The Department of Hate – A Love Story
By Anthony O’Connor
Copyright © Anthony O’Connor 2013
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person living or dead is entirely coincidental.
The opinions expressed in this work are for the most part the opinions of various demonic entities and not necessarily those of the author. They’re demons! What would you expect them to say?
ISBN: 978-0-646-90196-1
Dedicated to Cassandra
Contents
Chapter 01 Train to Brighton
Chapter 02 First Holy Communion
Chapter 03 Inferno
Chapter 04 I Need a Man
Chapter 05 The Great Hall
Chapter 06 Michiko
Chapter 07 Sunday Morning in Hades
Chapter 08 Social Stability
Chapter 09 The Department of Hate
Chapter 10 Whips and Chains
Chapter 11 The Department of Lust
Chapter 12 Run Away Screaming
Chapter 13 Sloth and Gluttony
Chapter 14 Stoned in Amsterdam
Chapter 15 The Department of Pride
Chapter 16 Wedding Preparations in London
Chapter 17 The Plains of Desolation
Chapter 18 Playing with Boys
Chapter 19 The Department of Greed
Chapter 20 Detective Chief Inspector Boone
Chapter 21 The Department of Envy
Chapter 22 Waltz in Vienna
Chapter 23 Council of War
Chapter 24 Marianne
Chapter 25 Conquest of Paradise
Chapter 26 Sudden Violent Death
Chapter 27 Purity of Purpose
Chapter 1 – Train to Brighton
Jarrod fell in love with Cassandra from the first moment he saw her. He was at Waterloo Station late on a Friday evening waiting for the next train to Brighton. She was running towards the gate, or rather stumbling towards it, trying to balance several small suitcases. The station was crowded and very busy, with people everywhere. She was having some difficulty making her way through the crowd. Clearly she thought she was running late but refrained from pushing and shoving and gave way several times to more aggressive individuals who barely even noticed her. Jarrod was immediately struck by her resolute determination and grace under fire along with her obvious basic friendliness and good nature which would not allow itself to be diminished in the slightest by mere circumstance. She stopped beside him. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The face of an angel, bright and dazzling, deep green eyes, long dark blonde hair and a smile that made the world stop. He gazed at her for a few rapt moments before catching himself doing so and forcing himself to look away. In the course of their relationship which would develop in directions neither of them could ever possibly have anticipated there would from that moment on never be absent from Jarrod’s heart and mind an underlying current of sheer desperate longing that would never diminish and only grow ever stronger as the years passed by.
There were a dozen or so other people waiting at the gate but Jarrod was barely aware of them. She had placed her suitcases on the ground beside her and was looking around clearly relieved. He had to say something.
“The train’s late. Gates don’t open for another fifteen minutes”. She turned to look at him and smiled.
“All that rush for nothing. I could have just walked.” Her smile melted his heart. He couldn’t think of any reply, but finally he blurted out
“You’re an Australian.” She replied to him cheerfully
“Is it that obvious? There are a lot of us in London.” Jarrod paused, stumbled
“Well, yes, but ...” then after an awkward silence, he managed to say “Are you here on holidays?” She smiled again
“Yes. I’m going to Brighton to catch up with ...” Jarrod was thinking furiously. This was where she said boyfriend or husband. How could it be otherwise? He braced for it. “...my cousin.” He blinked, surprised then started speaking again, too quickly.
“Well I hope you like it. Have you been there before?” She replied casually apparently oblivious to his mild state of agitation.
“No. First time. Do you live there?” Jarrod was gaining back a little confidence, speaking more easily
“Not now. I live in London. I grew up in Brighton. I’m visiting my parents for the weekend.” He was astonished at the effect she was having on him. He was normally very self-assured and certainly never lacking in things to say. But this felt like a first date with someone he so desperately wanted to impress. She was completely natural and down to earth in stark contrast with his obsessive self-consciousness. He was thinking to himself
‘Too much information. Keep it casual. ’ He’d never really been able to figure out the rules of everyday conversation. She then surprised him even more by saying
“Maybe I’ll see you there?” He was lost for words completely, managing only to blurt out
“Ah yes, sure” already cursing himself for the lame ineptitude of his reply. She didn’t seem to notice and smiled back at him. God, she was so beautiful, in every way. Jarrod would have been perfectly happy to stand there talking for hours, chatting away about absolutely anything.
