Far Hello listeners, and welcome to Underwood and Flinch Saga episode ninety five.
Oh my goodness, tell someone? Will you tell someone? Right now?
Grab the person next to you on the train and say, do you know
there are ninety five episodes of Underwood and Flinch online? So why aren't you
listening to it? Then jump up into the aisle and shout why aren't any
of you listening to it? Are you mad? And when they then all
pretend they can't see you or hear you, praying that you won't single them
out for individual attention. That is when you open your bag and pull out
the cabbage that you packed earlier, hurl it to the floor in disgust and
shout, well I am, and then get off the train immediately. Now,
it's probably a good idea to time this well in advance, so you
don't have to stand there over the cabbage in an awkward silence for too long
before you make your exit. But when you do, shout Underwood and Flinch
it's a podcast. You fools got that good? Okay? Then well,
in that case, let's rewind twenty eighteen, shall we, and me giving
the original Patreon intro recap to this episode. So this episode of Underwood,
Flinch Underground is a continuation from do you remember an episode what was at thirty
eight where we had Lydia and Miguel went out and they found a homeless young
lady on a bench and they brought her home. While this episode continues from
there, not immediately, it's the next day. Anything you need to know
in advance. I make a drug reference in the episode. I talk about
MDMA. Now, those of you not familiar with these things may not be
aware that MDMA is known on the street as it were as ecstasy. There,
all right, and that's it, ladies and gentlemen, with no further
ado, then I'll hand you over to Gerald and Underwood and Flinch season five
in Tanner Bress, Written and performed for podcast by Mike Bennett. This podcast
is intended for an adult audience. Listener discretion is advised. Episode eleven.
Having woken before Cynthia, who was lying on her back and snoring softly,
Gerald decided to go down and make them both a cup of tea. He
always woke early, no matter how tired he may have been. The night
before. The unfamiliar bedroom was sunk in the gray light of dawn and threw
a chink in the curtains. He could see it was heavily overcast outside.
He got up and, without turning on a light so as not to disturb
Cynthia, navigated his way carefully out of the unfamiliar bedroom. Once in the
hall, he clicked on the light and went downstairs. It was chilly.
He was clad only in his boxer shorts and the t shirt he'd slept in,
and he grimaced at the touch of the cold tiles on his bare feet
as he entered the kitchen. Should have packed a dressing gown and slippers,
he thought, accustomed to the Spanish weather, that's the problem one forgets.
London can be damned cold in April. He made a mental note to tell
Lydia to set the central heating to go on in the mornings. He turned
on the light and looked around for the kettle. He hated waking up in
strange houses. At fifty five years of age, confirmed homebody, he liked
knowing where everything was, how everything worked, where his next meal was coming
from, and where he was going to eat it. Being a guest in
someone else's house was fine for a day or two, but he disliked it
for any longer. Fish and friends go off after three days, as his
mother had always said, He located the kettle. Next to it was a
toaster and a bread bin toast just what the doctor ordered. He flipped open
the bread bin and cursed it was empty. Of course it was. They
hadn't shopped for any food last night. He went to fill the kettle when
his foot struck and overturned a bowl on the floor. He saw, to
his relief it was empty. He bent down and picked it up. It
appeared clean, yet it was sticky to the touch. He sniffed it and
winced at a vinegary aroma. He put it in the sink, where he
found another bowl, a small pan, and a soup spoon. All of
wheat were coated in what looked like tomato soup residue. What were Lydia and
Miguel doing eating soup? Then he remembered they had gone out to capture someone
for their breakfast this evening. Ah, he murmured, found themselves a victim
and brought them home for a bite. Ruid, did you? But that
didn't explain the bowl on the floor. He wondered for a moment if Lydia
and Miguel had indulged in some kind of sadistic game with their fascinated victim,
making them lick their food from a bowl on the floor. He wouldn't put
it past them. Then he saw the note on the fridge door. He
went over and drew it from under the magnet that pinned it. In Lydia's
handwriting was a short letter that read, morning darlings, We found a lovely
young lady called Alice, who's now fast asleep in the guest room on the
top floor. Don't worry, she's totally fascinated and won't give you any trouble.
We found her in the park sleeping on a bench, poor thing,
and being the charitable sorts we are, we brought her home to eat loll
I've bought all her clothes in the wash. By the time you wake up,
it'll have finished, so could you shove it all in the dryer.
