by JD Nixon
“That’s understandable, but I do think Juanita made the right decision. Hopefully she’s telling the organisers, or even the police, what Malefic said. I’ve texted my partner the licence plate of this van, so I’m confident someone will find us soon.”
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “What are you doing in the van with us? You were telling us how dangerous he was. I became very scared when his people were so rough with you, but Nellie laughed about it, thinking what they did was funny.”
“Someone needs to sit Nellie down and give her a good talking to. Perhaps a big scare like this might knock some sense into her?”
“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked tearfully.
“I don’t know. How did he convince you all to get into the van?”
“I’m not sure. One minute he had his hand on my shoulder, speaking some words I didn’t understand, and the next minute I’m sitting in this van and it was moving. I wanted to get out, so I banged on the divider. They stopped the van, opened the door and that man did the same thing to me. The next thing I knew, you were here.”
“I sneaked in after he calmed you down. One of his women left the door unlocked.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll think of something,” I promised with a load more confidence than I felt.
The van lurched around a corner and stopped. I looked out the back and saw cars lining up behind us. Traffic light, I thought. In the next lane was another van with advertising for a food wholesaler. Their phone number was prominently displayed on the side. I fumbled with my phone, punching in the numbers.
A cheery female voice answered. “Welcome to The Grateful Gourmet. This is Delia speaking. How may I help you today?”
“Hello, Delia,” I whispered. “My name’s Tilly Chalmers and I work for a security business called Heller’s. This will sound a little out there, but there’s a black van,” I told her the licence number. “I’m not sure exactly what road it’s on, but there are some unwilling teenagers imprisoned in the back. Could you please, please call the police?”
“Come off it, Dwayne,” she snapped. “I’m not falling for another one of your bullshit practical jokes, so go ram your gearstick up your arse. And instead of pranking me, why don’t you concentrate on delivering orders to those southside delis faster? I’ve had one providore ringing me already asking where you are.”
“No, no, please. I’m not Dwayne. Please, listen . . .” I was talking to a dial tone. “Damn it!”
The divider opened and one of the female acolytes asked in her soft bland voice, “Everything okay back there?” The girl I’d been talking to coughed loudly, her eyes huge with fear. But her ruse seemed to work. “It won’t be long now.”
I shrunk into the corner, making myself as small as possible. It was darkish inside the cargo space because of the block out film on the back windows, and the acolyte was peering in at an awkward angle, so I escaped detection. But the near miss made me think about what I’d do when someone opened the doors.
I eased my capsicum spray from my pocket, ready to use. I checked my phone again, but there was still no message from Farrell. How long could it take for an ambulance to arrive? I was edgy with nervousness.
We rattled around for five more minutes. I kept a close eye on the rear windows, but we seemed to have stayed on major roads, which was a relief of sorts. I would have been extra worried if we’d turned off into a single vehicle, pot-holed, dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
Thrown around again as another corner was navigated, the van took a sudden dip and waited for a minute before proceeding slowly forward. It came to a halt, the male acolyte cutting the engine.
I grasped my capsicum spray tightly in my right hand. It was time to rumble with the weirdos.
Chapter 29
A female acolyte opened the door, talking to someone over her shoulder. When she swung to face me, I gifted her with a full burst of spray. She screamed, dropping to her knees. I jumped out, kicked her in the chin, toppling her over. I grabbed her set of car keys. The teen I spoke to tried to jump out too, but I pushed her back into the van, closing and locking the doors on her. I didn’t need the teens to be any trouble for me. I already had enough to deal with at the moment.
I sprinted to the driver’s seat where the male acolyte still sat, checking his phone.
“Hey, bozo,” I said. He looked up in surprise, copping an eyeful of the spray. I pulled him from the seat to the concrete floor.
“Matilda, what are you doing?” Malefic demanded, storming over to me. “How did you get in that van?”
“Get out of my way,” I threatened, holding up the spray.
