by steve higgs
I turned around and my heart almost came out of my chest. Bartholomew was behind me. He was pointing a taser gun at me. My brain raced as I tried to think of something to say. I didn't have to though because he smiled and pulled the trigger.
Wonderful Diversity. Thursday, November 3rd (I Hope) No Idea What Time It Is.
Someone was touching me. No, something was touching me. It was an object, not a person. It felt more like a wet brush than skin. It was cold rather than warm.
I slowly forced my heavy eyes open and my head up. Why did I have to lift my head up? It took a second before all the information that was being relayed to my brain sorted itself into order. I was in a darkened room lit by candles and I was tied to an upright gurney of some kind. It felt like it was made of wood as it was not cold against my skin like metal would be. I glanced down to confirm I was right. It looked to be hewn from the branches of a tree and lashed together with string. This wasn't the most alarming concern though.
I was naked.
The fact that all my clothes had been removed ought to be alarming enough, but it was entirely secondary in my list of worries to the half-dozen other naked women in the room. All African or Caribbean descent, their skin was painted with odd patterns from head to toe. They all looked to be in a trance-like state and they were using the same paint on me – the wet brush had woken me.
The two women that were painting me moved to the side as two more stepped up with different paint. One of them was Patience!
‘Patience!' I hissed to get her to look at me. She was focused on the task of painting me and didn't even react. ‘Patience.' I tried again. My arms were restrained so I couldn't touch her or grab her. I could barely move at all and the bonds dug into my skin painfully as I tried to struggle against them.
Patience had the same faraway look as the other five women. Whether they were drugged or hypnotised or something else I could not tell but they were all non-responsive. Patience finished painting my left arm and was replaced by the next woman in line. It seemed they were done with the painting as the next two had long necklaces made of bone to place over my head. The bones looked like they might be human finger bones and they didn't look clean - like there might still be scraps of flesh stuck to them.
It was quite horrific, my senses almost at overload point and threatening to send me into a tailspin of panic that would render me incapable of rational thought. I needed to be able to think if I was going to escape this. I thought back to my earlier annoyance over weak thoughts of having someone rescue me. Rescue, though, was looking like a favourable outcome now.
The women turned away and began filing from the room.
‘Patience.' I called after her before she could leave the room. ‘Patience.' The last one I shouted out loud, but there was no reaction from her at all.
As the last woman left the room, Bartholomew appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a robe that had no arms and a pair of loose-fitting trousers that matched the material of the robe. Both garments were colourfully embroidered. His body was painted in a different pattern to the women that had just left and looked more like his skeleton was sitting outside his skin. It was the same effect I had seen on Halloween.
‘I did say I would make her my slave.’ He laughed deeply as if it was really funny then stood and stared at my naked body, taking it all in.
‘You won’t get away with this.’ It was all I could think of to say. It sounded so cliched to my ears. He simply smiled at me. ‘People know where I was heading today.’ I lied, trying to keep my voice from cracking. ‘They will come for me soon enough.’ I was trying to sound confident, but he laughed again.
‘Do you mean your big friend? He turned up a while ago looking for you. He clearly didn’t know all that much about our operation, although I will say that he displayed a fairly iron will in resisting our torture methods.’
Oh no! They had Big Ben!
‘In the end, it was clear that he didn't know anything, but I had them carry on for a while just in case.'
‘What did you do to him?’ I demanded, anger replacing my fear now.
‘Oh, I don’t think you should worry too much about him. He will be dead soon enough. You should worry about your own limited future. Soon the ladies will return for you and you will join me at my wedding. You see, you’re to be a glorious honour sacrifice. Your blood will make me more powerful yet.’
He was planning to murder me. I was beyond terrified. Without ropes to hold me up I swear I would have collapsed.
He took a step forward and leaned in, so his face was mere inches from mine, ‘The ceremony also requires a ritualistic rape before the victim is murdered.’ My breath caught with the horror of what I was hearing. ‘Don’t worry though, we have someone else for that. No such indignity for you. You get to die from dozens of venomous snake bites.’
He spun on his feet and went back out the door. ‘See you soon, Miss Harper.' His voice echoed back down the hallway outside.
I was alone. I was utterly terrified, and I was alone. No one knew where I was, and I could not see how anyone would find me. For that matter, I didn't know where I was either. Had I been transported somewhere while I was unconscious? Or was I somewhere in the basement of the Kings' house? Would my body ever be found?
I struggled against the ropes that held me again. I could feel them tearing at my skin. They didn’t give though. Not one little bit.
I looked around the room wondering if I could find something, a tool I could reach. I tried rocking the gurney I was strapped to. It moved a little. If I could just wobble my way across the room to the shelf I could see, maybe there would be something there I could use.
The thought died on my brow though as the catatonic ladies filed back into the room followed by Mrs. King. She wore a dress and robe that exposed huge amounts of her flesh. It was split down the centre to reveal her breasts which wobbled rhythmically with each stride.
‘So good of you to join us, Miss Harper. We would have found someone to fulfil your role easily enough, but to volunteer in the manner that you did was truly inspiring.'