The laundry room is just off the kitchen by the back door. Obviously,
feel free to wash anything of your own. I'm afraid we've nothing in for
breakfast, so a trip to the supermarket will probably behind your list of things
to do. Speaking of which, as we discussed. I need you to
go and check on Underwood's London homes for any signs of activity. Here's a
list of addresses, and only to spend more than a few minutes at each
one. Really, then the rest of the day is yours. There followed
a list of nine addresses, under which Lydia had signed off with, have
fun ll ps when you go shopping, could you get a couple of cans
of dog food? Alice has a little pooch. The pair of them are
inseparable, so he's in there with her. He's called Charlie. Miguel wants
to kill him. Loll kisses. Gerald sighed and opened the fridge. There
was nothing in it but the jug of powdered milk that Cynthia had made up
the night before. He took it out and set about making tea. Five
minutes later, he was back in bed, propped up on pillows beside Cynthia
as she read Lydia's note. And the rest of the day is yours,
quoted Cynthia, the cheeky cow. Who does she think we are servants?
I know I thought the same thing, said Gerald. He took a sip
of his tea, then picked a congealed lump of milk powder from his lip.
And look at this list of a dresses cut. We need to buy
a bloody ate a z to find all these. Yes, either that or
just get a taxi to take us around them? Is you mad? These
are all over London. A taxi ride like that would cost a fortune.
No, we'll drive ourselves four, Gerald huffed, Who can if you like.
But I'm not driving round central London during business hours. I'll have a
bloody stroke. Well, we'll have to take the tube, then, said
Cynthia, not looking up from the list. Then she read Lydia's final words.
Wait, what's this a pooch? She turned to Gerald. She's brought
a dog home, apparently, said Gerald. Oh my god, and who's
going to be walking that, I wonder? Bagging up its shit in a
little plastic bag and carrying it round like some must have accessary Lydia and Miguel
No, probably not. No, too right, it won't be but I'm
not doing it. Disposing of dead prostitutes is one thing, but picking up
shit in Primrose Hill is quite another. She shook her head. Honestly,
she's taking the pierce, isn't she? Gerald shrugged. Well, personally,
I'd rather pick up shit than dispose of dead prostitutes any day of the whig.
Cynthia swatted his arm. Do you know what I'd mean, Gerald,
she's taking us for granted, She's turning us into her own personal flinches.
I mean, when are we going to become vampires? That's what I want
to know. I'm not sure I even want to be a vampire anymore,
said Gerald, staring at the white lumps on the surface of his tee.
What well are you? I mean, this isn't what I had in mind
when we got involved in all this. I thought we were going to be
part of Lord Underwood's inner circle, you know, privy to his power and
influence. Yes, maybe we might even become vampires too, but not like
this. He would have been the one to bestow it upon us, or
possibly Lydia would have done after he'd made her so to speak. But either
way we'd have had his blessing. We would have been revered by the sect
that had our own guardians. From the sect, we could have grown rich
and lived forever anywhere in the world. But this the way things have turned
out, shook his head regretfully. I just I don't know anymore. Instead
of being revered by the sect, we're outcasts. Lord Underwood's dead by Lydia's
hand, and far from being served and protected by guardians, we ourselves are
becoming bloody guardians, the Lydia and Miguel. He turned to face Cynthia.
It's just not what I signed up for, sin. Cynthia sat back against
her pillows and sighed, I know it's not what either of us signed up
for. Sometimes, I admit I wish we could just go back to Hayward's
heath and put all this behind us, all this her lips tight and closing
off the rest of whatever it was she was going to say. But Gerald
knew what it was. He laid a hand on hers and gave it a
squeeze. She turned to him, and, as he knew there would be,
there were tears in her eyes. Oh God, Cherry, I miss
her, missus so much. She leaned in to him, and he closed
his arms around her. I know, Sin, so do I, so
do I. They never talked about Jane anymore. It was easier that way,
with neither reminding the other of the daughter they had lost to cancer when
she was only two years old. They each kept their grief in their own
way, in the silence of their inner selves, sharing their memories and their
pain. Only on her birthday, when every year they returned to her grave.
