The Entity and Stephen Lewis Part 5

[JP71]

[COLOR=#808080]THE ENTITY &[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#808080]STEPHEN LEWIS[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]By JP71[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]Part 5[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 1[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 2[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 3[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 4[/COLOR]

Lance smiled somewhat crookedly down at me. I say “down at me”, because he was now, quite literally, a giant of a man. Yeah, he’d been big before, and had grown considerably larger in the three months since I’d moved in. But nothing could have prepared me for this latest encounter with my over-muscled landlord. My bottom lip trembled as I felt his disapproval of me shoot out of him like a cobra spitting venom. I didn’t have to be told to step back. I had to give the giant room.

“You were at it again last night, it seems,” he growled, as he turned sideways and stooped his head in order to get through the doorframe. I guessed he had to be over seven feet tall, now. And his shoulders were almost twice as wide as the doorframe, I kid you not. Once inside my apartment, he seemed to swell up to his full stature. If he noticed my comparatively modest muscle gain, he elected to say nothing. He worked a crick out of his neck, and the sound of bones snapping as they were realigned sounded like whips cracking the air. He flailed his arms, pumping up his pimply lats and priming his humongous pimply pec-meats for the mightiest of rippling flexes. The light cotton shirt he had on strained and lost to the pressure as striations – deep enough to hide coins in – opened like great fissures across his chest. Skin cracked and zits erupted aplenty. A button popped off the shirt – unable to defy the pressure of his burgeoning muscle-tits – and would have had my eye out only I ducked just in time. Over on my sparsely dressed mantelpiece, a framed photo of myself with my parents clattered to the floor as if shot with a pellet from an air rifle.

“Er... well...er... Lance... it was my birthday, and so I went out and had a few beers. Got lucky and scored at a bar. You know how it is,” I verbally stumbled, trying not to appear weak, although in proximity with Lance it was hard not to. Should I inflate my own chest in a show of male, muscular affectation, or would that simply exacerbate an already tense situation? I wondered if Lance really “knew how it was”. He’d gotten uglier as well as bigger. Whatever strange shit he was juicing up on was really destroying any chance he had at achieving a normal, healthy-looking complexion. I imagined that he’d have to pay a blind whore a really generous amount in order to get laid. Since last I saw him, acne had sprouted out of older acne, creating a layered effect through which miniature rivers of pus viscidly meandered their way southward. His hair seemed to be falling out, too, although his muscles, had he not been afflicted with weeping zits and boils, would have labelled him a muscle-hunk. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact he was becoming the Incredible Hulk version of Brundlefly. He sniffed the stale air of my apartment. Suddenly the image of Pumbaa from The Lion King popped into my head and lived there for a moment.

“I don’t smell pussy in here. Only spunk. Is there something you’re not telling me, Stephen?” His tone was an accusatory one. Just what was I guilty of here? If I’d awakened him last night, then I was truly regretful. Hell, I couldn’t imagine the fucker got much sleep over the noise of his bursting boils anyway. Thankfully Ray had saw sense to lay low in the kitchen for now. Lance couldn’t tell if he was there unless he made a sound.

“We all have our appetites to satisfy, Lance.” Then I decided to try something before Lance really lost his rag with me:

“Jesus, man... look at you. You’re massive, now. Those muscles are beyond sensational. What’s your secret, huh? You even make Gary Shields look small.” I would have to see them both standing next to each other before deciding who the bigger man was. Lance seemed to brighten to my compliment and did some flexing for me. His upper body was truly sensational (allowing for the acne), although it looked like he was going to drop a baby hippo at any second. He formed a double biceps pose which made shredded cr?pe paper of his shirt sleeves. Two more buttons pinged off the shirt, one of which got me on the earlobe and I felt the sting for minutes after. The other one landed harmlessly somewhere. His body flared with size and pride, as well as the hunger for more and more massive muscle.

“I see you know how to recognise and respectfully address perfection when you see it, Stephen,” he snorted with spirited pride. Good, I needed to keep this up in order to avoid a pus-laden knuckle sandwich from a man who now looked as though he could rip an oil-truck in half. He continued as he flexed, this time lat-spreading to a massive width, enough to ping off the last of his shirt buttons and render the shirt a dishcloth: “How do you know that cunt Shields, anyway?”

Okay, so I mentioned before that Boil Man, and My-ex knew one another. But just what was the nature of their history together, if it even qualified to be called such? I needed to find out all that I could. “He...er...used to work at the same company as I do, but we rarely brushed shoulders.” There was no way I was telling him all the facts about myself and Gary Shields. It was quite clear that Lance didn’t like him one bit. Plus, despite my initial observation of him – from which my often overactive imagination considered that he might be a closet gay – I think he was a tad homophobic (can a person be both?). “He hasn’t been seen in several months,” I made sure to spit out at the end.

“Is that so? I saw him only this morning. He’s been hard at it across the way since about 5am. He’s big, but I’m clearly bigger. There can only be one muscle behemoth in this town. Gary’s got it coming, believe you me.”

Lance burst forth with a most-muscular pose that caused him to slam one foot into the floorboards, enough to weaken the wood. The whole apartment shook with enough force to bring down some plaster from the ceiling. Hmm, I’d have to complain to my landlord about that.

“So you don’t train over there then, along with your tenants? I naturally assumed that when we first met, and you told me about the discount I’d be entitled to as an Xavier Heights resident, that you endorsed the place... had some kind of deal going on.”

