Come Into Darkness (2 page)

Worth straightened his tie and pulled the lapels of his jacket.

“You can expect to hear from my agent in the morning,” Mario continued. “Now open these damn doors!”

“Why?” said Worth. He pressed a hand to his chest. The worry of a heart attack flashed in Mario’s head. “What’s out there? The rain, the street, the city. Everything you need is here.”Worth released a rattling breath and lowered his hand.

“And how do you know what I want?” said Mario.

“Because you came,” said Worth.

Worth stretched his arm past Mario and pushed the inner doors open.

Mario turned at the sudden burst of light, music and chatter from within.

“Welcome to the party, sir,” said Worth, standing as tall as his crooked spine allowed. “Now, let’s see about getting you that drink…”

2

The doors had blocked out all the noise of the party, and not a single word, laugh or note had penetrated the vault of the entrance. Only now, swept by pounding bass, jagged guitar riffs and thumping drums did Mario sense the vacuum he’d occupied.

Worth slapped him on the shoulder. “Follow me.”

Mario obeyed, staring and open-mouthed at the great hall.

The room was split by two series of wide stone arches running parallel; thick pillars that rose and curved to meet close to the ceiling. The areas on either side contained packed bars, glowing devil-red with neon. Young men in white shirts and black bowties darted between the thirsty revellers, pouring drinks, popping bottles and shaking cocktails.

Worth walked straight ahead into the dense crowd. He glanced back.

“A trifle noisy,” he called. “But you get used to it.”

He vanished among the swaying mass of bodies, like a drowning man in a sea of limbs.

“Wait,” said Mario and hurried after him.

Several hundred people filled the hall, most gathered before the stage at the front of the room. Dazzling spotlights scanned the crowds as if looking for escapees. The brightness caught Mario in the eyes, leaving colourful images in its wake. Inside the crowd, the air clung thick, heavy and humid. Mario unzipped his coat and wiped a sudden sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He passed a man, his head shaven, face pierced.

Freak. Think you’re scary, huh?

The man grinned as a spotlight once again passed over. His eyes glistened and his teeth appeared sharp and white, stark against the surrounding darkness. Mario quickly glanced away, seeking out Worth. He glimpsed the mop of grey hair and pressed on through the crowd.

On stage, a quartet blazed away, playing hard. They jumped and thrashed in time with the music, some kind of rap metal. The singer, a stocky young man with a goatee and woollen cap, leaned over the crowd. His frantic words roared from giant speakers, instantly lost in the noise as Mario was lost in the crowd.

Mario shook his head and carried on. He hated loud music and packed clubs, preferring a night of solitude with some laid back jazz and a good bottle of wine. Money allowed him the best. This was for the nobodies, the wannabes.

“I’ll kill you for this, Olly,” he said, not hearing the words. He meandered through the party, spying Worth up ahead. “Hey!”

Mario pushed forward, drawing glares from a couple of young women dancing provocatively close to each other, hip to hip. He imagined the buzz they must be having, thinking that
everyone
is looking at them, how sexy, how
erotic
. He smirked, picturing some of the
really
sexy things girls had done with him.

Stupid kids.

He shoved them aside.

“Worth,” he yelled through the crowd. “Worth! Get back here!”

He barged into a man with long hair and an even longer beard. He refused to budge as easily as the two girls and turned to face Mario square on.

“Sorry,” said Mario and held up his hands. “Sorry.” He rushed past.

“You will be,” the man yelled after him.

“Shut up,” Mario whispered. “I could fucking
buy
you…”

The crowd closed in once more, forcing Mario to the left. He stepped small and careful, fighting the tide. He looked around for Worth, but the throng had swallowed him.

“Worth?” He bumped into another large man. “Worth!”

Mario turned full circle, searching for the guide, searching for the entrance, searching for any way out of the crowd.

“Your drink.”

The words emerged clean and clear despite the noise from the band. Worth stepped between bodies like a ghost emerging from a wall. He held a narrow glass in a wrinkled hand.

“Your drink,” he said again and smiled.