Gerald stroked Cynthia's hair as she wept quietly against him, remembering how she
had prayed, how they both had, but she especially She had gone to
church every day to pray, to beg to plead with God, despair Jane
and bring her back to health. Strange to think that they had once both
been devout parishioners of the Church of England. That they had sought help and
guidance from Roger Humphreys, their local vicar and friend of sorts. But all
Roger had been able to say in their time of need, all anyone had
been able to say, for Cynthia sought guidance from other churches beside their own,
was that it was in the hands of the Lord, and he was
good and just and wise and merciful. But he was none of those things,
And when Jane had died, so had Gerald. In Cynthia's love of
him, but not their belief. They still believed that God existed, but
that everything he was supposed to be was a lie, and so they had
found a new faith. One day, while wandering the lanes in Brighton,
chance, if it had been chance, had led to Gerrold to a small
second hand book and records shop. Here, tucked away in a corner,
he came upon a whole section dedicated to the occult. It was a category
he'd never seen in a book shop before. His former self would have turned
away, repelled and disgusted. Perhaps he would have even voiced his disapproval to
the shop owner. But his former self was no more, and now he
found he was drawn to the section. As he perused the pages of the
books, none of them published after the nineteen seventies, it was as if
something inside him, something that had been forever dormant, was awoken. He
left the shop over an hour later with two paper bags stuffed almost as splitting
with purchases. Both he and Cynthia read all of the books he purchased.
That It wasn't long before the couple began their initial forays into Satanic ritual.
These took place in the privacy of their own home, with both of them
feeling awkward, embarrassed, and not a little of the worse for wine,
But even after their first tentative efforts, they felt something akin to a healing
of their spirits. As their understanding of the Black Arts grew, they began
to look on the Internet for signs of other like minded individuals with whom they
could worship as part of a larger group. Slowly, not least of all
because of the speed of dial up internet connections in those days, they began
to make contact with people via dedicated chat rooms, and from among them people
in their area. Online chats led to real world meetups in cafes and pubs.
At the first of these, sitting in the Stand Up Inn in Lynnfield,
Gerald nursing a pint of real Ale and Cynthia with a glass of red
wine, they had been delightfully amazed when Richard and Gale Maskel came up to
them and cautiously asked if they were there to meet them. The Bensons had
been expecting certain eccentricities of appearance, anything from black clothes and facial piercings to
the full Anton luvais, but the mascals dressed almost identically to Gerald and Cynthia
in wellington boots, jeans, sweaters, and body warmers. With a very
picture of Home County's upper middle class normality. They had clicked immediately, and
three months later, on Midsummer's Eve, the Bensons attended their first group black
mass at the Maskell's House in the Sussex village of Balcombe. The house stood
on three acres, It was surrounded on all sides by trees and had no
neighbours for miles, and the mass, attended by people aged from their twenties
to their sixties, were staged outside under a cloudless night sky. It was
a wonderful night, and when the ritual was over there were drinks and a
buffet. At first, it had been strange socializing in the nude with strangers
over cannopys and pims, but everyone else was so completely at ease that the
Benson soon got over their shyness and so began their new social circle, which
over time expanded to include Lyddy of Flinch. They met at a dinner party
hosted by Jacob and Sophie Price Otter Show, a lovely couple whose country house
had a huge, high ceilinged entrance hall in which they occasionally held lavish augiastic
rituals. But the Benson's first meeting with Lydia was a strictly clothed on affair
at which the price Otter Shors were entertaining the local Conservative Party MP and his
wife, neither of whom had any Satanic inclinations, at least none that Gerald
and Cynthia were privy to. Sophie introduced them to Lydia over drinks before the
meal and told them of their shared unholy interests. They had then been seated
with her for the meal, and they had got on like the proverbial house
on fire. Lydia told them of her business in Spain, and had spoken
at length about how affordable property was out there. The Bensons, who had
seen their fair share of episodes of a Place in the Sun, didn't much
care for what they had seen of the Costa del Sol, but had listened
with interest when Lydia told them all about the very different, more authentic Spanish
lifestyle that was to be found inland and the men. Lydia had gushed,
touching Cynthia on the back of her hand, darling, you haven't lived.
She turned to Gerald and added, either of you. Ha No, said
Gerald, Oh, chaps aren't my thing. Lydia, No, I mean
the senor readers, the cheekers. Honestly, you can't imagine such passion,
she chuckled. It's the Latin temperament, I suppose, and you Cynthia spoke
almost in a whisper to ensure the honorable member and his wife couldn't possibly overhear,
for which they likely couldn't have done, as they were seated a few
seats down and were engaged in a lively and vicious chat about Tony Blair.
