood from her fingernails, her lips turned to a broad smile as she chuckled to herself. “Get it? Dead? No? Oh well, suit yourself buster. What a bad girl I am,” she sighed, dismounting from the corpse, and heading for the shower.
6: Friends Will Be Friends
“Well, how does it look?”
May Brubaker put the paint roller into the tray and wiped her hands on her paint splattered shirt. Using the back of her hand she wiped a trickle of white from her brow, getting a small dab of white paint on her short brown hair.
Jimmy Grey stepped back and admired the wall.
“It looks, kind of white; and you’ve got paint in your hair.”
Brubaker slapped Jimmy’s back, leaving a faint outline of a white hand on his black shirt.
“Hey, that’s a good shirt,” Jimmy complained.
“It was a good shirt, Jimmy, it isn’t anymore.”
Jimmy looked at her with an annoyed expression, but soon relented and burst out laughing.
“You did offer to help, Jimmy. So, I knew you would be wearing an old shirt.”
Jimmy held up the plastic bag he had brought into Brubaker’s house. “You mean the old shirt in here?”
“Ah,” May said and smiled that smile she knew Jimmy loved. “Sorry, Jimmy. I’m just a bit excited,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. When’s he arriving?”
“Flight lands in two hours. I better get cleaned up and ready. You okay to finish off here?”
Jimmy smiled at Brubaker. “Always ready to help you, May. You know that.”
Brubaker tousled Jimmy’s mop of unruly brown hair.
“Thanks Jimmy, you’re like the kid brother I never had.”
Jimmy watched Brubaker as she slipped off her moccasins and padded towards the utility room to get washed up.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he whispered, a sad smile crossing his face briefly.
***
The LAX terminal loomed ahead of Brubaker as she drove her vintage green Mustang under the sign indicating parking and drop-off lanes. Brubaker steered for the short-stay and found a space quickly. She put the car in park, got out and checked her watch.
Plenty of time, girl, no hurry, just keep calm. She had used this mantra many times in her life, but today was an especially good day to apply it. Her live-away boyfriend was arriving from Denver in thirty minutes and she was feeling like a schoolgirl on a first date.
“Live-away,” she chortled to herself, “but not once he sees the house.”
Dan Panaski and Brubaker had met while on a self-help course in Chicago and had hit it off at once. Panaski was two years older than Brubaker and was a freelance software developer. As a self-proclaimed nerd, Dan had attended the course in the hope of making himself more assertive. Brubaker did not consider him to be a nerd at all and thought he was assertive enough. She, on the other hand, had become something of a recluse since the death of Gary Mitchell. Her shrink had proclaimed her cured eighteen months after Mitchell’s death, but she felt she needed more help. The self-help group seemed ideal. After the week-long course, both Dan and Brubaker had left the course firm friends and a lot happier than when they had first met.
Six months after the course and not only where they were corresponding via email and telephone calls but had met again, several times, but always on neutral ground at Dan’s insistence.
“There’s no pressure on either of us, on neutral ground,” he had insisted.
Brubaker saw the sense in that, but after the fifth meeting and four months into the long-distance relationship she was feeling a little frustrated. She knew little more about him than when they had first met, and she was sure he would have said the same. So, she had applied pressure. Come and visit me and stay at my house, or else. Dan didn’t take much persuading.
Brubaker made her way to the arrivals lounge and looked at the board for information on the Denver flight.
“Delayed,” she muttered. “Typical.”
Brubaker had another hour to wait and decided on a coffee and Danish to relieve the stress she felt welling inside her. As she queued to pay a sudden thought hit her full force. What if he hates the house? Hates the neighbourhood. Hates me because he hates the house and what if…
Shut up! Calm yourself.
Brubaker took a deep breath and moved along the queue. She laid out the money and smiled at the ‘Have a nice day,’ the Barbie look-alike offered her. As May turned round to look for a free table, the Barbie-lookalike licked her red lips appreciatively, smiled and ran a ring encrusted hand through her short blonde hair.
