Killing Candy

MINDSCAPE...
Mark Hunter was tense. A spasm was slipping through the muscles of his
neck and shoulders, pulling his face into a frown. He closed his eyes,
muttering, miserable, filtered out the steady hum of the aircraft's
turbines.
Tension. Stress. It had been a recurring problem in his life since
school. Bouts of anxiety that led to panic attacks and
hyperventilation.
He had a balm to ease the tension, an old trick of the mind.
He created an image within his head:
In the darkness behind his eyelids what he saw was this: a grey
swirling mass. As he continued to visualise it, so it grew, dilating to
become the cavernous throat of some immense hurricane. There was no
noise. Just a silence that was perceptible by the sense of peace which
it produced.
And Mark Hunter was within it. Smiling now, blissful, slowly rising
within his self-perpetuated vision, ascending the funnel of soundlessly
swirling cloud, floating up on mental currents borrowed from the realm
of Dream. Above him amber sunlight sloped in from a turquoise sky;
beneath him, the darkness of the mind, the stygian blackness of his
primal sub-conscious. He had never gone down there, some inner voice
instinctively warning him...
Totally weightless, he came sweeping up and out of the funnel. In his
mind's eye he watched his naked form arch back arms outstretched, glide
effortlessly over the panoramic vista of cloud: the black mouths of
other funnels spreading out further than he could see. To Mark Hunter,
in his mind, they were the openings to the sub-consciousness of every
individual in existence: the Great Collective.
A infinity of lazily swirling whirlpools.
The tension was gone.
Here he could be happy.
Unlike the real world, where the course of his life was taking him
through a gloomy passage....

COFFEE ENCOUNTER...
The girl sat alone, staring at the mug with un-focused eyes, thick
ceramic, the rim stained with mud-coloured runs of coffee and coated
with a faint crust of spilled cream hardened by the heat of the
drink.
Hunter noticed her as soon as he walked into the cafe.
Her features were provocatively attractive. Heavy make-up but
skilfully applied, creating an image desired. Bold dark eyebrows above
smears of silver fading into azure. Crimson lips, full and pouting, the
colour of blood. Lost in thought she absently ran her hand through her
hair, neon-pink fingernails submerging through spiky, translucent
blue-gel hair. The hair graft was from London, the fluorescent
nail-polish by mail order from New Tokyo.
This was the North East of England: a city deprived of support by a
robber baron capital, its infrastructure eroded, never replaced. Set
against the less vibrant style of the city the girl's appearance was
striking.
He scanned the rest of the cafe and soaked up the familiar atmosphere
of the place. Rich colours and soft lighting created an old world
feeling that approached art nouveau, accompanied by thick leafed plants
in copper bowls and posters of film stars from the early days of
cinema.
There was a dramatic lack of technology and Hunter welcomed it.
Usually the cafes he skimmed were bristling hives of portable
workstations and cyberdecks. It was different in this place. Here, only
the ubiquitous teenage socket-zombies testified the era, slumped back
in their chairs, silent, gazing blind, plugged into the latest sim-stim
via the cheap neuralware drilled into their skulls: fast action manga
animation or personalised retrospectives of their favourite music
idols. Most of them would end up with brain-damage from synaptic
seepage: raw sensory data pooling into cysts around the low-grade
implants.
He took a seat and ordered a mug of coffee with cream, the same as he
always did when he came here.
Familiarity, he thought. The city had become a constant in his life
over the past seven years, a source of sanctuary. Christ knew right now
he needed it.
For a brief moment an image of his girlfriend, Jenny, strode into his
mind, bitching about something....
He pushed her out.
Taking the phone from the pocket of his Paige-Lee jacket he glanced at
the screen to check the time. Yasmin was supposed to be meeting him in
ten minutes but knowing his friend, it would be closer to another hour;
she was always late.
Hunter smiled to himself; he looked forward to seeing Yasmin again.