You belonged to a coven with such passionate people, Yes, yes, you
could say that. That was when Lydia had invited them out to stay as
her guests in a holiday villa she let out to prospective clients. They had
accepted, and a few months later had gone over for a viewing holiday.
The villa was in the scenic white village of Zahara, overlooking a crystal blue
lake. They saw a few properties before being shown what would become at first
their holiday home and then a few years later, their permanent rea. It
was also on that first trip that Lydia had invited them to a gathering of
friends from what she had then called her coven. These were Beltran and Miguel,
and an attractive young couple, Ramon and Sylvia, who only spoke Spanish
and whom the Bensons were now fairly sure were prostitutes, since they had never
seen either of them again. It had been a surreal evening. It started
with drinks and a light meal of tapers, where the conversation had centered mostly
on Satanism and Lydia's singular interpretation of it, which seemed to revolve around the
worship of a real, live vampire who was supposedly Satan's chosen emissary on Earth.
The Bensons had listened politely, but with an increasing sense that they may
have stumbled into a cult of weirdos. I know what you're thinking, Lydia
had said, your thinking were a cult of weirdos, aren't you? No?
No, said Gerald, of course not. Cynthia smiled and added,
everyone's entitled to believe whatever they choose. That's our opinion, isn't it.
Jerry Satan forbid that anyone tell us what we believe is wrong, weird or
perverse, which too many it probably would be. But she raised her glass,
sold them, eached their own and damn all naysayers here, said Gerald,
though still of the opinion and with no doubt that Cynthia shared his view
that Lydia and her friends were indeed eccentric, to say the least. I'm
so glad, said Lydia. I knew you were, shall we say,
open minded from the minute we met. After dinner, Beltran had served everyone
with medical grade M d M A tablets he'd obtained through his sources in the
hospital, and soon they were all high. That was when Lydia had asked
them if they'd ever drunk blood, only my own. Gerald laughed, You
know when I stick my finger with a pin, first thing you do,
isn't it? No, I mean actually drunk it? Boy? You mean
like your vampire friend if you like? Yes, from a person you mean,
said Cynthia, Yes, from a person. People do it. You
know, someone allows themselves to be fed upon and others feed Cynthia and Gerald
exchanged a look. Then Cynthia said, the person being fed upon. They're
all right, aren't they at the end of it? I mean, Lydia
laughed, of course they are. They get off on it. I've done
it myself answered twice. It's intensely erotic. All of those mouths. Aren't
you licking and sucking from various small cuts all over your body. It's a
high like no other. I imagine that comes from the loss of blood,
doesn't it, said Gerald. You're probably dying. The blood is the life,
said Beltran with a grin. Of course one has to be careful,
but for us it is no problem. I am a doctor. I keep
everything very under control. Lydia, who was sitting on a sofa next to
Gerald, placed a hand on his thigh and said, would you I to
try it? Gerald jumped slightly, both from the question and from her hand,
suddenly being inches from his crotch. Don't want me, Lydia smiled and
gave his thigh a friendly squeeze. I don't mean being fed upon. I
mean, you know, having a little tipple, I er. Gerald turned
to Cynthia, his mouth working dumbly, like he had a hot potato in
it. What about you, Cynthia said Lydia. I've seen you eyeing Ramon.
She nodded to where the young Spanish couple were chatting out on the patio.
At the mention of his name, Ramon turned back and Cynthia felt a
flush of heat rise up to her cheeks. Likes it, you know,
as does Sylvia. Gerald. Don't tell me you haven't noticed that curvy buum
of hers. Why I hadn't, Gerald puffed, But no, you mention
it. She does have quite an exceptional figure. Imagine licking hot blood from
those luscious tits and her moaning beneath you, loving every minute of it.
She does, and she will. That's why she's here. Why both of
them are here for you, for us, They're here to be vet upon.
