Infernal Rhapsody or Careful what you wish for…

© story by Nic Parker

I know that last beer had been a bad idea.
I hardly drink at all but today I’d needed to. The night out with my friends had been a great diversion yet clouded by the 30th anniversary of his death. Freddie’s death. The 24th of November 1991. The day when Queen had lost their most essential part. Inconceivable how thirty years can pass and still you can miss someone so much and never stop wishing things could’ve been different.
My knees are wobbly as I hang my coat on the rack next to the door and kick my boots off. I stagger towards the couch and fumble for the remote of the telly.
The moment the screen comes alive his face comes into focus and I hear Freddie’s voice. The tears come immediately, proper waterfall that drenches the neck of my t-shirt. I put a hand in front of my mouth while sobbing. I want to break free.
One of my favourite songs by Queen. A hymn for many of us who have been in situations or lives they wanted to get away from.
The BBC is showing a Queen live concert from Wembley stadium. It’s probably the event I have attended with my dad many years ago.
That day had been one of the best of my life. I had sat on my old man’s shoulders so I could see the stage. In a sea of fans we sang along with the masses. We’d been too far away to get a good view of Freddie on stage, yet everyone had felt Freddie’s incredible presence. A kind of magic.
I wipe my eyes while I keep on snuffling. Womble, my beautiful fluffy calico cat, is giving me a judgmental stare from her position on the armrest of the sofa.
I reach for the Kleenex on the table. When I sit back down I accidentally press a button of the remote with my bum cheek, switching channels. A music video’s playing.
Fucking Christ on a space station! The new song by Jason Barber. Barber is the epitome of all that’s wrong with today’s music industry. Barber’s a young brat with about three pubes in total, a thin voice and no visible talent. A stupid little kid who believes all the crap his manager has told him about how great he is and that his shit doesn’t smell. If you have most of your teeth left, can stand straight and people don’t projectile-vomit when they see your face – that’s what makes you a star these days.
Barber’s efforts of dancing are cringe-worthy. Rhythm is a stranger to him. And yet Barber is one of the best selling artists in the music industry these days – and back then I had thought the Backstreet Boys were crap.
I blow my nose, grab hold of the remote, wielding it in the air like it’s Excalibur. Jason’s face fills the screen and I growl at him. “I wish you were gone from the face of the earth, you lil’ arsehole!”
With a push of the right button Freddie is back on.
“Oh, Freddie, I would gladly kill Jason Barber if I could just bring you back again!”
Jesus, how pathetic am I? I’m going to suffer a hangover from hell tomorrow.
I haul myself up and trudge to the bathroom. My bladder is raising maximum alarm and it’s time to gift all that beer to the porcelain void.
A few minutes later I’m schlepping myself back out into the living room brushing my teeth. I freeze, close my eyes then count to three before I open them again. Yup, he’s still there.
Richard Armitage is lounging about on my couch, ruffling Womble’s fur, which she enjoys, purring loudly. Eventually he turns his head and looks directly at me. “Good evening.”
I suck in air, swallow toothpaste then cough like mad, holding my hand in front of my mouth to prevent me from spraying white foam all across the carpet. Then I get it. I’m dreaming.
He smiles while he scratches Womble’s head. “You’re not dreaming, darling.”
Oh my fucking God! Richard Armitage is sitting on my couch, talking to me with that low voice that always makes my vagina sing Hallelujah. Well, it is him – and it isn’t. The beer is dulling my senses and it takes a moment to realise what’s different about him. His eyes! The real Richard Armitage has those wonderful baby blues while the peepers of the man on my couch are dark. In the scarce light of the room they seem to be pitch black.
Is this a hoax or… something more sinister? Did he break into my apartment? There’s nothing worth stealing in here. My inner alarm fires signals to my synapses but I’m frozen to the spot.
I try to sound stern. “Whoever you are, I want you to leave my apartment right now! If you want money I have about twenty pounds in my wallet and that’s it.”
He elegantly gets up and I’m retreating a few steps.
“I don’t want your money, love.”
He’s the spitting image of Armitage, though his choice of clothes is a bit dramatic. Clad entirely in black and despite the warmth in here he’s wearing a long black overcoat. For a moment I think I see something moving about inside his coat, strange swirls or …creatures? Holy shit, this is a terrible dream.
He smiles, wolf-like yet somehow still friendly. “I told you before you are not dreaming. And you only had five beers, you’re a terrible lightweight.”
How does he know how many beers I had?
He laughs. “I know everything, darling!” He narrows his eyes and comes closer. “I am here because of what you just said.”
I’m confused.
Before I know it I’m pinned against the wall next to the bathroom door.
