The Last Judgement

by The Last Judgement (retail) (epub)

  ‘Mr Winters’s bloodline stems from one of the founding fathers of the group, and without him we would still be searching for those missing Gigas pages. There were originally seven pages written by the hand of the Devil, but only three contained the knowledge that would allow the black Judgement Day to occur with him at the helm, instead of the false prophet Jesus Christ. Up until recently our search had only retrieved one, but Mr Winters, by the grace of Lucifer himself, discovered the other two.’

  Harker was baffled by Carlu’s response. ‘Three?’ The third had been locked away in the Templar’s vault until only hours earlier and yet this whole business had been set in motion several days ago, as far as he knew. Add this to the fact that Vlad had not seemed at all concerned about the pages…and if that was the case, then what did he know that these Satanic followers obviously didn’t? ‘He found the other two?’

  ‘Yes, months ago. How and where was not explained to me, but without them this final wonder about to come could not have been attained.’

  ‘There’s still something I don’t understand. Why did Winters have Simone kill himself, and by doing so drag me into all this?’

  The question had Carlu looking confused as he leant towards him with a frown on his forehead. ‘You weren’t dragged into anything,’ he declared, much to Harker’s surprise, ‘but Mr Winters wanted one final token of loyalty from our family, and my son was more than happy to oblige. Indeed, he was honoured to be given the opportunity.’

  The answer seemed surreal to Harker, but given the promise of immortality and considering the high esteem in which they held Winters after his discovery of the last pages, it made a twisted kind of sense. It also appeared that whatever Jacob Winters’s game plan was regarding Harker, the old man was keeping it close to his chest, and Carlu now confirmed this.

  ‘The truth is that only a few short hours ago I had a message from Mr Winters, requesting my help with a problem he has.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Harker replied as the man moved even closer. ‘What problem would that be?’

  ‘You.’ Carlu whispered it with a smile and began to move in closer still.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ Harker growled, finally out of questions, but that did stop Carlu in his tracks, and he now backed away slowly towards the blue tarpaulin draped across the far other side of the room.

  ‘Now that’s funny,’ Carlu said, and he gripped the corner of the plastic sheet and pulled it downwards to reveal something that had tears of fear welling in the corners of Harker’s eyes. ‘For it’s exactly what he said.’

  The bloody corpse hung from two meat hooks like a macabre hunter’s trophy, with spikes entering beneath the man’s shoulder blades and protruding through his chest just above the nipples. Both of the hands and feet were missing digits where they had been sliced off, and the torso was covered with deep, jagged cuts like those delivered by a saw. The blood-matted hair had dried and hardened into spikes deliberately styled to look like a crown of thorns and, even though the face had been battered to a mush, it was the man’s groin area that really drew Harker’s attention. The victim’s genitals had been shredded, and now one lone testicle hung from a thin sliver of muscle dangling beneath him.

  ‘What the fuck!’ Harker gasped, totally transfixed by the gruesome sight. The amount of pain the poor fellow must have suffered was beyond anything Harker could even begin to imagine and, as Carlu now edged towards him in what could be described as a slithering motion, he stood frozen to the spot.

  ‘My family’s sworn duty is to arrange one sacrifice once every generation, which means only one of us ever gets the honour, but that hardly seems fair, does it?’ Carlu hissed, moving still closer with the knife firmly held in one hand. ‘So I have always allowed them to indulge in such things, which is only reasonable, I feel, and as for me…well, practice makes perfect, don’t you think?’ Carlu was now well within striking distance and his expression suddenly became glazed and misshapen, as if this were a different person Harker was now looking at. ‘He lasted for seventeen days,’ Carlu said as his breathing now became erratic, exhilarated at the thought. ‘I wonder how long you will last?’

