Dark Ink

by Gary Kemble

  She got out of the van and Johnny slammed the doors. Harry considered bolting.

  ‘You can run,’ Mistress Hel said, as though reading his mind. ‘Go on. Give me your phone and run away. Try and foil my plans. Go back to your girlfriend. Enjoy the last moments of life as you know it.’

  She stood there, gun lowered. She meant it. He could go. Harry’s mind reeled. He tried to calculate the odds of him getting onto the police, convincing them there was a massive truck bomb headed for the Ekka. Harry cursed.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ she said. ‘You can ride up front with us.’

  Harry registered the glow of the lights before he saw any of the actual rides, and his heartbeat quickened. Johnny hadn’t said a word, despite Harry’s attempts to engage him in conversation. From time to time Mistress Hel would jab the pistol into Harry’s ribs, to warn him against pushing too hard. He could feel his phone in his pocket, but couldn’t see him getting an opportunity to use it. When they exited the freeway, Harry saw the top of the Ferris wheel.

  ‘So, this goddess, does she have a name?’ Harry said.

  ‘Not one that can be pronounced by humans.’

  ‘Must make it awkward at dinner parties.’

  Traffic was snarled around the exhibition ground, Ekka traffic and the people who didn’t realise the Ekka was on, or who had forgotten, and found themselves trapped. On top of that, they were in a police van so everyone was driving extra safe, which was making matters worse.

  ‘Mistress, should I flick on the lights and sirens?’ Johnny said.

  She checked her watch. ‘No need.’

  Eventually they cleared the gridlock. Johnny pulled into the RNA Showgrounds and stopped at the gate. He wound down his window as a young constable approached his side of the truck. Harry felt the gun in his ribs again.

  ‘Smile,’ Mistress Hel said. ‘Say nothing. Or I’ll shoot her in the face.’

  ‘Hey,’ the cop said.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘Got the special guests for the fundraising thing. Lilith Sweeney and Harry Hendrick.’

  The constable checked her clipboard, folded back a couple of pages, ticked off their names with a pen.

  ‘They needed an Incident Response van?’ She looked from Harry to Mistress Hel. Harry tried to send a warning to her through force of will alone.

  ‘Dunno. Someone probably screwed up. You know how it is.’

  The constable gave Johnny a wry smile. ‘Yep, same shit, different day, am I right? You need someone to clear the way?’

  ‘Nah. I can handle it.’

  The constable waved them on and Johnny flicked on the hazard lights and crawled through the crowd.

  CHAPTER 44

  Don Clack felt like he was going to vomit. All around him, men in tuxedos paraded their trophy wives. The grog flowed freely. It was turning out to be a hell of a successful night, despite his initial reservations. But there were far too many familiar faces from a scene Clack had left behind years ago. Many of them recognised him and he could see in their eyes that they were freaked out too. It wasn’t helping that Marcus Wilson was nowhere to be found. Had Marcus been caught and turned? He’d certainly have plenty of motivation to blow the lid off the whole ring. Clack had thought about leaving, but every time he did, the cuts on his back flared and his body was filled with this strange calming sensation. It was that kinky bitch. She’d done something to him.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket: Showtime.

  Clack had no idea what ‘Showtime’ meant, and didn’t recognise the number, but at the same time he felt compelled to walk up to the low stage at the front of the room. He felt sweaty. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The cuts on his back pounded in time with a throbbing in his genitals. He salivated in anticipation.

  Clack climbed the stairs to the stage and stood in front of the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you could just take your seats,’ he said. He had no idea where these words were coming from. He tried to walk off stage. He imagined himself walking off stage, but then found himself still in front of the mic, the crowd looking expectantly at him. Clack wiped the sweat out of his eyes, and grinned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But he was rooted to the spot.

  ‘Thank you so much for joining us and thank you so much for your support of the Lilith Foundation. For those who don’t know me, I’m Don Clack, the secretary of Australian United Workers. Does anyone here like magic?’

  A few rowdy voices called out.

  ‘Great. Because we’ve got a magic show for you. Can you fellas at the back get the doors?’

