Master Potter

by Jill Austin

  Suddenly she’s in the upstairs hallway of Madam’s, coming out of her bedroom, and finds him outside her door. Using his huge body, he blocks her escape and pushes her back inside.

  “Forsaken, I’ve watched you with all those other men, and I’ve been patient. Now, it’s time for me.” His sexual appetites, inflamed by spirits of lust and perversion, are excited beyond his control.

  “I can give you more than those other men. I’m very wealthy, Forsaken, and I know how to treat a class act like you. You and I, we like the same things—money and influence, the beautiful things. I can give you all these—if you give me what I want.”

  It was true, she did love all those things, and for just a moment she entertained the thought of allowing him to provide them. Nevertheless, in the end his repulsiveness was too great.

  “Get out of here! I don’t care if you are the mayor!”

  He shoves her struggling body onto the bed, crushing her beneath his huge hulk. Unsuccessfully, he drops his grotesquely fat, sweating face to hers in an attempt to deliver a slobbery kiss. His breath reeks of old cigars and gin.

  Panic overwhelms Forsaken, and she raises her knees and pushes with all her strength. At the same time she bites down on his ear as hard as she can, wrestling free from his unwelcome advances. She rolls out from under him as he howls in pain.

  “Get away from me! Not only are you repulsive—you’re married!”

  Holding his bleeding ear, he shouts, “When did you develop a conscience?”

  “You’ll never have me. You disgust me! How dare you come into my room like this! I’m telling Madam.”

  Spying his treasured pocket watch on the bed, she hurls it at him. Barely missing his head, the crystal shatters against her mahogany dresser.

  “You’re nothing but a whore! I’ll destroy you and your reputation. No one treats me like this and gets away with it. Madam won’t save your skin this time. Your days are numbered, mark my words!”

  FALLING INTO THE ENEMY’S HANDS

  Sitting in the foul-smelling garbage and broken pottery shards of the Potter’s Field, Forsaken numbly clutches the broken mirror and pocket watch—heart-breaking symbols of her painful past. “I hate him. He destroyed my life!”

  Madam’s distraught face appears before Forsaken. Her normally beautiful eyes are swollen from tears. “My ruby and diamond brooch is gone! My late husband gave it to me on our wedding day. It was in his family for generations, and it’s irreplaceable!”

  “Oh, Madam, please don’t cry.” Forsaken rushes to comfort her. Taking a delicately embroidered handkerchief from her bosom, she dabs Madam’s streaking, coal-black mascara that is running down her jowls. “The chief of police has his men combing every inch of the Inn. I’m sure they’ll find it. Maybe you just misplaced it!”

  Madam’s pencil-thin, red mouth forms into a hateful grimace, “No! I wouldn’t leave something that valuable lying around. It was stolen! Whoever took it will pay dearly. I’ll see to that!” She motions abruptly with her hand, dropping hot ashes from her ever-present mother-of-pearl cigarette holder.

  Straightening up to her full height, she throws the black-feathered boa over her shoulder, covering multiple strands of pearls that adorn her thick neck. Her elegant silk dress strains to contain her ample bosom. Dressed like high society but barking orders like a sergeant, she commands the attention of all her employees as they scurry in and out, frantically searching for the lost jewelry.

  Tears fall down Forsaken’s cheeks. “Oh, Madam, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “The dinner guests are arriving. I need your beautiful voice to entertain my customers.”

  As Forsaken is finishing the evening’s final musical number, the chief of police bursts through the French doors leading to the dining room, with a distraught Madam at his side.

  “We’ve found Madam’s priceless brooch,” he announces. Pointing an accusing finger at Forsaken he yells, “There’s the thief! We found the jewels in her bedroom hidden under the mattress. It’s the biggest scandal we’ve had in Comfort Cove since the Feel Good Saloon watered down its whisky.”

  For a few seconds stunned silence reigns, then gives way to an eruption of frenzied voices. All eyes turn to Forsaken. She scans the room, and familiar faces that just a few minutes ago were smiling adoringly at her are now hostile and suspicious.

