Hailstone (9 page)

Preacher put his hands out and walked slowly toward her. “Magdalene put the gun down. You’re not well. You’ve been possessed. Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

“I regret being born to a father like you!” She kept the gun aimed, but her hands
shook so badly she hardly dared fire for fear of shooting herself in the foot.

Preacher was within touching distance. He reached out his hand. “Give me the gun, Magdalene.”

Years of fear didn’t go away so easily. Magda fought the urge to obey. Her breath was ragged. Police sirens wailed down the highway. “Did you call the police?” she whispered.

“Yes I did. I feared for your safety with the way you were driving.”

“You should’ve called an ambulance.” She closed the distance between them and pushed the gun into his ribcage.

His hands closed around it. He looked her in the eyes. “God will save me. But if you do this now, you belong to Satan forever.”

Three police cars wailed into the rail yards. Lights flashed in the corners of her eyes. Uniformed men and women tumbled out.

“Put the gun down and get on the ground!” yelled a voice.

Preacher put a hand on her cheek. His voice was gentle. “My beloved, troubled daughter, I beg you, do as they say. They will shoot you. I can’t save you if you don’t obey.”

She jabbed him with the gun. “I don’t want to obey. I want to be free.”

“The only freedom is in obedience to God.”

It was like arguing with a brick wall. Magda let go of the gun and shoved Preacher in the chest. He stumbled and fell over, just a bony old man on the ground, an object of contempt, nothing to be feared, not worth obeying. She gave vent to a scream of pure rage that echoed through the night air. The police ran toward her.

She threw up her hands and went to meet them.

Saturday

Magda curled up in a ball in her bed and kept her eyes shut. She could feel the sunlight pouring into the room without having to look. She was hot and sweaty and felt like throwing up, but she didn’t want to move. She wanted to die. She’d never felt this awful in her life, except maybe for that time she’d drunk a bottle of vodka and a bottle of wine and chain-smoked for a whole night. Her head throbbed out of control.

She burrowed further into the blankets when memory crept into her slowly wakening brain. She’d begged the police to keep her in the cells. Pleaded with them. She’d attempted to murder someone, surely they weren’t allowed to let her go. But Preacher wasn’t pressing charges, they said. He’d said she was unwell and had to be supervised, so they’d taken her home; they’d given her that much, at least, when she refused to be in a car with him. The night had gone from nightmare to nightmare, and when she got home she’d locked herself in her room and passed out. She should have done it. She should have gone through with it, because she’d rather have faced a lifetime in jail than what was waiting for her out there now. Preacher had let the police think she was just a nutcase, but there was no mistaking his conclusions.

She threw off the blankets. Cool air made goose bumps break out over her skin. Her mouth felt furry and her stomach heaved.

Magda crawled out of bed, yanked back the bolt on her door and stumbled into the hall. She barely made it into the bathroom in time to throw up into the sink. Her stomach heaved and cramped. Everything that came up was liquid; she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.

When her body had finally rid itself of every last toxic drop, she washed her face, rinsed her mouth and drank water from the tap. It tasted metallic. She stood up, groaned and leaned her forehead against the mirror. This had to be the worst hangover in history. There was only one way to get through it, and that was to drink.

She opened the medicine cabinet. Frowned. She was sure she’d left some valium in there, but all that was in there was a tube of toothpaste.

Magda returned to her room. She used the wall to keep herself upright and collapsed on the bed. Her head pounded. She reached out and patted the bedside table, where she knew she’d left some pills. After a minute she was forced to open her eyes to look harder.

Nothing. Nothing there except her alarm clock.

“Fuck.” Magda dropped her head into the pillow. The throbbing was so bad she could almost feel the pillow vibrate. Footsteps and a voice in the doorway made the sound worse.

“Looking for these?”

Magda twisted her head around to see who had spoken, since it wasn’t Preacher. The motion hurt. She groaned and dropped her head back. A zip-lock bag containing what looked like nearly all her pills dangled from his hand. “Zack Pitt, what are you doing in my house?”

“Preacher said I should look after you.”

“Fine. Take me to hospital. I think I’m going to die.”

Zack chuckled. It was a warm, friendly sound. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “You’ll be fine, Magdalene, you’re just hungover.”

“Give my fucking valium back.”

There was a brief silence. She curled her hand around the edge of the pillow and squeezed until it hurt. She listened to him walk into the room. He sat on the end of the bed. Was Preacher really allowing this before their marriage?

