Dark Ink

by Gary Kemble

  He sat up, looked around. Mistress Hel was back in her throne, smiling slyly at him.

  ‘Well, hello there.’

  ‘Hi . . . Mistress.’

  As his eyes focused he noticed the mess he’d made. His semen and blood on the floor.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a slave who’ll clean it up.’

  He rubbed his face. He could see it all now. How it all fit together. It was as though he was looking at a map. It was so simple.

  ‘That . . . was . . . incredible.’

  ‘You understand now. Good. Go take a shower.’

  Harry picked himself up on shaky legs. He felt like he’d just done an intense workout after taking a few weeks off. He gently walked to the shower and put the water on full, as hot as he could take it, cleansing his face and chest. He turned, wincing as the jets burrowed into the fresh cuts on his back. His mind flashed to the photos he’d seen, the other victims, with the cuts on their backs. But still, he felt no fear.

  He got out of the shower, dried himself off and saw his clothes still sitting there. It felt like a thousand years since he’d taken them off. He pulled his shirt over his head, then yanked his pants on. When he walked back out to the playroom, Mistress Hel was waiting with a handheld EFTPOS machine.

  ‘Cash or credit?’ she said.

  For a moment Harry was rocked by the juxtaposition. He’d just had the most incredible, the most spiritual, experience of his life . . . and now she wanted money? She seemed to know what he was thinking, but just sat there smiling at him. He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, handed over his card.

  ‘Credit.’

  She put through a transaction for $500. Harry punched in his PIN.

  ‘Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Hendrick.’

  She put the machine down on a bench, placed a hand at the small of his back and aimed him towards the door. Her hand felt warm. She guided him through and up the stairs.

  ‘I’ll see you again next week. Same day, same time,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ Harry said. His mind still had that calm feeling. He told himself that there was no way he’d be back here in a week. He was ‘cured’ now. But another part of him wanted to experience that massive relief once more. He had never felt so good.

  CHAPTER 28

  Harry woke before sunrise, feeling refreshed, and decided to take a run. He got out of bed, not noticing the small bloodstains on his sheets. He scrounged around in the semi-dark, looking for his running gear and threw on a singlet, shorts and pulled on his shoes.

  As he started running, he assessed his condition. He felt great, except for his calf muscles. It took him a moment to recall why they hurt so much, and when he did, it seemed like something out of a dream. He pushed it away. The morning was too glorious to bother with any of that. His breath plumed out of his mouth. The air felt so fresh. Had it ever felt this great? So crisp and sweet?

  He passed a guy delivering newspapers, cut towards the water tower, legs pumping up the steep incline. At the top of the hill he paused, staring out at the city lights, standing underneath the big old fig tree. He vaguely remembered feeling as though he could pull all the pieces of the puzzle together. That wasn’t quite true but he felt like it was at least possible. He was on the cusp of something. He kicked off, through the winding streets at the top of the hill, until he stood under the water tower. There was a security fence and cameras. They only let people in during the day. There was also a plaque to Rob Johnson and his girlfriend. Rob’s dossier, revealing the despicable acts of Andrew Cardinal and his minions, had been hidden in the water tower for years, until Harry found it. He stared at the tower, remembering the night when he thought his life was over. Everything was clear in that moment after Cardinal fell to his death: a sudden death putting everything in perspective, clearing all the crap away and letting Harry see what was truly important.

  ‘Bec.’

  He wasn’t aware he was even thinking of her until the name passed his lips. He knew what he had to do.

  * * *

  ‘Jesus, Harry!’

  Bec pulled her apartment door closed behind her. Red skirt, matching shoes and jacket. White blouse. Harry knew when she usually left for work, and knew that her first stop was always the coffee place downstairs.

  He offered her the cup. ‘By way of apology,’ he said.

  She frowned, but took the coffee. ‘Thanks. But . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. Her name is Lily. Lily Sweeney. She was texting me to confirm an appointment I’d made with her . . . for an interview.’ His mind flashed to that feeling of release, as Mistress Hel made that final cut.