  At the back of the room, two guys pulled the huge hangar-style doors open. Headlights flooded the room. Guests had their phones out, and were chattering excitedly. Clack now realised why the room had been laid out with a wide corridor down the middle, leading to what he’d assumed was a dance floor in front of the stage. As the police van entered the room, it put its flashers on and issued a short blast from the sirens. A woman barked a short scream, and people laughed. Clack wanted to scream too but instead he grinned.

  The van pulled to a stop in front of the stage. The headlights turned off, and Clack caught a glimpse of Mistress Hel through the glass. His legs felt weak.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great pleasure to introduce to you – Mistress Hel!’

  * * *

  As they pulled into the pavilion, Harry saw Don Clack on the small stage at the front of the room. A couple of hundred of people sat at tables around the room, smiling and clapping. He rubbed his face.

  ‘What is wrong with these people?’ Harry said.

  ‘I told you,’ Mistress Hel said, ‘most of the time you don’t need magic to get people to do what you want. In this case all it took was a few crates of wine.’ She placed a gloved hand on Harry’s and whispered in his ear, ‘It’s not even very good wine.’

  Johnny gave the siren a quick whoop. The people closest to the van let out cries of surprise, then cheered.

  ‘Park right in the middle of the pentagram, sweets,’ Mistress Hel said.

  Harry quickly surveyed the scene. Multiple bottles of wine on pretty much every table, and wait staff making sure the tables stayed well stocked.

  ‘Do all these people deserve to die, Lily? The waiters? The kitchen hands? The people outside? You’re going to kill hundreds, maybe thousands.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear, Harry?’ she said. ‘We all die. What’s important is using our lives to make a difference.’

  Outside the van, the crowd applauded and cheered. Mistress Hel slid her gun into her pocket. She climbed over Harry, giving him a peck on the forehead before she opened the door and got out of the van. Johnny pulled out a phone, an old Nokia. It chimed as he powered it up. His thumb rested on the ‘Send’ button.

  * * *

  Clack felt light-headed as Mistress Hel ascended to the stage and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Someone wolf-whistled.

  ‘You’ve done well,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’

  ‘I have sinned,’ Clack said. ‘I give my life for the Goddess.’

  ‘All in good time.’

  Clack took a step back as Mistress Hel grabbed the microphone. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. How are we?’

  Drunken cheers.

  ‘That’s great. Could we get the doors closed, please? A bit of privacy?’

  Wait staff around the room moved to the doors and closed them. Mistress Hel pulled the gun from her pocket. There was some nervous laughter.

  ‘Now, I’m going to give this gun to Don here,’ she said, and handed it over. ‘And he’s going to shoot anyone who gets out of their seat.’

  More nervous laughter. Near the front of the room, a ruddy-faced man pushed up out of his seat. Clack moved. It felt as though he was floating above himself, able only to watch as he strode off the stage, gun out.

  ‘What if I need to . . .’

  Bang. Real screams now, as blood and gore jetted fr
om the back of the man’s head. Clack felt a surge of adrenaline and a burst of almost orgasmic pleasure, as he watched the dead man stumble back over his chair.

  One table over, a woman made for the door. Clack twisted and fired. Bang. The round caught her in the back, coming out her chest and severing her string of pearls. They bounced across the linen tablecloth, landing alongside spots of her blood. Again, Clack felt a surge of pleasure flow through him, from his groin to his fingertips.

  ‘STAY. IN. YOUR. SEATS,’ Mistress Hel bellowed.

  Clack spun, looking for someone else to stand up so he could shoot them. He knew it was wrong. He knew he would go to prison, if he lived that long, but it felt so good. A man towards the back of the room made to stand up, then saw Clack’s gun trained on him. Clack’s finger tightened on the trigger and the man dropped back into his seat.

  ‘Let that one live. For now. Give me the gun,’ Mistress Hel said. Clack handed it to her. ‘Drag those two onto the platform. Quickly, while the blood is still warm.’

  A silence descended on the room. People were crying. Outside there were sirens, and screams. Clack made his way between the tables to grab the bodies.

