by Gary Kemble
Then Mistress Hel looked into Johnny’s eyes, and all doubt evaporated. She was beautiful. Radiant. She nodded once. The signal.
He looked at the phone. The compulsion to obey was so powerful he didn’t even consider the fact that this was the end of his life. He thumbed the green button.
Nothing.
Johnny blinked. Tried again. Nothing.
He stared at the phone for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck. He was close to panic. He scanned the small screen. There was something different. At the top of the screen, where he should have seen at least four dots, there were none.
No signal. No signal?
He looked up. Mistress Hel was staring at him, furious.
‘Do it!’
‘It won’t . . .’ Then he realised she wouldn’t be able to hear him through the glass. He got out of the truck, heart hammering in his chest. In his panic he dropped the phone, and fumbled before scooping it up. He looked up, for the first time seeing the swirling mass of darkness over their heads.
‘N-no signal,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘No signal.’
He showed her the phone. She took it from him, stared at the screen.
‘You told the world you had a bloody big bomb,’ Harry said. ‘Did you think the cops would let you detonate it?’
CHAPTER 46
Mistress Hel screamed in frustration and threw the phone to the floor, then went for Harry.
‘Come on,’ she said, jabbing the gun at him. She dragged him to his feet, and pushed him towards a set of double doors at the back of the room.
‘Go!’ she screamed. ‘Move it!’
Harry felt Mistress Hel’s hand entwined in his collar, and the hard steel of the gun barrel at the back of his head. She pushed Harry through the double doors into a deserted kitchen. The bright fluorescents dimmed, then exploded in a shower of sparks. Mistress Hel cried out. Harry shielded his head against the falling glass, then risked a look over his shoulder.
Mistress Hel was deathly pale, except for dark circles under her eyes. A shroud of dark, smoky cloud trailed her. Just looking at it made Harry feel nauseous. The pain in his ribs and back intensified. He dragged his eyes away as they reached the fire exit.
The door opened onto an alleyway. Sirens blared from seemingly every direction, and the helicopter droned above them. Harry could hear someone screaming and someone else talking through a loudhailer, but they both sounded a long way off.
‘This way,’ Mistress Hel said.
‘Just give it up,’ Harry said. ‘The police are going to be . . .’
‘MOVE!’
The alley opened into a thoroughfare, the ground littered with abandoned showbags and chip packets. A can of Coke rolled across the bitumen, spilling its contents. Wind rustled through trees bordering a litter-strewn picnic area. Someone’s day pack was lying on the ground next to a bruised apple and a pair of kids’ shoes. The thoroughfare was blocked by two police cars, nose to nose, lights flashing. Harry could just make out heads peering over the bonnet. He scanned the top of the grandstand, looking for snipers.
Mistress Hel dragged Harry away from the police cars towards a tunnel under the railway line. Their footsteps reverberated on the tiled walls. The swirling black cloud followed in their wake, as though tethered to the crown of Mistress Hel’s head. The lights flickered.
A body lay on the ground. A man, maybe thirty, face down. His white shirt was covered in blood and footprints. Trampled to death, in the panic that must’ve followed those first gunshots. Harry peered over his shoulder. There were police everywhere. Mistress Hel pressed the gun into his neck.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Harry said. He looked down as they passed the body. Black mist flowed from his eyes and mouth, drifting towards Mistress Hel. There were more bodies ahead, at least two, each trailing filmy black mist from their mouths and eyes. The lights flickered, then died. In the darkness someone . . . something . . . took a shallow breath. And then another. Darkness pressed in on Harry’s vision. He wanted to scream, but he was too scared.
‘Are you beginning to understand now?’ Mistress Hel asked, then pushed him forwards again.
As they emerged from the tunnel, cops in riot gear advanced across the oval to their right. Mistress Hel pushed Harry in the opposite direction, parallel to the train line, up Sideshow Alley. The bloated, cancerous cloud of darkness hovered behind them.
