But I’m in a happy mood, so it’s OK. “Calm down Shaun, of course I won’t tell him. But what happened?”
“Well, look, it’s kind of a strange story, but you remember that Simon sent me to see Shala for my punishment? You remember, in the meeting, right?” I have some vague recollection of that. “Well, so I went to see her, and you know what she said? No, right, course you don’t. She said nothing, cos she can’t speak English! Instead she stripped me down, right down to nothing, you’re getting this right? She takes off all my clothes, and she’s of course just wearing a pair of panties, then she slips those off too and she actually takes a lighter and burns them. We’re both there, we’re both naked. Now, you know what I’m like, right? I mean, it was hard, right, and she wasn’t saying anything, nothing at all, just looked at me with those strange eyes of hers.
“Let’s play a game” says Ruth. “Shh, I’m on the phone” I whisper but she just licks my face.
“Then I don’t know what she does, but suddenly I’m strapped down, on her desk, buck naked, my dick’s just sticking up there in the air and she’s over me, like a cat. And you know what happened?”
“What” I ask breathlessly.
“It’s called the ‘What Have You Done’ game. Do you know it? Of course you don’t, I’ve just invented it.”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, no, not nothing. I mean she caressed me, she touched me, she licked me, for over an hour. She went all over my body, except where it mattered, I mean really, I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t touch anything, I was dying John, I really was. I could feel the sweat all over, I just wanted something to happen, if she could just release me, just for a second, but she didn’t, and to make it worse she kept looking at me with those eyes, looking at me and smiling. And her hair. She let her hair just brush against me, against my face, my body, I mean you’ve seen her hair John.”
“I’ll go first,” says Ruth. “OK?”
I gulp for air. “What happened?”
“Hang on, I need to explain the rules first!” she slaps me playfully.
“Well she’s there, like I said, for such a long time. She’s just hanging. Her saliva is dripping onto my body. And she gets closer. And I’m thinking, finally, this is it. I tell you, John, the tip of her tongue was on my...”
“And?” I breathe.
“And, let’s say when I start, I think of something I have done that you can’t possibly have done. And if I can, I get a point.”
“And then there’s this huge sound. Like a roar, it felt in my ears at least, and this amazing pain that starts in my left hand and rips through me, and I turn my head, I mean I’m gone, that’s it, it’s all over, and of course, there he is, Simon, standing over me with this huge grin, with a pair of pliers in his hand and there’s just blood, and then suddenly the straps are gone and I look at my hand and it’s missing the little finger. I mean, the bastard ripped it off with a pair of pliers. And he and Shala, they’re there, they’re kissing and then they’re actually screwing, right in front of me, he hasn’t even bothered taking his clothes off, just there like that, and I’m yelling in pain, and I grab my shirt and wrap it round my hand, and Simon pauses for a second, I don’t know how he has the control and he looks at me and he says ‘Get out of here Shaun, and don’t screw up again’, and I tell you man, I’m gone.”
I don’t say anything.
“So mine is, I have been to space.”
“John?” Shaun is whispering now.
“Yeah?”
“Well? Have you done it or not? Do you think we can get another drink?” Ruth asks.
“John, you see, you won’t tell him, will you. I can’t go through that again. Please, John. I’m sorry I let you down. But after that, I just couldn’t deal with anything. I had told him I would personally look after you. No one else. But how could I after that? I forgot to monitor the situation. Then I got the call. I am really sorry John. Please understand. Please don’t tell him.”
“I understand” I whisper. “But you know what, Shaun? He’ll know anyway.” And I hang up, turn to Ruth and say “yeah, of course I have. Let’s get a drink.”
