Heller’s Decision

by JD Nixon

  And just as the court clerk demanded we all rise for the arrival of the magistrate, the door to the public gallery opened and someone stepped into the courtroom, giving the unfortunate impression we all rose for him, not for Her Honour.

  It was Malefic in person.

  Chapter 18

  Flanked by the same two black-haired, black-garbed acolytes, or other women who resembled them as closely as twins, Malefic was a dramatic sight, not able to be ignored. A hushed gasp from those unfamiliar with him and his appearance rippled around the court. Had I not previously researched him thoroughly, I probably would have gasped too.

  Taller in person than he seemed online, he verged on great beauty, with lush eyelashes and refined, sensitive features. It would be natural to assume a person such as him would lead an unwholesome life, but he glowed with good health, his long, black hair shining and soft, his pale skin unlined and clear. It was difficult to determine his age, but he was probably in his late twenties. In a different world, he would have made an ideal rock star, the idol of every female teenager. But in the real world, I doubted there would be any parents willing to let their teenager daughters anywhere near him.

  As usual, he dressed in unrelenting black – a long-sleeved shirt with every last fastener buttoned, black jeans, a theatrical cloak that swept the floor as he moved, and knee-high, chunky boots. On a chain around his neck he wore an intricate, large silver pendant, which after much research, I later learned was an upside-down pentagram. He carried an ugly book clutched to his chest, its brown cover old and wrinkled. From where I sat, I couldn’t decipher the spidery gold lettering on its spine.

  “I am here for you, my sweet demons,” Malefic spoke aloud.

  The two defendants, who hadn’t even bothered turning around at the entry of yet another gawker, spun in the dock at his beautiful voice. From the expression of elation crossing their face, his presence elicited emotion that no detail of their awful crime presented to the court had yet managed to do.

  “People in the public gallery will remain quiet at all times,” censured the magistrate. “Or you’ll quickly find yourselves ejected by the bailiff.”

  With insulting deliberation, Malefic dipped his head in her direction, half-smiling in an unmistakably sardonic way. “My deepest apologies. No disrespect meant to you, Magistrate McKierney.”

  I didn’t miss the small frown of worry puckering the magistrate’s forehead at that personal apology. He’d done his homework. She probably wondered what else he knew about her and what that would mean for the safety of her family and her, considering the case she was currently hearing and what his followers were prepared to do to obtain his approval.

  “I love you, my Dark Lord. We did this all for you,” said Alice, tears of joy streaming down her face. Malefic gestured magnanimously with his hand at her in recognition of her devotion.

  “I remind your client to remain silent unless requested to speak,” the magistrate snapped at Alice’s lawyer.

  “Yes, Your Honour.” He jumped up to reprimand Alice in a sharp whisper for a few moments.

  Malefic arranged himself on a strangely vacant seat in the public gallery with great ceremony, his acolytes sitting at his feet, each with an arm around one of his calves. Every member of the public seated next to them shifted over, not wanting to be near the strange trio, probably desperately wishing they’d chosen a different hearing to watch today, but not wanting to attract his attention by leaving. Safely tucked away in the media area, removed from them, I openly stared in fascination. I couldn’t wait to tell Daniel and Niq (or Trent) all about this.

  “My Dark Lord, this is such an honour for us,” sobbed Charlotte. “We’re so unworthy.”

  “This is my last warning to the court,” seethed the magistrate. “If there are any more disturbances then I will close this hearing to the public and everyone will leave.”

  And if people could actually die from dirty looks being directed at them, Alice and Charlotte would have murdered that magistrate on the spot in just the way they cold-heartedly murdered their own families. Magistrate McKierney, more used to dealing with drunk drivers and shoplifters than unrestrained murderers, looked visibly shaken, but stoically carried on her duties.

