Her sacrifice had backfired with unimaginable spite.
In dying, she now knew, the professor’s black soul had shifted into Joel’s mind, digging its claws in, not wanting to leave this earthly state. And there it had lurked like a slowly festering disease before finally becoming strong enough to take over a mind not strong enough to resist. She guessed he’d been sentient and aware long before gaining control of Joel’s prized body.
Had Joel been a normal little boy, after all? She wasn’t sure; the memories of childhood weren’t so clear. She’d been a child herself. A child murderer, in fact.
For a long time, she and Joel had huddled fearfully in the empty house, waiting for some kind of retribution to fall from on high. Joel had lost the power of speech for a while, but her strength eventually blossomed. She had a child to protect. She forged letters and set up a bank account to provide a monthly transfer for housekeeping. Not enough to make anyone suspicious, but with a yearly percentile increase that would cover cost of living. Back then, these things were easier. Banks hadn’t quite become the control freaks they had turned into when electronics and the internet provided a new source of revenue for the unscrupulous.
She’d learned to deceive, and when she realised she wasn’t ageing as others aged, discovered that money could buy all sorts of things, including false identities. Any sense of shame or remorse for what she’d done to their father, died. He’d no doubt killed their mothers, and goodness knew how many other women, in his search for longevity. To him they had been utilities, provided for his express use. He didn’t know the meaning of compassion – neither for them or his own children; the results of his experiments.
In fact, that was his big mistake. He’d thought of them as results, not children. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d bred sentient beings who would eventually realise what he was. And their difference hadn’t been obvious. As children, they’d kept away from him, becoming ghosts when he was around. He hadn’t known their bodies healed more quickly than other children’s, and nor did they, because there had been no other children in their lives to compare themselves to. A small spark of comfort stroked her mind, calming her. She wasn’t a bad person.
But of one thing she was sure. Whatever successes her father had achieved with his manipulation of cells had been accidental. And the strange abilities Joel and herself had developed were monumental catastrophes. This is what happened when people played God with foetuses and DNA, not truly knowing what they were doing. A bit like creating the atom bomb, it would have repercussions that could not have been imagined.
When she heard Joel’s car negotiate the steep drive that gave the van so much bother, she heard just one door slam, and fresh tears seeped. The bedroom door was pushed open, and Joel stood just inside, instantly gauging the situation: she was where she was supposed to be. Maybe he hadn’t been entirely sure she would still be there. He sliced the plastic from her wrists with a knife, and she would have attacked him with fists and nails, but her hands were numb, and he was fast, catching her bloody wrists.
‘Stop it. You don’t need to look at me like that. I didn’t hurt him.’
‘You’re lying, you murdering bastard,’ she raged, scarcely seeing him through her tears.
‘No, truly. I just killed a whore. Calm down. You told him what it was like, but I don’t think he truly believed you. I needed him to see.’
‘So, does he believe, now?’
‘Oh, I think so,’ Joel drawled, holding her at arm’s length. ‘The hooker didn’t go for me, she went for him, in the end. He didn’t just see, he experienced. It’s the best way to learn, of course, but that was a surprise to both of us. I didn’t know that could happen. Are you going to calm down?’
She stilled, and he released her tentatively.
‘He’s here? Where is he. I want to see him.’
‘I don’t know where he is. While I was starting the car, he ran. I trawled around for a bit, but I couldn’t find him.’
‘He wouldn’t just leave me with you.’
‘Seems that he did, my sweet.’
‘He wouldn’t,’ she repeated, maybe for her own benefit.
Joel headed for the stairs. She followed him down. ‘I don’t think he intended to. He was flying scared. I suspect he’ll come back for you, but maybe he needs time to realise that. The one thing you can be sure of, he won’t go to the police. He’s not stupid.’
Sarah scratched at the scabs that were already forming on her wrists. ‘Well, Papa. What now? Do we go and look for him?’
‘We wait,’ he said. ‘Robin will come back to us when he’s had time to think, because he’s got nowhere else to go. We’re the only family he has.’
‘Lucky Robin. We’re abominations, all of us. I wouldn’t blame the rest of the world for wanting us dead.’
His sneer plastered ugliness onto his beauty. ‘Don’t be stupid. They wouldn’t kill us, they’d use us. Morality is nothing but a tool for fools. Do you think business and factory care about their workers? Humans aren’t born to care. We’re born to survive, and use others for our own advancement. It takes guts to do that. And when we’ve grabbed what we can, we hang on to it. Don’t you understand? Humans are predators, predators survive, and we’re now at the top of the food chain.’
Chapter 52
Redwall sighed, and reached for the receiver. Hadn’t he told them not to bother him with calls? The voice he heard was unfamiliar. With the touch of a nasal, north country accent.
‘Detective Inspector Redwall?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Chief Inspector Loughton from Cheadle Heath Station, Stockport. We’re conducting an investigation into the murder of a woman who was a known prostitute. It triggered a connect with one of your investigations - the Strangler case?’
That made him sit up. ‘Connected? How?’
‘Well, to start with, our victim was strangled, but that wouldn’t be the first one this year. It’s just that forensics have come up with some clear prints that bounced up on your file.’
