by Bob Goodwin
‘Free food. Free shelter. And you are locked in. Which is not a bad thing as black Friday approaches. Sure, you are locked in with some heavy dudes, but not with anyone that wants to kill you. I’ll be out of here in a week or so.’
‘You only leave this place when they’re good and ready,’ said Simon, glancing at the staff. He leaned forward, close to Ras’s face, and spoke softly. ‘That Asian nurse, Kym, had a quiet word in my ear. Even though I’m here voluntarily, I can’t leave. As soon as I make any sounds about discharge they’ll slap a bloody order on me. How do you beat a system like that?’
‘The secret, my friend, is to make them believe they’re ready to let you go,’ chuckled Ras lightly.’
‘Then you can go casting more spells on unsuspecting people?’
‘No, no, no!’ whispered the old man loudly. ‘I only did that because they wouldn’t listen to me. I warned them repeatedly, but I was just ignored. You know, there are some things in this world one should not become involved with, and that’s witchcraft, devil worship, and necromancy.’
‘Huh!’ Simon sat back, somewhat stunned on hearing those words.
‘It’s your move.’ The old man crossed his arms and focused his attention on the chessboard. Simon had lost interest in the game.
‘What do you know about such things?’ he asked.
‘Experience. I’ve seen the deeds of evil people. I’ve seen their eyes. Their devil eyes.’ Ras paused. For a moment, he seemed a long way from Ward 21. He shook his shoulders and gave a short gasp, as if feeling cold. ‘Sure, I go over the top sometimes, but if you don’t create a scene, who’s going to listen? It’s still your move.’ He gestured to the chess set with a nod of his head.
‘Yes, I know.’ Simon glanced at the board briefly. The topic of conversation was compelling. He wanted more information.
‘Queen to f5,’ muttered Stacey, as he pushed the piece forward. ‘Tell me, Ras, what involvement have you had with those evil things?’
‘That’s a terrible move. It’s now mate in three. Would you like to try again?’
‘No thanks, please tell me what you know, my friend.’
‘I don’t like to go back that far, it upsets me.’
‘I’m sorry to pry, but I think it could be important for me personally.’
‘To you personally! I don’t understand how that could be. I suppose we all have our secrets, but witchcraft and Satanism you should leave well alone.’ Ras looked at Stacey with some concern. His lips moved rapidly up and down, never parting more than a centimetre. There was a rush of faint whispering words that were far too soft for anyone to understand.
‘Are you okay?’ There was no immediate response. The soft, indiscernible chatter continued. Simon looked about the courtyard. Eddy was standing near the entrance, sucking on a cigarette and trying to impress one of the young student nurses. Another male nurse was kicking a basketball at a man’s feet trying to extract a return kick, but the statue-like patient seemed to be more interested in studying his own toes against the grass. All was well, and so far, no one had noticed his companion’s unusual antics.
‘Ras, are you with me?’ Simon placed his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder. The touch was like releasing the pause button on a cassette player. George Hartley spoke immediately.
‘Very briefly then. Years ago I started a club, nothing sinister, it was just an innocent sex club. There was no harm intended. I saw it as a business opportunity with the chance of getting laid on the side. Not a brothel, and never intended to be. All arrangements were private, between consenting adults. Everything was handled discreetly. It was really just like a pleasant social occasion. A chance for people to meet new friends and have some fun. It was going well until a wealthy South Australian moved in. With money and a few goons behind him, he very carefully but very thoroughly changed the emphasis from a bit of good fun to something wicked and evil. He seemed such a decent bloke at first but the demon was in him, luring, deceiving, and plotting. I should have seen it earlier. I’m well out of it all now, but I still know only too well what goes on.’
‘This club, did it have a name?’
‘When I operated it we simply called it the S L Club — that is, the Socially Liberated Club. Some people called it Hartley’s, but the demon man changed it. They now call themselves the 13th Black Candle.’
‘Holy shit!’
‘Nothing holy about them. Very unholy. They hold special sacrificial services they call Bodytune.’
‘Bodytune?’ exclaimed Simon sharply.