Mario took it, suddenly thirsty. Sweat slicked his face and stung his eyes. He wiped his skin and in a few gulps, downed half the drink. His taste buds sang.

“Champagne,” he gasped. “But…my god…”

Worth’s smile widened. “An educated palette! Come, there are quieter places than this. Follow me. Stay close.”

Mario reached for Worth and grasped his shoulder. The old man led him between the dancers. The men emerged on the other side of the room and headed to the bar. Heat seemed determined to squeeze the air from Mario’s lungs.

“Can’t breathe,” Mario said and staggered forward. He leaned back against one of the stone pillars. The air tasted cleaner, and he sucked it in.

Worth laughed. “When was the last time you went to a show, sir?”

Mario sighed and wiped his face again. “Years. Not since I was a teenager.”

“Guess you’re past it now.”

“Past it? I’m twenty-seven, old man.” He finished the rest of his drink and licked his lips. Strength returning, he straightened. “Is this all you have to offer? A party? Sorry, but I get invited to parties every day of the goddamn week. This,” he waved his hand, “is nothing.”

“But, sir-"

“But nothing,” said Mario. He shook his empty glass. “Get me another one of these, get me my money, then get me the hell out of here.”

He placed his glass on the bar and stared at the guide.

“Sir,” Worth continued, his hands held up. “There’s more, so much more! This is just to relax you, to ease you in. We know what you want-and it’s all here. We just like to provide a few extra treats along the way.”

Mario pointed out to the crowd. The band had finished the song and burst into another heavier, faster number.

“This is no treat,” he said. “This is a joke. I told you to get me another drink, then I’m gone.”

Worth looked at the empty glass.

“Follow me,” said the guide. “We’ll get you another drink and if you want to leave…well…who am I to stop you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Worth turned and shuffled away. Mario wondered how he had moved through the crowd so easily. He chased after and found him further along the bar. Worth nodded to the barman and leaned back, facing Mario.

“How do you feel, sir?” he asked.

“How am I feeling? Bored and fucking annoyed,” said Mario. “Where’s that drink?”

“On its way, on its way. So you don’t feel a little…pleased?”

Pleased?

Mario glared. “Why should I?”

“Knowing that those people out there aren’t good enough to shine your shoes.”

Mario laughed, amused for the first time since entering the building.

“I don’t need to be told that. I
know
I’m better.”

Worth grinned. “Very good, sir.”

The barman returned with a filled glass. Mario took it and sipped the bubbly nectar. Again, the champagne tasted exquisite.

“That’s good,” he said. “Excellent even. You’re not having one?”

“Not on the job, sir.” Worth glanced left and right, scanning the busy chamber.

“Well, just remember, after this drink, I’m outta here. Right?” Mario enjoyed another delicious sip.

“As you wish,” said Worth and sighed. “Perhaps in the interim you won’t mind my company for a little longer?”

Mario snorted. “No one else I’m going to talk to. Besides, pissed off as I am, you’re an interesting character, Worth.”

“Thank you, sir. I think.”

Mario gestured at Worth with his drink. “You just…stick out here. I mean, you sound like a butler or something, but we’re stood in the middle of a rock concert. It’s weird.”

Worth smiled and nodded. “It’s true. I was a butler, a long time ago. I still am, I suppose. I serve, therefore I am.” Once again, he checked the groups to either side.

“Looking for someone?”

“Indeed. The person who was
supposed
to be your companion tonight.”

Mario frowned. “Companion? Olly never mentioned anything about a companion…”

Worth stepped away from the bar and rubbed his wrist. “Arthritis. Always gets me on these damp nights. Yes, a companion. We are quite busy here at the House and have to pair up our guests just to get them through. Don’t worry, sir. Should you have stayed, your partner would have been handpicked to perfectly compliment your needs.”

Mario laughed and drank some more. He’d nearly emptied the thin glass. “You think of everything,” he said, “but you know nothing.”

“Nothing, sir?”

“You don’t know me. You might know what I do and a little of my past…” He spat the word out. “But you don’t know my needs. No one knows my needs.”

Worth winked and leaned forward. “
We
do. If only you would stay and find out.” He glanced over Mario’s shoulder and his grin widened. “Ah, Miss Foster. Right on time.”

