The Devil Inside

by Heather Atkinson

  “I can’t thank you enough for your intervention,” said Frederick, straightening his suit jacket and taking a seat at his desk. He scrunched up his nose, took a can of air freshener out of his desk and sprayed out a stream, masking the ugly stench with the scent of fresh linen. “Now,” he said, putting away the can. “How can I help you both?”

  “You don’t know who we are?”

  “Should I?” he said with a pleasant smile.

  “I’m Brodie MacBride and this is my partner, Cass Carlisle.”

  His pleasant smile dropped, replaced by the panic that had been in his eyes when he’d been pinned up against the wall. “Get out.”

  “That’s no’ a nice way to talk to your rescuers.”

  “I’m not talking to you, I’ve heard about all the trouble you’ve caused Malachi.”

  “And what trouble would that be?”

  “Calling his church a cult when all he wants to do is help people and the planet, hassling members of our church, accusing him of child slave labour and brainwashing people. My God, your accusations are positively Draconian, as well as insane.”

  “Doesn’t mean they’re not true.”

  “They aren’t true, I can tell you that for a fact.”

  “Oh aye? Have you been inside his healing centres then?”

  “Yes I have, the one here at Glasgow and I saw nothing that remotely resembles what you’ve accused him of.”

  “You been right inside the healing centre?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen every nook and cranny but I’ve seen the majority of it.”

  “Did you see a set of rooms under the compound, like a dungeon.”

  “There is no dungeon.”

  “Did you go to the lower level?”

  “No but I don’t need to because it’s just storage.”

  “Then what the hell do you know? Now tell me everything you know about Malachi.”

  “I’ll tell you nothing and you’ll leave right now before I call the polis.”

  “That won’t get you very far big man.”

  “I know that you used to be a polis, a good one too, as impossible as that sounds but you can only push that connection so far before you become an embarrassment and all your little uniformed friends shut you out. Do yourself a favour Mr Brodie and let this drop before you cause yourself irreparable damage.”

  Brodie planted his hands on the desk and loomed over him. “Is that a threat?”

  “No. It’s a prophecy. You can only push people so far. Malachi, bless his good, kind heart has been very patient but there will come a time when he has to protect himself against the darkness that is embodied in you.”

  “So I keep being told,” he said in a bored tone. “But what if you’re wrong?”

  “I am never wrong.”

  “What a typical politician thing to say. But think about it. What if you are? What if Malachi’s a sadistic control freak who brainwashes people and who killed his wife?”

  “He’s not and he didn’t.”

  Brodie leaned in closer, staring right into his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it, that it hasn’t danced around in the back of your brain.” Brodie had lowered his voice until it was just a soft growl, so rarely heard people often found it intimidating. He moved even closer, so his face was mere centimetres from Frederick’s, which was ashen. “What if he’s the real monster and he drags you down to hell with him? There it is,” said Brodie, voice now practically a whisper. “The doubt. What devils did he pull out of you to make you so loyal?”

  “He helped me quit drinking,” replied Frederick, voice equally quiet. “It was destroying my career and my marriage. He made me stop.”

  “How?”

  “I…I don’t know. I can’t remember. He started talking and then…blackness.”

  “Blackness? Don’t you mean darkness?” Brodie smiled when Frederick’s eyes widened. “You have a wee think about that.” He dropped his card on Frederick’s desk. “I’ll wait to hear from you.” Brodie straightened up and winked at Cass. “Let’s go hen. We’re done here.”

  “Impressive,” said Cass as they left the building, striding through the line of irate people waiting to see Frederick, ignoring them all. “You really shit him up.”

  “Good. If anyone deserves shitting up it’s a politician.”

  “So what next?”

  “We go home and relax but first I want to call the pair of fannies. Elliott said they should have been here but they weren’t and Freddie the fud never mentioned them. “Christian,” he said, relieved when he answered his phone. “Where the hell are you? What? Alright, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Are they okay?” said Cass.

  “Seem to be. Apparently they’ve got something to show us.”

  “Intriguing.”

  “Aye. After we’ve seen what the fannies want to show us, we’re heading home for some R&R. It’s been bloody hectic lately.”

  As they got into the car, Brodie’s thoughts once again turned to the ring, which he was still carrying around at all times. He would propose tonight. They’d have a romantic night together, some wine, a takeaway and then he’d just pop the question. No matter what she said it would be a relief to get the words out, he was driving himself demented going over them. He was becoming so worried about how obsessed he was getting he feared that if he went into a shop and the cashier told him the price he’d ask them to marry him. Tonight, he’d do it and it would be over. Fingers crossed, by tomorrow she would be his fiancée.

  “Right you two,” said Brodie as he walked into the Sauchiehall Street office. “Where the hell have you been, what have you been up to and what have you got to show me?”

  “We went to that MSP’s office, Fredrick Dyke,” began Ross, bursting with self-congratulatory ardour.

  “You sure?” he replied. “We’ve just been there and the fud never mentioned you.”

  “Because he didn’t know we’d been.”

  “Eh?”

  “I caused a distraction so Chris could slip inside and search his office.”

  “What distraction?”

