Heller’s Decision (26 page)

“
I’m s
orry.”

“Hurry home now, please.”

“
Okay.” But I was talking to myself. He’d
already rung off.

Chapter 17

The next day, the courtroom was full as
people squeezed in to every last space to watch the committal
hearing of the two women. They’d insisted on being tried together,
though they’d been forced to accept separate public defenders by
the Attorney-General. Although they sat in the same dock, they were
made to sit at either end, each with their own corrective services
officer, with no possibility of physical contact between them. This
didn’t stop them from gazing at each other in desperation. It was
probably the first time they’d seen each other since they’d been
arrested. Each conveyed palpable yearning for the other in their
body language and eyes.

Six months in prison while on remand had
brought about
some
physical changes, rendering them different in appearance from the
news pictures of them at the time they’d been arrested. Charlotte
Tank had since put on weight; Alice Turbot currently suffered from
a terrible acne breakout. The black dye job in their hair had
partially grown out to its natural colours and while Charlotte had
kept her lank hair long in prison, Alice had cut most of hers off.
They shared similar sullen, defiant expressions.

“
All rise!” called the court clerk as
th
e magistrate swept
into the courtroom. Everyone promptly rose to their feet, except
the two defendants who took their time about it, earning them a
sharp, “On your feet, ladies,” from the clerk.

The magistrate settled herself and we sat
again
. She shuffled some
papers while waiting for the courtroom to become quiet
again.

Alice spoke out in a loud, clear voice. “I
demand to be called by my demonic name, Abere, during this farce of
a hearing.”

“
And I demand to be called
Ala, my demon name,” chorused
Charlotte.

Unimpressed, the magistrate looked down
her glasses at the public defenders. “Gentleman, you’d be advised
to remind your clients to remain silent unless they are requested
to speak.”

“
Yes, Your Honour,” the two embarrassed men
said, both turning to glare at their
outspoken clients.

The magistrate spent some time explaining
to the defendants what the process would be during the hearing.
Then
she invited the
public prosecutor to commence outlining the case against the two
women. And so it began.

Though my butt grew sore from sitting
still for so long,
I
scribbled furiously in my notepad the whole time, unsure of how
much detail would interest Trent. The prosecutor’s case took up the
entire first day of the hearing and looked as though it might take
up much of the next as well. As the girls hadn’t been particularly
cautious during their killing spree, there were a lot of witness
statements and forensic evidence to go over.

After court adjourned for the day, I raced
over to the studio so I could be on hand for the filming of Trent’s
big story for the show tonight. Because I’d only been able to
arrange the lineup last night, the story had to be pre-recorded
right before the show went live, due to the availability of the
guests. There was little room for error.

I instantly recognised
Reverend Joshua as a trenchant warrior of
his particular version of God, with ultra-conservative social views
and forever with his censorious face in the paper and on the news
condemning anything remotely fun about modern life. He and his very
vocal parishioners spent much of their time rallying in front of
nightclubs, casinos, adult shops, pubs and legal brothels, railing
against sinners. On Sundays, he preached his ‘brimstone and fire’
sermons to the converted in his fringe, breakaway church, mostly
reinforcing his beliefs in traditional gender roles.

Liya
was an exotic beauty – tall and graceful with dark skin,
liquid chocolate cat-eyes and long hair tightly plaited into
hundreds of small braids, which she held back with jewelled
hairclips. She wore the sort of flowing, mismatched, bohemian
clothes that looked natural on some women – like her – but which
would leave me looking like someone who’d wrapped myself in a
parachute in the dark while completely intoxicated (and probably
with a monkey on my back). She oozed warmth and calm confidence, as
if she’d pretty much worked out the meaning of everything in
life.

I wanted to be her.

Trent virtually rubbed his hands together
in anticipation when he set eyes on both of them. “Oh yes. Ratings
winner,” I heard him gloat to himself.

