Warm Food Cold Body

by S. Y. Robins

  “As long as it’s not the ends of onions I think I can handle some food.” Mark said with a grin.

  “So you remember all of that? What else do you remember?” Oona asked, just as carefully.

  “Everything basically. You and Helena are witches, who knew they actually existed? Helena attempting to save me and her misery at what she’d produced, her calling my wretch of a wife, then trying to help me again. I remember everything.” Mark said, looking unhappy at the end.

  “Who murdered you?” Helena asked, guessing that she already knew the answer.

  “My wife and her boyfriend. They want the insurance money so they can escape to some poor tropical nation to live like royalty. Not a bad plan but it did mean I had to die.” Mark said as he sat at the table while Helena started a spaghetti bolognaise.

  “Did they indeed?” Oona asked with a small bit of doubt. “From what your wife told Helena you were a bit of a rogue, always out on the make and boozing it up.”

  “Yes, Bridget would say that. We’ll call her shortly, if you’d like, and I can introduce you to the real Bridget. That sweet woman you heard on the phone is the persona she gives to the public. I get the hell beast when we’re alone. Thank you, by the way, Helena, you did save my life, even if it did take a little while to get it properly restored. Stop worrying whether I’m angry with you please. You did what you could.” Mark said, looking over at Helena as she put noodles in a pot to boil.

  “Thank you, Mark. I appreciate that.” She said quietly before going back to stir the sauce.

  “So what are we going to do about this boys and girls? We can’t let this go, it has to be reported, Mark has to go back to his life. What’s the plan?” Oona asked from the other side of the table.

  “We have to get Bridget to confess to what they did, somehow. But she and Milton think I’m dead. Do you think you could call her back, Helena, without giving the truth away?” Mark asked.

  “I can try, but no promises. Can you tell us what happened that night first? Then we’ll eat, and then we’ll call. See what can be arranged.” Helena offered.

  “Sure. I went home from work that night, had my dinner, Bridget drugged me with a glass of wine, and she thought it had killed me. I’d been experiencing these blackouts, and no I’m not a heavy drinker.” Mark added before continuing. “Apparently, from what I learned just before I died, she’d been drugging me regularly so that Milton, the boyfriend, could come over without my knowing about it.”

  Mark took a drink of his tea before continuing. “That night she suspected I’d become immune to the drug so she gave me an extra dose because it had been taking longer to work. For whatever reason the fool woman thought she’d killed me. Rather than panicking and ringing for emergency services, she and Milton came up with this plan of dropping me off on the moor and leaving me.”

  “But that’s not what killed you; I saw the blood on your head. You don’t bleed like that if you’re dead” Helena said, mixing the now cooked noodles into the sauce.

  “No, it’s not. I woke up as Milton was lifting me out of the boot of the car. Bridget must have panicked or been disappointed that her plan had failed because she took the tyre iron out and hit me over the head with it. That did the trick. I was gone and the world was just black. She left me there, dead, so she could escape with Milton. I suspect he won’t be around either, not in a capacity larger than flunky anyway. He’s one of those office dork types, always in a cardigan pushing his glasses back up his nose. Honestly, I’m surprised he even had the nerve to go through with an affair with my wife, much less with the rest of her plan.” Mark said, taking a plate from Helena as she offered it to him.

  “How long was the affair going on?” Oona asked, taking her own plate as Helena sat down with hers.

  “I’m not sure but I’ve been coming home and just passing out straightaway after dinner for about 3 months now. At first I didn’t notice but towards the end I was really starting to become concerned and had called the doctor to set up an appointment. I didn’t get a chance to go before Bridget bashed my head in. You’ve taken very good care of that Helena, it barely even hurts now.” He said with a smile in Helena’s direction.

  “I’m glad it’s healing. You’re taking this all very well, I must say.” Helena said before taking another bite.

  “I’ve suspected it for a while, not that she would kill me but the affair. And when I was zombiefied I could think, I just couldn’t communicate. I had time to think it over and if not come to terms with it, then absorb what happened. I’m past the shocked and broken-hearted stage now. Now I just want her to pay for her crime.” Mark said with a bit of heat to his words.

