by Nina Smith
“Were you calm last night?”
“Perfectly.”
“I don’t think they’re working so well for you.” He got up; she could tell because the bed sprang back to its normal level. “I found your vodka. All three bottles. I poured them down the sink. You’ll thank me for it when you sober up, Magdalene.”
“I am sober, you patronising son of a bitch. That’s the problem.” She closed her eyes and willed him away; when she opened them to check, he was gone. She thought about just staying in bed, but the clock said it was past midday. There was no sleeping when she felt this horrible, so she dragged herself out of bed again and headed for the shower.
Ten minutes under the hot water made her feel a little better. Adam’s dress was sweaty and had dirt smears on it, so she rinsed it under the water and hung it up in the bathroom, where she could keep an eye on it in case her new jailer tried to get rid of it. She had no idea where the boots were. She dressed in slacks and a ripped t-shirt. She wasn’t dressing all churchy for Zack.
When she slouched into the kitchen, he was there. She ignored him, even though she could feel him watching her every move. She went to the fridge to find something to eat. Maybe some fruit. Maybe if she ate something healthy she’d feel better. Her stomach rebelled, but her body was hungry.
“No,” Zack said.
“What do you mean, no?” Magda opened the fridge. She closed it and kicked the door. “Why is my fridge empty?”
“There wasn’t much in it anyway,” Zack replied. “A little mouldy cheese and some old pasta. Is this how you look after your body?”
“Where’s my food?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Preacher said you weren’t to eat anything until tomorrow.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Magda sprawled onto a chair, put her elbows on the table and eyeballed Zack. “He left you with orders to starve me? What did he tell you to do if I didn’t cooperate? What are you going to do if I take my car keys and walk out of that door?”
Zack reached out and took her hand. She snatched it away. He gave her a look filled with compassion. “You crashed your car.”
“No I didn’t. Preacher rear-ended my car. I stopped it from crashing. Last time I saw it, it was fine.”
“Is that what you remember?”
“My memory is crystal clear. It always has been, Zack. He lies, he lies through his teeth and nobody so much as blinks. Is that the man you want for a father-in-law? Are you going to do what John did and turn your back while he beats me?”
“I’m not John.” Zack took her hand again and this time refused to let it go. “I’m marrying you, Magdalene, not your father. I’ve always admired you. I want to help you. You don’t see what you’re doing to yourself.”
“Don’t change the subject!” She yanked her hand away. “And you’re not marrying me. Not unless you get a new personality and a nice set of tits.”
Zack reddened. “You really are very difficult.”
“So people keep telling me. I’m hungry. And thirsty.” She went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water.
Zack took it from her. “I’m sorry Magdalene,” he said. “It’s only until tomorrow. But Preacher said nothing was to pass your lips. You have to be pure.”
Magda curled her fist behind her back. She weighed him up. He didn’t have John’s bulk or Preacher’s height. He was barely as tall as her; but she had to be careful. There was no doubt he would outmatch her. She swiped at the glass and knocked it from his hand. It smashed on the floor. “God is dead,” she said. She walked out of the kitchen, went into the lounge room and lay down on the couch. Someone had been in and cleaned up; there was no sign of Preacher’s altercation with John. The laptop had disappeared. Pity. She could have taken it to Kat. There was a story for the Hailstone Herald.
Zack followed her in after a few minutes. She wondered if he’d been cleaning up the glass. It occurred to her the broken window had been fixed. Well, hadn’t he been a busy bee. She’d put him to work on the leaking taps, except that would only encourage him.
He sat down in the easy chair John had always favoured and turned on the TV.
Magda groaned. “Do you have to? My head is pounding. I need silence. Or maybe a bullet.”
“That’s not funny,” he said.
She supposed it wasn’t. Good. “Tell me Zack, would you still be here if I’d actually shot Preacher? Shot him dead? Sent him to join his dead God in the sky?”
“Please, Magdalene. Enough is enough. If you’d killed him, God forbid, you’d be in jail.”
“At least they’d let me smoke there.”
“Look, Preacher’s on the news.”
Magda turned her head. “That’s not news. That’s Christian TV telling Hailstone what to think. You can’t expect me to watch this shit. Change the channel.”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll go bang my head against the wall in another room.” She got up.
“Sit down.” His voice went from conciliatory to implacable with those two words. “Unless you want me to call Preacher.”
Magda sat down. “How can you call him if he’s on the news?”
“This was recorded earlier today. He’s home now, but he won’t come over unless I call him. Now would you mind shutting up for five minutes?”
Magda sighed. She put her feet up on the coffee table and studied her nails. She was hardly going to suffer a hangover, starvation and thirst in stoic silence. She preferred to share. But not with Preacher there.
She didn’t want to look at the TV, but she could hardly help it. There was nothing else to look at but Zack and the sight of him just made her want to punch things.
The woman on the TV was familiar. Magda thought she might have been the same one who confronted Adam at the protest yesterday. Today she was all lipstick smiles at Preacher. Did Preacher approve of a news anchor wearing makeup? Who cared, really?
“It’s so good to have you with us today, Preacher,” the woman gushed.
“I’m happy to be here, Rebecca.”
