The green-eyed girl smiled. "My name is Faith. And you are Candy. You are not alone in your empathic gift. The path of empathy is rocked with many mountains to climb, many obstacles to overcome. However it is worth it, for the beauty of our understanding if nothing else is the most truthful one can ever have. Should you ever need me, then all you have to do is call."
"Call? I don’t understand…"
"In here Candy," Faith laid her hand on Candy’s heart. "All you need to do is call out and I will find you."
Faith laid a hand on Candy’s cheek and softly kissed her chastely on the lips. "Go now Candy. Your path awaits."
Candy nodded, unable to meet Faiths gaze, then turned and without looking back she left the bathroom and opened the front door. She was shaking and could not fathom why. She was a killer now, a taker of life, something that she previously would have despised. So why had the kindness of this green-eyed girl's words disturbed her. She grasped for the identity of what she now felt and realized with a gasp that it was forgiveness, and it dawned on her that the feeling must have come from the emerald eyed stranger, that she had in some way superimposed it upon her own feelings as an act of kindness.
Yet, it was with confusion that she continued on her way down the street, for with it remained a lingering trace of guilt. And like the forgiveness, Candy could have sworn it had originated from another source.
Candy knocked against the heavy entrance door to the Covenant, and waited, hardly daring to breath. Nothing happened. She knocked again, this time pounding with heavy fists.
"Come on you fuckers, open up!" she screamed.
A hatch in the door slid open and a voice she recognized spoke out from it. "I thought patience was a virtue possessed by woman? I need a token from you, a trade before I can allow you entry," said Jack.
"I just lobotomised a friend of mine. Isn’t that enough?" replied Candy sarcastically.
"Rules are rules, sweetheart," came Jack’s reply.
"Fine. You can be a right cunt, you know that, Jack? Here, a gram of Special K. Will that suffice?"
"Anything to trade will suffice. As long as it’s related in some way to the killing."
Candy passed the wrap of fine yellow dust through the hatch. There was the sound of locks being opened and a heavy bolt being drawn and the door to the Covenant swung open.
Candy stepped inside. "Those candles sure do last a while Jacky-boy."
"Onto the hard stuff, eh? Ketamine? Isn’t that used for killing horses?" asked Jack.
"Not this time, although I'm sure my dead friend’s dealer appreciated its anaesthetic properties when I stuck a screwdriver in his head. So cut the crap, Jack. I want that piece of my soul back. That was the deal, right? It’s in the rules. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain so far. So now I’m asking you to deliver."
"Oh you’re right of course. And they’ll give it to ya’. They know you’re here, see. They’ll be around shortly."
"How short…" Candy stopped mid-sentence as a heavy hand was laid gently on her shoulder.
Candy turned and was faced by the Black God. For the slightest of moments, visions of her friends, dead, with their throats cut, flared up in her mind's eye. Summoning a will she hadn't known she possessed, Candy closed the book on these pictures of brutality and turned her mind to the matter at hand.
"Oh. I see. Well let’s get the hell on with it," said Candy, finding the tremor in her voice comforting; had it been absent she would have been lost to recognise anything normal about the situation at all.
Xcetral thought a smile into Candy’s head. “Certainly. I hate to keep a lady waiting.”
She had expected the convulsions et al which had occurred previously, during the removal of her soul to reoccur during its part return. Instead however she cried out in pain and bent forward, clutching at various parts of her, and it seemed to Jack that she was hurting all over, yet did not know quite where the pain was originating from.
For Candy's part, it was as if an invisible spike, a kebab made of spirit, had been sunk into the emptiness where once had been her soul, and she tensed in grief and despair at the realization at what had been taken from her and how little had been restored.
She looked up, a whimper escaping from her, and saw Jack an inch from Xcetral. “That is not the way it is done and you know that. The return of the soul is meant to be a reward, and as such a pleasurable affair.”
“Perhaps you should mind your own affairs greeter, lest I take your interference seriously. This matter does not concern you.”