“Lance doesn’t do deals,” he snapped, oddly speaking of himself in the third person, his voice now a rasping drawl. I wondered if he’d like a glass of water. “And I train at my own place... down in the basement, if you must know.” Lance suddenly bit his bottom lip, as though he regretted telling me that.

“Really? You have a gym here and never told me? Maybe I could work-out with you sometime. As you can see, I’m packing on the muscle myself. But lately, the weights at my gym at work have begun to feel a little light.”

“I train alone, Stephen. Always have. Besides, you wouldn’t be able for the kinda weight I have set up down there. It’s WAY too much for a little boy like you.”

I tried not to take offence. Inside me, however, my blood raged. I was way too small to take on this fucker, but had I possessed the size I craved so much, landlord or no, I’d have knocked his fucking teeth out after bending a barbell around his neck. I calmly composed myself, and even managed a contrived smile, although Helen Keller would have noticed the veins throbbing in my temples.

Well, he seemed to have enjoyed his muscle show, as well as the pinging of his shirt buttons (including my minor ear injury), and finally showing me who was sheriff around these parts. I received nothing in the way of a reprimand for my “activities” of the previous night. He made to leave, folding himself down and twisting into the correct shape to get back out through the door. At least it was officially confirmed that Gary was back training at Mass Central. Should I warn him that Lance had it in for him? It was still too soon to even consider confronting Gary after all this time. I just wasn’t ready, or big enough. I wanted to face him one day as his equal or better. Besides, I wanted to find out the reason for Lance’s anti-affinity with all things Gary, but I thought it best not to provoke him. Lance left, and then I closed my front door with much relief that I still had all my teeth. I went looking for a can of air freshener to get the smell of weeping boils out of my living room.

Ray had heard everything. Our eyes met across the kitchen, and I could tell that he looked set to bolt for the hills any moment.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll protect you from all the nasty big monsters,” was all I could think to say. I was sweating like a pig now – a nervous reaction to diffusing a potentially dangerous Lance situation – and so I shrugged off my robe and showed off my bigger body to Ray. I flexed all the best poses, and suddenly my old boxers looked even better on him, now that he’d made them tent out.

“Mother of Mary’s bollocks! You didn’t look like that last night. What the fuck is in the water here?” Could it be that my suspicions of Ray were entirely wrong, and that he knew nothing about the supernatural goings-on at Xavier Heights? I’d still be keeping an eye on him, regardless of those suspicions.

“Is this Schwarzenegger enough for you?” My attempt at an Austrian accent was atrocious, but it was enough to make Ray fling himself at me, and he uncontrollably began gnawing on my super-sensitive nips as a manly growl, the voice of lust, began in his belly and quickly rose up through him faster than gorge.

Damn.... it felt good to have my nipples serviced out of desperate hunger. I sprang erect instantly, tensing my body to its fullest so that my muscles bulged harder and huger than ever. I suddenly felt like I was growing, but there was no paranormal activity at this time, so I reckoned my imagination was running away with me again.

“Crush me with your fucking huge muscles, Stephen,” Ray snarled, his words broken up by a series of short gasps. I was really quite taken aback by his attraction to me, so primal and uncontrollable. It was a major turn-on, and I enjoyed it all the more, now that I’d sobered up.

Inwardly I desired for some interference on the part of the entity, responding once again to my interaction with Ray. I considered trying to rape him again; I ACTUALLY considered it, my desire to grow beginning to rear its not-unhandsome head. But I couldn’t let these desires control me. Bodybuilding was an expensive lifestyle, and if I wanted to get enormously muscular in the months and years to come, I would have to consider how I was going to finance it. I was on an above-average salary at work, even when you factor in the pay-cut, and I had over seventy grand in personal savings in the bank, nearly the same again in my pension fund. But I would still need gainful employment, and so I couldn’t afford to get too big too soon. I knew my position at work could be jeopardised if I became another Gary Shields. The Board would want to know what I was on. They would see it as completely unnatural and probably have me investigated on the grounds that I was under the influence of illegal substances. As well as that, I’d be out the door buying new suits every month or so.

I pushed Ray away from me. He stood there, his lust simmering down as a reaction to my change of attitude towards him. His blank expression begged to question my motives.

“We should take this easy, Ray. I really like you, and I want to get to know you in time. Besides, I really need to get ready to head to the gym. There’s one in town I want to try out.” Then I thought: Fuck it, Gary should be finished his workout now. I could take a chance across the road.

I muscle-trotted into the bedroom and was totally taken by the heavy bounce of my pec-meats as I went. A quick look out the windows to the veranda confirmed that the motorbike had left the parking lot. I was home and dry. I ran about the place and gathered up soiled clothing from literally everywhere (how had I gotten so untidy?). I then dumped the pile into my gorgeous-looking live-in housekeeper’s nicely-toned arms.

“Start earning your keep as of now, “darling”,” I said with a cheeky grin on my face. Then I took a shower and got my gym bag in order.

I’d just stepped outside onto the concourse – dressed in a new tracksuit I’d bought that was literally the largest size I could get off the rack – when some shouting down at the gates caused me to freeze solid. I needed to get closer, so I muscle-trotted to my car (damn, my pecs are so fuckin’ sexy when they bounce like that). I could hear and see better as I pretended to rummage through the boot for something imaginary. It was that woman again, the one whose taxi I’d inherited the night before. She was wearing different clothes, and was out on the public side of the pavement, so I reckoned her visit last night had been a brief one. What was she doing back? But Lance obviously did not take kindly to her. I thought he was going to rip the gates off at one stage, unable to control the rage caused by the woman’s arrival.

