Carpet Diem

  Cassandra smiled. “I suppose I am.”

  Clearly, it had been a while since she had seen him. One does not, Simon assumed, quickly forget being married to a deer.

  “We need to get off this island,” said Cassandra. “Tonight. Priest will stay asleep for a while, but I can’t keep him that way forever. And we do not want him waking up. Come on.”

  “Wait,” Simon protested. “We have to get Bob and Harriet.”

  Cassandra stopped.

  “You realise how much is at stake here, right?”

  Simon thought for a moment.

  “No, I’m not sure that I do. But I do know that I’m not leaving without Harriet and Bob. They’re … friends.”

  “You’re sweet. Odd, but sweet. OK, I’ll get Bob, you get Harriet.”

  There was something odd about the way she said it.

  “Why that way around?” Simon asked.

  “Because I left her in bed with Priest, and I don’t think I can carry her.”

  ----

  Simon pushed the door open with all the bravery of a dormouse with a door phobia. The room was pitch black. Fantastic.

  He slowly pushed the door further until the crack of light from behind him reached the edge of the bed. Cassandra had promised him that, short of anything highly abnormal, Priest would sleep for a few hours yet. He just wasn’t sure exactly how abnormally Harriet would behave when he tried to pick her out of the bed and carry her outside.

  Luckily, she was on the side of the bed nearest him. At least, he assumed the mountainous heap under the covers on the other side of the bed was Priest. The bed itself seemed to be tilting in that direction. Simon momentarily marvelled at the engineering of a bed that could keep itself in one piece at all with a man of his stature regularly indulging his clearly voracious appetites all over its poor wooden frame.

  Simon crept as lightly as he could manage to the side of the bed. Her head was under the covers. He gently and slowly lifted the sheet to look down at her … feet.

  For God’s sake!

  He couldn’t entirely see the edge of the duvet, so he decided to follow it down to find her head. She was lying at an angle, which meant her head was further across the mattress than her feet. Of course. As he started to move further up the edge, a distinctly unpleasant thought occurred to him. The further he went, the worse it got, until finally, carefully, he reached her hip and confirmed it.

  She was naked.

  Simon suppressed his gag reflex, then froze.

  Now what?

  ----

  Simon was taking an inordinately long time and, frankly, they didn’t have it. Cassandra had tired of waiting and crossed to the bedroom door. Poking her head around, she saw Simon standing frozen at the side of the bed with the edge of the duvet in his hands.

  It was the kind of position she often found her step-daughter in, but she had a good excuse. What the hell was the man doing?

  “Hoi!” she stage whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  Simon turned his head and peered pleadingly through the dark at her.

  “She’s naked!” he whispered back.

  “So?”

  Simon stoically continued to stare at Cassandra. She repeated the question with her eyes.

  “She’s naked!” he repeated.

  Cassandra sighed. She turned back into the main room.

  “There’s a problem, apparently.”

  “What is it?” Bob asked, concerned.

  “Apparently, she’s naked…” Cassandra shrugged to show she had no idea why this was such an issue.

  “Oh, OK. Yeah, that’s a problem,” Bob confirmed.

  “It is?”

  “Yes. She’s ….” he struggled for the words.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s … never mind, I’ll sort it.”

  Bob crept into to the room, slowing his pace as he entered, and found Simon still stuck in position.

  “She’s naked!” he whispered again.

  “I know!” Bob answered, quietly but urgently. “Stay calm.”

  Bob crept into the en suite and emerged carrying a huge, decorative dressing gown.

  “OK. You hold up the duvet…”

  “She’s naked!”

  “I know, you don’t have to look, just hold up the duvet and I’ll wrap her in this.”

  Simon nodded vigorously.

  As he lifted the duvet, Priest stirred in his sleep, rolled onto his back and began snoring. They froze. The room vibrated gently. After a moment, they moved again.