Redwall felt a small buzz of adrenaline surge at the underlying current of excitement in his voice. Had Joel gone up north, to Stockport, or even further?
‘What have you got?’
‘There are several prints. One belongs to the dead woman, there’s one partial we can’t identify. Maybe her pimp, or another punter. But there are two that link to your case. The unknown male you have on file, who might or might not be called Joel, and the other is Robin Vanger.’
For a second Redwall was nonplussed, then he asked. ‘Were Robin’s prints on a single bank note?’
‘No, they were on the woman’s purse. Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m still here,’ Redwall responded. He pulled himself together. It happened this way sometimes. Someone you liked letting you down, betraying you by not being the person you thought they were. A bit like discovering a bent cop. ‘Robin Vanger is linked to a couple of other homicides, but the link is tenuous at best.’
‘Well, I’d say this puts him centre frame. Can you send us all the info you have on the guy?’
‘I’ll do the paperwork, then we need to set up a conference call and see where to go from here.’
‘Ok. Thanks for your help. In the meantime, I’m going to issue an immediate warrant for his arrest on the charge of murder in the first degree.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Redwall was subdued as he passed the information to his team. They still hadn’t got a clue in what way Robin was connected to Joel and Sarah, but he was now categorically tied in with a murder, his and Joel’s prints in the same place. He’d have to have one hell of a good story to talk his way out of that. Redwall realised he was angry. He’d been trying to tell himself all along that Robin was a nice guy, but there had always been that little niggle of uncertainty, and evidence was stacking up against him.
Chapter 53
Father Kelly’s congregation was drifting away. There was nothing he could do to s
top the erosion; nothing he wanted to do. His words no longer held the magic of divine intervention, and it was all he could do to summon up the enthusiasm to lie for the sake of their souls. In his own heart he knew his preachings were merely the spoutings of an old man past his prime. He thought it was, perhaps, time he retired. This career, upon which he had embarked with such youthful fervour, had been more than a job, yet that lifetime devotion now held all the attraction of a farce.
And so, he watched as his flock surreptitiously abandoned the sinking ship, avoiding his eyes, and crossing themselves piously to prove that their actions were prompted by inner strength rather than cowardice. Unlike his previous slow descent to confusion, this time Father Kelly could pinpoint the time and date of this present sense of despair. He could even give it a name:
Robin Vanger.
As he walked through the church, the massive key in his gnarled hand, his eyes grazed each of the church’s treasures for theft, for vandalization. Things which had little material value were priceless and irreplaceable when one thought in terms of history, labour, and sacrifice. There were as many people alive today who, if they couldn’t steal something, would simply destroy it. Strangely, he could understand this. He had seen enough of poverty, deprivation, and the absolute sense of hopelessness which it engendered, to understand, if not condone.
If only the things precious to his calling were not also blessed with material value; the candlesticks, the brasses, and the gold-plated eagle upon which the bible rested, to name but a few. There were few, he realised, who would see value in the good book itself. He breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was in its place it always had been. The church was as cold and quiet as death – and yet, he sensed a presence.
Filled with misgiving, he glanced around all the rooms. The shabby anteroom where he had first talked to Robin, the small, round room which led up to the turret and the bell-tower, and the room behind the altar where the vestments were kept. When he found the intruder, he was not surprised.
Wrapped in the thick luxury of purple robes, and using the vestment chest as a bed, the yellow-haired man was fast asleep, one hand flung, childlike from his body, the other under his head. His chest rose and fell with slow precision and not by the merest flicker of an eyelid did he betray that he was aware of Father Kelly.
He sighed with vindication. Maybe this man wasn’t an angel, but he could be surely forgiven for thinking that. His sin had been in assuming his own importance after the discovery. But didn’t all God’s children live in hope of seeing what they believed in?
He perused the sleeping figure closely. Was it because the man was asleep, he wondered, that gave him such a serene and beatific appearance? Wasn’t everyone supposed to portray those qualities when freed of the day’s stresses? And yet there was something so perfect, so hauntingly beautiful in the carved planes of that face, he knew they wouldn’t be erased by movement.
The perfection was almost inhuman.
But why now, more than a year after the visitation he had taken to be an angel? After years of faith, death now featured as a fearful uncertainty. He was afraid, after all, that men were merely animals; that there was no soul, no afterlife, no God, no reason for the existence of man. No-one had told him life was going to be easy, but he was glad he hadn’t known it would be quite so hard. The spectre of his previous conviction rose to taunt him.
He didn’t know what this being was, whether it was human or not, but he knew one thing. It was no angel. He reached out, hesitated, and touched. He encountered the warmth of flesh. The man’s eyes flashed open, and instantly his whole face was animated as if lit from within.
Father Kelly backed slightly.
‘Good morning, Father,’ the golden man said. He uncoiled himself from the tangle of robes, swivelled, and sat up on the chest, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. ‘You don’t have to be afraid.’
‘I’m not afraid.’ Conquering fear was a strength in itself.
‘I’m not here to harm you.’
‘What are you here for? What are you?’ His voice almost sounded petulant, even to himself. ‘And why now?’