Suddenly the gate opened and there was an announcement over the speakers that the train was ready for boarding. The timing was terrible. Not for the first time Jarrod had a dark feeling that the world conspired against him. She had already picked up her cases, this time managing them easily. He couldn’t even help her with that. With a gleam in her eye and an obvious sense of adventure she said to him
“Let’s go then” and moved towards the gate. Jarrod followed glumly. Just like that it was over, before it had begun. She’d be in a different carriage of course and Brighton was a big enough place. He’d never see her again. The sheer inevitability of this made him feel quite sad. He saw her already disappearing into a group of people ahead, thinking to himself forlornly
‘No no not so soon’. But as he rushed to get through the gate and catch up to her he happened to glance to the side where a very small and exceedingly ugly gnome-like man was staring up at him - malignantly. The gnome seemed to know him, to know what was happening to him and to be taking some perverse pleasure in Jarrod’s dilemma. He also seemed hauntingly familiar – a hated antagonist from a recurring nightmare barely recalled in the light of day but at night, alone in the dark, reeking of terror. Jarrod shook himself and rushed on refusing to react to or even to acknowledge the existence of such a thing. He didn’t remember but it wasn’t the first time this had occurred. Across the concourse four Northerners watched all of this with some amusement. There were three men and a woman, possibly tourists, Danish or Norwegian. They were all quite large and forbidding. They watched the gnome – for whom their contempt was obvious; they watched Jarrod rushing onto the train trying to catch up with Cassandra. They looked at each other and smiled knowingly.
Jarrod moved through the carriage looking for his assigned seat – 13G. He put his bag on the rack overhead and sat down. He’d have to walk through the train once they got moving. He laughed. He didn’t even know her name. He looked around – the carriage was filling up quickly. Then, just like that, she sat down beside him with another big smile.
“Hello again.” Jarrod smiled back.
“Oh! Yes, Hello” cursing himself again, already – this was no time to affect disinterest or reserve. She waved her ticket at him
“13F. What a coincidence! “ She continued on happily. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jarrod looked back at her blankly - as if he would ever
want to do that. By now everyone else had found their seats. There were twelve other passengers, none of them stood out in any way. There was an elderly lady travelling by herself, a middle aged couple with two children, four young women in a group, two young men - already openly checking out the women with no attempt at subtlety - and a middle aged priest. The priest seemed ill-at-ease and was looking about anxiously. Then after the usual announcements the train was moving. Jarrod barely noticed any of this – he was thinking only of the young woman sitting beside him. He coughed lightly
“I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Jarrod Bennet.” She seemed amused by his awkward formality, replying simply
“Well, I suppose you should. I’m Cassandra. I’m from Sydney.” She said this with a twinkle in her eye, a challenge. He replied
“Ah yes you said that, I think, I’m from London – um, but I said that too, didn’t I?” He could see that Cassandra was amused by his all to obvious unease but in a pleasant way. She was completely at ease herself – exuding poise and confidence.
“So, what do you do Jarrod?” Jarrod seemed to have to think about it for a few moments, then said
“I’m a philosophy lecturer at the University of London.” Cassandra replied
“That’s impressive.” She looked at him for a while then continued playfully. “Yes. I can see that. You would be more comfortable with some arcane discussion about something nobody else understands.” Jarrod was shocked, this seemed a bit harsh. He could only reply
“... well.” She corrected herself quickly
“I didn’t mean to ...“ Jarrod added just as quickly
“No, No, of course not ... I didn’t mean ...” They both waited awkwardly for a few moments then Jarrod asked
“So what do you do?” Cassandra smiled mischievously and then replied
“I’m an artist ...” - laughing darkly - “well, sort of ... “ Jarrod was curious
“What form of art? What do you mean sort of? “ But Cassandra was evasive and clearly had no intention of providing more details. She said quietly
“Ask me later“. All that Jarrod heard was that there was going to be a later. How could this be happening now and so easily – well relatively easily? He felt like he’d been waiting for her all of his life. Cassandra looked at him. She knew her effect on men and how easy they were to impress. He seemed to be different from most though, genuine, charming, almost innocent in a way. She thought that she would like to see him in Brighton. But it might take a while for him to get around to asking her.
They talked solidly for some time, rambling on about whatever came to mind. She gave him her impressions of London. This was her first time in the city not counting a brief stopover at Heathrow on her way to Amsterdam a year earlier. She had done the usual sight-seeing, museums and galleries, been to a few clubs. The most surprising thing for her was hanging out around Trafalgar Square or along Charing Cross Road and hearing the variety of languages spoken. There were people from everywhere. Jarrod was slightly puzzled that she’d come by herself but said nothing. He told her something about his experiences teaching – the adolescent earnestness of his undergraduate students – and something about his current research – Husserl, phenomenology – but only generalities. He was smitten; he didn’t want the trip to ever end. As for Cassandra she was having a pleasant enough time. She’d definitely decided to go out on a date with him – and beyond that – well, who knows. He was not exactly handsome but not ugly either, casually dressed but not too slovenly, in pretty good shape, just a few years older than her, and quite evidently outrageously smart. Something else too, harder to define – a level of intent, a purity of purpose that was as rare as it was intriguing, an underlying strength. Well, he would certainly need that if he was going to have anything to do with her! She sighed quietly.