I look into his eyes. The irises are an all-consuming black with the tiniest sparkles of red, speckles of lava erupting then subsiding with hypnotising repetition.
“What you said about our fellow moggy lover Freddie. You remember?” His breath brushes my face. He smells like a fireplace, of dry wood and warmth and ashes.
I stutter. “What did I say again?”
He grins, a lopsided Indiana Jones grin. His brow furrows slightly as if he tries to help me recall my words.
He’s not Richard Armitage. He is someone else. Or something?
“I prefer someone.”
I hold my breath. He stands so close I feel the extreme heat radiating from his body. And my throat is dry. His lips brush my ear as he whispers. “You said you’d gladly kill Jason Barber if you could bring Freddie back.”
All I see is darkness with tiny exploding red stars.
“How did you hear that?” My words are barely audible.
“Did you mean it?”
I squirm. “Well, you know, you say stuff like that when you’re alone, especially when you’re a bit drunk…”
His eyes pierce into mine right down to the bottom of my soul. “If I bring Freddie back will you give me your soul as a thank you?”
“What? No. NO! Anyway, Freddie is long gone.’
He’s disappointed. ‘Imagine what the world would be like if Freddie hadn’t died, the music he would have created in all those years, he would’ve had a chance to grow older… spend it with somebody to love.”
That thought stings my heart so much tears start falling again.
He moves swiftly, catching my teardrops that sizzle like water in a hot frying pan on his tongue that feels ice-cold on my skin. He relishes the taste. “Exquisite.”
I’m beginning to shiver. That’s no ordinary man in front of me, least of all Richard Armitage. “Who are you?”
He’s a bit disgruntled. “Oh, come on, you already know by now?”
There’s a term my mind wants to blurt out but I dismiss it straight away. Utter nonsense! Folklore bullshit!
He grins. “Say my name!” Now he’s teasing me with the Heisenberg number.
“You are…” I can hardly speak “…the… Devil?’”
“Bingo!” He raises both his eyebrows in quick succession in best Thomas Magnum fashion. “Now, shall we discuss business?”
“Business?” My throat is parched.
“You said you would kill Jason Barber if I bring back Freddie.”
I shrug. “Guess I did.”
“Then we have a deal. I give you one week for the task. If you succeed you’ll also get exclusive backstage tickets for the next Queen concert in Wembley.”
I let his words echo inside of me. Freddie – back. Jason Barber – gone forever. If that wasn’t the best deal ever!? But to kill Barber – would I be up to it? Could I actually do it?
He senses my hesitation. ‘Killing Barber is a public service.’
Lucifer’s words are like the sweetest wine being slowly poured into my brain.
I have a clear moment. “What’s the catch? What happens if I don’t succeed?”
He grins. “I am an honest business man, despite all the bad rep I get from the church.” His joyful smile fades. “If you fail, though, I’ll owe your soul forever.”
“Forever is a long time, don’t you think? Can’t we narrow it down to just a Millennium?”
He laughs. “You are a smart arse! Come on, let’s shake hands on it.” He holds out his right hand. “You win you get Freddie back. You lose and I’ll have your soul for a thousand years.”
My arm twitches but I’m reluctant. “I want two weeks for the task. I need time for planning.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re clever in your negotiations, I’ll give you that. Okay, two weeks it is.”
Without further thinking my right arm shoots forward. Before I can make up my mind he grabs my hand.
I wince as spikes of lava burn through my hand and all through my body. The pain fades in a matter of seconds. I gasp for air.
Lucifer still holds my hand. He’s clearly satisfied. “We have a deal.” He reaches into his long coat. From inside the black fabric a small, parched claw appears, holding something out. He takes the object then presents it to me.
It’s an expensive rose-gold Jaeger LeCoultre watch, rectangular shape, double face with moon phase. One I had always dreamed of owning and worth a fortune.
He attaches it to my wrist. “One face will show the normal time, the other tells you how much time you have left to complete your task.”
I start to shiver and feel like vomiting.
He holds my chin up. “If anyone can succeed it’s you. And I always keep my word! See you in two weeks.”
I blink and he’s gone. A slight scent of ashes lingers.
I stumble towards the couch, dropping my weight down, completely exhausted. I reach for the blanket and manage to pull it over my body. Womble crawls onto my chest and I start scratching her chin. The moment she starts purring I fall asleep.
When I wake up the first thing I feel is the wetness where I have slobbered all over my hand. Ugh! I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and realise my clothes smell like I slept in a fireplace.
Suddenly I’m wide-awake. I notice the slight bulge underneath the shirt on my left wrist.
It can’t be! That was just an insane dream!
I gingerly slide the sleeve up and hold my breath. My brain tries to process what I’m seeing… 13:11:45:26
Thirteen days. Eleven hours. Forty-five minutes. Twenty-five seconds… 24, 23, 22… the digits are happily counting down towards the inevitable.
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