Brubaker found an empty table and sat. She didn’t really want the Danish but nibbled at the edges just to give her mind something else to concentrate on. Without a doubt she felt she was doing the right thing. She wanted so much to be with Dan, all the time, all other considerations meant nothing. But that thought suddenly made her guilty. She had left Jimmy to finish her job and hadn’t giving it a second thought. She was so hyped at the thought of Dan arriving that she had simply given Jimmy his orders and marched out of the house.
Brubaker took her cell from her jacket pocket and called Jimmy.
“Hey, May, you there yet?”
“Yeah, he’s delayed so I’m having a coffee.”
“Could do with a cold beer myself, it’s as hot as hell in this room.”
Brubaker’s face flushed with guilt.
“Jimmy, I’m so sorry. I’ve taken you for granted, haven’t I?”
“No sweat, May. I’m happy to help. You just wait and see what I’ve done to this room. It looks fab.”
“Jimmy, you’re a national treasure. There’s beer and food in the fridge, help yourself, I’m going to be late so don’t wait around.”
“I know three’s a crowd.”
“Didn’t mean that, Jimmy. I love you loads. Talk soon.”
Brubaker clicked the phone off.
Twenty miles away, Jimmy Grey looked at his cell and sighed. “Love you too, May,” he said quietly.
***
May waited outside the big double-doors to arrivals and watched people as they walked past her. Some checking their watches and cell phones and then joining the aimlessly milling crowd of people waiting for friends, loved ones and business associates to arrive. It was the same scene the world over. Airports across the globe had people being unloaded from aircraft into their bowels, while other aircraft were whisking more people away from airports to other destinations. And all the while people where milling around within those same airports. Waiting for people to arrive, waving at people as they leave. In in some, very few cases, there were individuals stuck in some airports, seemingly never to be able to leave the airports ever again. May was sure she had read somewhere of a man stuck in France, due to a mix up with his papers. He had spent years in a French airport. Only to find when he eventually left the airport, he couldn’t cope with the outside world and yearned to go back to his little hideaway in the airport terminal. May didn’t know the full truth of the story, and even if any of the story was a fact. But it made for a great read on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
May had spent her fair share of time at airports, as a cop, watching and waiting. Although no longer a cop, she found it hard not to go into surveillance mode. People watching is what most called it, but it amounted to the same thing. Looking for tell-tale signs of nervous twitches and maybe even panic. It was a way of life for a cop and it made for some very telling insights into a stranger’s life.
May was watching for outward signs of stress and the Barbie-doll that had just teetered into view on her high heels and blond-from-a-bottle-hair was giving off signals as she stood and waited. Never standing in one place, shuffling her feet, constantly looking at her watch and fiddling with her appearance meant she was as nervous as hell. She was meeting her soon to be lover for the first time. Some fat-cat sugar daddy she had snared on the internet was about to be reeled in, hook, line, and sinker.
A mother with a couple of kids in tow was waiting patiently for her husband, but she was irritated at this interruption to her normal routine. The guy was obviously a salesman stopping off to visit his wife on a whirlwind sales tour designed to drum up business. He was looking forward to 48 hours R&R but was in for a shock when he eventually found out his wife was having an affair with his brother.
Or maybe the laid-back surf-dude warranted further attention, May told herself, as the guy in the loud Hawaiian shirt laughed it up with a sidekick who was obviously dealing in something other than tanning oil.
Life at this airport is rich and varied, no different than the wildlife you see on glossy wildlife documentaries from the BBC or National Geo.
At this thought, May realised she had been scanning people and assessing them, but with a degree of certainty in her assessment that she had never known before.
Am I reading minds suddenly?
May ignored the thought as the double doors to the arrivals opened. She stood on tiptoes trying to see over the crowd of expectant parents, siblings, lovers, and co-workers. After what seemed like an eternity, she spotted Dan’s head of black curly hair above the crowd of passengers.
“Dan!” She shouted.
Dan looked up and spotted her and waved happily.
Brubaker squeezed and pushed through the crowd until she was at the barrier and Dan was holding her tightly.
“Oh boy have I missed you, babe.” Dan laughed as he squeezed Brubaker ever tighter.
“I know, me too, sweetheart.”
