Beautiful Women

‘Beautiful women need to be made love to. Frequently’, he reflected.

Dr. John Smith then placed his gigantic, tanned hands on the dry-stone wall and hoisted himself over in one smooth leap. He paused on the manicured lawn and adjusted his kaftan. He shaped his tangled grey hair back into a ponytail. His movements were unhurried but practiced.

Smith removed the band from between white teeth and fastened his ponytail. He planned to check his appearance in the mirror anyway, but this would do for now.

He strode briskly to the timber doorway of his octagonal, granite house. The vibrant purple of the bougainvillea splashed over one wall of the house, but Dr. Smith didn’t feel his usual pleasure in its beauty.

He removed his sandals outside the arched doorway, ducked his head, and padded silently across the marble tiled floor. The whitewashed walls throughout the large, open plan house complemented the huge stone open fireplace and exposed raw timber beams. Recesses in the walls throughout the living area provided resting places for quality paperback books - classics, modern classics and several copies of John Smith’s own teachings on yoga and meditation.

‘Beautiful women also need a strong hand at times’, he thought, as he wrenched open the knotted timber door to Priya’s room.

As he’d suspected, she was gone.

He exhaled slowly. Dear, sweet Priya. Dear, stupid Priya. At 23 she was the youngest of his three life partners. Although officially the notion of ‘favorites’ was forbidden in his ashram, she’d been the most special to him.

At first glance her room the same. Exposed timber beams and whitewashed walls dominated, and Priya’s small collection of books remained in the alcove in a side wall above the queen size bed. The scent of her, patchouli and something else indefinable, still lingered here, but the rack where all four of her identical outfits had hung was empty. A quick glance at her wash basin revealed also that her personal toiletries, minimal as they had been, were also gone.

The sight of himself stroking his abundant grizzled beard in the mirror on the far wall caught him by surprise. He sometimes forgot his age. His youth, growing up in a well-to-do family of lawyers in Melbourne, and then the blur of the late 1960s and early 1970s, seemed just yesterday.

‘Dear, oh, dearie me’, he muttered, out loud this time.

Priya’s behavior really was disappointing. He’d always sensed that she’d had difficulty adjusting to the spiritual life they had worked so hard to set up here.

‘You think you’re some sort of God on earth, don’t you?’ she’d said just yesterday. ‘He who must be obeyed. All that bullshit about calm and serenity doesn’t fool me. You’re just a fucking control freak, Ravi. A sick bastard’.

Her wide, innocent blue eyes and the blonde hair spilling freely over her shoulders were probably the reasons he’d suppressed early misgivings he’d held about her. One liked to think the best of people and, even though his other partners had tried to warn him that she wasn’t a team player, he’d been willingly blinded.

He remembered his initial impression of her, looking so pure and desirable in that nurse’s uniform.

Smith knew what had to be done now. He didn’t like being put in this position by the selfishness of others. But it was important that the rest of the family saw that there were consequences for those who did not comply.

Dr. Smith, or ‘Ravi’ as he preferred these days, sighed.

He strode to his office and unlocked the drawer to the heavy timber desk. His hand moved around, seeking for the cold metal of the small firearm.

It took some time for it to dawn on him that this too was gone.

The envelope under it also seemed to be missing.

He hesitated before reaching past where these two items should have been. His fingers eventually made contact with his smartphone. Phones and other evil technologies were strictly forbidden here, but Smith understood that rules were only for the unenlightened.

He scrolled through his contacts until he found the code for Len’s name, then stood completely still, listening to his house. Nothing. Good.

Smith pressed his screen and waited. He paced.

‘Yeah. Lennie here’, a gentle voice yawned, after far too many rings.

‘Namaste, my friend’, purred Smith. ‘It’s Ravi here. How is life in Byron Bay on this glorious day?’

There was a slight pause and some shuffling noises before Lennie replied.

