Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 03

'Hi,' Tanya's voice said, 'I can't take your call right now, but if you'd like to leave your name and your number, I'll get back to you.'

'Beeeep'

"Hi Tanny," Watson sighed, "it's only me. Vicky caught me and Beck in a... umm... compromising situation. We just brought her back and she's gone and done a runner and I'm worried she might go back to the cult. Please give her a ring as soon as you get this and try and talk some sense into her. Lots of love. Me..."

Beck slung an arm over the old man's hunched shoulders and he handed over the phone. "Don't worry, Tan'll fix it. If anyone can, Tan can."

"As long as she gets that message in time. Where the fuck is that woman when you need her?"

"Don't stress, old boy. It'll all work out, I promise."

"Stranger things have been known to happen I guess, but not many. Come on. Let's finish tidying up then grab a brew and wait for miracle."

* * *

They killed time with a quick forage in town, then swung-by for a superficially convivial coffee with their good friend Katrina. Then it was a matter of just hurry up and wait, in the hope the aforementioned miracle materialised before the turn of the tide.

When the phone chimed with an inbound message Beck swiped it up off the table.

"Is that from Tan?" Watson asked, rousing himself. They were right on the brink of hauling canvas but his hopes picked themselves up just in case.

Beck read in silence for a while then looked at him. "It's from Vicky."

"Really?" Watson asked, rising to look over her shoulder. "Let me see."

Beck hugged the phone to her chest. "I'm not allowed."

"Come on, Moosh. Show me."

Beck shook her head. "The message says specifically not to show you. And when she asks, because she will, I'll either lose Vicky's confidence or have to lie."

"Well just the gist of it then. What does it say?"

"She wants to see me. Just me. At the hotel."

"What for?"

Beck shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Well?"

"Well?" Beck echoed, "Do you think I should?"

"Do you think you should?"

"Might as well..." Beck said and hefted a shoulder, "if there's even the faintest chance of turning this around."

Watson chewed his thumbnail, thinking. Vicky had already declared she never wanted to see him again, so there was no real way of making it worse. He heaved a deep breath. "Well, I guess. There's no harm in seeing what she wants."

"That's what I reckon." Beck nodded. "Hang on. I'll just nip down and get changed."

Beck disappeared downstairs and quickly showered, then came back up in her favourite floral skirt and a pastel-pink polo top. She'd brushed out her hair into a dazzling platinum mantle and daubed on a quick lick of makeup. Watson looked at her then did a double-take. "Don't want to dress it down a little? She wants a powwow, not a date."

"Trust me, Dommy. I have to look my absolute best. Especially for what I'm about to do..."

"Why? What are you doing?"

"It's time to show Vicky the real me."

"You vicious little bitch." Watson breathed.

Beck threw her head back, laughing, and the tension popped like a soap bubble. If there was one thing she adored about her old man... a bomb could be going off in an orphanage on fire and he'd still see the funny side. "Well, like you say, if she can't take a joke she shouldn't have joined."

In spite of the levity, Watson had an inkling of what his beloved girl was about to endure. "You sure, Mooshkins? Don't want to write it off, just cut and run?"

"What's that other thing you say? Winners never quit and-"

"Quitters never win. It's a universal truth, I know, but if the bird has already flown..."

"Then I'd better fly after it."

"Okay, Mooshkins, if you're sure."

"Well I'm sure, Dommy, but what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Honestly? If I can pull this off? In your heart of hearts do you still want her back?"

"What? Of course I want her back. I happen to be very fond of the girl, even if she thinks I'm a monster. Besides... she's a sweetheart, Moosh, but she's just a babe in the woods and if she goes back to that cult she'll be done for."

"That's all I need to know. Anyway, better not keep the lady waiting. Smoke me a kipper, skipper, I'll be back for breakfast."

The old man reached out and squeezed her hand. "You're a good girl, Moosh. Now I know why I keep you around."

"Why?"

"You can grab a case of Veuve on your way back."

** *

Beck set off along the promenade, running the gauntlet of stares. As she crossed the path of one old couple, a mischievous breeze lifted her skirt, revealing a tiny pair of light green panties framing a succulent thigh gap. Quickly regaining control of her renegade hem the tiny little blonde nodded 'good day', and left them in her perfumed wake, the old man clutching his heart, the old woman clenching her jaw.

