Amaranthine and Other Stories (3 page)

“Well, show me where he's hiding and we'll talk to him together,” Eva offered.

“No, I'm scared. He might hurt you.”

“I'm a big girl from a rough country, I can handle myself,” she winked at Sophie.

“Maybe later,”

Sophie slipped out of her hand and bombed into the partially empty pool, a rarity on a Saturday afternoon.
Fine, have it your way as usual.

Eva observed from a distance once again, leaving the girl to her own devices. She still contemplated how spoiled and pampered English children were. Nothing made her blood boil more than seeing a seven year old child spilling out of a pram.

She'd had no such luxury in Bulgaria. Her father made her walk everywhere as a child, only when her legs truly tired did he swing her onto his shoulders. But none of this pram shit.
Damn these parents and their selfishness! It's all about what's convenient for them, never mind the child.

She began to get seriously bored and missed flirting with Toby. She missed his baby-face and blue eyes, his smile and good nature. Eva loved Gerard but Toby certainly was worth sinning for.

It started to get busy now. More mothers entered the pool with their offspring. Eva grinned at the scene unfolding before her eyes. The pool resembled a giant pot of children, crammed in, over-spilling, screaming and slowly roasting above the flames, if only she could be the imp and poke them with her fork.

“He wants to meet you now,” Sophie declared, snapping Eva out of her reverie.

“Sorry, darling? Who wants to meet me?”

“Morgen. He's down there, waiting for you,”

Eva followed her finger, pointing towards the deep end of the pool.

“There's no one there, Sophie.”

“Yes, there is. Morgen's there, hiding at the bottom,”

“You want us to swim to the deep end of the pool? That's not a good idea, honey. You're too young, you might drown,”

“But he's there, waiting for us!”

Eva blinked several times. What was wrong with this child? Was she winding her up? Was this all a big joke to her? Did Gerard put her up to this? Why would he? If this carried on, she would suggest to him that his daughter needed to see a psychiatrist. This surpassed normal behaviour.

“I tell you what,” said Eva, levelling herself with Sophie, “you stay here, be a good girl and I'll dive down there and take a look, deal?”

Sophie thought about it for a split second. “Okay, but be careful! I don't know what he wants from you.”

“Don't worry, darling. He probably wants to tell me in secret how beautiful you are and if he can have your number,” Eva joked, disgusted with her attempt at flattery.
Yes, that's it. Spoil her even more. But I need to win her over somehow.

“You take a seat over there on the bench and I'll be back in a minute, darling,” she said, wrapping her in a giant Mickey Mouse towel like candyfloss on a stick.

Eva walked cautiously along the edge of the pool, right towards the end. She read the sign DEEP END – DEPTH 5m - as if to reassure herself that this was the right place. She stared into the water, watching tiny waves form on the surface.

The bottom appeared so close yet so far. It glittered in the light, inviting her, calling her. She wasn't the strongest swimmer but did not fear water.

She waved to Sophie and took a deep breath, diving into the pool with eyes open, swimming ever deeper towards the bottom. She held her nose and equalized her ears. The pressure surprised her, even at 5 metres.

Eva glided effortlessly along the bottom of the pool, looking in all directions and eager to find Sophie's mysterious friend. The filthy drain she noticed last week caught her attention again. She could no longer see any hair floating from it but decided to take a closer look anyway.

She swam towards it, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the opening. Eva gazed into it for a few seconds when she heard a feeble whisper behind her. She flipped around towards the sound, her long
Rapunzel
hair floating all around. Eva regretted not tying it up. The water revealed nothing but blurry images of children's legs.

The temperature of the pool dropped and soon she would run out of air. Eva began to surface but an invisible force yanked her hair from behind. Her heart hammered as she desperately struggled to turn around, realizing that her long hair must've got entangled in the drain. Panic kicked in. She could not breathe. She could not swim. She could not escape. She could only scream, and scream she did, although it wasn't really a scream but more of a yelp. Eva watched bubbles slip out from her mouth as she struggled to free herself. The water turned murkier and darkness swallowed all.

As instructed, Sophie sat on the bench, smiling and humming. She watched the minutes pass on the enormous clock above the pool. How long has it been now? Ten minutes? Maybe more?

A lifeguard noticed Sophie at last from his little tower. He climbed down and sat next to her.

“Hello, are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Sophie, like a good girl.

“A young girl like you should be accompanied by an adult at all times, you know? We don't want any drowning accidents. Where's your mother?”

“My mother's dead,” answered Sophie, gazing at the clock and wondering if Morgen had succeeded.

“We plotted the ceremony for six weeks,” I confessed, avoiding the detective's judgemental glare and listening to his porcine snorts. With one hand, he rubbed his shiny forehead. With the other, his meaty fingers clutched the pen—scribbling with hectic strokes. “Go on, boy, tell me exactly what happened that night.”