  Slowly, tortuously slowly, Simon finished lifting the duvet, squinting through his eyelashes to make sure he didn’t lift it too high and expose Priest to the cold air that might wake him.

  As soon as he stopped, Bob began the even more delicate process of removing Harriet. After accidentally poking her in the eye and seeing no response, he decided it was safe and expedient to opt for speed, and simply rolled her towards him into the dressing gown.

  “OK, you can let go and look,” he whispered, after checking that he had covered anything that might damage Simon’s delicate psyche.

  They grabbed an end each - Simon taking the head, just to be safe - and moved to the door. Cassandra closed it after them.

  They gently placed Harriet on a couch. She wriggled slightly, rolled onto her side and loudly farted.

  Simon closed his eyes and went to a happy place.

  When he opened them again, he was surprised to see an extra face in the room: Amelia’s.

  “As you can see,” Cassandra said, “we have another hiccup.”

  “I'm sorry, but I had to wake her,” Bob explained.

  “I understand,” said Cassandra, “but you boys are going to have to give me a minute to … explain some things to Amelia.”

  “Of course, but aren't we in a hurry?” Simon asked nervously.

  “We are,” Cassandra replied pointedly, “but this is important.”

  She gestured to the balcony. Simon shrugged and the boys moved outside. There was no point in them leaving without her, so until she was ready to go, they were stuck.

  ----

  “So my father is basically a serial rapist?”

  Amelia had listened with growing distress as Cassandra told her everything.

  “Well, yes and no,” Cassandra answered.

  “Cass!” she pleaded with her step-mother.

  “Not really, I suppose. I mean, look, he can have any woman he wants. So he has the ones he wants. It’s not exactly right, but it’s … understandable. Sort of.”

  Amelia was crying now.

  “Your father is a very complicated man. You have to understand what he's been through … what they did to him. It was horrific. This island; his exception; his attraction for women – it's all to make up for it.”

  “Oh, God,” said Amelia. “Oh, God.”

  “Yes, He has a lot to answer for. And so does She.”

  “What did they do?”

  Cassandra visibly slumped.

  “Honestly, I don't want to tell you.”

  Amelia's eyes begged for something to help her see her father as a decent man again.

  “They used him,” Cassandra finally relented. “They broke him. It was cruel.”

  Cassandra moved around the dinner table and sat next to Amelia, putting her arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If it’s any consolation, I'd kill him if I didn't kind of understand him. And listen, I don’t feel any differently about you. His ability only affects how people feel about him.”

  Amelia smiled through the waterworks.

  “Really?”

  Cassandra nodded. Amelia hugged her.

  After a moment, the witch began again.

  “So, listen: we have to leave. Well, they have to leave, and I should really go with them. But Bob wouldn’t leave without you - without at least giving you the chance to come too.”

  “He wouldn’t?” she didn’t smile, but she did look less upset.

 
“I know it’s hard, but you have to decide right now. Do you want to come with us?”

  “Or stay here with my rapist father and sociopath mother?”

  Cass shrugged to indicate that yes, that was pretty much the size of it.

  Before Amelia could answer, a crackle of red light appeared on the table, which reached out to Cassandra with spidery red tendrils of lightning. She tried to move, but they quickly enveloped her and she was held in place, the red lights shimmering around her.

  Amelia snapped around to look behind her, to see where the light had come from.

  And stopped.

  ----

  The scent of lavender was drifting up from the garden below and the air temperature was just at the stage where it was comfortably warm without being sticky. There was a gentle breeze now and again. Over the sea, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first signs of sunrise.

  “Do you really love her?” Simon asked Bob, “I mean, you hardly know her, really.”

  “I know. I know, it’s insane, but I can’t explain it. The time when I saw her in the garden it was like … like being filled with light. She radiated warmth and joy. Being with her is like sitting next to a furnace in the snow.”