As they pulled apart, May noticed the roll top black shirt Dan was wearing, covering his neck. “Are you changing your look?”
Dan looked embarrassed. “Yeah, something like that. Got to move with the times.”
The couple were oblivious to the same scene going on around them where small pockets of parents, lovers and friends were all hugging together. So much so that no one noticed the tall, thin man, at the rear of the crowd slip past everyone, without taking his eyes off Brubaker and Dan.
***
Jimmy Grey wiped the sweat off his forehead and took another sip of his beer. He looked at the beer label and realised it was a brand he had once said he liked and ever since, May had made certain her fridge was stocked if Jimmy was doing jobs for her. His thoughts turned to May Brubaker, and he tried to push them aside. But as always, when May was on his mind, he couldn’t push her out. She was like a fixation, or even a drug. He had to have her as close as possible or he was miserable.
He had been in love with her for almost twelve months, ever since she had hired him as an odd job man to maintain her house. They had become firm friends and even after Jimmy left her employ, to take up an IT college course, they had remained friends. Jimmy had even carried on doing anything May needed around her house, just so he could be close to her. Jimmy told himself to move on, but it never worked. He knew he was in love with May. He was happy and as miserable as a sin at the same time and was hurting inside knowing Dan was about to step back into her life. But he shrugged inwardly and hoped beyond hope that someday, one day, any day that May would notice him.
Jimmy finished his beer, put the bottle in the recycle trash and looked at his handy work.
“If she hates this there’s no justice in the world,” he said, smiling as his eyes surveyed the room.
***
The drive from LAX was uneventful and the freeway traffic flowed along in an amiable sort of way, as it usually did. There was no one speeding and no one going too slow and the usual gaggle of sports cars, pickups, compacts, semis and the odd, quirky, sort of vehicles that you expected to see in LA all seemed to be moving along in jumbled harmony. The day was the same as any other day, boring really, May told herself, as she reached across and held onto Dan’s hand. She was puzzled at the coldness of his hand to her touch, but let it pass. Poor circulation, perhaps? Her thoughts soon wandered away. She liked days like this, where nothing bad happened. There was no really bad news on the radio, the traffic flowed, she was with her boyfriend and it was all rather mundane.
“Even dull,” May said.
“What?”
May suddenly realised she had spoken out loud and look at Dan.
“You said something about being dull,” Dan said.
“Did I?”
“Yup,” Dan nodded and smiled at her.
“Just thinking out loud, I guess. I was just thinking the world was nice and dull.”
“Yeah, guess it is,” Dan agreed, looking around. “Nothing bad or good happening around about, I guess.”
“Except for us,” May said.
“Except for us,” Dan agreed, returning her smile.
Then why do I feel a sudden disquiet? May shrugged the thought off, shooed it away to the back of her mind and concentrated on her driving. But her brow was deeply furrowed.
***
May and Dan arrived at the house twenty minutes after Jimmy had left. As May pulled around the corner she smiled at Dan.
“Here she is, home sweet home.” May smiled again and nodded toward the end of the broad avenue.
“God lord, May, that’s a mansion,” Dan said, running a hand through his hair. “I have never seen a house so…”
“Big?” May said, finishing Dan’s sentence.
“Yeah, big is a good word for it.”
“I know, scared the willies out of me when I first saw it.”
Dan gave her a quizzical look. “You didn’t know what it looked like before you bought it?”
May flushed. “I didn’t buy it. I inherited it.”
“Wow! Hope you earn enough to pay for it, looks to me that it will cost a fortune in upkeep.”
May nodded. “It’s not cheap. But I’m lucky there too.”
As May drove her Mustang onto the drive and parked, switching the engine off. Dan sat looking at her, waiting for more information.
May sighed and took Dan’s hand in hers. Still cold. “I’ve not told you everything.”
Dan smiled and looked at the house. “That’s pretty evident. Don’t tell me you have your Mother and eight sisters living here too.”
“No, no, nothing at all like that. I inherited this and also a heap of money.”
“How high a heap, I can imagine a pretty big heap. Not that I’m prying, but you’ve piqued my interest.”
“Twenty-nine million bucks,” May said in a quiet voice, watching and waiting as the information sank in.