“... told you for the last time, bitch.... fuck off from here, or so help me, I’ll... I’ll....”

“You’ll do what, Lance? I’m not scared of you if that’s what you think,” the woman interjected, standing her ground and showing no fear, as Lance choked on his own spit and vehemence. Her accent... could it be European? I wondered why she seemed familiar to me. I craned my vision to get a better look, but Huge Grease Lightning Lance kept blocking her from my line of sight. He towered above her, making her look like a little girl of about six or seven years old. One thing I was certain of, though: I saw her push something through the gate railings, what might have been money, but it was hard to tell from this distance. I thought about dialling three nines into my mobile, just in case Lance became dangerous enough to cause her harm. You had to admire her for her courage.

“I rightly inherited this place, and the right to do with Xavier’s Legacy as I see fit. If I see you around here again I’ll kill you. And I’ll fucking eat your remains so no trace of a crime will ever be found. I can’t be touched by you or anyone else. And soon I will be unstoppable. NOW FUCK OFF!!!!!” The shirtless pus-muscle that was Lance pounded the gates level with the woman’s face, causing her to rear back with a start. His fist went through the iron railings like a knife through water, missing her skull by a fraction of an inch had she not reflexively moved back. I was enraged now. Fortunately I didn’t have to do anything. Two bodybuilders, obviously my co-tenants and admirers of all things Gary, roared into the concourse. They dropped their gym bags and went for Lance as their muscles and testosterone decided the woman needed rescuing. At this point I was crouched down behind my car, and so I had quite a clear view of the scrap that ensued.

They milled Lance out of it, and this surprised me. He could easily have swatted them like flies, given that they were only about forty lbs or so heavier than I was at the time. But they managed to get him down on the ground and his massive arms locked behind his back. It took all of their weight to keep him there. I thought about lending a hand, but my phone buzzed in my pocket. Fortunately there was no ringtone, as I’d set it to silently vibrate. Damn, what crap timing was this? I answered the call – it might be work-related – but kept my voice to a loud whisper.

“Good morning boss,” said Shirley from her end.

“Not a good time, bitch. Can I call you back in five?”

“You need to hear this.” She was using her “You can’t get out of this one” tone of voice.

“Let me guess. Gary’s back in town.” I really needed to hang up and focus all of my attention on the brawl happening less than twenty yards from where I was hunkered down.

“How’d you find out?” Shirley sounded genuinely surprised. As a professional-level gossip, I’d grown to know her as a person who hates not to be the first to hear the latest breaking news story.

“I DO live across the street from his gym, bitch-face. I saw his bike there this morning.”

“There’s more. He went to get some stuff from the house last night. Wrecked the place. Smashed a load-bearing wall with his bare hands, too. Gilly and Bethany are staying with me until the house can be declared sound again. I doubt that the insurance will cover “damage caused by Hulk attack”. Luckily her dad’s in the trade and knows people. Still though, Gary needs to be locked up. He’s dangerous.”

“Bethany? That’s her girlfriend’s name?” Why I even asked that is still beyond me to this day.

Down at the gates Lance had acquired his second wind. My mouth formed an aghast “O”, as I watched him bulge upwards from a prone position, swell up in the air, and hurl his two temporary jailers out through the gates. One of the bodybuilders crashed onto a parked car on the opposite side of the road, completely denting down the roof which caused all of the windows to shatter outwards. He lay there, too injured to do anything about it. I hoped he was okay. The other guy fared no better, landing face down on a litter bin, his skull crushed. Carnage had come to Xavier Heights.

“This is serious, Stephen. Have you got the telly on? What’s all that noise in the background?”

“I really need to go, bitch. I’ll call you later,” I said, now unable to hide the panic in my voice. It was possible that Lance had killed those two bodybuilders. I hung up on Shirley and dialled 999. Before I could hang up, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around and saw the woman who’d confronted Lance. She’d taken advantage of the commotion to slip through the broken gate entrance and around to the concealing side of my car.

“Puh-please help me,” she begged, her breathing laboured and erratic.

“Sir... could you repeat that last sentence,” said the voice of the female Garda on the other end. I told her everything I could and she said they’d dispatch a car immediately. Really, would one car be enough to stop a rampaging muscle-monster?

“It’s okay, I called the police, luv.” I now got a better look at her. I couldn’t place her at first. Then...

She recognised me first, although I’d changed considerably since when we’d last occupied the same room. She was the blonde woman, from the courtroom, who’d audibly objected to Marek Rcazkowska’s sentencing all those years ago. She was very beautiful then, and still was. I took her for early thirties, but couldn’t be sure.

“It’s you.... Stephen. I... I... wasn’t expecting....” A gasp broke her speech. I peered around the car to catch sight of Lance dragging one of the hopefully not-dead bodybuilders back towards Xavier Heights. A couple of people stopped in the street to witness the spectacle, one of whom began recording the event on their mobile. Honestly, some people.

“Quickly, follow me inside. He’s too caught up in what he’s doing to notice.” I began a stealthy lope back to the complex. I was met at the entrance by yet another muscleman, this time a less bulked-up type. I think his name was Anthony. He’d moved into his apartment about a month after me. He was very tall and exquisitely good-looking. But now was not the time for talent-spotting, although he was only wearing boxer shorts at this time.