‘I can’t complain, I guess’, Lennie finally grunted. ‘Look, Ravi, is this important? You know after last time I told you to ring only if …’

‘It’s important’, Ravi interrupted, suddenly businesslike. ‘I need you to a do a job. Immediately. $10 000 today, another $10 000 it’s all done and the dust has settled’.

There was complete silence for what seemed to be an eternity. When Lennie spoke again, his voice was low and weary.

‘I don’t get out of bed for less than $30 000, Ravi. You know that. And I don’t do that stuff anymore, as I told you last time.’

‘$30 000, then. But it must be done in the next few hours, no traces left’, Ravi ordered. ‘Understood?’

‘Look, Smith … Ravi, whatever you call yourself these days. I decide what I do and don’t do. I’m not part of that herd you have up there at your ‘farm’. But let’s say, hypothetically, if I was to accept your offer of $30 000 to do a “job” - and this is purely hypothetical - what would that job be?’

Ravi produced what he knew a sigh of regret should sound like. It was the sound of a peaceful, spiritual man who’d been duped and badly hurt by a manipulative, young, twenty-first century woman.

‘It’s Priya. We tried to heal her and take her with us on the journey to enlightenment, but she instead has made a very poor choice. She has left the farm’.

‘Priya, eh? A shame. Lovely girl’, Lennie said thoughtfully. ‘Too good for an old bastard like you, anyway. Let her go, Ravi. Make an exception’.

Rage overwhelmed Ravi like a sudden blinding headache. But ‘The Anger’, as he’d come to think of it as, must be contained for the duration of the phone call.

‘I won’t be doing that, Lennie’, he said calmly. ‘I want her … removed, if you catch my meaning’.

‘Well, that’s just not going to happen’, Lennie said casually. ‘No can do. She’s a great kid who has probably just come to her senses. Let it all go. What harm can it do? Now I must be going’.

When Ravi started to speak again, he realized that Lennie was gone.

The bastard had hung up on him!

He stood, watching a stray ray of sunshine slant across his study. The way the light filled the room should have made him feel at peace with the world. He’d probably even use the beauty of natural light to compose some words for when he addressed the members of his family as they sat at the long rustic table for the evening meal.

So Lennie wouldn’t do it.

Dissent could not go unchecked. Priya would spread the predictable lies about his beautiful group and this would certainly destroy everything he’d built up for the past 40 years. Hundreds of lives could be affected.

As leader, he could be in serious, serious trouble. The photos alone were a problem.

No one had seen her this morning. She could be a long way away by now, but if it took years, he would find her. She would discover the hard way, as others had done, that nobody left John Smith.

……………………………………………

The alarm on her burner phone jangled harshly. She reached over and stopped it, before yawning and stepping groggily out of bed. After quickly changing into some track pants and a polo top, she searched for socks through a mound of clean laundry in a basket on the floor in the corner.

Her sleepy image looked back at her from the mirror in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. Her partner Dan always made fun of her for cleaning her teeth before breakfast rather than afterwards, but this was what she’d done for as long as she could remember. Besides, it was her business and no-one else’s. It was quite irrelevant to her what anyone, even dear sweet Dan, thought.

No man would ever totally dictate how she led her life ever again. Her experiences with that maniac Ravi ensured that.

Shoelaces fastened, blonde ponytail through the rear of her cap, she locked the front door and strode down the street towards the creek.

It was a clear mid-Autumn morning in Brisbane, with a slight crispness in the air that would be gone within twenty minutes. In the months that she’d been here, the early morning walk along the Bulimba Creek Bikeway had definitely become a favorite escape from urban living. The self-defense classes she took were interesting, and great for functional fitness, but walking was the much-needed nourishment her soul needed on a regular basis.

