Beauties and the Beast (17 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

Thornton was shocked out of his mind when he walked behind the tree and slipped through - through what, a door, a time-slip, a mystical illusion? - and into the wings. In his life he had encountered evil in almost every shape and form, but this ...

He cowered against the wall, feeling his way backwards, keeping a terrified eye on the scene in front of him. His mind fumbled for a word big enough to describe what he saw. What he smelt. There was none. He felt for the way out, but it was not there.

Like everything else on this abominable day someone else had control. Something else? There was incredible heat and the smell of raw sewage. His mind created terrifying images; mountains of fire roared out of a cesspit of blood and human remains, skulls frozen into screams, limbs, torn and bleeding, hearts, ripped from bodies, still pumping blood - and screams, ear-tearing, heart wrenching in their agony.

He smelt the stench of death and decay, human excrement, a bitch's urine. It was a kaleidoscope of stench.

Thornton began to sweat. His stomach heaved, but nothing came but a dry retch. Then out of the pit rose a ghastly figure. The Goat! The Devil, Beelzebub, Satan, the Lord of darkness, the Fallen Angel.

It towered into the darkness above, luminous with enriched uranium. Visible Gamma rays leaped like chorded lightning from the body.

The animal legs, dark, steaming, suppurating. The torso, white, etched with smoking sores and the arms, strong, muscle rippling and powerful, and the head, adorned with twisted horns, the elliptical yellow iris, the oblong opaque pupils and the thick, over-red lips, set in a sneer of triumph. They were drawn back over teeth yellow with age and dripping blood.

The figure stood, silent amid the roar of flames and the screams, staring at Thornton. The eyes bored deep into the actor's soul.

Thornton cowered as the figure raised its arm and pointed to the pit. Instantly the noise ceased and there was an undeadly silence. Thornton felt the full fury of the monster in front of him and his heart almost stopped beating when a softly beguiling voice came from the cruel lips. “Mr Thornton I presume?” it said.

Thornton's mouth dropped open and his legs weakened so much that he collapsed on the ground, the faeces-soft, stinking ground. The monster bent forward and a huge hand, hair-studded and taloned reached out. Thornton shrank back and tried to curl himself into a foetal ball, but the talon tipped finger touched his rectum and excruciating pain shot through his anal cavity, into his internal organs travelling on until it seared his brain like white hot lead. His scream of agony brought a shout of joy from the monster.

“I'm going to enjoy you,” the monster boomed. He took the talon away and the pain ceased. Thornton was breathing hard and wishing he were dead.

The monster laughed aloud and Thornton suddenly knew that no matter the pain he suffered. He was better off alive. The monster probed his mind and inserted the foretaste of eternity; diabolical torture among the damned. Thornton knew with deadly certainty that he was dealing directly with the Devil himself. There came a flash of earthly intuition to Thornton. He sat up. “I repent my sins,” he cried. “In the name of our saviour Jesus Christ I renounce thee. Abjure yourself.”

He formed a cross with his two fingers and played the role of a movie exorcist. The monster roared with laughter and breathed on the fleshy cross. Thornton watched in horror as the digits dissolved like melting candles. The terrified actor screamed again looking on, slavering, and his mind dissolving like his fingers. Insanity was close, if it wasn't already there.

“It's too late for your God, Mr Thornton,” said the beguiling voice once more. “You are mine.” The talons touched again and pain wracked Thornton's body.

The monster inflicted more pictures into Thornton's mind, pictures of evil. Evil that had been long repressed. Things worse than he had admitted during his interrogation.

It was the holiday in Brazil and the shooting of the movie. The little boy pinioned on his phallus, sobbing as he bled, but Thornton had unmercifully moved him around in the heat of blood and flesh. His cocaine heightened senses gloried in his power and what was left of his conscience was subdued by the sheer sensations that surrounded him.

He was sitting in the darkness with other men. Lights shone on the innocent standing alone on an empty stage. He was a small, dark child. His belly was tight with hunger. He had been lured by the promise of money by a fellow child who had already collected his bounty of betrayal.

The boy shielded his eyes. Thornton rode the boy on his lap, postponing the moment of ejaculation, knowing what was about to happen on the stage.

The man walked into the light. He was heavy with fat, his eyes cold as tungsten. He approached the boy. The boy circled. Street wise.

The man, head in darkness held out a wad of notes. He spoke rapidly in Spanish. Thornton could not understand what he said, but he knew the implication.

