by Gary Kemble
The MC wore a white suit and black shirt. He was talking to someone dressed in black shirt, shorts and latex gloves, who Harry assumed was the referee. Harry danced back and forth and threw some punches, keeping warm.
The MC put his microphone to his mouth. ‘I’ve just been told that Corey Sparks unfortunately has been injured, and cannot fight,’ he said.
The crowd erupted, yelling abuse. A cup sailed through the air and slapped against the wire, spraying the mat with beer. The MC held up his hand.
‘But we have a very special treat for you. Ladies and gentlemen, a man you all know and love. Returning to the ring just one month after his spectacular Queensland title fight . . .’
The crowd was already screaming in anticipation, and this cranked up a notch when the opening riff of AC/DC’s ‘Back in Black’ pulsed from the sound system.
‘. . . Janeeeeeeek Murphyyyyyyyy!’
The spotlights swung to the other side of the arena. Janek Murphy ran down the aisle, high-fiving members of the crowd. He wore red shorts, a matching silk robe and a big, bushy beard.
Harry turned and Jim was in the ring, in the face of the MC and the referee. Harry danced over as Murphy climbed into the cage.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Jim said. ‘This is Harry’s first fight! This guy is a Queensland champion.’
The referee held his hands out. ‘Yeah I know. I just found out about it myself. Calm down!’
‘Calm down? This is a farce.’
Harry thought of Mistress Hel out there. She had blown him a kiss. He couldn’t disappoint her.
‘I can take him,’ Harry said.
All three of them looked at him, shocked.
‘Harry . . .’ Jim started.
‘I mean it,’ he said. And he did. He could feel power surging through the ground into his feet. Nothing could stop him. Not when he had Mistress Hel on his side.
The MC considered it a done deal, and left the ring. The referee shrugged. ‘If he wants to fight . . .’
Jim backed Harry into his corner. ‘You sure about this?’
Harry nodded.
‘Right. Listen. His background is Muay Thai kickboxing.’
Harry stared through the cage, into the darkness. She was out there somewhere. Harry jerked back as Jim slapped him on the cheek.
‘Harry! Stay with me. This guy’s built like a brick shithouse. But he’s slow. Well, relatively slow. So if you can get in under his guard you can do some damage. Okay?’
‘Under his guard. Got it.’
‘But Harry,’ Jim said, ‘watch his elbows. He’ll try and get in close and use his elbows and knees. Keep him at a distance. Be patient.’
Jim had one final word with the referee. ‘Keep this under control, okay? If it looks like . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah. I got it.’
Jim passed Harry on his way out of the cage. ‘Good luck.’
The referee gestured to Harry and Murphy. Murphy removed his gown. A dragon tattoo wound around his torso.
‘Fight when I say fight, break when I say break. Got it?’
Harry nodded. Murphy shuffled from foot to foot, staring at Harry.
‘Murphy – take it down a couple of pegs, okay? This is his first fight. We want to put on a good show, but don’t kill him.’
Murphy said nothing.
‘Murph?’
The bearded fighter inclined his head
‘Good deal,’ the referee said. ‘Touch gloves, return to your corners and come out fighting with the bell.’
They touched gloves. Harry turned for his corner, but something caught his eye. Five red marks, on Murphy’s back.
Oh shit.
The bell rang. Murphy lumbered in, fists up – guarding his body. The crowd roared. It reminded Harry of the sound the surf makes, crashing on a beach. Harry danced away. The cuts on his back throbbed with his heartbeat. His ears started ringing, to the point where he could only hear the ringing and the air rushing in and out of his lungs.
Murphy leapt forwards, grabbing Harry in a bear hug and driving his knee into his ribcage. Pain flared. Harry felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare, too slow and weak to break out of the grip. Then suddenly he was free, ducking his head back.
Wham! Harry saw the elbow out of the corner of his eye but too late to avoid it. White sparks flared across his vision and pain flashed along his spine and into his arms and legs, which collapsed under him. When his vision cleared, the referee had pushed Murphy back and was yelling at him, but Harry couldn’t hear anything. He opened and closed his mouth, checking for damage. His head was on fire, blood ran down his throat. He swallowed, trying to clear his ears. He blinked. Red darkness bloomed behind his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths, looked up and saw the referee standing over him. Talking to him.
Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could guess. Harry nodded.
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
The referee held onto his fists and Harry pushed up, to show him he was still with it. He followed the referee back into the centre of the mat.
There was no response from Murphy. No anger, no laughter. He just stood there like a robot. Not even shuffling from foot to foot.
‘Ready! Fight!’
Murphy steamed forwards, this time with a flurry of punches and kicks designed to do nothing more than push Harry into a corner. Harry, still stunned, ducked to one side and drove a kick at Murphy’s head, but he parried it away and lunged. Harry skipped out of his grasp, gave himself some room then launched a step-front kick, which Murphy blocked with his beefy forearms.
Murphy grabbed Harry and delivered another blow to his ribs. Harry retaliated with his own knee, then a flurry of punches. Murphy staggered back, dropped his arms. Harry saw his opportunity and launched himself in the air, spinning, aiming to plant his foot on Murphy’s jaw.
But Murphy anticipated the move and grabbed Harry’s ankle. It slipped out of his grasp almost straight away, but not before Harry tumbled from the air. A fist caught him on the way down. He looked up and saw Murphy above him, driving a heel towards his face. Harry rolled.
Air exploded out of his lungs as Murphy stomped him. Harry squinted up and saw Murphy about to smash a foot down on his arm. The referee rushed up beside Murphy, trying to get between them, but the Muay Thai expert batted him away.
Bam! Another kick to the stomach. Harry tried to get to his feet. Even over the ringing in his ears he could hear the crowd, but the cheering had turned to screaming. Harry regained one knee. He saw Murphy’s foot flying at his face in time to bat it away. It glanced off the side of his head, filling his vision with black spots. He went down on all fours.
Murphy launched himself into the air, landing on Harry’s back. Harry screamed, felt pain spasm through his whole body. He collapsed on the mat with Murphy on top of him. Harry felt fingers entwined in his hair, pulling his head back. Then the hair tore from his head and his jaw smacked against the floor. He rolled over onto his back, sending another blast of pain through his torso.
Murphy sat astride Harry, panting, holding his head in his hands. Harry’s arms were pinned by his sides. A referee grabbed Murphy, who let go of Harry and lashed out with an elbow. He looked at Harry and grinned through bloodstained teeth. He grabbed Harry’s chin in one hand and the back of his head with the other. Harry tried to buck him off but barely moved him, and his chest screamed in pain.
Murphy leant over Harry. ‘I offer this sacrifice to the Goddess.’ He looked up, as though scanning the crowd for her. His brow furrowed.
Then Murphy’s head snapped back and he collapsed backwards as two referees surged over him.
Harry’s vision doubled, then came back together. Murphy twisted like an eel, out of the grip of the referees. Harry saw the blood on Murphy’s back. Five red lines, mixing with his sweat and trickling down to his shorts.
If I don’t get to my feet I’m dead. Harry realised he couldn’t feel his feet, or his legs. The world dropped into slow motion. Murph
y ran for him. The referees chased him. Murphy drew his leg back, like a soccer player getting ready to boot in a ball from the penalty spot.
In his last moments of consciousness, Harry realised it wasn’t just ringing he could hear. He could hear something else now. A woman laughing. Mistress Hel.
CHAPTER 35
Harry opened his eyes, then closed them again as pain flooded his system. He tried to move his head, couldn’t. Pins and needles stabbed through his legs. He fell into the darkness, and let himself go. He wasn’t really thinking, wasn’t really dreaming. There was just nothing.
Harry felt a hand slip into his. He squeezed, and pain flared up his arm. A cool hand touched his forehead. He opened his eyes, then closed them again, because clearly he was dreaming. He opened them again. Three Becs looked at him. He blinked again and they merged into one. She looked worried and tired. Her eyes were puffy.
‘Harry?’
‘Are you real?’