  They all continued to eat as they came up with a plan and Helena watched Mark throughout. He seemed like a genuine person and maybe it was just the fact that he had been living with her for a week but she felt like she’d already formed a bond with the man. He was sweet, funny, and caring, helping her with the dishes, and when she tripped over her own feet on the way into the sitting room. The matter they were discussing was serious and anyone that had been through Mark’s ordeal could hardly be blamed for wanting a bit of violence but he never once spoke of anything of that nature. He was also very handsome. If Helena had time for romances she might even consider setting her sights on Mark after he’d had time to recover.

  But she wasn’t in the market for a man and this wasn’t the time, Helena reminded herself. Time for serious Helena and no funny stuff!

  “Do you realize you’re a victim of domestic violence?” Oona suddenly popped up with.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it to be honest, I suppose, but yes Bridget was abusing me.” Mark said with realization bright in his eyes.

  “Well, for now we get you through this part, and then we can focus on the rest, shall we?” Oona said. “Have either of you considered the fact that we should just phone the police?”

  “And say what? I found a dead man on the moor, brought him back to life, and his wife murdered him?” Helena replied.

  “No, that you found an injured man, he refused to go to hospital, and now is recovering and wants to report domestic violence and abuse.” Oona said plainly.

  “What do you think, Mark?” Helena asked hesitantly.

  “I think Oona may be right. Let’s handle it her way first, then see how it goes? We’ve solved the 'case' so to speak, now we just have to tell the authorities, right?” Mark answered.

  “I suppose so, do you want to call or shall I?” Helena offered.

  “I’d best do it. May I borrow your phone? It seems mine is still at home.” Mark replied.

  The police that came round were very polite, took Mark’s statement, offered to send him to a hospital, and Mark told them he’d rather not. They also took a statement from Helena and Oona before they left for the night. The next day they were informed Milton and Bridget had both been arrested and charged with attempted murder.

  Mark was asked to take the police to the area where Bridget and Milton dumped his body, believing he was dead, so Mark took them. Upon their return they informed Mark that Bridget had initially insisted that they was only missing. Then, when they relayed to her that they had Mark and he was talking she’d apparently gone completely mental and screamed that he was dead, she knew he was dead because she’d done it herself, she’d felt for his pulse and found none, and that his blood had all but poured out of his head. Then she realized what she’d said and shut her gob.

  Whether she was actually going to go to prison for murder or not, Mark knew that she was going to prison for attempted murder at least. The fact that she’d left him to die on the moor was enough to prove that.

  The one thing that didn’t surprise anyone was Mark staying on at Helena’s. The two shared a bond and Mark didn’t want to live in the house anymore. He went home long enough to get some belongings then came back to Helena’s where she’d prepared the guest room for him.

  They also learned that one of the reasons the police h
adn’t combed the moors looking for Mark was because three murders had taken place during that time. The few resources the local police had were swamped with investigating those murders. There was no new information about the cases either. But the disappearance of Mark had been solved. Now it was time for Helena to prove her worth as a witch and have her license fully reinstated.

  “Helena Richardson? Ms. Richardson? This way please.” The same matron walked ahead of Helena as she walked through the corridors, her palms starting to sweat as her heart tried to escape her chest.

  The memories of the last two times she’d been here kept replaying in her mind over and over like an instant replay that was stuck in the on position. The matron told Helena to wait for her examiner and quietly closed the door. Helena tried to calm herself in that time and practiced producing a variety of things.

  She produced a toad when she wanted to, an egg, and cake without blowing up the ministry. She even produced a cat that she was stroking as the door started to open. Helena quickly blinked the creature out of her lap and sat up straight. Her elation over her accuracy quickly plummeted as she saw the orange hair of Old Grinder.

  “Ms. Richardson, back to hand over your license are you? Oh, I just knew this was going to be a good day when I woke up this morning and I was right. Now, a sneefulling whazzlesnoot, if you don’t mind.” The sneering smile of satisfaction on Old Grinder’s face used to tear Helena’s confidence to shreds. It did this time as well but Helena gathered herself and stood calmly.

