What Good is Evil?

What Good is Evil?

by

Sonya C. Dodd

Copyright © 2017 by Sonya C Dodd

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Other titles available by Sonya C. Dodd:

A Whisper in the Wind

Harbour of Dreams

Siren Call

Echo of a Siren

Affirmation of the Sirens

Brass Buttons

Dear Mother

2000 words: A collection of short stories

Black Tuesday

Don’t Tell Me You’re Sorry

The Root of All Evil

With Hindsight

Who’s Real?

No Man is an Island

Woodland Child

Woodland Children

A Kaleidoscope of Teardrops

For further details, please check out my website: sonyacdodd.com

Prologue

Luke stood up from the bed and grimaced. His lust might have been temporarily sated, but the sight of the whore lying between the red satin sheets with too much flesh showing, made him wonder whether he would have been better off tolerating his own frustration.

He could see she was pretending to sleep. Her eye lashes, painted thickly with black mascara, fluttered slightly. The black eye liner he had watched her carefully apply earlier was now smudged around her eyes making it appear as though she had been crying.

Clenching his fists tightly, Luke glanced down at his own body glistening with sweat. The heat in the room was almost unbearable. He couldn’t help but admire his own torso, lean and smooth, a contrast to hers; it was his tool for attracting any woman he wanted to his bed.

Luke didn’t know what had made him go for this one. She had been desperate to give herself to him as though he would be some kind of trophy for her to boast about to her friends. Maybe he had experienced a moment of weakness and actually felt sorry for her.

Casting his eyes down over the flabby curves of her body and her large buttocks, Luke turned away in disgust. He certainly felt nothing but loathing for her now.

Gratefully he stepped into the hot shower, allowing the pummelling water to wash away the scent of the fat cow who now occupied his bed. It would be too much to hope for that she would be gone by the time he walked back into his bedroom. No doubt she thought she could take up residence until he moved onto his next victim.

Rubbing the shower gel over his body, Luke felt his body’s response already stirring once more. They’d only had sex a short time ago but already new desire was coursing through his limbs.

It had definitely been a mistake; she would have to go. The problem was, as far as Luke saw it: he was bored. No woman in this place ever held his interest for longer than a short while and there was nothing else to do to pass the time.

Trapped here, there was nothing to fill his mind other than dreaming about his next conquest. A small smile crept onto his face. He would speak to his father. He needed to get out of here and take on some responsibility.

Luke was convinced that if he just had something else to occupy himself each day, then he would find his existence more tolerable.

That was it. Having settled on a way forward he threw his head back and ran his hands through his black hair as the water cascaded over him. Suddenly his heart felt much lighter.

The sound of the shower curtain sliding back behind him made Luke pause. He closed his eyes and felt his blood suddenly racing through his veins.

Feeling her hands move round his body as she reached for his cock, before she could touch him, Luke took hold of one of her wrists and began to squeeze as he turned to face her.

Already her face was beginning to contort with the pain she was experiencing. Enjoying the power he held so easily over her, Luke grinned as she collapsed onto her knees.

Her body was like a jellyfish, he decided as he watched her shake with fear. Her long, dark hair hung loosely, clinging to her chest and shoulders.

With a quick twist Luke broke her wrist and felt a surge of pleasure as a wail escaped from her throat and filled the steamy air around them.

Without loosening his grip on her arm, Luke pulled the woman to her feet. He saw her terror as he stared into her brown eyes, seeing horror written clearly in her face.

His own black eyes, he knew, were laughing at her because he was aware of what was coming next.

Letting her arm go, Luke raised his hands slowly and felt the softness of her wet cheeks. Now there were tears, as well as the water from the shower, spreading her eye makeup in streaks down her face. She looked like a clown, he decided.

The novelty of his power was quickly gone. He knew she deserved no mercy from him, and with the swiftest of movements Luke grabbed her neck and snapped it with ease as though it was the stem of a flower.

There was no sound from her lips, he had been too quick for that. However, her body landed on the floor of the shower cubicle with a deep thud when he let her go.

Luke turned off the water and stepped over the slumped body. He would get dressed and eat something, he decided, as he began to dry himself with a large, red towel, before he’d call for someone to take her away.

Holding the putter out towards his master, whilst clutching the heavy golf bag and flannel in his other hand, Marduk hesitantly put his question forward: Are you sure you’re doing the right thing by letting Luke go?

The speaker wore his hair long, it had long since turned a dark shade of grey with age and was pulled back into a single pony tail. He glanced from the ball nestled on the edge of the green towards his companion who stood rooted to the spot as he eyed up his next shot, ignoring the inclement weather racing towards them.

What else can a father do? he replied at last. There is only so long you can hold a child back before you have to let them go out into the world to make their own mistakes.

His voice sounded sad but resigned as he continued to step around the green, checking the line of his next shot.

But Luke? Surely you can see he is one to be watched closely. He’s hot-headed, arrogant …

He would have continued his list but his friend held up his hand and he fell silent in subservience. I know my son well enough. No one needs to inform me of his faults; I know they are plentiful and I make no excuses for him.

But Lucifer, is the world really ready for such a lethal weapon as your son?

A small smile crept onto Lucifer’s well-weathered face. Age had not been kind to him but there was evidence he had been a handsome man in his youth.

I take your criticism as a compliment. No doubt my son will find some amusement, but he will grow bored and I am confident we will see his return in the near future.

Marduk shrugged. There was no point saying anything further. It would only anger his friend and that could prove to be a very foolish move.

Chapter One

It had not taken her as long to realise he was no longer in his usual spot as it did for her to notice him that first time. Passing the place twice a day, firstly on her way down the hill on her way to work, then in the evening on her way back up the hill heading home, Rose had quickly become accustomed to seeing his face in the crowd.