  Without hesitation he slammed the gutting knife into the right side of Harker’s chest, which produced a cracking sound. The knife was only embedded about three centimetres but it was enough to have Harker clasping it, as Carlu stood back and grinned. ‘I think I heard a rib crack,’ he said, rubbing his hands and, as Harker groaned, he turned his attention to the wall lined with rows of other cutting implements. ‘Your lung will have been punctured, which is extremely painful, but don’t worry as it’s not life-threatening…not with my expertise. You won’t die until I let you.’ With arms raised he began to lovingly run his hands across the assortment of tools before him. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

  As Carlu continued to wallow in his own depravity, Harker was amazed to find he felt no pain at all, not even numbness. And, as he looked down and grasped hold of the knife sticking out of him, he understood the reason why. The knife had been driven not into his chest, but into Carter’s metal drinking flask, which he had taken from him back at Mont-Saint-Michel. Harker stood up slowly on shaky legs and, as a surge of adrenalin took hold, launched himself forward in a single bound, slamming his shoulder hard into Carlu’s back.

  The impact sent the Corsican killer hurtling forward, slamming into the nearest steel table. His head flicked forward and collided with the wall with such force that a chunk of plaster broke off and fell onto the table top.

  Carlu fell to his knees, quivering groggily as Harker ripped a small tree axe off the wall rack and, holding the heavy metal blade between his palms, he brought the thick wooden handle down against the stunned man’s skull. The blow knocked him out cold, spread-eagled on the floor, whereupon Harker retreated and dropped the weapon. There was now a real feeling of pain in his chest, so he looked down at the gutting knife sticking out and realized that his attack on Carlu had actually pushed the blade deeper. He should have panicked at the realization but, considering what Carlu had planned for him, he instead felt nothing but relief. Harker placed both hands around the knife’s handle and pulled it out with the same scraping sound that Carlu had mistaken for the cracking of his rib, as the metal flask underneath his jacket gave way.

  Harker reached under his shirt and, although he could feel blood, he realized the damage inflicted was minimal and he guessed the tip of the knife had penetrated his flesh less than a centimetre. He gave a relieved sigh just as he heard the shuffling of feet from one of the rooms overhead. He immediately leapt towards the foot of the staircase and held the knife poised up against his chest, ready to strike.

  A few seconds passed before the noises above him stopped, and now confident that his actions had not alerted the rest of the family, he quietly began to climb the steps. Family, that was a joke, Harker thought, pausing as one of the wooden planks creaked underneath his weight. A family of bloody serial killers.

  This terrifying thought had him retreating back to Carlu’s motionless body, where he slid the gutting knife into his own jacket pocket, then retrieved the small tree axe lying next to the man. Outside a few culinary efforts in the kitchen, his skills with a blade were next to zero, but surely anyone could use an axe.

  Harker returned to the staircase and began once again making his way upwards, placing his feet carefully either side of the steps in an effort to avoid any creaking, and he succeeded in making it right up to the parlour entrance without so much as a squeak. With the axe grasped in his hand, Harker slowly turned the black metal knob, pushed the door open just a fraction, and peered out through the narrow gap.

  The hallway beyond was empty, and even though he could see the front door from where he stood, making a dash for it was not an option. He had come here specifically to get answers, and so far all he had discovered was an unhinged family with a penchant for generational serial murder and a twisted belief in Satan.

  Harker edged his
way through the doorway and gingerly crept towards the sitting room he had been led into initially. The wooden flooring looked like it was just begging to make a noise and so, as he had done earlier with the parlour steps, he stayed as close as possible to the walls until he reached the room. There was no noise coming from the other side of the door and he quickly decided that leaping in brandishing an axe was not the best course of action. If Carlu’s kin were in another part of the house, the noise he caused would immediately alert them to his location.

  Harker pressed his cheek against the door frame and, after pausing to steady his breathing, slid around the edge of the door – only to come face to face with Mama.

  Harker jerked back in shock and, as the old woman’s eyes began to widen and her mouth opened, his instincts took over and in one swift move he punched the wooden axe handle into her face, sending Mama to the ground in a heap, clutching at her nose.

  Ordinarily the thought of assaulting an old woman with an axe handle would have seemed to him appalling, but this was no ordinary situation and she was certainly no ordinary OAP.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Harker growled as he saw Sofia leap up from the furthest sofa. She froze, staring at the axe in his hand rather than at him.