  ‘When we came in, I noticed a few of you taking photos with your phones. Please feel free to keep doing so. Take photos. Video. Stream it. Don’t forget the hashtag. It’s important people know what happened here. That they understand. Call your loved ones and say goodbye. Jesus, call the cops if you like – I mean, the ones who aren’t already sitting in this room. And make sure you tell them that I have a massive truck bomb,’ she gestured to the van, ‘which I’ll detonate if they get within five hundred metres of me.’

  ‘Give me the phone, Johnny,’ Harry said.

  Outside the van, Clack dragged the bodies through the crowd. Johnny stared through the windscreen. His finger remained poised over the green button.

  ‘Johnny? I know what you’re feeling. For once I can say that and know it to be true. But she doesn’t control you. You are in control of you. I know it seems hard to believe right now, but it’s true.’

  Harry stared at the swallows on the back of his hands.

  ‘Do you really want all these people to die? That woman out there. Did she deserve to die?’

  Clack dumped the woman’s body in front of the truck. Harry wondered if Johnny could even hear him. A tear leaked from the corner of Johnny’s eye and ran down his cheek, dropping onto his shirt.

  ‘Just give the phone to me, Johnny, and I swear, I’ll take responsibility. She’ll never hurt you again.’

  Johnny looked at Harry. It seemed as though it took all of his strength to perform that simple action. Johnny’s hands were shaking badly, his thumb lightly brushing the Send button. Harry reached for the phone.

  Then the door opened behind him and Clack yanked him out of the van. Harry fell to the ground, landing in a pool of blood.

  ‘Come up here, Harry,’ Mistress Hel said.

  Harry pushed himself up, but remained sitting, blood soaking into his pants.

  Mistress Hel pouted. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to make me beg, are you?’

  Clack dragged Harry along the ground until he found his feet and walked up on stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, ace reporter Harry Hendrick,’ she said. Clack clapped as though he was at the football. The only other sound was hysterical laughter somewhere in the room.

  ‘Now, I’m going to need some volunteers from the audience, to add to these two,’ Mistress Hel said, gesturing to the bodies. Blood spouted from each – as well as the pools near the wounds, it was running in rivulets, marking out a shape around the van.

  ‘Any volunteers?’ Mistress Hel said. ‘No takers? Okay then,’ she said, and pulled from her back pocket the notebook she’d taken from Wilson’s safe. She held it up for everyone to see. ‘This belongs to Marcus Wilson, who is trussed up in the back of the van.’

  Shocked cries greeted the announcement.

  ‘Yes, the great Marcus Wilson. Hero of Brisbane. And paedophile. He raped me. He raped my colleague in the van there. And many others. And he took photos. And he sold those photos. He was very particular about record-keeping.’ She threw the book to Harry, who caught it.

  ‘Choose two names,’ Mistress Hel said. ‘I’ve highlighted the ones who are here tonight.’

  ‘No.’

  Mistress Hel sighed. ‘Come on, Harry! These men, if you can call them men, these monsters, don’t deserve your sympathy.’

  Harry stared at the ground, mind racing. He had nothing. No way out. No cavalry rushing to save him.

  ‘And you know what’s worse,’ Mistress Hel said. ‘It’s not just them. It’s not just those who are raping the kids, looking at photos and videos of monsters raping kids, it’s the people around them. Those who turn a blind eye. Those who facilitate their sick needs.’

  Harry gritted his teeth and threw the book on the floor.

  ‘Fine. Spoilsport. Don, bring me someone. Anyone.’

  Clack grabbed the man next to him, dragging him away from his screaming partner.

  ‘Please . . . please!’ he cried.

  Clack dragged him to the back of the van, and pressed his face against the floor. Mistress Hel got down from the stage and sauntered over to the man. She pressed her boot against his neck and aimed at his head.

  ‘All right!’ Harry screamed. He dropped to his knees, frantically pored through the book, stopping on the first highlighted name he came to. ‘Rick. Rick Tay.’

  ‘Would Rick Tay like to come forward and take this man’s place?’