Following instructions, Beck messaged Vicky when she arrived at the hotel and the fugitive buzzed her in. Moments later, to Beck's surprise, she found herself outside the very same room where she and Tanya had spent most of the night fucking Hayley. The pot plant gave it away, on a table between the lift and the apartment, the one she'd given a drink in the morning. Her first good deed for the day. Maybe it was an omen, maybe not, but at least the room had some ripping good energy. Pausing for one last preen she rapped on the door.

Peering through the peephole first, Vicky opened the door a crack and scanned for lurking monsters. "You came on your own?"

"Of course," Beck nodded, "just like you told me."

"Did you show that... animal... my message?"

"He is not an animal, Vicky." Beck rolled her eyes, "And no, I did not."

Vicky unchained the door and pulled it open, standing aside as Beck squeezed through. Gone was the effortlessly sexy young female of yesterday. In her place stood a pinch-faced frump in a non-descript T-shirt and shapeless black track pants. Her forehead was bruised from prostrating herself at the feet of a vengeful god, and her eyes were red and puffy from non-stop weeping. Too distraught to notice Beck's own meticulous preparations, she followed the girl in and chained the door.

Beck dropped her handbag in the lap of the nearest armchair. When she turned, Vicky reached out and lay her hands on her shoulders. "Becky." she breathed, her bloodshot eyes probing Beck's baby-blues, "I just want you to know. I don't blame you."

"What for?"

"For what that... creature... has done to you."

"He hasn't done anything, Vicky. If you'll just let me-"

"Shhh shhh shhh..." Vicky put a finger to Beck's lips. "You've been brainwashed, Becky, don't you see? Brainwashed and violated, just like me."

"Wrong." Beck shook her head. "On both counts."

"No no no... Rebekah, listen. That old man is the devil. He has cast a spell over you and put scales over your eyes. Pastor told me. He's blinded you, literally, but I am here now to help you see the truth."

"Vickyyy."

"It's okay, Becky, it's okay. Pastor told me this was gonna take time. To bring you into the light. To undo what that creature has done. But trust me, Becky, help is at hand, and the moment of salvation is nigh."

"So is the moment of talking some goddam sense into you."

Vicky fisted her palm. "This is exactly what Pastor Neil told me you'd do. He said you'd struggle, he said you'd profane, he said you'd fight back even as we tried to save you. But that's okay, that's okay. I can bear this for you, Rebekah. I want to save you."

"You're too late, Vicky," Beck replied wryly, "I've already been saved. A couple of times as it happens."

"Shh shh shhh... hush Little One. I have a plan."

"Really? This should be good."

"Uh huh," Vicky nodded, deftly dodging the sarcasm, "it will be. Because when I go back I'm taking you with me."

"Go back? Where?"

"To the congregation, Beck, back to my family. When I go back you're coming with me. And you... are going... to meet... Pastor Neil."

"Who?"

"Pastor Neil!" Vicky said manically. "Our leader. Our prophet. He's a great man, Beck, a wise man, a Godly man. As soon as I got in, I called to beg for forgiveness and I told him all about you. I told him what that... that... creature has done to you, what you've been through. And you know what? He said already knew all about you. He said he'd foreseen all of this in a vision, years ago. And then he revealed I'd been sent here to save you."

"Oh he did, did he? Sounds like his crystal ball must be on the blink. Or he's got the wrong channel."

"No, Becky, I'm serious. It was uncanny. He even knew you live on a yacht. In the tropics. With an... ugh... with a filthy old pervert. Who's also the devil."

"Oh really. And did you happen to mention where you were, what you'd been doing? Who you were with? Did you happen to say you'd been sailing?"

"I might have mentioned one or two details but he already knew."

"Oh for god's sake, Vicky, that's called a cold-reading. All the fakers do it. You told him the whole lot and he just read it back to you."

"Oh ye of little faith."

"Oh ye of little brain. Look. I know you think you're doing the best for me but you're barking up the wrong bloody tree."

"How can you say that? You're in the fast lane to eternal damnation Becky, can't you see? I mean, having sex with your own father... it's... it's... just abominable."

Beck backed the feverish young woman up to the sofa. She'd given Hayley a huge, gushing orgasm on these very same cushions, but sadly there was nothing to see of the Great Wet Spot. "Vicky." she said levelly, sitting her down, "I'm telling you. Damon... is not... my father."

"Rubbish!" Vicky scoffed. "Of course he is." She jabbed her temple with a finger. "He's brainwashed you, Becky, understand? That's why you're saying all this. He's a master manipulator. I should know, he even hoodwinked me. You poor girl. Your own father. Not just a fornicator but a psychopath."