  Where’s my father?’ she finally yelled, seeming not to care about Mama, curled up in a ball and still nursing her bloody and most likely broken nose.

  ‘He’ll live,’ Harker replied angrily, and he raised the axe above his head and directly over Mama, ‘which is more than I can say for your grandmother if you don’t do exactly as I tell you.’

  Still dressed in her white nightie, Sofia scowled at him as she considered the situation and then gave a nod.

  ‘Good.’ Harker still held the axe high. ‘I want two things and then I’m gone. Firstly I want a car…so get the keys now.’

  Without a moment’s pause she headed for one of the sideboards and opened the drawer so quickly that Harker instinctively took a step backwards.

  ‘Easy,’ Harker warned her, ‘or the granny gets it.’

  Sofia decided to comply, and very slowly pulled a key from inside the drawer and threw it over at Harker, who caught it with one hand while still holding the axe aloft in the other.

  He glanced down at the Porsche tag. ‘Nice,’ he remarked, and pocketed it, then resumed his threatening stance as Mama sat up.

  ‘You dirty thieving bastard,’ she croaked, still clutching her nose. ‘You’ll die for this.’

  ‘Well, you were going to kill me anyway, so zip it, Mama,’ Harker replied, enjoying the feeling of being in control after coming so close to being dispatched and in such a terrible way. ‘There’s just one more thing I need to know. Where is the Judgement Day ritual taking place, and when?’

  Both of them remained tight-lipped and Harker realized that the longer this business took, the sooner Sofia was going to realize that there was no way he would actually chop up Mama. He raised his foot and placed it against the old woman’s chest, shoving her down onto her back. He then stood over her with the axe gripped tightly as if to show how serious he was. ‘I’m not going to ask you again.’

  Sofia’s eyes darted back and forth between him and Mama, then after a few tense seconds her shoulders slumped and she slowly pulled a silver Cartier pen from the pocket of her nightgown and began scribbling something on the back of the photograph of Lucas that Mama had dropped on the table earlier. ‘Here,’ she said, before flicking the photograph towards Harker. ‘At ten o’clock.’

  Harker withdrew the axe handle and warily reached down to snatch it off the floor. He glanced at it briefly. ‘Good,’ he said, placing it in his pocket before taking a step away from Mama, though still keeping the axe semi-raised. ‘Now get on the floor.’

  ‘I am on the floor,’ Mama hissed, rubbing at her chest.

  ‘Not you, old timer…you.’ Harker motioned towards Sofia, who dutifully lay down on her front. ‘On your stomach, Mama,’ he continued, and with a groan the old woman did as ordered.

  He moved over to the telephone and ripped its cord out of the wall, then proceeded to tie Sofia’s hands and legs together tightly and with surprisingly little resistance on her part. He then took the telephone over to Mama and, with nothing else available, bound her hands with the cord that linked the receiver to its base, before resting the instrument on her back. It would not take them long to loosen the knots, but it should give him ample time to reach the car and make a quick exit.

  ‘Where’s the Porsche?’ he demanded, dropping the axe onto the nearest sofa.

  ‘Round the side of the house,’ Sofia replied, shooting him a nasty look. ‘You won’t make it.’

  Harker dangled the Porsche keys in front of her eyes and smiled. ‘I think I will.’

  ‘Not to the car, you idiot. To the ritual. He’s too powerful, and you don’t stand a chance.’

  Harker felt a twinge of anxiety twisting in his chest but he maintained a confident smile. ‘You mean the Devil?’ he suggested sarcastically.

  Sofia shook her head and then let it drop onto the expensive white rug. ‘You’re in for a shock, Mr Harker, you really are. I only hope I’m there when it happens.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Harker replied, turning towards the door, ‘I guess I’ll see you in Hell.’

