Hello there, and welcome again to Underwood and Flinch. It's lovely to be
in your ears on this Friday, May third, twenty twenty four. Outside
my room it's gray and wet, but where we're heading it's the opposite.
It reminds me of holidays when you get on the plane somewhere like London or
Dublin and you look out through the rain spotted window at the gray scape outside
and smile because you know that when you land you'll be in the sunshine.
So wherever you are, whatever the weather, slaver on some auditory suntown lotion
and pop on the shades. It's vampire time. But first, a brief
recap from the original Patron episode of this podcast, just to refresh you on
the important bits. The Bensons knew most of that already, of course,
but the bit about underw It's possessions or being shipped to London was new to
them. And finally, once the Bensons had gone, we learned that Conchie
is working in cahoots with Underwood, who has evidently returned to Cassa Underwood following
his escape from La f Antasia, and like Lydia and Miguel is sleeping the
day away until the sun goes down and he can tuck into Kanchi for breakfast,
and she's looking forward to it, and who wouldn't. Oh, and
one more thing Lydia has a call to make to her friend in London.
Now that friend is a chap called James Harrington with whom she had an affair
some years ago. As an MI sixter agent. He seemed like a good
person to recruit for the sect, but when she told him she belonged to
a cult that had a real live vampire as their head, instead of being
impressed as she expected, he politely declined, saying that he knelt before another.
Now who or what that other was he would never tell, And it
led to arguments that finally caused them to split up, as you would expect.
Really and well, she hasn't spoken to him since, And so that's
it. So are you ready? Good? Then let's plunge onwards into Underwood
and Flinch Season five in Tenner Bress, Written and performed for podcast by Mike
Bennett. This podcast is intended for an adult audience. Listener discretion is advised.
Episode five, In the dream, she was flying her wings as black
as the night around her, and the city of life, London glittering far
below. It was glorious. She had never had such a feeling of freedom,
of power, and yet Lydia there it was again, someone calling her
name, and an acrid smell assaulting her nose that had no place in the
clear night sky. She opened her eyes to see Miguel kneeling at her bedside.
He grinned hollah, and another gust of his breath hit her in the
face, like a draft from an abattoir. Jesus, Miguel, your breath.
She pushed his face away, and he toppled sideways. What He put
a hand to his mouth and exhaled, deflecting his breath to his nose.
On smelling it, he winced hostiar, Sorry, it's probably the blood that
bet mine's as bad. She jerked her breath as he had done, and
grimaced. Co shit, that's rat. I don't have a toothbrush, said
Miguel. Neither do I, but I'm sure Cynthia can sort us out with
a couple later. Anyway, What is it? Don't you knock before coming
into a lady's bedroom? I did, but you didn't answer. You were
like the dead. Well I had a long night, didn't I shed?
What time is it? She looked around. Though the room was technically dark,
with her nocturnal vision, she could see perfectly well, and the nuances
of light that filtered around the shuttered and curtained window told her the sun was
down, but the night had not yet fully risen twilight her new morning.
Just after seven, said Miguel. No one is up except Monica. Lydia
tousled her hair. And how is she? She looks well, good enough
to eat? He grinned. What about Cynthia and Gerald asleep? You can
hear Gerald snoring through the door. I don't know how Cynthia can sleep through
it. She can't, she told me about it. Normally he'd be snoring
away in one of the rooms we've been sleeping in. Imagined she must have
ear plugs in. Lydia got up and went into the en sweet bathroom.
Look, Miguel, I have to call my friend in London. Can you
feed Monica? We need her good and strong. There's probably breakfast, cereal
bread for toast, you know, the usual thing. Okay, said Miguel,
But what about the Bensons you want? I should wake them? I
don't worry about them. Take care of Monica first. I'll give them a
knock after I've made my call. She closed the bathroom door. Okay,
she heard him leave the room. In a small set of drawers beneath the
wash basin, she found a new toothbrush and some mouthwash. She cleaned her
teeth, then took a shower, all the while rehearsing in her mind the
call she was going to make. When she came back into the bedroom with
a towel wrapped around her body, she could see from the window that all
trace of daylight had now gone. She pulled opened the curtains, rolled up
the percianas, and opened the window to the night. She took a deep
breath. The air was warm and redolent of the sun baked earth. It
would be colder in London, which reminded her she still had to pack.