She turned right over a green walk bridge and followed the path through the darker forest she and Dan jokingly referred to as ‘Midsomer’. She half expected to hear the theme music from that British crime show Midsomer Murders, or to see a pair of feet sticking out from under a shrub. As she strode through the dense shade, she scanned the thick undergrowth between her and the creek on her left. She felt there was something sinister about this place, especially for a young woman like herself walking alone. She’d thought about getting a dog, an Alsatian perhaps, but hadn’t got around to it yet.

Her breathing became quicker and deeper as she followed the path out of the darkness and moved along the path up the slope linking the thick timber she’d just passed through to the next section of bush land.

Her thoughts turned to Dan.

After what she’d been through, it had taken a long time to even contemplate getting into any sort of relationship with another man. She’d even briefly considered women but knew deep down that it just wasn’t for her.

Through a series of strange, beautiful, coincidences, she’d found herself snuggling next to Dan in bed one morning. There had been a friendship of sorts long before this happened, and lots of laughter, before she’d even realized that he was attracted to her. He wasn’t her usual type, either. For a start he was closer to her age, unlike her previous lovers. He had great arms, though, and she felt comfortably safe with him. And, hell, despite being a modern independent woman, she needed to feel safe.

She became aware her pocket was vibrating as she entered an open woodland of dappled sunlight.

She paused and fished out her phone. She looked at it, frowned and answered it.

‘Hello. It’s Jenny speaking’, she said.

‘Priya. Lennie here. How are you?’

‘Lennie. What’s happening?’ she asked cautiously. She looked along the pathway in both directions, a sense of unease growing.

‘Priya, you’re not safe’, Lennie warned gently. ‘I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I know for a fact that you-know-who has found out where you live’.

He stopped.

‘Damn’, she muttered.

‘He’s been searching since you left a few months back. This was always going to happen, wasn’t it? Anyway, I can help you get out by lunchtime today, if you need me again’, Lennie continued calmly. ‘It will take me a few hours to get there, though. We can probably relocate you somewhere further away this time …’

‘No’, Jenny heard herself saying. ‘Lennie, listen to me. I’m actually happy where I am. I’m not going to be intimidated by that bloody psycho anymore. “He who must be obeyed”. Do you hear?’

‘Oh dear, Priya’, Lennie said in a resigned voice. ‘How’d I know you were going to say that? I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, sweetie. But I genuinely don’t think you know how dangerous this guy is. I know for a fact that out of the girls who have left him over the decades, you are the only one still breathing. Are you hearing me? Priya?’

‘Where is he?’ she finally asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Where is he?’ she repeated, more forcefully this time. ‘I mean, why do we all put up with this sort of bullshit? The running, the hiding, living our lives in fear. Let’s turn the tables. Where is he!?’

‘What are you suggesting, Priya? That you go after John Smith yourself, like some sort of vigilante?’ Lennie chuckled. ‘But, look. I know you and I like you. So I’m going to help you. I can be there in a couple of hours’.

‘I don’t want your help that way, Lennie. Thank you, but no. I just want to know his movements today and maybe tomorrow. I’m going to deal with this once and for all’, she said firmly, brushing a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes. ‘Are you going to tell me or not? Or do I just work it all out by myself?’

…………………………………………….

Smith put his face amongst the leaves, examining the moss on the gnarled branches of the ancient apple tree more closely. The moss didn’t appear to cause any immediate damage to the yield of Heritage apples, or the quality of the actual fruit.

He personally found it so beautiful. It was another tiny miracle of nature.

He straightened and plucked a russeted, reddish apple from the tree. It snapped away from the branch with a sharp click. He bit into its crispness, juice spattering from its white flesh. It was probably his favorite from amongst the older varieties. He didn’t know if this one, named Winesap, was technically an heirloom. He’d be keen to follow up with some reading when he had the chance.

But, regardless, it was rarely grown anymore in Queensland’s only apple growing area, the Granite Belt. The few trees to be found were remnants on old farms like this one, usually left by growers who had become emotionally attached to their old varieties, despite the lack of commercial demand for them anymore.

Or, perhaps like him, they just liked the flavor of these apples so much that they kept the varieties for personal consumption.