*

Womble sits on the couch table staring right at me.
“Oh, Womble, I didn’t really sell my soul to the devil, did I?”
Womble nods once than sneezes like a grown person. No, she didn’t nod. I just imagined that.
I have to get that watch off my arm. I fumble for the clasp to open the wristband but there is none! I’m tearing at the leather band but it doesn’t give a bit!
Womble tuts at me. Fuck, I’m starting to imagine things!
Am I still dreaming? Just in case I won’t wake up soon I might as well consider drawing out a game plan. Hannibal Smith always worked out a plan first.
The only thing I know for sure is if it comes to choosing between my soul and Jason Barber’s life that little arsehole will have to go!
It’s around lunchtime when I venture out to pick up my good friend Vic at her workplace.
I had never understood why someone as smart as her would be working for one of those stupid celeb magazines.
Mostly those magazines show ridiculously priced fashion pieces and you can read about spoiled stupid celebs like Gwynnie fucking Paltrow selling you candles smelling like her fanny.
Vic likes her work, though, and the payment is obviously very good.
I have visited her in her office once and had felt intimidated by all those high maintenance bitches whose shoes had cost more than my whole outfit.
Maybe I had been cross with them as I had the feeling that I didn’t fit in with their shallow world where your eye shadow matches your handbag.
I lean on one of the huge glass windows outside the building waiting for Vic to emerge.
I get my iPhone out to check my game plan. First, I have to get to know a bit more about Barber in general. Vic is an editor and responsible for the pages that show photos from events all over the country that celebrities have attended.
If anyone can help me getting to know more about Barber and his habits it’s Vic! She can help me with information about bodyguards and general security precautions regarding Barber.
I’m typing notes when I hear a voice close to my ear. “There she is.”
Fuck, I’m so surprised I almost drop my cell! Crap, is that what happens when you secretly plot the demise of a famous singer in order to save your soul? It makes you twitchy as fuck.
“Hey, babes, everything okay?” Vic smiles at me.
I manage a grin. “You look great, hon!” She looks stunning in her white slim trousers and a lilac sweater with matching sparkly hoop earrings. The colour accentuates her blonde bob.
“Awww, thanks. You’re rocking the geek look, like always.”
We walk towards the sandwich bar close to her workplace and get more than a few looks from the busy elite rushing to make the most of their lunch breaks.
Vic and I are about the same height but she wears 3-inch heels and I seem a lot smaller beside her. My Batman t-shirt and rough jeans are a definite contrast to Vic’s carefully curated fashion outfit.
We find a quiet place to sit where we can watch all the suits passing by outside.
“So, what is it you need to talk to me about so urgently?” Vic takes a huge bite off her sandwich.
“Well, I thought you could help me on my research about Jason Barber.”
Vic coughs, almost spitting her food back out.
I’m afraid I might have to apply the Heimlich grip on her when she drinks some water and gives me a furious look. “Fuck, girl, can’t you crack your jokes when I’m not eating?”
“Erm, it wasn’t a joke.”
She eyes me like I have lost my mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Yeah, Hell, that sums it up perfectly.
“I just want to know a bit about that lil’ fag because I am preparing a blog post about modern idols today compared to those during the last thirty years.” It’s an easy lie. The thought alone that anyone could actually worship Barber as an idol makes me shudder. Unfortunately too many people, mostly girls, seemed to have lost their sense of hearing as well as their brain capacity.
Vic grins. “Gosh, you scared me. For a moment I thought you might have become one of those awful ‘Barbees’.”
Hearing that word I’m tempted to suffocate on my own vomit. Yeah, that’s actually what the followers of Jason Barber call themselves – Barbees.
“No chance in a billion years I could become a fan of that religious lil’ prick.”
Vic exhales. “You had me worried there.” She continues eating. “So, what do you want to know about Barber?”
I look at the notes on my mobile phone starting with the first question.

*

Back at home I’m putting all the things I’ve learned from Vic during our conversation down on a piece of paper. That helps me memorise everything better as well as thinking it through again.
Barber was giving a concert here in London during the next week. Perfect timing!
He was always staying at the Superiority Hotel, an expensive and exclusive new hotel close to Regent Street that catered to every wish of the rich and spoiled.
The Presidential Suite, of course!
I had already discarded the thought of trying to get to him while he was going to the concert hall or back. There was too much security hovering around him. Vic had the connections to get me a backstage pass yet what could I have done? Stabbed him live on stage? Followed him to the toilet and finished him off there? He probably had one of his bodyguards holding his cock while he was taking a piss.
No, the best way for an attack would be at the hotel. But how?
I had crossed out the possibility of purchasing a gun early on. I could try and find someone who sold one to me in one of the dodgier bars around town. The risk was high though. Maybe I would accidentally talk to an undercover cop and be arrested right away for trying to illegally purchase a firearm.
If I aimed at Barber with a gun and was being pushed by someone in the crowd I’d accidentally hit an innocent person and I didn’t want that on my conscience. I neither had the money to buy a rifle nor would I acquire the needed skill in time to shoot Barber from further away like a sniper.
I would have to do it close up. There was no way around it.
I’d have to come up with a plan to distract his bodyguards while I took my chance to kill him.
I sigh while consulting my watch.
What if Lucifer cheated on me? That even if I succeeded, I’d be arrested and put in prison for the next twenty-five years for murder?
I bury my head in my hands.
Shit! Fuck! Crap!
Either way, I plan on keeping my soul! I’ve grown quite fond of it during the last forty-three years. That’s the number one issue to think about here! Lucifer said he’d play fair, hadn’t he? Maybe his bad reputation had really been made up by those hypocrites calling themselves priests!?
I can only hope he’ll stand up to his word.
So, on with the plan then…

