SPARKY

Pastor Wick! I couldn’t believe it! The last I’d seen of him he’d been running behind me in the jet way when I boarded the plane at San Francisco. I didn’t know what to think. Why was he here? Was he still pursuing me? Did he still want to take me back to Pacific Heights? Pacific Heights! That seemed an age ago! Yes, of course, that was it. He was trying to get me back to that dreadful place, to service his flock!

I stared at him blankly.

He ordered a drink and asked me casually what I wanted.

‘Something to eat would be good,’ I said nervously, not knowing what else to do or say. As I said it I felt ridiculous.

‘Choose what you want. It’s been a long journey. You deserve it as well, for all your effort.’

‘Just a salad. That’ll do fine.’

My words sounded completely absurd. How could I be talking like this?

‘You look surprised to see me.’

‘Well...yes...I am.’

He laughed.

‘You didn’t make the connection! Of course! How amusing. Oh, Syra!’

I didn’t know what he meant.

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t you understand, Syra? Why do you think I’m here? Do you think I have emerged out of nowhere? Do you think I’m a ghost? Do you think our meeting is a coincidence? Syra, your appointment is with me! I’m the one you have travelled all this way to meet. Well, actually, I’m standing in, so to speak, for the one who had originally planned to meet you. I’m afraid she could not make it! Now, do you have the package that was entrusted to you? Syra, the package? Perhaps you would be kind enough to hand over the package now.’

My heart was pounding. It was only slowly sinking in what was happening. Of course, he couldn’t have been the one I was meant to meet! That was impossible. How could it be him?

‘Where is the person I was supposed to meet?’

I looked around as if somehow the right person would appear and make themselves known.

‘Delayed, I’m afraid - permanently delayed.’

He laughed and swigged his drink - an opaque pink mixture with salt encrusted around the edge of the bowl shaped glass. The white ring around his neck showed prominently. Two puncture marks on the right hand side made me shiver as I was reminded again of Pacific Heights, of the flock and of Pastor Wick’s mission to bring me to them.

“Permanently delayed” - he made it sound so ominous.

He licked the salt from his lips as he placed the glass back carefully on the table.

‘I need salt in this heat - lots of it. Now, the box? Syra, perhaps you would give me the box?’

‘I’m afraid...I’m afraid...I don’t have it.’

He laughed as he twirled the glass slowly in his hand and licked all the salt from around the rim.

‘This is some kind of silly joke, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s not. It was stolen. I don’t have it, and I don’t have enough money to get out of this place.’

He stared hard at me. I could see he was enraged and barely managing to hold it back.

‘Syra, I’m not interested in your jokes. Now! Hand over the box!’

‘It’s not a joke! It’s the truth! I don’t have it!’

‘Tell me where it is, Syra. I don’t want to play silly games. Just tell me where it is.’

His face was reddening as he struggled to keep calm.

‘I don’t know. It was stolen. It’s the truth.’

‘Stolen! Syra, my patience is running out. I want the box you were given in San Francisco. I’m not interested in this nonsense. Just tell me where it is.’

I could see he was unable to restrain his anger much longer, but I didn’t know what else to say.

‘Two girls took it! They just ran away with it! At the station! It’s the truth - ’

‘Syra, just tell me where the box is. It will be better for you in the long run.’

His voice was quivering.

‘I have. It’s gone. That the truth!’

His face was red with anger. He leant across the table and took hold of my arm. I could feel his pulse beating hard in his fingers as they wrapped tightly around my wrist. He squeezed it tightly in a vice like grip.

‘Syra, I have been patient, I have tried hard to be patient, you are, after all, important to the flock - very important - but the box is very important to us as well, more important than you know. Syra, the box is very important to us. I must have the box.’

‘I’m telling you the truth. It was stolen.’

He pinched the skin of my forearm between his finger and thumb. I bit my lips, trying to hold back the pain. He squeezed harder. I thought my arm was going to break. He twisted his hand around my arm, pulling at my skin, burning me. I gasped for breath. Suddenly, with his other hand he grabbed my bag and tore it open. He pulled out my passport and held it up in front of me.

I felt as if my heart had stopped. I gasped for breath.

