The Devil Inside

by Heather Atkinson

  The Devil Inside

  Unfinished Business Series #6

  By Heather Atkinson

  Copyright Heather Atkinson October 2019

  Acknowledgement

  Many thanks to competition winner Zarqa Younis, who appears as a character in this book. She is just as clever as her character and assisted me with the scientific aspects. Any mistakes are entirely my own.

  Heather Atkinson

  October 2019

  CHAPTER 1

  The drunken singing out on the street drifted in through the bedroom window, disturbing Cass. With a frown she sat up, pushing her mass of long dark hair back off her face.

  “Not those idiots again,” she muttered.

  The sound similarly disturbed Brodie, who grunted and sat bolt upright. “Wallopers.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked as he leapt out of bed.

  “To sort out those pricks once and for all,” he growled, pulling on his pyjama bottoms. “That’s three nights in a row the dobbers have woken us up with their pissed up banter.”

  “Don’t be long,” she replied before snuggling back under the duvet.

  Cass smiled to herself as she listened to the thunder of footsteps on the stairs followed by the sound of the front door opening then being slammed shut. The slurred yells of the men went silent, no doubt as they gaped in wonder at the bare-chested leviathan in bright red tartan pyjama bottoms steamrolling his way towards them.

  “Oy ya wee fannies,” yelled Brodie, making more noise than the interlopers. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. People are trying to sleep.”

  “What are you gonnae do about it Rob Roy?” retorted one of the voices.

  “You wantin’ tae start something, are ya big man? Well bring it on.”

  “Get him lads.”

  There were a couple of war cries, which morphed into wails of pain and then silence. A few seconds later there was the slam of the front door and footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “Sorted?” was all Cass said.

  “Aye hen,” replied Brodie, removing his pyjama bottoms, casting them aside and clambering under the duvet. “They’ll think twice in future about making a rammy when people are trying to sleep.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Just three pissed up roasters from the pub three streets away. They walk through here as a short cut to the rocks they live under. They won’t be coming down this street again.”

  “What did you do to them?”

  “Whacked one over the heid with Mrs Beig’s super gnome.”

  “Super gnome?”

  “Aye, you know, that big spooky bastard holding a shovel next to her garden gate. He’s ten times bigger than all her wee gnomes.”

  “King gnome,” she smiled.

  “Aye, him. Well king gnome is in a thousand bits now.”

  “Mrs Beig won’t be very happy.”

  “She was cheering me on from her window. Those sods woke her up too and I promised to buy her an even bigger gnome. When their wee pal went down the other two ran off like the cowardly shitebags they are.”

  “Let’s hope they’ve learnt their lesson.”

  “No doubt about it hen.”

  “Jesus Brodie,” she gasped when his arm went around her waist and he snuggled up to her. “You’re freezing.”

  “Aye it was pretty nippy out there.”

  She smiled when she felt something prodding her back. “That encounter got someone worked up.”

  “Smashing a giant gnome over someone’s heid has that effect.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “But I’m wide awake now.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Aww,” he said, sounding like a sulky little boy.

  She turned over to face him, ignoring his icy skin and kissed him. “Alright,” she smiled. “You deserve a treat.”

  “Great,” he exclaimed, rolling her onto her back.

  Cass cringed. “But warm up your hands first for God’s sake.”

  Brodie’s large hand slammed down on his bedside clock when it began to beep and he nestled deeper under the duvet. He was incredibly warm and cosy and nothing short of a nuclear bomb going off was going to get him to move.

  “Oh God, make it stop,” he groaned when the radio on the second clock at the other side of the room burst into life, the frantic twitter of the moronic DJ filling the blissful silence.

  Cass was always up before Brodie, who loved to lie in. He’d never used to in his younger days but he found this bed and this house so relaxing and inviting that he couldn’t help it. He loved the home he’d made with Cass, it was his cosy nest.

  Growing tired of continually having to wake him up so he wouldn’t be late for work, Cass had purposefully placed the second clock at the far side of the room furthest from the bed and set it so when the alarm went off the radio would come on. Brodie couldn’t stand DJ’s at the best of times but he positively loathed this one, his patter was the most minging of them all. Fortunately for the DJ he lived in London. If he’d been a local boy Brodie would have been on his doorstep with Mrs Beig’s giant gnome.

  Brodie leapt out of bed and practically punched the clock. “Gie yerself peace ya fucking fanny merchant,” he bellowed.

  Now the clock had gone silent he could hear Cass talking to someone downstairs. A man’s voice replied.

  Frowning, he pulled on his jammy bottoms and a vest and ambled downstairs, salt and pepper hair all over the place. His frown deepened when he walked into the kitchen to find Cass alone.

  “Who were you talking to?” he asked Cass, who was drinking a cup of tea at the breakfast bar while reading the newspaper.

  “Tony,” she replied. “I’ve put some fresh coffee on for you,” she added, indicating the percolator.”

  “Thanks hen,” he said, kissing her hair. He picked up a mug and poured himself out some coffee. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Who’s Tony?”