  Malefic remained quiet for the rest of the afternoon session, though watching proceedings with an intensity I could feel from where I sat. Alice and Charlotte kept twisting to gaze up at him adoringly, forcing their lawyers to reprimand them in angry whispers and remind them to face the front.

  The prosecution finished its case, allowing the defence a brief time to begin cross-examining the expert witnesses before the magistrate adjourned the court for the day. Malefic made just as grand a departure as his entrance, the crowd in the gallery with him parting to allow him through. Alice and Charlotte yelled out to him how much they loved him and wanted to be his official acolytes, before being taken back to the prison by the corrective services officers for the night.

  Wanting to get my notes to Trent before I went home and faced Heller about the family dinner, I sat on a bench outside the courthouse, tapping furiously away on my tablet’s keyboard. A shadow fell over my screen, which was useful in one way as the sun was still quite strong, but quite menacing in another. Especially when I looked up and saw Malefic standing before me.

  He waited for me to respond to him. Perhaps he expected me to genuflect or to gasp, but as I’d been observing him all day, I think I kept my short, sharp intake of breath in surprise to myself.

  “Can I help you?” I asked him, a little nervous.

  “You’ve been watching me today. You’re interested,” he stated, staring at me intently. His acolytes stood silently behind him, reaching out now and then to stroke him with languid fingers. I wondered if they were on drugs.

  “Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking,” I managed to say, finding those inky eyes repellent, yet strangely hypnotic.

  “There are many reasons for interest in Malefic.” He crooked his fingers towards himself in a ‘tell me’ gesture. I instantly disliked his arrogance – and his reference to himself in third person. What a tosser.

  I briefly debated myself whether I should pursue the crazy idea that suddenly popped into my mind. What the hell? I thought. What was Trent going to do? Fire me?

  Yep, probably.

  “Are you interested in being interviewed by Trent Dawson for People’s Pulse?” I enquired bluntly.

  Malefic half-smiled and inclined his head, presumably to show he was thinking about my offer. Double tosser. “Only if I can be on at the same time as the most holy Reverend Joshua who appeared last night.”

  Well, blow me! Malefic was a Trent Dawson fan, otherwise how would he have known that? It would be a scoop over the other networks to do an interview with him, but the likely consequences of such a pairing of guests didn’t escape me.

  “I’m not sure Reverend Joshua would agree to appear on the show again.” Especially with Malefic.

  “Make it happen.”

  He walked away from me and one of his acolytes dropped something in my hand. It was a business card, of all things. The little black card showed Malefic’s phone number, email address and website, all written in the same gold lettering as the book he carried. I guess everyone needed to keep in touch these days.

  I rang Trent.

  He wasn’t happy. “No! No! No! I definitely want this Mallory guy or whatever his name is, but I’m not having that other jerk back on my show again. Ever.”

  “Trent,” I bargained, wanting to prove myself to him after my last guest schedule. “You know what he’s like now, so you’re more prepared this time. And just think of the conflict! If you thought he was anti-Cybelian, can you imagine how he’d be with Malefic?”

  “I am imagining the conflict and I’m imagining my head being drenched with water again.”

  “It was good TV,” I cajoled.

  “It was wet and cold,” he rejoined. “And it ruined my hair.”

  “Trent! Ar
e you a pretty boy or a journalist?”

  “Why can’t I be both?”

  “This is the scoop of the century. How often do you get to interview a practitioner of dark magic?”

  “I did last night, according to that reverend.”

  I blew a raspberry down the line. “Cybelians aren’t dangerous, but this guy is. Those two girls admitted they murdered for him. Out loud in court at their own hearing. That virtually guarantees the magistrate will send them to trial at the Supreme Court, no matter how they plead. Can’t you see the power he wields? You have to interview Malefic.”

  He sighed unhappily. “I don’t want that reverend on my show again.”

  “Have security on hand this time to remove him before he gets the chance to dump any water.” I couldn’t believe I even suggested he include those meatheads in anything in which I also would be involved.