Bec laughed and cried at the same time. She squeezed his hand. She looked up and Harry was aware of other people in the room. He felt a brief spasm of panic, and tried turning his head. He was rewarded with a blast of pain so powerful he greyed out for a few moments.
‘It’s okay, Harry. It’s me and Dave.’
He looked into Bec’s eyes.
All of a sudden he was aware of how dry his throat was. His eyes darted to the glass of water on the bedside table. ‘Can you . . .’
‘Of course.’
She picked up the cup and guided the straw into Harry’s mouth. He took a sip, which seemed to soak into his dry mouth without any of it making it down his throat. He took another sip. It was heavenly cool.
Bec put the cup back down, took Harry’s hand again. ‘There are no permanent injuries,’ she said. ‘The doctor said you were lucky he didn’t break your spine. There’s some swelling. A cracked rib. Whiplash. Murphy gave your head a good stomping . . .’
‘I always knew you had a bony head, mate,’ Dave said.
Harry tried to smile but it hurt his lips. He looked from one to the other.
‘What’s wrong?’
Dave looked to Bec. ‘It’s Sandy,’ she said.
Harry’s heart went into overdrive. Splotches blossomed across his vision. His fingers tingled. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to hold onto it, in spite of the pain in his ribs.
‘What about her?’ But he knew. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew.
‘She was attacked. While you were fighting.’
‘Is she . . .’
‘She’ll be okay. A neighbour came over, to drop off a carrot cake,’ Dave said. ‘Damned lucky timing.’
‘It was her,’ Harry said.
‘Who?’
‘Her. Mistress Hel. She was at the fight.’
The door opened and a doctor in a white coat entered the room. She looked surprised, peering from Harry to the others, then back to Harry. ‘Visiting hours are over,’ she said. ‘Mr Hendrick needs his rest.’
Dave turned to her. ‘It’s okay, doctor, I’m a nurse here.’
She looked him up and down like he was some kind of alien race. Harry smiled, in spite of the pain.
‘Oh, well if the nurse says it’s okay to disturb my patient . . .’
‘We’d best be going,’ Dave muttered.
‘Yes,’ the doctor said. ‘Good idea.’
Bec leant over and gave Harry a kiss on the forehead.
Dave tipped him a salute, then ushered Bec out the door.
The doctor approached the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like shit.’
‘Uh huh, that’s to be expected.’
She took a small light out of her pocket, flashed it in each of Harry’s eyes. It felt as though she’d stabbed him in the brain. She tested his vision, asked him to follow her finger without turning his head.
‘I can’t turn my head,’ he said.
‘Should make things easier for you then.’
She felt his neck, got him to squeeze each of her hands with his. Went to the foot of the bed, pulled the covers clear of his feet, then ran some sort of implement along the base of each foot. Harry felt intense relief that he could feel the scratching sensation on both. She wrote some notes on his chart. Then she reached behind him and pulled out a small button on a plastic thread.
‘Painkillers on demand,’ she said. ‘Push it when you need it. It will stop when you’ve reached the maximum dose, unfortunately.’ She gave him a chilly smile. ‘We’ll try and get you onto Panadol tomorrow. You were lucky. You were close to literally being unable to walk out of here.’
‘You should have seen the other guy,’ Harry said. He was going for a laugh, but it had the opposite effect on the doctor, who went still.
‘I did,’ she said.
‘What?’
She stared at him. ‘Did your friends not . . .’ She looked towards the door. ‘Sorry, doesn’t matter, you try and . . .’
‘What?’
The doctor looked away.
‘What? Come on, doc. You can’t . . .’
‘The other fighter. I saw him earlier, because he’s in the morgue.’
‘What!’
‘After they pulled him off you, he settled right down. Said he’d had a bad day, said his wife had split up with him, said he lost control but that now he was okay. They escorted him outside, said that the police would want to talk to him. Said it depended on you whether or not they charged him. He said he wanted to go back to his car and get his smokes.
‘They found him on the road fifteen minutes later. He’d thrown himself in front of a truck.’
