by Nina Smith
The boy stared at her for a few minutes. He slowly put the pills into her bag. “I’ll tell him you cooperated with us,” he said.
Magda took a deep breath. “Thank you. I’m sorry I insulted you.”
He handed her her bag and pointed at the door.
Magda shouldered it and walked out slowly. Preacher waited in the reception room. He said nothing, just jerked his head at the door. She followed him silently out onto the road and got into the car.
Only when they’d turned onto the highway did he speak. “I’m sorry, Magdalene,” he said. “I feel like I’ve failed you. I’ve been blind to your true situation.”
“Oh?” she looked at him sidelong.
“My first mistake was in allowing you to marry such a depraved man. I should have seen the signs. Ten years in his company has corrupted you. And I have to remind myself that you are only a woman, and prey to all manner of temptation. Spending time with your new friend the sodomite has led you down a path of evil.”
Magda flinched, but knew better than to defend Adam right now. She clenched her teeth. The back of her temples throbbed.
“A woman should not be without a husband,” he continued. “So we’ll have to find you a new one. One who will give you the proper guidance.”
“I think it takes a year to get a divorce, Preacher,” she said.
“Nonsense. We can find a way around that. God’s law takes precedence over man’s. It’s a pity the mayor is married, he’d make you a fine husband.”
Magda clenched her hands around the car seat. Her nails made little holes in the leather. “Gosh darn,” she said. She wanted to throw up on him.
Preacher turned off the highway and navigated the few remaining streets to the church. “I’ve failed you, and it won’t happen again,” he said. “This I pledge to you, as God is my witness.” He pulled into her driveway and left the engine running. “Go inside. Don’t go out again today, I’ll be around to see you later. I have some things to arrange. I suggest you spend your time praying God for guidance and forgiveness for attending that Satanic rally today. His light will guide you back to us.”
Magda slid out of the car and went inside without looking back. She leaned against the door until she heard his car leave. Then she gave vent to a ragged scream.
The house echoed.
Magda went into the kitchen. She locked the door behind her and found a bottle of vodka, which she used to wash down two more valiums. The harshness of the liquor didn’t even register; she swallowed down half the bottle. Then she sat on the kitchen table and swayed. There were two sinks. When she put one hand in front of her eyes, she had ten fingers. Wow, two of everything. Just like there’d be two husbands, if Preacher had his way, the sick old bastard. She had another drink.
“I fucking hate you!” she screamed at the kitchen window. She hurled the bottle at the glass and both smashed. Vodka exploded over the sink.
Magda smiled at the noise. Then she fell forward on the kitchen table.
*
It was dark outside when Magda opened her eyes. Cold air blew in from the broken kitchen window. She groaned and shifted, but lying on the kitchen table wasn’t going to get any more comfortable. Maybe she should go to bed.
She lifted herself up. There. She wasn’t so drunk; she could sit up at least.
Magda took a deep breath, then raced to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet.
After that she felt better. Drunk but not sick, and no longer needing to be unconscious. She washed her face and drank some water. Had Preacher said he was coming back tonight? With any luck she’d missed him already. She wanted to go to Pantheon and find Adam and have some fun.
Mind made up, Magda went to her room and dug out the dress and boots. She put them on, did her hair and put on some makeup. When she looked in the mirror she didn’t look drunk at all. She looked hot. She blew herself a kiss, grabbed her bag and keys, threw on a wrap against the cold and headed out.
She stopped at the front door and took a few steps back. Preacher stood there with his key poised at the lock. She recognised Zack Pitt behind him. She kept her face carefully blank. She hated Zack. Why was he here?
Preacher looked her up and down. Magda tightened the wrap around herself to hide the dress, but nothing could hide her bare legs or makeup.
“Looks like we arrived none too soon,” Preacher said.
Magda took a few more steps back. Preacher and Zack walked into her house like they owned it.
“I’ve found the solution to all your problems, Magdalene,” Preacher said. He flicked on the hall light. His silver hair gleamed. Zack looked at her as if she had no clothes on.
“Oh?” her voice was flat. She hoped his solution was to get in his car and crash it into a brick wall.
“I promised you I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Zack is a fine man. He has a steady job and unwavering faith in God. He will make you an honourable Christian husband.”
“I don’t want to marry Zack.”
Preacher and Zack glanced at each other, like they’d been expecting this. It was an almost indulgent look.
“Magdalene, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. It’s for your own good. Look at you, you’re out of control.” Preacher reached out and ripped the wrap away from her. “Where did you think you were going, dressed like a whore? I’ve already signed the house over to Zack. You’ll be married as soon as possible. You’ll thank me when you see the error of your ways.”
Magda rubbed her throbbing head. “What do you mean you signed over the house? With John gone, it’s my house. Mine. You can’t sign it away.”
“Don’t be stupid. What would a woman do with a house?”
Magda shook her head. Her hands trembled. “There’s no reasoning with you people. Read my lips, Preacher. I’m not marrying him.” Amazed at her own drunken courage, she shouldered Preacher aside and headed for the door.
“Zack,” Preacher said.
