Death And The Art Of Pyramid Selling

by Rossi

Chapter Five: Skin Deep.

***

Alice knew there was something wrong as soon as she touched the front doorknob. She could _feel_ the menace emanating from it.

"Carrie," she told her younger sibling. "Why don't you go play with the O'Donohue's? I'll come fetch you later." Her voice was remarkably natural, her smile unforced – the only sign of the tension running through her like an electric current was the white-knuckled death grip she had on the doorknob. Carrie, pleased with the suggestion, didn't even hesitate. She loved playing with the O'Donohue tribe, even though Marjorie (and after a certain amount of prodding, Phil) felt they weren't exactly suitable company; there had been the notable incident where Carrie had showed off some choice new-found vocabulary in front of her grandmother's book club. Alice hadn't known what the words meant, any more than Carrie (and possibly young Timmy O'Donohue, who had taught them to her), but the effect on the good ladies of the parish had been catastrophic to the budding friendship.

Alice waited until Carrie's blue anorak had disappeared past the next house before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

Voices were coming from the sitting room, her grandmother sounding curious and chatty, and the other voice answering her questions in a strangely resonant tone, like there were two people speaking at exactly the same time. One tone was a woman's, high and fluttery. The other was raspy, evil-sounding - its insectile buzz sent nasty chills down Alice's spine worse than fingernails on a blackboard. For a second she was gripped by an overwhelming urge to run away and hide, a very long way away indeed. But if she did that, the Awful Thing in there would hurt her grandmother, or worse, kill her. An image of her mother's bloody corpse hovered for an instant in her mind's eye. It was up to her - there was no-one else. Taking a deep breath to still the trembling, Alice pushed open the sitting room door.

"... so if I get the full set, I get a bonus lipstick and blush for free? That sounds like a good bargain." Marjorie looked up as the door opened and beamed at her eldest grandchild. "Alice! Home so soon? Well, take yourself upstairs, pet, and put your things away, and Nana will make you some hot cocoa as soon as she's done talking to the lady. Where's Carrie? Upstairs already?"

"Carrie's at the O'Donohue's," Alice managed faintly, her eyes not leaving the figure sitting in the floral-patterned armchair opposite her grandmother.

It was a monster. It was wearing a pastel-pink business suit, and had its legs neatly crossed, and its blond hair was perfectly coiffed in place, but it was a monster all the same. Because only monsters have a mass of festering sores dribbling green pus instead of a face, only a monster would have maggots squirming out of those sores and wriggling in and out of the empty eye sockets, and only a monster would be able to look at her with those empty sockets burning red like windows into hell and make her feel like her soul was being stripped away.

"The O'Donohue's? Alice, you know I don't like Carrie to go there. Who knows what she'll come home with. Go and fetch her at once," Marjorie said, crossly. Then she remembered her guest. "I'm sorry... Elaine, wasn't it? Family matters, you understand."

"Of course." The thing in the pink suit smiled, and Alice's stomach heaved as the maggots writhed anew. Some fell into the cup of tea balanced in the monster's manicured hands, floating on the surface, and Alice couldn't help wincing as it took a sip, slurping the grubs back into her mouth. It noted Alice's reaction with an intrigued raised eyebrow, which caused whole new permutations in the maggot situation.

'I won't be sick, I won't be sick, I _can't_ be sick, not all over Nana's good sitting room carpet...' Alice thought desperately, her mouth flooding with that awful pre-vomit taste.

"Alice? I thought I told you to fetch your sister." Not used to being ignored, especially by the usually-attentive Alice, Marjorie's tone grew sharper.

"I can't," Alice whispered, still unable to look away from the horror before her, drinking its tea with an unconcerned air. Of course her grandmother didn't understand, couldn't see the true nature of her visitor, otherwise she'd have dropped dead on the doorstep as soon as she opened the door...

"Alice, I won't have this kind of behaviour in my house, do you understand. Go and fetch Carrie, at once!"

"Better mind your grandmother, sweetie," added the monster, licking its scabby lips with a forked and scaly tongue. The expression on its face could only be described as 'hungry'. Alice shuddered, but remained where she was standing. It was bad enough that her grandmother was here – as annoying as Carrie could be, she wasn't about to offer her little sister up to this thing as a snack. She was better off away, safe.