  “Ask him yourself. He’s sat in the corner.”

  Brodie scanned the room, unable to see a third person. “Nae offence hen but did you bang your heid too hard off the headboard last night when we went at it?”

  She put down her mug and laughed. “No. Tony, what’s the weather today?”

  Brodie whipped round when a deep voice filled the room, informing him that it was going to be cloudy but dry with a high of twelve degrees.

  “Jesus, you had me going there,” he grinned when he spotted the black rectangular box sat on the worktop. “It’s one of those smart assistant thingies.”

  “Yes he is.”

  “It’s an it hen, no’ a he. Don’t gie’ it a personality, that’s just spooky.”

  “It then,” she said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

  “So what does it do?”

  “You can ask it questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything you want.”

  Brodie pondered this before saying, “Hey, Tom.”

  “His name’s Tony.”

  “No’ him. It.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Just say Tony.”

  “Tony,” he announced.

  “How can I help you?” said a polite voice.

  “Hey, he’s a local boy,” beamed Brodie when Tony’s accent came out pure Glaswegian.

  “You can choose which accent you want. I thought you’d like it.”

  “You know me so well hen,” he smiled. “Right, Tony. When’s my birthday?”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have that information,” replied Tony while Cass rolled her eyes.

  “I thought he knew everything?” said Brodie.

  “Don’t you mean it?” she retorted. “And he doesn’t know everything in the entire universe. He doe
sn’t know your birthday, neither does he know what you had for tea yesterday or the name of your first girlfriend.”

  “Then what does he know?”

  “Ask him what the capital of Andorra is.”

  “Why?”

  “Call it a little test.”

  “Fine. Tom…”

  “Tony,” said Cass.

  “Tony, what’s the capital of Andorra?”

  “The capital of Andorra is Andorra la Vella in the Pyrenees mountains between France and Spain. Population twenty two thousand, two hundred and fifty six.”

  Brodie looked to Cass. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information.”

  “Let’s leave that for now. He can control the plugs, lights and switches too. Look. Tony, turn off the kitchen lights.”

  The lights went off while Brodie looked about him warily.

  “Tony, turn on the kitchen lights.”

  They came on again.

  “I don’t know about this hen,” he said. “I’ve seen that film about a computer controlling an entire skyscraper. It went mental and killed a bunch of people in a lift.”

  “We live in a two storey house Brodie. We don’t have a lift.”

  “But he could do other things like electrocute us with the washing machine or send our vacuum demented.”

  “Seeing how you never use either of those things I don’t know what you’re worried about. And I got one of those new robot vacuums. You don’t need to push it, it just goes about itself, hunting for dirt.”

  “What? With all the tech we’ve got we’re gonnae have a Terminator bursting in any second looking for John Connor.”

  “You watch too many films Brodie. Anyway, we have to get to work soon so grab some breakfast.” She grinned when he looked uncertainly at the toaster. “Want me to do it for you in case you get attacked by a Dalek?”

  “No thanks hen,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve got it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Every time Brodie walked into his office with Cass he felt like a king. When they’d first got together they’d had to keep their relationship a secret thanks to all the psychos gunning for them. However, all the loons were either dead or unable to hurt them, so they didn’t have to hide anything anymore. But the novelty of the world knowing they were a solid couple had never worn off, he didn’t think it ever would. They walked in together holding hands, Brodie giving Cass a peck on the cheek as she took her seat at her desk before he continued on to his own office at the back of the room, nicknamed The Bullpen.

  “Morning lads,” announced Brodie cheerfully.

  “Morning,” Elliott, Christian and Ross replied in unison.

  At first their boss coming into work in such a good mood had given them the fear but slowly they were getting used to it.

  “Anybody nipping out to the café across the road?” Brodie asked them. “I didnae get any brekkie this morning.”

  “How no’?” said Ross, a large strapping man with a shock of bright red hair and pale skin.

  “Because he’s afraid our appliances are going to kill him,” replied Cass.

  “Eh?”

  “I got one of those smart assistants and he doesn’t like it.”

  “Why not?” said Christian, who was equally as strapping as Ross but he had beautiful smooth ebony skin and eyelashes so long they brushed his cheeks when he blinked. The ladies went wild over Christian. “I’ve got one and it’s brilliant. I don’t need to get up to turn the lights off anymore when I’m in bed with a lady. I just ask Margot to do it.”

  “Who?” said Brodie. “She one of your girlfriends playing the maid in one of your weird sexual games?”

  “No,” he frowned. “She’s a smart assistant too. You can get different ones.”

  “I might have known you’d get a woman,” said Ross. “Do you practice your chat-up lines on her?”

  “Some of us don’t need to practice,” said Christian with his devastating smile. “You should get one to practice on though after you asked that woman in the nightclub last Saturday to touch your hand so you can say you’ve been touched by an angel.”

  “Oh yeah?” retorted Ross, pale face turning as red as his hair. “Well you told one bird you needed a plaster because you hurt your knee falling for her.”