“I’d prefer if you didn’t speak to me like that,” Zack said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, give me my fucking valium back, please.”

“There’ll be no more drugs.” His voice was calm and quiet. “No more alcohol. Preacher said you had to detox before tomorrow.”

“You mean before he makes his fourth attempt at chasing Satan out of his poor deluded little daughter?”

The silence was all the assent she needed. She turned her head to the side, since the pillow was beginning to suffocate her. A little fresh air felt good. “Zack, those valium are prescription drugs. Perfectly legal. They keep me calm. You don’t want to see me when I’m not calm.”

“Were you calm last night?”

“Perfectly.”

“I don’t think they’re working so well for you.” He got up; she could tell because the bed sprang back to its normal level. “I found your vodka. All three bottles. I poured them down the sink. You’ll thank me for it when you sober up, Magdalene.”

“I am sober, you patronising son of a bitch. That’s the problem.” She closed her eyes and willed him away; when she opened them to check, he was gone. She thought about just staying in bed, but the clock said it was past midday. There was no sleeping when she felt this horrible, so she dragged herself out of bed again and headed for the shower.

Ten minutes under the hot water made her feel a little better. Adam’s dress was sweaty and had dirt smears on it, so she rinsed it under the water and hung it up in the bathroom, where she could keep an eye on it in case her new jailer tried to get rid of it. She had no idea where the boots were. She dressed in slacks and a ripped t-shirt. She wasn’t dressing all churchy for Zack.

When she slouched into the kitchen, he was there. She ignored him, even though she could feel him watching her every move. She went to the fridge to find something to eat. Maybe some fruit. Maybe if she ate something healthy she’d feel better. Her stomach rebelled, but her body was hungry.

“No,” Zack said.

“What do you mean, no?” Magda opened the fridge. She closed it and kicked the door. “Why is my fridge empty?”

“There wasn’t much in it anyway,” Zack replied. “A little mouldy cheese and some old pasta. Is this how you look after your body?”

“Where’s my food?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Preacher said you weren’t to eat anything until tomorrow.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Magda sprawled onto a chair, put her elbows on the table and eyeballed Zack. “He left you with orders to starve me? What did he tell you to do if I didn’t cooperate? What are you going to do if I take my car keys and walk out of that door?”

Zack reached out and took her hand. She snatched it away. He gave her a look filled with compassion. “You crashed your car.”

“No I didn’t. Preacher rear-ended my car. I stopped it from crashing. Last time I saw it, it was fine.”

“Is that what you remember?”

“My memory is crystal clear. It always has been, Zack. He lies, he lies through his teeth and nobody so much as blinks. Is that the man you want for a father-in-law? Are you going to do what John did and turn your back while he beats me?”

“I’m not John.” Zack took her hand again and this time refused to let it go. “I’m marrying you, Magdalene, not your father. I’ve always admired you. I want to help you. You don’t see what you’re doing to yourself.”

“Don’t change the subject!” She yanked her hand away. “And you’re not marrying me. Not unless you get a new personality and a nice set of tits.”

Zack reddened. “You really are very difficult.”

“So people keep telling me. I’m hungry. And thirsty.” She went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water.

Zack took it from her. “I’m sorry Magdalene,” he said. “It’s only until tomorrow. But Preacher said nothing was to pass your lips. You have to be pure.”

Magda curled her fist behind her back. She weighed him up. He didn’t have John’s bulk or Preacher’s height. He was barely as tall as her; but she had to be careful. There was no doubt he would outmatch her. She swiped at the glass and knocked it from his hand. It smashed on the floor. “God is dead,” she said. She walked out of the kitchen, went into the lounge room and lay down on the couch. Someone had been in and cleaned up; there was no sign of Preacher’s altercation with John. The laptop had disappeared. Pity. She could have taken it to Kat. There was a story for the Hailstone Herald.

Zack followed her in after a few minutes. She wondered if he’d been cleaning up the glass. It occurred to her the broken window had been fixed. Well, hadn’t he been a busy bee. She’d put him to work on the leaking taps, except that would only encourage him.

He sat down in the easy chair John had always favoured and turned on the TV.

Magda groaned. “Do you have to? My head is pounding. I need silence. Or maybe a bullet.”

“That’s not funny,” he said.

She supposed it wasn’t. Good. “Tell me Zack, would you still be here if I’d actually shot Preacher? Shot him dead? Sent him to join his dead God in the sky?”