  Bec stared at him so intently that he feared she’d somehow seen what was going on in his head.

  ‘Harry . . .’

  In that moment, Harry couldn’t tell which way it was going to go. Harry’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. It kept buzzing. Bec’s eyes darted down.

  ‘Are you going to get that?’

  Harry grinned, pulled the phone out of his pocket. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sandy’s name pop up.

  ‘It’s Sandy. Sandy Flores.’

  ‘The psychic?’

  ‘Yeah . . . you’d have thought she’d know I was busy.’

  Bec laughed. ‘So, are you going to answer it?’

  The phone stopped ringing, and this time they both laughed.

  ‘Can I walk you to work?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said. ‘I just – I’ve been neck deep in this stuff. I haven’t felt I could talk to anyone about it. And I just didn’t want to get into it. Especially not after I bailed at dinner because of her.’

  ‘Harry, you can tell me anything.’ She took his hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Ow!’ Harry said, as a bolt of pain shot up his arm.

  Bec looked at his hand, then gently lifted it. She blinked. Harry showed her the other one to save prolonging the conversation.

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘Yeah, got them done the other day.’

  ‘They’re . . . they’re pretty,’ she said. She stood on tiptoes and pecked him on the lips.

  They walked out into the street together. Harry’s back thumped in time with his heartbeat. When he blinked, he could see Mistress Hel, looking down and laughing at him.

  ‘So,’ Bec said. ‘Do you want to try me out?’ She offered him a wry smile.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The telling-me-anything thing.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ Harry said, looking at the stained pavement. ‘Do you mean the tattoos?’

  ‘If you like, but I’m more interested in this dominatrix.’

  ‘Okay. Lily Sweeney. AKA Mistress Hel, with one L.’

  ‘Jesus, what is she? A hipster or something?’

  Harry laughed. ‘Anyway, it seems like she’s implicated in some murders, or suicides.’

  ‘Which are they? Murder or suicide?’

  ‘It’s as if she has somehow compelled four men to take their own lives. And one man to kill a workmate.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  Harry thought of Godwin, choking down pieces of mirror. ‘Maybe. Anyway, the police wanted me to look into it. They thought, given what happened last year with Cardinal, that I might be able to come at it from . . . I don’t know, a different angle.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘One of her clients is a high-ranking union official, and he’s using union money to pay her.’

  ‘Shit.’

  They stopped to cross the road. Around them, people huddled in big coats and scarves, eyes on their phones. Ahead, sun was streaming down Elizabeth St, turning the buildings gold. He hated this city sometimes, but at moments like this it was hard not to love it.

  ‘Yeah, and that’s not even going into the paedophile ring,’ he said.

  Bec gave him a sideways glance. ‘Now you’re just showing off.’ She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

  His phone b
uzzed in his pocket. Harry took it out, looked at the screen. It was Sandy again.

  ‘It’s okay. It’s just Sandy.’

  The lights changed. They walked across the road.

  ‘Harry, I don’t mind if you take it.’

  ‘Nah, it’s cool. I’ll phone her back. I’m enjoying this walk with you. So anyway, enough about me. What’s going on with you?’

  ‘Ah, you know. Work is work. My boss wants me to apply for this management leadership thing, but I dunno . . .’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘Yeah, he says it will be really good for my career.’

  ‘I think you’d be awesome at it.’

  ‘Harry. Do you even know what I do?’

  ‘Something to do with money?’

  She gave him a playful punch in the arm. ‘I’m a risk assessor.’

  ‘Yeah. I totally knew that.’

  ‘You live on your own planet a lot of the time, don’t you?’

  Harry thought of his battle with the tattoos. He thought of himself strung up in Mistress Hel’s playroom.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Anyway, this thing – it’s overseas . . . It’s a twelve-month placement in London.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Still want me to apply for it?’

