From Dark Places (16 page)

I went to the bathroom after the meeting and threw up. I felt a bit better, half because the foul lunch was gone and half because, just as I was retching my guts up, I had what some people might call an epiphany.

Back then I didn’t know that word, I just thought I’d had a blinding idea. I realised why the Devil hadn’t followed through. If only I’d realised it sooner. I mean, it’s obvious. Some crappy kid offers a crappy soul and wants five-star treatment? That’s like trying to blag dinner at the Ritz by offering the staff some lint from your coat pocket.

My soul wasn’t good enough. I wrote Him another letter:

Dear Satan,

You might not remember me, but when I was nine I tried to make a deal with you. Now I know what I was offering wasn’t good enough.

I reckon that what you’re in the market for is a really good soul, one that’s done loads of good things, and is generous and kind to people and all that kind of stuff. So I got a new deal for you.

If you give me a great life, with loads of money, a swanky place to live, fast cars, loads of hot chicks that want to do it with me all the time, and make my face nicer to look at, then I’ll give you the nicest soul I can find. I mean the Bees Knees of a soul.

So how about it? If you’re up for it, give me a sign. A letter would be good, but if you don’t have post boxes or nothing down there, then I’m happy to get something else. We got a deal?

~ Ben

P.S. I want so much money that there’s no chance of it ever running out, ok?

Needless to say I went back to the library computers and looked it all up again—found a better website too. And I stole all the black t-shirts in the house again (there were lots in that kid’s home) and a chicken. I killed it and think I did it better.

I waited at the dump for a while, you can see me there, right? Scrawny, ugly kid, chicken guts wiped on his trousers, not seen a good meal in years. Don’t you feel sorry for me?

Nothing happened. Not till I left the dump. I was walking down the street when this car comes out of nowhere and knocks some woman down, not a hundred metres from where I was standing. I ran over and all these busy-bodies came out of their houses too, all sorts of screams and gasps and all that, but me, I was laughing.

I know that might seem a bit weird, but that woman’s blood was all over the windscreen, and it was in exactly the same pattern as the one I’d drawn in chicken blood down at the dump. I was stoked! I tell you, I was floating on air the rest of the way home.

True to his word, old Satan came through.

I was picked from thousands of soon-to-be-homeless kids by this crazy, rich bloke who wanted to prove even a kid who’d had a terrible life could be polished up and turned into something great.

And I was polished up: teeth fixed, hair done and educated by the best tutors money could buy. It took years of dedicated cheque writing and encouragement, but the old coot got the poster child for his cause and the son he’d never had.

Now, I bet you’re thinking I took his soul. Well, it was the one I picked. And I have the gun. And he’s in the next room.

But I’m having trouble following through.

See, this old man has given me everything I wanted. And to go in there right now, say ‘good morning’ and shoot him in the face seems—cold. More than cold. Evil. I can see you nodding and saying, ‘Well Ben, that’s what the Devil demands. Evil acts.’

And I’d agree with you. I set up the deal, it’s just that now, when it’s time to do the deed, I can’t.

So that’s why I’m coming to you. I mean, you’re supposed to be the highest authority, right? Satan is just some angel you booted out years ago, it’s only us mortals who need to be afraid of him. You’re the big boss. You’re omnipotent, omniscient and all the other omni’s you could wish for. Apart from omnibus. But that’s stupid. Sorry, I’m nervous, and I talk crap when I’m nervous.

The way I see it is this. I could go in there and shoot him. The Devil would have his soul and I’d fulfil the contract. Then what?

If I do that, lots of people will be upset. All the good work he does will end. A light will go from the world…

But, I have another idea. What if I didn’t kill him? What if I set up a new deal with you, one that supersedes any previous contracts I have? I could do all kinds of good work. I’d find other slapped-arse-faced kids and make them into people worth something. I’d open community help centres and build churches. You still like people building churches for you, don’t you?