The boy sneered at the man and answered him by holding out his hand. The man handed over the cash. The boy stroked the man in the groin, and then counted the money. He looked up and shook his head. He pointed to the lights and spat out rapid fire Spanish.

Thornton frowned uncomprehendingly. The man next to him, a naked boy's head between his thighs, saw the look. “The boy says the money is not enough to perform when people are watching.” He chuckled evilly. “So he'll get more.”

The fat man smiled and pulled more money from his pocket. The boy took it counted it and gave a thumbs-up sign to the darkness behind the lights.

He did a grotesque strip-tease then knelt, supplicatory, on the ground, head erect and smiling as he wriggled his skinny backside. The fat man knelt, unzipped his trousers revealing an unnaturally large erection. He spread-eagled the boy's skinny buttocks and inserted himself gently inside the boy, who grimaced in pain and lowered his head.

The man was still. He slipped his hands into his coat pocket and pulled out a garrotte. A shining sliver of wire attached to two wooden handles. Then he thrust powerfully and the boy lifted his head in pain and screamed. As he did so the fat man slid the garrotte under the boy's chin and pulled tight. There was no sound, just bulging eyes and a spurt of blood.

The fat man pulled back and ejaculated high over the boy's back. Thornton did one final thrust and came inside his boy. As his semen spurted and his desired dissipated, even through the mist of cocaine, Thornton knew he had sunk to his lowest depth, a voyeur of death.

His head sank onto his chest. He let go of the boy child, who slid off Thornton's subdued member, sniffling and looking for his mother.

The woman came from the shadows, took the child by the hand, and stared with deadened face at Thornton. He took a series of high denomination notes from his pocket and held them out.

She took them and walked slowly away, with sniffling, limping, little boy in tow. Thornton had already paid his entrance fee to the event, but he felt he owed more. Much more.

He spent many years trying to erase that memory. He had succeeded in pushing it to the bottom of his mind, but it still lay, deep in his subconscious. Now it had surfaced in all its horror. Thornton retched. Then the memory stopped and the actor realised that he was about to pay the full price. The monster in front rose from the slime to display a huge, pointed phallus of steel protruding from between the hairy legs.

“Bend,” thundered a voice laden with doom and venom. Thornton sick with horror could do nothing but obey. He bent and shut his eyes. Then he suffered pain like he had never experienced before. He fainted and fell into blessed unconsciousness.

***

“So it's just us and you again Billy,” said Angela.

“Just leave me alone,” said Billy defiantly. But it was obvious they would do no such thing.

Angela prowled round him, lithe and golden. Diana, pale skinned and flawless stood in front of him. Billy had nowhere to go.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

Angela's face broke into sweet innocence. “Up to? Why nothing. Do you have something in mind?” With eye-deceiving speed she slipped out of her bikini bottom and Billy could see the Garden of Eden, shimmering and golden between her thighs. The temptation of Adam was there tempting him; the forbidden fruit and the serpent. She left her top on. Billy's eyes were wide with expectation, but they were never realised.

Diana strode to the computer bank and her red-nailed fingers sped over the keyboard. Angela shimmered and shook and then melted down in front of him like a burning plastic shopping bag.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them there was a smoking grease spot in the ground and Diana and Angela, fully dressed as they had been when he first met them, stood by the computers, smirking at his discomfort.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You're a pair of bitches.”

“Thank you,” said Diana, smiling.

“What are you?” asked Billy. “Tell me the truth. I can't take much more of this. Tell me straight. Are we on another planet or is it like old big head said, all done by mirrors?” He looked round at the greenless landscape. “Everything we've seen has been on a screen, except this.”

Angela smiled but her smiling face slowly morphed into a snarling leopard head.

This time Billy didn't back away. “Computer generated,” he said. “I've seen that stuff on screen. They do it all the time on TV.” He giggled in resignation. “I get it; nothing that's happening is real. What have you done, hypnotised me?”

Angela snapped back to her beautiful self. “Everything is real Billy,” she said, “even this.”

She pressed a key and pictured forced themselves into Billy's mind, bright behind the back of his eyes. They were pictures from a horror movie. There were three men in the dark moving slowly. A fourth man, a dealer, was attacked. There was the muffled exploding of a silenced gun. The man fell and Billy, hidden by a balaclava, ripped open the man's shirt and pulled out a plastic bag filled with white powder. Then there was the high pitched laughter of the trio and the escape. The men never knew who they had killed.

Billy didn't use the drugs they stole. He was rich enough to buy anything. He had no need to kill. He did it on that night just for kicks. For the schoolboy dare that ended in death. He didn't even tell Genghis. And he never did it again.

