Jez can't be dead. He can't.
Toby sprinted down the theatrette aisle and into the wings. He tugged at the ropes and hoisted the scenery piece slowly back up into the ceiling. As soon as the set lifted off the ground, the rest of the cast scrambled over to Violet's side of the stage.
Holly charged towards Jez. ‘I know First Aid.’
Ravenswood kneeled over Jez with Holly.
Violet was nailed to the spot, her thoughts gripping her by the throat.
‘Jez? Jez?’ Holly pushed aside his hair and placed her fingers on his cheek.
He whimpered like a frightened child and rolled onto his side.
‘Careful,’ said Holly gently.
Blood oozed from a gash on his forehead and a dark wet patch coated the stage floor where his head had been.
‘He's not dead?’ Violet spluttered, her hand pressed to her heart.
‘Is everyone else okay?’ Ravenswood said.
The others mumbled and nodded.
‘Toby,’ Ravenswood sighed. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘I checked them three times,’ Toby said, his voice wobbling slightly. ‘I don't understand.’
‘Well, you obviously made a mistake.’
Violet lurched towards Jez but Jason blocked her path.
‘I want to help,’ she croaked.
‘He doesn't need your help. When will you get the message?’
She bit her lip to hide the tremor and looked around for Angelika whose face was creased with concern but there wasn't a hair out of place. Violet narrowed her eyes. Angelika should have been the one under that set. She should be the one bleeding.
A bell clanged over the PA system.
Violet covered her ears.
‘What now?’ Ravenswood yelled.
‘Fire alarm, Mr Ravenswood,’ Holly said.
‘What? Now? This better not be a drill. Bloody maintenance men.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘OK, everyone. Evacuate the building. Does anyone know where we're supposed to go?’
‘That way,’ said Holly pointing at the red exit sign. ‘But what about Jez? We can't move him?’
Ravenswood wrung his hands.
‘Mr Ravenswood?’ Holly said, straightening up, hands on hips. ‘What should we do?’
‘I can—’ Violet started.
‘I'll stay with him,’ Holly interrupted. ‘I know what to do.’
Ravenswood nodded. ‘Very well. Come on everyone. This way.’
Violet slumped as everyone ignored her. Again.
The cast and crew rushed out of the building through the heavy fire doors and along the footpath to the bus stop through the weak rain. Miss Quinlin and three bald blue overalled men followed.
The group huddled together under the protection of the bus shelter, shivering without their coats as the sirens drifted up the hill.
Lila glanced around furtively before she spoke. ‘Did you do it?’ she whispered to Violet. ‘The candles?’
‘No,’ Violet spat and folded her arms tightly. Her spell had nothing to do with Jez. It must be a coincidence, a random accident, probably Toby's carelessness. There must be more to come for Angelika. ‘I chickened out.’
Lila traced a faded yellow stripe of paint on the footpath with her toe.
‘It's true,’ Violet said.
‘Blood spilled on the stage,’ Lila said without glancing up from the ground. ‘That can't be good. No one listens to me.’
Violet shoved her hands into her pockets and stared down at her boots.
It wasn't her. It wasn't.
***
VIOLET
As the paramedics stretchered the ashen-faced Jez into the back of the ambulance, Holly and Jacinta accosted Violet.
‘How did you do it?’ Jacinta spat.
‘It wasn't me,’ Violet protested.
Three fire trucks were parked nearby, their red and blue lights flashing in the grey morning.
‘Why Violet? After what happened yesterday.’ Holly sighed. ‘Jez. Of all people.’
‘Was Toby in on it with you?’ Jacinta shook her head. ‘Did you get your new boyfriend to do your dirty work? I know Jez stuffed you around, but come on.’
‘He could’ve died. Or ended up in a wheelchair,’ Holly said. ‘Is that what you want? I thought you liked him.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be my friend,’ Violet snapped.
‘I am. I want you to get—’
‘Some friend,’ Violet scoffed. ‘It's obviously an accident. But you want to put the blame on me. Change the record. It's getting old.’