Oh my, said Gerald. The stroking of Lydia's hand on his thigh
and the image she just planted in his mind were causing a rapid stirring in
his trousers. He looked at Cynthia, sin, I don't know. We've
never done anything like that before. Is it safe? Beltrane sat down next
to Cynthia and lightly touched the small of her back. She started and turned
her face to him. He smiled and moved his hand upward, tracing her
spine through her blouse. Cynthia gasped and closed her eyes, feeling waves of
chemically heightened pleasure emanating from his caress. It is perfectly safe, Cynthia,
Ramond and Sylvia have been tested, and they are clean tested, said Gerald,
You mean fads see for this and any other diseases carried into blood Beltranne
brushed his lips against the skin of Cynthia's neck. They are pure as the
virgin snow, and they are more than the wheeling. He began kissing her.
Oh God, yes, cried Cynthia. And you, Jerry, said
Lydia, her hand closing over the straining bulge and Harold's lap. May I
call you Jerry, Yes, and yes, you can call me anything you
like, he said, just before her mouth closed over his. Gerald waited
until Cynthia's tears were pasted, then said, she seduced us. You know
who, Lydia. Cynthia scoffed, perhaps, but we were willing as soon
as we saw Underwood in his coffin. We were hers my thing before that.
Even she was very, I don't know, persuasive. Cynthia lifted her
face from his chest to look at him. You can't blame her, Gerald,
We're in this situation because we wanted to be. I know, I
know, I'm not blaming her. I'm just saying if it weren't for her,
we wouldn't be here playing nursemaid to this second victim of theirs. I
know she's alive now, but so was Monica until she wasn't. Cynthia sat
up. No, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, We'd
be in Hayward's heath. You'd still be making the commute up to London every
day in that office you hated beyond words, and me I'd still be stuck
at home, making cakes and popping anti depressants till you came home and we
could have dinner and crack open the first bottle of wine of the evening.
She didn't realize how her voice had elevated, but the sound of a bark
from upstairs served as notice. Hello, said Gerald, sounds like you've woken
the hound. Cynthia sighed and put a hand to her brow. Jesus Christ,
what I'd give her some bloody prozac right now? I thought I was
past all that. Don't worry, I'll deal with it. Cynthia put her
hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Thank you, Gerald,
and the woman, the latest victim, well take care of her. Who
find out what she wants for breakfast? And then I don't know, suppose
I'll have to go out and get it. You could take the dog.
I could, yes, said Gerald, getting up. Don't forget to take
a little bag to pick up its business. Will you? Have you seen
anything you can use downstairs? No, but I could use the bag I
put my toothpaste and toilet trees in at the airport. That'll do. It's
transparent, said Cynthia, her face a picture of disgust people will see.
Gerald smiled as he pulled on his trousers. On the scale of things I
give a damn about right now, darling, that i'd be right down there
with what people think about my hairdo, Cynthia glanced at his balding pate,
you haven't got a hairdoo precisely. Gerald went upstairs. The dog started barking
again as he neared the bedroom door. He paused it was more of a
yap than a bark, so he reasoned it wasn't the kind of dog that
would knock him back if it jumped up at him, but he still felt
anxious the thing might give him a nasty nip on the ankle, as his
auntie Elsie's Jack Russell terrier used to when he was a boy. Auntie Elsie
had been grief stricken when it died. Gerald had been elated. He knocked.
Come in, came Alice's voice from within. But what about the dog?
Gerald felt mildly ludicrous. Here they were kidnappers asking their kidnap victim to
control her protective canine. Oh, don't worry, it's only Charlie, Alice
called to the dog. Charlie, come here, boy. Cautiously, Gerald
opened the door a crack and peered inside. Alice was sat up in bed,
wearing a nightie that presumably Lydia had provided her with. She held the
terrier in her arms, and his face was staring intently at Gerald. Hello,
he said, yeah, don't worry, he's fine with strangers. As
if to differ with her, Charlie started barking. She stroked him and told
him to shush, which she did. Gerald went in, I trust you
slept well, yes, thanks, best night sleep I've had in a long
time. Actually good, yes, much better than being outside. Eh.
His feeling of ludicrousness throbbed afresh, and the idiotic understatement of the Year award
goes to Gerald. He thought I was just going out to get some things
for breakfast. And I not that you'd be alone, mind you, there
are other people here too, others like me. But what I mean to
say is are you hungry? Is there anything I can get you for breakfast?