  Harry stopped and looked at Bec. ‘Only if you take me with you.’

  Bec grinned at him, then wrapped her arms around him. It was almost comical, their bodies bulky with winter clothes. And Harry found himself crying. The tears erupted out of him, down his cheeks, cooling his face as the wind blew on them. She squeezed him harder.

  Harry wrapped his arms around Bec and lifted her off the ground. The cuts in his back flared. The pain seemed worse than it should have. Harry lowered her to the pavement.

  ‘I’m serious,’ Harry said.

  Bec placed her hands on the side of his head. ‘Let’s . . . let’s just see how it goes. I haven’t even applied for it yet.’

  ‘Okay.’

  They walked the rest of the way to work together, not talking, just holding hands. Harry felt torn. Full of love but also full of guilt for the secret he was carrying.

  ‘Well, this is me, Harry Hendrick.’

  She put her cool fingers on his face again, stood on tiptoe so she could kiss him on the lips. He held her head between his hands, ran his fingers through her long hair. In that moment he had clarity. He would phone Mistress Hel as soon as Bec was in the building. Cancel the appointment. The story wasn’t worth it. He’d give up journalism, if that’s what it took. He fantasised about working in London. They’d be away from it (her) all. They’d be safe.

  The kiss ended. Bec put her arms around his waist.

  ‘Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Six-thirty?’

  ‘Perfect. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  Bec walked towards the revolving door. She turned and waved. Harry waved back, then pulled out his phone.

  Harry dialled Mistress Hel’s number, worried that if he didn’t do it straight away he’d forget about it or change his mind. He felt a heavy ball of lead in his gut. Tingling in his fingers.

  ‘I’m all tied up at the moment. Leave a message.’

  At the sound of her voice, it all came flooding back. His knees buckled, and he staggered to a nearby bus stop.

  ‘Ah . . . it’s Harry . . . call me back, please.’

  Harry hung up and stared at the phone, shakes rolling through his body. Did he need to cancel? Maybe he was being a bit hasty. He put the phone away, stared at his feet. Why did he make the first appointment? Because I needed to see what it was like. Why did he need to make a second appointment? Because I need her to trust me. I need her in order to get the story.

  Harry shut his eyes, rubbed his temples. Was that even true? He wasn’t sure. She was the story, right? Without her there was nothing.

  ‘Without her there’s nothing,’ Harry muttered, not sure if he was talking about Mistress Hel or Bec.

  The day seemed colder now. He pulled his coat tighter about himself and headed for his car.

  CHAPTER 29

  Back at home, he put the heater on and walked around the house, restless. He thought of Bec. He thought of them living together in London. Away from all this. But it didn’t seem real. It felt like remembering a movie he’d seen a long time ago. His mind kept returning to Mistress Hel. Red lips. High heels. The sting of the crop against his back.

  His back.

  He reached under his shirt and gingerly fingered the wound on his right shoulder blade. It stung at the touch. He pulled his finger away and looked at it. The tip was stained with blood. But there was something else. Something black.

  ‘Shit.’

  He pulled his shirt off and walked to the bathroom. He felt like he was experiencing deja vu. He looked over his shoulder, into the mirror. Blinked. Wiped his eyes. Looked again.

  ‘No.’

  His phone rang. He immediately thought of Mistress Hel, but he wasn’t sure what he would say to her now. It had seemed so obvious mere hours before. He strode to the table and looked at his phone: Sandy.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, irritated.

  ‘Harry! Oh, I was so worried. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  A pause. ‘Are you sure?’

  Harry clamped down on the anger. Bit his tongue until the taste of blood filled his mouth. Clenched his fist.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?’

  ‘Oh. I . . . well . . .’

  ‘Sandy, I’m really quite busy so . . .’

  ‘The spirits. I’m hearing that you’re in trouble.’

  ‘You’ve been wrong before, Sandy. Remember?’