‘You went to a lot of trouble to get this the last time, I recall. I’m sure you’ll go to just as much trouble this time.’ He waved the passport in front of my face. ‘I’ll keep this for a few days, just so that you have something to think about while you find me the box. I’m sure it will help you in your search. Yes, I’m sure you’ll find the stolen box more easily now. I’ll see you here, the day after tomorrow, same time. You’ll give me the box, you can have your passport back, and then we’ll travel back to your true home together. The flock will welcome you with open arms. Just think, Syra, you will be able to feed them and bring others into our world. Syra, just think, your life will then be complete.’

He thrust the passport into his trouser pocket, let go of my arm got up and dashed away across the crowded café.

For a moment, I did nothing - I was too confused, too filled with fear. My arm was burning from his twisting grip. The sound of voices around me filled my head like the beating of a drum. Then I went into a panic as I realised he had run away with my passport!

I jumped up and ran after him. I knocked over a chair and spilled a tray of drinks a young female waiter was carrying to a group of men on the edge of the sprawl of chairs and tables that reached out into the square. I apologised as I ran flustered across the square and into a narrow street that led off alongside a huge heavy walled building.

The street was dark. It was suddenly quiet - the massive stone walls of the building seemed to soak up all sound. For a moment I couldn’t make anything out. The dim yellow street lamps shed pools of light along its length. Pastor Wick ran from one to the next like a fleeing wraith escaping the exposure of the dark and seeking the sanctuary of the day. I just ran after him, not thinking what I would do if I caught him up, not thinking that I would be better to run away, to put it all behind me and escape. All I could see in my mind was my passport in his hand. All I could feel inside myself was the fear of being without it.

He seemed to jump from each puddle of light to the next. It was as if he flew between them - alighting on them like a fly, eyeing up his next target then flinging himself towards it before moving on again.

The walls narrowed, the cobbled street tightened, two heavy, cast iron bollards blocked the way to traffic. Pastor Wick mounted the top of one of them and crouched there, peering around him, swinging his arms by his side, perfectly balanced and poised.

I stopped. Seized with sudden fear, frozen with the terrible idea that I might catch him up and that he would challenge me, throw me to the ground and feed on me, then carry me off in his arms and discard me in the river. I imagined myself floating down the grey blue Danube, my throat pierced, bleeding profusely, staining the waters as Pastor Wick buzzed above me gloating and dripping his bloodstained saliva over my face.

He leapt to another bollard. I saw his face in the murky light - grey, drawn, his mouth open, his teeth bared, glittering spit running over his bottom lip. He had transformed into something terrible, something animal-like, a terrible corruption of humanity. His eyes were wide - yellow, penetrating, seeing into another world, or staring out from one. He dropped to the ground from the bollard. He ran forward still in a crouch, running the flats of his hands along the cobbles as though contact with them gave him a strange other-worldly pleasure. He dodged from side to side as he ran, at first glancing the walls of the narrow street, then hitting them harder, pushing against them, then finally climbing up their sides and running along the vertical walls as though they were horizontal surfaces.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I still pursued him, but now it was like running forward in a dream - I was making no progress no matter how much I tried. The street narrowed more. He jumped from one side to the other, clinging to the walls like a spider, looking around for threats, for victims, or someone that was following him!

Suddenly, I realised I was in danger - if he should turn back and see me, if he should scent me in his wide nostrils, if he should smell my blood!

There was an entrance ahead. I saw a flashing neon sign dangling above a dimly lit door - “Club Lichvář”.

Pastor Wick sprang to the ground. He looked back quickly - only for a second - then in an instant he was through the door and it closed behind him.

I still felt as if my feet were stuck in glue. I struggled forward, reaching out for the door, keeping my eyes fixed on the blue and red flashing sign that dangled above it.

When finally I reached it I was gasping for breath.

Two girls stood beneath the flashing light. I had not seen them when Pastor Wick disappeared through the door. One wore pink tights, a black tight vest top and a spiky hemmed mesh skirt with glittering stars hanging from the spikes. Her hair was bright red and roughed up in a wild tangle. The other one had a puffed out mesh skirt that barely covered her hips, a cross over black top, pink panties, tall pink socks and white plimsolls. Her hair was dyed white and her bright red lipstick stood out against her pale smooth skinned face. Both of them were dodging between customers that had suddenly arrived at the club entrance. They took their hands, offered them tickets, laughed with them, pushed at them, joked, engaged their attention completely. They both moved so quickly - like beautiful moths caught in the glare of the neon light that entranced them so much they could not escape its captivity.