  Chapter 33

  David Carter leant against the black metal, chest-high patio railing and gazed out across the lush green mountains of surrounding Meteora as the sun beat down upon him. As far as views went, it was one of the most naturally impressive he had ever seen, and the ex-don was thoroughly enjoying the feeling of crisp, clean air seeping into his lungs.

  The train journey had gone smoothly despite a few angry glares from the ticket collector, who seemed to feel obliged to keep an eye on Carter for the rest of the journey. On arrival, he had caught a taxi to the small village of Kastraka, located at the base of the Meteora mountains, which housed six working monasteries including the second largest, Varlaam, which he was now looking down from. Constructed by monks during the fourteenth century, and built upon gigantic naturally formed pillars of rock soaring hundreds of metres into the sky, these retreats had been designed specifically to keep unwanted visitors from encroaching on the monastic hermits’ way of life…or lack of, it to be more precise. In fact, until the modern age of tourism had dawned and steps had been carved into the rock face, the only way to reach them was by a single rope-and-net pulley system. As the legend went, the rope was never replaced until the previous one had snapped of its own accord, which was seen as God’s will – which sounded peachy unless you were the one using it when it finally succumbed to wear and tear. More interesting still was the fact that the monks had initially taken refuge in caves once occupied by Ice Age man over twenty thousand years earlier, and maybe as much as fifty thousand. Of course, Carter known little about the subject until he picked up the free pamphlet on arrival, and following Winters’s instructions that he should wait until contacted, he had now read it multiple times.

  Only a few monks still occupied the monasteries today, due to the high level of tourism which offered the wrong type of ambience for hermits. But, as Carter looked down at the awesome scenery below, he could see why so many men had decided to settle here in years past. On one side a lush green valley weaved its way between two mountain ridges dense with foliage, and on the other side – and visible from where he was standing – lay the flat plains surrounding Kastraka village, with mountains looming in the distance.

  For years, Carter’s routine had involved spending time mainly indoors rather than outdoors, whether in classrooms, or in his house or car, but seeing such an awe-inspiring sight now awakened in him a sense that he had been missing out on so much – trapped inside a little bubble of going back and forth in his daily shuffle of existence. Of course that was exactly how a majority of the world spent their lives but, as he took in this sight, he made himself a promise to get out and about more often, and to make the most of it. His wife’s death had caused him to retreat
into himself and hide there gloomily but the last few days had woken him out of that place, that mindset, and he felt as if a slate had been wiped clean and he could finally allow himself a new start.

  ‘Mr Harker?’ someone called out behind him, and he turned to see a man with short, curly brown hair, who was wearing dark jeans and a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves. ‘Professor Alex Harker?’

  Carter moved to greet the man. ‘Yes, and you are?’ He shook the man’s now extended hand.

  ‘Alec Contos. I manage the tourism side of things. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Carter replied, instinctively assessing the man’s physical prowess, which seemed nothing to write home about. Contos was only five foot tall with narrow shoulders and Carter felt confident he could defend himself, should the need arise.

  ‘Please follow me. There is much for us to discuss.’

  With a polite nod but a degree of apprehension, Carter followed him off the patio and into the tight assembly of buildings that made up Varlaam monastery. What exactly was there to discuss? Why not just give me the pages? he thought.

  ‘When I received the call from your office, it came as a surprise but a most welcome one,’ Contos explained with genuine enthusiasm in his voice, as he led Carter up some zigzagging stone steps and along the tight path running between the main places of worship.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Carter replied, though having no idea what the fellow was referring to.

  ‘No, it is you who is most welcome, Professor,’ Contos continued with a wide smile. On reaching a small wooden door, he opened it and waved Carter inside. ‘Please, come in.’

  Carter paused at the open doorway and peeked inside sheepishly but, seeing only an empty office with several seats and a desk, he happily ventured inside before Contos closed the door and sat down behind the desk. ‘Can I get you a coffee or tea?’ he offered, as Carter sat down on a grey plastic chair.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ Carter took another look around the medium-sized room containing only furniture, filing cabinets, a coffee percolator on a side table, and a desktop PC.