“Back indoors. Lance went crazy. I think he killed those guys,” I explained quickly. Anthony-if-that-was-his-name didn’t have to be told twice. We got into the lift. I immediately noticed something I’d never seen before. It was a small key set into the keyhole on the lift control panel. Next to the key was the single letter “B”. It was Lance’s basement key. This was the only way to the basement. Without thinking that I might now be tampering with evidence from a crime scene still in the making, I removed the key and placed it in my pocket. We got off at my floor, and Anthony and the woman hurried with me into my apartment.

“I don’t think he’ll follow us. He’s not aware we were even there, now that he’s taken this out into the street. We can watch it all from my veranda,” I said, and hurried into my bedroom. Ray was in my bed, reading his newspaper and listening to music on his iPod. Upon seeing me he sprang to his feet, blushing like a child caught in the act of masturbating, and began scurrying about picking up some soiled things I’d missed. He quickly realised that something wasn’t right, and joined us out on the veranda.

By now Lance had run out of a lot of steam. To my relief we saw the bodybuilder who’d landed on the car roll off the impacted rooftop and land on wobbly feet. He began to limp away as fast as he could from the rampage. Lance had given up on the other of his muscled victims, and was now trying to uproot a tree nearby. His strength was beyond superhuman, and I could tell that the tree would lose this battle.

"Jesus, that’s Dale, I think,” gasped Anthony, referring to the second bodybuilder who was now lying down in a pool of blood in the middle of the road where Lance had abandoned him. There was a long trail of blood leading from his head back to the post box he’d collided with. Innocent bystanders were screaming and running for the hills by now. I felt nauseous in my stomach, my mind struggling to take in the scale of the horror that had unfolded around me. “I have to get to him,” Anthony asserted with much panic in his voice. I let him go, not that I’d be able to stop him, poor lad. I briefly wondered if he and Dale might be in a relationship. I hoped that Dale was okay, although, from this point of view it didn’t look good.

Three Garda patrol vehicles then arrived, expertly skidding to a halt around Lance, who by now had ripped the tree of many tonnes right out of the soil and thrown it with enough force to see it smash through the glass front of the gym on the second floor. Fortunately the gym was near-empty, and I hoped no one else had been hurt. Lance growled threateningly at his sudden antagonists. The wailing sirens seemed to disorient him, and two ambulances screeched to a halt less than ten seconds later. Anthony, now more appropriately dressed, was already down there, trying to get to Dale, but he accepted that the paramedics had to do their work.

It took all of the six Garda? to bring down Lance, now that he was almost spent of energy. They tasered him and eventually had him down to a twitching pile of useless flesh. They struggled to get cuffs around his huge wrists. Since he was too big for any of the patrol cars, they radioed for a van to arrive. Within ten minutes Lance was no longer a danger to public safety.

The course of the next hour began with Anthony riding in the ambulance with the severely-injured Dale. The other bodybuilder was also taken to hospital for treatment of mostly minor injuries, which was miraculous, I later learned. The Garda? took statements from both me and Agniezka (that was her name), and she turned out to be Marek’s younger sister. When they realised that she had a larger part to play in this, they took her away for further questioning. Xavier Heights, along with a large chunk of public space beyond, was closed off as a crime scene, as the police pulled Lance’s apartment asunder during the course of the investigation. Ray placed himself on tea and coffee duty for the police, who were grateful for the hot drinks on this cold Saturday early afternoon.

Most of the police had left by late afternoon, having questioned everyone at the apartment complex deemed relevant to the investigation, although one car remained in the concourse with two Gards occupying it. Anyone coming or going from Xavier Heights would be under scrutiny, but I strangely welcomed their presence. I considered giving them the key to the basement, but my hand felt like a tonne-weight when I tried to reach into my pocket to retrieve it. And when I did it went cold enough to burn my skin. What the hell? I eventually managed to get it off me and onto a saucer on my coffee table.

Ray had decided to piss off just after dark. He told me he couldn’t stay in “Crazy Muscle Town” a minute longer, and I couldn’t blame him for his sense of self-preservation.

I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I wanted a workout, but I was lethargic. Today had been exhausting. Who’d have thought that a bodybuilder could get so tired from just not getting killed and then answering a million questions from the police afterward? My stomach growled for food. But I denied it sustenance, instead opting to stare at that haunted basement key for an interminable time. On its crockery bed it looked innocuous and redundant.

“It doesn’t want me to give up the secret of the basement to the Gards,” I said aloud, wondering if I, too, should follow in Ray’s footsteps and get the hell out. Perhaps Xavier Heights was a literal “Hell on Earth”.

I can’t remember nodding off, but I did. When I was awakened by the sound of my doorbell, my gaze was immediately drawn to the clock on my mantel. It was almost ten pm. I’d been asleep in a chair for hours. I thought about ignoring my late-night visitor, deciding it would get fed up and leave. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I noticed the “Missed Calls” icon on the display, and had slept through the previous vibrations.

It was Shirley, but who else could it be? She was the one who called me the most. God, my life was so empty. And it was at times like these when a man realises that he’s alone, and vulnerable because of it.

“Are you alright? I’ve been trying all evening to get through. Your place was on the evening news. My God, that was your landlord that went crazy. He killed a man, the monster. Poor guy was brain-dead by the time they got him to hospital.” She sounded terribly upset. After all, she was responsible for me living here in the first place. I couldn’t fathom how I might have failed to notice the RTE and TV3 news vans outside the concourse. But obviously they’d be gone by now.