"I'm sorry, Nana, but I _can't_." Alice's voice was pleading. Marjorie frowned, and two red spots burned in her cheeks - she was mortified by this shameful defiance, and in front of company, too! What would people say of her child rearing, should they hear of it?

"I'm so embarrassed, Elaine dear. I can't imagine what's gotten into her. Alice is such an _obedient_ child usually. Alice, go to your room at once. Your grandfather will hear of this, when he gets back."

"Don't be too hard on the child, my dear Mrs Kingston. It's not her fault. It's quite touching, really. She only wants to protect you." Elaine smiled again, and this time her long, sharp fangs showed. The hung down so long they gashed into her bottom lip, but no blood flowed, only more of that green pus.

"Protect me? Whatever from?" Marjorie half-rose from her chair, setting her cup down on the low table.

"Why, from me, of course. What else?" And with that the monster reached out and grabbed Marjorie by the throat. With a faint sense of incongruity, Alice noted the long talons were painted a frosty pink that matched the outfit. Marjorie gasped, hands ineffectually clawing at the grip that was cutting off her oxygen. Then she clutched at her chest, stiffening, before falling completely limp in the iron grip.

"Nana!" Alice meant it as a scream, but only a horrified whisper emerged.

"Now then, little miss, it's your turn. You've been invited to a party, isn't that nice? I'm to escort you there." Elaine hissed, dropping the old woman's inert body on the carpet with a sickening thump. The girl let out a strangled squeak of terror as those long claws reached for her...

...only to be repelled in a shower of blue sparks. A nauseating smell of burned meat filled the room.

"You little _bitch_!" Elaine held her wounded hand to her breast, cradling the hurt. "Filthy little _whore_. You're warded!"

Slowly Alice nodded, pulling an ordinary length of wool from under her school jumper, a stone with a hole through the middle suspended from it.

"Auntie gave it to me," she said, with a small ten-year-old smirk on her face. "You can't touch me, Monster."

"Maybe not." A slow grin of pure evil crossed those ragged lips. "But your dear grandmama isn't warded, witchling. And I'm getting rather peckish. It's just about teatime, isn't it?"

***

"I kept a lot of Chrissie's stuff after she was killed," Kingston was saying as he led Constantine and Michaela down a series of winding back streets to a row of lock-ups behind the main street of the town. "Marjorie thinks it all went to Oxfam, she wanted it gone, so the kids wouldn't have t' see it, but I couldn't. I thought they might want to know more about their mum one day, so I rented this lock up and stored it all here. Marjorie hasn't a clue." He pulled out a keyring, selected one and opened the heavy padlock.

"Seems to me there's a lot Marjorie hasn't got a clue about," Constantine said, pulling his collar up against the growing chill in the darkening evening air; the nights were definitely getting longer, it was only five-ish. Kingston scowled at the implied insult, but didn't say anything. The change in the man from the defeated pensioner of the previous day was amazing, and Constantine was willing to bet that part of it was being out of the house, acting like a man and not a whipped dog. He'd had Kington's wife pegged from the start – a control freak from way back; there was no doubt who ruled the roost in that rose-festooned cottage.

"Are you sure you can find what we need in all this?" asked Michaela, eyeing the stacked boxes and bags inside the small space suspiciously. "We could be here all night."

Kingston shrugged and pulled the cord hanging from the single globe hanging from the ceiling. Immediately it clicked on, illuminating the crowded space. "Bit of an exaggeration, guv. It'll take a couple of hours, but we've got the time. This thing doesn't start until midnight – bloody stupid if you ask me, having a midnight ceremony, it's a dead give away they're into something. What's your rush?"

"She's got a hot date waiting for her," cut in Constantine before she could reply, winking at her suggestively.

"You wish," she retorted, realising as she did that she sounded like a teenaged schoolgirl and hating him all the more for it. What made it worse was she had actually been toying with the idea, in the back of her mind.

"Now, now, children, behave or there'll be no supper for either of you," Kingston said, his tone clearly mocking. Constantine merely grinned and lit another cigarette, but Michaela flushed briefly red. Ignoring the two of them, she walked into the small shed and lifted aside a small box.