Dan’s jaw slackened and his mouth was agape. He turned to May and shook his head. “How much did you say?”
“Twenty-nine million dollars give or take a million.”
“Okay, I’m duly impressed. Now you’re going to introduce me to the Mother and eight sisters.”
May laughed, relieved Dan had taken the news so well. “No,” she said, getting out the car, “there’s only Jack and me.”
Dan got out the car and stood gaping at the mansion. “Jack being?” he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
***
Dan was on his back, on the grass, with the biggest dog he had ever seen stood on his chest, licking his face, and drooling all over him.
“Meet Jack, Dan.”
“Thank god he’s not your dad; I would have been really worried at that news.”
May laughed and walked into the house from the back patio.
“Don’t leave me here to drown in drool,” Dan pleaded.
“He’ll not hurt you, but you will need to wash up before you can come in the house. There’s a hose out back.”
“Great,” Dan muttered as Jack’s slobber ran into his left ear.
“Good boy,” Dan said, trying a tentative smile.
Jack gave off a low, amiable sort of woof and opened his mouth. A dollop of drool slopped into Dan’s left eye.
“Yuck, Jack for the love of… Jack! Can’t you do that somewhere else? It’s gross, man.”
Jack woofed again and licked Dan’s face, his tongue filling his face with one very long slurp.
“Pleased to meet you too, Jack,” Dan whimpered, trying unsuccessfully not to swallow the big dog’s drool.
***
May had relented and let Dan take a shower. While she waited, she sat in her den with Jack snuggled up on the sofa next to her. She knew Dan would have a lot of questions, not least of which would be who had left her all the money and the property. May considered that going through this process was part of her healing process. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her cell’s insistent beeping.
Dan walked into the den as May was going through the usual question and answer routine with her Mother.
“Yes, Mom, no Mom, yes I know what I’m doing. okay.” May pointed to the seat next to her and Jack. Dan politely held his hand up and sat in a comfy chair as far away from Jack as possible.
“Mom, I have a visitor, I’ve got to go… yes, a visitor. Never mind, it’s just a friend. Bye, Mom. Bye.” May flipped her cell closed and sighed. “My Mom,” she said with a shrug, “she worries.”
“Okay, May, so how come you ended up with this place?”
“And the money, Jack, and this,” May said, holding up her left middle finger.
“The dog I can understand, oh yeah, the money too. But you never mentioned any of this in the last six months. And that on your finger, never noticed that before either, looks like a ring.”
“Yeah, he left me a mansion, a shit load of money, a dog and a wooden ring. A bit bizarre I suppose.”
“Bizarre doesn’t cover it, at all. You’ve kept a lot to yourself over the last six months.”
May felt defensive. Maybe her ex-cop instincts we’re firing up, she didn’t know, but now she was on the attack.
“Well, a bit like yourself. I know nothing about you either, where you live, who your friends and family are. Not just me being secretive, Dan.”
“Hold up, hold up. This isn’t a secret,” Dan said, waving his right arm in the air, indicating the plush surroundings. “This is something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know I’m just in awe, that’s all. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Much the same way I felt when I was told I had inherited all this. I was shocked, even more so in that my benefactor was my partner in the LAPD, Gary Mitchell.”
Dan sat forward on his seat. He knew May had to get this out, get it off her chest. So, he smiled to encourage her and waited.
“Gary and I were on a stakeout, near some new condos on the waterfront. We had been crouching behind a wall for what seemed like hours. Finally, we got a call over the radio that the operation was finished, the target had been arrested.”
May sat back on the sofa and gave Jack’s head a rub. Jack settled himself down beside her and rolled over so May could tickle his tummy.
“It turned out the information on the arrest had been passed to the Captain by a cop on the take. There had been no arrest and the target, a drug baron from Columbia called Enrique Sambilista, was in fact loose and ready for action.” May didn’t mention about the radio-silence issue, not wanting to delve too far into a painful subject.
May got up and walked to a bar set in the corner. “You want a soda or beer?”
Dan checked his watch. “A beer’s fine, we’re passed the witching hour.”