“Yet it does. It is my role to make sure that all is done correctly and within the confines of the rules. I have the authority to bring this before the others.”
“Your authority does not extend to me, greeter. I suggest you turn your mind elsewhere, lest I should reach beneath your cowl and suck whatever force keeps that skeleton of yours upright.”
“My authority extends to all Xcetral, and should you wish to challenge it then perhaps you should speak to the one who I worship, Mephinie, as it was she who breathed life into me, therefore it would be her life force you would be feasting on. And you know how she feels about the treatment of women...”
Candy watched the exchange with painful wonderment. She had never seen Jack like this before and did not know he possessed either the courage or power to speak his mind in such a way, and never in a million years did she think he would risk himself for her.
Xcetral paused and stroked his chin, his black faceless features as impassive as always.
Then he muttered something unintelligible to Candy's ears and the pain stopped as quickly as it had arrived as the spike she could imagine disengaged from whatever ethereal part of her it had sunk itself into.
Healing warmth stole up her body, righting her to her feet and in that moment she sensed her soul, not with eyes or ears or even touch.
It was as if she could intuit its presence yet there was no doubt it was there and its beauty brought a smile to her lips and renewed tears to her eyes, yet this time they were joyous droplets which trailed across her reddened cheeks.
She gazed up and smiled at Jack, then turned her gaze to Xcetral.
There, my precious daughter is one twenty-onefold of your soul restored. A mathematical equation of astral proportions.
"Fuck you!" spat Candy viciously. "And your grasp on mathematics!"
Xcetral said nothing, although she could sense somehow a smile on his featureless face. Then he turned on his heels and strode around the corridor, and then he was gone.
Candy turned back to Jack. “I'm not sure how I can thank you. For what you did there.”
Jack smiled. “There is no thanks necessary. I spoke only the truth. It is my place to oversee that all is done to the letter. With rules there is still chaos, but at least there is also a hint of fairness to proceedings.”
An hour had passed since the Rubiconeteka had returned to Candy the first piece of her soul. She sat now in concentrated contemplation, opposite Jack, who in turn sat facing Candy, the two opposed in a serious game of chess. With slow trepidation Candy lifted her knight and positioned it in alignment with Jack's king, placing the marble carved monarch in checkmate.
"The king is dead. Long live the king," spoke Jack in a joking voice which Candy still found hard to get used too.
"The king is alive and well, may he rot in hell," replied Candy.
"It’s been a long day, Candy. I’m going to retire for the evening. You can crash on the bench although I figure you have something you must attend to."
"That’s the last time I give you tranquillizers, Jack. They make you forget too much."
"They stop me from remembering you mean. Or maybe I just remember something else. The way it used to be. Before."
“There is no before, Jack. Only onwards as they say."
Jack heaved a pitiful sigh and with obvious remorse tipped the chess board unto the grey cobbled floor, sprawling the white and black pieces into a disarray of final obedience.
With a momentary dying breath of hushed acceptance the night's wind stilled. Candy walked hurriedly, a woman of purpose, through the quiet streets of the city. The game was back on and she a star player. She took the time to contemplate her next actions as she walked. She still had a little money, and it occurred to her drug addled mind that a base of some kind would be needed; somewhere she could regroup, even if she could not sleep. She dug deep into her pockets and pulled out a wad of crushed notes. A quick count of the bills revealed thirty three dollars. What would that buy her, in terms of room at the inn? She did not know. She realised that she could not remember the last time she had eaten. Probably back in the dorm at the college, when everything had been okay. The partial memory turned her stomach. She could not eat.
She carried on down the deserted side walk, occasionally passing a homeless drunk or a young couple, obviously out celebrating their love.
At one point a police patrol passed her by and Candy felt the panic rise in her throat at the scrutiny of the old time cops; however the encounter was brief and played more heavily in Candy's mind than in actual reality. At times the empathy she felt for those around her would become almost too much to bear and she would dab at the stolen Ketamine in a bid to tranquillize herself. For a way, it worked.