Zack barred the door. He was younger than John, much closer to her own age, but that didn’t make him any less unappealing. “Magdalene, please,” he said. “Just give me a chance. I know we could be happy.”
“Get out of my way,” she said.
“Magdalene I could help you.”
“Help me what? Grow a brain tumour?” She slid her ignition key between her index and middle finger and used it to punch him in the gut as hard as she could.
Zack doubled over. Magda pushed past him and stumbled toward her car.
“Magdalene get back here!” Preacher roared.
Magda unlocked her car and threw her bag in. “Go fuck yourself!” she screamed. “Both of you! I’m not getting married again and there’s nothing you can do to make me!”
Preacher stormed across the lawn. His fist was raised before he even got close, but Magda ducked it. He dented her car door instead of her face.
“You can pay for that,” she said. She reached into her bag. She made her movements deliberate; she lit a cigarette. “You’ve got to get it through your bigoted head that I’m an adult. I can do exactly as I please.”
Preacher looked at her as though she were a stranger. “Your soul is in peril,” he said.
“Screw my soul. I want to have some fun before I die.” She dodged the hand that swiped for her cigarette and glared daggers at Zack when he moved toward her. He stopped. She returned her glare to Preacher. “Don’t you get it, you son of a bitch? I’m not your good daughter. I don’t believe in God. I don’t even like men. I think you’re all ugly and violent and pigheaded. I like women. I’m gay. How’d you like the Congregation to know that, Preacher?” Her voice rose on each word. “How about I get up in church and tell them Preacher’s daughter is a God-damned lesbian!”
“What?” Preacher seemed frozen; he’d even stopped trying to get the cigarette.
“I’m a dike! I sleep with women! Would you like me to paint you a picture? Speaking of which, have you ever even heard of a little thing called women’s liberation?�
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“A lesbian?” Zack echoed. “A child of Sodom?”
“Actually girls don’t do it like that. We lack the equipment.” She dropped the cigarette butt, stepped on it and got in the car.
Preacher’s face went bright red. “Get out of the car!” he roared.
Magda wound up the windows and locked the doors. Preacher’s voice went mute. She turned on the ignition and turned up the radio. The two of them looked awfully funny standing out there yelling silently. She plucked the bottle of vodka from the glove box and took a swig. She caught sight of the gun, safe in there, and looked back at Preacher. She lit another cigarette and threw the car in reverse before she did something that would see her back down at the police station.
Preacher followed the car when she gunned down the driveway and reversed in a tight circle. He ran onto the road, stood in her path and held up a hand.
Magda changed gears. “Get out of my way!” she screamed.
Preacher stayed in the road. He took a step toward her.
Magda grit her teeth. If she didn’t get out of Hailstone tonight, she knew exactly what kind of exorcism she’d be in for on Sunday. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator and touched the brake. The tyres squealed. Black smoke erupted, but he kept moving toward her.
Magda took her foot off the brake. The look on his face when she sped toward him was worth a lifetime of abuse. He looked like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. She screamed with rage and waited for the impact.
It didn’t come. Zack bolted into the road and threw both himself and Preacher out of her path.
Magda whooped and kept going. She squealed to a stop at the corner and looked in the rear view, just to see if they were both really okay.
“Shit.” The word hissed out of her mouth. Preacher had gone for his own car. The lights were already on. Zack still gaped at the two of them from the side of the road.
Magda gunned the engines and burned away from the church. She drove fast, but before she’d even reached the highway, Preacher was practically nudging her bumper. She took a corner onto the highway and sped up. She overtook every car she saw and gained some distance, but she couldn’t lose him. Drivers blared their horns and swore in her wake, but she just went faster; the needle pushed 180. Jesus Christ, if Preacher didn’t let off they were going to crash and die. She missed the turn off into the city centre, but she could hardly take Preacher into Pantheon with her.
The turn off to the rail yards was wide and curving. Magda had a vision of Preacher’s car crushed under a passing train. She swung into the turn off and sped toward the tracks. Stupid. Stupid! Now she had nowhere else to go and she didn’t know what to do. Maybe she could call the police. Right, and have them hand her over to him. No point calling Adam or Kat, there was nothing they could do.
He nudged her bumper. Magda hit her head on the steering wheel. She lost control, hit a railway line and spun in the other direction. She grabbed the wheel, clamped down on it and slammed on the brake. The car screamed to a stop.
Preacher’s Landrover stopped too.
Magda took a deep breath and rubbed her aching forehead. She took another swig of vodka. Then she grabbed the gun out of the glove box and checked the chamber. It was full, just like she’d left it. Every one of those bullets had Preacher’s name on it.
She kicked open the door, stormed toward Preacher’s car, raised the gun and pointed it at the windscreen. “Get out of the car!” she screamed.
No response. She hoped he’d wet his pants.
“Get out!” She squeezed the trigger. The kickback surprised her; it was only a little gun. The windscreen shattered.
Preacher yelled. He got out of the car, hands in the air. “Magdalene,” he said. “Think about what you’re doing. Come home with me now and nobody will ever have to know.”
Magda kept the gun on him. Her hands shook. She’d been so sure she could do it. “Get out of my life!” she yelled. “Just go away and leave me alone!”
