The Soul Game

by McQueen, K. T.

  ‘Back of my neck?’

  ‘That would work.’ He gestured to her to take a seat.

  It was going to be painful, but part of her thought it should be painful. And she had this idea. If she played more than once she could have the tattoos running down her spine. She began the breathing technique she’d learnt, to ease the pain, as the needle started its work. It was a little sore but she was pleased with it. Pleased she’d completed the game, and still had her soul. People were smiling at her as she made her way down the street. Nodding and saying hi. It was strange.

  She walked into the bookshop was at the very end of the street. On a shelf labelled self-help sat five copies of the Soul Game. That was all she needed. She pulled all five copies down and returned to the cash register.

  ‘Wow, so glad someone decided to buy those, I thought no one ever would. They’re on offer too. No plans to restock at all,’ the girl told her shaking her head.

  ‘Really? How many did you get in?’

  ‘Five.’ She grinned handing Kelly her change.

  Next stop was the church. Malcolm wasn’t around but the others welcomed her.

  ‘I thought I’d come and help for an hour or so.’

  ‘We’d love the help, thank you. Malcolm and one or two others have come down with something. Any time you can spare would be very much appreciated.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll get started.’ Kelly grinned. She spent the first hour just sorting out the boxes. Then just before she left she added one of the books to five of them at random. She assumed, or hoped maybe, that the right people would come across the book. The only thing she was unsure of was how she would know they had begun to play.

  She headed back to the bus stop. Ready to make choices about her future.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: MAËL

  The shower restored his cleanliness even if it did nothing for his state of mind. Every time he started to feel better the image of Joy with the book popped into his mind and sent him back into a spiral of despair.

  He barely even took notice of what he was pulling on as he got dressed, more intent on locating his phone. Resting it on the breakfast bar he tapped the dialler. He’d ring her again, maybe her phone had been on silent earlier and she hadn’t had the time to call back.

  ‘Hi, this is Joy’s phone, I’m probably working right now so leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’ He heard her happy voice in his ear.

  He waited for the beep.

  ‘Joy, I’m sorry. They did spike my drink. Ginger is nothing to me.’ He wondered if that would be a negative. ‘I just want to make it up to you, take you out, explain things. Call me, please!’

  He cancelled the call. Then sat staring out the window wondering what to do with himself. When the phone rang, he pressed answer before he’d even looked at the number.

  ‘Hello, Joy?’

  ‘No, it’s not Joy. I got your number from my brother Sparky. I’m Astrid. I’ll be flying in tomorrow to take care of things.’ She was brisk and to the point, maybe even a little uppity he thought.

  ‘I’ll contact you once everything’s taken care of. Then hopefully, I can fill in some of the gaps for you.’

  ‘That would be great,’ he said.

  ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘You need to pack up and leave your apartment. Go home.’

  ‘Go home?’ he asked. But the phone had gone dead.

  He wondered if he should go check on Joy. He didn’t know where she was living but maybe he could catch her at the café, make sure she was well. Maybe if he turned up in person she’d speak to him. Or maybe it was too soon.

  He slumped onto the sofa, the cleaning forgotten. His phone now sitting forlorn on the coffee table. He sighed and swung his legs around, lying down to stare at the ceiling. But it was uncomfortable, something was digging in his back. He pulled out a book from between the cushions. Looking at it, he realised it was a copy of the book he’d been peddling.

  ‘Stupid fucking book. If I’d never applied for that job everything would be fine right now!’ he launched it across the room where it smacked against the brick wall and fell to the floor. ‘Stupid book.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX: PINK

  Joy was enjoying the tasks; she’d never experienced such a feeling of freedom before. Each day she did what was asked. She was even grateful to Ginger for coming into the Café that day. She’d had the awful feeling she was going to have to start an argument with one of the customers. She had barely even thought about Mike.

  Today’s task involved flirting and she knew who she was going to flirt with. And even if he didn’t respond, which was silly because he always flirted with her, at least she would have tried. Besides she knew the other waitresses would be jealous of her if he did flirt back, he never paid as much attention to them as he did to her.

  She smiled at everyone, her prettiest smile, looking for any opportunity to test out her flirting on the customers, the delivery guy, and in one embarrassing moment –her boss. Then when lunch time came around she popped to the bathroom to reapply her makeup and smooth her hair. A pretty pink bow above the ponytail she’d taken to wearing, ever since she’d picked her colour.

  In jeans and a dark grey v neck jumper he sauntered up to the counter to peruse the day’s offerings. He’d once told her he had a local business but his wife was too busy to make him a packed lunch every day, besides he liked coming in here. His hair parted at the side and his eyes were a warm dark brown. He looked like one of the old-time actors she used to spend her Sundays watching with her grandparents.

  She flickered a glance from under her lashes. Standing at the checkout meant she oversaw the counter and not delivering orders to people. The staff took it in turns throughout the day and she’d bagsied lunchtime. Everyone else was happy with that considering how busy it could get.