And so I did. I'd undergone a recent spiritual rebirth. I was a Christian now and had to confess my sins, right?

The three of us revered heavy metal, satanic bands in particular. James's basement was our chapel and we headbanged in there religiously after school. Cradle of Filth, Behemoth, Slayer, Dimmu Borgir—you name it. We worshipped the lyrics and basked in the subliminal darkness they invoked. We even dabbled in music ourselves. James pestered me and Randy to help him with the ritual. He claimed it would benefit our own band.

“How exactly?” Randy asked.

Postmortem
blasted in the background as James lit a bowl of meth, his face disappearing in a cloud of blinding smoke.

“Think about it! We'd receive power from the Devil! He'd help us play the guitar even better! We'd gain more craziness to go professional, know what I mean?”

I didn't, but the speculation caught my curiosity.

“I marked the grave last night so you two douches are still up for it, yeah?” James said.

I took a blow of meth and relaxed, letting the ecstasy rush through my head—dominating the senses.

“Yeah, let's do it tonight. You got the equipment, right?” Randy said.

“Sure, sure.” I nodded.

Under the cover of nightfall, we climbed over the chained cemetery gate—creeping along the edges of the graves like silent ninjas.

“Hey! Which grave are we robbing again? I can't see shit!” I whispered.

“Just follow me and shut up. I know where I'm going!” James said.

It was a moonless, pitch black night. I tripped and nearly fell.

“Watch your step, dumbass!”

Randy laughed behind me while I tried my best to remain silent. Branches snapped under my army boots and the whole place smelled of compost. Soon, we came to a halt.

“This is it right here,” James pointed, “Hey, Randy! Pass me the shovel!”

Just when the shovel touched soil, the gate flew open and we heard mumbled voices approaching in the distance.

“Shit! What was that?” James hissed, dropping to his knees.

A cloud of torches crept towards us.

“I saw them climbing over the gate, officer, I'm sure the satanic punks are around here somewhere,” an elderly voice said.

I grabbed Randy and all three of us hid behind a grave.

“Crap! Someone spotted us!” I whispered to James, trying not to shit my pants.

The voices grew nearer.

“They're probably vandalising graves; you have to catch these punks!”

I swallowed hard, my throat enflamed.

“We gotta jump over that wall behind us and get the hell outta here, otherwise we're screwed!” I said.

Randy looked left and right in panic, his neck almost spinning like an owl's.

“Alright, let's go!” James commanded and we sprinted to the wall, hidden under a sycamore.

It was a short barricade and we climbed over it with panic in our hearts.

My lungs were on fire when we finally stopped running.

“How the fuck did they know it was us?” I panted.

James wiped the sweat off his brow, “They didn't—they just guessed.”

“They got the satanic part right,” Randy grinned.

I stretched and brushed dirt off my knees.

“Well, since we can't dig up a corpse for our offering, I say we go with Plan B. More extreme but definitely more fun. What do you say, boys? Randy and I will bring the tools. James—bring ganja and Eden,” I said.

James, still panting and coughing replied: “Cool, man. We're on for next Friday, yeah?”

“Absolutely!” I said.

Eden, our whiny fifteen-year-old classmate. I failed to grasp what James ever saw in her.

“She's a virgin with blonde hair and blue eyes—what more do you want?” he winked.

We all rendezvoused at eucalyptus grove that Friday evening. James and Eden rolling on the grass, passing a doobie between them.

“Hey boys!” Eden said, nipping her finger and attempting a seductive smile. I loathed her and the purity she represented.

“Hi,” I uttered—the simple greeting tasting like ash.

Randy towered beside me, staring at her boobs—drooling.

“Got the stuff?” James asked, excitement leaking out of his voice.

I nodded, grinning. “We sure have.”

Slayer's
Dead Skin Mask
thundered from James's truck whilst the sun disappeared from the horizon. Eucalyptus grove was suddenly cloaked by shadows.

Eden's giggles irritated me. I grew impatient.

“Are we doing this shit or what?”

“Doing what?” Eden asked, obtuse and still giggling.

James slid from the bonnet of his truck, edging closer to Eden—rubbing her shoulders and whispering in her ear, “Sweetheart, you know how much we
adore
Slayer, right? We gathered here tonight with a single intention—to offer a pure sacrifice…”

Eden, glued to the spot—confusion smudging her naïve face—blinked. She smelled the weed on his breath and scowled.

“Sacrifice? To who? Who are we sacrificing?”

“We need to empower our music and you're gonna help us!” I said.

With a sadistic grin, James removed the belt from his camouflage shorts. He wrapped the ends around his bruised knuckles and flipped the belt over Eden's head with rapid motion—pulling and strangling. A shriek escaped, then she gasped—wriggling like a worm. Eden kicked her feet, struggling but failing to compete with James's brutal strength.