* * *
The hospital seemed too bright, smelt too clean. Harry squinted, disorientated, as Dave led him through the warren of corridors. He had no idea where he was going, but was aware of Dave’s firm hand at his elbow, guiding him. With each step, a stab of pain shot up his spine. Dave had offered to fetch a wheelchair, but Harry refused. Partly because he deserved the pain, partly because this way it would be slightly longer before he faced Sandy.
They went up in a lift. It was visiting hours, and a few people were coming with flowers or leaving with worried looks. Harry saw a man with two children who were obviously his kids. He looked drawn, the kids oblivious. Dave was frequently nodding to doctors, nurses and orderlies.
They stopped outside the door. Harry felt fevered. His hands were shaking, his vision narrowing. It had only been a couple of days since the fight and yet Harry had had a lot of time to think. As the pain subsided, Harry had been drawn more and more to Mistress Hel. She’d tried to have him killed. He knew that, and yet . . . and yet, Harry thought if Mistress Hel had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. He’d thought maybe she was just trying to teach him a lesson. And as the pain from the beating subsided, Harry started to believe he’d deserved that lesson. Maybe now he could be a better servant to her.
‘Dave. I don’t feel so good. Maybe you could go in for me and find out what she wants,’ he said.
Dave’s hand clamped around Harry’s arm. ‘You’ll be right.’ He pushed him through the door.
At first, Harry thought they were in the wrong room. The woman in the bed bore no resemblance to the tanned, lively Sandy Harry knew, with the friendly eyes and full smile. Instead, there was a bloated, bruised face, half covered with bandages. One eye swollen shut, lips cracked and brown with dried blood. The arms, sitting on top of the covers, were black and blue. Her right hand was wrapped in bandages, fingers splinted.
She looked at him. Harry thought he could take it, the waves of guilt washing over him. Then she tried to smile. Her good eye crinkled shut, her lip split again and blood trickled down her chin. Harry felt his knees give out, but Dave was there, holding him up, propelling him forwards. Harry thought he was going to vomit.
Dave eased Harry into a seat.
‘I’m sorry, Sandy – I’m so, so sorry. I knew, but . . .’ Harry found tears were streaming down his face.
Sandy pla
ced a hand on his, looked at him until he stopped crying. ‘I thought she was trying to take you,’ she croaked. Harry had to lean forwards to hear her. He smelt blood and antiseptic. ‘But I didn’t realise how far she’d gone.’
Harry put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the bed. He felt Dave’s solid presence behind him, guarding the door.
‘What’s happening to me, Sandy? Please, please tell me you know.’
‘Of course I do, you stupid boy. I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, but she’s got her hooks in you bad.’
Harry looked up.
‘She’s a witch. A sorceress. A harpy. She controls men like puppets. Not such a difficult thing to do, maybe, given her, ah, charms,’ she said.
Harry felt Sandy’s stare boring into him. He took her hand. It was cold and clammy. He felt concern vying with anger and disgust.
‘Could you pass me the water, love?’
Harry looked around, but Dave was already leaning past him, picking up the cup and putting the straw between Sandy’s lips. She took a couple of sips, wincing each time.
‘She wanted me,’ Harry said. ‘She went to all the trouble of ensnaring me. Why would she try and kill me?’
‘You’re a threat to her. As am I.’
‘You? Because you can sense what she’s doing?’
‘More than that. I know how to break the spell she has over you. I’ve been busy, these past few weeks. Deciphering the talisman she’s left at every sacrifice site. Working out exactly which of the hundreds of demons she’s been trying to summon. The key to her power is her identity. Her true identity. Harry, do you remember that name I was sent?’
Harry tried to think. He vaguely remembered something, but couldn’t put his finger on it.
‘Elizabeth Tawny,’ Sandy said.
‘Like the port,’ Harry said.
‘That’s right. Like the owl.’
‘She and a friend were in a suicide pact,’ Harry said. ‘Except the friend didn’t die.’
‘For Lily Sweeney it was a ritual. The first step in becoming . . . whatever it is she is now.’
Harry felt like he’d been sucker punched. His head spun. ‘Lily Sweeney? Mistress Hel? Murdered her friend. Why? Why would she do that?’