*

I hardly slept last night. My sole purpose staying at the Superiority Hotel has been to find out more about the surroundings and the hotel in general. It hasn’t brought me much intel yet now there’s a gaping hole in my credit card.
Once I had checked in and stood in the elevator my heart had sunken to the bottom of hellfire itself. The card key is only for access to the floor I stay on. ‘Merde putain!’ as the French would say!
I tried to be a smart arse by considering the stairs. Of course it was an evacuation route only. I could walk down but it was impossible to enter any of the other floors, the doors didn’t open. So I made my way back into the lobby and took the lift back up to my room. No chance for snooping around on the floor where the Presidential Suite was located.
Christ, what now?
After trying the luxury of the divine walk in shower I start to pack up my belongings when I hear a knock on the door.
I don’t answer right away and the door is opened from outside. I see the surprised face of a pretty young Asian girl, probably from the Philippines.
“Oh, I am sorry, I thought because no one answered…”
She’s already about to retreat when a loud ding-dong motherfucker sounds in the back of my head! That’s my answer! She’s my answer!
“Oh, that’s okay, you can come in. I was just getting ready to leave.”
She hesitates. “You sure? I come back again later.”
I wave her inside. “No, that’s perfectly okay.”
She smiles and comes in, starting to clean the waste paper basket. “Thank you and good morning.”
“Good morning.”
She’s going about her business in the bathroom collecting the used towels next.
I approach her. “Hey, can I ask you something…” I read the nameplate attached to her apron “…Wilhelmina?”
She smiles. “Mina, please.”
“I know you don’t have much time to talk as you have to hurry with the rooms but I’d like to know if you’d consider giving me an interview for my blog. I am planning to do a series about people from different jobs and how they manage living in this city.”
She halts. “Me, being interviewed?”
I can see she relishes that thought. She has seen enough stars coming and going in this hotel and now someone wants to interview her. I could slap myself for using her for my benefit but I swear to myself I’ll really put her interview up on my blog so she can see I haven’t lied.
“Yes. How about it? Lunch, my treat. How does that sound?” I hand her my business card.
She takes it and carefully slips it inside the pocket of her apron.
“Give me a call?”
She nods happily. “I have time for lunch Wednesday as I won’t have to work. Okay?”
Wednesday? But that means loosing three full days!! Do I have any other choice?
“Excellent! How about Carluccio’s or whatever food you prefer?”
She smiles. “I like Italian.”
“Give me a call Wednesday morning and we can set a time, okay?”
“I surely will.”
I grab my bag and board the elevator. Going down. That was exactly where I was going if I wouldn’t succeed.
The bolts in my brain rattle extensively while I desperately try to put together my battle plan!
I check out and I leave through the big revolving glass door.
It’s a bright blue-sky morning and I should be cheerful but all I can think of is how to achieve the demise of Jason Barber.
I’ve started thinking like a long-time thug. Didn’t take much for a small time writer to turn into a full-scale psychopath.
I catch a glance of my reflection in the window of the Starbuck’s I pass. I’m looking for the signs of little horns starting to protrude out of my forehead or anything else showing the outside world what a devious creature I’m turning into.
I sigh. I only see a short-arse geeky woman. Okay, so at least I can still manage to fool everybody into thinking I’m harmless.
Inside Starbuck’s everyone seems to move at a different speed than myself. I feel detached from the rest of the world, like life has moved on without me. It’s probably just the lack of coffee. I’m moving along in the line when a man outside the window catches my eye.
Richard Armitage! Except nobody else seems to notice. He’s looking straight at me, his face shows a wide grin and he gestures ‘thumbs up’ with both hands.
Lucifer!
The moment I thought his name he winks at me. A second later he’s gone. Vanished between the people outside.
I’m mortified. So he secretly follows my every step and possibly already knows the outcome of my venture. He’s probably known from the start I’ll fail miserably.
I have to succeed. If I don’t at least try I could have well just followed Lucifer’s invitation of going straight downstairs.
“Triple Espresso for Nic?”
Someone pushes me from behind but hands steady me.
“I am sorry, some idiot from behind pushed me.”
I turn around to look into the most amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Thanks.” I’m stammering like a twelve-year-old.
“Triple Espresso for Nic?”
This time I hear the guy behind the counter.
I’m still mesmerized by the eyes of the dark haired man standing next to me. “Erm, that’s for me, I have to get that.” My thumb points over my right shoulder to emphasise my words.
“Sure.” He smiles shyly. “Great t-shirt, by the way. Voice like no other.”
I turn around grinning like an idiot. He likes my Freddie t-shirt! But he’s way too cute to be up for anything more than a casual chat with me.
I get my order and dreamily take my cup before I stroll outside. I’ll definitely have to get my sunglasses later. Where I was going in a few days I’d get enough heat and sunshine to last me…well, at least a thousand years. I sincerely hope they’d allow sunglasses in Hell.
I think about waiting for the cute guy from the line emerging. Given the current circumstances with me being doomed anyway and planning a hit like a pro killer I decide to leave.
I’m schlepping myself along the small road towards my apartment when I almost bump into a dark clad man.
I don’t even bother looking up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”
Suddenly there’s a firm grip on my right upper arm and I almost drop my coffee.
I look into the face of an older man. He has quite a paunch and what little is left of hair on his round head is carefully combed from left to right across his scalp. It’s only then that I catch the white collar on the top of his shirt.
Fuck me, a priest!
His eyes are scorching into mine. His grip tightens. “You are sliding down a dangerous path!”
“What?” I’m stunned by his words yet realise it’s probably crap of biblical dimensions he’d utter to every passerby.
“Let me go.”
“You have meddled with dangerous forces and you have given away your undying soul!”
It feels like icy water slowly trickles down my spine. “Let go of me!”
“Harlot of Satan!”
Okay, that’s it! I pop the lid of my cup, pouring the hot coffee over his groin.
He screams and finally lets go. “You are damned, you are…”
“Shut the fuck up!” I’ve spat the words out and they have the desired effect.
He looks at me like he’s… afraid.
Obviously he sees something that’s invisible to others.
“Just remember, even as you think your Lord saviour will forgive you all your sins Lord Satan will not forget neither forgive. See you in Hell then.” Holy shit, where did that come from?
His face pales to the colour of cottage cheese. “Lord have mercy on my soul.” He retreats to the nearest wall.
I feel tempted to hold up my hands and go ‘boo!’ at him but I just move past him quickly making sure he doesn’t follow me.
Blimey, what a strange encounter! Well, on the other hand, I’ve actually scared a priest in broad daylight. Well, that was a first one. Yay! Or not? I’m actually loosing my mind!
I’m going slightly mad…