"I, for one, don't intend to be here any longer than I have to," she told them crisply. Kingston shrugged and joined her.

"Come on, John, give us a hand. Sooner we find what we're looking for, the sooner we're for the pub," he called over his shoulder. Constantine took a few more drags and tossed away the butt of his cigarette.

"Right you are, then."

***

"Carrie, don't you think it's time you were getting off home? It's almost tea-time." Mrs O'Donohue, plump and jolly, was very much a mother, Carrie often thought. Not _her_ mother, who was becoming less and less easy to remember now, but a _mother_. Some people just were. She looked up from where she was playing Legos with Timmy and pouted, just a little.

"Alice told me she'd come get me, Mrs O'Donohue. She'll be cross if I come back without her, especially in the dark."

"What about your Nana, lovie? Won't she be worried about you?"

"P'raps," Carrie admitted reluctantly. Then she added, with a flash of child-logic: "But if she was worried she'd have sent Alice to get me, so she maybe she's not worried at all!"

Mrs O'Donohue frowned, but accepted this. She knew what Marjorie Kingston thought of her and her family, and she wasn't up for the confrontation that taking Carrie home herself would entail. Besides, John would be home soon, and there was the tea to be put on, and the baby to be seen to...

"We'll wait then, lovie, and after tea our Thomas can walk you home if Alice hasn't come for you yet."

"Okay." Carrie turned back to the castle she and Timmy were building with an unconcerned air.

***

~'I'm not here, this isn't happening, I just need to wake up and it's all a bad dream, and if I call Mummy will come and make it all better...'~

"Well done, Elaine. No trouble, I take it?"

"Of course not, Mother. She's just a child. Why would there be any trouble?"

~'There's no such things as monsters, I'm too old to believe in magic and this is all make-believe and I can stop it any time I want...'~

"I can't help but notice you're hiding your hands, dear."

"It's nothing, Mother. I chipped my nail polish, and I'm horribly embarrassed about it. That's all."

"That's all right, then, Elaine. Make sure you tend to it."

"I will, Mother.

~'I'm safe and warm tucked up in my own bed and any moment now Nana's going to come and tell me it's time to wake up for school...'~

"Is there any reason why she's so... unresponsive?"

"I would have said 'catatonic', Mother. But no, I didn't do anything to the little brat. See, there's not a scratch on her."

"I admire your restraint my dear. Now, better go and see to that... nail polish, wasn't it? We all have to be looking our best for tonight, don't we?"

"Yes, Mother."

~'...only a dream, only a dream, a _bad_ dream, but a dream just the same and I'm sure I'll wake up any second now...'~

"Oh, and Elaine? Those two girls – what were their names again?"

"Carla and Sharon?"

"Yes, them. We won't be needing them for the ceremony now, so why don't you take care of them?

"Of course, Mother."

~'The monster's gone and I'm safe now, it's only a dream and I want Nana to come wake me up, I want my Nana, I want my Nan, no, I want my mum, I want my mummy, even though she's dead under the train, I know she can come back, because that's what the monster is, it's dead people, dead people walking around and if it can come back then my mummy can, _please_ come back...'~

Alice's desperate mental litany was cut off as Geraldine grasped her chin, forcing her slack face upwards, holding her eyes with her own, making her _see_.

Alice screamed, a high, desperate sound, and Geraldine smiled.

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun with you, witchling. Oh yes, all kinds of fun and games. And we'll make your dearest grandpapa watch shall we? Him, and his friend."

"...friend?" Alice squeaked, voice torn from screaming.

"Oh yes, his friend. The one in the trenchcoat. Constantine." The mask that was Geraldine's face wavered, blurred for a moment, revealing again the horror that had threatened to derail the child's fragile sanity. "Yes, that one. We know him well, where I come from. He's notorious, you might say." Her grip on Alice's chin tightened, and blood trickled down the soft skin as those long, talon-like nails cut in. "Oh yes, he'll come, and we'll be waiting for him, won't we?"

Alice whimpered.

***

"It's always the last place y' look, isn't it?" Kingston said cheerily as he unearthed a box marked "Cottage Magic" from underneath several others. "Here we are."