She would come swanning in, hug him, kiss him, they would talk eagerly
and then they would go back to her place and fuck, like they always
did. He wondered if it was true about her getting married to someone in
Pakistan? The question passed unanswered as his cognitive process
clicked onto a work routine. There were things to be done.
The coffee arrived and stood cooling, the large mug topped with a
mountain of thick whipped cream that oozed down the sides.
He felt her watching him.
Looking up from the drawing he was working on Hunter caught the girl
glancing away; he stared at her, willing her to look back.
A cheeky grin began to curve her blood coloured lips: she knew exactly
what he was doing.
Her large almond eyes swivelled round and grabbed his gaze. Neither
looked away, caught in the surprise of mutual attraction, held back by
the rules that apply to strangers.
Then she broke them: she stood up and gestured if it was okay for her
to join him.
Hunter felt his heart stop.
He nodded, his smile turning rigid. He suddenly wanted to laugh.
Bland faces watched her cross over to his table. Her figure was
perfect, wrapped in a burnt orange and red sarong, colours that
enhanced the impact of her blue-gel hair.
"Hello!" she said, playful, sitting down and pulling her chair in
close to him. Now he did laugh, a quick escape of nerves,
"Hi," he said back, grinning wildly.
"Figure it makes sense to share a table instead of taking two between
us... don't you?" She cocked her head to one side, inquiringly.
"Asbolutely,"
"What are you doing?" She nodded at the sketch he was making on a pad
of heavy tracing paper: a boldly inked outline of a naked woman wearing
thigh-high boots with needle point heels.
"Club flyer."
"Looks kinky."
"It is... it's for a fetish club, as the flyer says, dress for
sex."
She looked at him, approving.
"Bristol a nice city?" she asked.
"Excellent city." He sipped his coffee, it was nearly cold. "This is a
favour for a friend who runs the night. Normally I'm working on
corporate stuff and drawing leather clad women is just... well, more
fun!"
The girl laughed, she put a hand to her mouth to keep it down. Hunter
stared at the fluorescent pink of her nails, felt himself aroused, saw
a picture in his head of those fingers digging into his flesh.
"Future shock." she said.
"What?" Startled.
"The nails..... do you like them?"
"Yeah I.... love them." he laughed, "What's your name?"
"Sabria."
"Mark."
"Pleasure to meet you Mark."

CONVERSATION...
"How are you going to finish it?" she pointed at the drawing.
"I'm going to put a chain around her neck attached to the wrist of a
giant bat with the horns of a goat."
"Serious?" She found it funny.
"Sure I am," he defended himself, "It's an idea I had... about the
whole concept of bondage... I'm basing the picture on a tarot
card."
There was deep interest in her large brown eyes: "The Devil?"
"You know it?" He was suprised.
"Beginning to... I started using the tarot a few weeks ago."
"Really?" His whole body became animated with enthusiasm. "Do you use
them for fortune telling or-"
"No... they're far more powerful than that. I see them as tools of the
mind, you know? Like... programs for a sim-stim deck, you can access
them and experience-"
"Altered states." He finished.
"Yes." Sabria smiled.
"This is so amazing."
"What is?" she giggled, his enthusiasm was infectious.
"This. I mean, we've just met but.... I've been into spiritualism for
about fourteen years, it's so rare to meet someone who shares the same
views."
"Nice isn't it?"
"Beautiful, it's beautiful"
"My friend is really into this stuff... she'll be here in a while,
hang around and I can introduce you both."
"Oh," Hunter made a sulking face and pretended to whinge, "I thought
you wanted to be with me?"
Sabria smirked and regarded him with a raised eyebrow, "Like that is
it?"
"I don't know what you mean?" His face was a picture of innocence.
Sabria laughed. "No seriously," he said, "It would be good but I'm
supposed to be meeting a girl as well."
"Right Mr Popular aren't we?"
"Sarky! Swap numbers before we leave?"
She nodded slowly, accepting his offer. "Is she your
girlfriend?"