As he walked away, deep in thought, he savored the strong, tangy flavor of the Winesap.

He strode purposefully back towards the old, rusty packing shed, congratulating himself privately on his vision in buying this second farm about six months ago. The property in the hills near Byron would provide sub-tropical fruits, vegetables and herbs (and, of course, dairy products). This one was already providing deciduous, cold climate fruits. Juicy peaches, blood plums, pears and apples all thrived in here. The Granite Belt was nearly a thousand meters above sea level, with poor granitic soils and savage winters. In short, everything was ideal for producing a different line of food. There had been a frost this morning and even now there was a chill in the air, despite bright sunshine and the deep blue sky.

The Heritage apples, grown without pesticides or any chemicals at all, were a hit at the farm’s stalls at Farmers Markets on the northern New South Wales coast. He’d picked up this orchard for next to nothing from a struggling grower. It was just luck that the man had given up spraying the trees decades ago, simply because of what seemed to be a combination of a lack of funds and an ongoing personal crisis. Perhaps some of the older varieties could resist disease better than the newer ones.

Anyway, one man’s misfortune is another man’s luck, mused John Smith as he finally reached the door to the old shed.

The interior of the shed was deserted today. Tomorrow would be a different story, as members of his family would be coming up from the coast shortly in the family’s bus, to do the picking and packing in time for the weekend markets.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the large shed, he wondered again how the ‘Priya Situation’ was going.

Eddie would be arriving in the Brisbane suburb of Mansfield anytime, by Smith’s calculations, but he’d obviously have to bide his time and find the right moment to complete ‘the job’. It had cost Smith a lot of money already. This bastard charged even more than Lennie. But money wasn’t an issue. Things were going very well in that department.

The Priya thing was regrettable, to say the least, and he’d waited longer than he had really wanted to, to let any potential trail back to him go cold. He had also made sure his presence at this location around the time the job was carried out would be verified by several people. The farm here was nearly three hours from Brisbane, so it would be difficult to link him to anything ‘unfortunate’ which may occur there later today.

He moved past a box of fresh, unwaxed apples, inhaling the distinctive scent. He paused to draw it in fully, breathing in and out slowly, imagining the goodness absorbing into his body, becoming part of him. He visualized himself morphing from a coastal creature to one from the highlands, a mythical unstoppable beast fueled by the essence of apples! He might even write a poem about it later.

Perhaps when he received the good news sometime later today (or tomorrow – they had to be cautious with communications, after all), he would celebrate by bringing his loyal followers together after the day’s work. He would get some of the women to do the baking. Warm apple pie and cream – from their own dairy, of course – would be a great treat.

He’d should ring the other farm now to make sure they brought fresh cream with them, in fact …

Something moved lightly from amongst the boxes about 2 meters in front of him and slightly to his left.

‘Stop right there’, came her unmistakable voice.

She was dressed in dark shirt and trousers, and wore a black beanie. She was pointing a small firearm at him.

‘Priya. How lovely to see you’, Smith smiled.

‘It’s Jennifer – and cut the crap, John. You forget that I know what you are’, she said.

‘Priya …Jennifer, there’s no need to be like that’, he chuckled pleasantly, as he started moving towards her again. ‘I’m sure we can work this out …’

‘Take one more step and you’re dead’, she said icily. ‘I’d love to do the world that favor right now, but if you do as you’re told, quickly and without fuss, then you may just be allowed to live. Now, turn around and walk towards the road. Slowly. I’ll be just behind you’.

John Smith shrugged, genuinely perplexed, but turned, moving with exaggerated obedience out the door. He noticed a small, blue hatchback parked down near the gate.

‘Jennifer,’ he started. ‘Seriously, we’ve missed you so much at the farm and would love to have you back, to let bygones be bygones. This is silly. There’s no need for any of this’.

‘I don’t want to hear your voice again until I say so’.

