Coffee and Sugar - C. Sean McGee (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

beside the jar a small cup and beside that, a jar of white sugar.

As Joao moved to the back of the room, he caught in his narrow sight, Charity leaning in to whisper into The 13th Apostle’s ear and he thought that she must know him really well because as she spoke, The Apostle smiled in crooked kind of way as if he had just been slipped a winning hand in a corrupted game of cards but to Joao it just looked nothing outside of the norm.

The 13th Apostle and Charity continued whispering to one another while at the back of the room; Joao prepared himself by washing his hands and preparing his utensils, the instruments of his creation.

He was so careful in removing the dirt that collected under his nails and between his fingers, scrubbing them lightly but briskly so as not to scratch or strain the fine sensors on his skin that he used to feel and hear the heartbeat of every grain that passed his touch, canting their story into his mind so that he dreamed of a life he had not lived, feeling as they had felt, hurting as had been dealt and making a heavy brew of burden from the sting of his tears.

He looked long at The 13th Apostle, being pampered like the king that he was; his cheeks being powdered, his hair being brushed, the hairs in his ears being gently clipped, his shirt being straightened, his penis being pampered, his speech being prepared, his sandwiches being cut, his name being called out, its cry being ignored, his thick bulbous fingers holding the girl he adored.

Joao closed his eyes and slid his fingers into the jar of coffee that lay out before him like a sorcerer’s cauldron. He took a long breath and when he exhaled, he carried with it outside of his conscious stage and awoke in a lone seat; stained, torn that swayed on broken hinges like rotting tooth. The room was dark and quiet. His sub conscious made not a sound.

There was a clicking sound as if someone had turned a switch and a wheel were turning, somewhere behind him, out of sight, maybe in another part of his mind. The sound was not obtrusive. It was just loud enough to be heard over his own heavy breath and so he gripped the sticky hand rests as the curtain to the theatre of his mind opened as before him stood, the devil although he could not see its face.

“The righteous path has no fair price” said The Devil.

As he spoke, tufts of smoke plumed from his nostrils and the bottom of every word seemed to gurgle as if he were speaking into a vat of scolding acid as the accent of every word cast a snakelike hiss into the air. Still Joao couldn’t see its face; he could only see a shadow, an outline of some gargantuan form that shifted every time it spoke.

Joao looked around. His hands were no longer gripping a sticky, wet hand rest. They were wet and sticky with his escaping sweat from his surmounting fear as he stood, just out of sight, watching the two shapes conversing under a rickety sign while he stood not far away believing he was invisible. Around him everything was quiet. He could hear The Devil jingling some coins in its pockets as it stood waiting for a large shape; that he assumed was The 13th Apostle, to respond.

Around the two, a torrent wind blew yet everything was completely still and silent where they stood. It was raining in the distance and the storm was rushing towards where they stood and though it was dark where they were, Joao could still make out the shapes of the eyes of hounds watching him, everywhere he looked.

“I will pay any price” said the shadow he assumed was The 13th Apostle, two gigantic hands presented to The Devil with open palms, nervous and shaky, expecting his soul to be torn from his skin but wanting so much for a gentle reward to address his desire, laid in the palm of his hands.

“What is it that you desire?” asked The Devil.

“I want to be powerful. I want control. I want to influence the world. I don’t want to be rich, riches get spent, I don’t want fame for fame is eventually forgotten. I want infamy” said The 13th Apostle.

“What price are you willing to pay?” asked The Devil.

“My soul” said The 13th Apostle.

The devil laughed.

“You really think your soul is worth infamy?” mocked The Devil.

“I’m not sure. I thought…”

“One soul, I‘ll make you a star. Sell me a million; I’ll make you an idol. Sell me a billion; I’ll make you a leader. Sell me a lineage and I’ll make you the son of god” said The Devil.

“How? I’ll do anything? I’ll pay any price” said The 13th Apostle desperately.

The Devil laughed again.

“You will work for me, collecting souls, paying your debt. In return, your name will echo in history and while your borrowed soul burrows beneath your bonded skin, you shall have anything you desire, without consequence” said The Devil, devilishly.

“Deal” said The 13th Apostle extending his hand.

The Devil pushed its shadowy limb through the man’s chest, close to where his heart lay and squeezed tightly, branding the man’s soul.

The Apostle screamed.

The Devil laughed.

Joao squirmed.

The hounds howled.

The air stirred.

The storm neared.

Dust swept up into the air and circled the men.

Joao watched, his hands stirring.

The Apostle ended his scream and fell to the floor.

Joao gasped.

The Devil met his stare.

It pointed.

It smiled.

Its eyes caught on fire.

It vanished.

Joao pardoned himself from his thought with vagrant fright, jumping into his conscious mind and falling backwards against the small bookshelf that perched behind him, knocking it to the floor and landing on an awkward heap, catching his fall on one hand, balancing on one leg while the other dangled like a broken crane, swinging lifelessly as if he had just severed every nerve in his body.