Hopefully the Bensons had retrieved all of her clothes and not just garments suitable to
the local climate. She sat on the bed and taking up her phone,
selected James Harrington's number from her contacts. What would he be at the moment?
Working late in that big m I six building on the Thames, home
with the wife and kids, or maybe it occurred to her for the first
time in the arms of some other mistress. Damn, that would complicate things.
She lit a cigarette, considering that scenario for a moment, before coming
to the conclusion that it didn't matter unless he was shagging another vampire. She
had no competition. All she needed to do was meet with him once and
he would be hers. She pressed call. It rang three times before he
answered Lydia. He said her name loud enough to be heard by anyone nearby
him. So not with the wife, then, yes, said Lydia.
James Darling, how are you? I'm uh, I'm fine to one the
way of the pleasure. I have to admit it didn't think i'd be hearing
from you again. But you obviously kept my name in your contacts. Otherwise
you wouldn't have known it was me, So you can't have been all that
pessimistic. Well, no, I suppose not. But I'm not the only
one, am I. You evidently kept mine in yours. She could hear
a swell of confidence in his voice. It wouldn't do to tell him his
number had been languishing on a dead phone all these years. She gave a
coquettish chuckle, and said, well, I guess I could never quite bring
myself to delete you, darling. I have too many good memories attached to
you. Your name, he laughed. Ha, Yes, yes, me
too. Absolutely God, he sighed Lydia, how are you still living the
good life in Spain? Oh I'm very well, thank you. And yes,
still in Spain though, And this is why I am calling. I'm
coming over to London for a few days and I thought it might be nice
to hook up, that is, if you're not too busy. Oh god,
no, he said, his voice suddenly eager. No, it'd be
great to see you again. When are you coming over? Actually I'll be
in town tomorrow night. I know it's dreadfully short notice. No, no,
not a problem. Tomorrow's fine. I can certainly do that. What
about your wife? Are you still? Yes? But it's all right.
Helen's used to me working all hours. You know. It is Queen and
Country come first, ever the devoted civil servant, She chuckled. Shall we
say eight o'clock? Perfect? Where? Well, we always used to meet
at the bar in the Dorchester. Why not there, he hesitated, as
she suspected he might Their meetings at the Dorchester Hotel had always been a precursor
to taking a room upstairs. He cleared his throat and said, the Dorchester.
Do you mean for something to eat? Well, you can eat if
you want to, but I'm on a very special diet at the moment.
I was thinking just a few drinks to catch up and then maybe we could
relive some old times. Oh well, yes, i'd like that. I'd
like that very much. Excellent, So eight o'clock. See you then,
Lydia, he said, forestalling her ending the call. Yes, I are
we. I mean that business before, are we? Oh God, James,
It's all water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned you. Yes,
he sounded relieved. Absolutely water under the bridge. Lovely. Okay,
So I'll see you tomorrow. Night Chow darling. She hung up and dropped
the phone onto the bed. She wanted to get dressed, but didn't want
to put on her clothes of the previous night, so she left the bedroom
to go and see what the Bensons had retrieved for her. As she walked
along the hall, she heard the sound of sucking from the living room ahead.
Jesus, couldn't she leave Miguel alone with Monica for five minutes, Miguel,
she called angrily, put it back in your trousers and make us some
bloody breakfast. You're like a fucking monkey. On entering the room, she
stopped to see Miguel and Monica in an embrace on the sofa, But it
wasn't the kind of embrace she'd expected. Monica hung like a rag doll in
his arms, his face at her neck, her eyes rolled back to the
whites, and her head lolling to the rhythm of his gulping mouth. Miguel,
you bastard. Lydia ran across the room, grabbed him by the shoulders,
and threw him from Monica. Blood spurted from the gaping holes in Monica's
neck. Lydia fell to the wounds, closing her mouth over them and drinking
for only a moment before closing them and turning to face Miguel. He was
lying on his back in the middle of the room, moving like a drunk
and a stupor what he said, the blood in his mouth spilling over his
lips. You were supposed to make her breakfast, not have her for breakfast.
