Demon World

by Balvir Bhullar

  Poor tourists, not the best day to view the city, thought Rowanne. They were paying to have a bird’s eye view of nothing. Some people would not let anything get in the way of what they wanted, even when it was hopeless, and staring them right in the face.

  She ran past the Eye, noting that the river Thames was swollen with the amount of rainfall that London had received recently - in just the last few hours alone there had been no break. She turned her face up and watched the gray clouds roll along as lightning continued to pound the city.

  She ran along the Southbank, and continued on under the Waterloo Bridge. Across the river she spotted St Paul’s. The normally beautiful Cathedral looked cold and foreboding in this weather. She eventually came to the Globe, and stopped to catch her breath.

  Rowanne decided to go into the impressive building, took the stairs to the first level, and after getting herself a hot drink, promptly sneaked into the seating area while it was still empty before the next performance. She admired the inside of the structure, with its central stage and curved seating, almost reaching right up into the rafters. Rowanne sat down amongst the empty aisles, and looked in contemplation at the empty stage.

  The stage was wet as the roof only partially covered it, but the rest was open to the heavens, not to mention the standing area. The customers would either love the experience of watching The Tempest ironically while it poured down - it would give it a certain kind of dramatic atmosphere - or they would be miserably soaking wet! Rowanne smiled sweetly as she thought, Well, at least it’s not me! and laughed darkly. The show would still go on, rain had never stopped it before. The technicians did last minute sound checks and laid out props on the stage.

  Rowanne closed her eyes and smiled, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, but all too soon she felt the cold seep into her muscles as she finished the last drop of her drink.

  Sneaking out of the theatre, she stepped back out into the rain. However, by this time a fog had rolled in, and she could barely see across the Thames, let alone a few paces ahead. Damn it, I didn’t even bring any change for the tube, she thought dismayed. Pulling on her hood, she ran back in the direction of Westminster Bridge.

  The freedom and energy that Rowanne had gained by running in the rain faded quickly, replaced by a panic that slowly spread through her. This is too much like my dream. Rationally she knew that nothing was following her, but how could she be certain in this fog?

  Her heart beat fast, and her mouth felt dry as every couple of yards she saw a man out of the corner of her eye. When she turned her head to look directly at him, she found that nobody was there. This gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Racing through her mind were the stories of stalkers that she had covered in the past. I wish I didn’t have such a good memory, she thought.

  Based on her research, she knew it began with the victim being followed a long time before they even began to suspect what was happening. Now she too had the feeling of being watched... She remembered that in some of the cases, the perpetrator would make himself known to the victim: approaching them, trying to get to know them, and even deliberately standing outside their home to intimidate them. Eventually it would escalate to... Don’t even go there, Rowanne thought, as she desperately tried to block the images that were trying to form in her mind.

  Thunder boomed, and as Rowanne tilted her head back to look up, she could have sworn that there was movement within the clouds. It lasted less than half a second, but it appeared as if there were a battle raging up there... The flashes of lightning reminded her of supernatural battles, like the ones she read of in mythology.

  Oh God, I’m seriously losing it! I’m not getting enough sleep, but what can I do when my dreams are plagued by nightmares, she thought. It’s finally all getting to me... Intellectually she believed that this was the reason for her delusions but her heart thought otherwise.

  Rowanne slowed down as she approached the Eye again, noting that it was deserted. The giant wheel had come to a standstill, and fog obscured the top half of it. There was no one around in the immediate area. Where has everyone gone?

  Rowanne heard faint howling in the distance that gradually grew louder. It’s getting closer, whatever it is. Immediately, macabre images of beasts and jackals were conjured up in her mind. Last time I checked, you don’t usually find wolves or jackals in London, thought a desperate Rowanne. She shook her head to clear away the images and ran as quickly as possible towards home.

  Rowanne got back to her apartment just after one. Sweating and drenched, she was a sight to behold as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Where on earth did my morning go? she wondered, as she stepped into her well deserved hot shower.

  She changed into her favourite oversized jumper and comfy jeans then, making herself a tea, she promptly settled onto the sofa. She relaxed as she watched the rain pound the living room windows; it had a soothing rhythm.

  However, it was only the brief respite of a few precious moments before her mind wandered back through the events of the past couple of days. What the hell happened this week? It’s like something out of a Victorian ‘penny dreadful,’ she thought, trying to make herself laugh, but something stopped her.

  In a few short days, she had gone from being a successful journalist rising steadily to the top of her profession, to becoming neurotic. I’m unravelling, she thought, maybe time off will do me some good.

  At around six in the evening, Rowanne got ready to go out. She put on her favourite shade of wine red lipstick paired with a killer floor length, black dress made of rich satin, the slit in the back showing glimpses of her long legs whenever she moved. She put her dark hair up into a French twist. Her mane was so long that it took a lot of bobby pins, and at least half an hour before it was perfectly styled, not forgetting hairspray. Which is every girl’s best friend, especially in this country, she thought wryly. Finally she encased her feet in her favourite black, Christian Louboutin high heeled stilettos - she loved the contrasting red soles.