  “And I went back to her place that very night,” retorted Christian with satisfaction.

  “This may come as a shock lads,” said Cass. “But you don’t need pick-up lines. Just be yourselves. Women appreciate that.”

  “Well that’s me screwed,” said Ross.

  “You’re a great guy Ross. You’re really sweet too. Don’t try to be all tough and macho and just be yourself.”

  “A big soft girl then,” grinned Christian.

  “Hey,” said Brodie. “The only person who throws about the insults here is me. Now get some sodding work done.”

  They all looked to the door when there was a knock on it.

  “Somebody gonnae answer that or have you all gone on strike?” said Brodie.

  “I’ll get it,” said Elliott, getting to his feet. Brodie chose his employees on the basis of how handy they were in a fight, among other things, so Elliott was just as hulking as Christian and Ross but he had blond curls and bright blue eyes. He was also the only family man in their team, having married Pete McLaren’s goddaughter Morgan, who he’d recently had a son with.

  Cass, Christian and Ross all got to work, either making phone calls or studying their computer screens, so whoever was at the door wouldn’t be intimidated by everyone staring at them.

  Elliott opened the door to a middle-aged woman wrapped in a thick beige coat, her bobbed hair the same colour. Her sensible beige shoes clacked on the wooden floor as she walked in.

  “I’m looking for Mr Brodie,” she said.

  All eyes turned Brodie’s way, wondering if he was going to have a go at her for getting his name wrong but he took in the worry in her eyes and decided against it.

  “Aye, I’m Brodie MacBride,” he said.

  Her eyes swivelled his way. “I was told you could help me. It’s about my son.”

  “Come away into the office for a wee chat doll.”

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping properly into the room and looking about, as though she couldn’t quite believe where she was.

  “This way,” said Brodie in his friendliest tone.

  She followed, keeping her head down and scurrying through the office.

  He held the door open for her. “Would you like a tea or a coffee?” he asked her.

  “No thank you,” she said timidly, taking the seat he indicated before his desk.

  Brodie sank into his chair and regarded her seriously. In the past he’d tried giving people reassuring smiles but they seemed to freak them out, so he didn’t bother anymore.

  “What can I do for you?” he opened.

  “My name’s Susan Silvers,” she said in an odd, breathless, faraway voice. “I spoke to a police officer about my son Steven but they couldn’t help me. They recommended I come here.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes with shaking hands.

  “It’s okay,” he said as gently as his gruff voice would allow.

  “Sorry,” she breathed. “The last few weeks have been so difficult.”

  “No need to apologise. Just take your time.”

  “Thank you.” She took in another deep breath before continuing. “Steven’s been missing for seven weeks. Well, not exactly missing, I know where he is but I can’t contact him. You see, he joined Higher Light. They used to be called The Church of the Divine and Blessed Light, until they changed it to something easier to remember.”

  “Oh aye, the bats.”

  “Sorry?”

  “They all go around in black clothes and long black coats. I call them the bats.”

  “Oh yes, I see,” she said, looking slightly puzzled. “Anyway, they recruited him after they cornered him in the shopping centre one day. He started going to their chur
ch and I think they did something to him, brainwashed him. He gave up his job, his flat, sold all his worldly possessions and gave the money to the church. Now he actually lives in the church, although it’s not a typical church, it’s more like a military compound. Before he moved in he came to see me and said he couldn’t see or even talk to me anymore because I’m too sinful and until I repent and join the church he won’t have anything to do with me. That is not like my Steven, we’ve always been so close. I’ve always tried to live a good life, I’m a nurse. I’ve never done anything bad in my entire life…”

  “Here you go,” he said, handing her a tissue from the box on his desk ready for such emergencies.

  “Thank you,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. She brushed her hair back off her face and sat up straighter in her seat. “The church pretends it’s normal and mainstream but it’s not. It’s a cult. I have to get Steven out of there before something really bad happens. I saw him in the shopping centre, dressed in the black uniform and he looked terrible. He was so pale and he’d lost so much weight. If he doesn’t get out I’m terrified of what will happen to him. I’ve asked around. There was a woman who managed to escape the church. I spoke to her. She said all sorts of abuse goes on in that place - physical, emotional, verbal. The poor woman’s as twitchy as a bag of cats. What she went through was just awful. It’s the leader of the church you see, Malachi. He instigates punishments for any church member who steps out of line. Oh he’s all nice when you’re just going to the church but when you go into the compound he changes, turns nasty. But then he has you trapped, he’s already separated you from your family and all your money. You can’t get into the compound if you still have connections to loved ones and worldly possessions and once you’re in you can’t get out.”

  “And you’re afraid your son’s trapped?”

  She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I want to hire you to investigate and make sure my boy’s okay. Have you ever dealt with a cult before?”

  “No, this is a new one on me.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking slightly disappointed. “But could you?”

  “Course I can. It’s no different to any other criminal investigation. But I have to ask, what if he is fine and genuinely wants to stay?”