“I need those girls for an important ceremony,” he snarled. “I have promised my Master I’m ready for my Annunciation and you are not going to stop that from happening.”
“I don’t care if you’re ready for Santa Claus, if you don’t get out of my way . . . You know what, fuck it with the warnings.”
I sprayed him. He stepped closer, so I sprayed him again, right into his eyes. He blinked and moved even closer, until we were standing toe-to-toe.
“That’s not possible,” I panicked, trying to scrabble into the driver’s seat.
“You’re not robbing me of my chance for independence from my Master. Then I can be free of him forever and become a more powerful master myself. I won’t have you ruining that for me.”
“Tough shit, weird guy. Deal with it.” I kicked him in the stomach and tried to force the key into the keyhole. Oh God, why couldn’t I do anything right?
He lurched towards me, laying his hand on my shoulder.
“Get off,” I demanded, not caring for his touch.
He began to mutter those archaic words. I jerked backwards when he rubbed his thumb against my neck.
“What the . . .” I didn’t get to finish the sentence, my eyes rolling back in my head. My body, seemingly separated from me, slumped into the driver’s seat.
“Get rid of her,” Malefic snapped.
“How, Master?” asked one of his women.
“I don’t care. Just make sure she’s not capable of interrupting this most special of ceremonies. I can find a use for her later.”
“Yes, Master.”
She attempted to drag me out of the van, but I’d managed to keep the capsicum canister clutched in my hand. “Come on, you big heifer. Get out,” she puffed.
Somehow, enough neurons connected in my brain to allow me to raise my hand and spray her. I grabbed the handle for the door and slammed it shut, locking it as I did. My vision blurred as I started the engine, squinting in an endeavor to focus enough to determine the accelerator from the brake.
The van kangaroo-jumped forward. I found the gearstick and peered down at it, scrunching up my eyes to read where the R for reverse was located. Once facing the right way, I accelerated too hard, zooming the van up the ramp, almost crashing into the garage door.
One of the buttons on the key had to open the door. I pressed one randomly and the bonnet popped up, blocking my view.
“Shit,” I slurred, almost slumping over the steering wheel.
I unlocked my door and staggered from the van. The last acolyte and Malefic raced towards me.
I made several attempts to shut the bonnet from the side, sometimes grabbing at thin air instead of metal because my eyes refused to work for me. Malefic drugged you with something, my brain screamed at me. I know, my body retorted, but what am I supposed to do about it?
Backed up against the open bonnet, I dealt with the remaining acolyte by shoving her in the forehead with my palm, causing her to roll down the ramp. Malefic placed his hand on my shoulder again. I twisted it off and gripped his arm, forcing his hand down on the front of the car. I slammed the bonnet on his fingers.
He pulled them out, cradling them with his other hand. I closed the bonnet properly this time, turning to face off with him.
A memory of him, small and frail, on the paramedic gurney
as he was slid into the ambulance flashed into my mind, reminding me that he was just a human like me, not some invincible demon. That Reverend had brought him down and so could I.
I rammed my shoulder into him. The incline of the ramp again came to my assistance, and he stumbled backwards, the wide flailing of his arms not able to stop him from falling heavily.
I jumped into the van and locked the door again. It was then I noticed a small remote control sitting in the console. I pressed it. The garage door took its own sweet time opening and no amount of slurred swearing from me made it go any faster.
I accelerated heavily with the brake on, revving the engine to dangerous levels, until I released the brake and we shot forward out of the lair. As we moved, the van bumped over something on the ramp and when I looked in the rearview mirror, Malefic lay prone on the cement, his face screwed up, his mouth open in a howl of agony. His foot splayed at an awkward angle and I had the awful feeling that I’d just run over it.