“Are you ok?” asked Charity, oddly humoured but still concerned.

“Umm, yeah. I fell. Sugar?” he asked to The 13th Apostle.

“Life is sweet enough my boy” said The 13th Apostle, slapping the bum of his hair stylist who; though greatly offended, violated, cheapened and disgusted, flinched, yelped like an injured pup, tightened her cheeks, swivelled her body, garnished an ‘oh you’ kind of smile, swallowed her pride, giggled out loud, won his affection and returned to straightening the stubborn curls behind his ears as if nothing had happened.

Joao picked himself up nervously and stared at the cup sitting on the table. The dark liquid swirled around in circles and smaller circles and even smaller circles still and in the middle it looked like there were two dark eyes looking right back at him and the swirling dark liquid; swirling in circles, swirled into a little dark smile and he took the cup in his hands, holding it in a gentle clasp and he steadied himself as he walked; watching his feet as they made every step, towards The 13th Apostle who was wetting his lips on desire and temptation.

He handed the cup as if it were some holy chalice and The 13th Apostle treated is as such, taking it gently from his hands, holding it to the brim of his mouth where his thick upper lip pressed lightly against the fine china like a drunkard’s belly as he leans over the bar to collect his drink.

The Apostle sipped on the cup and immediately his eyes lit like a forest fire, widening; taking in as much light as possible, as if some dark fright has snuck up upon them. His hand shook slightly, not a lot, not entirely visible but Joao could see it and it was the same tremor he saw in the man’s hand when sat outstretched, inviting the devil into deal.

“You think you can make more of that?” asked The 13th Apostle sounding more than a little shaken but licking his lips, hungrily like a junky.

Joao was silent.

His mind was sore.

His heart was sore.

“Sure he can” said Charity, still standing by The Apostle but looking lovingly over at Joao who was looking at The Apostle in a veil of disbelief.

“I’m not sure if I can” said Joao; wanting to leave.

“Sure you can,” said Charity again, this time leaving the clutches of The Apostle and wrapping her arms around Joao’s neck, bowing her head slightly so that she looked up at him doe-eyed, whipping her long, black lashes and cutting a retiring smile across her face so all Joao could do; in the complete dissolution of his will, was say; “ok.”

“You were right Eve, he is a special boy indeed” said The 13th Apostle.

“I have to go” said Joao.

“Don’t you want to watch the service? We are taping tonight. Do you want to be on TV?” asked The 13th Apostle.

“I have to go” said Joao anxiously, looking at Charity like a young child would to their mother, wanting so much to run away and never come back again; wanting to tell the world what he had seen but knowing that nobody would believe him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Spin around” said Eve.

“What? Why?” said Joao.

Charity pulled on his arms so that he came to a stop; with she, standing in front of his drawn face, smiling like a sleeping thief.

“Don’t ask, just follow my lead. It’s silly but it’s something that drives me crazy. Any time I turn around, I feel like I have this elastic band wrapped around me and I just have to turn around the other way to undo it. If I don’t, I’ll go crazy. Look” she said, closing her eyes, lifting her delicate arms into the air so that the light breeze ran through the fine hairs on her arms caressing her with a tender chill that had her shiver just slightly, not enough to molest her thought, but enough for Joao to see and he himself, feel a cold chill run up and down his spine.

Charity smiled as she danced in the light breeze, her fingers catching pockets of air and pulling them with her as she turned on a dime, her heels, high in the air as her body rested on top of her toes and she sprang; like a wildflower, up into the height of the sun, so high that she took Joao’s breath with her and his heart paused as he held sight of her floating like an angel, drifting in the warm summer air, the sea of content unto which he thirsted to drink.

She turned and turned and turned and turned some more, swinging her arms and laughing as she drunkenly fell to the floor.

“Now you” she said.

Joao lifted his arms like she had done and tried to manner the same grace but as he turned, with his eyes jammed shut, he felt a hissing breeze spit across his right ear and he thought of a thousand eyes watching him and as he turned on anything but a dime, his right hand swung wild and hit against the cheek of an infant child being carried at its mother’s breast, almost knocking it from her arms and inviting the stricken child into a wounded, desperate shriek.

Joao pleaded his apology while the infant screamed for its mother’s breast while the mother clinged to her child despondently, cursing and spitting at Joao, calling him names he had never heard before and advising him to do things he had never imagined a man could do and definitely not with the types of animals she mentioned.

“I’m really sorry” he said, but the mother; with her complexion bruised with rage, slapped him across the face and stormed off down the street pressing her crying baby against her chest while around him, pedestrians past with their judging eyes, tisking with their mouths and shaking of their heads; attending to the itch of their moral nerve while on the ; looking up with a cheeky grin and wide blue eyes was Charity, laughing hysterically, squeezing her stomach and crunching over herself, cursing the pain that her laughter brought to her belly as if she were in the throes of birth.

Joao was red. Embarrassed and ashamed.

Charity; noticing his distress, managed to control