"No... just a friend."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Sort of... " he said airily.
She snorted, "Either you do or you don't!"
He let out an uncomfortable sigh, "Jenny. She's called Jenny and I'm
up here to work out whether I want her to be or not, one reason
anyway."
"Problems?"
Hunter looked away at nothing in particular, thoughtful,
"Yeah..."
"So dump her and come live with me."
The remark brought Hunter to sit up: "Yeah?"
"No... " she joked it off.
"Oh." A small laugh, but he struggled to hide his
disappointment.
"Decide now, then."
"Eh?"
"Can you say with honesty that you would be happy keeping her as your
girlfriend?"
"No." He said straight away.
"Don't be a sap then! Break free...."
"It's not so easy." Hesitating.
"Yes it is! It's all in a choice. Embrace change, it makes you
alive!"
"You're right, " he said coming to a decision.
"Of course I'm right."
"Okay then, I think we can say, I don't have a girlfriend."
Sabria smiled, engaged him with a speculative gaze, as if she was
weighing up a potential client.
Hunter read her expression his own way and felt the excitement surge
up his spine, "Something tells me you like that?"
"Perhaps." she glanced away, distracted.
He wanted to ask if she had a boyfriend herself, but in truth he did't
care. "So tell me more about this girl who you think I'll like."
Sabria nearly choked on her own laughter.
"What?" he chuckled uneasily.
"I'm sorry," she dropped her voice to a confidential tone, "Her name
is Candy... and she... is a he."
"What... a transvestite?"
"Transsexual... full conversion."
"Shit...." The image of chopping knifes flashed involuntarily through
his mind.
"I can't wait for you to meet her."

BLACK CLOUD...
Candy made her entrance looking like some thing from a cheap horror
B-movie. She moved toward their table in a sort of gliding gait, her
expression sullen. Hunter was reminded of Bella Lugosi.
Dressed all in black, baggy jumper, tight jeans, glittering with
sepulchral pewter jewellery, she had a narrow face with small unhealthy
looking eyes underscored by bruise-coloured shadows. Long mousy hair
did a little to soften the harsh angles of her face.
God, she's ugly, Hunter thought.
Candy slid into a chair next to Sabria and leaned across to kiss her
on the cheek.
Sabria introduced them: "Mark, this is Candy. Candy.... Mark."
The two strangers regarded each other for a second.
"He has just met you." Candy's voice was marked by a soft Northern
accent, lilted upwards.
"Yes." Sabria said enthusiastically and squeezed Candy's hand.
Hunter decided he did not like Candy.
Sabria continued, "He knows loads about Tarot and the occult-"
"Er..." Hunter interrupted, "Not the occult, spiritualism."
Candy swung her head to regard him with a baleful look, "Is there a
difference?"
Hunter grimaced, "I don't know, you tell me."
Candy did... and took control of the conversation.
Some time later, two more empty coffee mugs cluttered the table, and
one half-drunk cup of hot water: Candy had a thing about polluting her
body. Hunter was not impressed, on the contrary, he was disturbed
because all Candy talked about were the books she read, quoting this
author and that author and the various esoteric sects they fraternised;
their claims of transporting the human soul to other `realms' and
protecting it from the `demons' which sometimes stalked our own.
It seemed Candy was more turned on by the inner depths of the occult
than its less macabre edge, spiritualism.
He also sensed Candy saw him as a threat to whatever intimacy she
shared with Sabria.
Sabria kept moving the conversation towards films, fashion and some of
the new cyberspace sites being developed; the transsexual appeared
unable (or unwilling) to cope with these shifts, could not drop into
normal conversation. Every time it happened Candy would put on a sullen
face and sit in silence until somebody asked her a question relating to
the Other Worlds.
The overwhelming impression for Hunter was that Sabria was seeing a
side to her friend she had not observed before.
"Where did you two meet?" He asked.
Sabria answered, "A few weeks ago at a counselling training
group."
