Free The Cult by Arno Joubert Page A

high-pitched hum of a vacuum cleaner sounded inside, so he unlocked the door with his master key and stepped into the house.
    Jenna was standing with her back to him, vacuuming the living room. She had earphones in her ears and was swaying her hips to a tune she was listening to. Olsen leaned in the doorway, admiring her bottom and long legs for a moment, her slender waist gyrating, one hand in the air and the other pushing the vacuum cleaner, the only participant in her own domestic rodeo competition.
    Olson tiptoed to her and grabbed her around the waist, pulling an earphone from her ear. “Heya, beautiful,” he whispered.
    She shrieked, turned around and pushed him away, wide-eyed. She breathed a sigh and smiled when she recognized him, pulled out the other earphone and switched off the cleaner. “How did you get in?”
    Olson dangled the master key on his finger.  
    She shoved him on the chest with a giggle. “Don’t do that again.” She sauntered to the kitchen, the tight denim shorts hugging her sexy backside like a glove. “Besides, you’re not supposed to be in here, I’ve been cleansed.”
    Olsen followed her to the kitchen and hoicked himself up onto the counter, kicking his legs back and forth. “C’mon, Jenna. You know how much I hate it when you screw that old fart.”
    She looked up sharply. “Master Lamont deserves your respect. And he’s not old.”
    Olsen screwed up his face in disgust. “He’s ancient, Jenna.”
    She opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. “His soul is old, which makes his twenty-five year-old body look older than it actually is, that’s all.” She looked at him, a challenging frown on her pretty face. “He has to bear all our sins, how do you think that would make you look?”
    Olsen rolled his eyes. “So I guess there’ll be no hanky panky for the next month?”
    “I don’t want to taint his gift with your…”
    “Sperm?”
    She shrugged. “You know what I mean.” She glanced up, rubbing her belly with a smile. “Imagine me being the bearer of the divine seed, Ted. Imagine the honor of being known as the mother of the Chosen One.” She looked out of the small window above the sink, a dreamy expression on her face. “They’ll write books about me.”
    Olsen snorted. “Funny how all the chosen ones end up in the chosen incinerator.”
    “What did you say?”
    He smiled, shook his head. “A little insider joke, that’s all.”
    Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him accusingly, poured a glass of milk, ignoring his comment. “What do you want?”
    He slipped off the counter, took the carton from her, took a long slug of milk. “Seen Eden’s kid around lately?”
    Jenna Sands shook her head. “I haven’t seen Eden or the boy for a couple of days now. Maybe they decided to move on—“
    Olsen guffawed. “Move on? Are you serious? You never move on from this place.”
    She glimpsed at him innocently before lifting her shoulders indifferently and started buttering a slice of bread.
    Olsen turned around to leave, glanced over his shoulder. “If you see him call me.”
    “You better watch what you say about the Master, Ted,” Jenna said, waving the butter knife.
    He turned around and faced her, his hands on his hips.  
    She pointed the knife at him accusingly. “Besides, if you don’t get your act together and start acting like the maintenance guy that you are, you might lose your job.” She folded her arms over her chest. “These places are falling apart, they all need a new lick of—“
    He strode over to her and grabbed her neck, pushed her back. “You ever tell me how to do my job again, I’ll kill you.”  
    She dropped the knife and grabbed his arms with both hands, her lips parting but unable to force out the words. Her face started turning red and a vein pulsed on her forehead.
    He shoved her back and her bottom thumped against the open drawer, cutlery clattering as she steadied herself, holding onto her neck and taking deep,