  ‘Hi,’ she mouthed as he smiled at her.

  ‘Hi,’ he mouthed back, as she served the people ahead of him, took orders for hot meals, and poured drinks.

  ‘Hello,’ he said as he stood in front of her.

  ‘How are you today?’ she smiled as prettily as she could.

  ‘So much better for seeing you,’ he smiled back. ‘It’s been so busy this morning and all I’ve dealt with were sweaty angry men.’

  He chuckled conspirationaly and she joined in.

  ‘So what will it be today?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d love to try the deep filled chick-en sandwich, with the creamy sauce and cherry tomatoes.’

  ‘Mmmm sounds good when you say it like that.’ She leant up on the counter towards him. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A tall glass of cool water.’ His eyes told her everything she wanted to know about where he’d like to drink it from. ‘And for dessert…cherry pie and cream please.’

  ‘Right away sir,’ she giggled.

  He smiled at that, usually she called him by name. Judy nudged her and gestured that she’d take over the cash register.

  ‘Why don’t you grab a seat and I’ll bring it on over?’ Joy said.

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ he responded. Going to find a booth near the back of the café where it was cooler.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN: MAËL

  He got the answering machine again. He was starting to worry. Perhaps her soul had already been ripped out. Maybe she was playing the game so well she was turning into an awful human being. Or perhaps she’d done one of the tasks and something had gone horribly wrong. Maybe she was lying in a ditch desperately trying to reach her phone to call for help. Maybe her battery just died.

  He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his head in the pillows and hoping for sleep. The day had gone from bright and promising to dull and misty. And as the darkness began to roll in he watched the shadows changing outside. He pulled the throw she had loved so much from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around himself, breathing in the last remnants of her smell. It gave him some comfort and for a little while, he drifted into a kind of slumber.

  Bombardier, howe
ver, was not impressed with Mike missing feeding time and leapt from the shelving unit onto Mike’s back. Claws extended to ensure he didn’t lose his balance when he landed.

  ‘Argh!’ Mike yelled and tried to get up. Something was on him, clawing him. He slithered sideways and found himself on the floor looking up at Bombardier sitting in the warm spot he’d vacated. Mike got up and went to the kitchen to fill the feed bowl.

  ‘You might just be the perfect excuse,’ he told Bombardier. ‘Joy said she would take you as soon as she was settled. I can go to the café and ask if she wants me to bring you over.’

  Bombardier seemed to be glaring at Mike from over his bowl.

  ‘I can say you’re being a pain.’

  The glare got significantly more pronounced. Mike was grinning, he had a plan. He could go to the café right now. She quite often took the late shift on a Friday. And if she wasn’t there he could maybe ask inside where she was staying, give them some story.

  The street was dark and damp. The mist thick and swirling around the street lamps. He’d shoved on his old reefer jacket and walked down the street with his hands shoved deep in the pockets and the collar turned up. Lights came at him through the dark. The mist revealing them one by one, late closing stores, bars, restaurants, and the café. The café that would be open even when the others closed their doors and turned off the lights.

  Set back a little, the café looked warm and inviting. Steam on the insides of the glass making it difficult to see in. But he could see at least one waitress making the rounds of undistinguishable customers. Music spilled from the door as a customer left, pulling their coat collar up against the damp night air. Then a waitress, her uniform just showing under a long coat. He moved towards her smiling.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. Hoping to appear friendly and not at all creepy.

  ‘Hello.’ She gave him a strange look like she thought he might be drunk or homeless and hoping for spare change.

  ‘Is Joy working tonight?’ he asked. ‘Only I need to get in touch with her about a cat and she’s not answering her phone.’

  ‘I’m sure if she wanted to speak to you she’d answer it,’ the waitress said. ‘She’s not working tonight.’

  She gave him a half smile and moved past him. He didn’t know all of Joy’s work friends but there was every possibility she’d told them they’d broken up and why.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said absentmindedly as he tried to peer through the steamed glass. The waitress didn’t respond. Would it be weird if he went in after having asked if she was there? He could go in for a coffee, but would that be weird too?

  In the end, he nipped into a bar two doors down and had a beer to warm himself up.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT: ABADDON

  The king of hell sat on the throne observing his domain. The huge carved crystal basin before him had clouds of smoke around the edges as if little fluffy white summer clouds were collecting on the peaks. Inside was a body of piercing blue water. Heated. Moving.

  Within its depths could be seen the realms of hell. And the King observed his kingdom with great displeasure. How could these imbeciles think he didn’t see what they were doing? He watched the little figures moving about in their offices. The Demons in the pits, the workers. The places of pleasure and pain. The upper and lower Demons. And the humans not willing to admit their sins; those he felt the most sorrow for. Hell, had so much to offer, so many ways they could redeem themselves. But no, they clung onto the belief that their souls belonged somewhere else and thus would never make it out of their self-imposed torment.