"There!" Candy stabbed the pen into the piece of paper to mark a
punctuation point. She had written the name `Fabien Morodor:
Transcending the Quantisphere' and an E-mail address. "I write to him
all the time," she said quickly, a false air of arrogance betraying her
insecurity.
"Uh-huh." Hunter replied with little interest, his eyes catching
Sabria's and seeing the same was true with her.
"He's a true believer in the Outer Chaos."
"Right.... er, excuse me a second." Hunter leaned away, pulled out his
phone and dialled Yasmin's number. Candy was watching him with
suspicion. After a few rings Yasmin answered, "Hi Yazz.... no, about an
hour.... no Eve couldn't make it because she's working today. You're
not coming? Oh. No.... okay, no, it's okay.... I've met some people.
Huh? I'll tell you about it when I see you. Yeah, give Eve a call and
we'll sort something out. Bye."
Sabria pulled her chair towards him. "She not coming?"
"No..." Hunter sighed, a little annoyed but at the same time inwardly
pleased. "Something came up."
Candy was staring at Sabria. She reached over to take her hand but
Sabria didn't respond, pulled away.
The conversation moved on to sex, not surprisingly Candy had little to
say. Sabria made a statement, "I've only had sex with one person....
how about you?"
"How many do you think?"
Sabria smirked naughtily, "I don't know how good you are, what your
reputation is like.... it's an unfair question."
"Okay, about thirty."
"One a year!"
"If I was shagging in infants school!"
They chuckled together.
Hunter looked over at Candy, who was silent, picking at the soft
tissue beneath her nails. "What about you Candy?"
The transsexual gave an indifferent shrug, refused to return his look,
"I've never had sex."
Mark was incredulous, "How old are you?"
"Twenty nine." Still picking her nails.
"You don't look it, shit, what are you doing, following on from when
Cliff Richard died?"
Sabria giggled.
Hunter continued, "They reckon he croaked it without loosing his
cherry although I have my own theory. What's that old hanger-on called,
they bring her on when ever they talk about safe British pop during the
last century...."
Sabria's face lit up, "Una Stubbs!"
They laughed again.
Hunter fixed an intrusive gaze on Sabria, "So who's the only person
you've slept with?"
"My boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend."
"Oh right... so you two haven't got a thing going?" Hunter prointed at
Candy.
Sabria shook her head, giggling, "God no!" He saw Candy drop her gaze
to the floor, looking resentful. "What made you think that?" She
asked.
Hunter gave a `don't know' shrug.
"No.... I've been going out with Ian for seven years." she said.
"Fuck, how old are you?" he asked, taken aback.
"Twenty four."
"When did it end?"
"Today."
The sound of a spoon striking ceramic killed the drama of the moment.
They both looked at Candy, Sabria seemed suddenly guilty; she touched
Candy's arm, smiled feebly and asked:
"Tell me about the man you mentioned over the phone, the one you said
came to see you."
Candy glanced at Hunter uncomfortably.
Hunter stuck his hand forward like a prompt, "Who's this... going to
get your rocks off before you hit thirty?"
The transsexual flashed an angry look, moved round to face Sabria. "He
believes I am a Chosen.... if I complete the initiation I can join his
group."
Sabria's face was concerned, "Candy... this man came out of
nowhere.... I don't think," she paused, uncertain.
"Who is he?" Hunter included himself in the conversation.
"Lucas Brown." Candy kept her dark eyes fixed on Sabria, "He is
Rapture... he has shown me the boundaries of our existence, they can
take me beyond, us.... if you will join with me."
"No...." Sabria pressed herself into the chair, away from Candy, "It
doesn't sound like the sort of thing I want... I don't want to be part
of a group, I just wanted to feel happy with myself.... Candy?"
The transsexual was looking down at the floor, her eyes wide and
staring.
Hunter cleared his throat, feeling very uncomfortable with the scene.