Out of the basement, I didn’t know whether to turn left or right, my brain fuzzing up badly. My arms made the decision for me, jerking the wheel to the right. I sped out, over-steering, almost clipping a parked car and just avoiding a collision with an oncoming truck that blared its horn at me. I felt for the poor girls locked in the back being tossed around, but it was more important at this moment that I got them safely away from Malefic than worry about their comfort levels.
I braked too late at the traffic lights at the end of the road, coming within a couple of centimetres of crashing into the car in front of us. My vision was so blurred, I had to concentrate on the white lines in the middle of the road to ensure I didn’t drive headlong into another vehicle.
You shouldn’t be driving, I warned myself. You’re going to kill everyone.
I had no choice but to ignore my own warning, weaving around the road worse than a drunk driver double the limit. At the next set of lights, I played it safe, this time stopping three car lengths from the car in front. That safety bubble earned me angry honks from the motorists behind me who missed catching the green light because of me.
I drove on aimlessly, not knowing where I was or remembering the location of the conference centre.
I suppose it was inevitable that I’d eventually come to the attention of a couple of cops cruising in their patrol car. When I saw the blue and red flashing lights behind me and heard the siren, I celebrated. I obediently pulled the van over to the side of the road, unfortunately hitting the guardrail, scraping the entire side of the van along it.
I waited patiently for the cops to approach me, though they took their time about it. Feeling dizzy, I collapsed back on the seat, closing my eyes and giving in to the delicious lure of sleep.
A loud tapping at the window roused me to groggy consciousness again. I turned my head with great effort to find the muzzles of two guns pointed at me.
“Hands flat on the steering wheel where we can see them,” shouted one of the cops, loud enough to be distinct through the glass. I placed my hands on top of the steering wheel, flat-palmed as instructed.
“Don’t move,” yelled the other. I remained as still as a statue, though perhaps slowly listing to the right – something completely out of my control.
“Unlock the door,” shouted the first cop. I moved my hand an infinitesimal amount.
“Don’t move,” hollered the second cop. I froze.
“Unlock the door,” instructed the first cop. I stared at them, confused. I moved my hand again.
“I said, don’t move,” bellowed the second cop, his face now red.
The first cop held up his hand at him. “Unlock the door and then put both hands back on the steering wheel.”
That made more sense, so I did precisely as he ordered, concentrating really hard and taking an eon to move.
The second cop yanked the door open, his gun disturbingly close to my face. “Get out.”
“Seatbelt,” I managed to say, my voice shaking.
“Slowly,” said the first cop. “Do it slowly and keep the other hand on the wheel the whole time.”
That suited me as I couldn’t do anything quickly if I tried. I slowly reached my hand down and unclicked my seatbelt from its fastener.
The second cop, who I was gathered was rather a gung-ho kind of man, hauled me from the seat, almost causing me to fall to my knees. He pushed me roughly forward.
“Both hands on the bonnet, legs apart.”
I suffered the indignity of a pat down search, all the belongings in my pockets placed on the bonnet in front of me. It was a boring haul and the second cop could barely hide his disappointment at not finding a crack pipe or a couple of rocks of ice. Hell, he would have settled for a solitary cone or even a badly rolled self-made cigarette. Guess he was having a bad day and was looking for someone to take it out on.
The first cop rifled through my wallet, pulling out my driver’s licence. “Name and address?”
Words came out of my mouth, but even I couldn’t recognise them as resembling English. My lips felt disconnected to the rest of my body, my tongue three times its normal size. My brain was too slow forming and transmitting words to my mouth, so my vocal cords decided to improvise with an interesting assortment of noises that didn’t come close to any language recognised on Earth.
“She’s fried,” declared the second cop in disgust. “Let’s take her down to the station and run the drug tests.”
“She’s got nothing on her. You saw that. And besides, we have to search the van. It’s the one reported as abducting those teens from the convention centre. For all we know they’re locked in the back.”
“She doesn’t match the description of the people allegedly involved in the abduction.”
“So? They delivered the girls to her. Maybe she’s a courier or something.”