‘Yes, Bodytune. The 13th Black Candle. Do these names mean something to you?’
‘I own a gym. A health centre called Bodytone.’ Stacey was suddenly deep in thought, remembering the events surrounding the naming of his fitness club shortly after he bought out the original owners. He and Alison had argued for days. She repeatedly demanded that the name be changed, but could offer little explanation for her unusually disagreeable behaviour, other than an intense dislike for the chosen title. Simon had insisted that the name, selected by a panel of staff, remain.
‘Simon, what’s going on here? What does this mean to you?’ insisted Ras. His eyes had widened and his voice had developed a slight tremble. His lips began to pitter-patter again.
‘My wife, Alison. I think that’s the club she was involved with. Who was this South Australian, what’s his name?’ The question drew no immediate response. Ras was staring as though he was looking right through Simon. ‘What’s wrong now, for Christ’s sake? What are you thinking? I need to know!’
‘You told me your son was killed in the fire, he was nearly two years old?’
‘Yes, that’s right, but why —’
‘When was his birthday?’ interrupted Ras. Simon found his friend’s manner had changed dramatically. He spoke loudly and clearly with an uncomfortable seriousness.
‘Why is that important? What is going —’
‘Answer me, Stacey. When was he born?’
‘He was born on the sixteenth of August, 1984,’ replied Simon carefully. No sooner had the words left his lips than Ras jumped to his feet with a look of horror.
‘You!’ he yelled. ‘You’re the one. You’re the one. Friday, it’s you. Curse you, curse you!’ Ras pointed at Stacey in disbelief and kicked the chess pieces in his face. ‘Damn you, Simon Stacey. Damn you to hell!’ With that he turned and ran full pace towards one of the courtyard windows. The two male staff were quickly in pursuit, but just a pace too slow to prevent the old man slamming into the resilient glass with an echoing thud. The glass bowed and catapulted Ras backwards. He landed heavily, flat on his back. Blood streamed freely from both nostrils. It poured over his lips into his open mouth and down his cheeks to his ear lobes, where it dripped rapidly onto the grass. His eyes were wide open and pupils dilated. The loud respiratory grunts could be heard clearly throughout the Greenhouse.
‘Clear the courtyard!’ shouted Eddy. ‘Get me some combine, medication, and call the doctor!’ Simon arrived at the side of his injured companion.
‘Is he okay?’
‘No, he’s not okay, now piss off, Stacey. I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No! Fuck off!’ bellowed Eddy. Simon left the courtyard and returned to his room. He knew that Eddy held him entirely to blame, and as he lay down on his bed, he couldn’t help but believe that the male nurse was right. He was responsible for the injury to the old man. Ras had not only made him laugh, but had also stimulated him to think deeply about many things. He had quickly become a friend, and they were getting on so well. He had pressured Ras too hard for information, and in so doing, had lifted the lid off some stressful events.
It was twenty minutes later when the unwelcome but expected visitor, Eddy, arrived.
‘Stacey, you’ve really fucked up this time. I warned you about keeping your nose clean,’ he growled, pointing and shaking his finger. ‘The poor old bastard is a mess.’
‘Will he be all
right?’ asked Simon lamely.
‘You’ll be pleased to know he should get over this upset within a few days, although his broken nose will take a bit longer to heal.’
‘I’m really sorry. I guess I just didn’t understand how fragile he really was.’ Simon shook his head remorsefully. ‘What sort of outburst was that?’
‘You’re quite right you don’t understand, so I’d be pleased if you’d leave the counselling to those that do.’ Eddy remained firm, but not nearly as hostile as Simon had expected. ‘He had a panic attack. Rather radical, eh? You may be reassured to know it wasn’t his first. What in the hell did you say to him?’
‘We had just started to talk about black magic, witchcraft, stuff like that. He told me he found it upsetting to talk about, but I kept on with the conversation.’