  “I set off the fire alarm and they had to evacuate the building. Christian hid in the lavvies until the place had cleared out. Dyke left his office door standing wide open.” He paused to chuckle. “Dyke. I cannae get over that name.”

  Brodie looked to Christian. “What did you find?”

  Christian picked up an envelope off his desk and held it out to him. “This.”

  Brodie took it from him, opened it up and produced a sheaf of papers.

  “Emails,” explained Christian. “All from Malachi and senior members of the church.”

  “What?” gasped Brodie.

  “Most of it’s routine crap but some of it is really interesting.”

  “Give me the highlights.”

  “A roster of members who need adjustment therapy. Mary Strachan’s name is on there for transfer from Glasgow to Edinburgh.”

  “You fucking beauty,” exclaimed Brodie. “We’ve got the bastard. Malachi said he’d never heard of her. Finally we’ve got him. We need to get this to Pete.”

  “Calm down Bossman. Malachi’s name isn’t mentioned on that email. It came from Eve, no last name. It seems the senior members of the church only use first names. She also mentions Elaine and the treatment she needed too. Malachi still has deniability.”

  “I spoke to Eve when I went to the church,” said Elliott. “She knows how to get into people’s heads.”

  “These emails vindicate everything Elaine told me,” said Brodie. “No one can say she’s crazy now. We need to think very carefully about how we’re going to use these.”

  “Especially after we pissed off so many people today,” added Cass.

  “Who did you piss off?” said Christian.

  “Brett Martins,” said Brodie. “That fanny is nothing like the characters he plays and Mr Dyke himself, as well as a couple of skanky neds and the entire queue waiting to s
ee our illustrious MSP.”

  “So just another typical day then,” grinned Ross.

  “I’ve managed to track down a cult expert,” said Elliott. “He’s a professor in psychology at Dundee University. He has a side business in helping people who’ve escaped cults. He calls it exit counselling. I’ve checked him out and he’s sound with a good reputation. I thought you’d want to speak to him personally Bossman. Here’s his number.”

  “Aye, nice work,” said Brodie, taking the piece of paper Elliott held out to him. “Right you lot, you’ve all done well today, so take the rest of the day off. Me and Cass are knackered after all the travelling we’ve done lately, so we’re off home if anyone needs us. I want you all back in at eight tomorrow morning. Don’t moan,” he added when Ross released a groan. “We’ve a lot to do. Hopefully I’ll have figured out what to do with these emails by then.” He cringed when his phone started to ring. “Dammit, so close. Hello?”

  The others, who had been pulling on their jackets ready to leave, froze when Brodie began to swear loudly.

  “Aye, thanks for letting me know doll, I appreciate it,” he said before hanging up.

  “What’s happened now?” groaned Ross.

  “That was Tessa Martin, you remember her? She used to be governor of Holloway until they shut it down. Now she’s governor of Bronzefield, where they stuck Sarah Creegan.”

  “I remember her,” smiled Cass. “How is she?”

  “Raging. She was off today, leaving her deputy in charge, who stupidly allowed Sarah a visitor.”

  “Don’t tell me…”

  “Aye hen. Malachi the prick.”

  “Why the hell did they let a cult leader visit a serial killer?” said Elliott.

  “Some shite about not being able to deny prisoners a faith representative, even though Malachi requested the visit, not Sarah. After he’d gone Sarah battered her head against a wall screaming about devils in her head. She started to fit so they rushed her to hospital. She died an hour ago.”

  They stared at each other in shock.

  “Well,” Christian eventually said. “That’s no loss to the world.”

  “At least we don’t need to worry about her sending hired killers after us anymore,” said Elliott.

  “He went to ask her about you,” Cass told Brodie. “And to show us what he’s capable of.”

  “Without a doubt hen,” said Brodie, looking troubled. He shook himself out of it. “Right, I don’t want anyone thinking about Malachi, Sarah Creegan, or any of it just for one night. Take a break and come in fresh tomorrow.”

  Everyone filed out of the office but, despite his orders, they all looked miserable.

  Brodie sighed with relief when he stepped inside his home with Cass and closed the door behind him. “Thank Christ for that. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  “Me too. What do you fancy for tea? I’m starving.”

  “I thought we could order a takeaway,” replied Brodie, his voice quieter than it would usually be as the prospect of his marriage proposal once again loomed over him.

  “Are you okay?” she said. “You’ve gone red again.”

  “Aye, just dandy hen. How about the usual from the Chinese?”

  “Lovely. With wine?”

  “Of course,” he smiled, pecking her on the lips. “I’ll just nip upstairs for a quick shower then I’ll walk round for the food.”

  “Okay.”

  As Brodie scrubbed himself beneath the hot spray, once again he went over his proposal, silently mouthing the words to himself.

  After dressing he headed downstairs. Cass was in the kitchen.

  “I’m going for the food hen,” he told her.

  “Alright babe,” she called back before continuing to move about the kitchen, humming to herself. It was the hum of a happy woman, a woman content with her lot, which hopefully meant she would say yes. He decided to forgo his jacket as the evening was warm and the prospect of his proposal was making him hot with nerves anyway. He took the ring out of his jean’s pocket and stuffed it into his jacket. Knowing his luck he’d lose it now the big moment had arrived.