I couldn’t understand how Pastor Wick had disappeared so quickly. I couldn’t understand what I had seen - his strange clawing progress, clinging to walls, jumping from side to side like an animal. And now, these strange beautiful girls, and their energy and focus.

Still unable to hold myself back, I went up to the entrance.

The girl with the white hair came straight up to me. She spoke quickly in English, flashing from one subject to the other, full of energy, packed with interest, unable to rest on something for more than a second at a time. She was like an excited butterfly dodging from flower to flower, never sufficiently nourished, never completely satisfied.

‘My name’s Sparky,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think my English is good? I studied it at school. It was my favourite subject - that and Latin. This is my friend Anicka. What’s your name? I bet I can guess. Go on. Let me guess! Let me see. I think it’s...its...’

‘Syra.’

‘I was just going to say that! I knew it! Syra! Syra! What a beautiful name. Syra and Sparky! How exciting!’

‘I’m looking for someone - a man. He was just ahead of me. He ran through here, only a minute ago.’

‘A lost soul eh?’ she said, nodding and scratching her chin in a forced dramatic way. ‘Anicka! Have we seen any lost souls in the last few minutes?’

Anicka giggled and nodded. She ran up close and grabbed hold of Sparky’s hand. They cuddled briefly then kissed each other fully on the mouth. Sparky raised herself onto tiptoes, stretching her legs, tightening her thighs and tensing her panty covered bottom. As they parted, Sparky’s tongue hung freely over her bottom lip. It glistened with spit in the light of the flashing neon light. Its fleshy pinkness contrasted with the red gash of her lips marked out like a splash of blood against her white face.

Her face was quickly animated - as though she had suddenly been woken from a dream.

‘Quick, Anicka! Here’s someone for us. Get him. See if he wants to spank me! Anicka! Quick!’

She twirled around, darted a quick smile at me then ran to Anicka’s side.

Anicka had grabbed a young man who was just about to enter the club. She blocked his way, holding his hand, curtsying, smiling provocatively, opening her mouth, endearing herself to him. Sparky stood behind her, bobbing up and down, playing hide and seek, giggling and shaking her spiky hair from side to side.

Sparky turned to me and smiled excitedly. Her wide eyes were bright and sparkled with an uncontrollable zest and life.

Anicka pulled the man away from the door, out of the pool of flashing light cast by the neon sign and into the darker part of the narrow cobbled street.

Sparky grabbed my hand and pulled me after them. I didn’t know what to expect but the heat of her hand, the darkness of the narrow street, Sparky and Anicka’s strange clothing, their excitability and purpose, all filled me with waves of excitement that I couldn’t resist.

‘Stand here,’ said Sparky. ‘You’ll like it. I promise!’

I did as she said. She grinned, clapped her hands together and bobbed up and down.

‘Here,’ said Anicka to the man. ‘This is a good place.’

She held the man’s right hand and rubbed both her hands on either side of it.

‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ll warm it up for you.’

Sparky stood in front of them both, giggled and bowed low before turning and bending forward. She turned back and grinned at me as she pulled down her pink panties to the middle of her thighs. She spread her fingers and placed the palms of her hands around her knees. Her bottom was tight and smooth. Her skin was pale. At the base of the crack of her buttocks I could just make out the darkness that shadowed her cunt. She pushed her bottom up higher and I could see the fine crack at its centre but still not clearly.

‘There!’ said Anicka to the man. ‘That’ll be twenty dollars.’

The man looked at her quizzically.

‘Four hundred crowns.’

He pulled some money out of his pocket and counted it out into her hand.

All the time Sparky stayed completely still, her pink panties midway down her thighs, her pink socks defining the perfect shape of her slim calves, the loosely tied laces of her white plimsolls dangling on the ground.

When the money had been handed over, Anicka moved back and the man stood behind Sparky. He rubbed his hand slowly across her bottom. Still she did not move. He ran his forefinger along the crack between her buttocks and down the insides of her thighs. He gripped her pink panties and twisted them. I thought she would tighten her legs in response to the increased pressure but still she did not move.

