Candy met Jacks gaze and did not flinch when he laid his thin bony hand upon her forehead. Candy closed her eyes. Her body shook. A white glow began to form between the meetings of their flesh. And then it was done. Candy reopened her eyes.
The redness was gone, replaced with a look of vitality.
"Do you understand now, Candy?" Jack asked.
"More than I care to, Jack. More than I could ever find the words to tell," replied Candy.
"Then you understand the game. Your game to be specific. It’s time for you to go. And who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around."
"You can count on it, Jack. You can count on it."
CHAPTER FOUR
OUT ON THE STREET AVOIDING THE HEAT
Birds spoke in the new dawn, as the door of the Covenant closed behind Candy. The sunlight was harsh against her eyes, and she screwed her lids together as she peered through the cracks, up into the cloudless sky above.
She knew the bodies of Sarah and Rich would have been found by now. They would have to have been. And the other one. The one she had maimed. The one the dark man had killed. She would be a suspect. She imagined the police would be calling on any witnesses. What could she do? Turn herself in? Confess? No. That idea was foolish, even to her broken weary mind. She was a fugitive. And worse than that she was a soulless fugitive. Worse still she had a game to win. And then another. Then another nineteen after that.
There’s blood on my hands, she thought to herself, then laughed. There literally was blood on her hands. And her face. And her clothes. Thankfully the alley was deserted, the surrounding buildings long since abandoned (aside from the covenant), and nobody was around.
She would need some help if she was to even stand a chance of survival.
Sarah and Rich were both gone. She searched her brain, looking for an answer and was surprised when she heard a voice that hadn’t been there before. She listened again (Beano, dealer, he’s high, he’ll help, won’t understand, take and survive) and marvelled at her new perceptiveness.
Of course - Beano was Sarah’s dealer, a Ketamine junkie, totally off the wall, constantly off his face on something and perhaps the most easy-going person Candy had ever met. And he also lived close to this part of the city, within its majority of closed or abandoned buildings. She remembered in fact, Sarah joking that Beano's was a single occupancy squat, although it had been crowded the few times Candy had been there.
She moved quickly, avoiding the main streets of the city; instead taking cramped cobbled back alleyways to Beano’s. After twenty minutes of fast paced charging through the desolate aisles of cheap city living and junk ridden squats, Candy arrived at one she knew from past experience. From behind a set of clouded top floor windows, the sounds of music, created in an era fifty years before, sang down.
The barely audible sounds lifted what remained from where her spirit had been taken. Beano was in. And, the beauty of the situation was that Beano didn’t own a television, never so much as glanced at a newspaper and the only audio he listened to was ambient Techno or, as was now current on his play list - psychedelic sixties.
Unless… The cops had already been to Beano, following the trail having picked up bits and pieces from Sarah’s friends. It was a risk she would have to take. Bit late in the day for paranoia, thought Candy grimly.
Looking up at Beano’s windows, she pushed hard on the intercom buzzer and waited.
"...ello? Beano’s ...idence. Hel.. Hel.. llo?" the unmistakable voice of Beano, tinged with a crackling that Candy put down to bad wiring in the intercom.
"Beano? It’s Candy. Can I come up?"
There was silence. Candy held her breath tentatively. Come on you fuck, thought Candy. Open! Just as she was about to start kicking in the door there was a sharp buzzing, and with a silent prayer to the drug dealer upstairs, Candy pushed open the door and entered the landing.
The smell of urine, mingled with cheap cleaning products and something she could not identify gave her cause to gag slightly as she climbed the three flights to Beano’s apartment. She managed to raise a smile at the slogan painted on his bright red front door, "SAVE ME FROM SALVATION!", then pushed it open, stepped inside and closed and locked it behind her.
The smell of marijuana was overpowering, the corridors filled with the second hand smoke of innumerable joints. It appeared that she was not alone with Beano. Her only hope was that the rest of the party were still wasted from the night before and had not yet heard about the murders of her two friends. She popped her head around a door that sat slightly ajar. The sound of Grace Slick and white rabbit could be heard playing inside, and she was greeted with the sight of neo-hippy crusties types smoking crack and trying with all their fucked up might to continue a culture that they weren’t around for the first time.