‘Why are you doing this?’ I managed to stammer out.
‘Why?’ she asked as if it should be obvious. ‘Because practising voodoo is the source of our power. My husband and I rose from nothing through a campaign of utter terror. Why work hard for a living when you can trap the souls of your rivals or control them through fear? You think we could have afforded all this by being chemists?’
‘You make crystal meth, don’t you?’
‘Among other things, yes. Why wouldn’t we? Voodoo makes us strong and crystal meth makes others weak. They are so dependent upon us, so ready to obey our demands. Come now, enough chatter.’ She clapped her hands and the six women, Patience included, surrounded the gurney, tilted it backward so I faced the ceiling and lifted it from the floor.
‘Patience what are you doing? Get me out of here.’ I wailed. I worried I might lose control of my bladder I was that scared of what was coming.
Patience did not respond though. Neither did anyone else as they carried me out of the room and down the dark corridor. We turned a corner and the tone of noise changed just before we entered a huge chamber. It must have been three stories high, like being inside a cathedral. I was straining my head to see where I was being taken and what was around me. It was hard to make much out, the chamber was lit by thousands of candles which created shadows everywhere, but ahead of me, as I stared through my feet, there was an altar of sorts. The noise I had heard before, which had started out as nothing more than a quiet susurration in the background turned out to be chanting from dozens of people. They were wearing scraps of clothing and were swaying as they chanted.
Mr. King was standing next to the altar. In contrast to everyone around him, his skin was not painted. He had on a top hat and tails, plus trousers, but no shirt, leaving his chest exposed. In his right hand, he held a cane, the ball on top was a small human skull. I suspected it was real. Around his nec
k was a large black snake. I could see it moving.
On the stone floor, by Mr. King's feet was the bloody and naked body of Big Ben. I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, but he was not moving and looked to have taken a beating. How many of them had it taken to capture him I wondered?
My gurney stopped moving and was standing upright again. Mr. King descended steps that led down from the altar. He had the snakes head in his hand.
‘Welcome, Miss Harper.' He said as if I was just arriving for a cocktail party. He brushed the snakes head against my face. One side then the other then held it in front of my face. If he was trying to terrify me, he needn't have bothered. The snake's tongue flicked out kissing the tip of my nose. Mr. King laughed a deep belly laugh.
‘Come now.’ He called to the audience. ‘Let us begin.’
Something was pressed into my hand. The movement came from behind me and was urgent as if the person doing it had to be quick about what they were doing. I was still strapped onto my gurney and could not see who it had been. I risked a glance down.
It was a small knife, barely an inch long and with a tiny double-edged blade.
The six naked women walked in front of me, taking up position three on each side. Patience was to my left. Did I see her move? Did she just twitch? I watched and just when I thought I had imagined it, her right hand moved again. Behind her back, she gave me a thumbs up.
Patience was with me! I was not alone. I almost sobbed as hope filled my chest. Then I thought about the knife and wondered where Patience had been hiding it. It felt moist. I told myself it was sweat and decided I would be happier not finding out if I was right or wrong.
In front of the altar, Mr. King began a chant. The words were gibberish to me. He pulled the large black snake from around his neck, holding it just below its head, he held it aloft by one hand. The crowd of people that edged the room were swaying to the rhythm of his words. It might have been in Haitian or any other language that I did not understand.
Mrs. King joined him at the altar, her boobs swinging as she walked and there were two bare-chested men following her while carrying a large basket between them. It was almost person size and looked to be three feet deep. I didn't want to think about what might be in it. I didn't have to guess for long though as Mrs. King reached in to pluck out two snakes. They were small and had bands of red, yellow and black running the length of their body. I knew almost nothing about snakes but still knew enough to be certain these ones were deadly.
‘Let us anoint our sacrifices.' Mr. King's voice boomed. Then he held the large black snake aloft and cut off its head. The snake's writhing ceased instantly but Mr. King was moving it himself as he flicked the severed end at Big Ben to splash fresh blood on his back. Then he crossed the floor to me and did the same. Warm liquid hit the skin of my face and chest and ran down over my belly. I was so disgusted I wanted to vomit. Had there been any food in me I probably would have.
Slowly, I had turned the knife around in my hand to rest it on the twine holding me in place. I moved it against the tension of my restraint convinced I would drop the blade at any moment. Instead, I felt the binding loosen as something gave.
From an unseen portal behind the altar, Bartholomew emerged with the girl I had seen him with earlier just behind him. Behind them came Mason, I recognised him from earlier but then in contrast to all the dark skinned, black haired people, the next person was a tall, thin blond woman in a dress.
It was Jane.
‘Now brethren.' Mr. King addressed the room, his deep voice booming. ‘It is time for the culmination of our wedding celebrations. Our annual sacrifice will this year not be one but three individuals. Their blood will stoke our power. We will rule over our rivals, subjugating them with our drugs as we exploit their weakness. Voodoo will guide our actions and terrify all who would challenge us. You, loyal servants of the Magdalene King, you will flourish with me and share in my riches.'