Billy felt faint at the memory. His eyes, wild and afraid, focused on the women, who smiled knowingly, but said nothing.

“What's next?” he muttered. “What are you doing to me?”

“Preparing you for the final part of the audition.”

“Just me?” Billy suddenly felt very alone. “What about the others?”

Diana smiled. She was ugly, lips tart red and parted. “They're being prepared too. Very soon you will perform for us - and Mr Lucy of course.”

Billy's mind cleared and slipped back to the darkness of theatre wings and the room the stench.

“Mr Lucy?” he said. “He hides in that room doesn't he? Jesus he has a bad case of BO.” He sniffed and caught a memory whiff. His face screwed up, “I don't think I want to meet him,” he added.

“No-one ever does, at first,” said Diana, “and yet he is so charming, so magnetic, and so wonderful when you get to know him.”

Angela sighed and touched the keyboard and suddenly the landscape changed. It was all things bright and beautiful. “Is that better?” she asked.

Before he had time to answer Mickey Finnegan trudged back over the hill. For the first time since they met Billy was glad to see him.

“Where you been?” he asked.

Mickey gazed back towards the hill, remembering. “In Hell I think,” he muttered.

Billy cast a furtive look at the two women, who were grinning with delight. “I think I know what you mean,” he said. Angela moved a taloned hand to the keyboard again. A quick flick and the world around them dissolved into darkness.

Chapter Twenty Three

It was in this darkness that Belvedere Thornton opened his eyes. He was disoriented. His heart rate was fast and his body cold with sweat. A figure loomed over him. His heart jolted in terror at the memory of the chasm; the fearful sights, sounds, the stench. He shut his eyes again.

A gentle, cultured voice soothed the fear and he opened his eyes. The figure over him was a man. In the gloom Thornton could see little but the shape, tall, well-built, and pale skinned.

“Come on old chap,” the man said.

Thornton groaned.

“Not dead then,” said the voice. It assumed a cheery note. Thornton felt strong arms under his own. He was lifted to his feet. His legs felt weak, so he leaned on the strength until he was released to sit on a chair in the light of the stage.

Thornton sighed and relaxed. It was good to be back in the light. He turned his attention to his benefactor. “Thank you,” he said.

The man smiled. “You seem to have fainted,” he said.

Thornton managed a weak smile. He was getting older. His body felt the weakness, but his metal constitution was strong. Already the horrors he had seen were being pushed rapidly to the back of his mind. “I must have been the heat,” he said.

The man's eyes twinkled. “It must indeed,” he said.

Thornton averted his eyes. Why? He had no answer. He stared at his surroundings. He was back on the stage. The computers blinked. The women stood looking on with interest. The two other men stared round wide-eyed with confusion.

“What the fuck's going on?” shouted Billy.

“Mirrors,” murmured Thornton.

Mickey marched to the girls. “What happened to Mars?” he demanded. “Why are we back on the ship.”

“Yeah,” shouted Billy hysterically. “And who's he, Captain fucking Kirk?” He pointed a quivering finger at the man, who burst into good humoured laughter.

But Billy was not to be put off by that. He was scared. There was a movement, a glint of light on red nail. He whirled round, snarling. “Don't touch a bloody thing.” The words barked out.

“Mr Winter,” the man's words were placating. “You've been through a lot. You all have, but it's nearly finished now. And everything you have experienced has been for a reason.” He moved to centre stage and the men saw him for the first time in the light.

He was tall, about 40 with greying temples and a laugh-lined face. His suit was Saville Row and his shoes gleaming Italian. His hands were neatly manicured and gold links glinted in his shirt cuffs. His after-shave hinted at riches, a musky and expensive but elusive perfume.

He was an impresario straight from a Hollywood movie. He was Joshua Lucy.

“Everything you have experienced was created by the latest theatre technology. For this show, nothing has been left to chance.”

“You mean we've never left this stage?” asked a bewildered Mickey.

“Exactly,” said Mr Lucy. “As Mr Thornton so adroitly put it, it's all done by mirrors. Very high tech, sophisticated mirrors maybe, but illusions nevertheless.”

“You seem to know a lot,” said Mickey.

“He does,” purred Angela.

“So who is he?”

“I'm Joshua Lucy.”

“The boss,” said Mickey. He was still wary.

“The producer,” replied Lucy. He looked round the stage. Each man felt full eye contact and then the fears fell away. Each recovered his own public veneer.

“The producer!” Thornton was the first to speak. “Then you must have the script.”