May smiled and topped two beers, handing one to Dan as she walked past him. May sat down and Jack sat up, waiting patiently for May to settle before he himself lay down and rolled on his back, his tongue lolling from his mouth.
“Silly dog,” May said with great affection. “So, the target was actually not there. He had scarpered and left the bad cop with a henchman who had a .22 rifle. The rest is history. Gary stood up as we were told the stakeout was over and the henchman, I don’t even remember his name, fired on Gary. It took one bullet, but the rifle wasn’t powerful enough and the bullet began spinning just as it hit Gary in the forehead.”
May felt an icy finger trace a line down her spine and she shivered.
“Are you okay?” Dan asked her.
She nodded. “It was instantaneous, or so they say. I didn’t believe it then and don’t believe it now. It took the top of his head off. But in that moment, he half turned and looked at me with a smile on his face. By this time, I had splats of his blood and brain over me, but I know what I saw. Gary was telling me not to worry, that it would be fine.”
“What would be fine?”
“Don’t know. That’s just the way it felt in that brief instance before he died, as if he was somehow talking to me, telling me not to worry.” May shook her head and sipped her beer.
Dan took a long pull on his beer and sat back in his seat.
“So, your partner left all this and the money, to you? How on earth did he accumulate all that wealth?”
“Don’t even go there,” May said, with a warning glint in her eyes. “Gary was a good cop. The best I ever knew. His money came from the state lottery.”
“May, cool it. I wasn’t meaning what you think I was meaning.”
“I know. Sorry but I’m a bit on edge. This is a hard story to tell.”
Dan smiled at her and got up from his seat. Jack rolled off the sofa, as if he knew Dan’s intention, and walked outside. Dan sat next to May and held her hand.
“Gary won a fortune on the state lottery and never said a thing to anyone. It was the measure of the man that he gave half of it away to charity and then simply sat on the rest. His attorney contacted me at the funeral and asked me to call in during the week. I did as I was told at the suggested time, only to find myself at the reading of the will. I was the only one there. I had no idea what was in store.”
“He had no family?”
“Nope, just him and Jack, seemed Gary had considered that he and I would get together some day. I never knew he had feelings for me. I liked and admired him, but he was more like a big brother than a potential lover.”
May finished her beer and got up, walked to the bar, and deposited the empty bottle on the counter. She turned to Dan and smiled. “Essentially that’s the story of my friend’s death and how I got wealthy. It’s been a bitter pill for me to swallow.”
Dan got up and followed May to the bar and pulled her towards him. “I’ll help. You know I will.”
May’s cell played the theme from Star Wars.
“Oh shit, I forgot about Jimmy.”
She pulled out her cell from her jeans pocket and flipped it open.
“Hey, Jimmy. Hi, yeah, sorry, kind of lost track of time. Okay. I’ll go look now. Call you back.”
May placed her cell on the counter and looked up at Dan. “Sorry, got to take a look at Jimmy’s handiwork. I left him here painting one of the bedrooms that I’m going to make into my study.”
“Okay,” Dan said.
“I’ll take a look if you want to get me another beer. We can eat afterwards. That okay with you?”
“Sure.”
***
Figuratively speaking Jude Brubaker sat in her favourite sofa, except her whole body was stiff and though seated her legs and arms were sticking out in front of her body at odd angles, making her look like a child’s toy, tossed aside after something else caught the child’s eye. The evil that had penetrated her home defences had spent hours assimilating itself to its new surroundings, while Jude was forced to sit and watch. To watch an evil presence, go from a dark shifting mass to an obviously human form was deeply unsettling, but when the transformation had almost completed, Jude was then subjected to a malevolent tirade until the being had finally and literally spirited itself away, leaving Jude in this state of a living rigor mortis.
Jude had tried with every fibre of her body to move, but the spell was such that even she was overwhelmed and she then knew the malevolence was one of the Furies, those ancient so-called goddesses of vengeance, born of vengeful malevolence in the underworld to wreak havoc on humanity, simply because humanity existed.
“You exist, therefore… I hate you.” The voice was back and a dark foreboding overcame Jude. The voice was just behind her and whispering in her right ear. Jude shuddered involuntarily. Don’t show her your fear.