‘Stay back!’ Mistress Hel roared, and fired in the direction of the riot police, even though they were clearly out of range. She pushed Harry past a rickety rollercoaster, the carts still trundling along the tracks with nobody on them. As Mistress Hel changed direction, the cloud of darkness swung over the tracks. A cart pitched off the rails, slamming into the ground.
Harry blinked. Had he really seen that? Mistress Hel may not have completed the ritual back at the venue, but she’d done something. She still muttered under her breath, words that had no meaning to him.
A green skeleton laughed and jiggled back and forth outside the Ghost Train. Mistress Hel waved a hand at it and the lights running across the top of the ride shattered. The skeleton burst into flames. Mistress Hel panted in Harry’s ear, her incantations punctuated by sobs.
Up on the train line, Harry saw a flash of blue. Cops swarmed along the platform, staring at them. There was another exit ahead, but it too would most likely be blocked by police. Behind him, the cops he’d seen streaming across the oval were now halfway up Sideshow Alley. Mistress Hel was running out of options.
Cops converged from the train tracks, the exit on Harry’s right, and behind them on Sideshow Alley. The closest were about fifty metres away, screaming at Mistress Hel to put down the gun, put down the fucking gun. Mistress Hel spun around, backing Harry towards the last ride on the alley – the House of Mirrors. Darkness swirled over their heads.
‘There’s no way out, Lily,’ Harry said. ‘Is it worth dying for?’
Mistress Hel smiled, and dragged Harry into the House of Mirrors. The Amazing Mesmerising Mirror Maze! Don’t get lost!
The door at the back of the ticket booth was open. Tickets cascaded across the floor. The entrance to the mirror maze was grimy with the passage of time, but there was a big, red handprint in the middle.
She dragged Harry inside and he saw himself a thousand times over: gaunt face, red eyes, crazy hair. Blood stained his chin. Mistress Hel didn’t look much better. Every ragged gasp of breath was agony. His legs throbbed.
Mistress Hel pushed him deeper into the maze, the passageway so narrow it touched both his shoulders. He remembered coming in here as a kid with his dad. They’d gotten separated. He was at an age when he should have known better, but part of him still believed the stories tacked up on the hoarding outside, about kids being lost forever. He made it out eventually, frantically wiping away the tears when he saw his dad waiting for him, hands on hips. His dad was a patient man. Over a dagwood dog and a Coke he’d explained the mystery of the mirror maze, a hidden doorway that let you out from what was basically one pathway that followed a loop.
A gunshot rang out. Glass shattered. Harry flinched. Mistress Hel laughed, the laughter morphing into sobs. Harry’s ears rang.
‘You know, we could have some fun in here, Mr Hendrick. One last fling. On the house.’
‘You failed, Lily,’ Harry said, sounding more confident than he felt. She pushed him on. The lights flickered. Harry and Mistress Hel were bloated pigs. They were rake thin. Short. Tall. With each twist and turn, Mistress Hel looked paler, less substantial. The dark cloud darker, more real. The tattoo on Harry’s neck warmed.
‘Oh, Harry.’
The lights flickered, only came back on at half strength. Mistress Hel stopped pushing him. The gun barrel rested against his neck. She panted in his ear. Outside, the cops were calling out, telling Lily Sweeney they just wanted to talk to her. Mistress Hel muttered incantations under her breath. Harry reached into his pocket, fing
ering the handle of the scalpel he’d pulled from Don Clack’s ribs. He took a deep breath.
‘How many did I kill?’ she said. ‘At the van, I mean?’
Harry was caught off guard. His mind reeled, replaying the scene. ‘F-five,’ he said.
‘That’s right. How many points does a pentagram have?’
‘Five.’ He let his weight drop slowly against her. They were squeezed in tight between the mirrors. In their reflection he could see her eyes peering out from behind his head, darkness swirling around her in the confined space. It was almost intimate. ‘What’s your point?’
‘I only need one more. A special one. Like you.’