A trashed blonde complimented Candy on her face paint. It took Candy a breathless moment's anxiety to realize she was being serious.
“Yeah, I've, um, just come from this fancy dress thing a few blocks away,” she replied.
“What are you going for with it, man? Murder is the new millennium? Fucking powerful, man. Here, you want some crack?" the blonde girl said, proffering the glass pipe to Candy, who concluded refusal would be rude and took a hit, savouring the relaxing warmth and numbness that spread throughout her body.
There was something familiar about the girl. It’s her eyes, thought Candy. I’ve seen those eyes before, and for a moment she had the notion to ask, to reach out for an answer, but the recollection faded, it’s probably just the crack, did I just smoke CRACK? Jesus I’m twisted and she said her thanks, handed back the pipe and continued down the hall.
"Beano! Beano? Where the hell are you, man?" shouted Candy.
"In here, Candy!" came Beano’s reply…
… (L.A Document 3024)
What made a lot of people smile is when Candy used to talk about the drugs she used while on her killing sprees. She said that unlike psychiatric drugs, which she termed mostly useless, street drugs helped immensely with her "emphatic powers, and the voice thoughts that tormented her". What was more, she said she found them vastly pleasurable, some, like Valium she would call candy-floss for the mind, others like MDMA, candy-floss for the soul, although she would say this with great sadness and remind us that not all her soul was there. Then there were the others; hashish, LSD, Ketamine and of course her favourite - crack cocaine. These were the drugs she would enjoy killing on. These were the drugs she called psyhcocandy. I seem to recall her mentioning she had got the term from a musical LP she was very fond of. She said she understood perhaps the meaning behind the title. She was always very perceptive of meanings. Very perceptive indeed…
... from behind the doorway facing her. Ambient beats floated from between the crack in the door, out into the hall, and Candy gave a little two step jig before pushing against the handle and entering the room. Beano sat alone atop a surprisingly well made single bed, head bent over a mirror as he racked out thick lines of his beloved veterinary pharmaceutical. Satisfied, he snorted a line then turned his attention to Candy.
"Jesus Christ, Candy babe, what the fuck happened to you?" asked Beano, his tone dripping with concerned curiosity.
"Long story dude, although with a mind as open as yours, I’m sure you’d believe every single word of it. Mind if I borrow some threads? These are a bit on the messy side," replied Candy evenly, indicating her bloodstained torn clothes with a casual smile.
Without taking his eyes off Candy for even a second, Beano waved vaguely towards a pile of laundry in the corner of the room.
"It’s all clean. Take what you want. Then I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on. In fact scratch that. Do a line. Then tell me what exactly is going on."
Candy rummaged in the clothing pile, selecting a pair of worn Levis and a tie-dye t-shirt that had ‘Can’t breathe a dollar bill’ written on it. She began to strip, and noticed Beano had turned his head from her to give her privacy. The gesture made her feel sad and sh
e didn’t know why. Then she realised - it was Beano that felt sad. He had wanted to watch, but some inherent politeness had stopped in, prevented him from embracing his desire.
"It’s okay, man. You don't have to look away. After what I’m about to tell you, there isn’t going to be many secrets needing keeping between us," stated Candy with a tone which implied - this is just the way it is. Get used to it!
Beano turned his head, and Candy instantly felt the desire in him. He wanted her. For a moment she considered pinning him down and screwing his brain out just for the hell of it, then crushed the thought. She was high, and there was much to discuss. She unzipped her blue hooded jacket and let it drop to the floor, then stretched the indigo t-shirt she had reserved solely for clubbing over her head, before unclasping her bra.
Her small breasts ached from the nights action as did her ribs, and back. Glancing down she noticed a large bruise had taken form midway down her left side and she winced at its sight, then unbuttoned her jeans and hooking her thumbs inside her panties she pulled both garments down to her ankles then stepped free of them. Her fully naked state was clearly exciting her host. She swore she could almost feel his erection.