  Grabbing her oversized black clutch, she headed into the hallway, and took one last look in the antique mirror her grandmother had gifted her. It reflected an attractive thirty year old with dark, smouldering emerald eyes lined with kohl, which gave them an almost striking feline quality. Around her neck rested the amethyst pendant she so frequently wore. It was in the shape of an elongated heart encased in silver Celtic scrollwork. The silver rim at the top of the pendant was engraved with stars and suns, as well as writing that she could not make out, but which her grandmother had said was their true ancestral name, whatever that meant... Maybe she’d ask her about it sometime.

  It was special to Rowanne, who wore it close to her heart, especially because it had originally belonged to her grandmother, who had passed it onto her on her eighteenth birthday.

  She took the lift down to the car park. And though her heart was racing, she walked sedately, belying the sudden panic that had arisen within her, and it certainly did not help that this section was poorly lit. Fine tremors ran along her hands as she reached for her car door, and she breathed a sigh of relief once she was inside.

  She pulled out of the car park and tried to clear her mind as she drove to her favourite restaurant, The Caelum, situated in the heart of the capital. The rain had by this time lightened to a fine mist.

  Rowanne pulled into view of the restaurant and stepped out into the misty evening as a valet took the keys to park her car. An usher held an umbrella for her as she approached the front entrance, who then proceeded to personally escort her into the fine establishment.

  Her stiletto’s struck the marble floor as she walked through the centre of the large hall and reached the golden, 1920’s scroll-worked lifts adjacent to the magnificent ebony spiral staircase. The doors swished closed behind her and she was taken to the top floor. Even the interior of the lift was elegant with a mirrored ceiling and walls, all etched with sleek gold horizontal lines running along the top and bottom.

  Her tired r
eflection looked back at her; outwardly she appeared immaculate, but it was the eyes that held the truth. They were tinged with weariness, and she turned away and looked at the floor the whole way up. Rowanne pulled herself together and walked out with her head held high and a smile pasted onto her face. The ushers opened the grand doors to the restaurant.

  ‘Welcome, Ms Knight. What a pleasure and great honour it is for us that you dine here tonight.’

  Rowanne was a long standing client, and her reputation preceded her. She inclined her head at both of the ushers and acknowledged their compliments with a warm smile.

  ‘Hello, Richard,’ she said, addressing the senior manager.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Ms Knight,’ he replied, escorting Rowanne to her favourite spot in the glass-walled main room which had magnificent views of the city.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment to take your order, Ms Knight.’

  Rowanne thanked him and proceeded to look through the menu. She could not help but look up in admiration at the beautiful interior. It was a circular room with an unusually high domed ceiling. The floor to ceiling windows created a feeling of spaciousness with an elegant bevelled edge that curved around the back of the room. The mirrors reflected the city outside as well as the room, lending it a hauntingly beautiful atmosphere.

  Music from the adjacent room drifted in, a sombre melody being played on the grand piano. Rowanne closed her eyes for a few moments, losing herself in the evocative tune. Sighing, she reluctantly opened her eyes.

  A waiter came to take her order, ‘Madame is ready to order?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like a salad to start with, and can you also bring me a non alcoholic, dry white, please.’

  ‘Très bon, very good, madame.’

  ‘Merci,’ replied Rowanne.

  She looked out across the London skyline. The city certainly looks eerie tonight, she thought, shrouded as it was in a fine mist. By the time her order had arrived, Rowanne had a contemplative look on her face as she started on her salad.

  Nearby, a waiter served a man seated four tables down from Rowanne. The restaurant was mostly quiet, with the bad weather to blame for keeping people away.

  ‘Good evening, sir. Here is your Romanèe Conti, and may I say what a first-rate choice you have.’

  ‘Merci,’ replied a highly amused Alexander, as he maintained a stoic persona despite feeling the waiter’s heart rate pick up with the effort of trying not to fawn over him. New guy, no sense of etiquette. A bit of a buffoon really.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’ The waiter looked expectantly at the gentleman before him.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Alexander in a cold bored tone of voice.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Leave,’ said Alexander, his tone leaving no room for arguments; letting the waiter know that he did not suffer fools well.

  ‘Tha-Thank you, sir, ver-very goo-good.’ The waiter was no fool; one look into the man’s glacial eyes had left him with the promise of violence if he did not leave at that very moment. No wonder he had started stuttering. He smiled crookedly at the gentleman, and forced himself to turn his back on him when all he really wanted was to walk backwards whilst keeping an eye on him. He forced one foot in front of the other, barely able to walk, let alone stand, that was how shaken he was.

  Alexander was once more left to his own devices. He observed the woman across from him who seemed to be lost in a world of her own with a vacant expression on her face. He mused as to what she could be thinking about. She was not eating much, just sort of picking at her salad really, he noted.

  Her heart rate was normal, and her entire being seemed to be engaged with the view outside the window; although, that was just his supposition. He resisted the temptation to test out his theory. Alexander corrected himself, No not ‘the woman,’ he thought amused. Now that I have been introduced to you informally, even if it was via searching your apartment, he thought ruefully. I shall now refer to you as Rowanne. He wondered briefly what it would be like to actually walk up to her and introduce himself...