A gentle smile. ‘You mean now that you’ve already made a complete and utter mess of the whole God business?’
The Priest was silent, but he blinked back pain. What had his whole life been about if he’d messed up the God business? ‘If you’ve come back to gloat, you’ve wasted your time. No-one could laugh at me as much as I do.’
‘You do us both an injustice, Father. I’m here because I need your help.’
He was confused. ‘My help?’
‘You’re a good man, and I’m lost. I didn’t know who else to turn to.’
The Priest sighed. ‘I can’t refuse someone who needs succour, but I honestly don’t know whether I’m being asked by God or the Devil.’
‘I’m not altogether good, but I believe I’m not evil.’
The dry tone of self-condemnation made the Priest’s eyes narrow. ‘Even God has been known to lose his temper. But tell me one thing, please. What are you?’
‘Am I human? I was once, but now? I don’t know. But the harm that’s in me is something I didn’t ask for. You’d be better off asking who I am. You met me, once, before.’
The Priest’s face squinted into concentration, and as he peered, the perfect features of the creature before him gelled and met an image in his mind. He exclaimed with startled comprehension. ‘Robin Vanger,’ he whispered as recognition gathered. ‘I don’t understand. How can this be you?’
‘I found your angel, Father. She saved my life. And unfortunately, I also found the angel from the pileup, and I was right: not all angels are good.’ Inhuman eyes levelled at the priest, but in spite of the touch of humour, there was more fear in them than threat. ‘He’s called Joel, at least, that’s the name of the child he inhabits. Joel’s soul is not his own.’
‘You’re talking nonsense. The idea of dark forces taking over a child is the domain of horror films.’
‘I can tell you, people absolutely do have souls, and when people die, acceptance of death sets them free. It’s the ones who fear there’s nothing beyond this life who try to stay. Some stay a short while, some longer, as ghostly echoes of their former selves. That’s why Joel’s strong; he’s harvested many souls. I don’t know how many. Either he has an uncanny knack of finding souls who don’t believe in the afterlife, or has discovered a way of holding them in thrall. So, they stay. And with each one, he grows stronger. Somehow, we have to persuade them to leave.’
‘And how will we do that?’
Robin smiled. ‘You don’t believe me.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘That’s why I’m here. Looking for answers.’
‘From the Bible?’
‘No, from the heart. Your job isn’t a waste of time. If nothing else, you help people to accept death with grace. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t suddenly discovered faith. I still think the Bible is an amazing collection of garbled stories, cobbled together into a book. But all religions seem rooted in the knowledge that souls exist. And that, I’ve learned, is the truth. I’ve seen them. I’ve felt them. And if souls exist, well, maybe God does too, but that’s one step too far for me.’
As Robin rose, Father Kelly was amazed at the perfection of his previously broken body, and wondered why he wasn’t afraid. Perhaps it was because some underlying instinct told him that if the Robin Vanger of the past wouldn’t have harmed him, why should this one, now? He glanced around the small, dark room. ‘It might be better if we go somewhere else. I’ll brew a pot of tea, that is if you –’
Robin burst out laughing at his open dismay.
‘I’m not a vampire. As far as I’m aware, they are fiction. I don’t suck blood, and I don’t eat babies. Tea sounds fine. And something to eat, if you could possibly manage it?’
‘You’re - happy to leave the church?’
‘Your faith in the sanctity of a building is a false luxury. Throwing tap w
ater around and uttering dogma won’t stop my nemesis from entering the church and killing everyone in it, including you and me, should he so choose.’
‘Dogma?’ The Priests brows lifted. ‘I don’t think I like you, Robin Vanger. In fact, I’m almost sure I don’t like you. Let’s go and have that cup of tea.’
‘Father?’
He stopped and turned.
‘Joel knows you saw Sarah.’
‘Sarah?’
‘The one who saved my life, your angel. I think Joel’s trying to eradicate anyone who has seen him or Sarah, or at least, seen what they do.’
‘Oh dear. Come back to my house. We might as well be comfortable while we ponder our forthcoming demise.’
Robin’s laugh was catching. For the first time in ages, Father Kelly found himself laughing, too.
The rectory was a small, Victorian end-of-terrace, a short walk from the church. It was sparsely furnished, but clean and tidy, the nineteen-sixties kitchen presided over by a large wooden crucifix. And there, after Robin had devoured a thick cheese sandwich and two mugs of tea, he began to talk.
The priest listened, his face a practised mask of compassion, until Robin finished, then he shook his head. Not a negative gesture, but one of total and absolute confusion.
‘I don’t know whether you’re mad or not, Robin, but I can’t deny that which is staring me in the face. You.’
Robin leaned back in his chair. ‘Sarah changed me somehow through the simple expediency of saving my life. Even she wasn’t aware of the consequences, not then. Exactly what changed, I don’t know, I’m no scientist, but we’re still human. Our bodies have undergone some radical change, at the level of genes, DNA, or whatever. I’m stronger than I was before, and my body is capable of housing more than one soul, as I recently discovered. I suspect we’re biological accidents, or maybe we’ve by-passed a few million years of evolution. Whatever the case, it scares me.’
Stations of the Soul Page 24