  The giant appeared to have the soul of a poet. It was the second time Bob had left Simon dumbstruck. Then again, he’d only known him for a few days and already considered him a friend. Either that was a comment on what a good, decent human being he was or Simon was sad enough to befriend anyone who wasn’t a total bastard.

  In fact, he’d largely befriended everyone he’d met in the last week, which was odd. Daniel aside. He had seemed nice at first, but it only took one suggestion of painful murder to put Simon right off him. He didn't smell bad though. Not as good as Lily, but still…

  Simon realised he had forgotten to speak again.

  “That’s lovely.”

  “What about you and Cherry?” Bob asked, yawning. It was their second late night adventure in a row.

  Simon was glad that the low light hid his reddening face. How he felt about Cherry was nothing like Bob had described Amelia. It was much more … earthy, as Lily would say. He definitely liked her and absolutely lusted after her, but she was less a furnace in the snow than an oasis in the desert, if he was honest. Still, he was looking forward to seeing her again.

  “It’s not really the same as you, I don’t think.”

  “Well, you and I have had very different lives. I think that makes us see things differently. Maybe it’s not as different as you think.”

  “Maybe,” Simon conceded.

  “I agree, mis amigos; different lives make us see things differently.”

  The voice came from behind them, at the door. Simon turned. Bob did not. The colour drained from his face.

  “Good evening, Robert. You are pleased to see me?”

  Simon looked from the stranger to Bob. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

  “I’m sorry, we haven’t met,” Simon said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. In times of crisis, the British instinctively revert to polite niceties. It comes from being brought up on Victorian novels.

  Bob grabbed Simon’s arm, looked him dead in the eye and shook his head gravely. Simon took retracted his hand, not least because he’d noticed the stranger’s knife glinting.

  Bob slowly turned.

  “How did you get out?”

  There was a hard edge in his voice that Simon had not heard before.

  The man tossed his head as if shooing away a butterfly.

  “The universe, she likes me, I think.”

  He smiled and Simon’s stomach flipped. It was pure, undiluted evil.

  “The girls!” Simon suddenly remembered. “Where are the girls?”

  Bob glowered even more darkly. “No,” he said, firmly. “No.”

  In the following silence, Simon thought he heard a distant, mechanical squeal.

  “The ladies are fine,” the stranger said. “Particularly fine, I would say. Perhaps you gentlemen would do me the honour of joining me in the lounge?”

  “This is nothing to do with him,” Bob said, stepping between Simon and Calderon.

  The Spaniard smiled. “Do you imagine that letting me know you wish him unhurt is helpful?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “It is a magnificent thing, I think, no?”

  Calderon gestured at the crackling red light around Cassandra, which apparently held her frozen in place. Simon tried to gauge whether there was any recognition in her eyes, but it was impossible to tell. She may or may not have been aware of what was happening.

  “It is a witch’s trap,” Calderon continued, imperiously. “When you come to an island inhabited by witches, it is best to come prepared, I think. I had another for the little one, but she is scared stiff! It is quite something, no?”

  Calderon ran his hand down the back of Amelia’s neck. Simon saw Bob stiffen, but he’d learned his lesson. He kept quiet.

  “This one,” Calderon moved to Harriet, “I thought was dead, until I heard the awful noise she makes!” he nudged her in the back with his leg. She grunted and one arm fell loose, dangling over the edge of the couch.

  It was an understandable assumption. She smelled dead.

  “What do you want?” Bob asked.

  Calderon sneered at him, though Simon assumed it was meant as a smile. His disfigured face was hard to read. Calderon produced a cigar, lit it, and sat down.

  “First, I want you to tell your friend how we know each other, porfavor.”

  Bob turned to Simon.

  “Why?”

  “Because it amuses me.”

  Bob seethed for a moment. When he spoke, it was in a dead, flat voice.

  “Simon, this is Antonio Calderon. He tortures boys. I buried him in a bridge.” He turned to Calderon. “That do?”