Surely that’s a better deal all round? Better for your people on Earth, better for the old boy in the next room, and just think about how much it would piss Satan off. You’d score a big one against him, that’ll feel good.

And I’ll be the ultimate prodigal son.

If I’d known more about you back in the kid’s home I never would have got involved with the Devil at all, honestly. I was a seed planted in dodgy ground, that’s all, but now I can make a real difference. I can do so much more for you if you just get me out of this tricky deal I’ve got going on with the sulphurous one down below.

I know this is just a supporting statement and I’ve said everything I need to say, so I’ll wrap it up now. The main contract is enclosed. Thanks for taking the time to read this bit before making your decision. I’m banking on all that stuff people say about your legendary forgiveness being true, because I really am sorry I got into this mess. I don’t want the old bugger next door to die and you’re the only one who can stop it.

You’ll forgive me and protect me, won’t you?

IDOLISED

She shoved and watched it fall into the sea far below. Listening to the distant roar of the waves, she imagined a thousand beasts in the foam descending upon the wood, smashing it against the rocks, enraged at its unwelcome arrival in the sea.

Even though she despised herself for doing it, she knew it would be worth it. Now she was free; they were all free.

She had to get back before the others woke. The idol had been heavier than she’d anticipated, taking most of the night to get to the cliff and she’d ended up dragging it the last half mile. The stubborn wood refused to roll down the hill and off the cliff as she had hoped, no matter how hard she’d tried. It was as if the Mother had dug her hard edges into the dirt, clinging on to the last moment.

At the crest of the headland she paused to look at the village nestled below and the smoke ribboning out of the chimneys. Her cottage sat on the perimeter. Hurrying down the path, she was relieved she wouldn’t have to pass any windows with twitching curtains.

“Mornin’.”

The gruff voice made her stumble in surprise. Old Man Bill was closing the gate to one of the fields, his bright eyed dog peering at her from underneath his furred brow, just like his owner.

“Morning Bill,” she smiled, cheeks still blazing from the exertion.

“Where you been to then?”

She shrugged. “Out walking.” When the silence lingered, she added, “I couldn’t sleep.”

He plucked a clay pipe out of his pocket, still studying her in the half-light of the pre-dawn. “You ‘ent settlin’ right, Miss Tamar. Still got your heart in that big city. I seen you throwing out your Mam’s things…”

She forced a smile. “They were old and broken; the cottage needed a clear-out. It’s nice to be home though.”

After a moment more of scrutiny, he made a low grunt at the back of his throat and they parted ways. She hurried on towards her cottage.

Tamar woke to the sound of hammering on the door and raised voices outside.

“Open up, Tamar!” It was the walking bellows, farmer Tom, with a mind as thick as his arms.

Shivering, she realised she’d fallen asleep on top of the bedclothes exhausted. Judging from the light, she hadn’t been asleep for long, but it had been enough time for her to feel leaden and confused now. She descended the stairs, raking her fingers through her hair in an effort to look normal and unbolted the door.

“What’s to do then?” she said, returning to the old phrases in an effort to remind them she’d grown up here too. “Why all this noise, Tom Farmer?”

“There’s been a devil in the village!”

He moved on and she realised it wasn’t a mob at her door, just a growing hysteria sucking residents from their homes and into the drama.

She had only stepped out to look, but the crowd propelled her towards the plinth the Mother once looked down from. She played the part, pretending to weep into a handkerchief when her tension drew out nervous giggles from the guilty well inside.

She was so caught up in her own theatrics she didn’t notice the change in the crowd. Looking up from her scrap of linen she saw the villagers had formed a circle around her.

“We know you took the Mother,” Tom growled. “Where’d you take her to?”

Tamar scrunched up her handkerchief. “I did not take her!”

“Old Bill saw you out this mornin’,” one of the old wives shouted. “And we know what you be like, young Tamar. We know you changed in that there city.”

“We seen you walk past the Mother without bow nor curtsey,” another shouted. “You done this!”

