by JD Nixon
“Rumbles is retiring? Nobody tells me anything.” Now I was doubly peeved at being left out of the loop.
“It’s hard to do a job like this forever. He’ll probably get a desk job as a loss prevention officer in a ritzy department store. With his amount of experience and skill, it won’t be hard for him to land something cushier than the work we do at Heller’s.”
“I’ll miss him. I’d love to be invited to his retirement party. He was one of the first men I met at Heller’s.”
“I’ll make sure you’re on the list, don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Farrell. You’re an angel.”
“Speaking of angels, I hope that’s the end of those stories.”
“Me too.” I checked the crumpled program I’d shoved into a pocket. “Next they’re moving on to a debate between that Griffin, the keynote speaker we heard yesterday, and a champion of the non-virgin lifestyle. That might be slightly interesting.”
“I doubt it.”
“I wonder who they convinced to take the anti stance? It’s not going to be popular with this crowd.”
“Don’t know, but whoever it is, they’re cutting it fine. It’s almost time to reconvene.”
Tom came over to us. “Has anyone turned up asking for me?”
“No,” said Farrell.
He tutted in irritation. “One half of the debate guests hasn’t arrived. This is most annoying. Griffin’s here waiting.”
“Can you ring them?” I suggested.
“I have, but I keep getting his answering service. Most annoying.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for him, but you may need to rearrange your program.”
“Most annoying,” Tom muttered again, hurrying to confer with Miriam and Harriet. When the last person slipped back inside the hall, we faintly heard Tom announce to the crowd that there would be a slight change in the program with the breakout sessions beginning earlier than planned.
There was a scrabbling and scraping of chairs as the hall was hastily rearranged to accommodate the four breakout sessions in each corner. Farrell and I could have gone inside to help move furniture, but I couldn’t be bothered, so we stayed outside and waited for the debate guest to arrive.
I wandered over to get Farrell and me a coffee, grabbing a couple of the pastries leftover from morning tea. I offered one to him, but he declined. Hmm, I guess that’s how he stayed in such great shape, I thought, cramming one of them into my mouth.
“Nobody’s going to take it away from you, Chalmers. No need to gobble it down.”
“I’m worried you’ll ban it,” I replied, my voice muffled by a good load of half-masticated pastry.
“I might if you spray me with pastry again,” he said, brushing down his polo shirt.
“Sorry,” I said, sprinkling his shirt with more.
“Oh geez,” he complained, flicking off pieces of the flaky pastry. “You have all the manners of a person raised by apes in an undiscovered jungle. Stand over there while you’re eating that.”
I took a couple of steps closer to the doors, away from him. Though slightly resenting my banishment, it wasn’t enough to encourage me to forgo the second pastry, which I ate with even more gusto and messiness than the first. Choking on the last, too large, mouthful, I sipped my coffee to ease it going down. On my second sip, the door opened forcefully, knocking me forward and spilling most of the contents of my cup down my uniform.
“Shit.” Sopping wet, I rounded on the person responsible. “What the hell are you doing barging through a door like that? I just spilled my coffee all over me because of you.”
“Oh, sorry,” apologised Ms Lusty, stepping through the doorway, dragging an unwilling Old Dude behind her. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Of course you didn’t!” I almost exploded. “I was on the other side of the door, which you just barged through without checking.”
“Guess we’re in a hurry, aren’t we, Lovebug?” Old Dude offered some weak gurgling response that could have been agreement, disagreement or a bad case of wind. He didn’t look very well. “Lovebug’s taking me to his place to see his art collection.” She winked lewdly at me when she said that.
“I’m going to try to salvage my uniform,” I told Farrell, storming off to the bathroom. If Old Dude and she wanted to spend the afternoon bonking each other like . . . lovebugs, then good luck to them. I hoped he’d told her about his dodgy hips.
Before the bathroom door closed on me, the awful chimp screech of her laughter rang out across the foyer, hurting my ears. You’d have to be a more charitable person than I was to tolerate that for more than a minute.