"He's not, Vicky, he's not. For the last bloody time. He's not a psychopath, he's not a manipulator, and he's definitely not my dad."

"Well that's what your birth certificate says."

"I know it does." Beck said, sitting beside her. "But my birth certificate, the one we used, it was... how can I put it... an engineered document."

"Engineered? By whom?"

"I can't say."

"You mean it's a forgery?" Vicky demanded, aghast. "Your birth certificate? Is that what you're saying?"

"A substitution." Beck said wearily, "For a truth that can never see the light of day."

"So you're not related? In any way?"

"No." Beck shook her head. If she could make that point it was half the battle.

"You'll swear to that?"

"Hand on my heart."

"Then it's a lie." Vicky fumed, nostrils flaring, "And you used it... you used me... to create another lie. And that makes me an accessory to a crime."

"How could it? You didn't know."

"Doesn't make any difference. You used me, you swindled me, you caused me to break the law. I mean, how much more twisted can this all get?"

Beck tried to pull her into a hug but Vicky fought her off.

"Just what sort of people are you? I abandoned a life of faith and piety. I sacrificed my chastity. I turned my back on my shepherd, my flock. I even broke up with my fiancé, and for what? For some fleeting carnal gratification and a litany of lies!"

"No, Vicky. For freedom."

But not for much longer. Vicky had already been on the phone to a patently thrilled Pastor Neil. He'd foreseen these events, he said, and just been waiting for her call. The time had come.

Watson, he told her in his lilting, sonorous voice, was the devil incarnate. He'd used his satanic powers to lure her away. Because she was one of the Pastor's chosen and the devil was jealous. Desperate to win her, Satan-Watson- they were one and the same- had hypnotised Vicky and put scales over her eyes, overpowering her faith with lust and alcohol. And she would have been lost, forever, sacrificed on the altar of sin, had the shock of seeing him in the throes of desecrating his daughter not broken the thrall. And in this moment of clarity, she, Vicky, had come to realise where she truly belonged... with Pastor Neil and his family of loyal disciples.

And what about girl? Just a teen? Really? Diminutive and delicate you say? Utterly vulnerable? Then it is your destiny to save her, part of God's plan. But make haste. If you are to escape the devil's clutches you must leave now. Get on a plane, as soon as you can, and do anything it takes to bring the girl.

So Vicky booked two airfares on a flight out that afternoon, one in her name, the other in Beck's. By ten thirty they'd be back in Sydney where the Pastor and a band of hand-picked acolytes would meet them at the gate. From there they would travel to the Pastor's multi-million dollar bush retreat, where Vicky would go into penitence for forty days, while Beck underwent transformation, from heathen and sinner to disciple and celestial wife.

"Freedom?" Vicky sneered. "Is that what you call it? Stumbling blindly around in this illusory world, steeped in sin and corruption? Really? Well if that's your idea of freedom you can have it."

"No worries." Beck said, tensing to rise. "So long, Vicky, give my regards to the cult."

"What are you doing?" Vicky demanded aghast. "I've already booked you a ticket. You can't walk out just like that."

"Wanna bet?" Beck scoffed nonchalantly, already on her feet smoothing her skirt.

"But I'm trying to help you."

"And I'm trying to help you."

Vicky heaved an exasperated sigh and patted the cushion. "Come, Becky, please, sit down. Please. Just hear me out, okay?"

Beck looked from her handbag to Vicky and back again, weighing her options. She'd come with high hopes of winning her back but was now about to leave empty handed, with nothing more to show for her efforts than a sectarian sales pitch. Still, now was not the time to stand on her digs so she sat, back straight, knees pressed together, gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Becky, my little lost lamb." Vicky said gently, caressing her cheek. "Please believe me. I'm not the one who needs help. I'm serious. This may be your one and only shot at salvation. Come with me Rebekah, be redeemed. Be forgiven, be reborn. Can you imagine, being unburdened of all your sin? Having your slate wiped clean, your debt forgiven?"

The words rolled off her tongue as they had done a thousand times before, on street corners, in shopping malls, bearing witness to unsuspecting strangers, spreading the word, beautiful youths with brooding minders, fishers of men.

"Can you imagine how it would feel, to live in light, to live in sanctity? Come with me, Beck. Come and dwell with Pastor as one of his own. You won't need for anything, your every need will be catered for. Physical, spiritual, emotional, moral, you name it..." she gave Beck a nudge, "what we all call 'a hamburger with the lot'." Vicky took Beck's hands. "This is my sacred duty, Becky. I want this for you. I want to take you home. Your real home, your forever home, with Pastor and our family. So come. Join us, Rebekah, live the life eternal. It's your fate, your destiny."