There was a chill settling on his skin that had the hairs on the back
of his neck prickling up. No, he didn't like this at all! Something
about the way Candy was muttering now, her dry lips moving without
sound. He saw the same uneasiness on Sabria's face.
"Hey, er...." he tried to shrug off the feeling, "What are you doing
later?"
Relief softened Sabria's expression, "No plans... do you want to come
back to mine tonight?"
"Yeah. Watch a film or something?" And he felt the old excitement come
back, his eyes re-crossing her perfect body.
"What-ever.... Candy can drive us home. Candy.... is that okay?"
Candy lifted her head to glare at Hunter, her voice hissed with
bitterness. "Of course."

DANGEROUS PASSION...
Candy came in with them, sat next to Sabria on the settee, her face set
for misery. Cardboard boxes lined one of the walls of the spacious
lounge, sealed with brown parcel tape.
"Do these belong to the boyfriend?" Hunter made a guess, easing
himself down into a sitting position on the carpet, glass of Southern
Comfort in hand; he reclined and rested his back against the base of
the ultra suede settee Sabria was seated in. His shoulders came up
against the flank of her thigh. He could feel the heat of her leg
through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Yes." she said and stroked the back of his head. Hunter pictured
those bright neon nails again.
"He's getting out fast, considering... what, it ended today?"
"No, we decided to end a while ago," he felt her shrug and glance
around the room, could imagine her seeing the new reality that was
about to snap into place once those boxes were gone. "Today was just a
day we chose to.... you know-?" her voice trailed off.
Hunter twisted around and saw she was upset; he hugged her leg close
to him, "Hey," gentle, "This is the first day of the rest of your
life."
Candy snorted and stood up abruptly, the movement jerking Hunter's arm
so that he spilled some of his drink onto the carpet.
"Shit-" Hunter began to apologise.
"Candy!" Sabria cried out, angry.
The transsexual strode to the window without answering; stood there,
radiating fury.
Sabria stretched her palm and fingers across the top of Hunter's
skull, closed her eyes with exasperation and lowered her forehead to
his. "Sorry." she whispered.
Hunter was alive with the smell of her body so close to him; in one
movement he angled up his face and kissed her on the mouth. Blood red
lips parted and he felt her tongue for the first time; it slid over his
own, eager to explore him. They broke away, her large brown eyes
opened, and she smiled at him, tenderly, her hand now cupping the angle
of his jaw.
At that moment Candy span round.
Hunter heard a sort of strangled sound; saw Candy storm past them and
out. The front door slammed shut.
Sabria pulled herself round in Candy's wake, concerned. Hunter
squeezed her arm, "Go on... make sure she's okay."

THE ANTIPATHY...
Sabria returned from downstairs looking vexed and weary. Hunter had
heard a car roaring away.
"Is he-" Hunter began then checked himself, "She.... It...
okay?"
Sabria flapped her hands and gave a self-sorry laugh; she came over to
the settee and lowered herself down into his lap, nuzzled him for a few
moments.
That they would sleep together seemed inevitable to both of them now.
The consensus was unspoken, but it was there. It allowed them to relax
into conversation.
"What happened down there?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare." she spoke into his neck, "She just flipped...
started crying, saying I'd betrayed her.... I.... I've never seen her
like this. God." she sighed heavily, "I'm so glad you came along now
and not `x' months down the line."
Hunter's face must have shown what he was thinking.
Sabria looked away, pensive, shaking her head, "We never had sex,
just.... explored each other, a lot of passionate kisses. I guess I was
turned on by... what she was, had been.... it's scary because today,
after you and her met, I suddenly found myself thinking how ugly she
is."
"I know." Hunter laughed nervously.
Sabria smiled and looked back at him for a long moment.
"What did your boyfriend think of her?" he said.
"Ian hates her... she's the reason why we're splitting up. I'm not
saying it wouldn't have happened anyway but our relationship hadn't
really been anything special for a while... and it wasn't helped when
he walked in and caught me in bed with her."