‘Can't you see?’ Holly said. ‘You're not yourself.’
‘Why won't you leave me alone?’ Violet retorted.
‘You need help,’ Holly said sadly. ‘I talked to someone last night—’
Violet's face burned red. ‘How many times do I have to say it? I had nothing to do with this. Did I, Lila?’
Lila nodded, but her eyes stayed on the ground.
Jacinta snorted.
‘What? Why are you all blaming me?’ Violet said. ‘Maybe it's Lila's curse.’
‘You're the curse.’ Jacinta narrowed her eyes.
‘I talked to Dahlia last night,’ Holly declared.
Violet’s mouth was bone dry. What did Dahlia say? Had Anthea kept their little secret?
Three helmeted firemen in orange suits and heavy boots clumped out of the building and along the footpath to their truck.
‘All clear,’ called out one of the fireman. ‘You can go back in.’
‘What started it?’ Miss Quinlin asked.
‘We found wax from black candles in a classroom. Nothing serious, just a burn mark on the tabletop,’ the wiry head fireman said. ‘At least you know your alarms are working well.’
Miss Quinlin grimaced. ‘Oh dear, what about the call out fee. You’ll have to file a report, Mr Ravenswood.’
‘No time now, Miss Quinlin. Just an accident I'm sure. Let's fill out the paperwork next week,’ said Ravenswood.
‘But Mr Ravenswood, we need to—’ Miss Quinlin frowned.
Ravenswood waved her away. ‘Come along, everyone. Back in the theatrette for notes.’
‘Candles?’ Lila's eyes were round and wet.
Heat rushed into Violet's cheeks. ‘Don't you say a word,’ Violet hissed.
‘What candles?’ Holly said, grabbed at Lila's arm. ‘Tell me.’
Violet glared at Lila. ‘Don't you dare.’ She pushed past her and stomped away.
‘Stop.’ Lila clutched Violet’s shoulder. ‘Please.’
Violet's blood thumped in her ear drums. Her headache was back and hammering. They crowded around her, their faces twisted and disgusted.
‘Piss off, Lila.’ Violet slapped away Lila's outstretched hand. ‘You're just like the rest of them.’
Lila paled, her lip trembled. ‘But I...I only want to—’
Jacinta laughed in Violet’s face. ‘You really are a cow.’
‘I would never…,’ Lila said, between desperate gulps of air. ‘You don’t mean it.’
‘I mean every word,’ Violet said. She puffed her chest. ‘I don't need you. You two-faced anorexic parasite. I'm better off on my own.’
Lila's lip trembled.
‘You absolute bitch.’ Holly spat as she placed an arm around Lila's shoulder.
Violet clutched her throat. The injustice was squeezing the air from her body. ‘It wasn't me. Why won't anyone listen?’
‘You're out of control. I'm going to get someone,’ Holly said.
It wasn't her.
It wasn't her.
It wasn't her.
Was it?
She'd know, wouldn't she?
The world was closing in on Violet. The heavy grey sky over her head was stifling, crushing her into the ground.
Could Holly be right? Was she losing it?
Holly waved at the ponytailed woman in paramedic whites and Violet started running.
***
THE DARK HAND
<
br /> I am jealousy
I am rage.
I am doubt.
I am ambition.
I am the voice in your ear telling you that you are worthless, useless and unlovable.
You know who I am now.
I place pictures in your head.
He's betraying you.
She's talking about you.
They're all laughing at you.
I whisper in your ear that you are better than all of them.
You deserve this.
They are wrong.
They're the evil ones who must be stopped.
Then I sit back and watch the fun.
I am always here, I always have been.
You have let me in.
Chapter 12
BRIDGET
The café was an obstacle course of prams, loud with the relieved chitchat of tired new mums and the hiss of frothing milk. A knitting group gathered in one corner, cooing over skeins of wool and completed projects. One grey-haired man sat awkwardly as the three women at his table ignored him and cackled in the way that only old friends do. In the far corner, Bridget and the leader sat at a table for three.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ The waitress with pink feathers in her hair and sequins pasted to her cheeks placed down a teapot and three mugs.