But we are going to have her for breakfast now, Not like this.
You can't just guzzle her down on your own like a bottle of seven
up. She's our food. We share her, we monitor how much we
take, and we make sure she's alive so we can let her go at
the end of it. But now look at her. She pointed to the
still ashen body on the sofa. She's practically dead. Miguel gaped at Monica,
evidently as surprised to see her like this as Gerald and Cynthia were as
they entered the room. Monica cried Gerald, My cushions, cried Cynthia.
It's not my fault, cried Miguel, looking from Lydia to the Bensons and
back again. I swear I didn't know. I thought it was only having
a little A little, said Lydia. How many mouthfuls you have to swill
down before you've realized you've had more than a little three? Four? Oh,
no more like fifty or bloody seventy? Were you even counting? No
Ah, I just I thought I would know. Well, you obviously didn't,
did you. You fucking more on. This is what Underwood used to
call getting lost in the blood. It's why we do it together. But
you did not say we do it together. But that's because I thought it
was fucking obvious, didn't I? You knew we were both going to feed
from her. It's just good fucking manners, isn't it like sharing a bottle
of wine. You don't just uphend the bottle into your mouth while no one's
looking. You uncork it, pour out two glasses, and then it's chin
chin bottoms up. You drink it together. Well you should have, said
Gerald and Cynthia were at the sofa. Gerald was feeling Monica's wrist for a
pulse, while Cynthia was pushing her bottom aside and pulling the covers off the
seat cushions quickly. Gerald said, Cynthia, if we strip the covers and
get them into the machine before it dries, we can still save them.
She's alive, said Gerald. Thank god, said Lydia. I haven't fared.
Gerald was appalled. You can't, Lydia, you'll kill her, you
said last night. Yes, well that was before greedy guts here got his
teeth into her. But she'll die that that means another corpse. So what
they come with a territory? Well, not going to dispose of her,
said Cynthia, stalking from the room with her arms wrapped around a bundle of
once white, now crimson and white cushion covers. You'll have to do it
yourself, fine, shouted Lydia after her I will. No, She turned
to Miguel. You will. It's your bloody fault. I'm sorry, Lydia,
said Miguel, now sitting in an armchair with his head in his hands.
I of course, yes, I will dispose. I should think so,
too, said Lydia. She made to approach Monica, but Gerald blocked
her way. Really, Lydia, is there no other way? What Monica?
She's well, we were out with her today, she came with us,
helping us dispose of the car and what have you. And well she's
all right, you know, Lydia was genuinely puzzled. No, I don't
know. I mean, well, it's not like she's going to tell anyone,
is it, Lydia frowned Gerald. You haven't gone soft or something,
have you? Has Jesus come to you in a dream and showed you the
error of your ways? No, no, of course not. I just
I've just grown to quite like her, that's all ah, I see,
said Lydia with a smile. She glanced back to where the sound of Cynthia
banging cupboard doors in the kitchen echoed down the hall, then turned back to
Gerald. Did you fuck her? Is that it? No? I did
not. I just look, Why don't you just take some of my blood
because I'm hungry. This is likely to be my only meal for the next
twelve hours, So a cheeky mouthful of shadow Gerald isn't going to hit the
spot. Thanks anyway. She tried to move past him, but he blocked
her. Well, then take it from me and sin both of us somehow.
I don't think Cynthia's in the mood, darling. Now step aside.
Please don't make me force you. Gerald knew he was physically no match for
a vampire. Reluctantly he stepped aside. Thank you. Lydia knelt down beside
Monica. Look away if it's going to upset you, or run along and
help your wife with her cushion covers. Gerald turned away. There was an
unmistakable edge of contempt to Lydia's tone and in her choice of words that burned
his masculine pride. If he was going to make something of it, to
try and somehow save face, then now had to be the time, but
then he heard Monica gasp and a loud, unbecoming slurp from Lydia. Without
a word, he walked from the room. The Bensons were talking in whispers,
when a short while later, Lydia, now dressed in her clothes of
the previous night, joined them in the kitchen. The Benson's conversation ended abruptly.