She waited until they had reached the car, before gesturing for him to get behind the steering wheel while she climbed into the passenger side. The gun pointed at his head – his gun, he noted - didn’t waver, so he shrugged again before starting the car. She gave directions to head towards the State Forest at Passchendaele. They sat quietly, as the car turned and started making its way towards the large, isolated pine forest. The road wound upwards through larger, commercial apple orchards, many of them protected by hail netting, before the scenery changed to unbroken pine forest.

‘What do you hope to achieve by this, Priya?’ Smith finally ventured in a serious tone. ‘You can’t possibly get away with whatever you have planned for me’.

She looked at him and gestured for him to turn the vehicle onto a rudimentary track going into the forest.

‘What do I hope to achieve?’ she repeatedly, in a thoughtful tone. ‘Well, for one I’m simply protecting myself from you. We both know that no-one is allowed to leave your cult. Yes, cult. You shy away from calling it as it is, but there’s no point in beating about the bush here. Nobody is allowed to think for themselves or to leave. I am curious, though … when did it all go wrong? Did you actually believe in something early on? There are many good people genuinely trying to find meaning, trying to lead an alternative lifestyle, being self- sufficient and sustainable. Did you ever believe what you preached? Or were they just empty promises to draw naïve people in?’

‘Empty promises?’ he frowned, driving carefully along the rutted track deeper into the forest. ‘I still believe in our harmonious lifestyle, and it’s getting even better for the family right now. We are a model for all of society. For the future, in fact, in these uncertain times’.

‘Bullshit’, she snapped. ‘The whole thing relies on mind control, with you, naturally, living like an Emperor. Stop here. This will do. Get out. Slowly’.

The car came to a halt and Smith eased himself out from the small car. He appeared tense.

She looked at him.

‘I don’t expect to see you again, John, or Ravi, or whatever other nonsense you like to be called. So I’m going to say a few things once you are tied to that tree over there’.

She gestured, keeping the gun firmly on him, as she reached into the back seat and removed a small blue sports bag.

‘Take all your clothes off’, she ordered as he stood smiling at her, his back against a large pine tree.

‘You can’t be serious’, he chuckled. ‘You want me again, here and now?’

‘I’m serious. You have five seconds to start before I blow your balls off’.

He hesitated then slowly removed all of his clothes. She noticed he was still in great shape for an old guy, but unlike a few years ago, the sight of his nakedness made her feel like vomiting.

‘Now sit with your back to the tree, while I bind your wrists behind you. No nonsense. I’m still considering letting you live, but one false move …well, no one’s going to hear a gunshot here’.

Surprisingly quickly, he found himself bound firmly to a pinus radiata tree, commonly known as a Radiata or Monterey Pine. He registered the tangy menthol scent of pine needles.

‘You seem to forget I know everything’, she spoke, as she checked her work. ‘It’s not just the mind control and the fact that you have destroyed so many lives. The people who came under your spell, myself included, were invariably people who were either a little lost and looking for some answers, or idealists who genuinely thought you were offering something which would make a better world. You took advantage of this. Within a day or two of being with you and your people, you made sure we were so bombarded and confused that we couldn’t think straight. Singing all those crappy songs with the words altered to fit your message, dancing hypnotically late into the night, sleep deprivation. We couldn’t even go to a toilet alone, for God’s sake. Then you offered a way out of the confusion. Your way’.

He looked up at her. His eyes showed no remorse.

‘No, it’s not just the mind control and all that’, she repeated. ‘Nor is it simply because everyone signs over their possessions to be, in effect, slaves. Meanwhile, you build up your personal wealth on the quiet. No, the final straw is that nobody can leave! I know about the deaths, John. Lennie told me. And I’ve accepted his offer to deal with your friend Eddie. You forget also that I’ve seen the photos of you with the children. How could you?’

There was silence.

‘How are you going to find your way back?’ he said quietly.