Everyone else joined in, yelling accusations. Then Tom shoved at her shoulder and a flash of rage burnt away her patience.

“Shut up!” she yelled and a terrible hush descended over them. “Yes, I got rid of the Mother, and I’m glad I did it!” As they sucked in air through their open mouths, she rounded on the last that had spoken. “And yes, I never bowed nor curtseyed. I’d never do that to a statue of a pregnant woman bound to a stake. It’s disgusting, encouraging all of you to worship something that wants you to remain ignorant and guilt-ridden and—and—stupid!”

Tom grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees. “Where’s the Mother?” he shouted, twisting her hair around his fist.

“I threw it in the sea!”

Tom backhanded her. Once he laid the first blow, others hit her too until a voice at the edge of the crowd cut through the violence.

“Stop.”

The crowd parted as the old crone of the village made her way towards Tamar, her back as crooked as the stick she walked with.

“No need for this,” she croaked, putting a talon-like finger under Tamar’s chin. “It’s all part of the circle.”

“What should we do?” asked Tom reverently.

“She takes the Mother’s place, just like the last woman who spoke out against the faith.” She bent forward until Tamar could smell fish on the old woman’s breath. “Knock her out, Tom.”

Tamar woke a second time since the dawn, this time with the taste of blood in her mouth, wrists and ankles aching. Neither her hands nor legs moved. Moments passed and the sickening realisation hit her; she was tied to a post erected on the Mother’s plinth. The villagers congregated around it, watching with a chilling eagerness.

Something cold touched her foot. She looked down to see the crone at her feet brushing clear, viscose liquid onto her skin, making it numb. She tried to wriggle her toes, but nothing happened. She tried to speak, but her face felt cold and numb too.

“This will keep you fresh-faced for all time, young Tamar, just like the Mother,” the crone said. “But you’ll be the Maiden, the one to remind us all to guard our innocence and be grateful for the protection of men. You’ll remind us to keep the faith every day. Blessed be the Maiden”

“Blessed be the Maiden!”

GETTING FIXED

Jarvis groaned at the familiar sound. It had fallen off again. He put the razor down, got on his hands and knees and looked around the bathroom floor. He found his ear in the corner next to the bath, a ball of lint caught under the lobe.

He stood back up, brushed it off and pressed it to the side of his head. It stayed in place long enough for him to resume his shave, then fell off again, landing with a splash in the soapy water.

“Damn it!”

As he rinsed it off, his best friend’s voice came through the bathroom door. “Jarvis? Everything all right?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, hurriedly finishing the shave.

“Not getting cold feet are you?”

“No,” he shouted back, rinsing his face. “I just cut myself shaving.”

“Okay. Do you need anything?”

Jarvis smiled, despite his minor panic about the ear. Dave was taking the best man duty so seriously; he wondered who was more nervous. He tried sticking the ear back on, without success. His hands started to shake.

“Actually, could you do me a favour? Could you make sure they’ve put the reserved signs on the seats for my parents in the ceremony room?”

It would keep Dave busy and give him time to phone the professor.

“No probs. We’ve got just under an hour till we need to go down there, okay?”

Jarvis looked at the ear in his hand. It was going to be tight.

“They’ll get here, there’s time yet,” Charlotte said, watching her mother pace.

“But what if they don’t?”

Charlotte puffed out a sigh and returned her attention to the mirror, watching the hairdresser pin her hair. “Then they’ll miss it. You worrying about it isn’t going to make them arrive any faster.”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm,” her mother replied, joining her daughter at the mirror to inspect the disguised wrinkles on her forehead. “On my wedding day I was sick three times before I put the dress on.” She pouted at Charlotte’s raised eyebrow. “Nerves, darling. You were born over a year later.”

“Charlie takes after Dad,” Sophie called emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “They’re weird like that.”

“Help sis get ready, Mum,” Charlotte said, and watched her mother hurry from the room. She rolled her eyes at the hairdresser and they smiled conspiratorially.