  With that he left, closing the door behind him.

  Cass glanced at the clock on the living room fireplace. Brodie had been gone for over an hour. The Chinese was a five minute walk and they’d never kept them waiting this long before. She tried his mobile phone again but it went straight to voicemail.

  The clock crept round to seven o’clock and she’d tried Brodie’s phone another three times, to no avail. Anxiety settled over her, making her feel sick. She should never have let him go off alone, not with the church gunning for them.

  She jumped into her car and drove to the takeaway.

  “Bo,” she cried, addressing the slender young Asian man serving behind the counter. “Has Brodie been in?”

  “Brodie? No, I not see him since last week.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure. Something wrong?” he said as he handed over a white bag packed with polystyrene boxes to a man waiting at the counter.

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied before rushing out. Despite how hungry she’d been earlier cold fear had eradicated her appetite, not even the delicious aromas of the takeaway enough to rekindle it.

  Cass looked up and down the street. A few metres to her left she spotted something lying on the pavement, catching the glow of the streetlight. She raced over to it and scooped it up.

  “Brodie’s phone,” she murmured to herself, the home screen showing the missed calls from her. A bin had been overturned, rubbish scattered across the street showing distinct signs of a struggle.

  Panic and helplessness started to overwhelm her. Determinedly she stuffed it all down, took out her phone and called Pete.

  Half an hour later Pete, Elliott, Ross and Christian were assembled at Cass’s house, who was frantically pacing the living room.

  “It’s not like him to just vanish,” said Cass. “If he was going somewhere else he would have told me.”

  “Course he would hen,” said Pete. “Something’s happened. I’ve put out an alert, everyone in the Glasgow polis knows Brodie, so he should be found quickly.”

  “He’s not lost. Malachi’s taken him.”

  “Don’t leap to conclusions doll. We don’t know what’s happened.”

  “That’s bollocks Pete and you know it.”

  “Cass is right,” said Ross. “The bats have him.”

  “Aye you’re probably right,” he sighed.

  “We need to break into their compound and rescue him,” said Cass.

  “Now take it easy doll,” said Pete. “If you’re wrong about this you’ll get into a whole heap of trouble.”

  “I don’t give a shit. We’re going in and getting him out. It’s what he’d do for any of us.”

  Pete nodded. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

  She placed a piece of paper on the coffee table. They all gathered round to look.

  “This is the plan of the compound Elaine drew,” she said.

  “Can we trust it?” said Christian. “She’s a bat again.”

  “Brodie thought so and it’s all we’ve got. The building is on three levels - ground floor, first floor and The Breach, which is underground. Brodie must be in there, that’s where they put inconvenient people.”

  “Agreed,” said Pete.

  “But first we’ve got to get through that massive gate,” said Christian. “Then through the front door of the compound, through all those layers of security, down the stairs and break into what is effectively a dungeon. How the hell are we going to do that?”

  “Elaine says on the diagram that all the security in the building is controlled by a single computer in the control room by the gate - door locks, alarms, everything. You lot need to distract security long enough for me to get into that room so I can fry their computer and take all their security out of commission.”

  “How will you fry it?” said Pete.

  �
��A USB kill stick. It’ll send a two hundred and twenty volt charge through it.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Seconds. They’ll probably have a back-up computer but it will take them time to link it up, so we’ll only have a narrow window.”

  “Then we storm in there and free Brodie,” said Pete.

  “Not we,” replied Cass. “Us.”

  “Hey, he’s my pal. You can’t keep me out of this.”

  “Yes I can because if this goes pear-shaped and we all get nicked Brodie will have no one on the outside fighting for him. Plus you could be a big help if we do get lifted.” Cass looked to the other three men. “There’s a very real chance of that, or something worse. There’s no shame if you want to back out.”

  “No way am I backing out,” said Christian. “The Bossman needs us. He’d do the same for us.”

  “Too right,” said Ross.

  “Elliott,” said Cass. “You have Morgan and Noah. We’ll all understand if you want to give this one a body swerve.”

  “Brodie gave me a chance when no one else would. I am not letting him down. Morgan will understand.”

  She nodded. “So we’re doing this?”

  They all nodded and gathered around the map to sort out their plan.

  They’d just finalised what they were going to do when Christian was drawn to the window by a noise. He pulled aside the curtain to peer out.

  “Cass,” he said. “You need to see this.”

  They all gathered at the window. A group of ten disciples had amassed at the garden gate, standing in silent protest once again.

  “The bastards,” she yelled, racing for the door.

  She tore it open and ran down the path.

  “The whore of Babylon,” announced one of them, pointing a bony finger at her.

  Cass grabbed his finger and twisted, making him squeal. When she began dragging him down the garden path towards the house his friends moved to intervene but Pete and the others placed themselves in their way.

  “Fuck off unless you want your fingers twisting off too,” Pete yelled at them.

  “We’re not going until you return our friend,” replied one of the bats.

  “You’ll have him back soon enough. How good a condition depends on your behaviour. So simmer down and I seriously recommend you keep your big fucking gobs shut because we’re on the edge as it is.”