  The dignified Pastor Compromise, from the Country Club Church, puts down his brandy, stands to his feet, clears his deep voice and incredulously announces, “This is outrageous! After everything Madam’s done for you. How could you betray her generosity, Forsaken?”

  Blushing deeply, she stammers, “B-b-but, I didn’t do it. I’m innocent. I swear!”

  He turns back to his dining companions and says, “Not only is she a thief, she’s also a liar. I had my doubts about Madam taking her in. I’ve never seen anything good come from being charitable.”

  Forsaken elbows her way through the erupting crowd and falls on her knees sobbing. Throwing her arms around Madam’s ample hips she sobs, “Don’t believe him. I didn’t do it! I would never hurt you. You’ve been like a mother to me.”

  Mayor Lecherous’s yellow teeth appear through his cigar-stained lips as he smiles coldly. He turns back to face the other city officials crowded around his reserved table near the French doors. Shifting his cumbersome frame, he tells them, “I warned Madam about taking in riffraff off the docks. They can’t be trusted!”

  Madam’s heart, pierced with the razor-sharp pain of betrayal, lashes out, “Forsaken, how could you? I rescued you like a sniveling dog off the wharf and turned you into a classy lady who had to fight off suitors. You were like the daughter I never had. This is how you repay me? You’ve shown your true colors. I thought I’d changed you, but even in the most elegant gown you’re still a low-life whore.”

  The chief of police jerks her roughly to her feet. “Madam, we’ll take care of her, and she’ll never trouble you or your patrons again! We have the evidence to put her away for a long time.”

  Sickened by false accusations against her, she pleads, “Madam, don’t let them take me. I don’t know how it got there! I just know I didn’t do it!” Frantically, Forsaken’s terrified eyes search the room for help. When she sees the mayor stroking his many-layered chin and mocking her with his gloating expression, she realizes he’s made his threats come true.

  I’VE BEEN FRAMED!

  Forsaken yells back toward Madam as the chief of police drags her away.

  “I’ve been framed. The mayor said he’d ruin my reputation if I didn’t let him have his way with me. That’s what this is all about! He’s behind all this!”

  Madam’s wounded expression now hardens to stone as she storms toward Forsaken. “First you steal my jewels, and then you accuse an honorable man—my friend for over 30 years. How dare you! Who do you think you are? I want you out of here right now. You’re lucky I’m not pressing charges! I never want to see you again!”

  Madam returns to the dining room as her friends gather to comfort her. Mayor Lecherous makes his way through the crowd and gently puts his arm around Madam. “You know her background—her dad’s an alcoholic—and she’s halfway there. What can you expect?”

  Just as the village clock strikes midnight, Forsaken is roughly thrown onto the cobblestone pavement outside the inn. She falls hard against the wet street, cutting her face and scraping her hands. People she had thought were her friends are now standing on the porch pointing to her and hurling insults.

  Humiliated, Forsaken runs as fast as she can to get out of the condemning eyesight of the crowd and away from the jeering voices. After several blocks, one of her sequined high heels catches in the cobblestone street and sends her sprawling. She pushes herself to a sitting position and looks at her stinging palms. They are scraped and bleeding from the hard landing on the abrasive surface. She looks at her shoes. One heel is broken completely off and the other shoe is marred with a wide streak of black dirt. Oh, my beautiful shoe
s. She takes them off and clutches them to her chest as she limps along.

  After a few minutes she arrives at the docks. The sun is setting, and the local tavern is brightly lit and jammed with fishermen looking to unwind after a hard day battling the sea. She walks to the edge of the deserted dock and sits staring at the waves. The day had started so well and was ending so badly. I can’t believe it. My life was finally going somewhere. I was making something of myself. My musical career was great, and Madam was mentoring me in the spiritual readings. I was going to become a rich fortune-teller just like her. I had a natural gift for reading tarot cards…but now look at me.