“You would do well to listen to yourself, human. But of course, you aren’t, are you? Human I mean.”
Jude said nothing, not wanting to give the demon-witch any advantage in the impending battle that would soon unfold.
“I spoke to your daughter.”
If Jude’s body could have stiffened any further it would have. “Leave her out of this. This is between me and you, bitch!”
Footsteps behind and then to her right alerted Jude to the movement of the Fury. Finally, Jude saw what it was she was up against. Short blond hair, highlighted in pink, wearing ripped jeans and a cut-off denim jacket, mostly open at the front showing her cleavage. The toned and tanned body made her look like a rich kid beach babe, but the dark stare in her eyes soon cleared up that little illusion.
“Like the look, sorceress? I always love what human females can do to their men, especially in this modern era. Of course, I’m partial to women as well,” she said. She looked at Jude’s sticking out legs. “Looks uncomfortable,” she said, then snapped a finger and Jude’s legs dropped to a more normal position.
Jude sighed with relief and then looked up at the Fury. “Leave my child out of this.”
“No, I will not. I want some fun while I’m here. We live in a perpetual dark existence on the other side, so when in Rome, I’ll take my fun where and when I can get it.” The Fury smiled. “It won’t take me long to wrest control of the power from her,” the fury moved forward and sat on Jude’s lap, legs apart, and leaning forward licked Jude’s left ear.
Jude squirmed, tried to resist, but was helpless.
“I need what your brat has and I will use whatever is at hand to wrest that power from her.”
Jude, powerless to move, felt the heat rising in her pelvis and realised the Fury was exerting her sexual power. Whatever it was the Fury was after she was willing to use the renowned sexual attraction, they exerted to bend Jude to her will.
“Not just this earthly, human, sexual quality, but also fear and pain to get what I was sent here for.”
Jude almost gasped, realising this malevolence was under orders from…
“Never you mind who sent me,” she said, standing. The Fury’s silky voice was having a somnolent effect on Jude. The creature smiled at Jude.
Jude was beginning to succumb, she knew. A deep moan forming inside her. She desperately wanted to free herself, but the creature’s powerful mental grasp made her cave in and enter a dark abyss.
***
May trotted up the stairs. It was her way, she told herself, of keeping fit. By the time she had reached the top level of the house she was puffing slightly and small beads of sweat were forming on her brow. Suddenly, she stumbled forward and landed heavily on the carpeted top step. Cursing she pulled herself up and felt a hot surge of sickness flush over her body. May shook her head, and the feeling passed. Confused and a little unfocused, May opened her study door and walked in. As she looked at the opposite wall her confusion turned to black thunder. In huge white letters on a bare red-brick wall May saw words daubed across the wall.
May! Help me! She’s going to destroy the world.
Dan, at his location in the den, heard May scream in what appeared to be rage.
“Jimmy! JIMMY!”
Dan could hear May screaming Jimmy’s name as her footsteps pounded down the stairs.
“JIMMY!”
May burst into the room and Dan looked shocked at the rage on her face.
“He’s gone too far this time, too far! It’s his way of getting his own back, all because I ruined his new shirt!”
May yanked her cell off the counter and speed dialled Jimmy’s number. She tapped her foot furiously as she waited for Jimmy to answer.
May took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. In a voice that was sweetness and light she said into the cell, “Jimmy. Doing anything nice tonight? No? Good, because I have a job for you. Get over here as soon as you can and I’ll go through what I want doing.”
May slapped the cell shut and banged it onto the counter.
“He’ll be a few minutes,” May said to Dan. “I’m going to start cooking. Help yourself to a beer. I’m going to have a large glass of Zinfandel. Wait here, please. I’ll explain when Jimmy gets here.”
Dan watched as May walked out of the room, her body language telling him to do as he was told.
Dan sat and listened to May clattering about the kitchen.
***
May had virtually destroyed several heads of Broccoli with her large cutting knife, chopped carrots so badly they almost looked like a pile of orange mush and had generally caused havoc in the kitchen when the front doorbell rang.
