World War S 2

“Brutally good” “Prophetic...” “The reality of the demonic...” “Genious...” (Readers opinion after the first foreign edition)   ...has posessed the priesthood, then it has began...   1.   The limousine was waiting for Sidney Grimm outside the Charles de Gaulle airport. The uniformed driver loaded her suitcases in the trunk and opened the door. “They’re waiting for you at the Élysée Palace,” he said while Sidney nestled into the backseat. “I’ve been instructed to take you shopping, Miss Grimm. You need to choose an evening dress.” Sidney was charmed by the attentions of the Master. He was not the first man she’d gone to bed with, but none of them entertained her as lavishly as he did. Not only did he take advantage of her beauty, like other men, but he also generously rewarded her for her service. Sidney wanted to believe that soon it would be more than a working relationship. She chose a gown with a daring neckline; the transparent lace let the eyes move down all the way to the navel. At her back, there was only a jelly-like strap holding the light dress together, which fell gently around her silicon-shaped bottom and stopped at the knee. She selected a necklace with a raindrop-shaped diamond pendant, which she let descend provocatively into her very low neckline, and which was connected to her belly ring by a golden chain. But the outfit didn’t get her the reaction she’d hoped for from her adoring man. “Are you really serious?” he asked angrily, pulling a hand nervously through his hair. “What the bloody hell will they think of us? You’re my w***e and I’m your pimp?” “I thought you’d be happy. You’ve always liked the provocative dresses before …” “I beg you,” the man shook his head, “we will be guests at the French Palace, not some little corner bar.” Sidney resentfully pulled off the new purchase, throwing it to the floor before slamming the door of her room. “Then go alone!” she shouted. The rural house on the outskirts of Paris had thick, padded doors, which significantly muted the erupting waves of her disappointment. Only muffled fractions of words reached the man’s ears. But he didn’t really care to hear any more of her outburst. He walked to the small table next to the couch and poured himself a drink. He took a fine Cuban cigar out of his inner pocket and lit it. With a sudden movement, he picked up the dress from the floor and burned a hole through it with the red-hot end of the cigar. The smell of the scorching artificial silk filled the room. In the meantime, Sidney hadn’t stopped ranting; she was acting like an offended lover. “You should decide what kind of role you intend for me!” she shouted from inside. The man got bored torturing the dress and threw it into the corner. “Go to the wardrobe and look into it!” he said in a loud voice, puffing deeply on the cigar. He leaned forwards to the wide, old style keyhole and blew the smoke into Sidney’s room. There was no reaction from the other side. The silence could mean Sidney was enacting a sulky boycott, but the man felt she would not be able to resist peeking in the wardrobe. Sidney’s clothing and jewellery addiction made her so easy to control. The bankcard he’d given her, with an unlimited credit line, was a pleasant shackle connecting them. The door flew open, and Sidney stood there with a satisfied smile on her face. The red dress curved with appropriate decency at the right places but still covered the necessary parts of her figure. “You …” was all Sidney said, flinging her arms around his neck. “Then why did you send me shopping?” “Because you’re an addict. Because you had to give an offering to the god of purchase, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to cope with you.” “You’re such a bastard …” Sidney said, kissing him on the mouth. “Brave! This is how you speak to the wealthiest man in Europe—” “And you to the most cunning woman in America—” “Witch,” the man whispered, and he pretended to push her away. The movement worked because Sidney clung to him even stronger. “I have skills. But you’re the real Master.” They kissed passionately for a few minutes. “What did your wife say when she realized you were leaving her for me?” Now the man pushed her away and looked into her eyes. “Silvie can’t come anyway. You know very well that she’s in the hospital.” “And if she weren’t?” “If she weren’t …” he drew his finger over her forehead, down her nose, and across her lips, wetting the tip of his finger on her tongue. “But she is there. Would you prefer to be the wife of Europe’s wealthiest man?” “I’m already his lover, can I be more?” At that moment, the phone rang in his pocket. He answered, and for thirty seconds he spoke in a language Sidney didn’t understand. He walked over to stand beside the windows, looking out to the well-maintained park lined with ancient trees. A moment later, he said good-bye. He went back to Sidney and put his arms around her waist. “The mine of opportunities is infinite, you can’t even grasp it with your human mind. Now you can enter into France’s most beautiful building, where you’ll meet with the most famous puppet of this country. Here we can make the contract of our life. And everyone will be our servant.” Sidney knew the light that ignited his eyes. It was the same light that burned in her too. It warmed her up from the inside, infiltrating her whole being, filling her with motivation and energy. And it was black as night. “I can hardly wait,” she said, kissing the man. She lingered over him for long minutes, pampering him the way Silvie would never be able to do. Because Silvie was a spastic, frigid woman who was destined to lose to Sidney. No matter how she tried, despite