  TAKING A DARK PATH

  Forsaken remembers the time that Madam led her into the opulent parlor with its overstuffed Victorian furniture and heavy brocade drapes. Forsaken sat down on the plush, burgundy velvet sofa. Madam gave a quick wink and pulled the drapes back to reveal a dark-stained oak door with a golden pentagram painted on the center. She motioned with her arm for Forsaken to enter. Madam pushed open the door. The room was painted black, and with just one dim oil lamp in the dark room it took a moment for Forsaken’s eyes to adjust.

  She scanned the room; there were no decorations—a stark contrast from the plush parlor. In the middle of the room was a round table with chairs and a crystal ball. Waiting around the table were the town’s most influential people—Mayor Lecherous, the Fire Chief, the chief of police and Pastor Compromise from the Country Club Church.

  Madam motioned for Forsaken to have a seat at the table. Then Madam seated herself at the head and began the session by picking up a deck of tarot cards.

  “Madam,” said Mayor Lecherous excitedly as he chomped on his ever-present cigar, “I acted immediately on the last advice you gave me, the business deal with the lumber mill, and the money is still pouring in.”

  “Madam” began the pastor, “I’d like to contact my dead sister, Rachel. I need to know—

  “Madam,” interrupted the Fire Chief, “you promised last time that you’d ask the spirits what I should do about my relationship with my wife.”

  Forsaken was surprised at how they were all in awe of Madam. She watched as they were transformed from the town’s most respected leaders into little boys desperate for Madam’s attention and advice.

  Later that night Madam shared with Forsaken that she was one of the most respected spiritists on the whole seacoast. “Many wealthy people travel great distances and spend huge sums of money for my advice, Forsaken. I can teach you my trade. Someday when I’m gone, you can carry on the family business.”

  Forsaken nodded her head. She, too, was in awe of Madam’s powers. She felt powerfully drawn, seduced into a new world of knowledge and power. “Oh, yes, I’d like that very much,” she said, looking at Madam. But Forsaken couldn’t see the gnarly, black demon with yellow eyes wrapped around Madam’s neck, whispering evil “revelations” in her ear.

  ANTAGONIST

  Where will I even spend the night? I’ve lost my room at the inn. I can’t sleep here on the docks. Where can I go? Forsaken startles at the sound of breaking glass. She looks up in time to see a huge, burly fisherman crash through the front window of the tavern and land with a thud on the cobblestone street. At first she thinks he’s dead, but he eventually staggers to his feet. Forsaken is repulsed by everything about him—his dirty work clothes, the cuts on his face and his drunken mannerisms. He reminds her of her dad, just the type of man she was trying to leave behind. She looks at her scraped hands and laughs cynically, I guess I don’t have to read my palms to know what my future holds. Standing up from the dock, she smoothes her hair and rubs the tears from her eyes. It’s only temporary, she lies to herself. Then she kicks her much loved shoes into the water. I’m no lady tonight.

  Limping off the dock, she hurries to catch him. “Hi. I’m Forsaken.” His glazed eyes look her slowly from head to her bare feet and then fix on her cleavage.

  “I’m Antagonist,” he slurrs, putting his arm around her waist.

  SUICIDE’S ASSIGNMENT

  As the vision fades, Forsaken smashes the mirror against the wagon wheel, weeping hysterically. “I hate them all. It’s too painful. If I don’t get a drink, I’ll lose my mind.”

  Digging frantically through the rubbish, she picks up wet, rotting garbage by the handfuls. Finally, she uncovers an old whiskey bottle. Hands shaking, she presses it to her cracked lips and sighs with relief when a few drops slide down her parched throat.

  Shaking the bottle, she tips it up again but fumes are all that’s left. Demonic figures move in and out of the murky shadows. Tormenting spirits of self-hatred and insanity continue the taunting flashbacks. The powerful talons of addiction plunge deeper, racking her body with cold sweats and painful spasms. Frustrated, she angrily throws the empty bottle toward a discarded barrel.

  The huge gargoyle-like figure of Suicide gurgles with evil delight as he approaches. At the same time, Forsaken’s guardian angel draws closer. The sudden approach of this glorious angelic being startles Suicide’s demonic ministers who have readied her for the kill. Like neighborhood bullies, they jump up and down enraged, cursing, “You can’t have her, she’s ours.”