The air dryer in the bathroom was low, necessitating me standing in a half-limbo position beneath it, killing my thigh muscles in the process. The smell of burnt-on coffee filled the room. A couple of women came in, eyeing me with curiosity.
“Coffee spill,” I explained.
Each expressed a knowledgeable, “Aah,” before carrying on with her business. Unjustly cursing desperate virgins all around the world, I gave up on the drying option after five long minutes, deciding it was more comfortable to be damp than contorted.
Not in the best mood, I returned to my post. “Has that idiot second debate guest turned up yet?”
“Someone’s in a bad mood.”
“Like you wouldn’t be if the same thing happened to you. My uniform’s soggy and I smell like I dunked myself in a cheap coffee bath.”
“It could be worse.”
I was just about to argue with him when a group of people, dramatically silhouetted by the glare of the sun, approached the entrance.
Farrell and I both froze, rivetted to the scene.
Through the centre’s entrance stepped someone I’d never wanted to set eyes on again.
Malefic.
Chapter 26
“You have to be kidding me,” I said to myself. What was this? A frigging family reunion or something? I could not believe I was now lumbered with Old Dude and the creepiest of creeps.
“Do you know that guy too?” asked Farrell.
“That’s Malefic, not a dude anyone willingly wants to know.”
“A one-name wonder?”
“Don’t underestimate him, Farrell. He exerts a weird control over people, like he does with those women accompanying him.”
“Who are they?”
“He calls them his acolytes. They’re young women vulnerable to his type of hypnotic brainwashing. He seems to have picked up a couple more since I saw him last.”
“Where’d you tangle with him?”
“When I worked for Trent Dawson, I covered the Turbot and Tank trial for his show. Malefic came to support them. They’d committed those horrific murders in an attempt to catch his attention.”
“I remember that. Wasn’t there a brawl between him and some religious guy on Dawson’s show?”
“That’s right and that religious guy ended up shooting him.” And I ended up losing my job.
Malefic honed in on me as soon as he saw me, his injuries visible in the cane he used to help him walk and his noticeable limp. Otherwise he hadn’t changed his look – same black jeans, high gothic boots and long coat over a black shirt. His long black hair hung straight from his centre part, shiny and soft, his nails long and painted black. He was thinner and slightly paler (though how that was even possible made me scratch my head for a while), probably as a result of his long recovery.
The same two spaced out women I’d previously met flanked him, now joined by another woman and a man, all with black hair and pale faces, all dressed in relentless black.
“My, my,” purred Malefic in his beautiful, soothing voice. “Matilda. What a marvellous surprise for me.”
“Don’t call me that,” I warned, instinctively stepping backwards and a little closer to Farrell, annoyed at myself for letting this man affect me so much.
“That’s right. That name is reserved for someone special. And how is Mr Heller?” He gave me a look of mock concern. “I
t’s a shame he’s away for so long. Are you lonely?”
I didn’t know how he knew that, but it creeped me out. “I told you last time to stay away me. I don’t want anything to do with you.” Farrell moved closer to me, partially blocking me with his body.
The movement drew Malefic’s attention. “I see you’re in a Heller’s uniform, Matilda. Change of career from when I saw you last? And who is this protective man with you? Your knight in shining armour?”
“I suggest you do as Tilly suggested and leave her alone. Do you have any business here?”
Malefic’s eyes rested on me. “I certainly do. Matilda and I have unfinished business for one thing.”
“We do not. I don’t want anything to do with you,” I repeated fiercely.
“But alas, I have more mundane things to deal with first. I’m part of some debate with a laughable person who mounts flimsy arguments in favour of virginity.”
“You’re very late,” said Farrell coldly. “They had to rearrange the program.”
Malefic’s eyes fixed on one of his ‘old’ acolytes, his usual message-taker. “It appears there was a breakdown in communication on my side. I will apologise to the organisers.”