“I can’t,” he said. “You’re my daughter and I love you. I won’t let Satan have you.”
Magda squeezed the trigger, but her hands were shaking. The bullet grazed the side of his car. “Go!” she screamed. “Go, or I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
Preacher put his hands out and walked slowly toward her. “Magdalene put the gun down. You’re not well. You’ve been possessed. Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
“I regret being born to a father like you!” She kept the gun aimed, but her hands shook so badly she hardly dared fire for fear of shooting herself in the foot.
Preacher was within touching distance. He reached out his hand. “Give me the gun, Magdalene.”
Years of fear didn’t go away so easily. Magda fought the urge to obey. Her breath was ragged. Police sirens wailed down the highway. “Did you call the police?” she whispered.
“Yes I did. I feared for your safety with the way you were driving.”
“You should’ve called an ambulance.” She closed the distance between them and pushed the gun into his ribcage.
His hands closed around it. He looked her in the eyes. “God will save me. But if you do this now, you belong to Satan forever.”
Three police cars wailed into the rail yards. Lights flashed in the corners of her eyes. Uniformed men and women tumbled out.
“Put the gun down and get on the ground!” yelled a voice.
Preacher put a hand on her cheek. His voice was gentle. “My beloved, troubled daughter, I beg you, do as they say. They will shoot you. I can’t save you if you don’t obey.”
She jabbed him with the gun. “I don’t want to obey. I want to be free.”
“The only freedom is in obedience to God.”
It was like arguing with a brick wall. Magda let go of the gun and shoved Preacher in the chest. He stumbled and fell over, just a bony old man on the ground, an object of contempt, nothing to be feared, not worth obeying. She gave vent to a scream of pure rage that echoed through the night air. The police ran toward her.
She threw up her hands and went to meet them.
SATURDAY
Magda curled up in a ball in her bed and kept her eyes shut. She could feel the sunlight pouring into the room without having to look. She was hot and sweaty and felt like throwing up, but she didn’t want to move. She wanted to die. She’d never felt this awful in her life, except maybe for that time she’d drunk a bottle of vodka and a bottle of wine and chain-smoked for a whole night. Her head throbbed out of control.
She burrowed further into the blankets when memory crept into her slowly wakening brain. She’d begged the police to keep her in the cells. Pleaded with them. She’d attempted to murder someone, surely they weren’t allowed to let her go. But Preacher wasn’t pressing charges, they said. He’d said she was unwell and had to be supervised, so they’d taken her home; they’d given her that much, at least, when she refused to be in a car with him. The night had gone from nightmare to nightmare, and when she got home she’d locked herself in her room and passed out. She should have done it. She should have gone through with it, because she’d rather have faced a lifetime in jail than what was waiting for her out there now. Preacher had let the police think she was just a nutcase, but there was no mistaking his conclusions.
She threw off the blankets. Cool air made goose bumps break out over her skin. Her mouth felt furry and her stomach heaved.
Magda crawled out of bed, yanked back the bolt on her door and stumbled into the hall. She barely made it into the bathroom in time to throw up into the sink. Her stomach heaved and cramped. Everything that came up was liquid; she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.
When her body had finally rid itself of every last toxic drop, she washed her face, rinsed her mouth and drank water from the tap. It tasted metallic. She stood up, groaned and leaned her forehead against the mirror. This had to be the worst hangover in history. There was only one way to get through it, and that was to drink.
Magda returned to her room. She used the wall to keep herself upright and collapsed on the bed. Her head pounded. She reached out and patted the bedside table, where she knew she’d left some pills. After a minute she was forced to open her eyes to look harder.
Nothing. Nothing there except her alarm clock.
“Fuck.” Magda dropped her head into the pillow. The throbbing was so bad she could almost feel the pillow vibrate. Footsteps and a voice in the doorway made the sound worse.
“Looking for these?”
Magda twisted her head around to see who had spoken, since it wasn’t Preacher. The motion hurt. She groaned and dropped her head back. A zip-lock bag containing what looked like nearly all her pills dangled from his hand. “Zack Pitt, what are you doing in my house?”
“Preacher said I should look after you.”
“Fine. Take me to hospital. I think I’m going to die.”
Zack chuckled. It was a warm, friendly sound. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “You’ll be fine, Magdalene, you’re just hungover.”
“Give my fucking valium back.”
There was a brief silence. She curled her hand around the edge of the pillow and squeezed until it hurt. She listened to him walk into the room. He sat on the end of the bed. Was Preacher really allowing this before their marriage?
“I’d prefer if you didn’t speak to me like that,” Zack said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, give me my fucking valium back, please.”
“There’ll be no more drugs.” His voice was calm and quiet. “No more alcohol. Preacher said you had to detox before tomorrow.”
“You mean before he makes his fourth attempt at chasing Satan out of his poor deluded little daughter?”
The silence was all the assent she needed. She turned her head to the side, since the pillow was beginning to suffocate her. A little fresh air felt good. “Zack, those valium are prescription drugs. Perfectly legal. They keep me calm. You don’t want to see me when I’m not calm.”