  The angel, drawing his sword of fire, boldly declares, “You vile deceptive spirits—you do not have permission to take her life.”

  Suicide spews angrily, “Just watch how we whittle her down. It won’t take long now. Madam False Destiny opened a spiritual door in Forsaken’s life. We’ll kill her before she goes to your Master. It’s too late. Madam conjured us up as a curse to destroy her because she knows too much.”

  “You deceiver. Your power is not as great as you portray. She has free will and a prophetic destiny that will wreak havoc on your kingdom.” Taking a shofar from his golden belt, he trumpets a war cry throughout the field. Warring angels position themselves as pillars of light waiting orders from the Father.

  Under the prayerful gaze of the angel, the trembling, sniveling demons slither toward Forsaken. “Maybe we don’t have the authority to kill her, but watch us convince her to take her own life.”

  The dark spirits whisper in Forsaken’s ear, “You’re just what your dad always said you’d be, a loser destined for the Potter’s Field. You ought to end it all before Master Potter destroys you. Either way you’re dead!”

  As the foul demon speaks the words into Forsaken’s ear, she speaks them aloud simultaneously with evil, choreographed precision.

  Hysterically she sobs, “What’s the point of living? I’ve lost everything anyway. I should just die. I don’t want to hurt anymore.” Nauseating terror turns into dry heaves as hallucinations and tormenting voices plague her mind.

  Valiant speaks tenderly to Forsaken, and the atmosphere becomes charged with hope. “There is one who loves you and can save you. Cry out to Master Potter, it’s never too late.”

  His gossamer wings glow with resurrection power as the shining angel opens his mouth, and deep intercessory groans rise into the heavens on Forsaken’s behalf.

  Realizing heavenly reinforcements are on the way, Suicide quickly slithers around Forsaken, coiling his snake-like body around her wounded spirit like a python, seeking to crush her will to live. Clutched in his serpentine embrace, she yields to his fiendish venom and gives up all desire for life.

  The snake rasps, “Master Potter will just destroy you in the Mountain of Fire. Get it over with now; fall on that rusty knife over there. Just one brief moment of pain and then—everlasting peace.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE CHALLENGE

  In the heavens, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit delight in divine communication of holy passion, sharing thoughts and emotions too deep for spoken words.

  In the stillness of that intimate fellowship, the Father answers the deep, yearning desire of His Son, “What I have promised, I will fulfill. Remember when I reached down and scooped up wet clay and fashioned mankind in Our image?”

  Holy Spirit blazes with excitement, “You breathed life into
the lifeless clay, and instantly flesh began to stir. We continued to watch as the being quivered and pulsated and newly fashioned eyes opened in adoration and astonishment.”

  Amused and laughing, the Son says, “I remember. The angels were crowded around this created being trying to grasp the mystery hidden in Your Father’s heart—that this insignificant piece of clay would one day be My Bride.”

  The Father responds, “Yes! I gave her the capacity to love You of her own free will. The angels were confused, Satan raged, but We rejoiced.”

  SATAN ENTERS THE THRONE ROOM

  Vile repulsion rips through Heaven as the ghastly yet familiar stench of Satan approaches. Celestial guardians draw their swords, constantly bewildered that this repulsive being is allowed to enter the throne room. No matter how often he comes to accuse the Bride, the angels never get used to his odor and appearance. One who had long ago been beautiful and a much-loved companion is now so dark and hideously monstrous!

  Even his voice is ugly and evil in its resonance, as he snarls: “How foolish it was to make man out of clay. Why didn’t You form him from bronze, silver or gold, something that would last? Clay is fragile, perishable and weak. It’s so easy for me to crush and destroy Your useless clay vessels. Consider Your great casualties in our little war. It takes little more than one deceiving lie to embed my hooks deeply into Your foolish vessels.” Satan snarls, spits and laughs shrilly. “And then my weakest demon takes them out!”

  MASTER POTTER RESPONDS TO THE ACCUSER