all she did to keep her husband on her side, she would fail. There was nothing she could do against a witch. * “Come, Doctor!” the nurse said urgently. The doctor stood up from beside the microscope, where he was preparing the zygotes for implantation. “Again?” he asked, taking up a new pair of rubber gloves. The nurse didn’t say anything, just nodded tensely. There was dread in her eyes. They ran through the corridors, headed towards one of the separate apartments of the private clinic, where unearthly screams were growing louder every second. Another nurse ran in the opposite direction right in front of them; her hands were drenched in blood to her elbows. The doctor tried to stop her, but she wrenched herself from his grip and burst out crying. The nurse following the doctor looked dead pale in the radiating, wan light of the fluorescent bulbs, but the dim atmosphere just emphasised the usual facial expression of a terrified human being. The doctor didn’t look much better, although this was the fourth such event in the last month, so one might think he’d have grown used to it by now. But when his eyes flashed towards the nurse, they were afraid—they ran, and their shared terror only increased their fear. The door flew open just as they approached it. The sister on duty fell through the doorway. The real colour of her blue rubber gloves couldn’t be seen anymore—they’d turned blood-red all over. She didn’t say anything to either of them, just shook her head and drew back to let the new arrivals into the room. Another four strongly- built men entered the apartment. The hall decorated with thick drapery was practically empty. The furniture, styled in the period of Louis XIV, was lying beside the wall, overturned and showing the path of the escapees. The smeared handprints on the golden stucco indicated the points where the staff had tried to regain their balance. This suite is incredibly expensive, the nurse thought, the cleaning alone cost a couple thousand euros after the last incident. They found the coffered, richly decorated door half opened—the sound of moaning drifting out from behind. The six men in white coats crept closer like a group of zookeepers trying to tame the mighty Bengal tiger. Although what they should have found in that room was only a fragile woman waiting for artificial insemination. One of the men took a syringe and sucked up some tranquiliser from a vial. They had learned from the previous incidences; the other male nurse still bore the marks of the deep bites on his arm. One of the nurses—the one who ran in front of them—lost her earrings the last time; they had found them afterwards on the suite’s Persian carpet after her earlobe had burst. Almost everybody had uncomfortable experiences in this facility, but none of them had met a hard case like this before. But they had to continue their work. The client was the wife of a very influential man, at least that was what they’d heard. The husband paid handsomely for their services, and for the inconvenience of coping with the difficulties. The only person who hadn’t been hurt was the doctor who performed the artificial insemination. The woman spared him every time, and she even listened to him. Some of the staff thought it was due to the doctor’s calm, balanced character, while others attributed it to his previous work in a church hospital before it was shut down. Faith could give him the strength to make the woman tractable, they thought. But this time he was afraid as well. The previous incidents had left him shaken, had weakened his nerves. He let the strong male nurses go through first. Those four men—covering their colleagues with the syringe—slid through the gap between the door and the frame. They feared the worst. On the previous occasion, the woman had broken all the mirrors and cut her body to splinters. Wherever the nurse went, spattered blood signalled his path. But to their great surprise, the room had stayed clean this time. The woman wasn’t wallowing on the floor, tossing and turning in a state of unconsciousness, like before. She was lying in the bed looking at them with curious, clean eyes, although just a few minutes ago she had been crying. The snow-white bed sheet was shining in the light coming from outside, and it was neatly arranged without any folds. “Doctor, I’m ready,” she said. A vague smile appeared in the corner of her mouth. “Silvie …” the doctor moaned, standing between the male nurses. Then he signalled with a flick of his eyes that they could put the syringe down. Everyone gathered around the bed. The doctor slowly turned back the covers. He stood there with a hard-set expression, waiting to see her body covered in blood. But there was no blood or new wounds. Even the old ones looked better; they were healing well, and the bandages were clean. “Where did the blood …?” the doctor asked astounded, pointing towards the corridor. “What blood? Who is bleeding?” Silvie looked back amazed. “Those …” the doctor started, but he realized he didn’t need to continue. There was no visible evidence that the blood came from the woman. “May I ask you to turn around?” He thought to check her back, but it was also intact. “Did somebody get hurt?” asked the woman. The doctor motioned for the others to leave the room. He wanted to be alone with the patient. “No, thank God, nobody,” he started when they were alone. “But what is more important is that you’re healthy.” “I think I am,” Silvie smiled, caressing her tummy. “I have a feeling it will be successful this time,” she said, nodding confidently. “I’m not afraid.” “I share your opinion,” the doctor said, touching Silvie’s hand. “Do you want me to pray for you?”