Rebecca looked at the camera. “Today on 3CE Christian TV, we’re taking a close look at the issue that has divided our city: the new alcohol regulations. While these regulations haven’t yet passed, the issue has proved controversial. A highly successful anti-alcohol rally organised earlier in the week by the Congregation of the Holy Bible, led by Preacher Semple, unfortunately sparked a retaliatory protest by rogue elements, which quickly descended into alcohol and drug-fuelled violence – aptly demonstrating the social ills that have led to the push to restrict drinking in the city. Preacher Semple is here to share with us today his very personal experience of what alcohol has done to a person very close to him; his own daughter.”
Magda groaned. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
Zack turned up the volume a few notches.
The camera panned over to Preacher. He looked strained. She supposed she’d look strained too if she thought Satan had tried to shoot her last night.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Rebecca.” Preacher looked into the camera. “This is a very difficult thing for me to do. No father wants to admit he has lost control of his only child. No parent wishes to see their offspring’s soul in such mortal danger, but I have watched both of these things. My daughter has succumbed to the demon of alcohol. I wish to share my story with all of you, to help you when your children lose their way. In a way I’m glad this has happened, because it brings me closer to others who experience this problem, and more able to bring the light of God back into their lives.”
Magda looked around for something to throw at the TV, but apparently Zack had removed all the heavy objects. She wondered if there were any knives left in the kitchen drawer.
Preacher took a deep breath. A tear trickled over his wrinkles. She’d seen him squeeze them out like that a few times when he wanted attention.
“I suppose I should have seen the warning signs long ago,” he said. “But only in this past week has it become p
ainfully clear to me that my daughter has lost her way. Alcohol has taken everything that was her, including her faith in God.”
“Oh, because I don’t have a mind of my own to make that decision?” Magda kicked the table.
“Shhh,” Zack said.
“Last night I went to her to make peace, to offer her solutions to her problems,” Preacher continued. “It seemed she’d been drinking all day. She was out of her mind; there was no reasoning with her whatsoever. She drove away, and because I knew she was putting herself in danger getting behind the wheel in that state, I followed at a safe distance. When finally she stopped, and I got out and offered to take her home, she pulled a gun on me. She tried to shoot me.” Preacher put his hand over his eyes and gave a muffled sob.
Rebecca patted him on the shoulder. “Be strong, Preacher,” she said. “I know the whole city is with you right now. Everybody out there is praying for you.”
“He’s a fucking liar,” Magda spat.
“That’s enough.” Zack scowled at her.
“Whatever.” Magda folded her arms and tried to block out the TV, but Preacher’s next words made that impossible.
He took his hands away from his face and looked into the cameras again. “God has told me to turn my family’s shame into the city’s salvation,” he said in a grim voice. “Alcohol has opened my daughter’s soul to the forces of evil. It was not her who pointed a gun at me last night. It was the evil that has her in its grip. Even at that moment I could hear my little girl crying out to me for help. She is in there somewhere; I am determined to rescue her. Tomorrow morning I will exorcise her demons in front of the Congregation. The strength of faith of my beloved flock will save her. United, their voices will bring her back to God and cast out Satan.”
“And in an unprecedented move, Preacher, I believe you are allowing 3CE cameras in to record the event?” Rebecca blinked at the camera.
“Yes, that is correct,” Preacher said. “The exorcism will be televised live to Hailstone and other cities around the country that receive this station.”
“Well I for one won’t be missing that,” Rebecca said.
Magda pressed a hand over her mouth and bolted into the kitchen. Her stomach heaved, but nothing came up because it was empty. She dry-retched over the sink. Her hands shook where they gripped the steel edges. She could barely think. This was worse than being hungover. Worse than a nightmare.
Zack came into the kitchen like a fly she couldn’t shake. He leaned against the sink beside her and smoothed back her hair. “Everything will be okay after tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll see, Magdalene. Preacher will return the light to your soul. I will be there to help you every step of the way. Just surrender yourself to God and to Preacher and all of this will end.”
“Fuck God, fuck Preacher, and fuck you, Zack Pitt.” Magda could not stop her voice shaking. She kicked Zack in the shin, bolted to her bedroom and locked herself in.
SUNDAY
When she finally slept, Magda dreamed she was being smothered. She hadn’t been able to control the shaking of her hands, neither awake nor asleep, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that was as much the withdrawals from the alcohol as the fear.
The sensation of cold woke her up. She opened her eyes and screamed because Preacher leaned over her like an avenging ghost.
He looked hard into her face. “You’re right,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s truly in the grip of evil now. We were almost too late.”
Magda took a deep breath to calm herself. “Get out,” she said.
Preacher thrust his bible in her face. “You are the one who will get out, Satan.”
Magda ground her teeth. This wasn’t going to be a nice day. She could tell already.
“Get up. Get dressed,” Preacher said. “In proper clothes. We’ll be back for you in five minutes.”
He slammed out of the room after Zack.
Magda took a deep breath. He’d drag her to church in her pyjamas if she didn’t dress. But as for his proper clothes, she didn’t think so.
She stood up. For the first morning in a long time, she didn’t feel ill. Wow. So the hangover had cleared.