“Yeah, I’m alright. But I saw the whole thing. I can’t believe that poor guy is dead. A neighbour of mine. Never once spoke to him. I don’t think he suffered. It happened way too fast.” Although I’d never met Dale, I still found it difficult not getting emotional.

“You shouldn’t stay there tonight, boss. You should kip with me, if you don’t mind bunking in with Liam. Gilly and Bethany have the guest bedroom.” Was she serious? How could me and Gillian last five minutes in the same house without going for each other’s throats?

The doorbell chimed again. I did nothing.

“You should get that,” said Shirley on her end. She paused to blow her nose.

“Any news of Gary?”

“The police are looking for him. I guess if you violently damage your own property, it’s still regarded as gross vandalism.”

“Jesus, that’s all I need to hear, another huge bodybuilder goes on the rampage.”

The doorbell went once more. I got up from my chair, deciding it could be important.

“Do me a favour, Stephen. You might think people haven’t noticed your gains in the last few weeks. But I didn’t want to say anything before now. And now has never been a better time to say this.” She paused.

I listened.

“Please don’t turn into... into one of them.” She went silent on the line.

“Goodnight, bitch,” I said, as pleasantly as I could, and then ended the call.

When I opened the door I wasn’t surprised to see Agniezka standing in the hallway. She’d just been let out of the police station. She looked crestfallen, tired and hungry. We had a lot in common in those respects.

“Can I come in?” She wiped a bead of water from the tip of her nose.

“Only if you tell me everything, Agniezka. Including the stuff you won’t have disclosed to the police.” It was rather intuitive of me. But she didn’t question what I said. She nodded once, her head lowered, as if in shame. I let her in.

“Do you have anything to eat? They only give you tea and biscuits down there,” she said, meaning the police station. I went to see what else Ray might have deposited in my fridge. I made ham and cheese toasties and hot tea for the both of us. To hell with my strict eating plan. Today hadn’t been a run-of-the-mill Saturday by any means.

“I... I don’t know where to start,” she began, once the food was gone from her plate. It was warm in the apartment, but she cupped her mug of tea as if she was freezing. Perhaps she was cold inside, and I didn’t mean that in the emotional sense.

“How about starting with Xavier’s Legacy. I already know that he was Sean McInerney’s lover. So he had something to do with the Vatican in Rome assisting in the cover-up of a child’s rape by McInerney in 1979, made to seem like the boy was possessed by a demon.”

“I don’t know just how deep their relationship ran, Stephen, or where you got this information from. But Sean is no abuser of children," Agniezka almost snapped in defence of the ex-priest.

Damn you Ray, I mentally wailed.

"I cared for Sean in the last year of my occupancy as a nurse. I finally couldn’t bear that home any longer. I decided to quit. I’ve been living off the state for the last few months. I may go back to Poland. Not sure yet.” She took a soothing slurp of tea from her mug, but she was visibly shaking like a person with a terrible cross to bear.

“Is Sean still alive then?” Stupid question. I’d already learned that from his grand-nephew, although I was beginning to believe that Ray's knowledge of his uncle was far from accurate.

“Just barely,” she replied, nodding energetically now. “He takes fits, and is heavily medicated most of the time. He’s had two strokes in the past year. But somehow he clings to life. He can’t even speak anymore, but sometimes there is a fire in his eyes which speaks on his behalf. When I see it in his eyes, I can tell that he’s fighting infirmity, because he still has something to do yet in this life.” Agniezka had lost much of her Polish accent, but it was still there, but there was also some Corkonian in her, and probably a little Dublin, too.

Then I remembered what the chubby lad from the book shop had mentioned to me back in January. I decided to bring it up: “Didn’t he do a book signing and reading a couple of years ago? I was told he’s also available for private consultations.”

She nodded: “I wasn’t yet caring for him, but his previous nurse thought it would be a good idea for his eightieth birthday. He was very low, depressed. And a recent spate of unsubstantiated hauntings around Cork and other places in Ireland had caused a mini-boom of interest in the supernatural. The bookshop owners decided to cash in on it and hold a paranormal exhibition. They made Sean the guest of honour. It brought him out of himself for a time. It wasn’t to last though. In the time since, his health has gradually deteriorated. Happens to us all... eventually.”

She got up from the table and walked around for a bit, looking around as if reacquainting herself with a part of her past. Then it occurred to me. There really was no denying it.

“This used to be your apartment wasn’t it? Yours... and Marek’s?” It suddenly dawned on me just who my entity was.

She nodded, less fervently now.

“We weren’t here long. Less than a year. But the cult started here. Formed by Xavier after his ex-communication from the Church. He used the internet to find his disciples. He wanted big, powerful men, bodybuilders being his desired preference.” She paused, as if to remember her brother. I decided to let her speak without interruption, my fascination waxing.

“Marek and I had just arrived in Ireland. I wanted to be a nurse and he got work in the construction trade, which was booming back then. Not like now. We lived here in Cork first. Marek trained at Mass Central, which had opened about a year before Xavier bought this site to build on. Obviously it would bode him well to draw in further recruits from the gym. Marek made friends quickly, and soon we’d moved from our one-room bedsit to this place. This was our apartment. We were happy, until Xavier changed the terms of our tenancy. He didn’t want women in the complex whatsoever, except for visits, and even then they were to be kept to a minimum.