He had every right to be gleeful. The
interview started badly. Trent first gave a brief overview of the
trial and reminded his viewers, as if anyone didn’t know by now, of
Malefic’s supposed influence on the young murderers. I personally
didn’t think Trent should have broached the topic of Malefic,
because it only gave him the publicity he probably craved. His
website would be flooded with hits later tonight from curious
viewers.

Trent went on to
describe the credentials of each of his guests,
giving Reverend Joshua due credit, to which that man sat nodding
his head in arrogant agreement. But Trent didn’t even make it
through one sentence about Liya, before the Reverend butted in on
him.

“
I don’t know why you even bothered
to
invite this . . .
person . . . this
witch
. . . on
your show.”

Trent was taken aback at his vehemence. “I
always try to present both sides of –”

“
There
are
no
two sides to this debate! There is only one side and that is the
side of righteousness, the side of God.”

Liya rolled her beautiful eyes. “Glad
you’re prepared to be so open-minded today.”

“
I will never open my mind to Satan.
That
thing
you
practice, that so-called religion, is evil and corruptive of God’s
people.”

“
Thanks for
your tolerance in giving me a fair opportunity to
speak.” Liya did a nice line in sarcasm – I liked her even
more.

“
I will deny you any opportunity to ever
speak of your evil ways.”

“
Hey now,” Trent interjected. “It’s not up
to you to decide who gets to speak on my show.
And may I please introduce my other
guest?”

“
It is always up to me to ensure that the
devil words from advocates of this ‘religion’ of false magic remain
unheard by innocent ears.”

“
We don’t practice false magic,” said Liya
hotly. “Why don’t you do a bit of research on Cybelians before you
say uninformed things like that?”

“False magic, dark magic. Satan’s tools.”

“
Let’s be clear about one thing –
w
e do
not
practice dark magic. Cybelia is
a positive force. It’s a helping religion. Unlike yours, which just
spreads ignorance and hatred.”

“
My faith spreads the truth. Yours is a
false religion and you are a charlatan.”

“
Look, buddy. Maybe you should shut your
big –” Liya started.

“Why doesn’t everyone just settle down?”
soothed Trent. “I’m sure we can discuss this in a reasoned
way.”

Reverend
Joshua turned on him. “Why don’t you stop denying
the truth that this woman is a tool of the devil?”

“Call me that one more time,” dared Liya.

“
Please!” Trent half-demanded,
half-pleaded, frantically pressing the security button. I watched
on with growing trepidation. He wasn’t going to be happy with me
after the show, because the story had run away from him. I’d have
to make sure I scooted away earlier than him to avoid the
repercussions of not checking the guests out more thoroughly.
“Let’s have some sensible discussion on this topic.”

“There’s nothing sensible about this man,”
Liya scorned.

“I won’t sit here any longer with this devil
woman.”

Liya half-rose. “I warned you.”

“
Everyone just settle down!” Trent shot
Reverend Joshua a look. “Tolerance is not an over-rated emotion,
you know.”

“
Don’t you lecture to me about what’s right
and wrong,” the Reverend shot back. “You’re nothing but a filth
merchant and a whoremonger.”

“I beg your pardon!” Trent spat, genuinely
offended.

“
I’ve heard about the types of stories you
air on this show, which I remind you can be viewed by anybody with
a television. And I’ve heard about all your fancy women. A fine
kind of morality you like to display.
It’s disgusting you’re considered to be a public
figure.”

Trent barely held his temper in
check.
“My alleged
private life has nothing to do with this story, so can we stick to
the point?”

“I notice you don’t deny any of it. This
devil creature is probably one of your fancy women too.”

“You are so asking for it, you overblown
arse,” threatened Liya, rising again from her chair.

“
This interview needs to end
now,” Trent said firmly,
looking over towards Brady. “Cut.”

“
Good. I cannot bear to share space with
ungodly people,” intoned Reverend Joshua.