Mario turned.

A young woman stepped from the crowd and walked around a group of chatting girls. She stood at around five-foot-two with a sharp blonde bob. Mario imagined cutting his finger on such a defined edge of hair. Her suit was Armani, he believed. He almost smelt the stench of money radiating from her.

“Miss Foster,” said Worth, bowing. “So nice to see you again. Would one like a drink?”

“Yes,” she said, smirking. “One would. And it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Worth. The pleasure is all mine.”

The guide kissed her offered hand. She turned her head and glanced Mario up and down.

“This the chump they got lined up for me?”

Mario blinked.

Who is this bitch?

“Excuse me?” he said. “Chump?”

“My word, it speaks.” She received her drink from Worth and thanked him. “Last time I went around the place with a professional footballer. All grunts and knuckles dragging along the floor.” She studied him over the rim of the glass. “Let me guess. You’re too pretty to be a sportsman, too…groomed. You must be a pop star? Hang on, too old.”

Too old?

Heat flushed his face again.

“You have one hell of a nerve,” he said. “I’m an actor. A damn good one.”

She laughed.

Mario fought the urge to knock the grin from her face.

“An actor? I should have guessed with such a fiery temperament. Won any awards?”

Mario thought back to the Best New Cock award he had at home. “A few.”

“Oh, then
well done you
,” she said, flashing a razor blade smile. “I’m Kerry Foster, managing director at SM Pharmaceuticals. Charmed, I’m sure.”

She didn’t offer a hand to shake, and Mario doubted he’d accept it anyway.

“Now that we’re all here, maybe we can start the evening,” said Worth, and began to shuffle away.

“Hold on,” said Mario. “I told you. I’m leaving.”

Kerry chuckled.

“Chickening out already?” She shook her head. “My last partner tried to until he got into the swing of things. Good. Go. I’ll enjoy it more alone anyway.”

Mario squeezed his fists. Did they expect him to pay for
this
? He opened his mouth to retaliate, but something Kerry said sank in.

“Wait a minute,” said Mario. “If you’ve done this before?”

She smiled. “So?”

“Then you know what happens.”

“You forget. I’m still under oath. I can’t tell you anything, except…” She strode forwards and brought her lips to his ear. “It will change your life.”

Mario swallowed, wishing he still had drink left.

The band finished their song and informed the crowd of their imminent break. Already dancers headed for the bar.

“Intermission,” said Worth. “If we’re going, I suggest we go now. Mr. Mario?”

Mario turned to Kerry, expecting some smug glare. Instead, she stared at the approaching dancers with contempt. Her lips had curled up into a snarl. She looked like an angry little dog. Not big and mean enough to do any real damage, but snappy and willing to take a bite from your ankle.

Fuck her.

Mario turned back to Worth.

And fuck him, too. No one’s better than me.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s see what all this fuss is about. But if this is any way a disappointment, Worth, old boy, I’m suing the arse off you.”

3

Another foot pounded on the thick carpet of the stairs.

Eight-year-old Mario gripped his duvet tighter and pulled it below his chin.

“Mar-io!”

A flicker of shadow on the landing. Mario gasped.

“Mario, my boy,” said the slurred voice from the head of the stairs. “Your dad, he worries about you. Are…” His father hacked. The cough sounded like his lungs had collapsed. “Are you sleeping, my boy…?”

Mario rolled onto his side, away from the open door, facing the wall. He held his duvet close as a shroud and closed his eyes.

Please leave me alone. Please!

His father staggered in with a heavy step, and Mario’s wooden bed wobbled slightly.

“Mario…” his father whispered. “Are you sleeping?”

Mario slowed his breathing and forced his quivering body to lay still. Tiny bolts of electricity seemed to shoot through his limbs.

I’m asleep. I’m asleep!

“My boy…”

His father walked deeper into the small bedroom.

The stench of beer, tobacco and stale sweat assailed Mario’s nostrils. He held his breath, imagining his father standing over him in a stained string vest and torn boxer shorts, leaning forward, reaching for the edge of the duvet…