  Calderon blew more smoke. “You missed the best part, my friend.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Take off your shirt, Robert,” the Spaniard smiled.

  “No.”

  “Do it or I kill everyone,” Calderon casually waved his cigar around the room.

  Bob stood up, glaring at the intruder. He slowly lifted his shirt over his head. As soon as Simon could see the skin on his back, he knew why. It was a mass of scars. His stomach and shoulders were the same. There were cuts, burns and what looked like piercings. What the hell?

  “What your friend is not sharing, Simon, is that I tortured him. A lot. And I enjoyed it.”

  A shiver ran through Simon's soul.

  “And do you know what?” Calderon moved right in front of Bob, who defiantly stared back. “I think he did too.”

  Bob’s right fist came up, swinging for Calderon’s face, but the Immortal was already gone. He was fast. Insanely fast. Instantly, he was behind Bob, who went down, kneeling with his right arm pinned behind his back. Calderon’s left hand held the cigar to Bob’s cheek.

  The sound of crackling flesh was nauseating.

  Bob didn’t make a sound.

  “You see?” Calderon turned to Simon. A trail of saliva dangled from his mangled lip. “He likes it.”

  Something snapped.

  Simon lunged at Calderon, aware someone was screaming. It was him.

  Caught off guard, Calderon only partially dodged Simon's tackle, but he turned enough to put Bob between them, so that the three landed in an awkward dog-pile. The cigar rolled free from his hand and Simon smelt Bob’s burnt cheek. It was acrid and caught the back of his throat.

  With one leg trapped beneath them both, Calderon was at least constrained. Still, his speed was incredible. Simon struggled to swing punches at him as he ducked and wriggled to free himself. He landed a few glancing blows, but nothing solid. Bob was using his own body as a weight, reaching behind him in an attempt to grab a firm hold on Calderon, to give Simon a steady target.

  Simon kept swinging as Bob tried desperately to keep hold of that leg. Calderon smashed a ceramic bowl over Bob'
s head. The giant reeled for a moment, but regained his composure and managed to keep his fragile grip.

  Simon leaned back and reached for the cigar. He brought it round and stabbed at Calderon's chest, singeing his shirt a few times.

  Calderon stopped trying to free himself and swung back – one direct punch connecting with Simon's jaw. Not having been in many fights, he didn’t know how to roll with it. Instead, he took the full brunt and his eyesight went sideways for a moment, sending him reeling backward.

  That gave Calderon time to concentrate on freeing his leg, but it also gave Bob a chance to shift his weight. He turned to face the Spaniard and, with a cry of rage and venom, rained punches on his chest and face. Calderon's speed meant most of them missed, but some hit – and Bob wasn't slowing down. He swung again and again.

  Simon stood and grabbed the edge of the couch, catching his balance. He didn't have time to think, he needed to act. Quickly. He moved around behind Calderon and kicked him, hard, in the back of the head. Not seeing the blow coming, the Spaniard took it full force and his head lunged forward, towards Bob, who connected with his face at the same time. The combination made a sickening crack that reverberated in the room. But it was Bob’s hand that had broken, not Calderon’s face.

  Bob reeled back as the pain registered. Calderon, seemingly unfazed by the double blow, lurched towards him and shoved him onto his back.

  Simon grabbed a lamp and raised it to swing, but stopped when he saw the knife at Bob's eye.

  Simon could see Calderon’s warped face reflected in the dark window pane. The Spaniard grinned back at him. Blood ran from several cuts on his face.

  “I told you, I came prepared. Now,” he moved the knife to Bob’s throat, “step the fuck away, Simon.” He spat the name like a cobra. Simon stepped backwards, slowly. There was a pain in his mouth and an acrid taste. Was he bleeding?

  Calderon stood and dragged Bob to his feet. He put his hand out, silently demanding the cigar.

  “This must be a very good friend, that he is prepared to die for you, Robert.”