Yes? And blunch and dinner as well. I suppose they didn't give
you any idea as to how long you'd be a guest with us, did
they? Lydia said I could stay for a couple of nights. Ah,
a couple, was it, I see, he smiled. So they'd be
feeding from her tonight and then hopefully they'd be letting her go. So anything
you particularly fancy for breakfast, I don't mind, she said, with a
smile. Anything would be nice. Gerald thought she seemed more alert than Monica
had been, and wondered for a moment if she was actually under the spell
of Lydia's fascination. He decided to test the waters. Did Lydia tell you
to her? Do as I say? Yes, you, Miguel and a
woman called Cynthia? All right? So UH say your name Alice? Good?
Now call me master master hm good, thought Gerald. Enough, he
decided to push things a little farther. Take off your nighty. Alice crossed
her arms and gripped the bottom of the nightie. She started to raise it
when Gerald blurted no, no, no, don't do that. She stopped,
and Gerald gave a puff of relief. She was fascinated, all right,
He felt a twinge of shame. Sorry about that. Just never mind,
and please don't call me master, call me Gerald, Gerald said,
Alice. Yes, and this is Charlie. Is that right? Yes?
Is he house trained? Yes, he is, but he wants to go
out. He's been in all night of course. Here. Well, if
you like, I can take him out with me down to the shops for
a walk. Charlie's ears pricked up at the last word, and Gerald wondered
if there had been a time when he hadn't been a homeless person's dog,
a time when going out for a walk was a treat rather than a permanent
situation. Yes, sir, for a walk. Charlie yapped his approval and
jumped free from Alice's arms. Oh, thank you, that's very kind.
His leege just there. She pointed to where the dog lead was thrown in
a loose coil in the corner of the room. Do you have my clothes?
Yes, they're in the wash at the moment, But I imagine they'll
be done and dried in an hour or so. I'll bring them up then.
Thanks Gerald, Oh, he smiled. My pleasure. Least I couldn't
do. She was so trusting. Gerald knew it was just a fascination.
But she couldn't have been more trusting if he had been her father. And
then he felt it again, pity, just as he had for Monica.
He sighed and came over to the bed. She looked up at him,
calm, almost In the morning sun streaming through the window, he could see
the pale pink marks on her neck, where Lydia and Miguel must have fed
from her the night before. The marks would be completely gone soon, just
as all memory of what they had done to her would be now. Poor
child, He reached out a hand as if to comfort her, but stopped
and withdrew it. She didn't need comforting, nor had she given him permission
to touch her. He didn't need her permission. He could have done whatever
he wanted to her, but that made it all the more important to him
to keep his distance. And then he understood. He heard that small,
quiet voice in his mind that so often struggles to be heard over all the
noise of more dominant thoughts. He wasn't truly like Lydia and Miguel. It
was that simple. He had done a lot of terrible things, things he
regretted and would doubtless be damned to hell for. But just because he'd done
bad things in the past didn't mean he had to carry on doing them.
He smiled tenderly at her and said, don't worry, Alice. Everything's going
to be all right, I promise, Thank you, Gerald, Charlie barked,
impatiently, looking from Alice to Gerald. I'm sure who was going to
be taking him out? You know where the bathroom is, don't you.
You've even en suite just in there. Alice nodded, yes, I had
a shower last night. It was lovely, lovely to be clean again.
Right, well, I suppose someone needs to go out and do his business.
Then he added, for fear that he may have been misunderstood. I
mean, Charlie, of course, not me or you. I know,
jolly good right. Well, come on, then, Charlie, let's go
for a w A l K. He chuckled. When on picking up the
lead, Charlie ran to the door and began pawing at it. He let
him out, and the dog darted off down the hall to the stairs.
Gerald turned back to Alice. You go back to sleep now, Alice,
and I'll wake you as soon as breakfast is ready. Without a word,
Alice lay down and closed her eyes. Gerald hesitated for a moment, watching
as in seconds she seemed to fall into a heavy slumber. Then with a
sad shake of his head, he left softly, closing the door behind him.
Oh dear, Oh dear, listeners, Gerald seems to be getting cold
feett about becoming a vampire and a warm heart towards people He should really be
just regarding as meals. Can any good come of this? Or should I
say, be any evil? Join me next time when Underwood and Flinch continues.
The music you're listening to is Ahmad Ahma by Farid Fajad from the album
and Rusa Volume four, courtesy of Taranay Records and our good friend Fawaz al
Malud. You can stream the track from Spotify, YouTube Music, Google Music,
and all the other music streamers out there.