Authors: JD Nixon
When I rang Malefic, one of his acolytes
answered for him and in a soft but expressionless voice, advised me
she’d pass on my message to him.
Inside the courtroom, the ramped-up media
attention meant that the public gallery was jam-packed. I was even
hard-pressed to squeeze through the media gallery to snare the last
available seat, squished between a jaded journalist from a shitrag
of a paper who smelt like the bottom of an ashtray and an airheaded
blonde reporter from one of the local TV stations who spent the
entire time she was there staring at herself in her compact
mirror.
When I glanced
over to the public gallery, I caught Malefic
staring directly at me, his women at his feet again. I nodded my
head at him, hoping his acolyte had passed on my message about the
show tonight. I would have to speak to him during the lunch break
to confirm the arrangement, not something I was particularly
looking forward to doing. On a scale of one to ten for creepiness,
he registered in the high hundreds.
He nodded back at me in a regal way, a
slight smile playing at his lips. His ladies stared at me
too
, their eyes
disconcertingly as flat and empty as their voices. He leaned down
to whisper something to one of them, stroking her long hair with
one hand while he held on to his pentagram pendant with his other.
She listened to him, her eyes closed. She arched her back, her
mouth slightly open, as if in orgasmic bliss. He whispered
something again and she shuddered, her chest heaving. I hurriedly
turned my eyes to the defendants, feeling voyeuristic and a little
disgusted by the display.
After five minutes,
I took a chance and briefly flicked my
eyes towards them again only to find Malefic looking at me, that
small mocking smile back on his lips. I wasted no time returning my
eyes to the court proceedings.
When the court adjourned for lunch,
I
approached the small
group, not really wanting to be near him. He exuded . . .
something
I couldn’t quite describe, but
it reminded me of dark shadows, low voices chanting archaic
languages and a sense of something forbidding heading my way –
completely at odds with the lovely, warm sunny day.
“
You received my message about the show
tonight? That Reverend Joshua has agreed to be on with
you.”
He nodded once more
. “I did.” He tightened his arm around the
shoulders of the two women. “My sweet demons serve me
well.”
“
Well, isn’t that . . . nice of them,” I
mumbled, unsettled by the concept of any woman wanting to be a
man’s ‘demon’. “Here.”
I thrust out a card
noting the station’s address and detailing
instructions for how to find the particular studio we used and when
to be there. He didn’t take it and left me hanging for an awkward
few moments, until one of the women reached out a languid hand to
take it from me, and without another word, they swept past me. Not
wanting to prolong the encounter, I took off in the opposite
direction, out of the courthouse, past the protesting Cybelians and
to the safe haven of a small coffee shop where I chewed on a club
sandwich and sipped a coffee while I typed up some last-minute
notes for Trent and kept an eye on the time.
The rest of the day passed
peacefully
, the
afternoon given over to the defence team’s argument. I deliberately
didn’t look at Malefic, as I wished to be blissfully unaware if he
still visually stalked me, but I could actually
feel
his eyes resting on me throughout the session. I
didn’t know how he managed to do that, but I knew like hell that I
didn’t enjoy his invasiveness one little bit.
The defence argument wasn’t strong, the
overwhelming amount of physical evidence presented by the
prosecution spoiling any chance they had of mounting even a
half-
credible fairytale
about the girls not being the guilty parties. I suspected that the
hearing wasn’t going to last for much longer.
When the magistrate adjourned the court
for the day, I slipped past Malefic and sped to the station, not
wanting to encounter him any more than necessary.
“There she is!” Trent greeted from behind his
desk, where he sat reading through his notes for the night’s show,
his glasses perched on his nose. “Any news about the hearing?”
“
Only that the defence argument is about as
strong as you’d be in a Mr Universe competition,” I smiled,
planting my butt on his desk.
“
Hey! I’ll have you know I’m very
competitive at the gym,” he pouted.
“I whoop everyone’s arse in lifting weights
there.”
“
Is that the senior citizens’ gym you
joined recently?”
“
Very funny, young madam. That
was an honest mistake. And
anyway, I’m quite fond of my new granny friends – they’re very
saucy ladies when you get to know them, and they make the best
scones you ever tasted. But speaking of honest mistakes, and sadly
recalling my decision to hire you, have you confirmed that weirdo
being on the show tonight?”
“
Yep, one weirdo and one whacko both
confirmed for tonight. Who can tell which is which, but what more
could you want?”
“
Not to be assaulted again?”
I cut him a look. “Assaulted? With water?
You really are growing soft, Dawson.”
He glared at me over his glasses. “Right.
Just for that crack, when all this is over, I’m going to do some
off-set stories.
And
you’re going to join me.”
“Ooh. It’s a big, ugly world out there. Are
you sure about this?”
He touched his palm to his chest.
“Your mockery wounds me deeply,
Tilly.” He stood and gathered up his paperwork. “But anyway, I
guess I can always hire Heller to protect me if I need to. I hear
that
all
his staff
are highly competent now.”
“
Very funny, Trent.”
I followed him out of his office to the
studio. “You should have him on the show again. Soon. Ratings went
through the roof when you did it last time.”
He zoomed down the corridor and I had to
double-step to keep up with him. “Don’t remind me that woman stole
my Heller story.” We exchanged glances. There was a very good
reason he hadn’t been able to do that story, but neither of us ever
mentioned it.
“What happened to her? I haven’t seen her
on-air for ages.”