"About time," muttered Michaela sourly, brushing dust from her clothes, only to have more added as Kingston handed her the box. It smelled cloyingly sweet, too many different scents competing for space in her nose. "It's all here? Everything I need?"

"Should be. You want to check it, guv?" Kingston was already reassembling the three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle that was the lock-up's contents, stacking boxes moved in the search, grunting a little as he moved the larger items.

"No, I trust your impeccable organisational skills, Sergeant," Michaela replied, dryly. Constantine snorted and picked up his coat from where he'd draped it over some boxes – it had gotten in the way of the moving of things. The action wasn't lost on either police member.

"Where d'you think you're going?" asked Kingston, pausing in his labours.

"Walking the lady back to her hotel, of course," Constantine replied, grinning as he shrugged back into the trenchcoat. "She's going to need help with that box, isn't she?"

"And I don't with all o' these?" Kingston said, then sighed, seeing it was a waste of breath. "Go on, then. I'll see you later. The Manor House, ten-thirty, got it?"

"Got it. See you then." Constantine took the box from Michaela with one swift movement and was off down the alley before she'd processed just what the hell had happened.

"What? How?" She realised that Constantine was making off with her undercover disguise, and trotted after him, realising as she did how ridiculous it made her look. "Now listen, you oik, give that box to me right now!"

"Just cutting to the chase, love. We both know what we want – so why waste time pretending and dancing around and arguing and just get to the fun part?" Constantine looked at her over the top of the box, still wearing that damnable grin, the one that said 'Sure, I'm a bastard. Never said I wasn't. And you know you can't resist it, so why bother?' And the worst of it was that he was exactly right – they'd both known it from the moment he'd shown up at her door that afternoon.

"You've got some nerve," she told him. He nodded.

"Yeah, that's me. Now, we've got a few hours before we have to report back to Daddy Kingston – how about we find our own entertainment?"

Michaela sighed, feeling desire coiling in her gut. Oh yes, this wasn't something she should do, but she was going to do it all the same. She wrapped her hand around his upper arm, feeling the muscles tightened against the weight of the box. "Arrogant prick. My place, then?"

"Thought you'd never ask, love."

***

The roller door screeched and clattered closed, and Kingston bent to replace the padlock with a wince – his back wasn't terribly impressed with the demands he'd made on it. He checked the time – eight-ten – and decided to head home for a bit. If only to avert the shitstorm his absence for an entire night would generate. Besides, his growling stomach reminded him, it was well-past teatime. He had considered spending the intervening time in the pub with Constantine, but that plan had been neatly scuppered by the Londoner's sexual charisma. And with the Guv'nor, too – too bad he wasn't on the Force any more, he'd have had a great tale to tell the lads. The DI was respected, but not well-liked, especially amongst the older coppers. It was more than just natural distrust of someone on the fast track, university educated, groomed for command from day one – there was the feeling that she was in it for herself, that one day, should it come to it, she wouldn't be there to get your back. And in the policeman's world, that was an unforgivable sin. Having leverage – like her apparent preference for a bit of rough trade – gave you something to hold her on, a grip on her slippery professional exterior. Maybe he'd make a couple of calls when he got back home...

The road unrolled before him without his noticing, so wrapped in thought was he. Almost unnoticed too, was the fact he was thinking like a cop again, when for so long he'd barely thought at all. He realised, with a start, that he'd missed it. It was like he'd been dead all these months, and suddenly come back to life. And he sure as hell wasn't going to go back to the way he was, idling through what remained of his life. No, it was time he and Marjorie had a Talk.

He was at his front gate before he realised something was wrong. The cottage should have been gently blazing with light, a comforting glow in the cold autumn darkness. Instead, its windows were darkened, the front door hanging half-open, and there was a smell, like burnt meat...

Kingston's heart gave a nasty lurch in his chest.

"Marjorie? Alice? Carrie?" His shout echoed through the cold hallway, and his eyes were momentarily dazzled as he hit the light switch. Blinking furiously, Kingston followed the burnt meat smell into the sitting room, barking his shin on a footstool that had been knocked over. The fear chilling his heart threatened to freeze it entirely when he saw the prone form of his wife, crumpled on the floor like a discarded rag doll.