“Marek contested this, of course, and we wanted to take our landlord to court. But before we could even find a solicitor, Marek returned from a meeting with Xavier, his skin deathly white. When I asked him what had happened, he couldn’t answer. We already had our suspicions that Xavier might have been into something... let’s say... unconventional... spiritually speaking. The Occult with a capital ‘O’. We both attended church regularly, brought up to be good Catholics. But Marek packed our bags that very day and we left for Dublin. We had friends there that put us up. The day after we came to Dublin was the day my brother attacked you in the gym.” Agniezka began to weep, and so I found her some tissues. This was all so fantastic to hear. But there were things that still baffled me. I had to know more.

“Marek was a very sweet person, Stephen. Xavier had a tremendous influence over him and over others. And believe you me when I say that I still regret not coming forward then with what I knew of Xavier’s cult. But I was scared. So was Marek.” She continued after a good blow of her nose. “He never juiced and was well-liked by everyone that knew us. But Xavier did something to him, something I fear I will never learn of. It made him bestial. After he was arrested following your attack, I got to see him while he was in custody. He barely recognised me, and yelled all manner of obscenities at me, screaming at me to get away. I don’t think it was because he hated me. I think he was warning me to stay away. For my sake.

“I only visited him once more before his trial, the one you testified at. He was calmer now. He was even pleased to see me. He seemed content to be going to prison, but I tried to convince his lawyer to make a plea of insanity on his behalf. But despite that one outburst directed at me – that first time I went to see him – he was a model prisoner, and there was no evidence to prove he was anything but of sound mind. It was proven in court that the drugs found in his system would have taken longer to metabolise, and couldn’t have caused his outburst. So you see... another reason that explains why Marek wasn’t himself. He hated steroids with a passion. He came clean out of the army, fit and proud to be fit. He didn’t smoke or use alcohol. Whatever Xavier did to this mind, made him... I don’t know... a vessel for evil?”

“But he died in prison of a heart attack. There was a drugs ring in operation in the Dublin gym. They must’ve had connections in the prison itself.” My argument was sound, based upon what I already knew. But now that I considered the matter further, I realised that my theory was a little on the Hollywood side.

“Marek’s heart attack couldn’t be explained, not medically anyway. He might have taken something the day of your attack, but that was it. Yes, I accept he may have been dealing steroids to help get us back on our feet, but even if he had access to them in prison, I know he wouldn't have taken anything, certainly not long enough to suffer a heart attack. I managed to pull some strings and get a copy of his autopsy report. He was physically fit. The cause of death was natural causes. But there was nothing natural about my brother’s demise.”

“What makes you say that?” My own heart was now pounding uncomfortably inside my massive chest.

“Because on the same day that my brother died in prison, Celestine Xavier cut his own throat... right here below us... in that infernal basement, his very church. It was hardly front page news, but it was in some papers nonetheless. That's how I found out. Later I would learn more details, that they died within moments of each other. Natural causes? PAH!”

I reared back in astonishment. This was all too incredible to take in at once. But I did my best to digest everything. “You should have admitted this back at the trial. You could have signed a confession to be made admissible in court,” I said, having seen enough episodes of Judge Judy to know something like that. Okay, bad example. I actually knew nothing about the Irish judicial system.

“Fear is the one great force in life that protects us from evil, Stephen. But it doesn’t stop evil from maintaining a keen interest in those it determines to corrupt. Faith in God, alas, provides little armour against the acolytes of the Dark Prince. Besides, I was far too young for a straitjacket.”

Well, I didn’t have a response to that one. Religion wasn’t my strongest subject. Instead I opted for: “So why’d you call here last night and then again today? Didn’t you sense that you’d be in danger if you did?”

“To be honest, no. I had a feeling that Lance had been corrupted no less than Marek had years ago, but I had to see for myself. Would you believe me if I told you that Lance was smaller only last night when I came here? He was more reasonable, too, although I gained no ground with him. Recently I’ve been having bad dreams about Marek, seeing him suffering in death. I see images of people from the past. Lance and I dated for a short time. That's how I learned about Xavier's suicide, from Lance. At the time I knew him, he seemed like Xavier’s favourite in the cult. I wanted to talk to him about my dreams, and to ask for help. I wasn’t even sure if he’d want to speak to me after all these years. The cult is no more, hasn’t existed since 2002. But I have this feeling that Lance may be trying to keep something of it alive, probably for his own personal gain.”

Oh I was with her on that one, alright. Lance was growing, at an even more staggering rate than I was. There was an obvious connection to my muscle-growth, but I didn’t know what it was just yet, although the notion of that package was now screaming to be voiced outside of my addled brain. Should I tell her about the entity? Hmmm, I decided to wait a little.

“About three months ago...,” she began, showing no signs of tiring from telling me all I needed to know. I guess I’m a good listener (all writers are, although I hadn’t thought of myself as a writer in months, not since I became a bodybuilder... thanks to Marek Rcazkowska). She continued, “... there was a break-in at my flat while I was collecting my welfare benefit from the post office. Anyway, the place was a shambles, as you can imagine, but nothing of value was taken. That is to say, nothing of value to anyone but me.” She paused once again, not for dramatic effect, but to give her nose another toot into a tissue.

“The urn containing most of Marek’s ashes was stolen. I didn’t know whether to ring the police or seek advice from a priest. I ended up contacting the former. They came to the apartment, dusted for prints, but turned up nothing. Their leads went cold. I cried incessantly for days afterward. I felt so useless. Thank goodness not all of my brother’s ashes were stolen. Some of them were sent back home to Poland for safekeeping with my mother. She keeps them under her pillow at all times.”