*

Okay, so this is it then, the final day before eternal damnation. The watch shows I only have sixteen hours left. Tonight’s Barber’s concert in London and if I can’t kill him before that I’ll never get another chance.
I hope my plan will make Hannibal Smith proud! I’m going to be all on my own and won’t have the help of any mates.
I check yet again I’ve packed all that I need. I’ve got to be careful, as it’s only my soul that’s at stake. No, that’s not true, is it? Keeping my soul is the bonus to this but the main goal is to bring Freddie back. My heart starts beating faster and for a moment I think I can hear his voice singing a new hymn. I try to listen further in but the music is gone. Was this a trick of Lucifer or rather a glimpse into an alternate future?
Either way, my determination has just received a huge boost.
If anybody saw the stuff inside my small suitcase they’d think I was either going on a survival trip or for an orgy of a special kind.
When I arrive at the Superiority Hotel it’s obvious the squeaky superstar extraordinaire Jason Barber is to arrive soon, an army of Barbees has gathered in front of the hotel. They’re kept behind crowd control barriers – their natural habitat. I wonder if ‘barbed’ wire wouldn’t be more appropriate?
One of them shrieks ‘Jasooooon!’ in such a high-pitched voice I’m afraid a whole pack of dogs will arrive any second.
I make my way up the front stairs in my black suit and white shirt, laptop bag and smart trolley supporting my professional business look.
If the herd of girls knew what I’ve actually come here for they’d rip me apart like cat’s claws shred toilet paper.
I’m holding my breath as I continue up the stairs. I’m still expecting to be stopped by the added security personnel but as I bear no resemblance to a crazy fan they let me enter.
The doorman holds the door open for me.
“Can I help you with your luggage, Ma’am?”
I give him my sweetest smile. “Thank you but that’s not necessary.”
He gives me a friendly smile. “Enjoy your stay at the Superiority Hotel!”
“Thank you.”
I am here to kill Jason Barber! I want to blurt it out, to get if off my chest but I stay silent. Not going to loose my marbles now, not so close to the end game!
Under Pressure!

*

I’ve specifically asked for a non-smoking room with a balcony on the street side so I can both look up to the Presidential Suite and see what’s going on outside in front of the hotel.
My bank account is looking like an anorexic model that has lived on Fiji water and Tic-Tacs for a year.
Well, at least I won’t die rich. I hope Vic will take good care of Womble if I don’t make it back.
I watch all the hysterical Barbees asking myself what his male fans call themselves? Barberers? Barbarians? Barbears? I shudder at my own bad word creations.
I open my suitcase, spilling the contents onto one side of the huge bed.
Tie-wraps, a ball gag, a sleeping masks, duct tape, a fishing knife, a lighter, two heavy duty firecrackers, a black knee long skirt, comfortable black shoes, a white shirt, a name tag sticker with the name Natasha printed on, a tight black blazer and last but not least a wig, black hair, shoulder length.
I’ve done quite a professional job attaching the two firecracker wicks with another string of cord I’ve dipped in petrol. I just hope the plan for the diversion I have in mind will work.
I think about all the information I’ve been able to gather from the interview chat with Mina, the maid. About the access I’d have to the floor where the Presidential Suite is located. About how long room service will take to arrive.
The rest will be up to me and depend on if I’ll be able to perform and execute what lies ahead of me. Execute. Fitting word.
I look over the contents one more time breathing heavily.
The show must go on!