Hunter snorted with amusement at the image in his mind, "That's,
er..."
"Yes, I know.... he thinks Candy's a sick freak who's been using me to
feed her fucked up personality."
"You're right, he definately doesn't like her. What kind of guy is
he?"
"Ian?" She thought about it, then laughed, self-conscious, ran neon
pink nails through her blue-gel hair, "Very intense. I pick them don't
I. Oh well, never mind. Ian work in quantum electronics, specialises in
bio-nanotech. Actually he's part of the team responsible for coming up
with the surgical worker packs. Have you heard about them?"
"The ones on the news? Yes." he was impressed.
"Hmm-hm, what was the blurb..." she began to quote, "They use rapidly
vibrating mono-molecular edges to cut through tissue, remove clots and
attack malignant clusters." She smiled, "Ian developed the glue to
repair the damage they cause."
"Smart bloke."
"Yes."
"Change of subject."
"Go on."
"Why does she call herself Candy?" he asked.
"Crystal Indiankhana Candy.... she thinks it has some mystical
significance, God, I can't believe some of the crap I let myself listen
to."
Hunter nodded, understanding, "Not exactly into finding peace and
tranquillity through the spirit, is she?"
"No... and this man she's met really scares me."
"Lucus Brown. Have you met him?"
Sabria shook her head, "It's the fact he came looking for her... I
mean, how does that happen?"
Hunter shrugged, "Candy was ordering a lot of weird books, maybe
someone's keeping watch on the mail-order lists."
They looked at each other, silently conveying the agreement: Candy
would not be talked about any further tonight.
The moment had come.

NEXT DAY...
The afternoon light was cold and grey, it came seeping into the lounge
like a mist. The cardboard boxes that had held Ian's belongings were
gone.
Sabria sat slumped in the settee, a mobile phone to her ear,
chrome-green finger nails curled around the brushed-aluminium
casing.
A cold pellet of some hybrid emotion chilled the lining of her
stomach, a blend of angst, fear and paranoia.
She was speaking to Mark Hunter.
"I can't believe she did that, Mark.... I know.... yes, Candy rang me
this morning after you left."
As Sabria listened she wondered if she would ever see Mark Hunter
again; or if he had simply used her, but then, what did she expect? The
sex had been (how would she describe it?) pleasant, hardly a
mind-blowing experience, yet the experience of sleeping with another
man after seven years with Ian felt long overdue.
But now Mark Hunter was telling her he was flying back down to Bristol
the next morning, to sort things out with his girlfriend. He wanted to
make things work.... it made Sabria feel he had lied to her?
And now there was this!
Mark was telling her about a phone call he had just received from
Candy. The transsexual had made some outlandish threat against him
including the words `prepare to reap the whirlwind' and a promise of
occult retribution. It sounded as if Candy had gone over the
edge.
"I told her what had happened between us last night." Sabria said,
"Does that bother you, Mark? Good, I mean I don't intend to be ashamed
of what we did..... It's easy for you Mark, you can run back to Bristol
and Jenny and not have to worry about somebody like this turning up on
your doorstep.
"I just wanted Candy to understand that there was no bond between her
and me... that what had happened was just, experimentation. I am really
sorry she called you at your friend's house. How is Yasmin?"
Sabria didn't really listen to his answer, her eyes focused on the red
T-shirt, lying crumpled on the floor in front of her where Ian had
thrown it in rage, only an hour ago. The T-shirt was covered in Mark
Hunter's dried semen, the product of their love-making the previous
night. Her mind re-created Ian's face in painfully clear clarity, the
expression when he walked into the bedroom and found the used condoms,
the T-shirt, the tangled bed sheets. The scene of a crime?
The voice on the other end of the phone was telling her how much he
had enjoyed what had happened; yet Sabria could still hear the edge of
fear. Candy had got into his mind.