The young woman by his side drifted out of her stupor long enough to blush at his reprimand. I was relieved to see there was still some spark of humanity inside the seemingly empty husk of her body.
“Do you have a ticket?” asked Farrell.
“I most assuredly do, gruff man.” He presented it with a flourish, waiting patiently as Farrell examined it intently, checking both sides, something we never did.
“You can go in,” he reluctantly decided.
“Very kind of you,” Malefic said, all politeness on the surface, but with an unmistakable tinge of derision. He moved towards the doors, his entourage following.
“Hold on,” said Farrell, stepping into the doorway to block them. “No entry for them without tickets.”
“They’re clearly with me,” Malefic replied, a little testy. He tried a smile that failed to spread from his lips. “They’re my cheer squad. I’m positive I’ll need them debating such an unpopular concept in this crowd of fanatics. You can’t deny a man his moral support.”
“No ticket, no entry. No exceptions.” Farrell stayed in place.
Malefic’s lips compressed. “Please get one of the organisers.” He turned to the scolded acolyte. “Who have I been dealing with in this matter, my treasure?”
“A man called Tom, Master,” she said in a barely audible voice, her blush of shame turning in to one of happiness at his use of the endearment.
“Get this Tom person for me,” he ordered Farrell. “He can sort out this trivial problem.”
Farrell nodded his head towards the hall, so I went inside, peering around for Tom. He was facilitating the breakout session on abstinence in marriage and had a surprising number of people in his group. On the edge of the bunched-up crowd, I waved to attract his attention.
Miriam nudged him and he noticed me, giving his apologies to the group and handing over the facilitating role to his wife. I quickly explained the situation as we crossed the hall.
Though irritated by his lateness, he held out his hand and managed a congenial smile for Malefic, who gave him a level, appraising glance in return. Malefic grazed Tom’s hand with his fingers, leaving the older man disconcerted, jerking back his hand as if he’d touched something unpleasant.
Malefic had an effect on people when he touched them, something which had really frightened me when I’d discovered that for myself. Involuntarily, I shivered, remembering how I’d felt the blackness of his soul seeping into my blood stream. I never wanted him to touch me again.
He discussed the stumbling point of his acolytes’ entry to the conference with Tom, who wore his caring, listening face. As Malefic spoke, he seemed to be doing something to the older man, who stopped speaking and began nodding robotically in agreement with every demand he made. Watching Malefic staring intently into Tom’s eyes, I couldn’t help but think he was hypnotising him in some way.
Heller had insisted to me Malefic only used tricks and illusions to build his mystique and work his ‘magic’. But then Heller had been the only person who’d had no reaction to Malefic’s touch, so he was entitled to be sceptical. But I’d seen people fleeing from Malefic, or so scared of him they were unable to run, frozen in place. Others had completely fainted at his touch and I’d definitely felt something creepy on the two occasions when he’d laid his hand on my shoulder – experiences I wasn’t keen to repeat.
Tom turned to Farrell. “Please let Mr Malefic’s friends into the hall. I give my full and unreserved permission.”
Throwing Farrell a deplorable self-satisfied look, Malefic led his acolytes into the hall, everyone turning to openly gape at them. It wasn’t everyday someone like him came into your life. When I’d first seen him, I’d barely been able to tear my eyes away too.
He wasn’t pleased at being forced to sit at the back and wait until the breakout sessions were finished and then for lunch to be consumed. But as it was a result of his own lateness, Tom remained stubbornly firm about this, no matter how hard Malefic tried to ‘hypnotise’ him.
During lunch, Malefic approached Farrell and me. Again I had that instinctive reaction to move away from him.
“Why did you agree to this debate?” I asked him, my tone a little harsh.