“Please, Magdalene. Enough is enough. If you’d killed him, God forbid, you’d be in jail.”

“At least they’d let me smoke there.”

“Look, Preacher’s on the news.”

Magda turned her head. “That’s not news. That’s Christian TV telling Hailstone what to think. You can’t expect me to watch this shit. Change the channel.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll go bang my head against the wall in another room.” She got up.

“Sit down.” His voice went from conciliatory to implacable with those two words. “Unless you want me to call Preacher.”

Magda sat down. “How can you call him if he’s on the news?”

“This was recorded earlier today. He’s home now, but he won’t come over unless I call him. Now would you mind shutting up for five minutes?”

Magda sighed. She put her feet up on the coffee table and studied her nails. She was hardly going to suffer a hangover, starvation and thirst in stoic silence. She preferred to share. But not with Preacher there.

She didn’t want to look at the TV, but she could hardly help it. There was nothing else to look at but Zack and the sight of him just made her want to punch things.

The woman on the TV was familiar. Magda thought she might have been the same one who confronted Adam at the protest yesterday. Today she was all lipstick smiles at Preacher. Did Preacher approve of a news anchor wearing makeup? Who cared, really?

“It’s so good to have you with us today, Preacher,” the woman gushed.

“I’m happy to be here, Rebecca.”

Rebecca looked at the camera. “Today on 3CE Christian TV, we’re taking a close look at the issue that has divided our city: the new alcohol regulations. While these regulations haven’t yet passed, the issue has proved controversial. A highly successful anti-alcohol rally organised earlier in the week by the Congregation of the Holy Bible, led by Preacher Semple, unfortunately sparked a retaliatory protest by rogue elements, which quickly descended into alcohol and drug-fuelled violence – aptly demonstrating the social ills that have led to the push to restrict drinking in the city. Preacher Semple is here to share with us today his very personal experience of what alcohol has done to a person very close to him; his own daughter.”

Magda groaned. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Zack turned up the volume a few notches.

The camera panned over to Preacher. He looked strained.
She supposed she’d look strained too if she thought Satan had tried to shoot her last night.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Rebecca.” Preacher looked into the camera. “This is a very difficult thing for me to do. No father wants to admit he has lost control of his only child. No parent wishes to see their offspring’s soul in such mortal danger, but I have watched both of these things. My daughter has succumbed to the demon of alcohol. I wish to share my story with all of you, to help you when your children lose their way. In a way I’m glad this has happened, because it brings me closer to others who experience this problem, and more able to bring the light of God back into their lives.”

Magda looked around for something to throw at the TV, but apparently Zack
had removed all the heavy objects. She wondered if there were any knives left in the kitchen drawer.

Preacher took a deep breath. A tear trickled over his wrinkles. She’d seen him
squeeze them out like that a few times when he wanted attention.

“I suppose I should have seen the warning signs long ago,” he said. “But only in this past week has it become painfully clear to me that my daughter has lost her way. Alcohol has taken everything that was her, including her faith in God.”

“Oh, because I don’t have a mind of my own to make that decision?” Magda kicked the table.

“Shhh,” Zack said.

“Last night I went to her to make peace, to offer her solutions to her problems,” Preacher continued. “It seemed she’d been drinking all day. She was out of her mind; there was no reasoning with her whatsoever. She drove away, and because I knew she was putting herself in danger getting behind the wheel in that state, I followed at a safe distance. When finally she stopped, and I got out and offered to take her home, she pulled a gun on me. She tried to shoot me.” Preacher put his hand over his eyes and gave a muffled sob.

Rebecca patted him on the shoulder. “Be strong, Preacher,” she said. “I know the whole city is with you right now. Everybody out there is praying for you.”

“He’s a fucking liar,” Magda spat.

“That’s enough.” Zack scowled at her.

“Whatever.” Magda folded her arms and tried to block out the TV, but Preacher’s next words made that impossible.

He took his hands away from his face and looked into the cameras again. “God has told me to turn my family’s shame into the city’s salvation,” he said in a grim voice. “Alcohol has opened my daughter’s soul to the forces of evil. It was not her who pointed a gun at me last night. It was the evil that has her in its grip. Even at that moment I could hear my little girl crying out to me for help. She is in there somewhere; I am determined to rescue her. Tomorrow morning I will exorcise her demons in front of the Congregation. The strength of faith of my beloved flock will save her. United, their voices will bring her back to God and cast out Satan.”