“That’s around the time I moved into this place. I saw Lance accept a package from another bodybuilder. I assumed steroids, and still do, now that Lance has ballooned into the massive muscle-beast he now is. But what if...”

Agniezka cut me short, standing up abruptly. She dropped the half-full mug of tea that had since gone cold.

“Shit, sorry. How clumsy of me. Let me clean that up.” She went to the kitchen to look for a cloth to soak up the spillage.

“It’s alright, leave it. So what if the carpet gets stained? I’ll just move a chair over it. I think you and I have hit the nail on the head, Agniezka.”

"Like I already said, I came to see Lance last night to get help. I'd no one else to turn to. Maybe he'd find something out, learn who stole Marek's ashes. He seemed semi-reasonable last night; even offered me money, which I initially accepted. But I came back today to return it. I didn’t want... his taint... on me. Are you suggesting that ---"

“Marek’s ashes.... Lance got hold of them," I cut in, almost excitedly. "He must’ve paid someone that has experience breaking into other people’s homes. Somehow he’s using them to acquire huge growth. But how is that possible?”

My head churned with ideas. Suddenly I was a writer again, piecing together bits of data here and there in order to weave them into the most elaborate of tapestries (however improbable a lot of my works turned out to be). Still though, I found this a useful resource. Xavier had started an occult organisation right here in this building, years ago. And now, somehow, there existed here the ability for the living-soul of a dead person (if you can call it that) to become trapped indefinitely. And its energy had the power to make men grow big muscles. That had to be it. Then, without thinking...

“Marek’s here, Agniezka.”

She looked me up and down, and for a moment was silent, as if her addled mind struggled with the concept that I might have cashed in on this terrible crime. She started off calmly enough:

“You didn’t have that physique when you testified against Marek at the witness stand. Let me guess, it’s a recent acquisition, no?” Her expression warped into a facet of distrust aimed squarely at me.

“Lance’s apartment is below this one. If he was somehow able to manipulate Marek’s spirit through possession of his mortal remains, then maybe some residual effect of that is bleeding in here.” I knew I was right. That had to be it. But it didn’t explain why I’d only had three growth spurts (same as Lance, probably).

“Answer the question, Stephen. How long have you had those muscles?” Agniezka’s tone took on an ostensibly adversarial tone. But it was completely unnecessary on her part, I thought.

“Since the beginning of the year. But I’ve been doing conventional bodybuilding, too. Almost every free moment I get is spent pumping iron. I’m not the villain here.” I had to defend myself. Seconds ticked onward less than gloomily, giving my guest time to consider my words carefully. Eventually Agniezka mellowed on the verge of exploding with emotion.

“It wasn’t my choice to move in here, Agniezka. My secretary found the place for me. It seemed harmless to begin with. But I had my first experience as soon as I slept in that bed for the first time.” I pointed towards my bedroom door.

“We need to get Marek’s remains back,” said Agniezka as she began to pace the room. I hate when people do that. Makes the back of my neck itch.

“Well, if Lance has them in his apartment, everything in there is now off-limits. This is a murder investigation. All of his worldly possessions are now evidence,” I hated telling her. But it was a cold fact of police work.

“Marek’s ashes were not his to begin with. I’m going to call the police station... speak to someone in charge.” Agniezka began punching buttons on her phone. I decided to let her speak to someone of authority. I played around in my mind with the idea of Marek’s ashes being the key to my muscle-growth, obviously something Lance hadn’t expected. And yet, the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t entirely satisfy me as a tangible notion to work with. Something was missing. That basement, the place that Lance called his gym – Xavier’s Church – had to be the final missing piece of the puzzle.

Agniezka’s phone call to the police had been all too brief. She hung up, a dismayed look on her face.

“Well?” I gazed at her expectantly.

“They’re still compiling information. But I spoke to one of the Garda who actually searched Lance’s apartment today. He told me there was no such item there. Maybe we’re completely wrong about this.” She sighed despondently. A tear began to well up in the corner of her eye. She really was a stunningly attractive woman, if you were into that sort of thing, which I wasn’t. But I felt sorry for her. She had loneliness written all over her face. I now realised that I was lonely, too, finally able to answer the question I’d asked myself the night before. She missed her brother, who now clearly wasn’t at rest, and I was using an insatiable desire to become the largest bodybuilder on Earth, not only to finally feel superior to Gary, but to keep my mind from dwelling too much on my solitary lifestyle.

“Obviously they weren’t looking in the right place. That’s Lance’s basement key to the lift. I swiped it this morning during his murderous rampage. Marek’s remains could be down there,” I said, nodding to the key in the saucer on the coffee table.

Without saying another word, Agniezka made a bolt for the key.

“Stop!! It’s too cold to touch. There’s a force emanating from it.” She didn’t listen.

“Arrrrrrghhhh,” she screamed, when her fingers came into contact with the bedevilled key. It stuck to her fingers but she managed to loosen it with a few shakes for her hand. “What the hell?”

“Same thing happened to me. It either wants to keep us out, or prevent me from giving it over to the police.”

“They’d find their way down there with or without it, wouldn't they? For all we know the basement’s already been searched,” she said resignedly, nursing her sore fingers. I hadn't thought of that. I went to get her some plasters and antiseptic. Agniezka indeed had a point. I’d been asleep for hours. The police could’ve been all over this place like ants at a picnic spread while I was out of it.