He jerked away from her as she fired. Heat bloomed in his chest. The stench of cordite filled the cramped passageway. He forced himself to his feet. Blood splattered the front of his shirt, ran down his pants, shoes and onto the careworn floor. The world spun, lost contrast, but Harry bit into his cheek, forcing himself to stay conscious. He kicked back at where he guessed she was and heard a satisfying grunt, then stumbled forwards, trailing bloody smears across the mirrors.
The lights flared. In the reflection he saw Mistress Hel, grinning and pointing the gun at him. Behind her, swirling darkness and then – there! The goddess, the demon, whatever the fuck it was. And if he’d thought Mistress Hel was beautiful and terrible, she paled into insignificance in comparison. It was like staring into the abyss, staring into calamity, staring into a tsunami or category five cyclone. Harry felt his bladder go, and warmth flooded his legs.
The lights dropped out, then flickered on again. Harry tried to run, but his legs gave way. He collapsed and clawed his way around the next corner.
Gunfire boomed again, and the mirror above Harry shattered. The pieces fell all around him. He dragged his body over them, not feeling much more pain. The chest wound drowned everything else out.
C’mon, Harry! C’mon!
Mistress Hel laughed. She muttered under her breath. Harry heard every word as though she were whispering in his ear. The words were . . . they were wrong. Harry couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.
He looked up, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face. Ahead, the maze doubled back on itself. The lights flickered and he saw himself crawling along the floor, Mistress Hel barely a couple of metres behind him, still trailing the terrifying blackness. He was never going to escape. He thought of Dave. And Sandy. Most of all Bec. No trip to London for him. No more exclusives.
The lights failed completely. And yet as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised there was light coming from somewhere. Probably gaps in the roof.
Mistress Hel shuffled around the corner. The thing, the dark thing, was wrapped around her like a shawl. Its face swam over Mistress Hel’s. When the eyes converged, Harry had never seen anything so beautiful or terrifying. And still she hissed those horrible, insane words. Harry thrust his hands over his ears to block it out. It made no difference.
Fight her, Harry! Or you’re fucking dead meat!
Harry blinked the sweat out of his eyes.
‘Now or never.’
Harry grabbed the scalpel by the handle, pulled his legs underneath him, ignoring the pulsing pain in his chest, and launched himself at Mistress Hel, scalpel thrust in front of him like a sword.
Mistress Hel’s eyes widened and she fired again, the sound deafening in the confined space. Harry felt his leg go numb. The impact threw him off balance and he tumbled towards Mistress Hel. The scalpel buried itself between her ribs and he let go of it to embrace her. She pressed the gun into Harry’s guts. Click, click, click. Mistress Hel’s eyes widened. Her lips parted as though for one last kiss.
He wanted to hold onto her, to make sure, but his strength was draining faster than the blood pouring out of his wounds. With his last ounce of strength he pushed up on the scalpel blade, ripping her open on one side. She screamed.
Harry’s legs buckled and gave way. He fell backwards into a broken mirror. The shadow grew darker, more defined, and swirled faster. Harry thought he was going to pass out.
Mistress Hel shook, eyes wide. She pressed her hands to her wound. Blood pumped thickly between her fingers, pooling underneath her.
I only need one more. A special one.
‘Oh fuck,’ Harry whispered. ‘I’ve helped it find a way into this world.’
Harry’s eyes drooped. He forced them open. Had to see.
Mistress Hel staggered, hands slapping against the broken mirrors, painting them with her blood. There was a sound. A deep vibration. The world began to spin. Mistress Hel looked truly scared for the first time.
‘I almost . . .’
Another vibration. Harry gagged. Mistress Hel shook her head.
‘I can’t . . .’ she cried. Despite everything, Harry wanted to hold her. He could barely move, let alone do anything to save her. He looked at the bloody scalpel in his hand.
‘Please . . .’
Please.
Another intense vibration, so strong, Harry thought his head would explode. He heard thunder, but he knew it wasn’t thunder, it was something he couldn’t comprehend. This was the only way his brain could process it.
‘Okay,’ Mistress Hel whispered. She dropped onto all fours, grabbing shards of broken mirror and shoving them into her mouth, one after the other. She cried, then screamed. Blood poured from her mouth. She crawled along the passageway, collecting all the pieces she could find and swallowing them.