“It's safe on USB. In the system,” said Lucy.

“Then might I see it?” asked Thornton peremptorily.

Lucy smiled showing teeth of gleaming white. “Soon Mr Thornton,” he said, “soon.”

Thornton stood. “Either show me the script or show me the door. I will not tolerate any more of this treatment; you've kept me waiting far too long.”

“No really,” said Angela.

“Not for a new masterpiece,” added Diana.

The actor was tempted to mention what he'd seen behind the secret door, but he held back and said: “Masterpiece or not. I demand to see the script.

“Sit down, Mr Thornton.” Lucy's voice was gentle, but it had an edge of authority that made Thornton obey the command. The man was a supreme director, he who must be obeyed. Lucy then moved to the desk at the rear of the stage and sat. He opened the manila folder and began to study the contents. The men watched with interest, until Diana spoke.

“We are now in the final stage of the audition,” she said. Her tone was businesslike. “Mr Lucy will sit in on it.”

“What's up?” said Billy, “Can't you stand the stink in your little room?”

Lucy glanced at Billy, who in a split second saw something terrible. It was a look that made him shudder; it was a look of red-eyed threat, more than threat. It was cavernous darkness, fathomless depths where monsters lurked in primeval mud. It was something even worse than death. He blinked and Lucy was studying the folder again.

“I want to call Genghis,” muttered the singer. “Get me a phone that works.

Angela smiled sweetly. “He knows exactly where you are,” she said.

“You reckon?” Billy was sweating again. “If he did he'd have had me out of here by now.”

“He
knows
where you are.” The voice that came from Lucy was soft, placating, and commanding at the same time.”

Billy didn't want to look at the man. His eyes focused in the dirty floor and he sat. Mickey silently followed suit. And for a moment there was silence. Even the breathing was muted.

It was Diana who broke the silence she was businesslike again. “At this stage of the proceedings you will be asked to do a short performance. It is nothing too exacting, but enough to finalise the casting in our minds.” She looked directly at Billy. “For you it should be simple. You have to sing a song.”

Billy laughed. “Not me sweetheart,” he said. “You want to hear me sing live you can buy a concert ticket.”

The girls exchanged amused glances. “Please Billy,” coaxed Angela. “It really is important for you.”

“Yes,” Diana said. “It could affect your career for a long, long time.”

“So you are expecting a long run.” There was eagerness in Thornton's voice.

“Indeed we are Mr Thornton.” Lucy cut into the conversation like chain saw. “If I choose you to work for me, you have a guaranteed future.”

Somehow the words did not carry reassurance.

“During our little chats earlier, we discovered everything we needed to know about your inner selves,” said Diana. We found your strengths, weaknesses, fears, and emotions.

“Then you were put to a series of tests... ”

“The Green Room,” cut in Mickey. “And that weird planet you conjured up.”

Diana smiled again. “Exactly; now we must see how your experiences have affected your performance. After that, final decisions will be taken,” she cast a coy glance at Joshua Lucy, “by our angel of course. What you are asked to do might seem a little peculiar by ordinary audition processes ...”

“Everything about this deal is peculiar,” grumbled Mickey.

An icy glance from Diana silenced him. “Nevertheless, there is sound, modern theatrical reasoning behind it, so do as we ask please, without questioning the motives.”

Thornton heaved a huge sigh. “I suppose there is nothing we can do but see the thing through, but God knows it's becoming a terrible bore.”

Diana's gaze fell on Mickey, her eyebrows raised questioningly.

“All right,” said Mickey.

“So, Billy,” she said. “You will play and sing for us.”

It was Billy's turn to sigh. “Okay, okay. What do you want? I'll give you something from my last album.”

“No.” It was Diana's voice of authority. “We will choose the music. You do read music of course?” She added with sweet venom.

Billy hit back with a look of intense scorn.

Lucy opened the manila folder on his desk and held out a single sheet of music, which Angela took and in turn passed it on to Billy. Diana moved quickly into the wings and brought out an ornate music stand. Ancient black wood and gilt cherubs, scarred with burn marks. Billy watched curiously as she placed it in front of him.

“For your music,” she said.

Billy nodded and placed the sheet, still unread on the stand. He hooked the guitar strap round his neck and picked up the lead. His eyes searched round the stage, finally he focused on Diana. “You got a point and amps?” he asked.

Diana looked genuinely puzzled. “Do we have what?”

“An electric point; amplifiers.” He waved his Fender in the air. “I need juice. Electricity. I need sound.”