May stabbed the small knife she was holding into the wooden chopping board and walked out of the kitchen.
Dan popped his head out of the den as May walked past towards the door.
Pulling the door open, May smiled her friendliest smile.
“Jimmy, how nice of you to come over at such short notice,” May said, taking Jimmy by his left arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
“I need to show you something upstairs. Your handiwork from earlier on isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Dan followed at a discreet distance, a look of concern on his face. Jimmy looked back at Dan, his face reflecting Dan’s. Both men were silent, knowing full well that this was not the time to say anything. May was on a mission.
May stopped outside the door to her study. She turned to Jimmy and flicked a look at Dan standing just behind Jimmy that told him to say nothing.
“Remember, Jimmy, I said paint it plain white with a few deep red highlights?”
Jimmy nodded.
“What we have here is not what I wanted. I wanted highlights, Jimmy, highlights. Know what that word means, Jimmy? Highlights in deep red, not this shit,” May said as she swung the door open and pushed Jimmy inside.
Jimmy took a few faltering steps and walked into the room.
Dan looked at May and she looked back, nodding her head for him to go into the room after Jimmy.
May stood outside and waited.
“Hey, I like what you’ve done with this room, Jimmy.” Dan’s voice echoed from the empty room.
“Thanks.” Jimmy’s puzzled voice came echoing from the room.
May scowled and shouted, “You like it?” May entered the room, stopping dead in the doorway.
The two men turned to look at May, who stood in the doorway, a look of consternation on her face. “What the f…”
Jimmy looked at Dan and Dan returned the puzzled stare.
“Yeah, I think it looks great, not just nice, it’s fabulous in fact.”
Jimmy smiled his thanks at Dan.
“But this is not what was here earlier,” May said, entering the room fully.
May walked around the door and did a complete three-sixty sweep of the room.
“What was here earlier?” Jimmy asked. “It’s exactly as I left it. Not quite as dry as I expected it to be, but still the same. What did you expect, May?”
May, her mouth wide open, strode around the room, eyes wide and shocked.
“May?” Jimmy said, a little bit of concern in his voice.
“Help me! She’s going to destroy the world.”
Dan and Jimmy looked at May.
“What?” Dan asked.
“Help me! She’s going to destroy the world,” May said again. “That’s what was written on the wall in big white letters. The wall was bare, bare red brick.”
The two men looked on helplessly as May continued to walk around the room, shaking her head. She stopped at the offending wall and pointed to it. In a shaky voice May said, “Right here. That’s what was written in big letters, right here.” She stabbed at the wall to make her point, wiping at the white emulsion now sticking to the end of her finger.
“Can’t see how that’s possible,” Dan said.
Jimmy nodded in agreement. “It’s just as I left it. Is this a joke you two are pulling?”
“NO!” May screamed. “I am not going mad. That’s what was written on this wall.” May was furiously stabbing a finger at the offending wall and was equally furious that the two men doubted her word. So much so her body was quivering. “This wall here,” she stabbed at it again, to emphasise her point. “In WHITE paint,” she screamed.
***
It was four in the morning and May was cold and shivering. She sat in the Den in total darkness except for the LED minutes slowly ticking over on her small desk clock. The writing on the wall had shocked her, but even more so was the realisation that neither Dan nor Jimmy believed her. But it was true, she knew it. But that thought begged two questions, assuming she wasn’t insane. Who had written the words and who had removed them? Jimmy had stated the paint was surprisingly still wet. That proved nothing as May had no real idea how long the paint should take to dry. But she kept coming back to the fact that only Jimmy had the opportunity to write the words and only Dan had the opportunity to paint over them. Which led to the ludicrous assertion that the two men were working together, two men who had only briefly met that evening. Question after question entered her mind and there were no answers she could think of.
May yawned and reluctantly got up and went upstairs to her bedroom. She could hear Dan’s soft snoring in the guest room and wondered if his snoring ever got louder, leading her to speculate on what it would be like to sleep with Dan.
“Don’t go there,” she muttered to herself, a brief smile flickering across her lips.
May opened her bedroom door, walked in, and closed the door behind her as softly as possible.
End of Sample
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