“How could I resist, Matilda? A defence of Asmodeus over Artemis seemed of monumental importance to me.” I had no idea who he was talking about. “A debate on virginity in this age of explicit sexual display amuses me. We should celebrate carnal excess, not hide it away like some dirty secret. Fucking is an important bonding ritual that binds my acolytes to me. My ecstasy feeds their souls. My seed is the glue that holds us together, you might say.” He smiled indulgently at them. “Male or female, it makes no difference to me how many or who I’m fucking. I share my seed generously.”
“Mind your language,” snapped Farrell. “Be respectful of the people around you. Nobody wants to hear about your sex life.”
“You may have noticed, though perhaps not, as many of your type aren’t gifted with impressive observation and comprehension skills, that I rarely use curse words. But I do like the word ‘fuck’, and I say it in the context of its correct meaning, not as an expletive, which I find coarse and rather common.”
“However you use it, please refrain in this hall. Some of the attendees are very sensitive to bad language.”
“And to fucking too, I assume, considering they are virgins.”
“Enough.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“To answer your question more fully, Matilda, the thought of a hall filled with virgins entices my senses. Absorbing every bit of purity in this room would be sublime. I could harness the potency of that to enhance many of my rituals.”
“You mean your spells?”
“Matilda,” he reproached, disappointed at my cheap dig. “You know I don’t ‘do’ spells. You’re thinking of those charlatans, those so-called witches, with their useless ointments and charms and their farcical attempts at magic. Real magic is a power that is gifted by the gods of the underworld to select people, used to reap more power for the benefit of the individual and to smite his enemies.” He shuddered in almost orgasmic delight at his own words. His acolytes shuddered a few seconds after him, several emitting soft moans of desire. He smiled at them, pleased with the display. “See how closely we’re bonded? They feel every tiny bit of my pleasure as I feel their pain.”
“Pain?”
“Some suffering is required for me to increase my puissance.”
“Your what?” asked Farrell.
“Security Officer, I can’t say I’m surprised by your ignorance. You really do need to expand your vocabulary. Maybe I can suggest reading a newspaper, or if you’re feeling ambitious, even the occasional book? I understand the local library’s a good place to start.
”
Farrell’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t allow himself to be taunted into responding, demonstrating again his great professionalism. In his place, I probably would have told Malefic to jam his fancy words up his fancy arse – not professional, I agree, but a great deal more satisfying than merely ignoring the jerk.
“What did you mean by suffer?” I asked, to take the heat off Farrell. “What do you do to them?”
“Nothing they’re not willing to endure for their master. There’s but a minute distance between great pain and great pleasure. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate to you one day.”
“Only if you’re the one on the rack and I’m the one turning the handle.”
“Oh Matilda, you delight me.”
“What it boils down to is that you’re here to smell the virgins so you can get your rocks off? Sounds seriously pervy to me.”
“You’re being deliberately provocative, Matilda. Not to say that doesn’t have its attractions, but it’s all about timing and topic and you’re off base here.”
“Mr Malefic?” Miriam queried nervously from the doorway, not wanting to get too close to him. “Can we have a few minutes of your time to discuss your stage setup preferences for the debate?”
He nodded graciously and limped into the hall, his acolytes surrounding him and ready to assist him if requested.
The organisers rearranged the audience chairs again and set up the debate furniture on stage under contradictory orders from the two debaters. The attendees finished their lunches, made last minute dashes to the bathroom, and settled themselves back inside.
While all that was talking place, Farrell and I snarfed up some leftover sandwiches and fruit from the ransacked platters on the tables in the foyer. I drank a glass of orange juice dry, not wanting to leave Malefic unsupervised for a second. I didn’t want to return inside the hall to find everyone there turned into his acolyte zombies. Or finding him randomly ‘donating’ his seed amongst them. Ick!
But everything was in order and proceeding normally, the attendees safely unmolested by Malefic’s seed and quietly chatting to each other. Malefic and Griffin argued over seat placement and who should be first speaker. Being a small space, it was soon obvious the stage would be hard pressed to fit two such enormous egos on at one time.