"Don't worry about it, Mark, Candy doesn't know your address or your
telephone number in Bristol. No, I promise, I won't give it to anybody.
Ian wanted it but I- hmm? I think he wanted to have a `chat' whatever
that means. No, he's intense but he's not a murderer.... everybody's
allowed to be angry. I know. Okay, you too..... yes, good-bye."
Sabria switched off the phone with her thumb. She wanted to cry.

TRANSFUSION...
The car was a small city model. Black. Candy sat inside, watching the
front of Sabria's house from the darkness across the street, waiting
for Ian to arrive, as arranged.
She played with the long, ceremonial silver needle between her bony
fingers; an artefact she bought from Lucas Brown, supposedly ancient,
pre-biblical, an implement for the completion of her initiation.
It was almost time.
Candy thought back to the phone conversation with Sabria's
ex-boyfriend, a few hours earlier. Ian rang her offering Mark Hunter's
address; in exchange, she would leave Sabria alone. Candy had accepted:
Sabria was worthless now. Lucas Brown would no longer accept her as
appropriate for his group. Now Candy would have to continue
alone.
She saw Ian approaching in the car's wing mirror, his tall, feeble
figure unmistakable, wrapped in a trench coat, hurrying quickly through
the orange wash of the sodium street lamps. He had an envelope clutched
in his hand.
Silently popping open the door of her car, Candy slid out of the seat
and quickly crossed the road, a shadow of death in the darkness, the
silver needle ready by her side.
Ian was by the front door, caught in the yellow courtesy light, his
boyish face angled down, staring at the envelope in his hands as if
were a letter of betrayal. He span round in shock at the sound of
Candy's approach behind him.
There was no hesitation. Candy surged forward and drove the silver
needle right through his eye. Ian emitted a brief, high pitch shriek
and staggered back, his hands came up clasping at the air spastically,
the wound going deep into his brain.
His legs buckled and he dropped to the ground, dead, the trench coat
rustling with a horrible, simple finality.
Candy heard Sabria on the other side of the door, sliding back a
chain. Ian must have rung the bell.
A sickly smile curved Candy's lips. In a feat of manic strength, she
stooped down, grabbed Ian's limp body and dragged him into the low
bushes that lined the short path. The long needle still buried through
the gory remains of his eye.
Sabria had been struggling to wrench open the mortise lock; she pulled
the door open in time to see Candy stepping out of the bushes onto the
path. Her blue-gel hair was glowing in the light from the
hallway.
"Candy!"
"Hello darling."
"Jesus!" Sabria swung her head to either side, as if she expected more
people to come creeping out of the darkness. "What the hell was that
noise?"
"A cat...?" Candy offered the suggestion.
Sabria gave Candy a suspicious look, then she saw the envelope on the
ground in front of the door. She crouched down and picked it up. Candy
watched her, silent, shuddering in the rapture of her own actions. Her
initiation was now complete, but she wanted to savour the moment.
The envelope was blank. Sabria ripped it open and pulled out the
folded sheet of paper from inside, wincing when she felt the sharp pain
in her finger. She thought it was a paper cut.
"Cats?" Sabria said, as if it was a ridiculous possibility. She was
frowning, staring at the sheet of paper that was unmarked except for
the small plastic rectangle glued onto the corner she cut her finger
on. It was stinging like crazy.
What Sabria did not know was Ian was more than intense. Profoundly
unbalanced by finding the girl he adored in bed with a freak like
Candy, and then discovering she had slept with another man the day he
was due to move out, Ian had planned the most wicked revenge:
The envelope contained a massive dose of the nanoagents he had helped
to design. Surgical cutting tools, guided by a smart chip glued to the
sheet of paper she held in her hand; they were already cutting through
into her bloodstream, would be swept along by her own circulatory
system until they came to her brain...
"Sabria." There was something delirious about the way Candy spoke her
name.
Sensing danger, Sabria stepped back into the doorway, "What do you
want Candy?"