  “Are you sure he won’t do an interview without that reverend on as well?”

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  “It can’t be for tonight’s show. We’ve finalised the line-up already and I have that occultist professor to interview.”

  “I doubt I could round them both up in time for tonight anyway. I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner, remember.”

  “This better not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  I smiled. “Going to my parents’ place for dinner? It’s not that bad. My mum cooks a great roast.”

  “You know what I mean, smartarse. And I’m starting to think I know what the worst idea I ever had is.”

  I rang off hurriedly then, reasonably sure that hiring me was going to be his number one pick of bad ideas.

  I decided to leave arranging interviews with the two contentious people until tomorrow morning, needing the time on the drive home to the Warehouse to worry instead about how the dinner with my family was going to play out. Heller, always unpredictable, could not be relied on to ever have ‘normal’ reactions to any social engagement, so to say I was concerned about the evening was rather an understatement.

  He didn’t say much on the drive over, only to remind me that the price I’d pay for this ‘sacrifice’ from him would be strenuous and would involve me wearing nothing. I thought I had a pretty good idea what it would be.

  Mum and Dad had gathered together Brian, his pregnant wife Gayle; my other brother, Sean, and his pregnant wife, Elise, and my two grandmothers, who hadn’t met Heller before and who both gaped up at him in wonder. My two little nieces were with Gayle’s parents for the evening and I was sad about that – I hadn’t seen them for a while.

  Mum’s pet dog (more like her fourth child), Puddles, announced our arrival. His excited barking could be heard from outside. I warned Heller to avoid Puddles’ disposition to pee on shoes in happiness, but I needn’t have bothered. One sight of Heller had the overenthusiastic, overgrown puppy running to hide under the dining table.

  Mum fussed around Heller as usual, almost purring with happiness at his presence. Elise reddened every time he even looked in her direction, and Gayle openly stared at him, much to Brian’s annoyance. My father and Sean were their normal amicable selves towards him, but Brian glowered silently, making it perfectly obvious he objected to Heller setting foot inside his parents’ residence.

  Despite my earlier concerns, Heller proved to be a charming guest when he spoke, which was rarely. As he was so health conscious, I thought he’d be fussy about the food put before him, and I worried he’d offend my mother. But he ate everything he was given with no complaints, even consuming a glass of wine. I appreciated that he was making an effort to fit in on my behalf and I squeezed his hand under the table in gratitude. On the few times we heard it, he mesmerised everyone (well, the women at least) with his gorgeous accent.

  When he finished eating, he draped his arm around my shoulder and began to stroke my upper arm. Brian immediately frowned and Dad sat up a little taller, his glance at Heller a little less friendly than it had been previously.

  “What’s going on between you two?” Brian demanded in what could only be taken as a hostile voice.

  “I’m sorry. What do you mean?” Heller asked with dangerous politeness.

  “Look at you with your sleazy hands all over her.”

  “Brian!” interrupted my mother sharply. “Where are your manners? Mr Heller is a guest in your father’s and my house and we are not going through that again.”

  He ignored her and her veiled reference to their earlier stoush. “What’s going on between you?”

  “Brian,” I complained, annoyed that he’d brought up the matter before I had a chance to say anything, and throwing a significant glance towards my grandmothers who listened avidly. “It’s not the time or the place right now. And besides, it’s none of your business.”

  “Matilda and I are lovers,” said Heller. He leaned over to kiss my forehead.

  “Oh, my …” my mother managed to splurt out, her hand to her chest. My father choked on his mouthful of food.

  “Heller . . .” I said faintly, looking at him. His eyes remained as glacially cold as usual, showing no apparent awareness of the inappropriateness of his comment.

  Silence fell around the table. I’m sure my parents knew deep down in their hearts that I was no longer the virginal little girl they’d raised, as are few twenty-six year old women these days, but to be confronted with that fact to their faces by the man their daughter was getting it on with, was difficult for them. My mother paled and my father’s back grew even straighter as he laid down his cutlery.