Cynthia turned her back to Lydia and began rinsing clean glasses in the sink,
while Gerald shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out of the window.
I apologize, said Lydia. I don't know what to say other than
I'm truly, genuinely sorry. Gerald was surprised. Ah, thank you.
Cynthia continued to rinse clean glasses without turning. She said, is she dead,
Yes, said Lydia. Miguel's taking care of it. Huh, corrected
Gerald, all right her. Whatever. Look I've said I'm sorry, and
I am, but you two have to understand I have to feed as and
when I can. It's not like I can just sit down and have a
bowl of cocoa pops here or by a baguette at the airport, is it?
I need human blood, and if I don't get it, I'm going
to be very difficult to be around, more so than you have been this
evening, said Cynthia. Yes, considerably, I imagine, I see.
Lydia sighed she was getting tired of receiving the cold shoulder treatment, but knew
that further argument would solve nothing. Look, I know this has all been
a bit sudden, and I know that Miguel and I are being somewhat trying,
but she shrugged, we are new to this. We're not human anymore,
and it's it takes a bit of adjustment, not just for us,
but also for well, for you too. I'm not saying you have to
put up with it. You don't. I know you don't, but I'm
just asking that you, I don't know, cut us some slack if we
fuck up as a result of being this what we are now, and she
added pointedly, what you will be soon. Cynthia set down the glass she'd
been washing for over a minute and turned off the taps. She turned around,
and on making eye contact with Lydia, she smiled and went over to
her with open arms. I'm sorry too, darling. You're right, we
need to be more accommodating of your new what does one call it your new
species status? Lydia hugged her. Call it whatever you want, darling.
My species will soon be your species, so it doesn't matter. She reached
out a hand to Gerald. Come on, Jerry, I know you want
in on this. Cynthia also extended an arm to him, beckoning him to
join them. Gerald smiled and embraced both of them in a group hug.
That's better, isn't it? All friends again? Always friends, diddy,
said Gerald. Just as you say, new circumstances things can be a bit
trying, especially when it involves disposing of corpses. Beltran always used to use
the hospital incinerator, didn't he, So it was never anything that we had
to think about before. And our victims, well they were just faceless Anonymous.
I don't know. I guess it's been a bit emotional, at least
it has for me anyway, I know, and I understand, said Lydia,
as they all broke off. But don't worry. Once you join us,
it'll be easier. We're learning. We all are what to do and
what not to do. Without a master to teach us, we just have
to learn the hard way, but we will. The shock of the new
will pass, and before long it'll all be just second nature to us.
Second nature, said Cynthia. Yes, doesn't it, said Lydia. But
anyway, how did it go today? With the car and getting our clothes
and things. I'm dying to get out of these things. I only put
them on again because it felt undignified, apologizing to you in a towel ah,
said Gerald. Well, there's good news and bad news there bad news.
Lydia looked, worried. What bad news? Oh, don't worry,
said Cynthia. We have all your need for London, but just well,
let me start at the beginning. She and Gerald then told Lydia all that
had happened that morning. When they were finished, Lydia nodded thoughtfully. Well,
well, so, in accordance with Underwood's will, his things from around
the world are all going to London. I wonder why. Yes, it
is a bit strange, isn't it, said Gerald. We were talking about
it earlier, and we have wondered whether it might be a bit of skullduggery
on the part of those lawyers in London. I mean, who's seen this
will of Underwoods other than them, no one. They could be planning to
auction the whole lot off. Can you imagine the money they'd make. It'd
be astronomical, yes, Lydia nodded thoughtfully. It would, wouldn't it,
And I certainly wouldn't put it past them. She lit a cigarette and sighed
a stream of smoke. You say, can't you confirm David's in jail.