“Let me show you something,” I said after I cleaned and plastered up my visitor’s fingers. She allowed me to lead her to my bedroom. We stood inside with the lights on. I noticed Ray’s iPod on the floor and stooped to pick it up. The bed needed making and there was a musty stale jizz odour in the room. I’d been wanking a lot, getting off to my muscles, so I was completely to blame for that. If Agniezka got the smell then she said nothing. But I could swear that she wrinkled her nose a little upon entering the bedroom.

“Right there, in that bed. The entity visited me three times. It diffused through me, the first time after I came out of a dream.” I decided not to tell her about the dream, or about my attempted rape of Ray McInerney.

“I feel nothing,” she said, as if half-expecting a Poltergeist moment in response to her presence here. I was surprised that nothing happened either.

Agniezka went over to the bed and knelt down beside it. She placed both of her hands palm-down on my pillow and began to talk directly to her brother in Polish:

“Marek, it’s your little sister, Aggi. I know what happened to you, that you’re a prisoner against your will. And I know what tremendous power you have over others and what you can do for them. But hear me out, I vow to you, in the name off all Rcazkowskas that suffered before us, to find the menace that ensnared you, and break their hold over you. I will not rest until they are made to suffer in return.”

Of course, I didn’t understand a word of that, but I could sense the gist of what she was saying. She’d made a vow to avenge the wrong done against her brother. But Marek was the source of my massive muscle-growth. Fiendishly I hoped I could benefit from this un-holiest of unions a little longer.


To be continued... Click HERE

[silvershadow]

Wow what a chapter. Just wow. Its becoming darker and darker in a very addicting and must know more manor. Once again I am on the edge of my seat and waiting to read what happens next. I mean a cult!? I did not see that coming. Bravo this is a fantastic story.

[rocketdog]

This is an incredibly engaging story. Love reading it, and seeing new chapters! Thanks.

[muscleboi25]

Holy crap, I wasn't prepared for a cult. This was phenominally done and quite the exciting addition to the story I can't wait to see what happnes to Lance and Stephen. Thanks for this installment.

[nypup2train]

This series is incredibly hot, and keeps getting better. We have definitely got to get into that basement and find out what Lance has managed to tap into down there! And if things go well, maybe Stephen can even find a way to make a deal for some of the same benefits himself... but without paying the price Lance obviously has been, both mentally and physically!

Great stuff, JP71, and please keep it coming!

I hope you'll allow me one small comment, it's something that was nagging at me as I read this (brilliant, nonetheless) chapter. As the story unfolded in this installment, I kinda started feeling like Stephen needs to give it a rest, a bit, about Lance's skin. We get it, the guy's got awful acne, and just a terrible complexion all around. But it's starting to seem like he can't mention Lance's name without throwing in some cuntiness about his acne... which starts to make Stephen look ugly, really, instead of Lance!

*shrug* Sorry, just... like I said, as I was reading it, that was in the back of my mind. And now... it's in front of your eyes!

[imfit]

As the others have said before me, this is a very engaging story. Great description, character visualization -- I will be looking forward to your next chapter.

[philat99]

What a bunch of twists and turns!!! I loved this chapter. You've introduced the preternatural/supernatural quite effectively. I had been expecting the Vatican to be the villain, especially with the current Irish/Vatican tension. I am truly looking forward to your next chapters.

[JP71]

Originally Posted by nypup2train

This series is incredibly hot, and keeps getting better. We have definitely got to get into that basement and find out what Lance has managed to tap into down there! And if things go well, maybe Stephen can even find a way to make a deal for some of the same benefits himself... but without paying the price Lance obviously has been, both mentally and physically!

Great stuff, JP71, and please keep it coming!

I hope you'll allow me one small comment, it's something that was nagging at me as I read this (brilliant, nonetheless) chapter. As the story unfolded in this installment, I kinda started feeling like Stephen needs to give it a rest, a bit, about Lance's skin. We get it, the guy's got awful acne, and just a terrible complexion all around. But it's starting to seem like he can't mention Lance's name without throwing in some cuntiness about his acne... which starts to make Stephen look ugly, really, instead of Lance!

*shrug* Sorry, just... like I said, as I was reading it, that was in the back of my mind. And now... it's in front of your eyes!

Glad you're enjoying the story. But dude, these "acne references" are deliberate. I showed Lance at 3 stages of his transformation to muscle-monster, spread across 5 chapters. Was it not clear to you that something has gone awry with his muscle-growth? The character is loosely based on an ex-bf of mine, who abused steroids to an insane degree, and had all the physical and behavioral signs of this, and yet insisted there was nothing wrong in his world. He had one of the worst cases of steroid acne I'd ever seen, although acne in general seemed to run in his family, as both of his brothers had it, too, although they weren't bodybuilders. I guess the steroids sent his sebaceous glands into overdrive.

Stephen is also undergoing a comparatively rapid transformation, but he is becoming a huge muscle-hunk, and I guess vanity has gone to his head, so if I over-referenced something through him, take it as a symptom of the mental and physical flux from which his life now depends. Lance is/was the sour versus Stephen's sweet, I guess.

[umlerian49]

Another tour de force! Again, I really like the supernatural aspect of the story. I'm trying to figure out if what's in the basement is the entity, or the entity is present because of what's in the basement. So many clues to follow-- I like mysteries!