“Terrible choice for a courier. Driving conspicuously bad on a main road and fried out of her brain.”
“Cuff her and make her sit on the side of the road.”
The second cop was unnecessarily rough with me, snapping the handcuffs too tight and dragging me by them next to the guardrail.
“Sit there and cross your ankles,” he said, shoving me down. “I don’t want to hear a peep from you.”
I protested my rough treatment with a couple of incomprehensible babbles that embarrassed me. Hurry up and clear, brain, I yelled at myself. If I couldn’t start talking soon, I’d be spending the night in jail. I leaned my head back against the guardrail and closed my eyes. My stomach churned unpleasantly.
A second patrol car pulled up in front of the van and another two male cops got out.
“This the van they’ve been making a fuss about?” asked one.
“Yep,” said the first cop. “And this person was driving. Problem is she’s so wasted she can’t even tell us her name.” He handed the new cop my driver’s licence. “Matilda Chalmers. Run a check on her. She’s got a current staff ID as a security officer for a business called Heller’s Security and Surveillance. That seems to be a uniform she’s wearing. Give them a ring and see what they can tell us about her.”
“Heller’s has a good reputation amongst the security businesses in the city.”
“Yeah? Well, there’s always a rotten apple in every barrel, isn’t there? Looks like our madam was doing some illicit side business as a runner for young abducted girls. She’ll probably be the key to unlocking the whole operation.”
“Holy shit!” called a cop from the rear of the van and you didn’t need to be a genius to work out what he’d found.
“Jesus, get them out of there. They’re ready to faint with the heat.”
“Come on, darling, one big step down. That’s it. Go and sit over there next to the guardrail. We’ll get you some water as soon as we can.”
“Call HQ and tell them we’re secured the abductees. Their parents must be going insane. Some of these girls look spaced out, so call an ambulance too, will you?”
Good luck with that, I thought sarc
astically, wondering if one had turned up at the conference centre yet.
Feeling unwell, and because I wasn’t in enough disgrace as it was, I vomited all over myself.
“Aw, gross,” said the young cop who’d been assigned to look after me.
“Water,” I managed to say coherently.
“We haven’t got any. You’ll have to wait until we get to the station.”
“So thirsty.”
“Too bad. Any water we dig up will be going to those poor girls you kidnapped.”
“Didn’t. The guy . . .” My voice petered out weakly and I toppled over onto my side, unable to right myself with my hands cuffed behind me.
“Leave her, but make sure she doesn’t choke on her own spew. God, people like her make me sick. You got any daughters?”
“Nah, not even married yet.”
The older cop shook his grizzled head. “Scum like her do your head in. Forever worrying your daughter’s going to be okay out there in a world with predators like her trying to bite them.”
“No . . .” I tried again to defend myself before giving up. I resented being lumped in with someone like Malefic.
I fell asleep with the rough bitumen as a pillow, imprinting dents in one side of my face for hours afterwards. When I managed to prise open my eyes, unfortunately nothing had changed and my situation hadn’t improved.
One of the cops hauled me upright on to legs unwilling to cooperate. I was half marched, half dragged back to the first patrol car and shoved into the back seat. The second cop on the scene did up my seatbelt.
“You smell revolting,” he commented, screwing up his nose. I felt the only response to that was to maintain a dignified silence – although that was difficult to achieve wearing handcuffs, with dents on my face and covered in my own vomit.
I felt a bit more lucid by the time we drove off, but the cops seemed to have prejudged me, not interested in anything I attempted to tell them.
At the watch house, I kept quiet through the check in, talking only when I had to. The whole process of being assigned a magistrates court hearing date for tomorrow afternoon and being shown to a holding cell was painfully humiliating. The police were rushed off their feet, busily processing people in and out, but not sending many to the holding cells. I had one to myself. I fell on the bed and faced the solid reinforced cement wall, feeling majorly sorry for myself. Nobody came near me.