  * * *

  Johnny watched in the side mirror as a man rose from his seat and moved slowly to where Mistress Hel was waiting for him. Rick Tay. Thick head of silver hair. Sharp tailored charcoal suit. Tanned. He begged, he cried, he apologised. Johnny couldn’t hear all the words but he could see it in the man’s face and in his gestures. Mistress Hel nodded as though she understood. Johnny shivered in anticipation. He’d seen that false understanding before, many times during his training.

  ‘Kneel,’ Mistress Hel said. ‘Kneel and kiss my boot, and I’ll forgive you.’

  Rick Tay dropped to his knees, holding his hands together in prayer. Mistress Hel held her boot out. Rick dropped his head. At the last moment, Mistress Hel pulled her foot back, lowered her gun and shot him in the back of the head. Harry jerked at the gunshot and ran his fingers through his hair.

  The ritual was repeated. A man chosen from the book. This time he tried to run. Clack shot at him and hit him in the shoulder, then the back. Clack dragged him to the front of the room and laid him on a point of the pentagram, where Mistress Hel finished him off.

  Mistress Hel stared at the body, muttering incantations under her breath. As she spoke, she walked around the truck. Johnny heard every word. He thought again of Marcus Wilson staring up at him. He thought of that horrible afternoon at Wilson’s house, the day his world collapsed. Tears streamed down his face.

  Get ready, my love.

  Johnny jumped. He looked out the window and Mistress Hel was smiling at him. He checked the phone, and nodded.

  CHAPTER 45

  Harry clutched his head. For the first time since he was freed, the cuts on his back ached, as did the tattoos on his hands. Whatever Mistress Hel was doing, it was working. Across the room, a woman in a shimmering sequined dress slumped off her chair and hit the ground, spasming on the floor. Two tables over, a man vomited red across the white tablecloth; Harry wasn’t sure if it was blood or wine or both. The screaming had stopped, and most of the crying. Around the room, hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at Mistress Hel as she completed her circuit of the van. The bloody pentagram on the floor was almost complete. The symbols around the edge pulsed with darkness. The van itself seemed to shudder in and out of existence. The air felt heavy and oppressive, as though a thunderstorm was about to hit.

  ‘Fight it,’ Harry muttered to himself, and flexed his hands into fists.

  Over the b
uzzing in his ears, he could just make out the drone of a chopper overhead. Through the windows, he saw a spotlight light up the bitumen.

  ‘Tell those fuckers to back off or I’ll blow the truck!’

  No-one seemed to do anything, but next minute the chopper moved away.

  ‘Can you feel it, Harry?’ she said.

  He could. The oppressive feeling was growing. The ground vibrated with blackness. More flowed from the dead. It pressed in at the edges of Harry’s vision.

  ‘She’s on her way. Don, your time has come.’

  Clack walked over and knelt on the pentagram’s fifth point. Harry waited for Mistress Hel to level the gun at him, but it stayed by her side.

  ‘Don! Run for it!’ Harry called.

  Don Clack pulled his jacket open, gving no sign he’d heard. In the top pocket was a scalpel. He took it out and removed it from its packaging. Contemplated it. At the doorway, Lee-Anne appeared, eyes red, mascara running.

  ‘Donny! Wait! You silly bastard!’

  Clack looked at her and smiled. ‘It’ll be okay, honey.’

  He screamed as he drove the blade into his guts, but the expression on his face was one of pure ecstasy. Lee-Anne ran for him and Mistress Hel made no move to stop her. Harry ran for him too, but by the time they reached him, Clack had stabbed himself half-a-dozen times, the scalpel wedged between his ribs. Harry cradled Clack as Lee-Anne held her hands to his belly. Blood gushed between her fingers, spilling across the ground and following the path Mistress Hel had made for it, until the pentagram was complete.

  ‘See you in the next life, Harry Hendrick,’ said Mistress Hel. She nodded at Johnny.

  * * *

  Johnny had thought he would feel happiness when this moment arrived. He pictured Wilson in the back of the van, hearing the gunshots and the screams, probably pissing his pants. It’s what he had wanted. He’d wanted Wilson to understand what real fear was. But now, he felt nothing more than a growing sense of dread. Making someone else scared hadn’t done anything to allay his own fears. He’d wanted closure. This . . . this felt like the birth of something.