‘I could have guessed,’ nodded Eddy. ‘That would have been the worst possible subject to bring up. He has a fixed delusion about when he was attacked years ago. He believes it was the work of a group of Satanists. His attackers slit his abdomen open with a cutthroat razor. The police found him in the gutter with his guts hanging out. And in case you’re wondering, it was just two young muggers; they were arrested and charged, but you can’t tell old George. He’s just set on the Satanists thing and that’s that.’
‘Yeah, okay. A pretty touchy subject. I won’t bring it up again.’
‘Damn right you won’t. You need to understand that when he comes out of seclusion, you will avoid him like the plague until we can arrange either his, or your transfer to another ward. You’re getting off lightly, Stacey. Another prank like this and you’ll be making a close inspection of these walls.’
‘Right-o, I get the message.’
‘Don’t upset anyone else. Talk about the weather, or gardening, or something else that’s equally boring.’
‘Okay then. Just one thing I’d like to ask you. He yelled out “Friday” to me. Do you have any idea what he might have meant by that?’
‘I thought we agreed to stick to benign topics. I want you to leave it alone.’
‘I will, I promise. I simply want to sort it all out in my own mind,’ insisted Simon.
‘I think you are full of shit and a lying bastard.’
‘No bullshit, honest. Come on, you must have a few ideas.’
‘Look, it’s probably a delusional thing. He was attacked on a black Friday, so he is probably concerned about this coming Friday, which is the thirteenth. I might be a psych nurse but I’m not fucking psychic. Now, can we leave it at that?’ Simon nodded rather reluctantly and began to replay the afternoon’s events through in his mind.
* * *
Simon Stacey slept little that night, still perplexed by the words and behaviour of Ras, and preoccupied with thoughts and images of his wife and son. He had tried desperately to clearly recall the meeting at the fitness centre when the club’s name was chosen. He knew there was an argument and they had reached an impasse. Some wanted Bodytone, others Bodytune. Finally, it was he who terminated any further team discussion and decided on Bodytone. It sounded softer, and seemed to encompass more than simply a tune-up. But who were those who had insisted on tune in the first place? Why did the mentioning of Robbie’s birthday precipitate some sort of panic attack? Each time he closed his eyes he saw George Hartley’s bloody, staring face. That look of horror seemed to be imprinted on his brain. Ras knew much more, but the prospect of regaining his confidence and talking with him again seemed too distant to feasibly contemplate. But there was someone else here besides Hartley who knew about the 13th Black Candle. Ward 21 was on the list of numbers he had collected from Romoli. Unfortunately, it seemed likely that this person, whoever he may be, would not be extending the hand of friendship. Simon already had his ideas on who this could be, and Mike and Eddy were on top of the list.
Chapter 15
Breach of Duty
Wendy was attending to her early morning chores, wiping down the furniture, restocking the various piles of leaflets, updating the notice board, and altering the weekly roster. She glanced at her watch: eight fifty. There was only ten minutes to tidy Charlie’s office before his scheduled arrival. On entering the room, she opened the vertical blinds to keep an eye on the reception desk. The office was often a mess, and today was no exception. Charlie’s late-night working back last Friday had given her more work than she expected. The desktop could barely be seen beneath the scraps of paper, open books, assorted documents, and empty Coke cans. Numerous sheets of foolscap were strewn about the floor near Charlie’s chair, and several balls of screwed-up paper surrounded the small half-full rubbish bin near the corner.