He stood back and moved slightly to the side. He looked at her bottom for a minute or two - savouring its shape, its tightness, its readiness. He stared at her panties - twisted up around her thighs - and he looked at her tight pulled socks and contrasting white plimsolls. He absorbed the beauty of her, the undefended exposure of her.

I realised I was licking my lips - they had become dry as I watched her.

He drew his hand back and without stopping at the top of the arc brought it down swiftly.

I watched his flat spread hand getting closer to her bottom. It seemed to take an age - as if it was in slow motion, out of step with time. When it finally made contact it seemed to stick to her skin. Her bottom was elastic - giving slightly under the weight of his hand as it struck then bouncing back straight away. But his palm stuck to it, holding in the pain it inflicted, not letting it escape. When he pulled it away it was only to draw it back straightaway and bring it down again. This time I heard the slapping sound of its contact, this time I heard Sparky catch her breath. He repeated the process. Rhythmically, he brought it down again and again. I heard her gasp, though I couldn’t tell whether it was an intake of breath or an exhalation. I saw her biting her lips. I could see that the pain of the slapping hand was driving itself deeper, that she was struggling to withstand it in silence.

Again he brought it down, again she gasped, again I saw her biting her lips.

Suddenly, she moved one of her hands. It was quick - like a twitch, a cramp, a muscular spasm. She brought it around and covered her bottom with it - her fingers spread out wide, her pink painted nails glistening from the flickering neon light.

The man stopped, his arm held high - frozen with surprise and annoyance.

He scowled at Anicka but did not speak. She understood his unspoken message.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘So sorry. It’s okay, it won’t happen again.’

She bent her mouth to Sparky’s ear.

‘Sparky,’ she said. ‘Sparky, you must not move. You know that. Sparky! Four hundred crowns! Two hundred each!’

She took hold of Sparky’s hand and pulled it away. Sparky replaced it back over her knee.

Anicka turned to the man, his hand still frozen at the top of its arc.

‘It’ll be alright now. I promise. Please carry on. There won’t be any more problems.’

The man nodded then brought his hand down again. The blow knocked the breath from Sparky. I saw her fighting to keep still - struggling to hold in the pain, battling to stop her hand coming up to protect herself again.

The next time his hand smacked down it was so hard she rocked forward. I thought she was going to lose her balance but she managed to retain it and stay in place. The next blow knocked her forward again and this time she had to put her foot out to stop herself from falling over. She trod on one of the dangling laces and I thought she was going to trip over.

She brought herself back into position quickly but it had obviously annoyed the man - still angry from the first disobedience. He grabbed her pink panties and pulled them down to behind her knees. It was a sign of his anger. He brought his fingers up between her thighs and pressed them hard into the dark crevice of her cunt. He lifted her on them, widening the crack of her buttocks, exposing the shape of her delectable slit. He held her there for a while - testing her, seeing if she would react against him, resist him, try to stop him.

I could see the moisture of her cunt on his fingers as he pulled them away. I could see she was trembling - from fear or excitement, frustration or aggravation, it was impossible to tell.

Just as his hand was coming down again she once more brought her own hand around and placed it in the way.

My stomach filled with nerves.

He stopped half way - suddenly, as if his hand had hit an invisible wall. I could feel anger emanating from him in invisible waves.

Anicka hurried forward and grabbed Sparky’s hands. Frantically, she pulled them back onto her knees, produced a thin ribbon and began binding them tightly in place. She wound it around several times then knotted it tightly. The loose ends dangled down against Sparky’s ankles.

Anicka stood back and nodded keenly to the man, telling him it was alright to continue but not daring to speak.

The next time the man brought his hand down Sparky cried out but she did not move - it was impossible, she was tied too tightly with the ribbon. She rocked forward with the next blow but did not try to stop herself falling - she kept her feet close together, hoping that she would not drop forward and lose her balance. Her bottom began to redden - a broad smear across her pale smooth skin. I imagined how much it must be stinging.

I stood there watching as the punishment continued. I didn’t know how long it would go on - how long it could go on. Sparky was screaming loudly now. Every time the man’s hand landed on her upturned bottom she cried out louder than the time before. To start with they were gasps, then they became whimpers, then they formed into cries, then into screams. As the screams became more intense she started to beg for the punishment to stop.