Bridget shrugged and smiled slyly. ‘What's Dahlia been baking?’
‘Some super delish ginger biscuits,’ the waitress said. ‘For solstice with lots of lovely rich spices. Totally nummy.’
‘Three, please.’ Bridget pretended not to notice the leader’s scowl.
‘Back in two ticks.’ The waitress skipped away.
‘Sorry.’ Mathilde removed her raincoat and slipped into a chair. ‘I can only spare a few minutes,’
The steely-haired leader nodded and lowered her voice despite the café’s happy racket. ‘There has been a concentration of strength.’
‘I've felt the pulsing.’ Mathilde wrinkled her brow. ‘But it still felt nascent.’
The leader glanced around before continuing. ‘It's further evolved. I feel the power of an ancient one, cold and hard like a winter storm. And the ancient one wasted no time in acting.’
Bridget gulped. This explained the dead weight in her belly.
The waitress brought three biscuits on a plate. ‘Enjoy,’ she beamed.
The three women waited until the waitress left. Bridget crunched into a biscuit. The others left theirs on the plate.
‘And you kept this information to yourself?’ Mathilde squinted.
‘I thought it was an isolated incident. But it's escalating.’ The leader pressed her lips until they were colourless.
Mathilde sighed. ‘The school.’
‘It’s attracted to young people as usual.’ The leader nodded.
‘What do we do now?’ Bridget said. She tried to hide the slight tremble in her hands as she poured the rooibos.
‘We each know our part. It's time to put our practice into action.’ The leader opened her hardback notebook. She ran her fingers over the page and read aloud. ‘Prepare your stations. Memorise your verses.’
Bridget swallowed and nodded. Three times a week for six years, they'd practised. Once the meeting was over, she’d double check her kit near the spare tyre and under the picnic rug in the boot of her car. She must be vigilant, she might need to use it at any moment.
Bridget eyed the two biscuits remaining on the plate and clasped her hands together tightly until her fingertips flushed red with the pressure. She bit her lip. ‘Can we handle this alone?’
The leader wrinkled her brow. ‘Are you afraid?’
‘We know what to do.’ Mathilde firmly shook her head. ‘We do not need to call in the other guilds.’
‘Of course. Silly me.’ She choked out a nervous laugh. ‘It is just...this is my first—’
‘Your skills will come into their own when the time arrives,’ the leader said. ‘But we must tell no one.’
‘What if we sense others in sympathy to our cause?’ Mathilde challenged. ‘Outsiders.’
‘Do I need to remind you? Others do not understand our intentions.’
‘I always choose my words wisely,’ Mathilde persisted. ‘I feel allies nearby.’
‘If you must. But be careful.’
‘I will,’ Mathilde replied.
The leader closed her book. ‘Prepare yourselves. Be on guard. The moment is approaching and we do not know when. It could be within the next hour or possibly tonight or even tomorrow. But it is close and it is strong. We must trust ourselves and each other. Have faith. Our moment of trial is upon us.’
The café was stifling all of a sudden. Bridget reached for the remaining biscuits with a clammy hand. ‘Have faith’ she repeated to herself as she chewed.
‘And stay close to a telephone.’
Bridget nodded.
Have faith.
Have faith.
***
RAVENSWOOD
Ravenswood shook his head. ‘It’s too warm.’
‘The white one ripped. I had to replace it with this one.’ Toby pushed the riser onto the lighting desk.
‘I need something starker.’ Ravenswood narrowed his eyes at Toby. ‘That's a nasty wound you've got there. What happened?’
‘Nothing. Just mucking around.’ Toby flicked his hair over the scabby lesion on his temple and thumbed through the remaining cellophane squares in the gel box. ‘I dunno if I've got anything like that. We've only got a few left.’
‘Orange will never do,’ Ravenswood said with a wave of his hand. ‘This isn't a stupid musical with tap-dancing. Find something better.’
Toby curled his lip but he nodded. Ravenswood stood with a harrumph and left the lighting box.