My ears had not deceived me. I had worked it all out. It was not Bartholomew that was the Magdalene King, it was his Dad. The timeline worked, but I had figured it out too late to tell anyone. The chance of exposing them felt slim given my current predicament. However, my right hand was now loose enough for me to slide it out of the remaining loops of string. I dare not move to cut my other bindings though for fear I would be spotted. I needed a distraction.
Two large, bare-chested, muscular men were holding Jane in place. They had forced her to her knees and each had one meaty hand on her shoulders. In the hand that wasn’t holding her, each had a large knife which might more accurately be described as a short sword. Jane looked terrified but did not appear to be hurt.
The young woman I had seen with Bartholomew stepped in front of Mr. King leading Bartholomew by his hand. ‘Now my prince, take this young woman. Celebrate the end of your life as a single man, give her your seed then kill her and join with me forever as my husband.' She took his shoulders and turned him to face Jane.
I suddenly realised that Jane was the one he was planning to publicly rape as part of his twisted ritual.
They didn’t know it was a man beneath the makeup and dress. This should be good.
Bartholomew took a pace towards Jane. There was a maniacal look on his face. His excitement was clear, not only in his smile but also in the bulge jutting out from the front of his pants. His bride to be grasped his robe and pulled it from his shoulders.
The two men holding Jane in place lifted her to her feet then one used his enormous blade to slice the back of her dress. It fell away, taking her fake boobs with it and revealing the meat and two veg hanging between his legs just as Bartholomew pulled the cord that held up his trousers and let them fell the floor.
In the sudden silence of the room, all eyes were on Jane. Mr. King's eyes were popping out his head in disbelief that the blond girl had a penis. Then Patience laughed.
It was a cackling snort of suppressed laughter like she was trying not to but couldn't contain it. I knew what she was laughing at, Bartholomew had a tiny penis and she was pointing at it. All eyes swung to her, Mr. and Mrs. King's faces were incredulous. Their plan for the ceremony was unravelling fast. Bartholomew looked down at his tiny winky and across at Jane's much larger version, his expression horrified. His erection was already beginning to wilt.
If I had been viewing this scene from a safe distance, I might have enjoyed it. As it was, I was still about to be murdered and needed to rescue myself. I took the brief opportunity I was given and with a single slash of the blade, I cut the bonds of my left hand and then my feet. The knife was sharp, and my fast movements nicked my skin. I was free though and I had a weapon.
Simultaneous with me gaining freedom, Big Ben came back to life. I missed it because I was cutting myself free and I didn't see him hit Mr. King, but I heard the outrush of air from Mr. King's lungs and Mrs. King's screech of outrage.
By the time I looked up, Mr. King was tumbling to the floor and Big Ben was rushing the two men holding Jane. Caught by indecision, one didn't move at all, choosing instead to keep hold of Jane and use her as a shield, the other twitched, realised the danger approaching and moved to intercept Big Ben with his weapon. Too late though, Big Ben closed the distance before the man could raise his knife and struck him with a haymaker right fist that felled him like a tree.
Mrs. King and Bartholomew's bride were going for Patience. The other five naked women – shall we call them bridesmaids? They had not moved. They were still trapped in the trancelike state Patience had been faking. Patience saw the danger coming. She was more than capable of smacking down two skinny bitches, but the growing hope for escape I was beginning to feel, ended when I saw the audience begin to move in. There were four of us and over fifty of them. Big Ben might take out a dozen of them, maybe more but the numbers were insurmountable in my head. In seconds they would be upon us. I needed a way out.
Maybe the hidden entrance that Bartholomew had come through. I didn’t know if it led out of the building, but I ha
d to try. There was no one near me. No one I needed to fight my way through.
‘Patience.' I yelled as she grabbed Mrs. King and upended her. The smaller lady flipped in the air before Patience smashed her skull into the floor. Patience slammed into the bride in a body check that knocked her flying. Then she was running after me. Big Ben and Jane were ahead of us. I glanced at Patience and wished I hadn’t. She was naked and had boobs that, without the benefit of support, and with the addition of frantic motion, had turned into an additional pair of limbs. They were going different directions so that her nipples were now about three feet apart. Of all the images my eyes had captured tonight, this was perhaps the one that would stay with me the longest.
The man holding Jane had seen his colleague easily beaten by the giant, muscular, naked, white man and switched his tactic as he put his blade to Jane's throat. Jane was too light to fight him off and was clearly panicked, hanging loose in the man's grip.
All three of us skidded to a halt. We couldn’t leave, and we couldn’t overpower him without him cutting Jane’s throat first.
‘Enough.' Roared Mr. King. He had regained his feet and was helping his wife up. Just in front of him, Bartholomew was putting his trousers back on. ‘You will all die for your insolence.' The audience has moved from their positions at the edge of the room but had not fully closed the distance, they were surrounding the central Dais that we, the Kings and the altar were on. Their numbers formed a tight circle around the four of us. There was nowhere to go and many of them were armed while we were not.
