Chameleon

Chapter13

Colin was on a mission from God.

He knew it was true because God had told him so.

It had happened when he was trying to tune in his battered DAB radio. The batteries were going and reception was lousy, but suddenly a voice came through, loud and clear.

'Hey, Colin,' it said. It sounded just like Richard Branson. 'Come a bit closer, Colin,' the voice said. 'I've got something to tell you.'

Colin put his ear to the radio and the voice spoke to him for ten minutes. When the one-way conversation ended, Colin had a fierce, bright light in his eyes and a whole new purpose in life.

* * *

Cathy Death.

That's a good name.

Or maybe Cathy Vile?

How about Kinky Cath?

Cathy giggled. She'd need a new name when she joined the coven. Was it called a coven? No, a chapter, that was it. Witches have covens, Hell's Angels have chapters.

Cathy couldn't understand why it was called a chapter, since none of them seemed able to read, but she guessed it was probably historical or symbolic or something.

Cathy was fifteen, slim and pretty, and, as far as her parents were concerned, she was at the Youth Club.

For weeks now, Cathy had foregone the pleasures of the Youth Club in favour of an entirely different type of club altogether. She left home as usual, dressed in a track suit and trainers. No-one ever questioned what she had in the plastic bag she carried. Had they done so she would have told them it was a sweater, in case it got chilly later on, or maybe some books or CD's she was lending to a friend. They would have believed her; they trusted her. Cathy had always been a good little girl.

Cathy prayed for fine weather on Youth Club nights. If it rained, her Dad would insist on giving her a lift. Then she'd have to wait until he'd gone before sneaking off on her own. It really ate into her time when that happened.

Once safely out of sight of watchful parents, Cathy headed away from the Youth Club and into town. A brisk ten- minute walk later and she reached the bright neon oasis of Arcadia, an entertainment complex built just outside the town centre.

Cathy's first stop was the public toilets.

She locked herself in a cubicle and took off her clothes. She folded them neatly and swapped then for the clothes contained in her plastic bag. When she left the cubicle, she was dressed in cut-off denim shorts, fishnet tights, a black bra and a denim waistcoat. He trainers were the only part of her original ensemble that she had to retain because she had never figured out a way to smuggle her black knee-length boots out of the house unobtrusively. Even so it was quite a transformation. She never dared to put any make-up on although she dearly longed to, because she couldn't be sure she'd have enough time to wash it off properly and her parents would be certain to still be up when she got home. She made up for it by wearing cheap, gaudy jewellery; rings, bracelets and necklaces.

Happy with her new look, Cathy strode purposefully towards The Arena, a state-of-the-art video arcade that also housed common-or-garden pinball machines and pool tables. That wasn't what drew Cathy. The lure for her was in the clientele. Or rather, one punter in particular.