*

The Barbees stand in the cold outside downstairs, some wearing the shortest of skirts in hope to catch the eye of their idol, unaware how cystitis slowly creeps up their legs to surprise them tomorrow. Then they’ll be clawing at the tiles of the bathroom due to the pain each time they’ll go for a pee.
What an infernal level of noise a crowd of young girls can make. I’m sure the hordes of hell can’t sound any worse! And wasn’t I about to find that out soon enough?
I sigh then inhale deeply. I start undressing then put the white shirt and dark skirt on. They both fit perfectly.
In the bathroom I comb my hair through and put enough hairspray on to kill an army of flies. I tie it up into a neat, flat ponytail fixing it with a lot of hair clips.
Next is the makeup. Usually I’m all about the natural look but now I lather on the dark charcoal eye shadow and slightly overdo the rouge. Then on to an electric red pout. I blink while looking at myself in the mirror. Perfect. With the black wig I’ll be the epitome of a sexy biatch from Eastern Europe, exactly the look I had aimed for!
I put the wig on and exhale. Not even I recognise myself! Good!
I have to be quick and efficient. I’ve chosen this floor, as I know from Mina she doesn’t work on it. I don’t want to get her involved, I really like her. She has told me there’s some kind of hierarchy amongst the maids. The longer you worked at the hotel the higher up on the floors you’d get where the rooms are more expensive and the guests might give better tips.
The crowd outside starts emitting screams and cheers like mad and I know he has arrived! I glance outside. Jason Barber gets out of his limousine. Holy crap! If there ever was a sorry example for a wigger it’s Barber. His pants sit extremely low on his hips showing his boxer briefs underneath and I wish for the fabric to just slide down.
Okay, no more time to fool around. So far everything has been like clockwork!
My time has come. There’s no way back.
A look at my infernal watch and tells me a mere three hours and a few minutes to go. I can still do this!
I put one of the sleeping masks, a gag and a few tie-wraps in my pocket and leave my hotel room.
I don’t have to search very long before I spot a service trolley close by. Stacked with towels and little bottles of shampoo and drinks.
Inhale, exhale!
I’m trying to stroll along the floor casually.
When I stand in front of the open door of the room I realise that so far things were in my favour. The room maid is busy in the bathroom, so I enter and close the door as softly as possible.
I press myself flat on the wall next to the bathroom and wait. She emerges, mop in hand and halts when she sees the closed door.
I step closer pressing my left index finger into her back. “Not a sound, honey or I’ll shoot, da?” Man, even I’m impressed by my Russian accent.
She shivers and I’m glad she doesn’t see how my own body shakes.
I hand her the sleeping mask.
“Put it on.”
She nervously does as told.
“Please, don’t kill me. I have children.” Her voice falters.
“You shut up and everything is good. I don’t harm you if you good, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Put hands behind back.”
She does and I fumble one of the tie-wraps out of my pocket, securely fastening it around her wrists.
I carefully lead her towards the bed. I put the ball gag into her mouth then help her up onto the bed.
I’m feeling like a complete arsehole doing this to her. I wait until she rests on her side.
“Comfortable?”
She nods and I secure another tie-wrap around her ankles but not too tight.
I look around the room and can’t believe my luck.
The room is still occupied, which means I can call room service from here. I look at the contents of the wardrobe. Two dark suits, white shirts and a few ties, which means a businessman stays here. I check with the maid if my assumptions are halfway correct.
“The man who stay here, he gone for today on business?”
She nods repeatedly.
“Good.”
I dial the number for room service.
When someone takes the call I order a full English breakfast and a bottle of champagne. I’m sorry I have to put it on that poor guy’s bill but he probably has more money than I will ever make.
A voice confirms my order and gives me an estimate of ten to fifteen minutes. Time I can hardly spare.
I take the maid’s master card key before I leave the room. I push the trolley further down the hall around the corner so it seems she’s busy cleaning there.
Back in the room I realise I’m sweating like a whore in church! Fucking amen to that, brother!
I move about in the room waiting for room service to arrive while trying to take long breaths to keep the rush of adrenaline at bay.
When the expected knock finally comes I flinch.
I turn to the woman on the bed, fingertip pressed between her shoulder blades, hissing. “Not a sound.”
She shakes her head and I know she’ll keep silent.
I open the door just enough to slide a ten-pound-note outside through the small gap. “Please leave food outside, I’ll get it in a minute. Spasibo.”
I wait until I think it’s safe. I check through the spyhole. The trolley is placed right next to the door.
I make sure the maid can’t suffocate and is as comfortable as possible. I leave the room then I push the serving tray to my room to get ready for the final touches.
I attach the garter to my left leg making sure it’s well hidden underneath my skirt. I attach my fake name that says Natasha to the lapel of my shirt.
The watch on my arm shows 00:01:01:23, not exactly much time left now.
With duct tape I attach the firecrackers to my thigh, the lighter and the knife ate being held by the garter.
I close my eyes for a second wishing myself good luck before I open the door. There’s no one on the floor and I leave the room pushing the trolley with the food and champagne towards the nearest elevator.
With shaky hands I hold the master key card in front of the plate above the floor numbers and then push the number eight.
The doors close and the cabin moves up towards the inevitable.