  He was abruptly broken out of his reverie by a disturbance. He briefly closed his eyes while scanning the environment. No, nothing out of the ordinary. Oh great, he thought, as he observed his waiter exchanging heated words with the manager, all spoken in a whisper, of course.

  Alexander suddenly laughed aloud, drawing the attention of the waiter to himself. If looks could kill, he thought drily; the waiter was clearly disgruntled with him.

  The waiter was in a rage, as he indicated furiously but discreetly in Alexander’s direction with the constant inclination of his head.

  Come on, who wouldn’t laugh at this imbecilic marionette? Time to leave, he thought disgustedly, not wanting to draw any more unwanted attention to himself. With one last malignant look in the direction of the waiter, he left.

  Rowanne blinked, broken out of her reverie by the sound of laughter from a nearby table. Her heart rate picked up and her hands began to feel clammy. The sound alone had raised goosebumps on her arms, and left her chilled to the core. The only way she could describe it was as if someone had walked over her grave.

  It belonged to a man, and its deep strong tone drew her attention behind her. She knew it was indelicate to stare, but could not help herself. However, glancing back proved futile as the tables were empty. She focused her search on the doors, and just caught a glimpse of a shadow passing through them before they closed behind whoever it had been.

  She nearly screamed at the sound of breaking glass, and quickly looked up to find that a young waiter had fainted. It’s probably best to go, she thought, my nerves aren’t up to any more shocks. Paying her bill, she left as quickly as possible.

  ‘I hope to see you soon, Ms Knight. I am so very sorry for the disturbance,’ the waiter said in a slightly embarrassed tone.

  The most Rowanne could manage was a weak smile before finally being able to leave. The last thing she saw was an ashen faced waiter lying almost lifeless on the floor, surrounded by his confused colleagues.

  Rowanne took the lift back down and left the restaurant. She waited for the valet to bring her car around just as a black Lamborghini drove by.

  To her dismay, she found herself in a traffic jam, forced to wait it out. Any amount of rain brought the city to a standstill. Honestly! she huffed. It’s not even snowing. One of the most frustrating things about living in London was the traffic jams that were a constant source of irritation.

  Meanwhile, Alexander had circled back and was now following Rowanne discreetly. He reminisced back to how she had looked at The Caelum. He had admired her dress; Elegant, yes that’s the word that springs to mind, he smiled. Shaking his head to sober up, he thought, what’s gotten into me?

  Rowanne had in fact noticed the car behind her. It was definitely the same black Lamborghini that she had seen outside of the restaurant. At first, she had thought that it was simply heading in the same direction as her. However, for the last twenty minutes it had matched her every turn. It could be a coincidence, I suppose. Or it could be something else...

  It paid to be cautious, so instead of driving straight for her home, she decided that a little detour was in order. Driving around aimlessly, she wondered where to go until she spotted The Salisbury pub. Thank God, she thought, relieved.

  Driving up to it, she noticed the unsmiling faces of the cherubs on the outside; more likely to turn people away, rather than welcome them. She parked her car on a side road, and walked up to the front doors as if she had always intended to go in there. At least I look calm, she thought, though her eyes told another story.

  Alexander noticed that Rowanne’s car was parked outside one of his old haunts. Pulling into a side road he parked his car and headed towards the pub. He smiled as he reminisced of the many good times that he had spent there with friends and humans alike. Being centrally based, it was a good place to pick up information... His train of thought was cut short, as he approached the doors; he could sense her in there, and felt
her heart flutter as if something was not quite right with her world. She was nervous.

  Taking one last look to confirm that nobody was around, he cloaked his presence. A shield of energy surrounded him that would divert people’s attention away from him. He did not intend to become fully invisible, as this would require more of his demonic powers, not to mention the fact that others of his kind would be alerted to his whereabouts; it would not serve Rowanne, or himself.

  Was it really about what was best for Rowanne? Or more, if not equally, about that element of danger: that fine line where people could still bump into him. He didn’t know why he was behaving so recklessly and truthfully he didn’t care as he paused before the doors to the pub, vaguely noticing the angel figurines above his head who looked down upon him with their empty eyes. What’s new there? he thought resentfully.

  Rowanne sat on a red, leather, buttoned seat in a saloon off the narrow walkway adjacent to the bar. Here she had a perfect view of anyone who came in, but had the added advantage of the panels partially concealing her. The mirror panels were etched in an Art Nouveau style, and the long walkway was decadently painted in a rich red with cream wood mouldings giving it a Victorian feel.

  She observed the people sitting at the mahogany bar, laughing and generally having a good time. How she wished that she could have spent her time here under different circumstances.

  Slowly Rowanne began to relax amongst the people, they seemed to have a calming effect on her. Nothing can happen to me here, it’s completely safe. Am I being paranoid or what? she wondered, feeling slightly foolish. Still, the reporter side of her could not let it go. I’ll just keep an eye out for anybody that looks out of place. I hope to God, that I’m just being neurotic, whilst in the back of her mind lurked the idea: ‘somebody might actually be following me’. It didn’t help that the whole pub had a reddish tinge given off by the Victorian style lights, giving it a spooky Dickensian atmosphere that only served to fuel her fear.