"Marjorie!" In two great shambling steps he was by her side, dropping to his knees and reaching for the pulse in her neck. Her skin felt as fragile as wet tissue under his fingers, and the throb of her heartbeat was weak and faltering. Mentally thanking a God he hadn't truly believed in since his first child molestation case as a young constable, he half-turned, reaching for the phone where it had been knocked to the floor. His knee landed on something small and hard as he lifted it. Wincing, he shifted and picked up the object. A stone, just a plain, ordinary river-stone, smooth and dull brown. The water's action had eroded a small hole through the middle of it, and a length of pink, fuzzy wool had been threaded through it.

It was the same length of pink, fuzzy wool he'd often seen peeking out from beneath the collar of Alice's school tunic.

"Mr Kingston, what's happened? What's that sme... Mrs Kingston! Is she all right?" It was one of the O'Donohue tribe from down the road, the oldest lad. Dimly registering his presence, Phil looked up from the stone lying in his palm to see the gangling young man bending over Marjorie. A small sound by the door caught his attention and he saw Carrie hovering there, eyes large and frightened.

"Still alive, but she needs a doctor, Mr Kingston. Have you called the ambulance yet? Are they coming?"

Kingston looked down at the phone receiver in his hand. "Not yet," he said distantly. "I was just about to." He shook his head, trying to focus, and then thrust the phone at the boy – Thomas, that was his name, wasn't it? – and staggered to his feet. "Take care of Carrie for me, all right?"

"Sure, our Mum will look after her. But what about you? Where are you going?" Thomas looked up at him in confusion, phone momentarily forgotten. Phil looked at Carrie, and then down at the stone in his hand. He closed his fingers over it, clutching it hard in his fist, the wool dangling.

"They've taken Alice. I've got to go fetch her. Take care of them, all right?" And before Thomas could protest or question him further, Kingston had hurried out of the small house and into the dark and windy night.

***

"So, how do I look?"

Constantine, returning from the shower Michaela had insisted he take after their bout of love-making – "To put it plainly, you reek," she had told him, tossing him a towel and a blue plastic soap holder – leered appreciatively. Chrissie Kingston had been a little shorter and a shade less full-figured than the DI, so the pastel pink business suit was a touch too small, but the effect was... stirring, to say the least. Michaela rolled her eyes at him as just _how_ stirring the effect was became apparent under the towel wrapped around his waist.

"The very model of a door-to-door cosmetics salesperson," he told her. "You can ring on my doorbell any time."

"Didn't we already do that?" She turned back to the mirror above the small dresser, adjusting her hair and makeup.

"Obviously not enough it you can't remember it." Discarding the towel, Constantine reached for her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to him, pressing his erection into her warm body. She stiffened, seemingly about to protest, then she reached up behind his head and grabbed a handful of sandy hair, pulling him forcefully in for a deep kiss.

"Hold that thought," she told him when they broke for air. "But right now we have Kingston's Satanic midnight mass to infiltrate." She ran her thumb over his lips, wiping off the pink lipstick she'd left behind. "Now, get your trousers on and let's get going."

"Suppose I don't want to?" he said, pulling her close again and nibbling on her neck. The mingled scents of soap on her skin made his head spin, and he inhaled deeply.

"You will." She arched her neck briefly, allowing him better access, then pulled away, holding him at arm's length. "Now, John."

He considered her, frowning slightly. She ran her finger down his chest, a knowing smile on her face. "We can play later, I promise."

"What..." Constantine's eyes clouded briefly, half-closing. Michaela leaned in again, kissed him lingeringly.

"Time to go," she murmured. Constantine licked his bottom lip, collecting the film of lipstick she had left behind. When Michaela handed him his shirt, he took it without protest.

"Fine, love. If you insist." He pulled on the shirt, and went over to where his trousers were lying puddled on the floor. Satisfied, Michaela turned back to the mirror, pulled her lipstick out of her purse and reapplied it to her full lips. The lamplight gleamed on the silver writing down the side of the slim black case – "cigaM egattoC" read the reflection. Over her shoulder she could see Constantine pulling on his shoes.

"Are you ready, John?" she asked.

"Whenever you are, love."

"Then let's go. We don't want to keep them waiting, do we?"

[next part]

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