Diana's eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah,” she said, “sound. That's no problem. We have equipment you wouldn't believe.”

“I'd believe it,” said Billy with feeling.

“Just treat your guitar like an acoustic,” said Diana. “Leave the rest to us.”

Angela undulated towards him. That glow in her eyes again. Lust. “Trust us,” she murmured.

“Give me one reason,” countered Billy.

“Try.” Angela won him over with a whisper that spoke a legend of promise.

Billy gave his instrument a practice strum and the sound reverberated round the theatre. He stopped, slack mouthed.

Thornton and Mickey shot to their feet. The sound was incredibly loud.

Billy shrugged his shoulder and ran through a scale and a few chords.

“Bloody amazing,” he said.

“So play please.” There was an edge of impatience in Joshua Lucy's voice.

“Keep your shirt on,” muttered Billy. He moved to the music stand and picked up the single sheet. He looked at it and then burst into laughter.

“What's going on? I'm a rock'n'roller, not a holy roller.”

Thornton's curiosity was aroused. He jumped to his feet and inspected the sheet music. Then his face split into a broad grin. “My God, it's the Gounod
Ave Maria
.” He said, chortling.

“You're kidding,” exclaimed Mickey.

“The Ave Maria.” Thornton turned to face Lucy. “Why would you ask this appalling little wailer to sing something as beautiful as this?”

Billy faced Thornton. “Watch your mouth or I'll shove my guitar down your throat,” he said.

Thornton stepped back. Billy sounded as though he meant it.

Then Billy faced Lucy. “He's right though. I can't sing this crap. I'm no boy soprano. Though I bet
you
wish I was.” He leered at Thornton.

The actor snorted and sat down again, facing away from the singer.

Angela walked downstage until was almost close enough for Billy to touch her. He could feel the heat of her body. The promise was back.

“Just sing the song,” she said. “Give it your best shot.”

She smiled and Billy could see Angela and himself lone in a bedroom decorated in decadent red. The promise was real. “I think we
might
be able to party on,” she said. Hot lips leaking smoke. Heat haze hung over her thighs.

A throat clearing sound came from Lucy and Angela hung her head and moved away. But not without giving Billy one last smouldering look. It was a look that buoyed him into thinking he could do anything.

“Right,” he said, giving his guitar a final strum. “Let's get on with it.”

He leaned closer to the music stand and read through the notation. It was simple enough, melody and chord sequence. Like music simplified for children.

He read it through twice and then closed his eyes. His memory was fine. The notes hung in his head and he began to play the intro. Then there was noise. He opened his eyes and saw he was standing under brilliant lights. There were stars above and the noise of the crowd was deafening. He stopped and listened to the cheers, the screams. They were his fans! And it was the biggest crowd he had ever seen. Out of the lights he could see them stretching out into the distance. It was Hyde Park, the Melbourne Cricket Club, and Carnegie Hall. The crowd seemed to go on to infinity.

Billy felt a rush of adrenaline. He was the king. Back on top and bigger than ever. He was here - and they loved him.

Then he heard the riff. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. It was directly behind him. He turned, but with the back lighting could see only silhouettes. He saw the guitar rise in the air, long hair swinging and the riff echoed through is soul. He whooped with joy and faced the front again.

The whoop took Thornton and Mickey by surprise, even more than the frantic antics Billy was performing to the dingy darkness of the decrepit old theatre.

“He's gone over the edge,” whispered Mickey.

“It was bound to happen,” said Thornton. “He is a very unstable boy.”

Their conversation was cut by the sound of the magically amplified Fender that rang out from all around them. It throbbed to a rocking rhythm that bore little resemblance to the prayer that was played so often at weddings.

Thornton made a great show of covering his ears when Billy's rasping rock bellow surrounded them.

But Billy was unaware. He was singing to his fans, wallowing in adoration. His raucous style and unique rhythm brought scream after scream from the massed people. And Billy knew then as the exquisite sound of the magic guitar rippled behind him that he had reached the pinnacle he had craved for but thought he was destined never reach. Yet here he was, fronting the greatest band that ever was. He was going to make it through the audition.
He was in the show.

Then he saw the man in white. He was
shining.
He was sitting in a pool of liquid light. The expression on his face was one of unmitigated horror.

Thornton and Mickey heard Billy falter in his music. He hit an off-key note that jarred.

Lucy, Angela, and Diana looked at each other. For a second a worried look crossed their collective face. Lucy's face began to dissolve, but reassembled instantly as the singer hit his stride again.