She had always wondered what men's minds were like and she found to her surprise that they weren't that different from her own sexes. For a moment she stood, not meeting Beano's gaze, making sure she had him, effectively, under her spell. Sex really is a fucking weapon; Candy mused as she finally stepped into the Levis, sans panties, and pulled the tie-die t-shirt over her torso, wincing again as the cotton hugged against her damaged ribs.
Her pink bra sat on the floor along with the panties which completed the set. She had dressed to impress, in case she had pulled at the club after reading that LSD was great for fucking on. The thought held a bitter irony. She had certainly been fucked, but not in the actual sense, and it had not been in any way great.
Fully dressed again, Candy sat cross legged facing Beano. She took the rolled up dollar bill from his trembling hand, laid her nose close to the mirror and snorted a line of the K. The effect was immediate, and she closed her eyes, picturing nothing, feeling only the beautiful dulling somewhere in her brain as her reasoning shut down.
She felt creative. She would tell him everything. At the best he would believe her. If that was the case she had an ally. The worst of it however was either way, whether he believed her or not, he was a witness, and so if he even if he didn't believe her, she would kill him. And in this beatific stupor she felt the worst maybe wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Awe, I don’t know how to put this to you, man. I took a trip for the first time last night…" started Candy.
“...Wow, really. Fuck! Did you have a good one?" interjected Beano, a huge grin spreading across his face.
"Well, no not really. Rich and Sarah are both dead. Murdered. Their throats were slit from ear to ear. I managed to maim the killer, but she’s dead now too. A dark God finished the job on her. Then I was indoctrinated into a thrill kill cult, after fighting in a battle to the death with a pretty kid around my age, who by the way if you didn’t follow, is now also dead, although this time the pleasure was all mine. I’ve had my soul taken from me by a pack of evil Gods and Goddesses and they have divided it up into twenty one different pieces, each piece weighing a gram I might add, you know like the twenty one grams that the body loses when it dies, except I’m not dead, and the only way I can reclaim my soul and all its parts is to commit twenty one different killings. I’m probably a top suspect in what I can only assume is now an ongoing murder investigation, and despite my relative innocence, given my situation I’m not going to stay that way for long. You follow me so far?" Candy asked nonchalantly, fixing Beano with a questioning stare.
A look of puzzlement crossed Beano’s face, and the twosome sat a moment in silence.
Then the grin appeared again, and Beano let out a hysterical laugh. "This is a wind up, right? You're totally winding me up. Well I gotta tell ya Candy, you nearly had me there. Fucking nearly had me. Wow, man, you really nearly had me there!"
Candy retained her serious expression a few moments longer, and then she too let out a laugh, which contained a partial disappointment to it. She had told the truth and he hadn't believed her. Then, what the hell had she expected. She knew Beano was an open minded guy, probably the most open minded she had met, yet if the tables had been turned...
"Damn! Nearly had you there though dude; Jesus, you must be fucked to have even considered the possibility. Listen Beano, can you lay me on for some gear? I’ve left my money with Sarah, back in the flat. You know we’re good for it..."
Beano sighed, yet she could feel this was just for show. After the show she had put on a few minutes previously he was putty in her hands.
"Well seeing as how it’s you. Nothing worse than doing a drug run and forgetting the cash. What you after?" he asked.
Candy looked thoughtful for a moment. "Some K. And hash. And, eh, you got some crack?”
Beano nodded
“What’s the total?"
"I could do ya it for a hundred and seventy five, but you'd need to swing by again, eh, later with the dough. I'll be needing to buy more supply myself at some point," replied Beano knowingly. "Give me a minute and I’ll be back with the goods. Help yourself to another line whilst you’re waiting."
Beano gave a sharp wink then made his way towards a door, then paused. With his back to her he asked, “So why exactly are you covered in blood?”