“
Excellent. Piss off, you lunatic,” snapped
Trent, unwisely. Then to Brady, “That fucking camera better be
off.”

His lips pinched together with righteous
rage, the Reverend dumped his glass of water over Trent’s head,
leaving him gasping in surprise. “I hope that cures you of your
filthy mouth.” He stormed off-set and out of the studio, throwing
back over his shoulder, “You’re violating the laws of God by
promoting this devil magic. I hope you all burn in Hell for
eternity.”

“
God
,” said a shocked Trent in the aftermath of that, Viv
rushing onset to dab him down with a towel. He searched around for
me in the darkness of the studio, a murderous expression on his
face. “Tilly!”

Uh oh!
I recognised a reason to run when I heard one
being hollered at me. Fairly sure he wasn’t going to laugh this one
off, I hurriedly escaped the studio, snatched up my handbag from my
desk and fled to my car.

“
Why are you sprinting out of here?”
demanded one of the unfriendly station security officers as I left
the building, the other eyeing me suspiciously. “What have you done
now?”

I guess that meant I was building a
reputation of sorts around the place.

“
Nothing,” I lied, rushing past them. “I
just remembered I left the iro
n on.” And I didn’t breathe easily again until I was in the
car with my mobile phone turned off, driving home.

Dispirited, I climbed the stairs to my
place, not wanting to talk to anyone about anything. So of course
my mother rang.

“I want you to come to dinner tomorrow night,
Tilly darling. Everyone will be there, including your
grandmothers.”

“
Okay,” I agreed, thinking it would
probably be for the best if Scottie helped out on the show tomorrow
night instead of me. I hesitated. “Do you mind if I bring Heller
with me?”

“
Of course not! He’s always very welcome at
our house,” Mum enthused, showing admirable amnesia about the time
Heller had wrecked their lounge room. But he’d been rather a
favourite of hers ever since I’d introduced him, and she didn’t get
to see him very often. “We’ll expect you at seven. I can’t wait to
see you again.” And I didn’t know if she was talking about Heller
or me.

In my own bed that night by myself, I
wondered if I should use the opportunity of a family gathering to
finally announce to them all that Heller and I were now a couple?
No, that wasn’t the right term. An item? No. Shagging each other’s
brains out every night? Hmm, maybe not – my grandmothers were going
to be present. So once again, with all solutions to this tricky
problem eluding me, I avoided the question and snuggled down to
sleep, only to be woken what seemed like five seconds later, by a
very insistent pair of hands removing my clothes.

“I’m tired, Heller,” I complained,
half-asleep and trying to roll away from him.

He rolled me back
and kissed my neck. “We don’t have to have
a conversation afterwards.”

“
You never want to have a conversation
afterwards anyway,” I giggled.

“
Yes, I do, Matilda. I always want to hear
you telling me about how good it was.” His teeth glinted in the
moonlight as he smiled.

I giggled again. “That’s not a conversation.
That’s me stroking your ego.”

He clasped my hand and moved it lower down
on his body. “You can stroke this if you’d prefer.”

So I did and I let him have me once more.
And in the end, clearing my mind of anything else except him and me
and the pleasure we gave each other, was the best thing for erasing
everything I’d heard and seen today. I slept well in his arms,
waking up the next morning alone, but refreshed and ready for
action.

As I ate my toast and sipped coffee, I
watched
the previous
night’s episode of
People’s Pulse,
which I recorded every night. I was half-dreading,
half-curious to see how that story had turned out in the end. Brady
had shown his usual empathy while editing and Reverend Joshua’s
whole water-dumping, storming off episode had made it into the
evening’s show. But once again demonstrating his firm belief that
the show must go on, Trent had dried off, made a self-deprecating
comment about the experience and continued on to interview Liya at
length about Cybelia and Cybelians. I found it fascinating and sat
watching, transfixed, until I realised I’d be late for court if I
didn’t hustle my butt.