Chapter 22
The sound on the road changes and I can just make out from the harsh moonlight that we are going up a long, overshadowed gravel driveway, our driver starts accelerating, so hard we are pushed right back into our seats. Staring straight ahead I can make out the moonlit reflections of a large gothic mansion approaching rapidly ahead, as the tyres scream on the gravel and Ruth clutches my hand. The driver slams on the brakes and swings the car around violently, throwing me against the door and Ruth against me as the taxi stops and I feel the shudder go through my body. Stiffly I turn my head, rubbing my neck, and see Ruth’s smile as she shows me she’s managed to avoid spilling her drink, which she gracefully offers and I gratefully receive. The door opens automatically and we tumble out, and the driver’s gone before we can even say anything, leaving us there, on the gravel, our moonlit shadows thrown violently on the ground in front of the dark house above us, quiet and foreboding like the haunted mansions from our school days. We glance at each other, and Ruth resolutely takes my hand and marches me towards the entrance.
Inside, though, it’s completely different. I don’t really go for colour, for description or for sentiment, but the vast array, the vast swirl that greets us, such a contrast from the outside, actually makes me stop for a second, makes us both stop, as a little woman scurries towards us, dressed in some overdone floral number that stirs memories, and she starts fussing over us, caressing us, chattering to us, and before I can get my bearings we are in a massive, white room, austere yet inviting, a huge bed on one side with sheets that snap to the touch, they are so new, so pristine, two champagne glasses laid in perfect symmetry around a bottle that is at least 250 years old, a maiden with a perfect face and perfect black hair, dressed in a white blouse and nothing else, holds it between her naked legs before uncorking it, pouring it for us and lying face down in the middle of the bed. Our hostess winks at me and leaves, I pick up both glasses and hand one to Ruth. We toast each other and then the tiredness sweeps over me so much that I don’t even know what happens next.
Only the broken, fragmented recollections of a dark, bizarre dream, of a cold city and cold people.
***
I’m jolted awake by something I don’t understand. Where am I? I’m alone and it’s quiet. I’m naked in a huge bed. It’s light, I realise, shards of light come through the heavy curtains and touch my face. There’s a sound, takes me a moment to place, it’s a phone, not my phone, but the phone, next to my bed. Uncertainly I pick it up. “Hello?” my voice is croaky, broken.
“Hello, good morning!” the girl’s voice is so high and chirpy, full of happiness that it makes me catch my breath. “Just to let you know that your colleagues are ready. Please don’t rush, we have left breakfast, have a shower, do whatever you need. Thank you!” and she’s hung up before I can say anything.
Breakfast is huge, an enormous, packed tray, I don’t recognise most of the food on it, but then again I never eat food, as a rule, so it’s a welcome diversion, something novel. I pick at something that looks like bread, and I do drink the coffee, dark, thick and shockingly good. As I eat I look around my room again, it is spotless, immaculately clean and also completely ordered, no sign of anyone having been here, not even Ruth, not even me. Vaguely I wonder whether Ruth is around somewhere, but my mind feels a little fuzzy and I dispel those thoughts with more coffee.
Someone’s left new clothes in the wardrobe, it’s a fine jacket, koala wool I think, tailored perfectly for me over the white silk shirt. Before getting dressed, I appraise my body, still glistening from the shower, in the full length mirror. Still needs some more work, still not quite as toned as it should be, even after the pills I take. And something else, something darker, that I can’t quite place, like a shadow across my face. But I dismiss it quickly and focus on my appearance.
My sho
es click against the whitewashed wooden floorboards as I make the long journey across the room, to the door hidden in the whiteness of the walls. It glides open at my touch, perhaps I am disorientated but I had remembered a passage that led across, and then down some steps to the colourful reception when we arrived last night. Now I am confronted by a small room, a kind of alcove, with no exits except for a spiral staircase, winding upwards mysteriously. I turn back and look at my bedroom, just for a second, just in case, then shrug my shoulders and start the climb. Life is full of surprises.
It seems to take me a long time to get up the stairs, I can feel my breath slightly laboured and the pain in my legs as I emerge, in another, completely white, small room. There’s a door here too, and this time I have to push quite hard, before it swings open to a long, featureless, white corridor. At the end I can just make out a hazy, dark brightness. A dull noise, low vibrating machinery, touches my head.