There were always so many people around at those times, yet she never failed to see him. She had often wondered how long he had been in the same place before he first caught her attention; it couldn’t have been very long. Something about his appearance had captured her eye and now Rose found herself wondering why she couldn’t shake him from her mind.

The world’s population appeared to have the same journey and working hours as Rose, yet they all seemed to be able to spare the time to walk aimlessly as though there was a huge conspiracy going on to delay Rose Johnson reaching her destination on time.

Why couldn’t people manage to walk in a straight line? The question was usually playing on her mind as she walked along Gentleman’s Walk each day. The way everyone’s path weaved across hers just as she was picking up speed was a daily bug bear. The bobbing heads were like a river flowing down towards Exchange Street; the odd vendor peddling his wares in the centre of the walkway was like a rock interrupting the flow of water towards its goal.

The changing window displays of the shops which lined the street barely gained a glance from her. The colourful roofs of the market stalls didn’t even justify a look as Rose turned her eyes in the opposite direction as she came level with the grey, stone wall of the bank outside which she knew he should be sitting.

Rose didn’t know anything about living rough but it seemed this spot was his place as he was the only down and out who ever seemed to occupy this position.

She couldn’t recall when she had first noticed him but it was impossible for her now to think of a time when she hadn’t looked out for him as part of the routine of her daily trek. Whether it was the shine of his jet-black hair, his chiselled good looks, or his lean, muscular body: none of which were lost beneath the guise of a homeless guy, living on the streets, Rose couldn’t say what about him first captured her eye. It wasn’t that Rose made a habit of noticing vagrants on the streets of the city; in fact, she was probably the perfect example of one of the masses who acted as though they were invisible; this man though, his appearance seemed to leap out of the crowd at Rose, whenever she passed by him.

Although Rose would never have admitted it, she knew the moment he glanced up at her passing and returned her smile, a spring appeared in her step. From that moment on, it never mattered how many people thought to move into her path, the warmth inside her body had been ignited by that look and it would remain in place until the return journey at the end of her working day.

Rose Johnson was just twenty-four and had lived in Norwich all her life. Unlike many young people, Rose had never felt an inclination to leave her home city, instead she liked the security the familiar surroundings offered her.

After finishing her ‘A’ levels, she had still lacked any ambition towards any particular field or career and had fallen into the bank cashier’s job she still held after five years.

The role wasn’t particularly demanding but Rose liked the fact she could walk out of the office at 5pm each day, without any sense of responsibility weighing on her mind.

Rose felt life had been pretty kind to her so far and, as she strolled back down London Street, her mind flitted between what she should cook for dinner and wondering whether ‘he’ would be back in his usual place.

Having never dared speak to him, Rose was determined, if he was back, she would pluck up the courage to say something to him, no matter how trivial it was. She’d never had much confidence when it came to men but Rose knew there was something different about this guy who seemed to live as much inside her head as he did on the streets of the city, as though he was haunting her.

She was a romantic, she couldn’t help it. Rose dreamt of meeting Mr Right but had no idea how she’d ever manage it. Whenever she had met someone she liked, her mind would be telling her what to say, or do, but she always chickened out at the last minute, too scared of making a fool of herself and pre-empting his negative judgement of her.

This man though, really got under her skin. It was impossible for Rose to put her finger on what made him so different. He dressed the part of a tramp with his long, dark overcoat and dirty boots. However, he looked clean, and whilst she had been close enough on several occasions to put some coins into his unturned cap, she was positive he didn’t smell of that mustiness which crept out of the pores of most dossers she saw; on the contrary, something animalistic about his scent had her spell-bound.

Then there were his eyes. They appeared so dark she would have believed they were black. Yet they had drawn her gaze in his direction, time and time again, so that she was always forced to drag her eyes away from his first, embarrassed he would think she had been staring at him.

His skin was pale but clean-shaven. However, there was a ruggedness about him which had Rose dreaming about him in a way she knew she shouldn’t. She’d never seen him smoking or drinking aimlessly, in fact, he looked as though he could have been waiting for a bus, rather than having no purpose in his life.

Turning into Gentleman’s Walk for the upward climb towards St. Stephen’s Street on her way home, Rose sighed as she dodged quickly to avoid the lethal prongs of a shopping trolley being towed by an old woman, who was clearly oblivious to the number of ankles she was managing to swipe with her dangerous companion.

Glancing down, Rose was relieved the trolley had failed to ladder her black tights. Quickly she ducked to her left to avoid a collision with a tired mother, who looked as though she was in a race to get her small child and buggy to some unknown destination, before the church bell of St. Peter Mancroft chimed six o’clock.

Rose’s heart sunk as she drew level with Lloyds Bank. He wasn’t there. Realising she had stopped in her tracks, Rose moved to the side of the pedestrianised street. Her eyes scanned the scene in front of her.

The last of the day’s shoppers were carrying their brightly coloured carrier bags towards waiting vehicles, which would carry them home. Men and women in suits, carrying brief cases, walked with determination homewards, a combination of stress and relief visible in their expressions.

Many of the market stalls were now shuttered and empty. Shop assistants stood expectantly in doorways hoping to attract final customers before lights were extinguished and doors were locked for the night.

But there was no sign of him. Somewhere further along the street there was a busker; Rose could hear the strumming of a guitar and a loosely held tune being sung. But the shop fronts were clear. No one leant against the large panes of glass hoping for a few coins with which to pass a couple of hours, without an empty stomach, once the centre was bare.

Everyone, she could see, had a purpose to their step and was oblivious to her presence. No one noticed her eyes scanning their