Looking up she found herself outside of a pawnshop, just about to close. She pushed open the door and held the bills she carried in her hand. She needed a weapon, something that would not attract attention - a gun was out of the question. And there it was; a solid steel hunting knife, sitting behind the glass of the counter.
"How much for the knife?"
The pawn shop owner was young and tall, dressed in a shirt made of thick cotton. He reminded Candy of a lumberjack.
"That knife there? Thirty dollars is the asking price, but I could give it to you for twenty five. It's got a good balance to it and a nice heavy weight too. And the blade's as sharp as hell. Hell, I would know, I sharpened it myself this morning."
"Twenty," Candy countered,
The man shook his head and Candy waited for his verbal response. Instead he unlocked the cabinet and laid the knife on the counter. Candy took the twenty and laid it beside the knife, which the man picked up, then started ringing up digits on the till behind him. When he turned around, Candy and the knife were gone.
Out on the street she studied it with curiosity.
It was designed with a black handle, the blade double edged and jagged down its left side. From hilt to point, Candy figured it had to be 8inches in length and a quarter of that across. She wondered what purpose its maker had in mind when they had created it.
She had only one purpose for it. All in all she had only one purpose. Checking she was alone in the street she gave a couple of experimental thrusts with the heavy blade. It entered her thoughts that at some point she should perhaps invest in a gun. Yet, there was something... right about the knife.
Of course there is. It's the hallmark of every successful serial killer – she wasn't sure if she was more worried about the truth she felt concealed in the thought or the smile it brought to her lips. She hastily tucked the knife into the waistband of her jeans and continued down the darkened concrete.
Nearing the end of the street she heard laughter coming from around the corner. She rounded the bend and came to a bar. At the sight of it, she felt a sudden urgency making its presence felt within her bladder, and it occurred to her that she still had not taken the time to pee. She decided she would enter, use the bathroom and get herself a drink. It beat the shit out of pissing in a doorway. One of the drunken revellers outside the bar gave a leering wolf whistle, however Candy silenced him with a single look. Her eyes had changed.
There was a terror in her gaze, a relentless defiance that stated quite clearly she was not to be fucked with. Without a word she entered the bar.
“...where have all the good times gone. They’ve left me far behind...” the jukebox box sang.
"Never a truer word spoken," Candy murmured to herself, as she approached the bar.
Middle aged suites drank neat scotch beside loose women seeking desperately to be loved. Candy could feel it all, could feel the loneliness and frustration seeping out from their pores and into her perceptiveness and she was overcome with a need, a strong and profound desire to escape her body, to kill her mind, tear out her eyes and kill, again and again and again.
"Double vodka on the rocks," Candy stated blankly.
A command, not a request. The barman nodded wearily. Man would give it to this one… Candy tuned out of the man’s thought. She did not want to know what exactly he would give her although she had a strong idea. Instead she found her attention drawn to a woman sitting at a table in the corner of the room, alone. The woman was smoking and appeared transfixed by something on the table. Something invisible.
Something Candy could not see. Her drink arrived and she picked it up and made her way over to the woman.
"Mind if I sit here? I could do with a bit of company," asked Candy, forcing politeness into her voice.
The woman did not look up from the table, yet indicated the empty seat with a wave of her hand. Candy sat. She tried to gain a feel for the woman, however her mind was blank and her feelings only her own, mingled with the others in the bar, whose emotions she could sense like the background static blare of a cheap radio.
"Do you come here often? Excuse the line," asked Candy.
"Often enough," replied the woman.
"I’m Candy," said Candy, noticing that the woman held certain defining qualities of beauty, her cheek bones high like a model's and her figure slim and tall looking.
"I know who you are," the woman said plainly.
This comment struck Candy with a sharp fear. The woman was telling the truth. That much Candy could perceive with her gift, if nothing else.
"Tell me then. What do you know?" asked Candy.