‘Please!’ ‘Please!’ she shouted out each time his hand came down. ‘It hurts too much! I can’t take any more!’ she screeched in the short gap between the blows - punctuating her simple cries for mercy with proclamations of her pain and need for relief.

For a while, he did not complain, perhaps enjoying her cries of pain and her begging appeals for an end to it all. After a while though, her hands became loose in her bonds and she could not prevent herself from moving them. He stopped again and scowled at Anicka. Anicka took the spare ends of the ribbon and tightened Sparky’s hands more firmly to her knees. When Anicka stood back and nodded, the man continued.

He stopped again, ran his hands between her legs and pulled at the front of her cross over black top. He dragged it down off her shoulders and exposed her breasts - they were small and pert, her nipples pink and hard. She whimpered as he did it and I watched a stream of spit drooling from her open mouth. When he resumed the spanking, spit flew from her mouth in a misty spray as again the breath was forced by pain and suffering from her fragile and anguished body.

I felt so sorry for her. Her bottom was so red, her cries so loud and out of control, her punishment so harsh. I stepped forward, thinking that I should help, perhaps offer myself instead? Anicka glowered at me. I stepped back. I was shivering, shaking all over - with fear or excitement, I couldn’t tell.

Anicka produced another ribbon and bound it across Sparky’s mouth. She wound it around her head twice - pinching in her cheeks, pinning her tongue inside, silencing her cries and stifling her pleas for mercy or help.

The man continued. I watched but in a way I did not see anything. The only sensations I had were the smacking sounds of the slapping contact his flat hand made against Sparky’s reddened bottom. It filled my head - echoing, hollow, fading into the distance before returning again even louder.

Suddenly, my other senses returned.

I looked again at Sparky - still bent over, her panties now around her ankles, her hands bound to her knees, her mouth tied tightly, her punishment continuing. I felt a need to push my fingers into my cunt. I felt a need to take her place. I felt a need to bend down behind her and lick her wet cunt. Yes, I wanted so much to taste the sweetness of her cunt, to press my tongue into the slit, lap at its moisture, inhale its beautiful aroma.

I was squeezing the base of my clitoris, rising up on my hand, as I watched the man take out his cock and drive it into Sparky’s anus. She could not yell out any more - she had exhausted herself, exhausted her pain. He thrust her hard and roughly. When he pulled it out, Anicka took it in her hands. She massaged the shaft, drawing out his semen, before going down on her knees before him and sucking at it until her thirst for it was completely satisfied. Sparky stayed where she was, not moving now, her eyes wide, her nostrils inhaling the air she needed to satisfy the demand for oxygen in her racing blood.

I felt confused and lost - everything was spinning around. I could barely stop myself falling as I ran back into the square and crouched down panting on the edge of the massive Maximilian Fountain. I listened to its spurting waters, unable to get the pictures of Sparky out of my mind, unable to stop the waves of joy that kept spreading through my still jerking body.

I walked to a telephone kiosk. I had to try and sort things out. I found the telephone number on a crumpled up piece of paper in the bottom of my bag. I stood in front of the gash blue and yellow telephone. I could hardly read its dim display and couldn’t understand its “1-2-3” instructions. After several failed attempts, I finally got through.

‘Acme Couriers.’

‘It’s Syra Bond...in Bratislava. Do you remember? The box?’

‘Of course, yes. I hope everything’s okay. No problems are there?’

‘No...no...not really - ’

‘Good! For a moment there, I thought you might have lost the package or something stupid like that! I’m mighty relieved to know that things are okay. It’s a pretty special package, I can tell you. I’ve even had the FBI around here since you left. Twice! The first time a woman in a red dress, the next a man and neither of them seemed to know what the other was doing!’

‘Yes...yes...things are fine - ’

‘They wanted to know this and that. I couldn’t tell them much - just that it was a heart, going to somewhere for research. That’s all I knew. What else could I say?’

I didn’t know how to reply.

‘I’ve got to go...sorry...I’ve got to go...’

‘When you’ve made the delivery contact me again. I’ve got another job you may be interested in. What do you think of that, eh? A heart in a box!’

‘Yes...I’m sorry...yes...’

I left the telephone handset dangling from its cord. I had hardly stepped out of the kiosk when, from nowhere, Sparky ran up behind me and kissed my neck.