‘Please,’ Harry said. ‘No.’
Please. No.
Mistress Hel stopped, and dropped back onto her haunches. Her mouth was shredded. She was struggling to breathe. When she thrust her head back, shards of glass pressed through her throat. How could she even be alive?
A final, terrifying vibration, carrying a million screams. Mistress Hel opened her mouth. The air crackled. Her jaw strained. The shadow pulsated. Mistress Hel’s eyes rolled up into her head. The shadowy mist surged down her throat, into her gut. Her throat swelled and Mistress Hel gagged. She slapped the broken mirrors so hard she tore her arms open.
The room quieted. Mistress Hel staggered against the broken glass. She looked at Harry. Smiled. Blinked.
Blood oozed from the corner of her eyes. From her forehead, like sweat. Blood seeped from every pore. She looked at Harry, eyes black.
‘Please . . .’
Then the world turned red.
EPILOGUE
‘Do you ever get sick of hurting yourself?’
Dave stood at the door, Bec by his side. She looked pale and drawn, but her face lit up with a smile when she saw Harry was awake.
‘Hey guys,’ Harry croaked. He reached for the glass of water by the bed.
Bec took a seat beside him and gripped his hand. They kissed.
‘Well, I’d love to hang around but,’ Dave said, gesturing to his uniform, ‘you may have noticed that I’m working. I’ll catch you later.’
‘Thanks, Dave,’ Bec said.
He waved and disappeared back through the doorway.
‘How are you doing?’
‘A bit better. The doctor says I was extremely lucky. Anyone would think getting shot twice and surviving was rare.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘And you got blown up too, remember?’
Harry nodded. He had told Bec what had happened. And Sandy too. Sandy said it sounded as though the demon or goddess or whatever it was had tried to occupy Mistress Hel’s body, but the body couldn’t take the strain. The police said that Mistress Hel must’ve had a suicide vest on. They’d found her severed head at the scene, and had helpfully informed Harry that’s what happens to suicide bombers. Harry wondered what they would think when they discovered there were no traces of explosives at the scene. Probably that there was some new type of untraceable explosive on the market. He would worry about that if it happened.
‘Has Johnny tried to contact me?’ Harry said.
Bec shook her head. ‘Not that I know of.’
Johnny had
been taken away by police, charged with conspiracy to commit a terrorist act and possession of a weapon of mass destruction. Harry wasn’t sure when fertiliser bombs had gotten placed in that category, but in this case it was probably fair enough. The terrorism expert on the TV had said it was up there in size with the Oklahoma bombing, and would probably have brought down the function venue, resulting in the loss of hundreds of lives. Phil said there was some hope Johnny could claim to have been manipulated by Mistress Hel. Harry considered what it had been like being under her spell. Manipulation didn’t really cover it. He wanted a happy ending for them all, but in this case it wasn’t likely. It could so easily have been him.
‘How is Sandy going?’
One of the first things Harry had done after regaining consciousness was to call her and apologise again. She accepted it graciously.
Bec watched Harry, and understood what he really wanted to know. ‘When Lily Sweeney’s body couldn’t accommodate the Goddess, it sort of catapulted back to wherever it came from. The door is shut. As far as Sandy can tell.’
Harry nodded and looked out the window. At times, he thought he could feel that terrible darkness descending on him, could feel it lurking in his peripheral vision. But maybe that was just the comedown, or some kind of psychic hangover. He rubbed the back of his neck.
On the TV bolted to the wall he saw a picture of Marcus Wilson flash up.
‘. . . retired police officer Marcus Wilson survived the terrorist attack at the Brisbane Exhibition . . .’
Harry muted the sound.
‘Some unfinished business there,’ Bec said.
‘Yeah, well, Phil called. He said police were swarming all over Wilson’s place, so . . .’
‘Good. It’s the least I can do for Johnny.’
Harry looked out the window again. Blue sky. Light clouds. A beautiful winter’s day. But something was wrong.