“It's just fancy dress man.”
“Ah, murder is the new millennium, right?”
What the fuck is it with that? What the fuck does that even mean? Hippies...
“No, actually I'm Carrie. You know; Carrie?”
Beano shook his head.
“Telekinetic knife thrower? Bad first period?”
Finally a look of recognition crossed his face.
“Ah right. The chick from the film. Yeah I remember. She had nice. . .well anyway, as I said, help yourself to another line,” replied Beano, before exiting to the hall.
Another line. Why the hell not... don't hippies read? Candy wondered as she racked out a thick line of yellow powder.
She was starting to enjoy herself. The Ketamine burned going up and she sniffed a couple of times, wiping the excess from around her nostrils. Feeling content for the moment, she cast her gaze about the room when her thought-voice blared out in her mind (under the record sleeve, screwdriver, quickly, he's coming back) and lifted up a record sleeve, some band she had never heard of and sure enough there was a tiny screwdriver, which she palmed against her chest as Beano walked back into the room.
"I’ve given you an extra gram of K. Gesture of goodwill and all that. Should all fit nicely in your back pockets. Don’t worry about the threads either. You can keep them," said Beano jovially.
"God, Beano. You’re such a nice fucking guy. A beautiful guy. Come here and let me give you a kiss."
"Awe jeez, Candy. I dunno. I mean you're such a hot chick and well, you're all high and I don't want to take advantage-"
“You’re high. And maybe I want to take advantage. I mean you are a pretty hot guy yourself."
She could feel the longing in Beano’s heart. He wanted her.
And in her way she wanted him too.
Beano leaned in close. Their lips touched, then parted and soon they were mingling tongues. Moments later and Beano’s hand found Candy’s breast, and he began to tease her nipple.
Withdrawing her mouth from his, Candy moaned erotically and thrust the screwdriver into Beano’s temple. Beano’s hand fell away from her breast. She felt his body stiffen, and then jerk as she twisted the handle. A glazed look stole over Beano’s eyes, as he sunk onto his side, falling ungraciously from the bed to the bedroom floor. Candy started down in wonderment. Her second murder in the space of twenty four hours.
She was a serial case now.
At least the poor bastard died happy, she thought.
Candy clo
sed Beano’s door quietly behind her. She paused a moment, and inhaled deeply, then let it out in a heavy sigh.
She had enjoyed the killing. She could not deny this to herself. High feelings of ecstasy waved in her mind, sending a blissful reassurance to her heart. She had won back a part of her soul, and would have to return to the Covenant to reclaim it. She walked down the corridor towards the front door of the flat. It was not just her own elation she could feel, she realised. It was the exultation of the others scattered about the various rooms in the apartment she was sensing, and this knowledge sent her higher still. She was nearly at the door, when she realised she had to piss. She had not used a bathroom in over fourteen hours. She had been to Beano’s before and knew that it was situated on the left, a small closet affair, with air con instead of windows, more a wash closet than a bathroom. The door was closed, but the lock said vacant.
She opened the door and came face to face with the blonde girl who had given her the hit of
crack. Candy stared at her beauty. She could sense with her new gift a love within this waif like person, a deeper goodness that had nothing to do with drugs. Candy stared into her eyes and could not remember sensing such innocence within another living soul. Yet beneath this feeling was another, one she could not quite grasp. Candy stared more intently at this woman's face.
There was something so familiar about it, yet it was as if her very memory itself was being in some way repressed. Before she could think any deeper into the matter the green-eyed woman, who Candy could not help but think of as a girl spoke.
"It’s going to be okay. I promise. Whatever it is, it’s going to okay," the green eyed girl said in a soft lulling tone that softened Candy’s heart.
Candy felt her knees begin to tremble and weaken. Tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to tell it all to this angelic creature, and felt ashamed at the atrocities she had committed and the hellish path that lay before her. She made to reply, yet the words caught in her throat and as the shame that she felt began to leave her and a new vaguely familiar somesthesia engaged her nerves, she could only nod.
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