  “What are your intentions towards my daughter?” he asked stiffly.

  Heller seemed puzzled by the question. “My intentions? I intend to have sex with Matilda as often as possible.”

  “Oh, dear lord,” I whispered to myself, not missing the gasps from my grandmothers nor how my father’s face suddenly seemed set in stone. I worried my mother was going to hyperventilate.

  Heller went on in a patient voice, “Mr Chalmers, you do understand that’s what I meant when I said Matilda and I are lovers, don’t you? We have sex quite a lot – every night at least. She’s very good.”

  “Heller! Please stop it,” I demanded in a low voice, ready to die of embarrassment and concerned my father would have another heart-failure incident if he continued talking. I could honestly say that the word ‘sex’ had never before been mentioned at my family’s dining table.

  “I think you should stay right the hell away from him,” Brian said to me, now not even bothering to appear congenial.

  “I fail to see what Matilda’s and my relationship has to do with you,” Heller said coldly.

  “I’m her brother and I don’t want to see her making stupid judgements of error. You’re not good for her. You’re taking advantage of a young woman who doesn’t know any better.”

  “Brian –” I started, angered by that.

  He overrode me, intent on getting his point across to Heller. “And what you have doesn’t sound like any kind of ‘relationship’ – more like you treating my sister as your little plaything.”

  “Back off, Brian,” I warned, riled by his comment. “It’s none of your business. You don’t understand.”

  Heller leaned down to kiss my forehead again, before smiling at Brian in an unpleasant way. “Matilda loves me. She’s told me that many times. She has no complaints.” Well, that was a huge lie to start with – I had plenty of complaints about him, some of which I’d be airing freely in the car on the drive home.

  “I understand all right. I’ve seen plenty of predators in my job and you’re one of them. You’re making a big mistake being with him, Tilly,” Brian scorned.

  “I think you’d be better served paying attention to your own relationship rather than to ours,” Heller rejoined, accompanied by another insulting smile.

  Brian stiffened, his cheeks blazing. “Don’t you dare even mention that topic.”

  Heller raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Or you’ll attack me again? If I remembe
r correctly, that didn’t end too well for you last time.”

  “You’re such an arrogant shit.”

  “Brian!” my mother and father said simultaneously, shocked. My grandmothers’ hands flew to their mouths.

  “There’s something wrong about you that sets my radar buzzing,” Brian continued, almost snarling and paying no heed to anyone.

  “You really have no idea about that,” Heller smiled again, and while everyone else would have taken that as a friendly comment meant to disarm the tension, Brian and I both recognised the threatening undercurrent to his words. I thumped Heller’s thigh under the table in warning to him to behave himself.

  Mum jumped up, flustered and a little desperate that the family dinner was rapidly unravelling. “Time for dessert, I think. Tilly, do you want to help me in the kitchen?”

  I took her hint and jumped up too, my smile brightly brittle. “Dessert for everyone? Heller?”

  He placed his hand on the small of my back and rubbed. “Only the minutest of portions for me, my sweet.”

  As soon as we reached the kitchen, Mum shut the door and rounded on me. “Matilda Ann Chalmers. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you and Mr Heller are . . .” She struggled to find the right euphemism. “. . . dating.”

  “I was going to say something tonight, but Brian ruined it all,” I said, busily slicing the cake she’d baked early in the day to avoid meeting her eyes.

  “I don’t know why he’s so set against Mr Heller. I just can’t understand it. It’s very distressing.” She pulled the ice-cream from the freezer to allow it to thaw a little. “Especially if Mr Heller is going to be part of the family from now on.” Her sideways glance was hopeful.

  “That’s rushing things a little, Mum. Heller’s not really a settling down kind of man.” I sure wasn’t going to tell her how reluctant he’d been to come tonight – or what I’d have to do to make it up to him.