“She got the shits with the station when I
came back to host after my . . . accident. She thought she had it
in the bag and they’d replace me with her. Dumbarse.” He laughed
and it wasn’t too far from the same kind of laugh Heller gave when
he knew he’d bested an opponent at something they both wanted. “She
went interstate.” His voice soured a tad. “Hear she’s making a name
for herself down south reading the news.”
“High profile job.”
“
It’s just reading the news, Tilly. A
parrot could do it. I mean, it’s not like she has her own,
extremely successful show.”
“Like some people do.”
“Exactly, like some people do,” he agreed,
making a right turn into the studio.
Brady looked at his watch when he spotted
us. “Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t we?”
“Are we?” snapped Trent, heading for the
makeup station.
“
Not all of us. Only
those who are pretentious pricks with huge
egos,” Brady muttered under his breath, returning to his
conversation with Viv.
“I heard that!” Trent yelled from the other
side of the studio.
“
Good!” Brady yelled back.
“You were supposed to.
Wanker.”
“I heard that too.”
“Good.”
Viv and I exchanged weary glances.
“Have the guests arrived yet?” I asked
her.
With a jerk of her head,
s
he indicated to where
Reverend Joshua sat at the edge of the studio, reading his Bible.
He closed his eyes and moved his lips, obviously praying for
strength or guidance.
I wondered if I’d be doing the same by the
end of the night.
“
Where’s this other guy?” Brady impatiently
demanded from me. “I want to start filming.”
That put me on the defensive straight
away
. “I don’t know. I
told him to be here at this time. I gave him our card.”
“
He better fucking turn up, otherwise I’m
going to run with that story about tit reductions
that Sophie filmed last
week.”
Viv rolled her eyes. “
Again?
How many times can we cover that issue just for
some cheap boob shots?”
“As many times as I can,” Brady said coldly.
“There’s a lot of interest in the topic.”
“
Yeah, maybe from horny fourteen-year-old
boys who, may I remind you, are
not
our top demographic.”
Trent stormed over. “I’m not doing another
tit story while everyone else is covering this trial. How about we
inject some real journalism into this show for once?”
Brady stared at him. “If you want to be a
‘real’ journalist,” he said, making an insulting quote gesture,
“then find another job. Otherwise, shut your trap and be the show
pony you’re paid a ridiculous amount to be.”
Just when Viv and I thought it was going
to erupt into a brawl, Malefic burst into the room, his acolytes by
his side as usual. I had to give it to the guy – he sure knew how
to make a
memorable
entrance.
“I have arrived,” he announced.
“
Holy shit,” whispered Viv, clutching her
clipboard to her chest.
“
Fucking hell,” said Brady, as still as a
statue.
“
Yes!” exulted Trent, shooting an
inquisitive glance over to Reverend Joshua, who had jumped to his
feet, his Bible tumbling to the ground.
He pointed a trembling finger at Malefic.
“Demon. Satan. Prince of Darkness. Worshipper of evil.”
Malefic laughed. “Oh, old man. You’re
boring me already. Spare us all your godly dramatics.” I thought
that was a bit rich coming from someone who dressed and acted like
him.
Viv recovered quickly, hustling everyone
on
to the set. “Let’s
get moving. We don’t have the studio all night. You sit here,
Reverend. And . . . um, Mr Mallerific . . .”
“Malefic,” he corrected gently, touching her
arm. She stiffened, an expression of fear crossing her face.
“
You can sit here,” she said, not making
any further eye contact with him. She scurried off-set to huddle at
the edge of the studio, her arms crossed, though normally a bright,
confident woman in the middle of everything on any other
night.
“
Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. I laid
my hand on her arm. She flinched.
Her voice was low and hurried.
“That man. I felt something
when he touched me. And it wasn’t my back twinging again. It was
something . . . I dunno. Something awful.”
Malefic look
ed over at us, smiling slightly as if he could
hear our quiet conversation.
“
He’s just a
gigantic poser,” I tried to assure, not quite
believing myself even as I spoke. “It’s all image. There’s no
substance in him.”
“I know what I felt, Tilly. I’m not a
fanciful person by nature. That guy’s bad news.”
“
No argument from me about that, Viv. You
didn’t hear those young women admitting they murdered their
families for him. But you don’t really believe he actually has any
power, do you?”
Her response was slow to come. “No, I
guess not. It’s ridiculous to even contemplate
in this day and age.”
“
I think he’s just good at illusions and
influencing people.” We both looked over at his acolytes, who stood
passively off-camera, watching him devotedly. “Maybe he’s a natural
magician?”
“
He sounds like a cult leader. So much
influence over young women.”
“Vulnerable young women. Just like any cult
leader.”
“
I’m hearing you.” She patted me on the
shoulder. “I’m okay now. I was just a bit shaken.” She tried out a
hesitant laugh. “You’d think nothing would faze me by now working
in this place.”
“
The guy’s a genuine creep. He’d faze
anyone. But remember, he’s just a pathetic fake.”
A polite voice sounded from behind me.
“Excuse me.”
Viv jumped and
I spun around, my heart pounding.
“
Shit!
”
It was Malefic.
Oh God!
I hoped he hadn’t heard me saying that. Despite
what I’d said for Viv’s benefit, he made me extremely nervous
too.
“I believe I need a microphone for the
interview.”
“
Of course. Of course,” Viv said, her head
down, refusing to meet his eyes – something that apparently caused
him a significant amount of amusement. Careful not to touch him any
more than required, she ushered him back to the set and fussed
around attaching mikes to both Reverend Joshua and him. Trent
settled himself in his chair, re-reading his notes, attaching his
own microphone with expert fingers.
“
And ready in five, four, three, two, one.
Go,” instructed Brady. Trent introduced his two guests and the
story was underway.