*

I have to get my breathing under control. If I look and act suspiciously the bodyguards might suspect foul play.
I wheel the serving cart towards the Presidential Suite as the champagne cooler and the food trays rattle their own personal requiem for my soul.
I realise I probably can’t do it. Even if I despise that little fucker Barber from the bottom of my heart I won’t be able to see this through.
Don’t stop me now!
I spin around. Who just sang that? There’s no one close by. I’m going slightly mad – or rather completely!
Maybe this was the moment to leave the trolley here, go back down to my room and check out like nothing ever happened. Nobody would get hurt and I’d be free again after a Millennium. After all, how long can a thousand years be? Who wants to live forever?
I hear raised voices and one of the doors to the Presidential Suite is being pushed open.
“I told you check everything before my arrival, you douchebag! Now go down to the concierge and make sure he gets the fucking scented candles that I requested!”
That squeaky voice, like a hysterical ten-year-old – Barber!
A man in a dark suit stomps towards me. I hear him muttering.
“I should shove your candles right up your arse!”
He notices me and whispers. “Be careful, he’s in a foul mood this morning.” He storms past me to the elevator.
I notice he wears one of those communication earpieces. He’s one of Barber’s personal security detail.
A sign! This is definitely a sign. His security is one man short because of fucking scented candles!
I wheel the trolley through the still open door just as another man is about to close it. He’s almost twice as tall as I am. I stammer. “I have…a little…a courtesy of the manager. Champagne and breakfast for Mr. Barber.”
He lets me in then closes the door. He nods grimly while lifting the lids of the plates, checks there’s no AK-47 hidden in the champagne cooler and no evil armed dwarf hiding underneath the white long tablecloth of the serving tray.
“Wait here.”
I can’t believe my luck as I spot Barber on the balcony across the room – so close and yet so far away. He’s waving and blowing kisses to his lobotomised Barbees. The cheers from down below sound like an army of hyenas in heat.
“Okay.” The bodyguard signals me to wheel the trolley further into the room when Barber turns around. He slouches closer trying to make it look like cool swagger. As per usual I expect his pants to drop any second.
I keep my head low. “Courtesy of the manager, Mr. Barber.”
The little fucker lifts the lid of one food plate. “At least something if they can’t even get the candles right!” He picks up a piece of bacon and puts it in his mouth. A second later he spits it out on the floor. “What the fuck is that? It’s cold!”
The security guy gives me a sympathetic smile.
“I am so sorry, I’ll call the kitchen to get you new one.”
“Leave it, if they can’t do it right the first time they never will. Where is that fucking manager anyway? At least he could have shown up personally.”
“He will, I’m sure he’s on his way already.”
Barber looks at me then gestures with his hand as if he wants to shoo away a fly. “You can piss off now.”
No! I need to kill him and having met him in person I now actually want to!
I need to get to one of the adjacent rooms of the suite so I can prepare the diversion for the bodyguard!
The guard whispers to me. “I am sorry.”
I clear my throat. Then a bout of genius strikes me! The motherfucking scented candles. I remembered Vic and what she told me about Barber’s many demands, a list of items he wanted to find in his room when he stayed at a hotel.
St. Joseph’s scented candles in jasmine and bergamot! “Excuse me, I believe I’ve seen the St. Joseph’s candles on a shelf. I call one of the maids to bring them up for you? That’ll be faster.”
Barber turns around. “You do that right away! I need these candles to ease my stressed spirit and mind!”
Whose spirit and mind he means are not revealed to me.
I nod like a willing servant. “I’ll go call about the candles. May I use the telephone in the other room so I won’t disturb you?”
He waves his hand. “Yeah, whatever! Just get me those fucking candles!”
The guard follows me to the bedroom and I’m feeling like I’m walking on raw eggs.
“Tony, you open that bottle of champagne now!”
“Mr. Barber, it’s only 10:30 in the morning and you are not allowed alcohol yet at your age.”
“Who gives a bloody fuck, just do what you’re told!”
I hear the guard sigh and make sure I can’t be seen from the vast living room. I start talking to myself. “Yes, can you connect me to Laurel from housekeeping? Thank you.” I lift my skirt fumbling for the lighter and the firecrackers. The duct tape comes off with a zipping sound and I see it left red welts where it has been attached to my skin. Well, no pain no gain, right?
I continue with the farce telling Laurel where she can find the candles on the rack asking her to bring them up to the Presidential Suite for Mr. Barber as quickly as possible.
I supposedly hang up when I hear a gunshot! I drop the lighter and it slides underneath the bed! I stand like frozen until I realise it’s been the cork of the champagne bottle popping.
I get down on all fours reaching for the lighter. I exhale when my right hand closes around it. I have to get back before the bodyguard becomes suspicious.
I look at the watch. Twenty-five minutes to go. That’s not fair. I switch the lighter on but nothing happens. My hands tremble.
I try again. Nothing. I shake the goddamned thing and the lighter finally produces an eager flame. I hold it to the top of the string I’ve attached to the firecrackers’ wicks and watch it burning down.
Now or never!
I straighten my clothes and artificial hair before going back to the living room area.
I hear the choir of girls chanting ‘Jason Jason!’ from outside on the street and Barber is back on the balcony.
The guard waves for me to move to the door. “Bye then, sweetie.”
No! I have to kill your employer first!
I look down at my intertwined fingers. “I was wondering, well…do you think I can ask Mr. Barber for an autograph for my daughter?”
He hesitates while massaging the back of his neck.
“Please?”
He sighs. “Go on, ask him, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Thank you.”
I’m on my way towards the balcony, trying to think of nothing, only exhaling and inhaling. The blade of the fishing knife presses keenly on my thigh, lurking underneath my skirt waiting for the bloody finale.
What about the fucking firecrackers? The rope definitely burned when I left. I need the guard to be distracted.
I get closer and closer to Barber and finally stand only two steps behind him. He holds a champagne glass in his left hand waving to his fans with his right. He swiftly downs the rest of the bubbly. He’s oblivious I’m close to him as his fans keep on moaning, calling, screeching.
I turn my head and see the guard moving towards the bedroom. No. I don’t want him to be hurt. What am I supposed to do now? Yell out to warn him? Or will the firecrackers never ignite as the flame has died?
I’m unable to move, not sure what to do.
I’m about to cry out to the guard with a stupid excuse when an ultra loud bang shakes the bedroom. The guard is being smacked right into the face by one of the doors being forced open by the small explosion and goes down. My ears ring and I have to catch my breath.
Barber is so surprised he accidentally smashes his glass on the rim of the balcony’s iron handrail.
I look at my watch. Four minutes left. I step closer to Barber and all I can see is the glass, sharp protruding spikes glistening where half of it has broken off and suddenly everything is crystal clear – pun intended.
Barber is still dulled and shaken by the ‘explosion’. I rip the glass from his hand. He looks at me like he thinks I’ll only do my job and clean up after him.
“I’ll never stay at your fucking hotel again.”
I grin. “That’s right, you won’t!”
I stick the broken glass deep into his neck on the right side, twist it a bit to be sure, almost have to vomit then pull the glass out again. With satisfaction I witness how a consoderate fountain of blood squirts out of the gaping wound.
Barber’s look is one of unexpected surprise as he’s trying to still the blood flow with a hand. His upper body leans dizzily over the rail and suddenly it occurs to me that when it comes to killing you can’t be too careful. And you have to jump at opportunities if they present themselves to you.
With one swift move I pull his pants down. I crouch then lift his legs up with all my strength. One moment I still feel his weight then when I push my knees up he’s gone over the rail. I throw the glass right after him, there will be no evidence left when it’ll shatter into a million pieces on the stone steps.
Seconds later I hear an awful thud followed by terrible screams and wails from the gathered teenage throats.
I dare to throw a glance over the rim of the balcony and see the body of Jason Barber lying strangely contorted and face down presenting his naked arse on the stone steps of the Superiority Hotel.
My watch has stopped at 00:00:00:39.
And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust!

