rather knocked around a bit, but you are not here by invitation tonight, are you? It really can't be considered our fault that you have not been welcomed.' He paused. 'Excuse me a moment.'
Jill shuddered in horror at the term 'medical means'. What had they done to her eyes? She forced herself to listen to the men next to her.
'Jamaal, I need you to go upstairs and assist Tadpole with our little friend. If he has not taken the drink I left for him, you must calm him down by other means. I will be joining you up there shortly.'
'What about her?'
'I'd like to speak to Sergeant Jackson for a few moments. I'll make sure she cannot leave us before we return.'
Jill heard Jamaal grunt an assent and walk out of the room. She wondered how many times, before and after Honey, that these two spiders had sedated their young prey.
'You are holding Jerome Sanders captive here, aren't you?' Jill needed to know that he was still alive, that it was not some other poor boy Sebastian had just been discussing.
'Yes, he's a guest at a party upstairs for some of my select club members.'
Jill had to keep him talking. She had no idea how long she'd been out, but surely it could not be much longer before Scotty got here.
'What are you going to do with him?'
'Why, Jill, you know that better than most.'
With those words, the doors in Jill's mind slammed open; full realisation flooded her consciousness. The white-eyed girl gave Jill a wise, sad smile, as she processed the knowledge of who this man really was. Her gut filled with terror, nearly forcing evacuation of her bowels. His tone, his size, his smell, the dark, this room.
'I was disappointed when we met in the hospital that night, Jill, that you did not recognise me.' Sebastian's voice barely registered over the howling in her mind. 'I had not imagined I could be so forgettable, especially for you. Your first. Still, we were both very young, were we not? I like to think I have gained in skill since we knew one another.'
The white-eyed girl's face was now blank, impassive. She quietly listened to Mr Sebastian while Jill screamed. Sebastian talked over the top of the noise.
'Certainly I have learned that it is easy to forget, so I do understand, Jill. That is why, since we had our relationship, I have learned to video-record my encounters. I regret that I have no record of our time together. My mentor at the time – you'll recall him I hope, we shared our time together – was an old-fashioned man, not taken with technology.'
The white-eyed girl watched the heavy man reach down to help Jill into a sitting position. She stayed silent, watching Jill keening on the floor.
'I'm sorry to have to tell you, Jill,' he continued kindly, settling onto a lounge chair close by, 'our mutual friend has passed on. He grew old and infirm, you see, and had taken to reminiscing out loud about former favoured pastimes, if you can imagine.' He gave a gruff laugh. 'I hope that a friend is one day kind enough to help me on my way as I did for him, should I become so indiscreet in my waning years.
'Jill, I don't have very long with you this visit,' he continued, 'and I was hoping that we could talk about you, your career. Do you think that you might be able to collect yourself enough for us to have less of a one-sided chat?'
He waited a beat, gently prodded at Jill with a toe.
'I suppose not. Perhaps later. I will be back to speak with you soon. I'll have to bring Jamaal, I'm afraid. He has an inordinate interest in you. Have you noticed, Jill, that the stupid are often terribly superstitious? He's quite taken by the idea of signs, you see, and he feels that finding you by the boatshed was his destiny. My apologies for the mess in the shed by the way. Your psychotherapist friend was entirely too interested in my club and its members. In fact, I believe she drew you to me.'
He paused, and began again reflectively, 'You know Jill, maybe there is something to this fate notion after all. Our relationship sent you to Dr Merris, I believe, and she, in turn, brought you back to me.' He shifted in the chair.
'Well, until our next meeting, then. But before I go for now, I must tell you, Jill, I have been proud watching you grow. Of course, I'm disappointed in your failure to procreate. You don't seem to relate well to the opposite sex. I don't suppose you would know, would you, that my club members award special bonus points to those of us who can form a relationship with the second generation of our past friends. Not much chance of me getting to know one of your offspring now, though, is there Jill?'
The white-eyed girl blinked. Once, twice.
Sebastian used the arms of the chair to begin to lift his bulk from the low lounge. The little girl was standing, head slightly askew, white eyes watching Jill on the ground, now silent, with great interest.
'I'm off to make Jerome famous,' he said. 'I assure you he will be a superstar after tonight. A very tired little superstar.'
Although it happened instantaneously, and without her conscious awareness, somewhere inside Jill felt sad to see the white-eyed girl go. Suddenly, for the first time in twenty years, Jill felt whole. But none of that mattered right here, right now.
Her attention focused on Sebastian's breathing. She knew the placement of each of his feet, and where he would place them next; she heard the creak of his knees as he half-lifted himself from the chair. On the floor, legs folded beneath her, Jill found her centre of gravity; her mind completely clear. In one seamless move, she moved one arm away on the ground and stretched one leg straight. With the other leg, she swung with all her might, propelling herself around with a roundhouse kick that connected with Sebastian at the precise moment he was halfway between sitting and standing. The force of the impact smashed its way up through her entire body.
Had he been able to speak, Alejandro Sebastian would regardless have been unable to find words from his considerable vocabulary to describe the force of the blow that almost fractured his neck. As it was, his brain was still decelerating in a series of shuddering slides from one side of his skull to the other. Somewhere he was aware, however, that his bottom teeth now protruded through his top lip. This, along with the fact that he'd swallowed his tongue, led to considerable difficulty breathing.
Jill gave herself a few moments to collect herself, shake out the kinks a little, always aware of the wet, sucking gasps in the lounge chair near her. When she was ready, she again swung with her foot at the sound, and felt pleased when it stopped. Jerome didn't feel too good. At Mitchell Claymore's tenth birthday party, the same thing had happened. At first, he thought he'd eaten too many chicken nuggets, but then half the kids at the party had started spewing and crying. Megan and Courtney had had to go to hospital overnight. He later overheard his mother saying that Mrs Claymore got really depressed because she'd poisoned half the party with the food, and for a while there he'd thought Mitchell's mum was some kind of mental murderer. He was scared of his friends' mums for a while after that. Hell, he was only nine.
He wondered whether this was food poisoning too. He felt really woozy and just wanted to lie down. He dropped a half-eaten chicken drumstick onto his plate, and looked for somewhere to sit. Tadpole stood at his side in a moment.
'Jerome, you look tired out. Want to go somewhere quieter to have a rest?'
Jerome managed to nod. He followed Tadpole through groups of whispering men; his heavy eyes watching his feet take one step at a time.
He now lay in the most comfortable bed he had ever been in, and those stupid shoes were off. The lights were soft and he felt much better. Probably his dad would be here in the morning… Was that Logan in the doorway? Too short to be Logan's dad…
Something scratchy stopped him sleeping. Like when you get bitten by sandflies really badly, and even when you're asleep, you're driven mad by the itching. But this was like itching in the mind – like something was wrong.
Someone kept rubbing his leg. Jerome opened his eyes, thinking maybe Nathan had left the TV on.
Mr Smith, the young Japanese dignitary, held a video camera, while his father, wearing only boxer shorts, sat on the side of the bed, his hand on Jerome's leg. The sheets were pulled back, and Jerome realised he was wearing only underpants. His instinctive kick propelled the small, elderly man to the ground, where he landed on his hip. Mr Smith almost dropped the camera in his haste to help his father. He shouted in another language at Jerome, but Jerome jumped to his feet on the bed, his back wedged into the corner, yelling louder than both men