[I’m guessing this is where Simon is holding some sort of meeting, or conference, slightly surprising it’s so soon after the last one, but maybe the situation has changed.]
I still feel slightly tired, slightly dizzy, as I make my way down the corridor to where the light’s coming from, a grey, frosted glass door, and I can hear too that the noise is coming from the other side, but it’s more distinct now, it’s not all the same, more like voices, talking, droning, with no tone or depth. I reach forward to open the door, but as I touch it, it actually seems to disappear, turn into smoke, and I can’t help but step through, and as I do the grey light becomes white and strong, the dull voices become loud and piercing, I put my hands in front of my eyes to shield them, and I stumble, trip, fall, strong hands grip my arms and lift me, surprisingly gently. And I find myself lifted up, and put back down. Carefully I take my hands away from my eyes.
I’m sitting in a very comfortable chair at the edge of an oval glass table, opposite two men, wearing phenomenal suits and dark glasses, both staring at me, smiling. Behind them there is no wall, only a huge glass window looking out over a countryside scene, a picture postcard scene, snow covering the fields and the trees, an old church in the background. Strange, I thought it was summer.
“Good morning, Mr Paris”; it’s the man on the right. “Good to see you again. You look well.” I stare at him. Perhaps I do but I have no idea... “You don’t recognise me? A shame, we saw each other recently.” He takes off his shades, and his face is transformed into thin, striking pose of Detective Stephen Carver.
He can obviously see my face change in recognition, and he smiles gracefully. “May I introduce my accomplice, erm, I mean, my associate, Detective Ian Morrell.” He slides his shades back on and touches his partner lightly on the arm.
Detective Morrell nods, ever so slightly, and says “Good morning, Mr Paris” in a deep, quiet voice.
“I can’t speak to you without my lawyer present, I’m afraid.” I sound professional, and start to get up.
“Relax, relax, John” says Stephen. “just relax, we’re just having a chat here, no big deal, right. We haven’t even asked you any questions yet. So nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all, OK.”
I nod, uncertainly, not sure why. He seems much more confident than last time.
“Now we just want to get a few things straight, ask a few questions, that’s all.”
“Erm,” I start, “I thought you said no questions.” My voice sounds a bit panicky. I hope Simon’s not listening. No. He wouldn’t do anything to me.
“No, no, I said we hadn’t asked you any questions yet, not that we weren’t going to.” Detective Carver’s voice is smooth, silky, reassuring, like his big smile. I still feel panicky though.
“What happened to Ruth?” I blurt out.
“Ruth?” this is Ian, or Detective Morrell. He looks questioningly, but at his partner, not at me. Detective Carver replies, “the man’s girlfriend,” and he turns to me and says, “I have no idea, why, should we know? Has she gone missing too?”
“She’s not my girlfriend” I mumble.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s not my girlfriend, just my friend.”
“Ah, OK, sorry, my mistake, you just seem to spend a lot of time talking to her and, erm, sleeping with her. She’s a little old for you, though, don’t you think? You could do a lot better, handsome man like you. Mind you, it’s your choice, don’t let me interfere, but I know a lot of girls, you just need to ask...”
“Maybe she’s good in bed.” This from Detective Morrell, but so low, so mumbled, I’m really not sure I caught it right.
Neither is Detective Carver, clearly, as he looks quizzically at Ian and puts his hand on his knee, “Excuse me, Ian?”
“Maybe she’s good in bed” he repeats, louder this time and Stephen nods, appreciatively, “the man has a point. Is she good in bed, John?”
I’m about to nod, when I realise what I’m doing and hold back. “Look,” I say, purposefully, “why am I here? Why are you here, in fact? What do you want to talk to me about. Or just get off my case, Stephen” I emphasise the last word to show him I’m not afraid.
“That’s Detective Carver,” he replies quietly, firmly, and I mumble, “sorry.”