Yes, well, at least we know that for sure now, and he's
inherited Cassa Underwood too, the bastard. I hope someone shanks him in the
prison shower. In fact, once we get ourselves settled down somewhere, I
may see about arranging that myself. Maybe I'll have him gang raped first and
then shanked bloody hell, said Gerald. Who really do hate him, don't
you? Of course I do. He stole everything from me and ruined everything
else. I should now be the unquestioned mistress of the sect. Cassa Underwood
should be mine, it should all be mine. But thanks to him,
I'm on the run, living on your charity and fighting with my best friends
over a dead whow Sorry, Gerald, I know you liked it, but
you can see what I mean. The lawyer thing was only a theory,
lady, we could be wrong. Best to keep an open mind. Eh,
yeah, of course you're right. I'm sorry. I just get so
cross when I think about how I shed fucked everything up on me. Anyway,
I suppose Conchi didn't say where in London underwood stuff was going now,
only that it was going to London. Okay, Well it doesn't matter.
I know Underwood's property portfolio pretty well, so once we're in London we'll be
able to keep an eye on his houses to see if any Spanish removal trucks
turn up, and he won't do any harm to keep an eye on the
London auctioneers either, just in case Daventry and West do decide to go on
a little selling spree. And if they do, she smiled, I may
well drop in on them and demand my cut. But won't that rather give
away the fact that you're not dead, said Gerald. Well it won't matter
if they're going to try selling off all of Underwood's stuff, will it.
I mean, think about it. Yes, I killed Underwood directly or indirectly,
which I grant you is a pretty big deal. But if they're going
to slyly sell off Underwood's estate for profit and leave his guardian to rot in
jail. They'll almost be as bad as me, won't they. So who
knows, With a little mutual cooperation between them and me, I may yet
be able to replace Underwood as master of the sect. You think they'd leave
David to rot in jail. Well, I certainly would if I wanted to
sell the whole lot of David is still technically in the position of guardian,
and I'm pretty sure in the event of Underwood's death that guardianship extends to make
him overseer of his estate. But if he's banged up in jail for twenty
to life, he's out of the picture, isn't he. He'd have nothing,
and he'd have no say in how anything gets done. Oh, said
Gerald how Fiendish all hail Lydia, said Cynthia with a demure smile. Well,
let's not jump the gun jest yet, shall we? But I think
we have reason to be cautiously optimistic. But anyway, right now we need
to get packed. We have a plane to catch. Later that night,
Gerald once again turned his Toyota off the road between al Messina and Seville.
The headlights swept over the darkened landscape ahead, lighting up his tire tracks of
earlier today than the copse of tree ahead. Maybe you should run off the
lights, said Miguel, who sat in the back with Lydia. If a
car passes us, they will see us. Yes, But if we do
that, we could very well drive into the bloody arroyo, said Gerald.
He drove slowly to a point just past the trees and turned off the lights
and engine. They got out. Gerald and Miguel went around the back of
the car, where Gerald opened the boot and they took out their suit cases
to set them on the ground away from the car. As Gerald lifted the
last one, clear, Monica's arm, white as that of an alabaster statue,
fell from the tartan blanket they'd wrapped her body in. Miguel pulled on
a pair of washing up gloves and reached in to lift her out. Which
way, said Miguel. Over Here, said Cynthia. By the light of
the stars, She led the group to the edge of the arroyo, where
they looked down at the overturned taxi. Oh, good job, said Lydia.
You can't see a thing from the road. Thank you, darling,
said Cynthia. We did our best. Should I go down and try to
shove her in the car, said Miguel. Now said Lydia, We don't
have time. Just chuck her down next to it and don't drop the blanket.
Oh really, dear, said Cynthia. Don't bother on my account,
I can't see myself ever using that again, Dna Darling said Lydia. Better
safe than sorry, But for the same reason, we don't want to keep
it either. We'll dump it somewhere between here and the airport. She nodded
at Miguel, who then knelt by the edge of the arroyo and, keeping
hold of the end of the blanket, let Monica's body roll out and tumble
down to where it came to rest beside the taxi. Perfect, said Lydia.