They had finally stopped talking and were both looking out over the surrounding countryside. Cassandra had the window seat. Jarrod was genuinely happy, which was rare enough. He was only thirty three years old and yet already generally gloomy, isolated and pessimistic. He knew already that this summer evening on a train with this beautiful and more than slightly mysterious young woman would be an abiding and treasured memory. He couldn’t think that it would go any further. He wondered what she was thinking, what she thought of him. When they reached their destination they would go their separate ways and never see each other again – just like that. It would happen so easily. He could ask her out – and she could politely decline. He just didn’t know how to begin. Cassandra turned back towards him
“I love the view. It’s so strange for me for it to be still light this late in the evening even in summer – and right now it’s the middle of winter back home”. Jarrod looked back at her unable to say anything. She looked at him sweetly then she said
“So, would you like to go to the movies tomorrow night? I assume Brighton has a cinema?” Jarrod replied simply
“What?” But Cassandra persisted
“You know, a date?” He tried without any success to conceal his absolute delight.
“Yes, I would.” Cassandra noting his reaction simply said
“Great, I’ll give you my number, you can call me tomorrow” She said her number out loud so he could enter it into his phone. Then she insisted
“Call me now, so I have yours too.” Jarrod did so, eagerly. He couldn’t believe it. He put his phone back in his shirt pocket and sat back into his seat. He started to say something. At that very moment everything went brightly and violently red and then the darkest deepest black. There was the briefest hint of unendurable pain – and then nothing.
***************
Jarrod shook himself awake. He felt as if he’d been asleep – no more than that, unconscious – but for how long there was no way of knowing. He looked around for Cassandra. She was still there beside him, also just waking up, looking about uncertainly. He quickly asked her
“Are you all right?” She replied slowly
“I’m not sure, what happened?” Jarrod shrugged
“I don’t know”. They were still in the carriage but something was very different. He looked around at the other passengers. They were looking back at him and at each other all equally confused. One of the young men jumped to his feet, strode towards the carriage door and attempted to open it. Finding it locked he cursed loudly. Everyone was looking at him. The two young children started quietly whimpering. Jarrod saw all of this but felt oddly disconnected. Somehow, at some level, he did know exactly what was happening but couldn’t quite place it. He looked outside the window and was not surprised to find that the country-side had changed. Rolling green fields had been replaced by semi-barren dessert, lush trees and hedges replaced by thin stringy foliage decaying and dying. Somehow it seemed only a little later in the evening but the sun had set and darkness was rolling in. Strangest of all, and the most disconcerting, was that somehow they were now moving distinctly downwards. He motioned to Cassandra to look outside. She did so and then gasped
“Huh? What?” He suddenly felt very protective – no matter what happened she would not be hurt. He felt strangely calm as he reassured her.
“We’ll see soon enough, don’t worry.” He wanted to hold her. She started to lean against him a little then stopped. She looked about anxiously, not knowing what to do.
Jarrod noticed that the train seemed to be picking up speed. The others could sense this too – and they could see the other changes as well. It added to their growing sense of panic. For a very long ten minutes nothing happened. They waited, not knowing what to expect. Then suddenly the door at the other end of the carriage burst open and three large demons strode into the carriage. They were gargoyle like, thoroughly demonic. They were at least seven feet tall with sickly grey skin, massively built, clearly enormously strong. They had twisted ugly faces and fiery red eyes burning with hatred and contempt. Snarling loudly, each of them grabbed the two closest passengers, pulling them to their feet. They had taken the fo
ur women who’d been travelling in a group and were seated nearest the door – and the two young men who’d been admiring them earlier. One of the men tried to resist – the same one who had jumped up to check the doors. Temporarily releasing its other captive - one of the women - the demon grabbed him by the throat, lifted him into the air and then threw him onto the ground. It kicked at him savagely a few times – striking him in the chest and stomach. He struggled to avoid its blows. It then picked him up again holding him at arms length with one arm while punching him in the face repeatedly with the other. It continued this until he just hung there semi-conscious. Sneering, it grabbed its other victim – who’d been cringing and screaming the whole time - and proceeded down the corridor. The first two demons had already left. It hastened to catch up, half-carrying, half dragging its two captives. It left quickly and moments later the door was slammed shut.
This had all happened so abruptly that Jarrod and Cassandra at the other end of the carriage had no time to do anything but watch in horror as the first six of their fellow passengers were hauled away. Cassandra stared at the closed door down the other end, eyes wide, exclaiming loudly
“Fuck!” Jarrod could hardly disagree. He stood up and took a few steps, then stopped, uncertain. He started to say something
“I don’t know what ..." Then he stopped. Somehow he did know – just couldn’t quite grasp it. He felt no fear at all though, only concern for Cassandra. She still seemed to be in shock, and simply repeated herself
“Fuck!” The other six passengers were now crowded down their end of the carriage. All of them were terrified. The two children were screaming. Their mother and father tried to reassure them without success. The middle aged priest was praying anxiously, for the first time in many years. Jarrod looked at him blankly, thinking but not saying
The Department of Hate - A Love Story Page 1