“The reason we’re here, John” he replies, “is to make the world a safer place. Now, it seems to me that you have been mixed up in a number of, erm, strange incidents in recent weeks. Take, for instance, the ritual sacrifice of a girl at the same place, and at the same time, as a crash that you had. A crash whose details are still, shall we say, not very clear.” I swallow. “Take also, just for example, what seems to be a fight, leading to a massacre, in a nightclub three nights ago, where six Chinese gang members died, as well as two members of our own public.” Three nights ago?
“Now, John, we would really like to understand your involvement in these incidents. And that of your company, and of your boss, a certain Simon Hart.” How do they know his name, who he is?
Detective Morrell continues, taking over, I have to lean forward to hear him. “You’re probably wondering how we know his name, who he is?” He pauses. “All in good time.”
“First, though, I would like to know, we would like to know, whether the name Elvira means anything to you?”
My heart beats faster, but I betray nothing. “Erm, no, should it?”
They glance at each other. Detective Morrell reaches inside his pocket and pulls out something, a brown envelope, that he slides across the table to me. A grinning smiley, teeth bared, is drawn on the front. I gulp.
“Do you know what that is?” he asks.
I nod, nervously, shaking. “That,” he continues, “is a Very Happy Pill. Do you know how rare they are?”
I nod again, even more nervously, shaking even harder. He leans over to me until his face is close, until I can feel his breath, and he whispers “would you like it?”
My trembling hands reach over to the packet and start to undo it, I stop when his hand clamps down over mine. We stay like that, staring at each other. Detective Carver speaks again.
“Elvira”
I sigh. “It’s a patented technology”. Nothing, the hand doesn’t move. “It’s a method for generating power, significant power.” They’re still silent, staring at me. “I can’t say any more than that, I really can’t.”
Detective Carver stands and stretches out his arms, he walks round the table and sits on it, next to me. “Do you know about the name, Elvira?” he asks. “Goes back a long way, apparently. Apparently, John, Elvira was a witch.”
“A witch” echoes Detective Morrell.
“A sorceress, I should say. And not of the good kind. Into the dark arts.” He winks at me. “The black arts” he says slowly. “Did you know that?”
I shake my head and he gives me a warm smile. From his jacket pocket he takes out a packet of cigarettes and offers me one. I accept, of course. My right hand is still trembling slightly, as I accept a light, my left hand still caught.
“Eighty three years ago,
she died. You know, she has a strange history, fascinating actually. Before I became a policeman, I used to study the occult, and so I knew quite a lot about this. I’d heard of Elvira. She has an interesting history. She started quite small, you know, love potions and the usual stuff. Her speciality was chocolate, she used to make her own chocolate bars and put a strange mixture in, a little risky, a little unusual. Occasionally it worked, occasionally it killed people. When it worked though, it was strong and powerful. Interesting, if you look carefully you can see a few things in history, a few pacts and the like that formed about the same time she got involved. The King’s Alliance, for instance, which of course prevented all out war, if you study the texts, if you do a little cross referencing, it seems possible, even probable, that she is there. May just be coincidence, you never know. She built a reputation, though, she was quite well known, feted, even, in some circles, some quite powerful circles.”
He stops for a second, and puts his hand on my cheek, looking me intently. “She moved on. I think she was given a lot of help, but she moved on, and apparently, so they say, in any case, she developed this quite strange, quite amazing spell. It was called the Sun Spell. Maybe you’ve heard about it?”
I shake my head. “I’ve heard about it” says Detective Morrell.
“Have you Ian?” asks Detective Carver, appearing genuinely pleased, and interested. “Really? I never realised you had an interest in such things.”
“Normally I don’t, but I read a novel the other day that referred to it. I can’t remember what it was called, Catch The Sun, maybe.”
“Caught in the Sun? Yes, that’s right, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, it was a fictional account of the King’s Alliance and its aftermath. Not very well written but you can’t have everything, can you? In any case, the Sun Spell, or so they said, caught the energy from the sun and enabled people to use it in pure, concentrated form. Of course, none of us believe that now, but it was certainly a convenient way of explaining some of the mysteries that still sit behind that time period, wasn’t it? I find it fascinating. We still don’t really understand what happened at that point, do we....”
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