"Do you have anything that belongs to Mark....?"
"Why?" Suspicious.
"Something personal he wrote his address on... vital fluids...?"
Sabria wrinkled her nose in disgust, then blinked several times as she
saw the flashes of white light across her vision, "You're sick... do
you know that? How many others have you used like this?" She gripped
the door for support, suddenly feeling dizzy; the nanoagents were
frenziedly slicing open the blood vessels in her brain: numerous
cerebral haemorrhages quickly leading to apoplexy.
"He is sick, Sabria, don't you see? He raped your soul last night and
now you stagger there, infected by his seed."
Sabria tried to say something but her tongue lolled uselessly inside
the drooling cavity of her mouth. For a second her body stiffened, her
jaw clamped shut, nearly severing her tongue from its root as complete
loss of muscular control set in. Then her head reeled to the side and
struck the edge of the door with a dull crack. She collapsed onto the
stone step, twitching and gurgling blood.
To Candy it was simple proof of her own beliefs.
She stepped over Sabria's dying body and went through the doorway. She
would steal what she needed from upstairs, anything that would provide
a link to Mark Hunter; then she would vanish, as Lucas Brown had
promised.

INVOCATION...
Mark Hunter closed his eyes and filtered out the steady hum of the
aircraft's turbines; he had a balm to ease the tension, a trick of the
mind. He focused on the image forming within his head.
In the darkness behind his eyelids what he saw was this: a grey
swirling mass. As he continued to visualise it, so it grew, dilating to
become the cavernous throat of some immense hurricane. There was no
noise. Just a silence that was perceptible by the sense of peace which
it produced.
The tension was already leaving him; the guilt of cheating on his
girlfriend fading the higher he rose.
Then something different happened:
A gust of foul wind from beneath him, the smell of burnt hair and....
God, blood.
He cast the angle of his vision downward. Beneath him was the darkness
of the mind, the funnel dropping down into the depths of his primal
sub-conscious. He had never gone down there, some part of him
instinctively warning against it.
What was this?
Something was rising up from there...
What on earth was that? This had never happened before! Hunter did not
understand; this was no part of his imagination. Where was this image
coming from? A thick red mass was rising up, swelling to fill the
funnel beneath him. This was madness! This was pure insanity! The
stench of blood grew stronger and became overwhelming,
nauseating.
Hunter tried to open his eyes, to eject himself from the hideous
vision, but they would not open.
Panic pierced his heart and he felt his pulse stutter.
This was impossible!
He could not open his eyes. In fact, he could not even move his body.
The red mass was filling the limits of his vision below him, rising up
with increasing speed, pushing the hellish smell up on a current of
hot, foul air. He wanted to scream. He was trapped inside the rapidly
warping creation of his mind.
But was it just his own mind? Hunter could feel another intelligence
behind what was happening.
In the same instant he felt that other intelligence reach out to
him:
'Hello Mark'
Candy! It was Candy doing this to him. He tried to scream but no sound
came out, only a silent escape of breath.
'Are you prepared to reap the whirlwind?' Came the voice - thought -
hallucination in his mind.
He watched, paralysed, terrified by his lack of control, as the red
mass boiled up around him.
This was no hallucination.
He could feel it upon his flesh. He could actually feel it! He could
taste it as it splashed onto his lips. Thick and salty. Something rose
out of the gory soup. A shape. Right in front of him.
His heart stuttered again. Vaguely, a million light years away on the
rim of consciousness, he was aware of someone asking if he was
alright.
Too far to answer.
No time to think about anything but the shape.
The Shape!
A face, there, upon it. But it wasn't a human face. It was something
that shouldn't have even been. The multitudinous black glistening and
frighteningly dead eyes fixed upon him; the sickening hole that formed
a sort of rudimentary mouth yawned open letting a sound that came from
the most dismal pit of Hell, pour out.
Hunter's heart swelled.
Hunter's heart stuttered.
Hunter's heart stopped.
- END -