  Didn’t they understand that life was the greatest game of all? They had so much to learn, to do, to try, to figure out, and they spent most of it on their backsides working for others. Engaged in the endless pursuit of a story better than their own, that they would never achieve because they wanted it to be easy.

  It was even his son’s problem. He needed a cause to get him to live a life of worth. And so, the King of Hell let The Games Master continue to think he was duping him. He sighed again, one day those foolish, ungrateful Demons would remember why he was the King of Hell. He would remind them there was somewhere far worse than Hell. Somewhere even Demons feared their souls to go.

  He swept a hand through the water. The image changing to that of his son, and a smile crossed the King’s face. The boy would need allies and a great deal more power before he could put a stop to the Soul Game and take his rightful place. It’s why his mother had kept him so secret and out of the loop. He had always wished it hadn’t had to be that way. He would have loved to have had her by his side through the centuries. But given the threats and the risks to the boy’s life, it just wasn’t worth it. Instead, he did everything he could to keep them both safe and stayed away as much as he could bear to.

  But he feared his son, Michael, would not remember him when they met.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE: MAËL

  The apartment was icy cold when he returned. One of the tall windows opened a crack as if someone had rushed to get back out but hadn’t managed to close it.

  ‘Bombardier?’ Mike asked the empty room, but there was no answer.

  The door closed behind him as he stood and stared into the dark room. Using every advantage, he possessed, to see into the deepest corners. But the place was empty. Dead almost in its stillness.

  His phone rang and startled him.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Did you move out of your apartment yet?’ it was Astrid.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time you did?’ she didn’t wait for an answer, just hung up.

  She was probably right. The symbols and wards had been damaged, and something was managing to get through even his best layers of protection. He should go to the estate.

  The big house was still and quiet when he arrived with his boxes. And despite the hour, the lights were on, a welcoming sight in the misty darkness. He put his few bags under the large round table that stood in the centre of the entrance hall.

  ‘It’s nice to have you back sir, will you be staying long?’ The groundskeeper asked, appearing around the kitchen door.

  ‘Not sure. It’s a little strange being back,’ Mike said.

  ‘You’ll get used to it sir. It’ll soon feel like your own home.’ The groundskeeper reassured him before doffing his cap and saying goodnight.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Mike echoed, wondering how he’d known Mike would be turning up when he did.

  The striped sofas and thick rugs in the sitting room seemed like something out of another world and he skirted them as he looked around. A fire crackled in the grate. Heavy drapes covered the windows. He walked from room to room. Thoughts of his mother convalescing in the reading room filled his head, the window seat filled with cushions and blankets to keep her supported and warm as she passed the time reading the newest Dickens.

  He’d never lived here himself, only stayed once when his mother had been sick. He hadn’t known then that the place was his, and it was fascinating to see how much it had changed over the years. How many years it had been.

  ‘There’s dinner in the kitchen sir.’ The housekeeper popped her head in. ‘Would you like it now?’

  ‘I’ll be right through,’ he said turning from the memory.

  He sat at the huge wooden table in the centre seat and ate from white plates with silvered edges, the napkin resting on his lap. The food was delicious and he smiled. When he was done, she replaced his plate with a matching bowl, filled with a homemade apple crumble and custard.

  ‘This is amazing,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘But you didn’t have to get up to feed me. I could have waited until the morning.’

  ‘When did you last have a proper meal, sir?’ she sat opposite.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you need a proper meal. I’ll do a late breakfast so we can both get some kip, and then when you’re up to it, let me know what your preferences are and what hours you keep. Then I’ll know whe
n to have food ready.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘Is that what you do for all the guests?’ occasionally the house was let out. But only a select few even knew it was here.

  ‘You’re not a guest sir, you are the owner. And we’re glad you’ve returned.’ She smiled again, almost shy this time. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll take myself off to bed sir. Not as young as I used to be.’

  ‘Oh no, absolutely, you should get to your bed. I can see to myself,’ he said, aware of just what time it was. ‘I’m sorry for turning up in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Things happen, sir, can’t be helped,’ she said and left.

  He heard the door click shut as he turned back to his meal. He wasn’t far off bed himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY: ORANGE

  ‘Sir, sir I brought you something!’ Ginger was far too excitable for an undergraduate and Robert wondered what he’d done to deserve such attention. She’d transferred the previous term and somehow seemed like she’d landed here straight out of the fifties.

  ‘Hi Ginger, how’re you today?’ he asked.

  ‘Good, thank you, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘What can I do for you today? Other than start the lecture.’ He grinned at her enthusiasm but wished she would apply it to her assignments.

  ‘I brought you this sir, I know you’ll appreciate it, I’ve er...read it.’

  He found her pause a little strange and accepted the book without glancing at it; he was more interested in why she thought he should read it than what it was.