  Despite her sweaty palms, her pounding heart, and an overwhelming desire to just run off in tears Helena ensured all of her five foot frame was ramrod straight, held out her left hand while circling the right one over her open palm. A small furry grey animal appeared. It looked like a mouse with an elephant’s trunk and a furry bright pink ridge decorated its back.

  “Oh, that is mark one against you, Ms. Richardson. That is a whazzlesnit, not a whazzlesnoot!” Old Grinder declared in triumph.

  Helena quickly scanned for knowledge out of the ether and learned that Old Grinder was wrong.

  “I believe you’ll find that the whazzlesnit has a purple ridge, not a pink one as the whazzlesnoot does.” Helena responded politely.

  “I beg your pardon!” Old Grinder snapped her fingers and a paper appeared in her hands. “It says right here in the official page that the whazzlesnoot has a…pink. Well, no matter. You’ll fail the next one. A barm dragon please! Now!”

  Helena waved her arm in concentric circles and a small dragon, no bigger than a Beagle, appeared at her feet in a puff of smoke. The tiny blue dragon growled at Old Grinder as it backed up towards Helena in a protective gesture.

  “Fine, Get rid of it please.” The spiteful woman ordered. She had Helena produce an orange, a gun, a sack of flour, a skin cream that hadn’t been produced in 50 years, a tooth from the skeleton of pharaoh from Egypt whose name had not been heard in two thousand years, and a long list of other objects.

  “I see you’ve improved your skills slightly, Ms. Richardson. Very well. One last request. A feather please.” Old Grinder said with a smirk.

  “A feather from what bird?” Helena asked, uncertain but confident.

  “A pterodactyl feather, Ms. Richardson.” The pleasure in her voice was crude and ugly.

  “Did they even have feathers?” Helena asked, her confidence suddenly shaken to the core.

  “Some scientists believe they did, others don’t. Now, the feather, if you will, Ms. Richardson.” Old Grinder had her hand held out, waiting with regal pleasure.

  Helena stretched her arm out, her finger pointed at Old Grinders hand. She flicked the finger and nothing happened.

  “Strike one, Ms. Richardson.” Old Grinder gloated.

  Helena gathered her courage and pulled her arm back to her chest, then threw her arm out as though she were throwing a ball. This time a pie flew in Old Grinders face.

  “A very nice meringue Ms. Richardson, but that’s strike two. One more and you’re finished. Come along now, let’s not waste time, we both know what’s going to happen here and I don’t have all day.”

  Finally, Helena closed her eyes, remembered Mark’s smiling eyes waiting at home to congratulate her and then remembered that the reason his eyes were smiling was because of her. Without her he’d be dead, his eyes closed to the world and what happened in it.

  Smiling serenely at Old Grinder Helena quietly went up to the woman and flicked her outstretched palm. “There’s your feather, Old Grinder, my license please?”

  “What did you just call me? How dare you, why I’ll…” The woman’s venom was cut off by Helena.

  “According to our laws you cannot fail me on your personal like or dislike of me and whether or not I insult you. You can only fail me if I fail to produce a certain number of items that you asked for. Now, you’ve asked for a feather, despite an entire library catalogue of items that I’ve already produced that prove my ability. That wasn’t enough for you so you asked me to produce something that may or may not exist. I believe you’ll find the item clutched in your grubby fist.” Helena said confidently despite an internal shivering that she thought should be evident but wasn’t.

  “I doubt it, you could never…oh.” Old Grinder opened her palm to produce a lovely scarlet feather that shimmered in the light of the room. “Well, this doesn’t prove…”

  “I will call for the Supreme Examiner if you force my hand.” Helena warned her newfound power and confidence on display.

  “There will be no need for that, Ms. Richardson. Take it and go.” Old Grinder held out a new, pristine card and Helena took it as she walked past the hateful woman.

  “Do have a good day, as you thought you would, Old Grinder. I’ll be back in ten years.” Helena gave a wave of her hand and left with a laugh as Old Grinder’s flaming hair turned a speckled pink and purple shade without her noticing it.

  Life was good, Helena thought as she headed for the train. A possible romance, a definite friendship, and her license to be a witch was secure. Life simply was grand.

  The End