An Eye For An Eye. Arthur Klepfisz
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doin’ here?’ he demanded of Brett. ‘Can't you read the sign? No Trespassing.’
During the asphyxiating silence, Brett weighed up his options and then explained in a controlled and outwardly calm manner, that he was Deborah’s guest.
Without a reply, the man backed away as seamlessly as Deborah materialised behind him. Not for the first time, Brett marvelled at Deborah's appearance, as the saturnine darkness enveloped her. She was totally different to the type of woman he was usually attracted to, nor was she the type that he would have expected to be interested in him. He knew that their convergent needs drew them together, spiced with a sense of threat, feeling stronger than sex but incorporating it at the same time.
He had read that intense negative feelings such as fear could stimulate sexual arousal, and he was aware of being pulled to Deborah like the powerful force of magnets drawn to each other. It continued to puzzle him, as he was used to being the one in control.
Although not usually given to speculation about such matters, Brett had no doubt at all that Deborah did not leave her looks to the vagaries of ageing, but regularly used the skills of a plastic surgeon. It was money well spent, he thought, as she was certainly a woman that turned heads, with people who passed her twisting to get a second look.
However, he knew there was something else about her, another dimension altogether, that endowed her with the power to lead and control others – including himself. But he found that he was unable to put that extra dimension into words. Like a chameleon, she seemed able to change her external appearance, as the outside environment altered, and as her followers in The Union grew and revamped, so did she. When Brett threatened people, it felt obvious to him and them; but with Deborah, there was a smouldering sense of danger that he could sense but had difficulty putting it into words.
As Deborah approached him Brett noticed that her dog – he couldn't remember the name of the mongrel – stood in the shadows nearby, guarding his owner. Its parentage was unknown, at least to him, though it looked to Brett as if a bull terrier had played some part. It was the ugliest dog he had ever laid eyes on, a dog that not even a bitch would love. Its body was misshapen and it had a skin condition causing part of its body and most of its chunky face to be red and inflamed. It was a thrusting ball of snarls, and the very opposite of the dog he would have expected Deborah to have, given her obsession with disguising her past and presenting perfection to the outside world.
Deborah moved slowly away from the car park, along a path, and Brett knew he was expected to follow in her wake. He anticipated where she was heading, as it was Friday, and he was aware that every Friday night at 9 p.m., The Union members congregated in the church-like hall on the property.
When he entered, he found the congregation were already seated, shrouded by the semi-darkness of the hall, with not a sound to be heard.
Brett walked to the back pew whilst Deborah glided towards the front, where a bluish light shone on the throne-like chair that she sat on. In the glow of that light, Brett could see that Deborah was now enveloped in a long, dark blue robe. Her assistant, a pale woman of almost transparent appearance, joined her and stood alongside, clothed in a similar coloured robe. The shining light created an aura around them, and scattered candles cast an eerie, flickering illumination around the perimeter of the room.
The smell of incense hovered in the hall as Deborah rose from her chair and the congregation pushed their benches back and knelt, crossing themselves in the unique manner that she had decreed.
With his past involvement in the sect, Brett choreographed his own movements to keep in time with the congregation. The congregants knelt for five minutes, making the sign of the cross in reverse and in silent prayer, before resuming their seats. No one made eye contact with any other, and each person appeared immersed in their own world, as if hypnotised.
Deborah still had not uttered a word and to Brett, it felt as if the heavy silence pressed the congregants to their seats. Brett himself felt weighed down by the atmosphere in the room.
The service lasted close to 45 minutes, mainly made up of meditation, until at the end, Deborah and the congregants knelt and chanted together the mantra of The Union.
“To thy Last Supper
Shall we be allowed to stay
We have not given thee a kiss of Judas
Nor betrayed any secrets to thine enemies
We shall outlive them and topple them
So the lesson shall be learnt.”
For all his doubts, in the subdued light and surrounded by the smell of incense, Brett always found himself suspending disbelief and drawn into the ceremony, leaving him uneasy as he left the hall at the end.
After the congregation filed out, Brett followed Deborah to her house, which appeared empty apart from the two of them. He knew that she had a partner, Bill, but he was never visible at times like this. For the first time since Brett's arrival Deborah's languid voice addressed him as she passed over the glass of red wine that she had just poured. Her statement that she was giving him wine to drink required no response from Brett, nor had she felt the need to ask him if he wanted to drink.
They sipped their wine in silence, not looking directly at each other, and Brett found it hard not to be mesmerised by the leaping flames from the log fire close by. Having drunk half her wine, Deborah got up and in silence walked to her bedroom. Brett knew without asking that she expected him to join her.
He felt like a bystander viewing the unfolding events, and marvelled how different this was to any other interaction he had had with a woman or even with a man. At all times Deborah led and Brett followed – as if he were partnering her on a dance floor. She was the queen bee of their relationship. Brett was never sure what she got out of having sex with him, not that he really cared, but he was curious. Did she get any physical pleasure or was it merely another way of controlling him? Come to think of it, what did he get from it?
She dictated their sex as she did every other part of their interactions. From the time his naked body met hers, the precarious journey began. He felt excitement akin to the shiver and feelings he experienced with any extreme activity where danger lurked—such as sky diving, which he’d done several times, or dealing with a criminal who could be armed. He equated it with the coupling of some spiders or praying mantises, where the male would be consumed at the end.
He knew his mates at work would have been amazed to learn of the things that he read and knew, and they certainly would have found it difficult to believe that he could have a relationship like this.
As Deborah mounted him, she placed a pre-prepared ice block between her lips, and then let it slide into her mouth. Her tongue skated around its cold, smooth surface as her buttocks moved rhythmically above and around Brett. In the past, Brett had felt spooked by this ritual, but was now more at ease with it and aroused by her body. He knew that the ice block would contain a slip of paper with the typed name of a perceived enemy. He gave them the name of ‘misfortune cookies’.
He climaxed as he heard her reciting her mantra:
“To Dr Andrew Wright
I bequeath this curse
May he forever return to dust and earth.”
As bizarre as it all sounded, Brett knew that her capacity for malice and revenge outweighed even his own.
As Deborah rolled onto her side, she deposited the ice block into a glass beside the bed. Brett was unsure whether she had also climaxed, but what she couldn't control was the response of her body, the moisture and skin changes revealing to him that she had been sexually aroused. He waited for her to break the silence.
‘Go to sleep, Brett. I'll wake you in about an hour and we'll talk then.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Thursday, 22 August 1986
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