The woman picked up the cigarettes and handed one to Candy. “I know you should take up these. They will help you in the long run I suspect. Here light one now."
Candy gingerly placed the cigarette in her mouth. The woman struck a match from the complimentary packet on the table, a gift to advertise the establishment who provided them. Candy inhaled and let out a deep cough. The woman chuckled.
"Do not fear the cancer my dear. There are worse things in this world than death, yet I know that you already know that," the woman said, although this time mildly, a tone with comfort.
"What else can you tell me?" asked Candy, setting the cigarette in the ashtray, secretly hoping the woman would not notice her reluctance to smoke and the cigarette would simply burn itself out.
"The redemption you seek is out there. However it will take you long to realize this. You have much hardship ahead, yet you will be saved," the woman stated, meeting Candy's eyes.
At the woman’s words Candy rose to leave.
"Don’t give me your Jesus bullshit, lady. If I want crazy I’ll just look in a mirror," Candy spat venomously.
The woman reached out a hand and laid it on Candy’s arm. Candy felt a small jolt, like a mild electric shock, pass though her body.
"Please wait, Candy. I am not talking about Jesus or any kind of religion. Yours is a fight for forgiveness, not only from the good, but from yourself. However you will learn this too late. Which is not to say you will not be saved. Just that there will be more to forgive. In the world you have been thrown into the blackness is blinding like defeated light. Many will die. But your soul is precious. You have been chosen for important things. Do as you must. Just remember one thing…" the woman paused.
"What? What should I remember?" asked Candy tentatively.
"To smoke. You must now smoke until you are free. Promise me that much," the woman replied.
"I promise," said Candy.
Secretly she felt let down. Smoke, thought Candy. What a fucking anti-climax.
Candy brought her eyes to up to the woman's again. “Why can't I feel you?”
>
“You can't?” the woman, sounded surprised. Glad, almost.
“Should I?”
The woman dropped her gaze. “No. I mean... I don't know. I have a similar gift to yours.”
Candy closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. And concentrated. It was difficult tuning out the other feelings in the room, like trying to think whilst a dozen people talked at you at once.
“Candy, I-” the woman's voice began, and for a brief second Candy again caught a feeling, something inside her that she was sure did not belong to her, but was pretending to be all the same – she was sure of it. Then it was gone. Candy opened her eyes.
“Candy, I... as I was saying, you can't feel me because I keep my barriers up in public places. You know what it feels like, what it sounds like; all those people's thoughts and feelings, invading your own,” the woman continued.
Candy eyed the woman warily and downed her vodka. The alcohol tasted good and strong and with a chemical smack. She wanted another. However, the need to urinate was now way beyond any tolerable limit and she excused herself with a nod, setting course for the ladies bathroom.
The interior of the bathroom was clean. The scent of cheap air freshener entered her nostrils, a two note mixture of lavender and another she couldn't place. On the left side of the room, six wash hand basins faced six toilet stalls. Only one had the red dot on the lock, indicating its occupation.
She chose the stall furthest away from the exit and unbuttoned her jeans quickly and slipped them along with her panties down to her knees, then began to pee. The relief was massive. An odd song entered her head and she found herself singing along in time to the imaginary music.
"Suicide is painless. It brings on many changes and, I can take or leave it if I please."
She recognised the tune from an old T.V show. Why the hell it had entered her head now... (the woman, it's her want).
She opened the door to the cubical and walked over the wash hand basins. Icy water ran over her hands, then her wrists, slamming against her pulse with a cool rejuvenating blast. She turned to the drier and thoroughly dried her hands under the warm air. After a fashion, she turned again to the basins and cut out a line of K. Candy realised as she snorted the line that the patron of the other cubicle still had not appeared. The K hit home. She felt like killing. Why not? It was part of her process now. With reassuring arrogance she turned towards the cubicle and whistled softly to herself, a melody without words of the song she had sang minutes earlier.
Psycho Candy Page 8