She scowled at the broken lock on her bedroom door. Then she went to her closet and tore it apart. They hadn’t gone in there; she had a full bottle of vodka, intact, but she resisted the urge to tear off the cap and pour it down her throat. She set it aside, next to the two valium they’d also failed to uncover. Then she tore out every conservative skirt and collared blouse she’d ever been forced to buy. She threw them in a pile on the floor and put on a pair of fashionably torn up jeans she’d never before dared to wear, and a fitted black top with a long sleeve on one side and no sleeve on the other. Adam’s boots were piled in a corner; she put those on too. She fluffed her hair in the mirror and applied bright red lipstick and thick black eyeliner. Preacher wasn’t going to get an inch of submission. Not an inch.
She took the bottle of vodka and poured it all over the pile of church clothes. No doubt they’d taken every last one of her cigarettes, bastards, but she had a cigarette lighter in her closet. She knelt by the pile of clothes and held the flame to the alcohol-soaked fabric. At first she thought it wasn’t going to work, but by the time the hot metal had burned her thumb, the fabric caught. It went up with a whooshing sound. Blue flame crawled over the clothes.
The door burst open. Preacher yelled, grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the fire. “Zachary, put that out before she burns the house down!” he yelled. He pushed her into the hall. The crack of his palm across her face made her see stars. Magda collapsed back against the wall, but he didn’t even allow her a minute to recover. He closed his hand around her upper arm like a vice and steered her out of the house.
Magda watched the floor go by. It needed cleaning. Maybe Zack would do it while he was busy being Preacher’s house bitch. She saw feet. Ah. So Preacher had his faithful along to assist him in case she tried to escape. She should escape. She’d sworn never to let him do this to her again, but so long as she stayed in Hailstone, he’d just do it again and again and again until she was a robot like the rest of them. There was no way she’d settle for that.
Hands reached out to touch her when she went by. People blathered about Jesus. She threw them off. Preacher steered her out of the door; grass went by under her feet. Then road, then footpath. Then they were on the red brick paving outside the church.
Magda roused herself. She looked around at the staring Congregation, who looked back like she was the Sunday morning sideshow. She saw the cold yawning church door and went dead weight on Preacher. “No,” she said.
“Yes, Satan.” He jerked on her arm.
It hurt, but she refused to move. “For Christ’s sake, Preacher, I’m not possessed, I’m angry, and you are not going to put me through this again.”
“You dare to speak the name of the most high in vain?” Preacher motioned to the nearest three men.
Magda jerked away from him and ran, but got nowhere; the men surrounded her. They linked hands and herded her toward the church door like an animal. That really made her blood pound. “You’re the sheep,” she hissed at them.
“Lambs of God,” Preacher said. “They are doing this through Christian love.” He pulled her into the church.
The Congregation followed. Where they were normally noisy before a service, today the silence pressed down like storm clouds. The high thin voice of a child was quickly hushed. Magda felt sick. What kind of parent would take their child to an exorcism? She spotted the 3CE cameras near the altar. God, he’d been serious.
Zack appeared behind the pulpit. He stepped forward to hold her on one side, and one of the lambs of God took her other arm. She stared at the red carpet that covered the dais.
The church pews were soon full. People packed into the gallery. Even the aisles filled up. Christ, the hall was huge and it was always full, but never this full. She glared at the people in the front row. They clutched their bibles and murmured praye
rs.
Preacher got up on the pulpit and talked at them. She didn’t listen. She hadn’t listened to him up there since she was about twelve years old and had figured out for the first time he was full of shit. She closed her eyes and sagged, let the two men support her weight for a minute. The anger that had carried her here gave way to hunger and thirst. Her throat was on fire. Her legs felt like they’d collapse under the slightest breeze. She wanted a cigarette. She wanted one so badly she’d have clawed Zack’s eyes out for it, given half a chance.
Preacher came down from the pulpit and stood in front of her. He held up his bible like a weapon. It was a weapon, but not like he thought; the thing could hurt when he smacked you in the ribs with it. She remembered. A camera whirred right behind him.
“Who are you?” he said. “Tell me your name.”
“Magda,” she replied. “Your daughter, or had you forgotten?”
“Not her,” Preacher said. A microphone at his lapel carried his voice to the whole Congregation. “I want to talk to Satan.”
“Talk to yourself then!” she yelled.
Preacher pushed his bible into her chest. “Satan you have no claim on my daughter! Show yourself!”
Magda gasped for breath. She looked over his shoulder into the camera. “If anyone out there is watching who isn’t completely insane, help me!” she yelled. “Please help me!”
Preacher got in her face. The bible bore down on her forehead. “They won’t help you, Satan!” he roared. “Nobody can help you now! You have no right to this woman and you know it!”
Magda screamed. She couldn’t help it, the pressure on her head bent her back until she thought she’d fall, and only the two men holding her up stopped her.
“Say it!” Preacher yelled. “Say you have no right!”
“I have no right!” Magda screamed, before she could stop herself playing into his hands like that. She couldn’t stand the pressure on her head. Her whole brain throbbed out of control. She’d do anything to get out of this.