*

It’s like I’m stuck in time, unable to move until I realise there are clouds of smoke coming from the bedroom. The door to the suite is kicked in. Firemen are storming into the room.
One of them attends to the bodyguard who slightly bleeds from the left side of his face but is otherwise unharmed. Another one runs straight towards me leading me out the door. “Ma’am, we have to leave immediately.”
I nod, letting the man take me towards the nearest elevator.
The doors close and suddenly I feel a hand fumbling underneath my skirt.
I’m mortified when I hear a ripping sound and he holds up the knife a moment later.
I have been caught after all.
My saviour puts the visor of the helmet up and Richard Armitage is grinning right into my face. He gives a slight bow and claps his hands. “Congratulations. You made it.”
I laugh and then my breath hitches as I feel myself starting to sob as all pent-up tension eases off me.
Lucifer embraces me patting my back. “Ah, it’ll be such a loss for me but you played a great game!”
He hands me a Kleenex and I wipe my eyes.
The elevator stops and the doors open. “I guess it’s good-bye then. Oh, and, I keep my promises!”
I can’t utter a word and just step out of the cabin giving half a wave.
He blows me a kiss then points to the floor with his right index finger. “Going further down.”
I close my eyes. This is the moment where either the police will arrest me any second or I’ll finally wake up from this ongoing dream.
I open my eyes and look around. The wall and the floor look familiar. I’m actually right in front of my apartment and not at the hotel anymore. Before I start thinking too much about it I just shrug it off. Ah, what the hell!
I unlock the door to my flat and Womble sashays closer to greet me, meowing softly and emitting her soothing prr prr sounds. She presents her chin for me to scratch then she jumps onto the couch table.
I sit down on the couch and take the wig off and just toss it away. There’s a small envelope on the surface of the table, black and shiny. When I pick it up my name appears on it in beautiful letters in blood red ink. I open it. A card slips out with three words on it: You earned it. It’s signed with ‘L’.
I shake the envelope and two concert tickets slide out. Queen, Wembley Stadium, 27th June 2022. The artist picture of Queen shows four well-known faces, including Freddie, aged seventy-five.
The picture slightly fades as I finally realise I have won my wager with the devil and I start crying.
June 2022 is going to be so awesome.

THE HAPPY END