  It was an awful thing to say. Years before, Sandy had believed she had located the body of a missing boy. She did find a body, but not the one the authorities were looking for. Anger swamped his guilt.

  ‘Sandy. I know that you were a big help to me last year, with the whole . . . you know . . .’ Harry’s back pulsed. He could feel five points of fire, burning. When he closed his eyes, he could see them in the darkness: tiny slits, gateways. He heard Mistress Hel muttering in his ear. Smelt her perfume. ‘But it doesn’t mean that I’m always in crisis. I had my crisis, remember? I’m leading a normal life now.’

  ‘But Harry, what about the symbols under the doormat?’

  Harry suppressed the anger again. Why had he ever even told her about that? She was a crazy old woman. A lonely, crazy old woman.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment Harry thought he’d spoken those words aloud.

  ‘Okay, Harry. Sorry I bothered you.’ The line went dead.

  Harry felt a momentary stab of belated guilt, but then the lines on his back flared, so hot and bright that he cried out. He returned to the bathroom and checked out his back again in the mirror.

  He was marked. Five cuts, swollen and red. Infected?

  ‘No,’ Harry whimpered. ‘No, no, no.’

  He reached over and pressed the one on his right shoulder, gasping at the pain. A few drops of blood trickled down his back, and then the black stuff, like hot tar.

  ‘What the . . .’

  He wiped his hand across the cut then pulled it back so he could look at it. The black stuff was sticky. He lifted his fingers to his nose, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He heaved. The smell was like rotting meat crossed with burning metal.

  He took a deep breath and centred himself. He put his shirt back on, walked out into the sunroom at the front of the house and stared at the water tower.

  Could it be to do with the tattoo at the back of his neck, a tattoo with the sole purpose of protecting its wearer from harm? All the others had disappeared in the lightning strike. Why not that one?

  ‘I lied to her,’ he said quietly, remembering when Mistress Hel had asked about his tattoo.

  His phone r
ang. Harry pulled it out of his pocket and saw Mistress Hel’s name on the screen. He considered ignoring her, letting it go to messagebank. Make her wait, for a change. But even as he thought it, he was answering.

  ‘Hello, Harry,’ she said.

  Harry dropped to his knees, not even aware he was doing it.

  ‘We had a rule, do you remember?’

  Harry opened his mouth, closed it again.

  ‘You are to address me as Mistress. Even on phone messages. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  ‘I’ll forgive you this time, Harry.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  ‘Okay then. What did you want anyway?’

  Harry swallowed. He couldn’t remember. ‘Just to hear your voice, Mistress.’

  ‘Liar,’ she said. He could tell she was smiling. ‘What have you been doing this morning?’

  ‘I made up with my girlfriend, Mistress.’

  ‘Aw, cute. Now, just to be clear. Who is the number one priority in your life?’

  Harry tried to remember Bec’s kiss. He tried to remember the feeling of her arms around him. It was hazy. Unreal.

  ‘You are, Mistress.’

  ‘That’s right. Don’t forget it. I’ll see you next Tuesday night. And Harry?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress?’

  ‘Don’t waste my time again.’

  The line went dead. Harry gasped for breath.

  * * *

  Harry paced in the lounge room, nervous energy coursing through him. His neck felt like it was on fire, and his back pounded in sickening bursts that sent black spots blooming across his vision.

  He was drawn to the memories of his session with Mistress Hel, to that moment of release. It was comforting. It made him feel like he was safe and that everything would be okay. Harry slapped himself, grabbed his phone and dialled Phil.

  ‘Queensland Police Media Unit. Phil speaking.’ Phil sounded bored.

  ‘Phil, it’s Harry.’

  ‘Hey, mate, how’s things?’

  Harry felt himself slipping again and bit his knuckle. ‘The suicides. I know who’s responsible. You need to get someone to bring her in.’

  ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

  ‘She goes by the name of Mistress Hel.’