"It's not my fate." Beck said dryly, withdrawing from Vicky's grasp, "and it's certainly not my destiny. Forget it, Vicky. I'm not going with you."

"But Pastor awaits."

"Let him."

"Don't you get it? He's offering salvation. He will personally vouchsafe your entry to paradise. I mean, the Pastor himself. Isn't that amazing?"

"Paradise." Beck blew a raspberry. "I already live there."

"No." Vicky said quietly. "You don't. You dwell in a carnal world, riven with sin, ravaged by the winds of temptation."

Beck rolled her eyes. "Oh you do go on."

"It's true, Rebekah." Vicky whispered. "You live in a wasteland."

"No. I live in a beautiful forty-five foot, dual-helm cutter-rigged sloop. With blue water everywhere and reefs and tropical islands. I feast on fresh fish and coconuts everyday, and more fresh crayfish than you could poke a stick at. I have someone who adores me and together we are totally free. If that's what you call a wasteland it'll do me."

"Living in permanent separation from the Lord?" Vicky said bleakly. "That wouldn't do me."

"Want to know what Damon says?"

"NO!" Vicky raised a hand. "Don't even say that name."

"Why not?"

"The very thought of him makes me want to vomit."

"'Cos you saw the two of us bonking? Grow up."

"That filthy... dirty..." Vicky shuddered. "A man having sex with his very own daughter. His own flesh and blood. The very idea is repulsive."

Beck clenched her teeth. "I...

"am not...

"his daughter!"

"Is that so?" Vicky jeered. "Then who are you? Hmm?"

"Do you really want to know? Who I am? You want the truth?"

"Truth?" Vicky snorted. "You can't even spell the word."

"Really? Well let me tell you. I am the issue of a prostitute. The Thing who gave birth to me was-"

"The Thing?" Vicky shook her head in confusion. "Hang on. You mean your moth-"

"NO!" Beck barked. "Do NOT use that word. I'm talking about the Thing. The pissing, shitting oxygen thief who spat me out of her body. After lugging me around in her belly for twenty eight wasted weeks."

Beck watched Vicky flounder, trying to process the stark revelation. "As I said," she went on calmly, "the Thing was a prostitute. And a drug addict. A twenty dollar whore who put the 'bag' into scumbag. Pregnant at sixteen and thrown out of home. A borderline illiterate with no hope of ever getting a job, living in government housing on permanent welfare. Scavenging food from KFC and Mcdonald's, shoplifting clothes or stealing them from charity bins. Or flat-out begging, using a malnourished, snotty little brat as bait."

"Oh no, no, no!" Vicky said, slowly shaking her head. "Uh uh. I can see what you're up to Rebekah. Trying to spin some great big sob-story hoping I-"

Beck hammer-fisted the sofa, startling Vicky up off her seat. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" she shrieked then sat, chest heaving, while Vicky stared back in bare-faced dismay. "You think this is fun?" the little blonde snarled. "I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a pencil than go through this. But I like you, Vicky, and I can't stand to see you throwing your life away. This is for your benefit, understand, so if you'd be so kind as to just keep... your mouth... shut."

For a moment the apartment simmered with silence, Beck struggling to compose herself, Vicky just struck dumb. Flicking her hair back, Beck summoned her nerve, then cleared her throat and quietly continued.

"We lived in all sorts of places when I was little, from filthy squats and broken down cars to shelters and community housing. Then a trailer park, down by a beach. Picture-postcard one side of the fence, garbage dump on the other. A real rat's nest, full of down-and-outers just like us. So many needles and used condoms lying around kids couldn't even go to the playground. It was always full of drug dealers anyway, sitting on the swings waiting for customers. Even the cops avoided the place it was that dangerous.

"We lived in a run-down portable cabin. One room, infested with spiders and cockroaches... living room, bedroom, kitchen all rolled into one. The furniture consisted of a fold-up plastic picnic table, four grubby old white plastic chairs and a coffee table with one missing leg propped up on a breeze-block. Plus a moth-eaten sofa picked up from the side of the road and a beaten-up flatscreen TV... stolen, naturally.

"And one double bed. The Thing used to call it her work-bench and it took up half of the room. There were no partitions, not even a curtain, so while she was flat on her back, busy working, I used to burrow down in this mouldy old beanbag, and hide my face in a putrid brown corduroy cushion... the closest thing, by the way, I ever had to a teddybear."