Right, let's go. While the others made their way back to the
car, Gerald lingered at the edge for a moment, looking down to where
Monica lay. He felt like he ought to say something, but what could
he say. It struck him that his pity was almost grotesquely inappropriate. She
was here because of him. He had no right to mourn her, and
so he turned from the scene to follow the others back to the car.
When he got in, Lydia was again lecturing a hang dog Miguel on the
importance of care. When feeding, Gerald looked at Cynthia. She gave him
a one but reassuring smile and closed a hand over his where it rested on
the gear stick. All right, Jerry, Yes, he nodded, returning
the smile, and started the engine. He turned the car around and drove
them back to the road, where he turned on the headlights and rejoined the
road, heading north for Seville Airport and London. And so, listeners,
Lydia, Miguel, and the Bensons are all bound for London Town. Two
vampires and two what shall we call them? Friends, guardians, servants.
I'm sure we'll find out in the fullness of time. But not next time,
listeners, For next time we'll be back in the company of other friends,
other friends. Underground And now a brief word from our sponsor, after
which the podcast will continue. So there we are, listener, season five,
episode five of what we here are calling the Book in Tenebris, but
over at Patreon it's still Underwooden Flinch Underground in this episode of the podcast is
episode thirty five. So if you can't bear the thought of waiting a week,
and you want to carry on the story immediately, then you'll want to
hop over there and go straight to episode thirty six. Oh yes, So,
no Underwood and Flinch news for you this week. Nothing really going on
in my private life that I want to share. Apart from writing the next
episode of season eight for Underwood and Flinch at Patreon, There's not really a
lot going on in my life. Although saying that this may interest you,
I've taken up photography. Everybody needs a hobby, don't they Something fun to
do, a distraction from the norm. Cameras proper cameras, I mean,
but prohibitively expensive for most of my life, so it's not something I've ever
considered doing before. But these days, you know, you can pick up
a nice second and digital camera for a reasonable amount of money, and of
course you don't need to faff around with dark rooms and chemicals anymore, do
you. So Yeah, when a friend of mine who's a member of a
local photography group was talking about it, I thought, yeah, I could
go along to that, couldn't I. You know, it's a group for
beginners, and so off I went, and yeah, I enjoy it.
And of course I started posting my pictures on my Instagram account, which I
hadn't really bothered with much beforehand, you know, just the odd selfie or
random phone pick, maybe something to promote my podcast. But you know,
that was all I really used it for. Of course, I don't live
anywhere photographically spectacular, like New York City, Paris, London or Tokyo.
I live in a little village in Ireland. But you work with what you
have, don't you. Even though some days you go out and find yourself
looking at the same things and thinking, oh, there's nothing to take a
picture of, there's always something different. Somehow somewhere you start to become more
aware of the little changes that take place all the time. And sometimes even
in the quietest places, there's a moment and never to be repeated scene,
and there you are. You've got your camera, You're tuned into the world
around you looking for something just like that, and so you capture it.
And that's that's nice, that's rewarding, it's good, it's fun. I
enjoy it. So if you're on Instagram and you'd like a window into my
world, quiet though it may be, you can find me at and when
I say at, I mean the squiggly little AT symbol at Mike Bennett author,
which being my Instagram ID, also doubles as my threads ID. Are
you using that threads? There's so many of these things nowadays. It's impossible
to connect with everybody in just one place anymore. That was a nice thing
about Facebook in its aday, practically everyone was there. Now not so much.
But hearken me banging on like Grandpa in his rocking chair about the old
days. I remember the good old deeds of Facebook, poking people and buying
a cow on Farmville. Yeah, he is. Well, anyway, I
think it's time to wrap this up, don't you. So thank you very
much for listening. I hope you have a lovely week, and I look
forward to being back in your ears when the moon rises again over Underwooden Flinch.
Till then, take care and farewell and quickly before I go. The
theme from Underwooden Flinch is called ahmad Amor by Farried far Chad from the album
and Rusa Volume four courtesy of Tarnay Records and with special thanks to our good
friend faoise Al Malud. You can stream the track from Spotify, Apple Music,
Amazon, music and all the other music streaming apps out there. Thank you.