Randy and I observed. A patch of urine soaked her trousers while we watched—transfixed. Colour drained from Eden's face and adrenaline coursed through our veins. We felt euphoric.

“Whatcha waitin' for? Don't just stand there!
Do
it!” James barked whilst the puny girl choked, her feeble arms reaching out to us—desperation cascading from her eyes.

I yanked the hunting knife from my rucksack—launching at her neck—stabbing again and again and again. Like warm butter, the blade sank into her tender flesh.

Eden's knees crumbled and she collapsed on the ground—blood spraying from her jugular vein.

“Check it out, James! It's
Raining Blood
!” I pointed at her neck—laughing hysterically.
Raining Blood
was one of our all-time favourite Slayer songs. James high-fived me.

Our chortling spread across eucalyptus grove like a storm of locusts.

She whimpered on the ground, wriggling like a snake shedding its skin—choking on her own fluids.

“God…help!” Eden pleaded, blood splashing between her fingers.

Nothing happened so she called for her mummy instead. Pathetic cunt.

I wiped the blade on my sleeve and handed the knife to Randy.

“Put the bitch out of her misery,” I instructed.

Randy's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He climbed on top of her almost limp body, watching blood pour out of the multiple wounds.

“There's still room here, look,” he said, sinking the blade into Eden's neck once more.

Miraculously, the bitch coughed more blood. Randy and I had stabbed her at least twelve times and the cunt still breathed. How was that possible?

We smoked another spliff, glancing at Eden twitching on the ground, her hands flexing slowly—life fading from her eyes.

“I sure could use a beer right now,” James said.

“Do you think she's dead yet?” I countered.

“Dunno, check her pulse.”

I kneeled over the frail body, pressing two fingers on the debris that used to be her neck. No signs of life. At last, the cock tease was dead.

“Who'll take the first turn?” Randy said, unbuttoning his jeans and stroking his erection.

“You never had a chance with her when she was alive, might as well make the best of it now that she's dead,” I chuckled, slapping his shoulder.

“Go for it, kid. You've earned it!” James encouraged.

Randy yelped in triumph, straddling her. He rolled up her white T-shirt—now dyed blood red and cut off her bra.

“I bet that's the first pair of tits you've seen, buddy, not counting your mom's!” James joked.

Our youngest accomplice groaned in pleasure, too infatuated with his prize to answer.

We ravaged Eden's tepid corpse that night, all three of us taking turns, and buried her pale body underneath a secluded eucalyptus.

“Don't bury her too deep,” Randy whined. “I want to come back later and have another go!”

The moonlight illuminated our path as we strolled back to the truck.

“We gotta burn our clothes,” James suggested, examining the bloodstains on his shirt.

“Damn right! Good thing I brought extra clothes for all of us,” I said.

James drove us to his house and we headbanged to Slayer until the crack of dawn.

“What happened next?” prompted the detective, interrupting my train of thought.

I shifted in the wobbly chair. “Let's see…it happened eight months ago—my memory is vague!”

I caught a glint of doubt in his eyes then, as if he'd misheard.

“What do you think happened, genius? We left her out there to rot in the goddamn ground,” I said.

The detective gulped—a grimace of disgust spreading across his chubby features.

“Why? Why the hell would you murder and rape an innocent girl like Eden?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “The girl was irrelevant. She just happened to be a naïve dumbass bitch but,” I paused and grinned, “she sure had a tight pussy. James wasn't lying about her virginity. We busted her until our cocks turned bloody.”

“You twisted, sadistic piece of shit! I oughta break your fucking jaw!”

I held my hands up in protest. “Whoa! What's with the hostility, detective? I'm only telling you what happened in my own words. Isn't that what you wanted?”

He ground his teeth but allowed me to continue.

“As I was saying, we glorified Satan and believed that by committing the ultimate crime against God—killing a virgin in other words—it'd somehow earn us a one way ticket to Hell. You know, it says in the Bible that in the end Lucifer will bring out his best in everything—music, love, murder …”

The man raised his caterpillar eyebrows, still fuming.

“Sounds like bullshit to me, boy. But anyhow, you'll rot in jail till you die.”

“I don't think so.” I leered at him.

 The detective opened his mouth but no words emerged.

 “The story isn't quite over yet. Shall I continue?”

 He sniffed, then waved his hand.

 “You're going away for murder. We have all the evidence we need. But humour me, punk.”

I scratched my chin, inviting memories back in.

 “Several weeks after Eden's demise, James collected us and we all drove to old eucalyptus grove.”

 “It's your turn to dig her up this time, bro,” James ordered, tossing me the shovel.

 She was buried right beneath the surface—just like Randy wanted. We ogled the decomposing corpse. It fucking stank! Still, the boys wanted a bit of fun. Randy unzipped his pants—eager as usual. Then James.

 “Your turn, Jason.”