The club manager had an annoying habit of playing basketball with his rejected ideas; some underhand, others lobbed high in the air, and if feeling adventurous, occasionally left-handed behind his back. The two had agreed on a system to keep both parties happy. Any ball-shaped items could be incinerated. Those that looked like rubbish but had Madden’s signature on the bottom corner were to be attached to the clipboard on the side of the desk. Any doubtfuls were to be placed in the emptied waste paper bin, and if still there next morning, could be disposed of. Wendy made a start on the desk, placing several items with the many others already on the clipboard. She picked up the books and placed them on the appropriate shelves. As was part of her tidying routine, she slid open the second drawer of the desk to remove the ashtray. Charlie was not a heavy smoker, just three or four a day, but he was careful not to smoke in front of club members or staff. As Wendy picked up the ashtray, the open book on which it was resting caught her attention. She lifted it up and was mesmerised by the grotesque picture on display. She walked slowly to the waste paper basket with the book in one hand and ashtray in the other. The picture had her complete attention. She emptied the dirty receptacle, not realising that three of the four cigarette butts landed on the carpet. She returned to the desk and sat down. Keeping her finger at the opened section, she turned the book to see the front cover — Sorcery and Magic by Oswald Madison. Looking back to the marked page, she read the caption under the illustration: ‘’The Consecration of the Feast’ depicts four witches preparing a child for a sacrificial ritual. Despite finding it extremely offensive, Wendy found herself staring at the picture with ghoulish curiosity. It seemed to be set in some sort of barn. There was an assortment of carpenter’s tools, mainly saws of various sizes, hanging on the wall in the background. The four naked witches were incredibly ugly with sinister, distorted smiling faces. She wondered what sort of sick individual would paint such a picture and why on earth Charlie Madden would be reading such rubbish.
‘Hello, Wendy!’
‘Aaah!’ she squealed with fright. Her body jolted, and the book fell to the floor. ‘Oh, Oscar, it’s you. You scared me half to death. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.’ Wendy picked up the book and placed it back in the drawer.
‘Who’s sneaking? I just walked in the door,’ smiled Schliemann, pleading innocent to the charge. ‘Sorry to startle you. What were you reading? It must have been interesting.’
‘One of Charlie’s books, I guess you’d call it a horror story.’
‘Sorcery and Magic, I know the book. I’ve read some of it.’
‘That’s awful. You shouldn’t read that sort of stuff. It’s not healthy.’
‘I don’t. Charlie left it in the staff room. I gave it back to him on Friday night.’
‘He shouldn’t read it either. It’s probably not his anyway,’ grumbled Wendy.
‘People have a habit of coming up with surprises, even for those that know them well,’ said Oscar. ‘I investigated a forty-year-old religious fanatic. A lovely fellow. In the evenings, he loved nothing better than to insert a variety of phallic —’
‘Stop!’ interrupted Wendy sharply. ‘Don’t tell me any more. I get the idea. There’s plenty of nice romance or adventure stories available. If I read a book like that I wouldn’t sleep for weeks. A friend took me to see that awful film, The Keep.
I was so scared, I moved back in with my mother for a fortnight.’ The big European grinned.
‘What are you grinning at?’ she asked.
‘You.’
‘A comedian I’m not, although I do seem to provide some people around here with a good laugh,’ she said self-consciously. ‘Now, can you leave me to get on with my work?’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re a very nice person.’
‘And I think your big blue eyes are very nice too, but they obviously need glasses.’ Wendy felt slightly embarrassed and continued with her cleaning, avoiding looking at Oscar.
‘Good morning all.’
‘Good morning, Charlie,’ said Wendy. Schliemann nodded his greeting.
‘Everything okay, Oscar?’
‘Appears to be. We were just talking about that book you’re reading.’ Wendy glared daggers at the blonde giant.
‘Which book? I’m reading several at the moment.’
‘The one I gave back to you on Friday.’
‘That one? A bit boring, really. What about it?’ asked Charlie, as he placed his briefcase beside the desk.
‘I was wondering where you’d buy such a book.’
‘Who knows? It’s not mine, I found it in the gym.’ Wendy looked at Oscar and forced an ‘I told you so’ smile. She licked her finger and drew an imaginary number one in the air.
‘If you’re not quite finished in here, I might go on my morning rounds now and leave you to it. Is anyone off sick today?’
‘No calls yet. Angela’s still away, but Wayne is back after being off sick last Friday. I should only be a few minutes cleaning up here.’
‘Oscar, would you like to come for a walk? There’s a couple of things I want to talk to you about.’
‘Sure,’ he replied. The men left the room while Wendy quickly attended to the domestic chores. She felt her routine was a little behind schedule, and was annoyed at herself for not having Charlie’s office completed prior to his arrival. The staff meeting and tea rooms still required her attention. Some movement in the foyer caught her attention. It was Detective Briggs.