‘You never did show any interest in me as a real person, did you?’ she said bitterly. ‘Except as a sex object. You bastard. I’m from here, you self-centered prick. I grew up just east of here. This is my playground! Now, I’ve taken steps so that if anything happens to me after this, a number of trusted people have all the evidence that the police will need to lead them straight back to you. And, for the protection of future children, these photos will be found near your naked body before the day is out’.

She quickly took out a syringe from her bag and briskly moved to his side. She expunged any air in it, felt carefully on his neck, and carefully emptied the contents of the syringe into John ‘Ravi’ Smith’s circulatory system.

‘The police and a media contingent will be tipped off and will find you here naked, with all the incriminating evidence I can think of, including your beloved photos. I’ll be taking the rope in a moment, so they will have to come up with their own theories for why you were naked in a forest with this sort of stuff scattered around you. Sleep well’, she whispered.

John ‘Ravi’ Smith watched helplessly as his heart suddenly felt like it was filling with wet concrete. The deep greens and browns of the forest suddenly shrank into a tiny bright light against a black background. It was like that brief flicker of light when, in his youth, a black and white television was switched off.

Then there was nothing.

…………………………………….

Lennie used yet another watering can full of evil smelling, liquid fertilizer to feed more of the rainbow-colored flowerbed. The flowers were particularly vibrant this year. It was long time since he’d felt this alive.

He put down the watering can and picked up the newspaper again from the weathered timber bench seat near his garden.

He sat and reread the entire front page article again. He then read some of the commentary inside the paper about the naked cult leader found in a forest in the Granite belt district, surrounded by scandalous material.

She’d done it. He grinned and chuckled again. What a girl. What spirit. He’d suspected there was something special about her when he’d first seen her all those years ago. It seemed his instincts were correct.

It was still too early to know for certain what would happen to Smith and the so-called family. But things did not look promising for the self-proclaimed doctor and leader. The media were in a frenzy speculating about what it all meant. It was already likely that, at the very least, there would be convictions of sex with minors and serious investigations into the finances of the farm.

It was also obvious Smith was using some fairly powerful, illegal drugs from the state he’d been found in That also would be followed up. Additionally, and Lennie knew he too should be concerned about this, there was speculation about a number of women and girls who’d gone missing over a number of years after spending time at the farm.

There was still nothing in the media about a certain Edward (Eddie) Jackson who hadn’t returned from his trip to Queensland.

Good on her, thought Lennie, as he moved into his modest house to put the kettle on. He had no time for John Smith whatsoever.

As he waited for his tea to steep, he thought about the tip off the police had received about the naked man in the forest. The papers simply described the male as having had a ‘gentle’ voice.

Regardless, he was tired.

He’d done all he could to conceal any involvement he’d had with that bunch of crazy bastards over the years and liked to think he’d moved on with his life, becoming a better person as much as he could. If life turned on him now, well, he didn’t really care. He deserved it. Atonement. Redemption. Whatever. Maybe this is what nirvana really was – facing up to the evil you’d done in your life.

Lennie sat on his timber outdoor seat, sipping his Oolong tea and looking with pleasure at his flowers.

The years of slow release, organic fertilizer really did seem to be working its magic in his extensive garden. In his previous line of work, there really had been no need to waste money on commercially produced fertilizers. His flowers were proof of that.

He was ready for his day of reckoning if it came.

He almost welcomed it.

……………………………………….

In Brisbane, Jenny too put down the article in the newspaper she had been reading.

She genuinely appreciated what Lennie had done for her. He wasn’t all bad. Perhaps there really was such a thing as leopards changing their spots.

But she doubted it. And he surely could not be allowed to entirely escape from the part he had played historically for John Smith.

She reached into the envelope she had removed from the desk that day at the farm and withdrew the sheets of paper which still remained in it.

The photos had done their job in bringing down the cult leader.

Now it was time to use the unofficial record of payments made to Lennie by Smith over the decades.