What else could go wrong? Ravenswood thought as he walked towards the stage. Ambulances, fire alarms and inept lighting. One runaway and Banquo in hospital with a suspected wrist fracture. What else could go wrong?
Jacinta and Kon loitered around the stage in costume, their faces plastered in thick layers of stage make-up.
‘Now Kon. You're ready to take over?’
‘I think so.’ Kon broadened his chest and waved his script but he croaked as he spoke. Ravenswood winced.
‘Excellent. Where's everyone else?’ Ravenswood scanned the room.
‘Getting ready.’ Jacinta shrugged and inspected her nails. The thick stripes of black kohl magnified every movement of her eyes.
‘We're running out of time.’ Ravenswood threw his hands in the air and stormed out the door. His stomach was growling but he couldn't bear to eat. One more rehearsal: that's all they had time for. But there was so much to fix, besides the lighting. The kids needed more practice moving sets in and out and, half the cast was embarrassingly wooden. There was something niggling at him about Lady MacDuff's costume, too. And then there was croaky Kon as the new untested Banquo.
Ravenswood passed the stairs and crossed the corridor to the drama room where sheets suspended from the ceiling sectioned it off into changing areas. A three-metre clothes rack stuffed with costumes and empty wire hangers ran down the centre of the room. Giggling floated through the thin fabric partitions as boys changed into surcoats and tights, and girls into ankle-length shifts. Tables sat along the walls lined with mirrors where Wayne dabbed his face with a sponge and Lionel concentrated hard as he lined his eyes with kohl.
Ravenswood checked his watch again and then yelped.
‘On stage in five minutes,’ he announced and rushed out the door.
Alan Wolf hadn't called back to confirm for Friday.
Ravenswood broke into a run as he pushed through the double doors into the corridor. His heeled boots squeaked on the linoleum. He reached his office in a sheen of sweat and knocked over a half-empty coffee mug as he lunged for the telephone. He ignored the spreading brown stain and punched in the number he knew by heart. He cleared his throat, raised a smile and waited for Alan Wolf to pick up.
But the line was si
lent.
He tapped the switch and listened hard. Dead. No dial tone. He pressed the button again and again, but he heard nothing.
‘Bloody hell.’ He yanked the telephone line from the wall, spilling his officemate's neatly stored pencils all over her desk. He hurled the telephone across the room and grabbed his curly brown hair in clumps. ‘Those damned maintenance men.’
Then he remembered he'd forgotten to speak with Booth about the maintenance works. He glanced up at the wall clock; another fifteen minutes had passed. It was almost lunchtime and not a single line of the play had been uttered.
Ravenswood rummaged inside his desk drawer, through the paper clips and chewed pen lids. He popped two Dispirin into a mug of cold coffee and watched the fizz as they dissolved.
He needed to have faith.
It’ll be alright on the night. Alan Wolf would be there. The maintenance men must know the production is on. It would not turn out like last time.
Ravenswood glugged down the concoction with a grimace as the speakers in the corner crackled. The hairs on his arms twitched and his heart thumped.
The static turned into an eerie electric spluttering that buzzed under his skin. A cold murmur snaked up his spinal column. The spectral pops and hisses turned into a single word that repeated itself over and over in a whispered female voice.
‘Useless. Useless.’
Ravenswood inhaled raggedly and glanced up, expecting to see a black coil of smoke emerge from the beige cloth covered speakers.
‘Useless. Useless.’
He couldn’t be dreaming. The voice sounded exactly like hers. He didn't care what Fiona said, or the coroner. He had never believed she was dead. Ravenswood tasted laundry soap, the scent left on his tongue after she scrubbed his mouth clean of sin.
‘Useless. Useless.’
A musty stench wafted into the office and settled like a thick fog. Ravenswood gagged. He pinched his nostrils closed but he couldn't stop the stink of chicken manure seeping in.
‘Why won't you leave me alone?’ he cried as he threw his arms over his head and knocked over a stack of folders. Paper scattered everywhere as he thumped his forehead down on the desk.
The Flower and the Serpent Page 18